She trailed off as her wretchedness finally broke through her serenity.
I took a sip of the too-bitter tea, giving her a moment to compose herself. “The name of the family?” I asked quietly.
Lady flashed me gratitude for going directly to practical matters instead of oozing unwelcome pity. “Redding. They had a shop in the Tottenham Court Road and a warehouse at the London Docks. Now the shop has other tenants, and the warehouse is deserted.”
“You’ve learned much about the family,” I said. “It was my understanding that when a woman gives up her child, she knows nothing more about them.”
“That is often true.” Lady resumed sipping tea, as though we discussed nothing more emotional than a library book, but her gloved fingers shook. “However, some mothers who leave their sons or daughters with the Foundling Hospital have every intention of returning for them. She’ll put a memento in with the baby, such as a comb or a locket—something special to her. The theory is that this will help her recognize her child when she comes back to fetch her, or him. Unfortunately, many mothers can never return. They barely have the funds to keep themselves, let alone a child, or they realize their children are much safer under that roof. The Foundling Hospital is a grim place, but the children are fed, clothed, and taught rather than being left to starve on the streets.”
Yet, she’d striven to make certain her child did not end up there. From what I understood, the orphans were trained to go into service, becoming maids and boot boys for large houses in London. I’d had occasion to pass the hospital whose gates faced Upper Guildford Street near Russell Square and agreed that the edifice was grim.
“You kept a closer eye on her than most would,” I said.
Lady gave me a calm nod. “I also help those who regret their choice and wish their children returned. I have learned how to go about it, but now I am defeated.” She stilled for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the spray of red roses dancing across the porcelain teapot. “It was a wrench to let her go, Captain. I knew it was for the best—at least, I convinced myself this was so. I am unable to explain what having to make the decision was like.”
“My daughter was two years old when her mother deserted me and disappeared, taking Gabriella with her,” I said, my tone as unemotional as she’d tried to make hers. I swallowed the profound pain of that day and continued. “I did not see Gabriella again until she was nearly eighteen. In all the time in between, I had no idea whether she was dead or alive.”
“Oh, dear, I am sorry.” Lady set down her cup, her unhappiness instantly turning into sympathy for me. “You told me once of your daughter, but I did not know her entire history. Then you can understand. Others might say it is different for men, but in my opinion, that rather depends on the man.”
The bleakness from my past kicked at me. “I was devastated. But then I found her again.” With effort, I shook off the memories of my fears and forlorn hopes. Denis had, in fact, discovered Gabriella’s whereabouts for me and had brought her to London. Hence my determination to solve his current problem, as much as he infuriated me. “We will do the same for your daughter.”
Lady flashed me a sudden smile. “Your optimism is why I sought you out, Captain Lacey. I remembered your determination and kindness when we met. I’ve followed your adventures with much interest in the newspapers. The journalists give Mr. Grenville a great deal of credit for bringing criminals to justice, but I know it is mostly your doing.”
“Grenville’s name sells more newspapers,” I said without rancor. “I solve a problem because it interests me, or it aids someone who needs assistance. The newspapermen can print whatever they want.”
“Exactly.” Lady looked me fully in the eyes. “So, you will help me?”
“Of course.” I’d decided that the instant I’d read her letter, before even knowing what the trouble was. I swallowed another sip of tea, then decided it best to set the cup aside. “What about the minister who first took your daughter? Vicky. Did you name her that?”
Another smile. “I did. Victoria, the goddess of victory. I hoped this would keep her safe in the world. The minister, to his credit, retained the name, though she was given Redding as a surname when she was adopted. The minister himself has retired from the rough streets of London to a peaceful country village in Essex.”
He likely wouldn’t be keeping a close eye on a child he’d adopted out years ago.
“I will start by hunting down the Redding family and see what I can learn,” I stated.
“I have no intention of interfering with their raising of her,” Lady said quickly. “I only want to know that she is well.”
“I understand.” I spoke the words reassuringly, but if I discovered that Vicky Redding was in any way unhappy, I’d take her out of the situation. Perhaps I could find some way for her and her mother to live together in comfort.
As Lady bathed me in her gratitude, I saw anew what a beautiful woman she was. Hardship, abandonment, and poverty had not destroyed her. I admired her resilience.
“I must confess something,” I said, flushing. “When I first encountered you, I wanted more than anything to remove you from your situation. At the time, I had not been free to marry, but if I had been, I would have proposed it.”
Lady laughed, a silvery sound. “You are gallant indeed, Captain Lacey. I think you would have offered, out of kindness and pity.” She took a sip of tea, her cheerfulness restored. “But you love your wife, my dear friend. I see it in every line of you.”
I warmed. “I do.”
“Very unfashionable, but it makes me like you more. Lady Donata Pembroke is a fine woman. She has a sharp tongue and sharper opinions, but a good heart.”
“You know much about her,” I said in surprise.
“I observe from the shadows.” Lady sent me a glance that held a hint of mysteriousness. “I wager she is far happier with you than she was with her former husband. He was a wretch.”
“That is true. I knocked him to the ground once.”
Lady’s laughter rang out again. “How delightful. I would have turned you down, however, if you had offered your hand. I am very proud, you see.”
“And we would have starved together,” I said. “I had a half-pay packet, a moldy house in Norfolk, and nothing else to my name.”
