“I assume Edmund refused to be blackmailed,” Symington said, and Potter agreed enthusiastically.
This wasn’t exactly the same story he had told Frank, but he was obviously trying to spare Symington any more pain. Sooner or later the man would have to find out the truth about his daughter and his grandchild, Frank supposed, but he’d let Potter worry about that.
“It’s obvious that Edmund wasn’t the man I thought he was. A man who deserts his family is beneath contempt. Had I known… But that’s of no consequence now. I made a mistake, but when I make a mistake, I correct it.” Symington turned to Frank, his eyes as hard as glass. “My daughter has suffered enough. I do not want her involved in a scandal. If you can find this boy and handle the matter quietly, you will be amply rewarded.”
“Certainly,” Frank said. He didn’t want a scandal either.
“HERE YOU ARE, Mrs. Blackwell,” Sarah said as she tucked the swaddled bundle in next to the new mother. “A fine baby boy.”
Mrs. Blackwell barely had the strength to open her eyes. Dawn was painting pink streaks in the sky, and she’d been laboring all night long. Both mother and baby were exhausted, but Sarah knew it was important for both of them to get the child to nurse immediately.
“I know you’re tired,” Sarah said as Mrs. Blackwell looked down uncertainly at the baby. “But if you can feed him even a little right now, it will help with your recovery, and I’m sure he could use the nourishment.”
“Oh, I’m not going to feed him myself,” Mrs. Blackwell said in surprise. “I’ve hired a wet nurse. Someone should send for her. Granger knows where to find her.”
Sarah frowned. Many wealthy women hired nurses for their children, so she shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Even if you could just feed him for a few days, it would be so much better for both of you.”
“Oh, no,” she insisted, a little alarmed. “Edmund would never allow it. He said no gently bred woman should nurse her own children. Besides, I have to be free to travel for his lectures…” Her voice trailed off as she obviously remembered her husband would be giving no more lectures. “Oh, dear,” she said very faintly and very sadly.
“I’m sure if you’d like to take care of the child yourself, there’s no reason why you couldn’st,” Sarah suggested, tactfully not mentioning the fact that Dr. Blackwell’s opinion no longer mattered. It was all she could do.
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Blackwell said. “I wouldn’t know where to start. I don’t know anything about babies. Send for the nurse. She’ll come right away. She said she would. Oh, and someone should notify my father. He’ll want to know immediately.” She looked down at the babe on the bed beside her, studying its tiny face. “He’s awfully small, isn’t he? I really… I don’t know what to do with him.”
“Just hold him for now,” Sarah suggested. “You can learn the rest as you go. Look how sweet he is,” she added, hoping to get Mrs. Blackwell interested in the child. “And where did he get that red hair? Does it run in your family?”
Unfortunately, her words seemed to have exactly the opposite effect. Instead of being enchanted with the child, as most mothers would be, Mrs. Blackwell looked down at him in horror. “Please, I don’t…” Mrs. Blackwell said in despair, and Sarah had no choice but to take the poor child away.
An hour later Sarah had sent a servant to notify Mrs. Blackwell’s father and met the wet nurse, a sturdy-looking woman who seemed, to Sarah’s relief, both respectable and clean. Satisfied that her work was done, she left the baby in the nurse’s care and Mrs. Blackwell sleeping on fresh sheets and made her way downstairs.
The house was quiet as she descended into the front hallway. The servants would be engaged in their regular activities, and certainly no visitors would be lingering. Or so Sarah thought until a short, plump man emerged from the front parlor at the sound of her footsteps. He was well dressed, if a bit rumpled, and his rather homely features were twisted into a scowl. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“I’m the midwife,” she replied. This usually had the effect of satisfying any such inquiry. People seldom cared what her name was once informed of her profession.
Instead of placating him, however, the information seemed to alarm him. “Mrs. Blackwell? How is she? Shouldn’t you be with her?”
“She’s perfectly fine, she and her new son. They’re both resting comfortably now.”
“Oh, thank heaven,” the man said, placing a hand over his heart, as if trying to still it. “After the shock of finding poor Edmund, I didn’t know… What a terrible, terrible thing.” He shook his head for a moment and then looked up again, his small brown eyes anxious. “Do you think… Will there be any lasting effects? From the shock I mean. She’s such a delicate creature.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Sarah said. “She’s young and healthy. She’ll recover completely, once she’s finished mourning her husband.”
“Oh, she’s healthy now, but it wasn’t so very long ago…” For a moment he seemed lost in thought, absently fingering his watch fob. “Well, no matter.”
“Does she have a condition that I should know about?” Sarah asked. “Something that might affect her recovery?”
“No, not now, at any rate. Thanks to Dr. Blackwell’s skill. And of course if she should need any further treatments, I am fully trained in Dr. Blackwell’s techniques.”
He no longer seemed to be talking to Sarah at all, but rather ruminating to himself. He was fingering the watch fob again, and Sarah couldn’t help but notice that it appeared to be a Phi Beta Kappa key. Perhaps he was more important than she had assumed at first glance. “Are you a family member?” she asked curiously, since this was a much nicer way of inquiring as to his identity than he had used on her.
“What? Oh, no, I’m Dr. Blackwell’s assistant. Or, that is, I was his assistant. A terrible thing. Just terrible.”
“Yes, it was, Mister…?”
“Oh, yes! Potter. Amos Potter at your service, Missus…?”
“Brandt,” Sarah supplied. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter. I’m sure Mrs. Blackwell will appreciate your concern.”
“You may convey my best wishes to her, and assure her I will take care of all the details concerning poor Edmund. She need worry for nothing.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Potter, but I believe someone has sent for Mrs. Blackwell’s father.”
“Oh, yes, of course, but I’ll need to take care of Edmund’s business affairs. Those are my responsibilities anyway. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that no burden falls on Mrs. Blackwell.”
Sarah wanted to ask him for some details about Dr. Blackwell’s demise, but she felt that would be rude of her. Besides, she was more likely to get accurate information much more easily in the kitchen, which was where she had originally been headed. “It was so nice to have met you, Mr. Potter,” she said, ready to take her leave, but Potter wasn’t quite finished with her yet.
“That policeman,” he said. “Malloy, I think his name was. You are acquainted with him?”
Sarah was surprised, but she didn’t let it show. “Yes, we met a few months ago,” she said, revealing nothing with her tone.
“Is he… Can he be trusted to be… discreet?”
“Oh, yes,” Sarah said, quite honestly. “Detective Sergeant Malloy is very good at his job. He’ll keep the news of Dr. Blackwell’s unfortunate death out of the newspapers, if that’s what his family wishes.”
Potter nodded. “And will he be diligent about finding Edmund’s killer?”
Sarah started. “Killer?” she repeated incredulously. “I thought Dr. Blackwell had committed suicide.”
Potter pulled himself up to his full, if inconsequential, height. “Mr. Malloy believes he was murdered. While that is quite distressing to me, I am naturally concerned about his ability to find and dispose of the killer.”
A thousand things were racing through Sarah’s mind, but she took no time to consider any of them. “Mr. Malloy will certainly find the killer, Mr. Potter. You can rest assured of that.”