LITMIR.BIZ

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of the babe growing inside her, during the months of her confinement Lucinda had grown to love the idea of a child coming to life within her womb. Rejected by her family, with no one to love or care for her, she had talked to the babe, believing that when the child was born she would no longer be alone, but then after hours of pain and suffering she’d been coldly informed that the babe was dead. Lucinda had grieved for the child, but come to terms with her grief, banishing all the tainted memories to a tiny corner of her mind. She had told herself that the past no longer mattered to her—and then, suddenly, on the morning of her wedding to the duke, to learn that her child was alive!

      Her mother had lied to her. The distress of learning the extent of her parent’s cruelty had completely overset her. Instead of going to Avonlea and throwing herself on his mercy, as she might had she been certain of his feelings, she had thought only to run away. Better that she simply disappear than bring shame to him.

      At first the shock had been so great that Lucinda could hardly take it in; then, seized by sudden panic and the need to know the truth, she’d taken an old gown and some trinkets and fled through the gardens. In confusion, with only a vague idea of what she meant to do, she set out for her family home. She was weeping, in terrible confusion and pain as she fled, unable to think coherently. It was only in the long lonely days and nights that followed that she’d begun to think about what she was doing—to discover her feelings about the child she’d believed dead.

      Lucinda had arrived at her mother’s home some ten days later, having begged lifts for some of the journey, but walking much of it. After first making her escape, she’d changed into her old gown. She’d hidden her beautiful silk wedding gown behind some hay bales in a barn at the edge of the Avonlea estate; carrying only a small bundle, she had continued her journey wearing a plain grey gown more suited to a governess than the duchess she’d become. No one had given her so much as a second glance. When she finally arrived home, her mother had greeted her with a sour look. Mrs Seymour had refused to attend her daughter’s wedding on the grounds of ill health, though her true reason was that she did not approve of Lucinda marrying anyone.

      ‘So you’ve come to your senses. It was a stupid thing to do, Lucinda. I suppose he threw you out?’

      ‘Avonlea knows nothing,’ Lucinda replied. Shaking with anger, she had thrust the letter under her mother’s nose. ‘Where is she, Mama? Where is my daughter? The child you stole from me—the child you told me was dead?’

      Her mother’s face had turned pale. At first she had continued to refute her daughter’s accusation. For ten days she had tried to deny all knowledge of the child, swearing it had died at birth and that she knew nothing. Lucinda had questioned her relentlessly, never giving her a moment’s peace, and in the end she’d broken down in tears.

      ‘Your father would not let you keep the babe. He took it to a workhouse and…I believe she was adopted by a childless couple.’

      ‘Tell me their names, Mama.’

      Mrs Seymour shook her head. ‘I know no more. I swear he told me nothing.’

      ‘Very well, give me the name of the workhouse.’

      ‘It will do little good after all this time.’

      ‘Tell me what I wish to know and I shall leave you in peace. Deny me and I shall continue to question and demand. I am no longer the frightened child I was when I was so cruelly abandoned by you.’

      ‘It was not my wish—but your shame had to be hidden.’

      ‘Why? Had you loved me as a mother should, you could have taken me away, perhaps abroad, and let me keep my babe. We might have found an honest living somehow.’

      ‘Why do you care about the child if you were raped, as you claim?’

      ‘How could you doubt me?’ Lucinda looked at her sadly. ‘The man who used me so cruelly was a monster and if my father had stood by me, he might have been punished—but Papa preferred to believe his friend’s lies. He, I hate—but my child is innocent. Mama, can you not see that I need to see my child? The knowledge that she lives is tearing at my heart. I shall never be at peace until I know how she is.’

      ‘What will you do if you find her?’

      ‘I am not certain—but I must know she is well and happy. Can you not see that I should never rest easy if I simply left her to her fate?’

      ‘I do not…’ Mrs Seymour’s eyes dropped in shame.

      In the end she’d given her daughter all the details she had. Lucinda had left the house that same day.

      It had taken her two weeks of travelling, often on foot, to find the workhouse and another week before she could persuade the woman in charge to tell her the names of the couple who had taken her daughter.

      ‘You understand that I told you nothing,’ she said and looked at the silver locket and ruby brooch lying in her hand. ‘Your father told us to have the brat adopted and Mrs Jackson had none of her own then.’

      ‘She has other children now?’

      ‘Aye, they come like that. She has four of them under the age of four and more than she can manage. She’ll likely be glad to get rid of Susan.’

      ‘You called my daughter Susan?’ The woman nodded. ‘Thank you, madam. Now will you kindly tell me where to find my daughter?’

      ‘You’ll find the family at the sign of the Cock’s Spur.’

      ‘Mrs Jackson and her husband run a hostelry?’

      ‘Aye, you might call it that, though some round here would have other words—’tis a den of thieves if you ask me.’

      ‘Thank you for the information. I hope you have told me the truth. If not, I shall return—and then you will be very sorry for lying to me. My husband is a powerful man and he will punish you.’

      ‘You don’t look like the wife of a powerful man.’ The warden sniffed.

      ‘What I choose to wear is my business,’ Lucinda said proudly.

      She had walked away, her heart beating frantically.

      It had not taken long to discover the inn of which the warden had told her. She had ventured inside, hoping to find a reasonable woman with whom she might bargain for the return of her daughter. However, she had soon discovered the innkeeper’s wife to be a filthy slut who harangued her husband and her customers and screamed abuse at any provocation. She’d eyed Lucinda suspiciously and demanded to know what she wanted.

      ‘If you’re after summat, yer’ll get naught here,’ she said. ‘If yer want to service men, you’ll do it elsewhere. I run a clean house here and don’t harbour doxies.’

      ‘I was looking for a child. She was adopted from the workhouse five years ago.’

      ‘What do yer want her fer?’

      ‘She is my daughter and I want her back.’

      ‘Yer do, do yer?’ The woman glared at her. ‘I’ll sell her fer five hundred guineas if yer like.’

      ‘I have only a silver trinket box and a diamond brooch that was my godmother’s,’ Lucinda said. ‘The child is my daughter. She was stolen from me at birth and I have just discovered that you have her. For pity’s sake, let me take her. I will give you all I have.’

      ‘Clear orf. The girl will fetch good money in a year or two. I’ve had offers for her already and they were more than you’re offering. I know your sort. Yer think I’m green behind the ears. Men will pay a fortune for a wench like that—and I’ll sell her to the highest bidder when the time comes.’

      ‘No, you mustn’t. Please, you can’t,’ Lucinda cried in distress. She could not allow such a wicked thing to happen. ‘I’ll get money for you. She’s my daughter. I swear it on the Bible.’

      ‘The price just went up to one thousand guineas,’ the woman said, a gleam of avarice

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