Page 100 of When We Touch

“Ever!” Mireau vowed.

“And you will support her!”

Mireau crossed himself. “As the Lord God is my witness!”

“Take her, then, hurry. Lord Justin may return at any minute.”

With his precious little bundle, Mireau fled.

* * *

Maggie lay in misery for the longest time without moving.

Then, at last, memory of the child surpassed the tempest she was feeling, and she bolted out of bed.

She washed and dressed in a frenzy. When she burst back out into the hall, she was dismayed, for once, to see that Arianna was there.

“Good evening, Stepmother,” she said sweetly.

“Arianna.”

“Will you be coming down to dinner?”

“I . . . no. Not tonight. I’m afraid I need to speak with my brother. At the Mayfair house.”

“Ah, yes. Your brother.”

“Arianna,” she said with a sigh, “please, don’t despise Justin on my account.”

“I don’t even know him.”

“Of course you do! He was at the funeral . . . at the wedding, at the wake!”

“Of course, you’re right; how silly of me.” She smiled. “I had thought that we might talk tonight.”

“I would love to sit down and actually talk!” Maggie said, dismayed. Here she was, the stepdaughter she was supposed to love and guide, actually wanting to talk to her! And she couldn’t take advantage of the situation. “I have to go to Mayfair House . . . but I’ll be back. Perhaps we can have a long conversation later?”

Arianna nodded. “Indeed. I believe there’s much I really need to learn about you.”

Maggie smiled. Then, anxious, she turned and fled down the stairway.

“Madam, shall I assume there’s to be no normal seating for dinner this evening?”

At the bottom of the stairs, Maggie turned. Mrs. Whitley again. She forced a level tone to her lips. “Please, speak with Arianna and find out what she would like to do. I’m going to my brother’s house. Don’t concern yourself with me.”

Ignoring Mrs. Whitley, she headed to the kitchen. Darby was there, the good man. “Darby, I must get to my brother’s house, quickly, please.”

“Certainly, my lady. Right away!”

He folded his paper. Maggie saw the headlines.

“Jack the Ripper Stalks the East End!”

Another read, “War on Warren!” A smaller caption went on. “The bungling police commissioner must do what’s right and resign!”

“A bad time, my lady. A sad time,” Darby said, shaking his head.

“I know, Darby.”