Chapter 27

27

Soon after our arrival in Constantinople, the plague, that periodic scourge of the Levant, made its appearance in the city.

—William Turner, Journal of a Tour in the Levant

When the front knocker sounded on Monday, Claire answered it, hoping for a new guest. A thin man of forty-odd years stood there, impeccably dressed, wearing small spectacles, and somehow familiar.

“Good day,” she began. “How may I help you?”

“Good day, madam. I am John Wallis, proprietor of the Marine Library. I come bearing a book Mr. Hammond ordered.” He lifted the brown paper–wrapped parcel in his hands.

“How good of you to bring it yourself. I believe he is upstairs in his study. You are welcome to step inside while I let him know you’re here. Or I would be happy to make sure he gets it.”

“I cannot leave the library in my clerk’s hands for too long. If you could see that he gets this safely, Mrs....?”

“Summers. Miss Claire Summers.”

“Ah! Any relation to Miss Emily Summers, or I should say, Mrs. Emily Thomson now?”

Claire nodded. “She is one of my sisters.”

“I see a resemblance. And are you a great reader as well?”

“I doubt anyone can compare with Emily, but yes, I enjoy reading.”

“Then I shall have no qualms about handing this over to you. It’s new, you see. Only recently published.”

She accepted the paper-wrapped book. “May I ask what it is?”

“The first of a three-volume account of the travels of William Turner, Esquire, a British diplomat, according to the publisher’s description. It is entitled Journal of a Tour in the Levant. ”

“Levant?”

“A term for a region in the Eastern Mediterranean, I believe, although I am not well-read on the topic.”

“Then perhaps Mr. Hammond might give you a summary after he is finished reading it.”

The man nodded. “Excellent notion. I always enjoy a good discussion of books. And a pleasure to meet another Miss Summers. I’d thought I had met them all.”

He started to go, then turned back. “By the way, I hope you will visit the Marine Library one day soon. We have many compelling novels, both mysterious and romantic.” He tipped his hat and walked away at a sprightly pace.

Watching him go, Claire quietly chuckled. This was the man she’d seen talking with Mr. Hammond in the alley beside the house. She’d suspected some clandestine meeting, and here they had simply been discussing a book Mr. Hammond had wanted—one he wasn’t keen to explain his interest in, as he avoided mentioning his previous profession.

Unbidden, the playful scene on the beach played through her mind again—laughing together, splashing, Mr. Hammond’s strong arms coming around her, their faces close ... Had she misread that change in his expression? Only imagined he’d wanted to kiss her?

Claire shook her head at herself. Perhaps she would be wise to avoid reading any of the compelling novels the man had mentioned. She already saw mystery where there was none and read romance in Mr. Hammond’s every look and action.

No.

If he could ever love another woman as he had Vanita, that woman should be someone without a tainted past. Someone worthy to help raise his daughter. And that someone was not her.

The next morning, after Claire had washed and dressed herself, thanks to the new wraparound stays, she went into the kitchen to help carry up the breakfast things. Mrs. Ballard was there with her maid, but no Mary. Feeling responsible, since she had brought Mary to Broadbridge’s, Claire said she would go up and see what was keeping her.

Reaching her room in the attic, Claire knocked softly, and the unlatched door swung open. The housemaid sat sobbing on her bed, face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

“Mary? What is it? Are you feeling unwell again?”

“Aye, miss. I fear I am very unwell indeed.”

Claire sat on the narrow bed beside her, the bed ropes creaking under their combined weight. “Do you need a doctor?”

“Not for five or six months yet.”

Dreadful realization rushed over her. “Oh, Mary.”

She nodded. “I’m that sorry for not telling ye sooner. I suspected as much when I asked ye to take me with ye. Now I’m sure.”

“Is that why you were afraid to go home to your father?”

“Aye. I woulda been scared anyway, but with this?” She placed a hand on her slightly rounded abdomen and shook her head. “We’d both be goners. Da’ broke my brother’s arm for a far lesser offense.”

“Despicable. And the babe’s father?”

Mary hung her head.

Claire asked tentatively, “Was it Fergus?”

“No, thank God.” Mary visibly shuddered. “Though he certainly tried.”

“Then who?”

“Do ye remember Liam? Liam MacBain?”

At her blank look, Mary added, “The apothecary’s assistant. He delivered tinctures and draughts to your aunt regular-like?”

“Oh yes! Bright red hair, exceedingly polite.”

Mary nodded. “That’s him.”

“I remember Aunt Mercer chastising him for coming so often with one package of pills or one small vial of whatnot, instead of delivering her weekly supply at once. I suppose now I know why.”

Mary dipped a blushing face. “He came as often as he could. We fell in love and hoped to marry when we’d saved enough to live on our own. I know it were wrong, not waitin’ fer the weddin’.” Her blush deepened.

“Did your father find out?”

“About Liam, aye. Da’ came to take a share of my wages and saw Liam kiss me as he left the house. Put two and two together and flew into a rage. He struck Liam over the head and when he fell kicked him hard. A watchman came and broke it up or he’d ’a killed ’im.”

“When was this? I don’t remember hearing a fight.”

“You’d gone to the kirk.”

“Did the watchman summon a constable to arrest your father?”

“No, miss. Da’ intimidates everyone, so the watchman sent him off with barely a warnin’, though poor Liam was bleedin’ bad. Da’ left but said he’d find Liam and when he did, he’d be a dead man.”

“So what did you do?”

“I wanted us to run away together, but Liam said no. He couldna support me without a job, and he wouldn’t see me homeless. He said he would think on what to do and come back the next day after he’d bound his wounds. But Da’ came to the shop that very evenin’ and beat the apothecary when he refused to tell where Liam was. Took three passersby to pull ’im off the man. Liam sneaked over to see me one last time and told me he was leavin’ Edinburgh before anyone else got hurt on his account. He promised to write as soon as he had a new place somewhere.”

“And did he?”

“Aye.” Tears filled the girl’s eyes once again. “And it’s so awful. For me, at least.” She rose and retrieved a letter from her dressing chest and handed it to Claire. “Here. Read it.”

My dearest Mary,

I have taken a place as a surgeon’s mate on the merchant ship Clyde. We’re undertaking a voyage for the East India Company, bound for Bengal. I know it’s a long way, and a long way from you, but the wages are good, and when I return, I shall be able to afford a place for the two of us and marry you proper-like. I do love you, my girl, more than you know, and I sincerely regret this time apart. Please don’t forget me. I promise I shall return for you, God willing.

Yours forever, Liam

“Oh, miss! He’ll be gone ages! I don’t think he realized when he signed on how long he’d be away, and now it’s too late.”

Sympathy for the girl swelled in Claire, for who was she to judge? “Oh, Mary. I am so sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am. What am I to do?”

Claire considered. “We have some time yet before your condition becomes obvious. But you should probably talk to Mr. Hammond about it fairly soon.”

“I’d die of shame! Could ye talk to ’im for me?”

Claire hesitated. “Very well. I will do what I can, but I can’t promise he’ll keep you on. Ultimately that’s up to him.”

“I understand.”

“Good. For now, let’s go down and help with breakfast.”

Later, when Claire told him, Mr. Hammond frowned at her from across the desk of his private study.

“With child?” He shook his head. “I am as compassionate as the next man, Miss Summers, but it is not the done thing. How do we know this Liam MacBain was truly serious about marrying the girl? Perhaps his flight had more to do with putting distance between them. It would not be the first time a man has fled his responsibilities.”

Well I know it , Claire thought. “Please. Just read his letter.” She thrust it toward him.

He read and then looked up with a furrowed brow. “Let me think on it for a time, will you? Consider what is best to be done.”

“Of course.”

Claire took her leave. She privately feared he would decide employing a visibly pregnant housemaid would prove too damaging to his respectable establishment. And if so, she could not fully fault him.

Oh, why was the woman always to blame and left to face the consequences alone?