Chapter 7

7

1885

Lillian carried the tray upstairs, hoping she could convince her sister to take some nourishment. Ever since Serena had learned Alice was missing from the Foundling Hospital, she'd eaten very little. She walked into her sister's room and found Serena lying on the bed, staring toward the window with glassy, red-rimmed eyes.

"I've brought you some chicken soup. It smells delicious."

Serena glanced at the tray, then turned her face away. "I'm not hungry."

Lillian suppressed a sigh. How could her sister recover if she refused to eat? Serena had always been a passionate person who felt things deeply. That often made it difficult for her to control her emotions and think logically. Lillian, on the other hand, had learned to keep a tight hold on her emotions, especially in the last few years.

She set the tray on the bedside table and straightened her sister's blanket. "Let me help you sit up. I'm sure this soup will help you gain some strength."

"What's the use?" Serena's voice wobbled. "My daughter is lost to me, and I'm never going to see her again."

Lillian pulled in a deep breath, determined to be patient. "I know what's happened is painful and upsetting, but we must not give up hope."

Serena tugged the blanket up to her chin. "That's easy for you to say. You've not seen all your hopes and dreams crumble before your very eyes!"

Emotion rushed in, flooding Lillian and breaking through her usual reserve. "That is not true, Serena. I lost my husband, whom I dearly loved. And since John died at sea, there isn't even a grave I can visit. And I was only able to hold my daughter for a few hours before death carried her away. So I have seen my hopes and dreams crumble, but even with all that heartache, I refuse to give in to despair."

Tears filled Serena's eyes. "Oh, Lillian, I'm sorry. I never should've said that. What a dreadful sister I am." Her tears overflowed and rolled down her cheeks.

Sympathy softened Lillian's heart. "You're not dreadful. You're weak from your illness and concerned for your daughter. I only mentioned my losses to let you know I understand how difficult this is for you." She nodded toward the tray. "Now, will you please sit up and try the soup?"

Serena's face crumpled. "How can I eat when my darling daughter may be suffering at the hands of evil people?"

Lillian pulled up a chair and took a seat. "Give me your hand."

Serena slowly slid her hand out from under the blanket.

Lillian took hold and gave Serena's fingers a gentle squeeze. "We both have suffered terrible losses. Some we may have brought on ourselves; others happened because we live in a broken world where sin takes a great toll. We can't change what happened to us in the past, but we can learn from it."

Serena sniffed, and her chin trembled. "If only Robert hadn't left us, none of this would've happened. He is the one to blame, not me."

"What he did was wrong, but that is between him and the Lord. You can take responsibility for your part, confess it in prayer, and ask for forgiveness. That's the path toward release from your despair."

Serena lifted her hand and covered her eyes. "How can I ever be forgiven? It's too late."

"As long as you're alive, it is never too late. Remember the thief on the cross next to Jesus? He called out for help on his dying day. Jesus heard him and promised he would be with Him in Paradise."

Serena sniffed and lowered her hand. "I know it's wrong to wallow in regret. But I feel so helpless."

"Your feelings are important, but truth is a much better guide. The Lord offers forgiveness, full and free. But you must ask for it and choose to accept it."

Serena released a shuddering breath. "I do want to be forgiven, but that won't bring my daughter back. What am I to do with this pain in my heart and all my fears? What if we never find her?"

Those questions pierced Lillian's soul. She knew grief tended to magnify emotions. It had taken her many months to release her distressing unanswered questions and rise above the dark clouds after the deaths of her husband and daughter. Some of those painful memories still lingered. Learning to look to the Lord for comfort and strength was an ongoing process.

She focused on her sister. "Offer your pain and fear to the Lord as a sacrifice. Let Him heal your heart. It won't happen all at once, but as you continue turning to Him, He will give you what you need to go on."

Serena bit her lip for several seconds, then slowly seemed to relax. She looked up at Lillian, and her expression softened. "Will you help me sit up?"

"Of course." Lillian tucked the extra pillows behind Serena, and her sister settled back against them. She set the tray on Serena's lap.

Serena slowly lifted a spoonful of soup to her mouth, then sipped another. "Thank you, Lillian."

Lillian's heart lifted. "You're welcome."

She tidied the room while her sister finished the soup. She checked the clock and was surprised to see it was almost three in the afternoon. Mr. McGivern said he would stop by after his visit to the Foundling Hospital.

She glanced at Serena, recalling her sister's tearful reaction when she'd told her what they'd learned at Mercy House. Not wanting to raise her sister's hopes, she hadn't said anything about Mr. McGivern's determination to visit the Foundling Hospital and question the cleaning woman.

Lillian sent Serena a smile. "All finished?"

"Yes. Please thank the cook."

"I will." Lillian lifted the tray. "The doctor said he would stop by around four. Why don't you rest until he comes? I have some things I need to attend to downstairs."

"All right. I'll ring if I need anything." Serena released a soft sigh and closed her eyes.

Lillian carried the tray across the room with light steps.

"Lillian?"

She stopped in the doorway and looked back. "Yes?"

"Thank you for not giving up on me."

A wave of love washed over Lillian, and she sent Serena a gentle smile. "We are sisters, and sisters never give up on each other."

Matthew looked up and scanned the fa?ade of Lillian Freemont's stately townhouse. Four impressive marble columns spanned the front of the three-story home in the center of Eaton Square. His stomach tightened. Lillian Freemont had to be one of the wealthiest women he'd ever met.

Reverend Howell told him her husband, John Freemont, had owned a large shipping company, and she had inherited his fortune after his death. She certainly looked much too young to be a widow. Her fair face and dark brown hair and eyes gave her a pleasing appearance. Why hadn't she remarried?

He shook his head, tugged down his waistcoat, and adjusted his cravat. She might be wealthy and attractive, but she wasn't royalty. He should not let the differences between them stop him from following through on his promise to her. He might not be her social equal, but through hard work and determination he had become a respected journalist.

He lifted his hand, intending to knock, then stopped. If all that were true, why did his father's drunken curses and scornful remarks run through his mind at times like this? Eighteen years had passed since his father's death, but the man's disdain still hovered in the back of Matthew's mind. He wasn't a weakling or a coward, no matter what his father had said. He clenched his jaw, forced those thoughts away, and pressed the bell.

A tall middle-aged butler answered the door. "May I help you?"

He straightened his shoulders "Good day. I'm Mr. Matthew McGivern. Mrs. Freemont is expecting me."

The butler gave a solemn nod. "Come in, sir. Please wait here."

Matthew took off his hat as his gaze traveled around the entrance hall. Several portraits in gilded frames hung on the pale blue walls. A large vase of fresh flowers sat on the long wooden table to the right. They gave off a light scent that reminded him of a walk in the park. Straight ahead, at the end of the entrance hall, a wide stairway with an intricately carved banister rose to a landing, then turned and continued up to the next floor. A tall arched window above the landing let in a shaft of late-afternoon light. He glanced back at the brightly colored stained glass in the front door window and sidelights. The room and its furnishings spoke of good taste and wealth, but they didn't seem pretentious.

The butler reappeared. "Mrs. Freemont will see you in the sitting room." He motioned to the left.

Matthew thanked him and walked into the high-ceilinged room with two tall windows that looked out on what appeared to be a private garden.

Mrs. Freemont rose from her chair and offered him a gracious smile. "Mr. McGivern, thank you for coming." Her pleasant voice and the look of welcome in her eyes relieved his apprehension.

He nodded to her, then glanced around the room, taking in the grand piano, deep blue velvet sofa and matching chairs, tall bookshelves on each side of the fireplace, and dark blue draperies at the windows. "You have a fine home."

"Thank you. It has been in my husband's family for many years." She looked around. "I appreciate it even more after hearing the stories told by the girls at Mercy House."

He nodded. The memory of those interviews had made it difficult for him to fall asleep the last two nights. "Their stories have been on my mind as well."

She studied him for a moment. "Were you able to go to the Foundling Hospital?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid I couldn't get past the matron."

Her hopeful expression faded. "Please, have a seat. I'd like to hear what happened." She sat on the sofa.

He took a seat in the chair opposite her. "When I arrived, an older man with a rather surly attitude answered the door. I'm not sure what position he holds there. He didn't introduce himself. I thought I might be able to slip away from him and look for the cleaning woman, but he escorted me directly to the matron's office."

Her eyes widened. "What excuse did you give for being there?"

"I told her the truth—that I was writing a series of articles for the Gazette . She seemed pleased that I wanted to interview her, and she answered all my questions. I saw no hint that she wanted to hide any information. She was quite friendly. When we finished the interview, I thanked her and told her I would see myself out, but she insisted on walking me to the front door."

"That's disappointing."

"I decided to look around the outside of the buildings, hoping there might be another entrance I could use, but a groundskeeper spotted me and sent me packing."

She released a soft sigh. "I'm sorry. It seems I sent you on a wild-goose chase."

"I was able to make note of the layout of the buildings and grounds. A high stone wall surrounds the property, and there are only two gates—one in the rear for deliveries, and the front gate that leads through the courtyard to the main entrance."

Lillian nodded. "That's how I entered on my visit." She thought for a moment. "Do you suppose the staff comes and goes through that back gate?"

"That seems likely."

"What if we stationed ourselves outside that gate? I'm sure I'd be able to identify the cleaning woman if I saw her again."

"We don't know her schedule. That could take hours or even days. And what if she lives on the premises and rarely leaves?"

"She is the only lead we have, and I must find my niece." Lillian clasped her hands. "If you don't want to, I'll go on my own and wait to see if I can spot her."

He frowned and shook his head. "It's not safe to go by yourself. If someone is abducting girls, then they might harm anyone who tries to stop them."

"I won't try to confront a kidnapper on my own. I'll simply wait in my carriage until I see the cleaning woman come out the gate."

"And what will you say if you do see her?"

"I'll insist she give me more information."

"I doubt that will work."

Her eyes flashed. "Well, I won't sit at home and do nothing. My niece's life is in danger, and I'm going to follow every lead possible until she's found."

The butler stepped into the room. "Excuse me, ma'am. Dr. Frasier is here to see your sister."

Lillian rose. "Please take him upstairs. Tell him I'll join him soon."

The butler nodded and stepped out.

Concern tightened Matthew's chest as he stood. "Is your sister ill?"

"Yes." Lillian's determined expression faded. "She has pneumonia. It's quite serious."

"I'm sorry. This sister—is she Mary Graham's mother?"

"Yes, and I'm afraid the news her daughter is missing has brought her very low. I don't believe she'll recover until her daughter is returned to her."

He clenched his jaw, debating his reply. Finally, he gave a slow nod. "Very well. I'll go with you to watch the back gate. If we do see the cleaning woman, perhaps I can convince her to tell us who is behind this scheme."

Her expression brightened. "Thank you. I'm so grateful. I need to speak to the doctor and my housekeeper to arrange for my sister's care, then I can call for the carriage and be ready to go."

He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. It was almost four. He should return to the office and finish up his work there, but he didn't want to disappoint her. "I suppose we can go directly from here."

A blush stole across her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't assume you're free to set off with me at a moment's notice."

"I'll consider it time spent gathering information for my assignment. I can do some preliminary writing while we watch and wait."

"Excellent." Her smile spread wider, and a look of appreciation filled her eyes. "I admire a man who knows how to use his time well. That is an important quality."

Pleasant warmth filled his chest. It had been a long time since he'd heard such affirming words. With the death of his mother, he'd lost the last connection to his family. His closest interactions were with Reverend Howell and a small group of men at church. Even with them, he didn't let down his guard. He'd never told them about his painful childhood or the deeper issues that shadowed his thoughts.

Yet, Lillian Freemont had managed to break through his reserve with a few kind words and a gentle smile. Perhaps it was also the way she seemed to trust him and need his help that drew him toward her.

That thought brought him up short. What was he thinking? He might hold a respectable position at the Gazette , but it was very unlikely she would ever consider him anything more than a middle-class journalist, someone who could help her find her niece—certainly not a man worthy of anything more than that. He had better remember all that separated them, or he'd be headed for a painful rejection.