“You did nothing wrong,” he said, his voice tight. “By God, Amy, you did nothing wrong.”
“I only ran when something terrible happened. When I saw something terrible.”
“What could be more—”
“When my belly grew large, I had to confess to him I was carrying,” she said, as the words came fast, in rapid succession. “I expected him to be enraged. Why wouldn’t the workhouse master be mad about this reflecting poorly on his management and our morals?”
She hiccoughed. “But he laughed! He laughed! Then he took me to an outbuilding, which I had assumed was abandoned. It had no windows. He unlocked the door, lit a lamp, and let me look inside. He’d been drinking, and I think he was careless. What I saw…”
Amy sat there, not drawing a breath as she recalled the interior of that building. The hole where a floor should have been. The…
She gagged. Erasmus was ready with a handkerchief, and she held that square of fabric that smelled like him over her mouth until she could press the memory down deeper so she might finish the story.
“He laughed and said that he had a way of taking care of my minor problem. He’d done it before, many times over. I ran that same night.”
Erasmus’s body grew rigid as if he were preparing for battle.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked in a small voice.
“No.”
Her heart stuttered. She was terrified of what he could say, how he could react, but she needed to know. Couldn’t live another day wondering if the truth would extinguish the little family they were becoming.
“And do you think you can still care for Phin?” she asked. “Knowing who his father is and how he came about?”
Erasmus’s shoulders bowed under the weight of her words, and his head dropped forward. He was quiet.
“Phineas came about when his brave mother delivered him in my barn. I am his father,” he said at last. His voice was harsh.
“But—”
He wrapped a hand about her jaw and ear, pressing his fingers into her hair and forcing her to look at him. He seemed stricken, on the verge of tears, and his lips trembled as he tried to speak.
“I am his father. I am your husband.”
Erasmus lowered his lips to the apple of her cheek, as if to pour his words closer to her unquiet mind so she might understand their truth.
“Nothing about what came before you entered my barn will have any bearing on how I feel about Phineas. Or you, my wife,” he continued. “The only thing this changes is the trajectory of this workhouse master’s life.” He chuckled darkly then. “Well, his ability to have one.”
Amy gasped. “You don’t mean to—”
“Oh, I won’t kill him with my own hand. Such a death would be too silent, far more than he deserves. I will publicize the infamy of his crimes. Andthat place— the whole of it — will be closed for good.”
“But where will the people go?” she cried. “There are children! Women with nothing! Old Sam, he can barely—”
Erasmus quieted her with a kiss. It was a peck, a little nothing, but her first all the same. She felt her hand come to her lips to study the effect, and he explained.
“I know a man. A powerful man in government. He’s been imagining something better than the parish workhouse scheme, and he may start his work here. In Oxfordshire.”
Her face must have expressed doubt at his words.
“I worked for him while abroad. We exchange letters a few times per year. He’ll end up prime minister one of these days. He’ll help me set this to rights.”
Set it to rights, mused Amy. How would it feel to straighten and correct things, akin to stacking blocks?
“And should the law not handle the case appropriately, I’ll settle it myself,” he said.
Amy gasped and was about to admonish him when there was a knock at the door of the study. She stood, not wanting to embarrass her husband or the servants with evidence of their embrace, but he tightened his hold on her.
