Page 46 of Secrets of the Heart

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” the maid said a little blankly.

Rachel was counting on the woman’s not contradicting a lady of quality. She went on quickly. “Poor Doreen. I was so sad to hear about her death.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. Such a dear, dear lady.” Martha’s eyes filled with tears, which made Rachel feel somewhat ashamed of herself.

However, she reminded herself that she was trying to discover if the woman had been murdered, surely a project worthy of a bit of lying. “I can see you were very close to your mistress.”

“Oh, yes, I was. She was so good to me. Give me all her cast-off clothes, she did. Some of them were much too fine for me, but I cut them up and used the material for curtains and pillows and such.” She heaved a sigh.

“I hope she did not suffer much.”

Again the maid’s eyes filled with ready tears. “She was powerful sick, ma’am. Her stomach, you know. I felt so sorry for her. But there weren’t nothing I could do for her. She couldn’t hardly keep nothing down, poor thing, and it got to where I had to feed her her soup and all.” She shook her head.

“It must have been devastating for Mr. Birkshaw.”

“Oh, aye. Now, there is a gentleman. And handsome!” The starry look that came into Martha’s eyes bespoke volumes about how she had viewed her mistress’s husband. “The missus, she loved him something terrible. She thought the sun rose and set on that man. And he was good to her. As soon as they sent word to him that she was sickly, he came home right away. And he sat by her bed every day, he did. I remember, even there at the end, her sayin’ to me, ‘Martha, he’s the best husband in the world. He means everything to me.’ It made her real happy, even feelin’ so sick like she was, that he visited her.”

Rachel felt tears sting her own eyes at the maid’s simple words. They had brought home to her the reality of Doreen Birkshaw’s death, the pain and sorrow of those who loved her. Her life had ended far sooner than it should have, and if, as Anthony suspected, it had been murder, then whoever had done it had acted in a manner so wicked that Rachel could hardly conceive of it. She could not help but feel a further pang at hearing how deeply the woman had loved Anthony, knowing that he had not loved her in return.

“I am so sorry,” Rachel told the maid sincerely. “It doesn’t seem fair that her life should end so quickly.”

“I know—when there are so many others in the world that don’t hardly deserve to live.” A quick glance from her toward the store gave a clear indication in which group she was inclined to place her present employer. “Oh, there’s my lady now.”

“Well, I won’t keep you, Martha. It was so nice to see you. Mrs. Birkshaw was truly lucky to have had you.”

Martha smiled and bobbed a quick curtsey to her. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you.”

Rachel could see the door to the shop opening to her side, and she nodded to the maid one last time and walked away. It would not do to meet Lady Esterbrook and have her call her by her true name right in front of Martha. She should have thought of that before, she told herself; she had thought the situation only partway through, knowing that it was unlikely that Mrs. Birkshaw in York would have been friends with a titled London woman. If she was going to continue to investigate, she was going to have to learn to be more thorough.

She started walking back to her house, crossing over to the next street to avoid running into Lady Esterbrook and Martha. As she walked, she mulled over what Doreen Birkshaw’s maid had told her. Before she reached her house, she stopped, then turned and hailed a hansom cab. She called out Lilith’s Neeley’s address to the driver and climbed in.

When Rachel arrived at Lilith’s house, a maid showed her into the drawing room, where Lilith was sitting with a well-dressed gentleman. She sprang to her feet when the girl announced Rachel.

“Oh! My! Lady Westhampton…I, uh…” She cast a glance back at the gentleman, who had also risen to his feet. He was a dark man who looked faintly familiar to Rachel. “Lady Westhampton, I’m not sure if you know Sir Robert Blount.” “I don’t believe we have actually met,” Rachel replied with a smile that hid her racing thoughts.

She had heard Sir Robert Blount’s name a time or two, she thought, and she was rather sure that she must have seen him sometimes at parties, though he was not someone who moved in exactly the same circle she did. However, he was obviously someone of the aristocracy, and his presence here in Lilith’s house, as well as his casual state of dress, his coat off and folded over the back of the couch, sent her leaping to the obvious conclusion that he was Lilith’s lover.

Rachel hardly knew what to say. She had never been in such a situation before. Her mother or Araminta would doubtless have lifted her nose, turned and walked out. However, Rachel found it difficult to snub anyone—other than Leona Vesey, of course—and, besides, she rather liked Lilith. So she walked across the room, extending her hand to the man.

“How do you do, Sir Robert?”

“Very well. And you, my lady?” There was, Rachel thought, a definite twinkle in the man’s dark eyes.

“Quite well, thank you.” Rachel turned to extend her hand to Lilith. “Good day, Mrs. Neeley.”

Lilith murmured something, her cheeks turning pink, and gestured vaguely toward a chair. “Won’t you sit down, my lady?”

“I am sure you ladies must want to talk alone,” Sir Robert went on smoothly. “So I will be on my way. Lilith?”

She shot him a grateful look and a parting nod, and he picked up his jacket, draping it over his arm, and walked out the door.

“I—uh, forgive me, Lady Westhampton,” Lilith began apologetically.

“There is no need to apologize,” Rachel told her firmly. “I should apologize for coming here unannounced and chasing off your other guest.”

Lilith smiled. “You are very kind, my lady.”

“It seems to me,” Rachel went on, “that as you are my husband’s sister, we could dispense with ‘Lady Westhampton.’ I wish you would call me Rachel.”