Chapter Fifty-Three
THE ABBESS LIED TOthem. Even when she was handed her own letter, she denied writing it, denied ever meeting Eloise Wolfe, even though she admitted Lady Wolfe was such a generous benefactor that her donation allowed their foundling house to expand into an actual orphanage. But the abbess was stern, abrupt, and so obviously not telling the truth, at least not about the letter. She even tore it up into small pieces and tossed it aside! Now Brooke didn’t even have that to show Dominic.
It was the last thing Brooke expected to happen when they got there. All she’d wanted was confirmation or at least a letter that Ella had written, but she got neither and had lost what little evidence she’d had. Seeing how disappointed she was, Harriet got furious and lambasted the devout woman before dragging Brooke out of there. But a young nun ran after them as they were getting into their coach.
“There was a lady who came here in the fall that year with her maid.”
“You were listening to our conversation with your abbess?” Harriet asked.
“I was in the next room. I—I—”
“Don’t blush,” Brooke said quickly with a smile. “Eavesdropping is a habit of mine, too.”
“What can you tell us about that girl?” Harriet asked. “D’you know if she was Eloise Wolfe?”
“I never saw her. No one did other than the abbess. She stayed with us many months. Crying was heard from her room occasionally, but none of us attended her, only her maid did. She was in complete seclusion to protect her identity, at least until the birthing, when the midwife was summoned. The couple who were to take the child were sent for, but that was before the yelling, or the abbess would probably have waited.”
“What yelling?”
“We were all called to chapel to pray for mother and child when the midwife was heard to yell there were complications—too much blood loss. I’m sorry, but the mother rarely survives when that happens.”
“You can’t tell us for certain?”
“Only that there was a freshly dug grave in the graveyard the next day, and not just a small one. One or both of them had died.”
“Surely your abbess at least told you and your sisters the outcome after you prayed for a good one?” Harriet asked. “This might be my grandchild we’re talking about.”
Brooke started to remind Harriet that was impossible, but the nun answered first. “You don’t understand. Only ‘ladies’ demand complete anonymity when they come to us, and that includes into death, which is why the grave has no marker and why the abbess will never speak of it or reveal their identity. She’s bound to silence.”
“But you aren’t?”
“I am, but I have too much compassion, or so I’m told. You obviously knew the girl and grieve for not knowing what happened to her. I’m so sorry I can’t tell you what you hoped for. The common women who come here to give up their babies, they aren’t secluded and we aren’t kept from them. Too often they die in childbirth, too. And I’ve said too much. I’ll get in trouble if I’m seen talking to you. I must go.”
Brook nodded and thanked the nun. She’d expected so much more from this trip. But as she got into the coach, Harriet said behind her, “We’re going to Sevenoaks. Ella might have died with those complications, but the childmighthave survived. I have to be sure.”
The young nun hadn’t even been talking about Ella. Ella had died two years ago. If an orphaned baby was being raised in Sevenoaks, it belonged to some other lady who’d had a similar indiscretion. Harriet was pulling wishes out of a hat, hoping Ella had somehow faked her death even when they’d found her body. But Brooke was too despondent to remind her mother of that.
But Alfreda, who’d been waiting for them in the coach, wanted to know, “And how will we find this baby in a haystack?”
“I’ll speak to the mayor and every priest in Sevenoaks. Someone will know if a couple came home with a baby last year in, when might it have been? April or May? Or if they came home disappointed instead. If they were waiting to adopt one, it would be exciting news for them that they would share with their friends and neighbors. Now let me take a nap, I’m exhausted. I was so excited last night, letting myself hope for the best today, that I got no sleep a’tall.”
Brooke was utterly dejected, berating herself for wanting to go to that orphanage in the first place. She should have taken that letter straight to Dominic instead of handing it to a nun to watch it be destroyed. It wasn’t conclusive proof of an accidental death but it had been something. And he’d never believe Brooke if she still tried to tell him about it. She wasn’t tired herself, but she leaned against Alfreda for comfort.
“Are you really going to let us go all the way to Sevenoaks for nothing?” Alfreda whispered to her a while later when Harriet was softly snoring.
“You could have told her,” Brooke whispered back.
“It wasn’t my place, but if that baby survived, you need to mention that it can’t possibly be any relation to her.”
“I will if it comes to that, but we probably won’t find any baby there, so she’ll conclude on her own that it died with whoever its mother was, which is undoubtedly what happened. But I’m in no hurry to get back to London today; in fact, I’d as soon return to Leicestershire.”
“Now don’t say that. You won’t be finding any husband there.”
“Who says I want one now? Maybe come the winter Season I’ll feel differently, but now—pretending to enjoy these social events has been extremely difficult when all I can do is think about him. This was a crushing disappointment today, Freda. It was my only chance to end his rage over what he thinks happened to his sister, my only chance to win him back.”
“Back?”
“I was very hopeful that our marriage would be a turning point for us, but I didn’t get to find out.”
