With the villain now resting in an unmarked pauper’s grave, Erasmus could return home to the Abbey. But first he needed to thank the man he had consulted from afar.
Behind the fine desk, Hugh Carnifex, Earl Carnifex, stood to see his friend off.
“I’m pleased to hear that justice has been served. That man troubled my wife and daughter, too, you know,” said Carnifex.
Erasmus’s breath exited his lungs.
“Not like that,” said Hugh, holding out a hand to reassure his old comrade. “It was a nasty bit of business, all the same.”
“My wife expressed fear for the inhabitants of the workhouse. You’re certain there will be food and shelter for them, even outside the workhouses?” asked Erasmus.
Hugh Carnifex’s silver temples seemed to glow in the electrical light of his office, showing how fine he’d look on a coin or paper bill. His eyes took on a hazy focus; the future spread before him, his hand moving every piece on the board.
“It has long been my personal project to close these damned workhouses and give the poor a different kind of help. I won’t lie, my wife has encouraged my thinking along those lines and reminds me not to trade one hell for another. But we must start now. I’ve a plan: a few men I trust will take in some inhabitants, as you have.”
“You’re marrying off the women of the workhouse?” asked Erasmus, shocked at the scheme. It sounded like something monarchs would have proposed centuries ago in the colonies, not Britain in the age of steam-powered railroads!
Carnifex waved his concerns aside. “I’m no pimp or matchmaker,” he reassured. “These are men I know and respect, who have burdens of their own. The women will perform necessary paid labor. A mutual aid. Any deviations from the strictest propriety will not be tolerated.”
Erasmus found he believed the earl and nodded in agreement.
“Will you stay for the Michaelmas feast? We’re subdued these days because my wife has only just been safely delivered of another daughter, but we’d be happy for company,” said Carnifex.
“Congratulations to the proud parents,” said Erasmus, shaking the man’s hand. Fatherhood suited him well; he had a look of ease and satisfaction that had previously eluded him. “But I must return at last to the Abbey. I’ve been away pursuing justice for so long. My children will hardly recognize me.”
“You’ve prepared gifts?” asked Carnifex, shuffling some papers on his desk.
“Positively loaded down with them,” replied Erasmus.
“Then you’d best be off. The trains wait for no man!”
***
When Erasmus came up the drive to the Abbey in the carriage he’d hired rather than coordinating to have his own sent at short notice, he was relieved to see signs that the home farm had carried on in his absence. Wheat was cut and stacked; there was evidence that the barley harvest was underway; the cattle had been moved closer to the farmyard as the grasses further afield withered.
He found he was nervous. To have been gone so long, so early in his marriage and the life of the baby, was unfortunate. Unfortunate and necessary.
As the carriage wheels slowed to a stop, Erasmus recalled the sound of the trapdoor opening below that terrible man’s feet, leading to his drop to death. And just as efficiently, Erasmusclosed the vault on those memories, determined to let the past lie with the dead.
It was when he stepped down and took possession of his bag and packages that he heard something strange.
“Papa!”
To his astonishment, his reserved Thea barreled down the drive, her shoe buckles undone in her haste to see him.
“Is everything well, sweetheart?” he asked, concerned that something had gone wrong during his absence.
He scooped her up and studied her face. She had a more elaborate braid in her hair, and the lace on her dress seemed new.
“You’re home in time!” she cried excitedly, wiggling in his arms. “I hoped you would be! Amy tried to tell me you were busy, but I said you’d make it. Mrs. Laidlaw made Michaelmas bannock. You couldn’t miss it, could you?”
Erasmus looked at his bubbling child, so clearly thriving under the influence of his young wife. He bore up manfully, but his heart somehow ached with a strange sense of future nostalgia, knowing that he’d always remember this greeting in the drive and the wonderful discovery that his daughter flourished even without him and their Greek and Latin lessons.
“There she is,” said Thea, nodding to the entry of the Abbey.
Amy had just exited the front doors, Phineas on her hip. The baby looked delightfully pudgy, and even his mama had a becoming bloom and fullness about her cheeks. His heart did something creative in his chest, and he found himself unable to lift an arm in greeting. He’d need to see a physician about that.
“You’re just in time for supper,” she called from the door, a shy smile breaking over her face as he approached. “You should have let me know you were coming. I’d have sent the carriage and asked Mrs. Laidlaw to make enough. You can share my plate.”
