Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

“ M rs. Hepworth, might I have a moment of your time?” Thomas asked.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Totton.” Mrs. Alice Hepworth was always pleasant to him and such a benign influence on her rabble-rousing husband. “Is it about Christmas?”

They stood at the front entrance to Mr. Hepworth’s business offices where Mrs. Hepworth had just visited her husband and collected her stepson who had run ahead to the waiting carriage.

Thomas bowed. “I would like to accept your kind invitation to your Christmas festivities.”

“Good.” She beamed at him. “And what about Mrs. Smith?”

“She would like to come, but she is hesitant because she doesn’t have the right clothing to wear.”

Thomas knew that his housekeeper would be extremely irritated with him for bringing this up with Mrs. Hepworth, but he’d noticed she’d had no luck procuring a dress and was fearful that she intended to excuse herself from the party all together.

“Oh,” Mrs. Hepworth said. “Of course. I should’ve thought of that.”

Despite her well-bred tones, Mrs. Hepworth hadn’t started life in the upper classes. She was the illegitimate child of the previous Viscount Grafton-Wesley, making her the current title holder’s half-sister. Thomas only knew because he’d help draw up the marriage contract between the irascible viscount and the equally difficult Mr. Hepworth. Even if he hadn’t, he would’ve had a soft spot for Mrs. Hepworth because she was kindness itself.

She nodded briskly and turned to the door. “Leave it with me, Mr. Totton.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She went out onto the street where her stepson helped her ascend into the carriage. Thomas had no doubt that she would help him. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long, and Mrs. Smith would forgive him for interfering.

“Mr. Totton!”

Thomas sighed as he heard his employer’s raised voice and went back into the office. Occasionally, these days, he wished he worked for a less cantankerous gentleman but he owed Mr. Hepworth his livelihood, and his sanity, and he would never forget that.

“How may I assist you, sir?” Thomas walked into Mr. Hepworth’s office.

“I want you to get me a copy of the London Times.”

“Now, sir?”

“Yes.” His employer’s eyebrows drew together. “When did you think I’d want it—yesterday?”

“I wonder if Viscount Grafton-Wesley has it delivered?” Thomas mused almost to himself. “I shall go and inquire, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Perhaps we might consider getting a subscription of our own?” Thomas suggested.

“Yes, why not. I like to keep my eye on those foolish politicians in Parliament.” Mr. Hepworth scowled. “They’re always trying to ruin my business.”

“Perhaps you should stand for Parliament yourself, sir?”

“Give over, lad.” Mr. Hepworth grinned at him. “I don’t have the vote. They’d kick me out on my arse the second I got up to speak.”

Thomas concealed a smile as he left the office and went to the inn next door where he asked the stableboy to saddle him a horse. It didn’t take long to get to Grafton Hall. If the weather was less pleasant, he would’ve taken the gig. It always surprised him how quickly the smoke and fumes of Millcastle faded away and he was surrounded by lush countryside.

Somewhat to his relief, the viscount wasn’t available, but the countess was more than happy to give him both the latest paper and the one from the previous day. He thanked her kindly, got back on his horse, and was back sitting at his desk half an hour later. Mr. Hepworth had gone out, so Thomas finished a few immediate tasks and then set about refolding the older of the two newspapers which had been mangled almost beyond repair.

It was only by chance that his gaze alighted on a large advertisement in the personal columns seeking information.

MISSING. A petite lady of good family with dark brown hair and eyes of a most unusual violet color. Last seen in the vicinity of London Bridge Railway Station a year ago. Any information on her whereabouts will be financially rewarded. Replies to this newspaper treated in strictest confidence. RR.

Thomas stared at the advertisement for quite some time, his instincts fighting between believing the notice had to be about Mrs. Smith or that she had nothing to do with it. He took a moment to jot down all the relevant details and folded the paper again, his mind racing. She’d been afraid when he’d met her and not just of the old gentleman who’d sought to entrap her. She’d been terrified to the bone.

He sat back in his chair and studied his notes. Which led to the question of whether the person who’d paid for this advertisement had her best interests at heart. It was possible the ad was an attempt to trap her and return her to whatever she had run away from in the first place. Or it could be from a relation who wished to restore her to her rightful position…

“Mr. Totton?” He looked up with a start to see Mr. Hepworth at his door, his hand held out. “My newspaper?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” He jumped up and handed over the two nicely folded newspapers. “The countess assured me that there was no need to return them.”

“I should think not.” Mr. Hepworth looked indignant. “Although Francis Grafton is penny-pinching for an aristocrat.”

“May I ask you a question, sir?”

His employer who’d been just about to leave paused in the doorway. “What is it?”

“How might someone find out who put a particular advertisement in a newspaper?”

“How would I know?” Mr. Hepworth looked at him as if he was daft. “That’s what I employ you for.”

After he left work, Thomas took a different route home and went into the newly established Millcastle Daily News offices just off Market Square. He was greeted pleasantly by a young clerk who stood behind the high counter. The clatter of the printing presses was loud behind him.

“How may I help you, sir?”

“Good afternoon,” Thomas said. “I am inquiring about the process of placing an advertisement in the personal section of a newspaper.”

“Of course, sir.” The clerk explained how costs were calculated by the word count and the size of the advertisement.

“I see. And if one receives replies? How does one know that they will remain confidential?”

“Each advertisement is numbered or given a special designation by us, which means all replies to that particular ad are placed in a secure box just for the customer without our staff reading them,” the clerk said importantly. “We value your privacy and do our utmost to maintain it.”

“What if someone wished to know the name of the person who placed the advertisement before replying? Could they find that out?”

“Not from us, sir.”

“Thank you,” Thomas said. “You have been most helpful.”

The clerk took his pen from behind his ear. “Do you wish to proceed, sir?”

“Not at this moment. I have to consider my options. But I appreciate all your advice.”

He left the office deep in thought as he made his way home. He’d retrieved the older newspaper from Mr. Hepworth’s bin, carefully cut out the original advertisement, and placed it in his pocket. If he mentioned the matter to Mrs. Smith, how would she react? The thought of her abruptly leaving his house gave him grave concerns. But what if someone who cared for her was looking for her? Didn’t she deserve the chance to know that?

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed the Hepworth carriage outside his front door. He increased his pace and went in using his front door key. He paused in the hallway and heard voices coming from the kitchen.

Mrs. Smith appeared in the doorway; her expression unreadable. “Good evening, Mr. Totton. We have a visitor.”

“So, I see.” Thomas took off his coat and hat and made his way into the kitchen where Mrs. Hepworth was sitting at the table with a cup of tea. She smiled when she saw him.

“Oh, there you are, Mr. Totton. Mrs. Smith was beginning to worry.”

“I do apologize. I am normally very punctual, but I had some personal business to attend to.” Thomas bowed.

“It is of no matter. We’ve been enjoying a comfortable chat while we waited for you, haven’t we, Mrs. Smith?”

“Indeed.” Mrs. Smith resumed her seat at the table opposite their guest. “Mrs. Hepworth brought me a dress.”

“That was kind of you, ma’am,” Thomas said, aware that his housekeeper would probably have a few words to say to him once Mrs. Hepworth had departed.

“It’s something I wore before I was married that my husband considers too plain for me now.” Mrs. Hepworth’s fond smile reminded Thomas that despite his ferocious appearance, his employer was very much in love with his wife. “I thought Mrs. Smith might find a use for it.”

She turned back to Mrs. Smith. “You might need to take the hem up because you are shorter than I am, but we are much of the same size so the dress should suit you perfectly.”

Mrs. Smith bit her lip. “It is very generous of you, ma’am, but I’m not sure if I should accept such a gift.”

Mrs. Hepworth stood up. “Perhaps you would prefer to consider it a loan? You can give it back to me after Christmas, and no one will be any the wiser.”

“I’ll… think about it.”

“Of course. Try it on first and see if it suits,” Mrs. Hepworth advised as she headed for the front door. “If it doesn’t, just come in your Sunday best.” She paused in the doorway, her earnest gaze fixed on Mrs. Smith. “I have been in your position, Mrs. Smith. I understand your concerns, but I can assure you that this offer is meant with the best of intentions. I promise I will not take offense if you choose not to wear the gown. I want you to be present at the celebrations regardless of what you wear.”

Thomas escorted Mrs. Hepworth to her carriage and went back inside, his steps slowing as he neared the kitchen. Mrs. Smith had her back to him as she attended to something on the stove.

“Thank goodness I made shepherd’s pie. An extra fifteen minutes in the oven is hardly going to ruin it.” She took out the dish and placed it on the table. “I’ll just get the peas.”

Thomas washed his hands and sat down, his gaze on his housekeeper as she bustled around the kitchen. She made no mention either of the visit or his part in arranging it, as she offered him a cup of tea, and a large portion of the pie. He cleared his throat.

“I hope you don’t mind that I mentioned your need for a suitable dress to Mrs. Hepworth.”

“I certainly don’t expect you to worry about my personal needs, Mr. Totton,”

He raised an eyebrow, and she had the grace to blush.

“Be that as it may, it was kind of Mrs. Hepworth to go to so much trouble on my behalf,” Mrs. Smith continued. “She is a very kind lady.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me telling you that she had a difficult start to life,” Thomas said as he settled in to eat his dinner. “She told me she arrived at Grafton Hall with two dresses to her name and no idea whether the viscount would have anything to do with her.”

Mrs. Smith set her fork down. “Don’t tell me she was Francis Grafton’s mistress?”

“No, she’s his half-sister. Her mother was his father’s mistress.”

“Good Lord.”

“Which is why I think she understands the difficulties women can face through no fault of their own.”

“I won’t tell anyone what you just said,” Mrs. Smith said. “Most people think she’s the viscount’s cousin.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my confidence,” Thomas said.

“Who would I tell? I have no family to speak of. I owe you far more than my silence and well you know it.”

“You owe me nothing,” Thomas said gruffly. “Will you at least try on the dress?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Good.” Thomas concentrated on his food because he was truly hungry before sitting back and wiping his mouth on his napkin. “That was excellent, Mrs. Smith. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll put on the kettle for some more tea.”

He waited until she sat down again, mentally rehearsing the question he wanted to ask until he phrased it just right.

“I know you say that you have no family, ma’am, but there must have been someone who cared for you.”

She remained quiet for a moment, her head bowed to her cup. “I had a brother.”

Thomas waited to see if she’d say more but she remained quiet.

“Is he still alive?”

“I don’t know.” She finally met his gaze. “He went off to India and I never saw him again.”

“He didn’t write to you?”

“For the first year or so and then nothing.”

“Were you officially notified that he was… deceased?”

“No one would’ve written to me, sir. I was just a child and those in authority over me would hardly have told me even if it was true.” She paused. “I did ask, but I was punished for daring to inquire and I soon learned not to do it anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You are hardly responsible for the ills of my childhood, Mr. Totton.”

“I am aware of that.” He met her gaze. “Have you ever searched for your brother?”

“If he returned home, I’m sure my family would’ve done their utmost to convince him that I had left on my own accord without considering his existence.”

“Would he have believed them?”

She looked away. “Have you finished your tea, sir? There’s plenty more in the pot.”

“I have offended you,” Thomas said. “I apologize. It’s just that thoughts of Christmas have made me consider my own lack of family more intensely.”

“What did happen to the rest of your family, Mr. Totton?” It was her turn to stare at him.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“The first thing I truly remember is arriving in a cartload of children to a mill in Leeds. I believe we were shipped over from Ireland after being orphaned during the famine. I have no recollection of ever having a home. I was housed in a shed with the other working boys until I had served out my apprenticeship. I was lucky enough to have an affinity with numbers and was taken on by an accountant who trained me and offered me a position in his company.”

He looked at her. “I’ve already told you about what happened to my wife and bairn, is there anything else you’d like to know?”

She bit her lip. “Now, who needs to apologize.”

“Not you, for one.” He sipped his tea. “I consider myself a survivor, Mrs. Smith. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved in my life.”

“As you should be.” She nodded. “At least I always knew where I came from.” She paused. “I must admit that I have been reluctant to search for my brother.”

“Which is quite understandable.”

“If he turned away from me…” She sighed. “I’d have to give up on the hope that he would not.”

“After my wife died, I heard rumors that someone had saved my child,” Thomas said slowly. “I spent months staring at every baby I saw in the streets around our old house, just hoping that one of them would turn out to be mine. It almost destroyed me,”

“Hope is a treacherous thing,” Mrs. Smith said softly.

“Indeed.” Thomas cleared his throat. Should he tell her about the advertisement now, or wait until after Christmas? He hesitated. “Mrs. Smith…”

But it was too late she was already on her feet clearing the table. He rushed to help.

“Why don’t you go and try on that dress?” he suggested. “I’ll finish up in here.”

“You will not, sir. You will go and sit in the parlor and read your paper,” She met his gaze, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I’ll try on the dress when I’m done and not a moment before.”