Page 36 of The Lady's Last Mistake
“No, just regular quickening.”
Cassie recalled the sensation with startling ease. What had been the light fluttering of butterfly wings in the beginning, turned into restless and sometimes painful nudging of elbows, feet, and knees as space became limited. Every movement had been a reassurance that all was well, and yet also a reminder that it was all Cassie would be given of her child. Those jabs had been a wonder to place her hand over and feel. The yearning to hold her child, to see its face, had been perilously strong, too. But always, always accompanied by the knowledge that she would give her child away to someone else.
Cassie placed her hand on Caroline’s arm. She, too, facedthe same moment. It came closer with every passing day. Caroline sniffed and patted Cassie’s hand.
“It’s all right there, luv,” she said. “Sister Nan says she’s found a nice couple who can’t have none for themselves. They’ve got a house in Islington. Even has a small yard for the tot.”
Thinking of what was best for the child was the only way she would get through. Cassie knew that firsthand.
Sister Nan stood from her chair then, leaving Dorie and Miranda to practice their stitches. Dorie was still weak from her bout of illness, but at least today, she’d left her room.
“Did the woman I sent ‘round ever make her way here?” Nan asked as she took the other chair at the table.
“When was this?” Cassie inquired.
“Tuesday last week.”
Cassie shook her head. “No one new since Dorie.” Isabel, Miranda, and Caroline had all been there for longer.
The nun frowned and rubbed her chin. “I was afraid of that. The lady was strange. She wasn’t showing just yet, but she also didn’t look young enough for it. Mind you, it wouldn’t be the first time a woman past her prime found herself increasing quite by accident.”
“What else about her was strange?”
“There was something about her manner. Can’t describe it. After I told her how to find Hope House, I followed her. Saw her meet a man down the street. He’d been waiting for her, it looked like. They spoke, then they went their separate ways.”
The small hairs along Cassie’s arms lifted. Next to her, Caroline made a soft murmur of concern.
“Do you think the woman could have been lying?”Caroline asked. “Trying to find the location of the clinic for this man?”
It had been Wednesday, the day after Sister Nan’s account, when the man in the alleyway had come upon Cassie, demanding to be taken to Isabel.
“I fear you’re correct,” Cassie said with an ill sweep of foreboding. “Sister Nan, I know you aim to keep every young woman’s confidence but were you the one to send Isa—” She caught herself, recalling Isabel had come here as Lila. “Lila. Did you send Lila here? Three weeks ago?”
Isabel had been so guarded she hadn’t mentioned who had sent her to Hope House.
At Sister Nan’s nod, Cassie’s stomach sank. “She was such a quiet thing. Frightened, I think.” She looked around the room. “Where is Lila this week?”
Cassie should have thought to ask Nan sooner. She sat forward, fully alert. “Did she say anything about herself? Anything about her family? Or the father?”
“Bits and pieces. Sad tale. No family. Just an aunt after her parents perished in a fire a handful of years back. She was reared well, that one. I’d wager gentry at the least.” Sister Nan nodded as if impressed. “As for the father of the babe, she stayed mum about him. Caught herself once when she started to say his name though.”
“Can you recall what she started to say?”
“Young,” Nan answered without hesitation. “Mr. Young.”
Cassie sat back in her chair. Mr. Young. And maybe an upper-class gentleman. Or even a peer.
“There have to be scores of Youngs in London,” Caroline said.
“Where is Lila?” the sister asked again.
When Cassie informed her of what had occurred, and that her name was in truth Isabel, her lips went slack.
“This is all my doing,” she said. “I shouldn’t’ve said a word to that woman. I knew she was shifty!”
“It isn’t your doing at all,” Cassie assured her. “From what Isabel said, this Mr. Young is a dangerous man. Can you describe him at all?”
Sister Nan closed her eyes and thought deeply. “Cut a fine figure. Top hat. Black greatcoat. A moustache. Brown hair, maybe. He looked like a toff.”
