“She said the child’s mother, My Lady, yes.” Richmond looked mildly uncertain. “Is something the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter at all, Richmond. You have both been most helpful. You may go.”
For a moment, both the butler and the maid lingered before dipping out into the hallway and disappearing.
When they were gone, Helena closed the door.
“Something is decidedly not right,” she said. “It sounds very much as though Mrs. Holt has been telling rather tall tales.”
“But to what end?” Clara asked. “And how would she even have known that we were in need of a wet nurse? If neither of us sent for her, how on earth did she know to come here?”
Julian sat down, looking steadier than Clara felt though she could see by the set of his jaw that he was thinking hard. Helena marched across the room and took David from his arms, holding him firmly. At once, the little boy began to cry.
“He does not take well to strangers,” Clara said and lifted him from her.
Julian looked up. “And yet, every time Mrs. Holt holds him or is near him, he does not cry. In fact, he gurgles.”
“As though she is not a stranger to him at all,” Clara finished.
“I think,” Helena said, straightening and folding her hands before her with the air of a woman who had reached a conclusion and intended to state it plainly, “that it is high time we called the young woman in and questioned her, for she clearly knows a great deal more than any of us assumed.” She paused, glancing between them. “I think we are all in agreement? We are all thinking the same thing?”
She looked at them both.
“That Mrs. Holt is somehow connected to Arabella,” Clara said.
“Or,” Julian said quietly, “to the man.”
Clara felt the blood drain from her face. “Good gracious. Do you remember when I said that I did not believe there had ever been a husband?” Julian nodded. “What if the man who is David’s father is also the father of Mrs. Holt’s child?”
“That,” Helena said briskly, “is either a conspiracy we must put swiftly to bed or a truth we must get to the bottom of without delay. Either way—” she glanced towards the window, “—where is Mrs. Holt now?”
“She was walking in the garden,” Julian observed, “a little while ago.”
Clara straightened. “Then it is time she gave us some answers.”
CHAPTER 19
Mrs. Holt sat before them fifteen minutes later. Helena had taken both David and little Molly outside and was playing with them in the grass. Julian had seen them from the window.
“Mrs. Holt,” he began, “there are some questions to which we shall require answers.”
The woman sat before him with her shoulders pulled back and her spine completely straight, as though she were in church and about to make a confession. Whatever that confession might be, he hoped with some fervency that it would not turn the world upside down once more.
Clara sat down across from Mrs. Holt, and instinctively, Julian sat beside her. They were close enough that their legs touched, and he knew that to Mrs. Holt this had to look entirely natural. The curious thing was that it also felt natural. Having Clara beside him gave him a certain steadiness that he required in thismoment although somewhere at the back of his mind, he wasn’t entirely sure whether that was a good thing or not.
Perhaps he was growing too reliant upon her. He looked at her then reminded himself that they were not here to analyze his inner conflicts but to find out what Mrs. Holt knew, if anything.
“Mrs. Holt,” Clara began, “how did you hear about the position available here? That we were in need of a wet nurse?”
The woman looked at her feet for a moment then looked up again. “On dit. You know how the ton likes to talk. I heard that there was a young woman who had trouble feeding her child, and I?—”
“That is not the truth,” Julian said. “Please do not waste our time, or indeed your own, by telling us Canterbury Tales.”
The woman inhaled.
“You must tell us the truth,” Clara said, her voice gentle but firm. “I think we all know that there are things which have been left unsaid and which must be brought to light. Please, Mrs. Holt, share with us what you know.”
“Was it my cousin who sent you here?” Julian asked, and he hated how unsteady his voice sounded as he spoke. “Arabella Ashland?”
