Wicked Intentions (Maiden Lane #1)(95)

St. John stepped back, watching with painful patience as Clara’s spasm gradually subsided. When it was over, sweat had dampened her hair and her face was more pale than her pillow, but she looked at him and smiled.

He swallowed past the constriction in his throat. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I merely wanted you to know that I love you.”

She held a shaking hand out to him.

He took it and watched as she mouthed, “I know.”

St. John made himself smile before turning and leaving his wife’s bedroom.

IT WAS LATE afternoon nearly a week later when Temperance knocked on Polly’s door. Now that Winter was recovered, she and Mary Whitsun had been running errands in preparation for the home’s viewing, but it was important that she stop by Polly’s rooms today.

Polly answered the door with a sleeping Mary Hope in her arms and a shawl thrown over her shoulder. “Come in, Mrs. Dews, Mary Whitsun. It’s that glad I am to see you.”

“Is Mary Hope any better?” Temperance whispered the question as she stepped into the crowded little room. A glance showed her Polly’s own babies sleeping together on the bed. Mary Whitsun tiptoed over to replace the blanket one of the children had kicked off.

“Aye, she is.” The wet nurse beamed as she looked down at the baby. “The fever’s left and she’s sucking strong. I think she might just live, ma’am.”

“Oh, thank God.” Temperance closed her eyes in relief. The babies died so often. It was a welcome surprise to find one who struggled through fever so young.

Not that Mary Hope was entirely out of the woods yet. “And your own babies?”

“They never got the fever, thank the Lord,” Polly replied. “Healthy as young puppies, they are.”

“Thank you, Polly.” Temperance made a mental note to reward the wet nurse.

“Will you hold her?” Polly asked. “She’s just now fallen to sleep, and I haven’t had a moment to put myself to rights.”

She held out the babe, and Temperance remembered Lazarus’s words—that he’d seen her refuse to touch the baby. She hesitated only a second before taking the warm little bundle into her arms. Mary Whitsun peered over her arm, and they both looked down with wonder at the tiny delicate fingers that splayed against one pink cheek. Temperance’s eyes stung with tears.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Polly asked with concern as she tucked her shawl into her bodice.

“Yes,” Temperance murmured as she wiped her cheek against her shoulder. “It’s just that it was so close.”

“That it was,” the wet nurse said comfortably, taking back the baby.

“There’s no use not loving them, is there?” Temperance whispered. She glanced at Mary Whitsun, who was still enthralled by the baby’s tiny face.

“Aye, I’m afraid ’tis silly to even bother,” Polly replied. “One look in their wee faces and we’re all lost, aren’t we?”

“Yes, indeed.”

Temperance bid Polly good night and closed the door to her room gently behind her. When she looked up, she saw Mary Whitsun watching her.

“Will the baby live, ma’am?”

Temperance smiled. “I think so, Mary.”

“I’m very glad,” Mary said somberly.

They clattered down the rickety stairs and out the front door of Polly’s rooming house. Temperance glanced uneasily at the sky. The sun was beginning to set. “We need to hurry home before dark.”

Mary hurried beside her. “Is it true that the Ghost of St. Giles comes out after dark and hunts girls?”

“Where did you hear that?”

Mary ducked her head. “The butcher’s boy. Is it true?”

Temperance frowned. “Some girls have been hurt, yes. But you needn’t worry so long as you stay at the school, especially at night.”

“Will you stay home?”

Temperance glanced at Mary. The girl had her eyes fixed on the ground as they walked. “I need to do errands, naturally—”

“But if another baby needs help at night?” Mary was biting her lip.

“My job is to help orphaned babies in St. Giles,” Temperance said gently. “Where would Mary Hope be if I hadn’t gone after her?”

Mary said nothing.

“But I hardly ever have to make trips after dark,” Temperance said briskly. “Really, there’s no need to worry.”

Mary nodded, but she still looked troubled.

Temperance sighed, wishing she could set Mary’s mind at ease, but as long as the murderer was loose, that would be hard to do.

When they reached the home, yet more work waited and Temperance sent Mary Whitsun to supervise the littler girls in washing the hall walls.

By the time Temperance climbed the stairs to her room that night, it was quite late. The preparations for opening the home for viewing were exhausting. Every time she thought they were nearly done, another job would rear its head and she’d have to somehow see to it.

She turned the corner on the rickety stairs, examining the banister. It was in need of a polish, but would making it look better merely persuade any potential patron that the home wasn’t really in need of funds? This was the dilemma with all the decisions she made to neaten and clean the home. Every decision she second-guessed, even when Winter told her in his quiet voice that she was doing a fine job and not to worry so much. And beneath all her worries was a nagging sadness. Put simply, she missed Caire. She found herself wondering what he’d think of her decisions, wanting to discuss her problems and small joys with him. She wanted to be with him.