Chapter 9

9

1885

Lillian looked out the side window as the carriage rolled to a stop. Before she and Mr. McGivern had left her home, she'd asked her coachman to take them to the Foundling Hospital and park in the rear of the property, a short distance from the back gate.

She scanned the empty tree-lined lane. "There's not a soul in sight now."

Mr. McGivern shifted to the left. "I can't see the gate from this side. May I sit next to you?"

"Of course." She slid toward the window to give him as much room as possible.

He sat beside her, then moved closer, his arm brushing hers. The fragrance of his shaving soap wafted toward her. She pulled in a deep breath, enjoying the fresh evergreen scent. It had been a long time since she'd been this close to a handsome man.

She silently scolded herself. There was nothing suggestive behind his request to sit beside her. They had parked in this secluded spot to look for the cleaning woman, not for a romantic interlude.

"Your coachman chose a good location." Mr. McGivern focused out the window. "We're far enough away that we won't attract attention, but close enough to see anyone coming or going." His serious tone indicated he wasn't the least bit affected by her nearness.

She pulled in a calming breath and shifted her gaze away from him. How silly to let his nearness ruffle her. Why had her thoughts even taken her in that direction?

He took out his pocket watch. "If some of the staff go home for dinner, they should be leaving soon."

Her stomach contracted at the mention of dinner. Why hadn't she thought to bring something for them to eat while they waited? Maybe bringing a picnic basket would've made this seem like a friendly outing, rather than one with a much more serious purpose. Still, she was sorry she hadn't thought to bring some fruit, cheese, or bread for them to share.

A loud squeak sounded above her shoulder, and the carriage jostled slightly.

Mr. McGivern turned. "Perhaps we should give your coachman leave to find a pub and have his evening meal while we wait."

She swallowed. If her coachman left, she would be alone with Mr. McGivern, and she'd have no way of getting home if the need arose. "I'm not sure that's wise."

He looked her way, his gaze sincere. "You've no cause to worry, Mrs. Freemont. You are safe with me."

Her face flushed. Did he mean he would protect her if needed, or that she shouldn't fear any improper advances from him? Either way, she appreciated his reply and let go of her apprehension. "Very well."

"I'll speak to him. What is the coachman's name?"

"Ben Fields."

He opened the door and climbed down. "Mr. Fields, I expect we'll be here for at least an hour or two. You're free to look for a pub and find some dinner. But do be quick about it."

"Thank you, sir. I won't be long." Her coachman climbed down, and his footsteps faded off down the lane.

Mr. McGivern climbed back inside and resumed his seat.

Silence hung between them for a few seconds. She might as well use the time to learn something more about him. "What made you want to become a journalist?"

He continued studying the view out the window, and she wondered if he would ignore her question.

Finally, he turned toward her, and a mixture of emotions she couldn't quite read flickered across his face. "I started selling newspapers when I was a young boy to help support my widowed mother. Soon after I turned twelve, I began cleaning the offices of the Gazette . One evening, Mr. Stead caught me sitting in the corner of the newsroom reading the latest issue rather than sweeping the floor. I thought he'd sack me for sure. Instead, he became my benefactor as well as my editor."

"You became a journalist at twelve?"

Mr. McGivern's eyes lit up, and he chuckled. The change it brought to his face was quite remarkable, and she smiled in response.

"No, I mean he took an interest in me and made it possible for me to attend school. He said if I did well, he'd help me attend the University of London. I worked hard at the Gazette and my studies, and he covered some of my expenses. When I graduated, he offered me a position, and I've been there ever since."

So, Matthew was a self-made man who had risen through his own efforts rather than inheriting wealth or position. Some might be put off by that knowledge, but she admired him for it. "How long have you worked as a journalist at the Gazette ?"

"It will be ten years in July."

She nodded, estimating that he was in his early thirties, as she had suspected.

"I'm not sure what would've happened to me if Mr. Stead hadn't caught me reading that night and decided to give me those opportunities."

"It sounds as though Providence as well as Mr. Stead has been guiding your life."

He studied her for a moment, keen interest in his eyes. "Yes, I believe that's true. And I've sensed it even more these last few months."

She tipped her head, inviting him to say more.

"My mother had a strong faith. For years, she urged me to read the Bible and attend church with her, but I was always too busy. At least that's what I told her. About a year ago, her health began to fail. The doctors told us there was no cure. Her trust in the Lord and hope of heaven were a great inspiration for me. I took her encouragement to heart and renewed my faith, and that has made all the difference."

Lillian nodded, her appreciation for him growing. "Painful times tend to highlight our need for faith and a strong relationship with the Lord."

"Yes, they do." The light dimmed in his eyes. "My mother passed away last November."

Lillian's heart clenched. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

"I know how difficult it is to lose those you love. Both my parents have passed away."

His gaze met hers. "Reverend Howell told me you also lost your husband."

She stilled, surprised they had discussed her widowhood. "Yes, my husband, John, died eight years ago. We'd been married less than two years when his ship went down in the North Sea."

"You have my sympathies. I've never been married, but I imagine that would be a deeper kind of loss than losing a parent."

"Both are painful. I don't know how people can go through losses like those without faith to sustain them."

Understanding shone in his eyes, and he gave a slow nod. Suddenly, he shifted and focused out the window again. "Two women just passed through the gate."

She turned and scanned the lane, spotting the women.

He lowered his voice. "Do you recognize either of them?"

She leaned toward the window and searched the women's faces as they came closer. One was a young redhead. The other was a tall, thin, middle-aged woman. Lillian's spirit deflated, and she shook her head. "Neither one is the woman who spoke to me, but they might know something."

He nodded, opened the carriage door, and stepped down.

Lillian followed him into the lane. "Excuse me, do you ladies have a moment?"

The women stopped a few feet from the carriage and exchanged apprehensive glances. The middle-aged woman lifted her chin. "What do you want?"

Lillian smiled, hoping to put them at ease. "My name is Lillian Freemont. I'm wondering if you know an older woman who does cleaning at the Foundling Hospital. She's heavyset and looks about sixty or perhaps a bit older."

The redhead narrowed her eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"I spoke to her a few days ago. She gave me some information about my niece, who has been in the care of the Foundling Hospital for almost eight years. But there seems to be some confusion about what has happened to her."

The two women exchanged glances, and the redhead said, "You should speak to the matron."

Lillian shot a glance at Mr. McGivern.

He gave a slight nod and turned to the women. "Ladies, I'm Matthew McGivern, a journalist with the Pall Mall Gazette . I'm looking into the disappearance of several young women. We believe they may have been taken against their will to work in brothels. We want to find them and be sure those who abducted them are arrested."

The redhead's eyes went wide. "We don't know anything about that!" She grabbed the other woman's arm and tugged her away.

"Wait!" Lillian called. But the women scurried down the lane without looking back. She sighed and glanced at Mr. McGivern. "They certainly didn't want to help."

He watched the women with a brooding frown. "No, but I suspect they may know more than they were willing to say." He opened the carriage door and offered her his hand.

They climbed in and waited another thirty minutes, but no one else passed through the back gate.

Lillian leaned toward the window and scanned the lane once more. The sun had dipped lower, and the shadows of the trees darkened her view. "It seems no one else is coming out. Why don't we go in and see if we can find someone who will speak to us?"

He cocked one eyebrow. "That sounds rather daring."

"I think it's worth the risk. I'm not afraid."

He glanced down the lane. "Very well." They climbed out and walked toward the back gate. As they drew closer, he held out his hand and whispered, "Stay behind me."

She nodded and followed him through the open gateway. They stepped off the path and onto the grass to avoid the sound of walking on the gravel. She searched the back courtyard. A broom leaned against the wall near the back door, next to three large metal milk cans and a few gardening tools. Several wooden crates were stacked by the milk cans.

Mr. McGivern approached the sturdy wooden door and tested the handle. The door opened. He nodded to her, and she passed through ahead of him. They entered a hallway with a high arched ceiling. A gas lantern on the wall gave off just enough dim light for them to see their way.

He glanced around, then started down the hall. She tiptoed after him. Halfway down the hall, a door opened on the right, and a young woman stepped out, carrying a tray of dirty dishes. Her eyes rounded. She gasped, and her gaze darted from Lillian to Mr. McGivern. "Who are you?"

Mr. McGivern lifted his hand. "Sorry. We didn't mean to startle you. We're looking for one of the women who works here." He turned to Lillian.

She softened her tone. "She is an older woman in her sixties, heavyset with gray hair. She does the mopping."

Her face lit up. "Oh, you mean Betsy?"

Lillian had no idea if that was the woman's name, but she nodded. "Is she working this evening? We'd like to speak to her."

The young woman's expression saddened, and she shook her head. "Mr. Parker sacked her yesterday for no reason at all. Now I must do all the sweeping and mopping."

Mr. McGivern straightened. "Can you describe Mr. Parker?"

The girl glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. "He's bald with a big red nose, and he never says a kind word to anyone. He'd just as soon give you a black eye as say good morning. He's real mean-spirited. We all try to stay far out of his way." Her eyes went wide, and she covered her mouth. "I shouldn't have said that. You won't tell him, will you?"

Lillian held out her hand. "Don't worry. What you said is safe with us."

"Do you know Betsy's surname?" Mr. McGivern asked.

"No, sir. I'm sorry. I don't."

Lillian's thoughts raced ahead. "Do you know where she lives?"

The young woman shook her head. "She used to live here, but I'm not sure where she went after he sacked her. I don't believe she has any family, except a niece in Glasgow. Maybe she went there."

A door slammed above them, and heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Rachel? Where are you?"

The girl gasped. "That's Mr. Parker!"

Mr. McGivern grabbed Lillian's arm and tugged her into an alcove, behind a partially open door. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight to his side.

Lillian's heart pounded, and she held her breath.

"I'm down here, Mr. Parker," the young woman called, moving away from them.

The man's footsteps came closer, then stopped a few feet away. "What is taking you so long?"

"Sorry. I just need to drop these off in the kitchen. Then I'll go back for the rest."

Mr. Parker huffed and strode past the alcove. "Why is the back gate still open?"

"I don't know, sir."

Keys jingled as his footsteps traveled down the hall, away from them.

Lillian's heart lodged in her throat. She looked up at Mr. McGivern. He returned a calm look, one that seemed to say not to worry, everything was under control. She hoped he was right, but how would they get out if that man locked the gate, cutting off their means of escape?

Matthew slowed his breathing and strained to listen. At least two minutes had passed since Mr. Parker walked by a second time, then climbed the stairs and slammed the door above. He loosened his hold on Mrs. Freemont and whispered, "Let's go."

She sucked in a breath. "Are you sure he's gone?"

"Yes, and there's nothing more we can do here now." He guided her out of their hiding place.

She stepped into the hall and looked both ways. Her anxious expression tugged at his conscience, and a surge of protective instinct rushed through him. "We'll be all right." He placed his hand lightly on her back and guided her down the hall. When they reached the door, he tested the handle and found it locked.

Mrs. Freemont shot him a fearful glance.

"Just a moment." He fiddled with the handle and finally managed to release the lock. They slipped outside, and he quietly shut the door behind them.

"Wait here. Let me check." He stepped out and looked around. The sun had set, and the sky glowed golden orange above the trees beyond the high stone wall surrounding the property. He didn't see a night watchman or anyone else. He turned and signaled her to join him.

She crept forward, and they slipped down the gravel path, but as the gate came into view, they both slowed. A heavy lock and chain had been placed around the center bars of the tall iron gate.

Mrs. Freemont stifled a gasp. "How will we get out?"

He glanced toward the corner of the building. "We could go around front, but I suspect that gate is also locked by this time of night." Lifting his gaze, he studied the stone wall. It stood at least eight feet high and was partially covered with vines and moss. There were a few small footholds, but it wouldn't be an easy climb. "We'll have to go up and over."

She lifted her eyes toward the wall. "How?"

He turned and searched the back courtyard. They needed a ladder, but he didn't see one. An idea clicked, and he pointed toward the building. "Let's use those crates."

She offered a hesitant nod. They returned and collected two crates each, then carried them to the wall.

He placed his larger crate on the ground, then stacked the slightly smaller crate on top. "That should give us enough height so we can pull ourselves up to the top of the wall. You go first."

"Me? Why should I go first?"

He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I can steady you as you climb. Then I want you to sit on top and wait for me to join you. I'll lower myself to the ground on the other side, and I can help you down."

She glanced at the rickety crates. "If I'd known I'd have to scale a wall I might have dressed differently."

He studied her dark green dress with its full skirt, high lace neck, and formfitting top. It wasn't ideal for climbing over a wall, but it certainly showed off her feminine curves nicely. His face heated, and he looked away. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

Even in the fading light he could see her cheeks glowed pink. "Very well, but you must turn your head when I step up on those crates."

He huffed. "Don't worry, I'm more focused on getting away without being caught than catching a glimpse of your ankles."

She shot him a heated glance, then spun around and stepped up on the first crate. It jiggled, and he grabbed hold of her waist to steady her.

She sucked in a breath. "I'm fine!"

He dropped his hands, suppressing a grin. She stepped up to the next crate, swayed, then spread her arms and found her center. He lifted his hands, ready to catch her if she lost her balance.

She rose on her tiptoes and slowly reached up, but her hands were still several inches below the top of the wall. "I'm not high enough."

"I'll boost you up."

"You'll do no such thing!"

"Stop fussing!" He quickly stacked his two crates next to hers and climbed to the top. Cupping his hands, he leaned toward her. "Put your foot here, and I'll lift you up."

She scowled at his hands for a second, then grimaced. "Oh, very well." Lifting her skirt a few inches, she placed her foot in his joined hands. He slowly raised her higher. She grabbed hold of the wall and hauled herself up, all the while her skirt brushed against his shoulders and face, blocking his line of vision.

He felt her foot leave his hand. Leaning back, he looked up and nearly fell off his crate. With a gasp, he grabbed the wall and pulled himself higher. It took quite a scramble, but he finally reached the top and claimed a spot next to her. Panting, he looked her way with a triumphant grin.

She returned a broad smile. "We made it."

"At least we're halfway." He glanced down. It looked farther than eight feet. But surely he could lower himself over the side and drop to the ground without too much trouble.

"What about the crates? Won't someone see them?"

"There's nothing we can do about that now." He shifted to the left a few inches. "I'm going to turn and drop down, then you can do the same."

She sent him a wide-eyed look. "You make it sound like a walk in the park."

"Don't worry. I'll catch you."

She lifted her eyes toward heaven. "Wonderful."

"Do you have another idea?"

"Not really."

He twisted, then backed over the side. His arms burned as he held on to the top of the wall and slowly lowered himself. When his arms were fully extended, he held his breath and let go. A second later, he landed safely on the soft, spongy grass. Relief rushed through him, and he looked up. "All is well. Your turn."

Worry shadowed her expression as she looked down, then she set her mouth in a determined line. With her skirts ruffling in the breeze, she turned and slowly lowered herself over the side. One foot swung across the wall, searching for a toehold. "Oh, I don't like this," she muttered.

He reached up. "You don't need to like it. Just lower yourself as far as you can, then let go. I'll catch you." He glanced away for a moment, then turned back and focused on her shoes. "That's the way," he called softly. "Just a bit farther."

Suddenly, she yelped, slipped from the wall, and fell into his arms. He grabbed hold, but the speed and weight of her sent them tumbling to the ground.

Sputtering and flailing, she scrambled off him. "I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?" She brushed the hair from her eyes and hovered over him, searching his face. "Speak to me, Mr. McGivern. Are you well?"

He coughed a few times and looked up at her. "Other than a few broken ribs, I'm fine."

Her eyes flashed wide. "Truly, I broke your ribs?"

He grinned. "No, Mrs. Freemont, I'm teasing. You just knocked the air out of me, that's all." He huffed and sat up. She'd lost her hat, and a streak of dirt traced a dark line down her cheek, but she'd never looked prettier.

Her bewildered expression melted into a smile. "I think after this escapade you've earned the right to call me Lillian."

He nodded. "All right. Then you must call me Matthew."

"Very well, Matthew. Would you like some assistance?" She held out her hand.

"I would." He grabbed hold and rose to his feet, enjoying the feeling of her small, warm hand in his.

She let go, then brushed the grass and leaves from her dress. With a quick dip, she scooped her hat from the ground. "Goodness, I must look frightful."

He shook his head. "Not at all. I'd say you look like you've been on quite an adventure."

She sent him a teasing smile. "At least we made it out alive."

He chuckled as they started down the lane together. "Yes, we did."

When they'd first met, he'd realized she was well-spoken and passionate about social issues. But he'd assumed her wealth and position in society would make her aloof. He'd never imagined she'd bravely partner with him, be willing to climb over a high wall, and then laugh about her tumbled appearance. And she'd been more than willing to put herself in danger to search for her young niece.

He'd been wrong about Lillian Freemont. She was much more than he'd ever expected.