Page 34 of A Moveable Feast
I wasn’t certain how it could be, but at Mrs. Seabrook’s words, Lady Margaret quieted. Mrs. Seabrook held her for a moment, stroking her back in its ill-fitting frock, then eased Lady Margaret out of the room, a supporting arm around her.
Lord Babcock’s face was like stone. Losing both of his children in the space of a day must be a terrible blow. I had a daughter of my own, one I’d see this afternoon. If anything happened to Grace, it would break me.
“Go,” Lord Babcock said to me before I could form any words of compassion. “Leave my house, where you have caused so much trouble. Cynthia, take her, and do not return yourself. That goes for your tedious aunt and uncle as well.”
“Of course,” Lady Cynthia answered. She was polite enough not to remind Lord Babcock she’d just offered to use her connections to lessen Lady Margaret’s sentence. “Good afternoon, Lady Babcock, Miss Jordan.” Cynthia nodded at them then ushered me to the door.
I sent a glance at Miss Jordan, who returned my look with a nod. The police probably would find the murder weapon in Lady Babcock’s chamber, because Margaret, who’d been ensconced in that room most of yesterday afternoon, had the opportunity to hide it there. Miss Jordan, I surmised, would make certain the police knew Lady Babcock had nothing to do with that.
As Cynthia and I slid out, Lady Babcock rose and went to her husband. He remained stiff when she touched his arm and spoke quietly into his ear.
All at once, Lord Babcock transformed from the cold aristocrat to a father who’d never thought he’d have to face the things he had today. His mask dropped, and he turned to embrace his wife, his shoulders drooping.
I closed the door, and Cynthia and I moved quietly away.
When we left the house, Inspector McGregor, who had been waiting outside, gave Lady Cynthia a nod and me a more grudging one before he and Sergeant Scott approached the front door. Cynthia and I left them to it.
“Well, that was beastly,” Cynthia declared as we trudged from Portman Square toward Oxford Street. A sudden wind struck us, as though trying to scour from us the sadness of the house we’d just departed.
“Yes,” I agreed. “But if we had said nothing, Lady Margaret might not have stopped with Lord Alfred and Mrs. Morgan.” I tried to feel high-minded about revealing her guilt, but I could not. I could only picture Lord Babcock collapsing in grief into his wife’s arms.
Cynthia deflated. “I know. Ah, well, I’ll be off to speak to Judith. Greet your little girl for me.”
My heart lightened when I thought of Grace. She’d be waiting.
Cynthia and I parted, she heading to Upper Brook Street to visit Miss Townsend while I made my way toward the City and the house where my daughter dwelled.
As I strode along, the melancholy the house in Portman Square had settled on me began to ease, though it would leave its mark.
If Mrs. Bywater hadn’t been the interfering busybody she was, I’d have only heard of the death of Lord Alfred in passing. I’d feel sorry for the family then return to my tasks, the event soon forgotten.
Then again, if Mrs. Bywater hadn’t volunteered my services, Mrs. Morgan might be dead of too large a dose of morphine, and Lady Babcock might have been arrested for both murders. I’d done some good, I reminded myself. Also, for the first time in her life, Lady Margaret would have to answer for her misdeeds.
It would be a long time, however, before I forgot the cruel desperation in Lady Margaret’s eyes and the acknowledgment on Lord Babcock’s face that his choices in life had led, if indirectly, to the loss of both his children.
I drew a long breath as I walked, letting the spring breeze refresh me. It was a lesson, I decided, to balance love with responsibility, and to see that my daughter never had cause to despise or fear me. I would be as good to her as I possibly could, for now and for always.
My feet hurt by the time I reached Cheapside, as I’d been too distracted to seek an omnibus or a hansom. The ache receded as I turned to Clover Lane, where Grace lived with my dearest friends.
I felt a warmth at my side and started as Daniel fell into step with me and slid a firm hand through the crook of my arm.
I hadn’t seen Daniel since he’d looked in on me early this morning to tell me he’d related all I’d told him to Inspector McGregor. The inspector had been most annoyed, of course, but he’d realized he had to release Cousin Desmond and had sourly sent the order.
I hadn’t noticed Third Cousin Desmond rushing to Mount Street to assure Lady Margaret he was well. I wondered if he’d fled back to his home, wherever it was, to recover, and whether he’d already concluded what Lady Margaret had done.
“Your troubles are not allowed here,” Daniel told me, scattering my thoughts. “The rest of the afternoon is for joy.”
“Not joy,” I quipped. “Grace.”
Daniel’s laughter rumbled, and with his strength beside me, I believed I could tackle anything.
My spirits lifted still more when Grace opened the door of the little house on Clover Lane and rushed out to me.
I caught my daughter in my arms, felt her kiss on my cheek, and absorbed her excited greeting. Daniel waited for us to finish our embrace, his eyes warm.
I was a woman blessed, I decided. I would savor this happiness for as long as I possibly could.
“That was a nice, squishy hug,” Grace proclaimed when I at last released her. “Let us go inside, and you can give Aunt Joanna a squishy hug too.”
Daniel’s laughter boomed, lighting the overcast day. I clasped Grace by one hand, Daniel with the other, and together we rushed into the house, laughter and sweetness floating on the April wind.
