Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(92)

“Besides that worm she called a brother?”

“Tommy?”

“Aye, Tommy.” Hadley pursed his lips, not an attractive expression for him. “Tommy was there, lurking about, nearly every time I visited fair Marie. Once he came with an older woman. She wore a soldier’s red coat. Seemed a bad sort, but as I said, I didn’t bother much with Marie’s personal life.”

“Indeed?” Lazarus frowned. The brother had said he only visited his sister rarely. Apparently he lied. And how was Mother Heart’s-Ease involved with this? She and her shop seemed to pop up at every turn.

“Does that help?” Hadley inquired courteously. “I never met any of her other clients.”

“It does help.” Lazarus stood. “I thank you, my lord, for your time and your frankness.”

Hadley shrugged. “It was no trouble. Would you like to stay for a glass of wine, sir?”

Lazarus bowed. “Thank you, but I have another appointment this morning. Perhaps some other time?”

It was merely a polite gesture and both men knew it. A fleeting emotion crossed Hadley’s face, but it was gone before Lazarus could decipher it.

“Of course.” Hadley stood. “Good day, sir.”

Lazarus bowed again, crossing to the study door. But a thought gave him pause there. He turned to look at the older man. “Might I ask one more question, sir?”

Hadley waved a hand, indicating assent.

“Are you married?”

That same expression trod across Hadley’s face, deepening each wrinkle and sag. “No, sir. I have never married.”

Lazarus bowed yet again, conscious that he’d crossed the bounds of civility. He let himself out of the elegant, expensive town house. But as he emerged into the morning sun, he wondered: Had loneliness left its stamp upon his features as well?

SILENCE STOOD IN front of the foundling home the next morning and smiled. No, that wasn’t quite right. She looked at her feet and tried again, feeling the muscles move in her cheeks. How odd. Something that had been as natural as, well, smiling just days ago was now so foreign that she wasn’t sure she was doing it properly.

“Have you got a toothache, ma’am?”

Silence looked up into the rather grubby face of one of the orphans. Joseph Smith? Or perhaps Joseph Jones? Goodness! Why had her brother and sister chosen to name all the boys Joseph Something and all the girls Mary Whatever? Had they been quite mad?

But the boy was still staring at her, one dirty finger stuck in his mouth.

“Don’t do that,” she said sharply, startling them both. She’d never reprimanded one of the children, sharply or otherwise.

The child immediately removed his finger, watching her rather warily now.

Silence sighed. “What is your name?”

“Joseph Tinbox.”

Silence wrinkled her nose. “Whyever were you named that?”

“Because,” the boy said, “when I comed here, I had a tin box tied to my wrist.”

“Of course,” Silence muttered, giving up on the smile altogether. “Well, Joseph Tinbox, I’m here to see Mrs. Dews. Do you happen to know where she is?”

“Yes’m,” Joseph replied.

He turned and opened the door to the home—apparently unlocked this afternoon—and led her into the house. There was a great commotion coming from the kitchen, and when Silence stepped in, she saw Temperance, her hair coming down about her ears, managing sheer chaos. A group of boys stood in the corner, alternately singing in high, angelic voices and poking each other when Temperance or Nell turned their back. Nell was supervising the weekly wash, while three small girls tended a large pot of something steaming on the hearth.

Temperance turned just as Silence entered and shoved back a lock of curling hair. “Silence! Oh, thank goodness. I could use your help today.”

“Oh.” Silence stared about the kitchen rather dazedly. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Temperance said firmly. “Winter is still ill. Could you take this tray up to him?”

“Winter is ill?” Silence picked up the tray automatically.

“Yes.” Temperance frowned at the singing boys. “From the beginning again, please. And Joseph Smith, do stop shoving Joseph Little. Yes,” she said again, turning back to Silence. “I forgot to tell you, didn’t I? Oh, so much has happened in the last day. Just take him his food, and under no circumstances should you let him rise from his bed.”

Temperance’s look was quite stern, and Silence was tempted to salute, though she wisely refrained from the gesture. She hurried from the kitchen instead and made her way to Winter’s room up under the eaves. Perhaps Temperance had had some sort of foresight, for as Silence pushed open the door, she caught Winter putting on his breeches.

Or trying to in any case.

Her youngest brother was pale and sweating and fell against the bed as she shut the door behind her.

“Can’t a man have some privacy?” Winter said in uncharacteristic ill humor.

“Not if you’re attempting to escape.” Silence set the tray on a small table by the bed, balanced precariously atop a pile of books. “Sorry.”

“She told you, didn’t she?” Winter asked darkly.

“That you’re ill? Yes.”