Patrick Shea may be driving a hack now, but he is also chasing the story of a lifetime in hopes of garnering a journalist position with a local newspaper. At the home of René Molyneaux, he catches sight of his quarry, a Haitian Voodoo Practitioner called King Louis, but also sees someone totally unexpected - his wife, Barbara, who disappeared two years ago. She’s working as Molyneaux’s parlor maid. The problem? He finally works up the courage to confront her for the sake of their two-year-old daughter, Emily, when Barbara disappears yet again. While looking for clues to her whereabouts, Patrick finds himself falling in love with her replacement, Mary Reynolds.Mary Reynolds walks like a lady, talks like a book, and is as pretty and polished as any lady in 1849 Baltimore Society. And so she should, up until ten years ago she was the beloved daughter of a Baltimore mover and shaker. Then, upon her mother’s death, Mary was discovered to be illegitimate and her life crashed down around her. She lost everything: her mother, her home, and her status. Due to the kindness of her mother’s friends, she went into service; however, she’s never given up on her dream of regaining her place in society. When she least expects it, Fate steps in and reveals a clue to her true identity and her birth name, Lenore. With the help of Patrick and his landlady, Mrs. Pym, Lenore begins to rebuild her life. Among her many shocking encounters, her biggest discovery is the one she makes about herself.
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Excerpt:
“Dispose of it,” Henry Herring commanded.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.” With those words, Henry foisted the tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle into Billy’s hands. He shut the door to the bedroom and strode toward the front staircase.
The demand startled Billy. When his mistress, Eliza, had gone into labor in the early hours of the morning, he’d been sent to fetch not the midwife, but a doctor friend of Mr. Herring. An odd task, but Billy was used to the peculiar demands of the master. Besides, he knew his place as a slave in the Herring household. Asking questions would only result in a beating.
Several hours after the summons had been delivered, the doctor arrived. To Billy’s surprise, he hadn’t even gone up the stairs to see to the laboring woman. Instead, he joined Mr. Herring in the study.
Concerned, Billy sneaked into his mistress’s chambers. At first light, the entire paid staff, including Mrs. Herring’s personal maid, had been given the day off. Only a few slaves remained on duty.
Eliza Herring lay in the middle of the bed, moaning. Her knees drawn up to her engorged abdomen, sweat poured down her face. Her lovely golden hair spread across her damp pillow in wild disarray. Pain had made her eyes wild.
As he drew nearer, she grabbed his hand, clutching so tightly the feeling left his fingers. Just when he thought he could bear the pain no longer, her grip relaxed. To his horror, a wave of crimson flooded the sheets. Then, the baby slid from between her legs.
“Should I get the midwife?” he asked when he could tear his gaze away from the sight.
“Too late,” she replied. Her head lolled to the side and she closed her eyes.
“Mistress?” he whispered urgently, but she didn’t answer. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. What should he do? As a slave, he was not permitted in the mistress’s room alone with her. Mr. Herring had a heavy hand and just last year he’d beaten a housemaid near to death. Yet, Billy had to do something.
He slipped back out into the hallway and leaned against the door. At that moment, he heard a loud click. Startled, his heart seemed to leap up into his throat. However, instead of retribution, the Herring’s little daughter, Elizabeth, skipped down the corridor toward him. The nursemaid, Petunia, hurried after her.
“Miss Elizabeth, it’s time for your nap.”
“I want to see my mama.” The pretty little girl wore a stubborn expression.
“You’re mama is…” Petunia looked at Billy. Something in his face must have betrayed his predicament.
“Mama likes me to visit her.”
“Why don’t you stay here with Billy while I go check on your Mama? With the baby comin’, she needs her sleep too.”
To his relief, pretty Petunia opened the door and sidled into the mistress’s bedroom.
Elizabeth huffed out a sigh but gazed up at Billy with expectant eyes. He pulled a small sack of peppermint sticks out of his pocket and held it out to the little girl. She reached for the colorful candy but froze when a scream rent the air.
Within minutes, chaos filled the house. The mistress was dead.
Billy fought back tears. He’d been with the Herring family all his life, but had a soft spot for the beautiful woman his stern master had married. Even ill, Mrs. Herring’s courtesy and soft voice stood in stark contrast to her husband’s harsh treatment of the servants. Which made the last few months all the more puzzling.
When Mrs. Herring had been pregnant with Elizabeth, the household had been joyfully expectant. However, with this latest pregnancy, a shadow had fallen over everyone. Especially Mr. Herring.
That’s when the rumor filtered through the staff saying Mr. Herring had been cuckolded. As soon as she began to show, Mrs. Herring was confined to her room and friends and family turned away. All of them were told Mrs. Herring was ill, delirious, and eventually, insane.
Now she was dead.
Billy carried the small bundle down the stairs. It seemed a sacrilege to throw the tiny body away instead of burying the child with its mother. But he daren’t disobey Mr. Herring’s order. He reached the bottom of the stairs and shifted the oh-so-light package to one hand in order to open the hall door. It wiggled and his heart stood still.
Could it be?
Feeling more movement under his shaking fingers, he unwrapped the blanket to reveal a small, scrunched up face. The mouth opened in a yawn.
That’s when the horror of what he’d been asked to do sank in. Mr. Herring had known the baby was alive. Yet he’d demanded that it be thrown away like trash. A spark of rebellion filled Billy’s chest. He shot a look over his shoulder. The doctor and the mortician were still up with Mrs. Herring’s body. Mr. Herring had gone back to his study. There was no one to observe his movements.
Still, indecision fought within him. He’d only disobeyed an order once. The punishment had been severe, leaving his back and chest marked with puckered scars. The penalty would be worse if Mr. Herring were to ever find out.
A hissing noise caught his attention. Petunia stood in the doorway to his right. She beckoned him. With a last backward glance, he followed her twitching skirts as she led the way to the kitchen. Once behind the green baize door, she turned to him.
“What were you going to do with tha’ chil’?” she demanded.
“I—” The scent of the yeast rolls Cook had left on a tray for sandwiches made his mouth water. He swallowed his words and his spit. Mr. Herring’s mind hadn’t been on food, and with one thing or another, Billy hadn’t eaten. He swallowed, hard. “Mr. Herring instructed me to get rid of it.”
“Tha’ there baby is a chil’ of God, same as you and me.”
That was the answer. The church. “I’ll take the child to First Presby, then.”
“You’ll do no such thing. You give that little ’un to me.” Petunia held out her arms.
Billy hesitated. Minutes ago, he’d have been thrilled to have someone take this burden from him. Now, he didn’t want to give it over to someone else. But Petunia was the nursemaid; she would know better what to do with a baby than a single man who’d never married. The thought of his chores hung over him. With most of the house staff gone, he’d be responsible for hanging black cloths over all the windows and mirrors and making sure the house’s appearance befitted one of mourning. Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “What will you do with it?”
“With her. The baby is a girl.” Petunia’s dark hands closed around the bundle and took it gently from his arms. Her expression softened as she gazed down into the infant’s face. “I know just where to take this little ’un, but I have to hurry. Miss Elizabeth is napping, but with all the commotion in the house, she won’t sleep long.”
“What will I tell Mr. Herring if he asks?”
Petunia’s dark eyes bore into his. “I don’t think he will, but if’n he does, tell ’im you drowned it like a kitten or burnt it up in the kitchen stove. That should please the devil.”
Billy’s stomach growled, and he cast a longing look toward the counter where cook had left a mound of butter and some sliced ham and cheese beside the rolls.
Petunia snatched a shawl off a hook and wrapped herself and the child in it. She gave him an impatient look. “Well, go on before he misses you.”
Without waiting to see if he left the kitchen, she slipped out the door. It closed behind her with a soft snick. Billy reached for a roll.
“Billy!” Mr. Herring bellowed.
Billy started and jerked his hand back. The man sounded as if he were standing right outside the door. What if he had heard the whispered exchange with Petunia? What if he’d changed his mind about the baby? What if—
His duties shouldn’t have taken him to the kitchen, but thinking fast, he snatched up the tray of sandwich makings. Billy hefted it and pushed through the door, nearly colliding with Mr. Herring’s bulk as he stood, his face red with drink and temper, in the parlor doorway.
Heat crept from Billy’s collar to his cheeks, but for once, he thanked the Lord for his black skin. Mr. Herring would never notice his blush. “Sandwiches, sir?”
Mr. Herring’s narrowed gaze dropped to Billy’s hands. Seeing the innocuous tray in them seemed to allay any of his suspicions. “Ah, yes.”
Billy followed Mr. Herring to the over warm study, where the doctor snoozed in a drunken haze by the fire. To Billy’s relief, Mr. Herring never did ask about the baby, nor did he seem to notice a roll and a couple of slices of ham were missing from the tray.
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