Then she pointed to herself and spread her hands twice for twenty, then held up two fingers. “Twenty-two.” A second later she realized it should be twenty-three today, but that would only confuse.
She pointed at Sheena. “You? How old? How many years?”
Sheena frowned for a moment, but then she spread one plump hand three times, then held up one finger.
Sixteen. As young as Genova feared. What was she to do?
Mrs. Harbinger walked in. “Miss Smith,” she said, with a small curtsy.
Genova gave the lady a similarly small curtsy, hoping it established equality. “Thank you for taking such good care of Sheena and the baby.”
“That is my job, Miss Smith.”
“These are lovely cradles,” Genova said, to continue the conversation.
“That they are. The blue is over a hundred years old, but the cream was made to match when the late marchioness gave birth to twins. The marquess’s youngest brother and sister,” she explained. “Lord Cynric and Lady Elfled. And for all that they called her Elf, she was as much of a hellion as he. We’ll use her cradle for her baby.”
“This nursery must have been very busy in those days.”
“That it was. And a blessing after what came before.”
Remembering, Genova was hard-pressed not to shiver. This might be the very room in which the murder had taken place.
As if forced into action, Mrs. Harbinger bustled over to Sheena and patted her shoulder. “He looks very well, dear.”
Genova looked around the plain room, but if ghosts lingered, they didn’t speak to her. As Ashart had said two days ago, however, the problems between his family and the Mallorens had started with the murder of a baby, here.
She had no effective way to intervene between two marquesses in present times, but did a key lie in the past? It would be arrogant to imagine that she could uncover a different story, but if she understood better, she might find something she could use.
She decided to pretend total ignorance. “What came before? What can you mean, Mrs. Harbinger?”
The woman looked at her, appearing the picture ofreluctance, but as Genova had guessed, at heart she was a gossip. “We had a tragedy here in the past, Miss Smith,” she said in low-voiced solemnity. “I tell no secrets, since the whole world knows of it.”
“I’m afraid I don’t, Mrs. Harbinger. I’ve spent most of my life abroad.”
“So I heard.” That clearly wasn’t a point in Genova’s favor, but even so, the woman went on.
“I was only the undermaid here. Thirteen, I was, and hired because her ladyship was expecting her second child. Everything went well and there was such rejoicing, even though it was a girl this time. I myself saw the marquess come into this room to smile at little Edith with all the love in the world, and little Lord Grafton adored her.”
The man who was now Marquess of Rothgar.
“What happened?” Genova prompted.
The woman pulled a face. “Her ladyship wouldn’t feed her, you see. She’d fed Lord Grafton for a while, but not Lady Edith. She didn’t even want the baby with her. We had a good wet nurse, but she was a timid woman. When she was told to go, she went.”
“Lady Rothgar told her to go?”
“Her wits turned. That’s all anyone can say.”
Genova tried a blunt question. “What happened?”
Mrs. Harbinger put a hand over her mouth, then spoke. “She murdered the little innocent to stop her crying.”
Genova didn’t have to pretend horror. “To stop hercrying?”
The woman nodded. “So she said. So she said.”
“You witnessed it?”
