The Winter Rose (79 page)

"Heard who? Heard what?"

"The newsboys," India said. "They were shouting it over and over
again. They wouldn't stop." She held a copy of the Clarion out to Ella.

"Malone Found!" its headline shrieked.

"Where?" Ella asked, reaching for the paper.

"In the Thames. He's dead, Ella. Sid Malone is dead."

India stared at the door to Freddie Lytton's flat. He was at home.
She could hear the gramophone playing. She raised her hand, then stood

frozen, unable to knock.

She pressed her hands over her eyes. She was quaking inside, sick to
her very soul. There was no going back from what she was about to do.
She almost left, almost ran down the stairs and into the night, but then
she pictured a little child shunned by other children. She heard
her--for somehow she knew it was a girl--asking what the word bastard
meant. She saw her growing up alone, unable to attend the better
schools, unable to make friends, unhappy.

It was worth every sacrifice, her child's future. Hers and Sid's. It
was all that mattered now. At the thought of Sid she crumpled and had to
sit down on the staircase. For three days she had lain in her bed in
the Moskowitzes' attic, unable to stop weeping, drowning in a grief that
was black and bottomless. She had told herself she would never love
again after Hugh, but she had. She had loved Sid Malone and she had lost
him, too.

She had wanted to die in those first hours, after she'd heard the
newsboys shouting about his death, after reading how his body was pulled
from the murky river, so badly decomposed that it had to be identified
by a bullet hole and some personal effects. She wept for him, because he
never had the chance to know a better life, and for herself, because
she would never have the chance to live that life with him.

She refused to eat anything, drink anything, until Ella had come to
her on the second day and gently told her that if she did not eat, then
the baby did not, either. India realized then that Sid was not
completely gone. She still had some small part of him left, a tiny life
growing inside her, and she must do everything she could to protect and
nurture that life. She had decided then and there to go to Freddie.

"It's the only way," she whispered to herself now. Then she stood up and knocked on his door.

"Just a minute!" Freddie called. The music stopped abruptly. She
heard footsteps, the door opened, and he was there, standing in the
doorway.

"India," he said acidly.

"May I come in?"

"Oh, you want to come in, do you? A few days ago you couldn't get
away from me fast enough. You made a bloody fool of me. A laughingstock.
So, no, you can't come in," he said, starting to shut the door.

India blocked it with her foot. "I have a business proposition for
you," she said. "It involves money. A great deal of it. Now may I come
in?"

Freddie opened the door. He swept a hand before him. When India was inside, he slammed the door.

"What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"I wish to marry you, Freddie."

India noted that even as practised a fraud as Freddie couldn't keep the astonishment off his face.

"What did you say?"

"I said I wish to marry you. We can set a date tonight. I have paid a
visit to my mother today and convinced her to enlarge upon the terms of
the offer she originally made you. In addition, I secured five thousand
pounds cash from her." India paused to take an envelope from her purse
and place it on the table. She nodded at it. "It's yours tonight if you
accept my proposal. Should come in handy, no? You've a by-election to
win."

Freddie stared at the envelope. He said nothing.

"Speechless? That's quite unlike you."

"This is a very sudden turn of events. I don't understand--"

India cut him off. "I am pregnant, Freddie. And the father of my child is dead."

Freddie laughed bitterly. "So I'm to raise Sid Malone's bastard, is that it?"

"I do not wish my child to suffer the stigma of illegitimacy. If we
marry, you must accept the child as your own and behave toward her at
all times as a father. You are incapable of love, I realize that, so I
will not ask that for her, merely civility and a modicum of kindness.
Those are my terms. Here are my parents.' "

She drew out another envelope. Freddie opened it and learned that he
was still to receive Blackwood and the Berkeley Square town house, but
the lump sum of �100,000 had been raised to �300,000 and the �20,000 per
annum had been doubled.

Freddie digested this, then said, "I have a few terms of my own. Number one: I want heirs."

"I will do my best to give them to you."

"Those heirs--my children--will inherit the Selwyn Jones estate."

"I thought you would say that, so I've taken the precaution of asking
my parents to establish an independent fund for this child. You will
have no control over it. Only I will."

Freddie laughed in disbelief. "They know about the baby? You told them?"

"I had no choice. I need you to marry me. I thought a larger dowry would help to persuade you."

"And they agreed?"

"Of course. They would pay a great deal to avoid the scandal of a grandchild born out of wedlock."

"Term number two: You are not to resume your medical work. Not at the
clinic, not anywhere. You are to stay away from Whitechapel. From Ella
Moskowitz, Harriet Hatcher, all of them. You're to become a proper MP's
wife. Quiet, supportive, and firmly in the background."

"Very well."

"Term number three: We marry on the twenty-fourth. Two weeks from now. At Longmarsh."

India's heart lurched. So soon, she thought.

"Do I have your word on this, India?"

"You do," she said. "Do I have yours, Freddie? Once, a long time ago, you were capable of giving it. Are you still?"

"I give you my word."

She nodded. "I will see you at Longmarsh on the twenty-fourth, then,"
she said, turning to go. She had to leave. She would go home, to her
bed in the Moskowitzes' attic, to her grief, and try to find a way to
live with what she'd just done.

Freddie grabbed her arm. "Wait," he said.

She looked at him questioningly.

"All this, India... all this because of a bloody criminal. I don't understand."

India, doomed and heartbroken, smiled at him. "No, you don't," she said. "You couldn't, Freddie. It's called love."

Fiona's baby kicked. His movements were getting stronger. She had
begun to think of the baby as a he. It had to be. He had restless legs
like her brothers. She rested her hand on her large belly and continued
to stare out of her bedroom window.

The gray morning light accentuated the shadows under her eyes, and
the worry in them. "Think happy thoughts, Mrs. Bristow," the nurse had
told her on her last visit to Dr. Hatcher, more than a month ago. "Happy
thoughts are good for the baby."

It had been easier to think happy thoughts then. Her husband had not
been lying comatose in a hospital. Charlie hadn't had a price on his
head. Seamie had not yet told her about Antarctica.

"Will you know your uncles, little one?" she whispered softly. Her
eyes filled with tears. "Will you know your father?" She blinked them
away, knowing that if she started to cry now, she wouldn't be able to
stop.

Lipton and Twining were dozing at the bottom of her bed. Lipton
picked up his head at the sound of her voice. Sarah had brought her tea
and toast, but she hadn't been able to touch a bite. She'd dressed
herself, but couldn't muster the energy to leave her room. She felt sick
with worry.

Seamie had taken Charlie to Gravesend. There were ships there bound
for all parts of the globe. Charlie had owned a boatyard, and knew
enough about engines to make himself useful belowdecks. He planned to
travel east, as far away from England as possible, and leave the ship in
some foreign port, finding work of one sort or another.

They had said their goodbyes some time after midnight. Fiona had been
beyond sad, but she'd tried to hold her emotion in check and not make
their parting harder than it had to be.

"You give Joe my regards when he wakes, Fee," Charlie had said.

Fiona had nodded, her eyes downcast.

Charlie had taken her chin in his hand and tilted it up. "Listen to
me, he will wake up. I know it, Fee. Other blokes might not, but other
blokes don't have what he has. They don't have you and Katie and another
one on the way. He's got everything in the world to live for,
everything to fight for, and I know he'll win that fight."

And then he'd put his arms around her and held her tightly, telling
her thank you, telling her he loved her. And then he was gone. And she
was watching him go, knowing she would probably never see him again. It
was hard and bitter, and she had spent the night tossing and turning,
angry that the fates had taken her parents, her sister, and now her
brothers, too.

The clock on her bureau chimed the hour. Nine a.m. Where is Seamie?
she wondered. Why isn't he back? I never should have let him go. Never
should have let them go. They'd sneaked out twice before--once to snatch
a body and once to get Charlie's money out of the Albion Bank. The
body-snatching trip had gone off without a hitch, they'd said, and she'd
seen herself that it had worked, for the news of Sid Malone's demise
was all over London, but they'd come very close to being caught on their
second outing. Charlie hadn't come back to the house until well after
dark that night, and Seamie had come home with a bruised and scraped
face. All they would say was that they'd had a bit of bother.

It's still too dangerous for Charlie to be out and about, Fiona
thought now, even if he is supposed to be dead. And Seamie... what if
he'd gotten mixed up in something bad? Anything could have happened to
them. They could have been arrested. Hurt. Shot. Killed.

The baby kicked again, violently. "Happy thoughts, Fiona," she said to herself. "Happy bloody thoughts."

There was a knock on her bedroom door. "Fee?" Seamie called, opening it.

The dogs leaped up, yapping and whirling. Relief flooded through her.

"Seamie! Thank God you're all right. I was so worried. Please tell me Charlie made it to the boat," she said.

"He did, Fee. He's fine."

"Where is he?"

"On a ship. Bound for Ceylon."

He sat down across from her. She could see that he was exhausted.

"I'm starving," he said. "You going to eat that toast?"

Fiona buttered a slice and handed it to him. She poured him a cup of tea.

"Was it hard saying goodbye?" she asked him.

Seamie shrugged. "I waited with him till dawn. Then he said, �This is
goodbye, lad. Hardly seems fair, does it?' and then he told me he hoped
I'd find the North Pole. And I reminded him it was the South Pole I was
after. And then he was gone."

"That's all?" Fiona said. "Charlie's leaving and never coming back, and that's all he said? �Hope you find the North Pole'?"

Seamie shrugged. "It's blokes, Fee," he said.

Fiona nodded, sadness welling up inside her again.

Seamie must have noticed, for he stopped eating for a few seconds and
patted her hand. "There's no other way," he said gently. "He had to go.
He'd be a goner if he stayed."

"I know. I know it's for the best. I just ...I want you both here
with me. I want us to be together. Like a family should be. Is that so
much to ask? I'm losing everyone all over again. Charlie, you..."

She didn't say Joe. She didn't have to. They both knew there was no
news. No change. Every day was the same. He was unresponsive. Immobile.
Losing weight.

"Aw, Fee," Seamie said, trying to cheer her. "It would never work.
You know it wouldn't. What would me and Charlie do here anyway? I'd make
a terrible waitress at the Tea Rose. So would he. I'd be dropping the
silver and he'd be stealing it."

Fiona tried to smile at the joke, but she couldn't.

"He's out of the life now. He's got a chance," Seamie said. "Isn't that what you wanted for him?"

Fiona looked at him, startled by his perceptiveness. "Yes, Seamie, it is," she said.

"Then let him go, Fee. And let me go, too."

Fiona looked at him. "All right, then, I will. Seems I have no choice, do I?"

Seamie stood. "Come on, let's go for a morning stroll. Over to Hyde
Park and back. We'll take Katie with us. You need some sunlight. Some
fresh air. Sitting here brooding isn't good for you. Or Joe. Or the
baby. Life goes on, Fee. It has to. It's all we've got."

Fiona gave him a puzzled smile. "When did my little brother become smarter than me?" she asked.

Seamie snorted. "About a hundred years ago."

Fiona stood. She and Seamie were about to leave her bedroom when they both heard footsteps pounding down the hallway.

Fiona reached for Seamie, suddenly frightened. "It's something to do
with Charlie," she said. "Something's happened to him. I know it."

There was no knock at the door, it was simply flung open. Foster stood there, breathless and flushed from his mad dash.

"Mr. Foster?" Fiona said, surprised by his sudden breach of decorum.
She had never seen him act like this, not once in all the years he'd
worked for her. "What is it?"

"Oh, madam!" he said with feeling. "He's awake! His eyes are open.
He's trying to speak. He's a bit disoriented, at least according to the
messenger, but he's awake!"

It took a second for Fiona to realize who Foster was talking about.
As soon as she did, she was across the room and out the door.

"The carriage, right away!" she shouted.

"On its way," Foster replied. "Sarah's downstairs with your hat and coat."

Fiona was lumbering down the stairs now, as fast as her belly would allow. Seamie had charged ahead of her.

"Please, madam," Foster called after her, "would you kindly give Mr. Bristow my regards?"