After luncheon, Tony and I went with Josie to select her horse. Josie didn't seem to care which one she took, but once she had pointed at one of our black stallions, Tony hurried to have our stable-man Peter prepare it.

Once Tony was out of view, I said, "How's Marja?"

Marja was the Kerr's housekeeper, and the mother of our mutual friend Ottilie, who was now dead.

I brought our friends Ottilie, Treysa, and Poignee from the Pot to work here as kitchen maids. They said something to Tony after Inventor Call took me to see the Magma Steam Generator last month. I never learned what they said, but it offended Tony so much he had them killed.

Josie shrugged wearily. "As well as can be expected."

"I'm sorry you had to come here."

"I must do what I need to," Josie said. "I'm not above begging for anything that will help my family prosper. Even from him."

My vision blurred. She's suffered so much. How can she bear it? I hugged her, but she didn’t hug me back.

***

After Josie and her driver left with the horse, I told Pearson cleaning could resume. He went to collect the staff.

I climbed the stairs to that room above the parlor where Crab and Duck died. Poor Josie, caring for her brother in addition to grieving our friends and managing her grandfather's business. No wonder the strain took its toll on her.

Josie's grandfather forbade her to marry so she might take care of his affairs. Yet he was, to all accounts, perfectly well. It seemed unfair to deny such a beautiful and talented woman as Josephine Kerr the chance at a home and a future. She sounded happy when we discussed the matter last month, but I wondered if she was beginning to regret agreeing to it.

A week had passed since Crab and Duck died. The rugs had been removed and the tiles pried up. The wall where Crab's blood lay after he shot himself had been scraped, scrubbed, and patched.

My day footman Skip Honor came in wearing work clothes; Peter Dewey, our stable-man, followed behind. I nodded at them. "You've done good work."

Peter ignored me. Honor said, "Thank you, mum."

Amelia's husband Peter hadn't so much as looked at me since my mistake with Thrace Pike last month. Roy Spadros tortured Amelia to learn what happened, and Peter never forgave me for it.

Pearson came in. "Jane's ready for our meeting."

I followed him downstairs and through the house. We went through the dining room then down to the kitchens. A small table and three straight-backed chairs were set up for the meeting. A large pot bubbled on the stove; good smells filled the air.

A maid cried in Jane's arms, flinching when she saw me. The maid curtsied. "My apologies, mum," she said, then rushed away.

I hung back by the doorway. "I'm sorry to intrude."

Jane was a stout middle-aged woman whose straight blonde hair mixed with gray. She shook her head, frowning. "The girl mourns Duck's death." The way she said it ....

Ah. The poor girl fancied him.

Duck and his lover Crab betrayed the Family by spying on us for Frank Pagliacci, but ... "We all wish events passed differently."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Jane nodded. "Shall we sit, mum?"

Pearson held my chair, then his wife's, then sat between us.

Jane took a small notebook from her apron pocket. "We need another barrel of baking soda. We've used up almost all of the one we have in order to absorb the smell upstairs. The gravel-man will be here next week to re-do the courtyard. The storms washed quite a bit away out by the street."

"See to it." I turned to Pearson. "How are the staff?"

"About Crab?" Pearson let out a breath. "We've never had such a thing happen here."

I felt much the same way, and I hardly knew the man. "What can we do to help?"

Pearson shrugged. "I'll ask. Time heals most wounds, as they say. But perhaps something for them?"

"That's a good idea. An outing, perhaps?"

Jane smiled. "That would be good, mum."

"I'll speak to Mr. Anthony about it." Then I came to what I wanted to say. "I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to speak of this. I must apologize for the burden I put on you by bringing Pot rags to your kitchens. It was unfair to expect you to train them, and I regret all that happened."

Jane became very still, staring at the table, face red. "It's kind of you, mum, but there's no need to apologize to the likes of me."

"There is need. I'd like for you to choose your replacement."

She shook her head slightly, head bowed, lashes moist, nose reddening. "Has my performance distressed you, mum?"

Oh, dear. "No! Not at all! I'm most pleased with your work. There's better work for you to do here. You perform the tasks of a housekeeper plus your own, and since we lack one ..."

Jane's head jerked upright, her eyes wide. "Me? Upstairs, running the house?"

"I can't think of anyone better."

Jane looked to Pearson, joy in her face. "Oh, John, can you believe it?"

Pearson put his hand on hers then turned to me. "We're most grateful, mum."

"As am I." I smiled at the fond glance which passed between them, then rose. "You have until the outing to choose your replacement. Please inform me when you've decided."

They both rose hastily. "Yes, mum," Jane said, and curtsied. "Thank you, mum."

I took their hands. No one else was in the kitchen, but I spoke softly. "I'm also grateful to you. I've been here since I was twelve. And you're near thrice my age. It feels strange for you to call me mum, especially ..." I felt at a loss for words, "me being a Pot rag and all."

"You must never say such things," Jane whispered fiercely. "Never. You're Mrs. Spadros now. Forget all else."

Something in her voice made me shudder: to this day I don't know why.

***

That evening after dinner, I took to my room and lay in bed. Even though my health had improved, I still tired easily. Tony leaned against the pale blue cushion at the head of the bed as we held hands in the golden lamplight.

I thought back to our luncheon with Josie, Tony's reaction to my comment, the things he had said and done.

Tony truly loved me.

A month earlier, I couldn't have said the same. But the way he stood up to his sadistic, brutal father swayed me. I felt proud of how he had grown as a person. Was this love? I had no idea.

I gazed past Tony to the pictures on the wall. Landscapes of places I had never been, portraits of strangers, all in pale grayish-white frames. My least favorite color for many reasons, not that anyone cared what I thought. But one picture looked familiar. "Who's that man?"

"What man?"

I pointed to the portrait of a pale, black haired man with a sober face and blue eyes. He resembled Tony and Roy, so I assumed he was some relative.

"That's my grandfather, Acevedo Spadros II. My mother says he was the most loving, generous man in the world." He paused. "He died when I was two. I have no memory of him."

A week ago, our private surgeon Dr. Salmon told me of the affair Acevedo Spadros II had with Tony's mother Molly, and of Acevedo's murder by his own men.

Tony said, "Why do you ask?"

Then I remembered who the man reminded me of. "I saw the most beautiful child a few weeks ago. He looked very much like your grandfather. Well, if your grandfather had dark brown skin and curly hair."

"Oh?"

I rolled to face him, and raised myself on an elbow. The lamplight glared in my eyes, leaving Tony's face in shadow. "You should've seen him. He was exquisite: the sweetest black ringlet curls, dark eyes, and a lovely smile." I lay back on the bed, facing the ceiling. "He was about four. His little ball rolled past while I walked, and I fetched it for him. He said, "thank you" with this tiny high voice ... he was the most adorable child I've ever seen."

Then I felt melancholy. That could have been our son.

Give him lighter skin, straighter hair ... but I could picture Tony and I having a child very much like him.

I secretly took a special "morning" tea to keep from bearing Tony a child. My monthly flow began the day Crab shot himself. After everything that happened in my life — kidnapped, forced to marry, unable to see my mother — I wanted some choice in when I would have a child. But now ... I began to regret it.

Tony took my hand. "We'll have children one day. The doctor says it can take time, especially with the first." He paused. "I read about new locking mechanisms for carriages. They lock from the outside, so children don't fall out. I told Pearson to have all the carriages fitted with them."

I stared at the ceiling, wanting to weep. Did Tony feel at fault for his lack of an heir?

I put his hand on my cheek and closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand, willing back tears. Tony would be a good father. Why am I denying him the chance to have a son? It no longer made sense to me.

I would visit Joseph Kerr tomorrow. If he didn't speak of how he felt I would ask, as inappropriate as it might seem. I would know for certain one way or the other. If Joe no longer held feelings for me, I would stop taking my morning tea and let the cards be dealt as they were.