‘So you’ve come to your senses. It was a stupid thing to do, Lucinda. I suppose he threw you out?’
‘Avonlea knows nothing,’ Lucinda replied. Shaking with anger, she had thrust the letter under her mother’s nose. ‘Where is she, Mama? Where is my daughter? The child you stole from me—the child you told me was dead?’
Her mother’s face had turned pale. At first she had continued to refute her daughter’s accusation. For ten days she had tried to deny all knowledge of the child, swearing it had died at birth and that she knew nothing. Lucinda had questioned her relentlessly, never giving her a moment’s peace, and in the end she’d broken down in tears.
‘Your father would not let you keep the babe. He took it to a workhouse and…I believe she was adopted by a childless couple.’
‘Tell me their names, Mama.’
Mrs Seymour shook her head. ‘I know no more. I swear he told me nothing.’
‘Very well, give me the name of the workhouse.’
‘It will do little good after all this time.’
‘Tell me what I wish to know and I shall leave you in peace. Deny me and I shall continue to question and demand. I am no longer the frightened child I was when I was so cruelly abandoned by you.’
‘It was not my wish—but your shame had to be hidden.’
‘Why? Had you loved me as a mother should, you could have taken me away, perhaps abroad, and let me keep my babe. We might have found an honest living somehow.’
‘Why do you care about the child if you were raped, as you claim?’
‘How could you doubt me?’ Lucinda looked at her sadly. ‘The man who used me so cruelly was a monster and if my father had stood by me, he might have been punished—but Papa preferred to believe his friend’s lies. He, I hate—but my child is innocent. Mama, can you not see that I need to see my child? The knowledge that she lives is tearing at my heart. I shall never be at peace until I know how she is.’
‘What will you do if you find her?’
‘I am not certain—but I must know she is well and happy. Can you not see that I should never rest easy if I simply left her to her fate?’
‘I do not…’ Mrs Seymour’s eyes dropped in shame.
In the end she’d given her daughter all the details she had. Lucinda had left the house that same day.
It had taken her two weeks of travelling, often on foot, to find the workhouse and another week before she could persuade the woman in charge to tell her the names of the couple who had taken her daughter.
‘You understand that I told you nothing,’ she said and looked at the silver locket and ruby brooch lying in her hand. ‘Your father told us to have the brat adopted and Mrs Jackson had none of her own then.’
‘She has other children now?’
‘Aye, they come like that. She has four of them under the age of four and more than she can manage. She’ll likely be glad to get rid of Susan.’
‘You called my daughter Susan?’ The woman nodded. ‘Thank you, madam. Now will you kindly tell me where to find my daughter?’
‘You’ll find the family at the sign of the Cock’s Spur.’
‘Mrs Jackson and her husband run a hostelry?’
‘Aye, you might call it that, though some round here would have other words—’tis a den of thieves if you ask me.’
‘Thank you for the information. I hope you have told me the truth. If not, I shall return—and then you will be very sorry for lying to me. My husband is a powerful man and he will punish you.’
‘You don’t look like the wife of a powerful man.’ The warden sniffed.
‘What I choose to wear is my business,’ Lucinda said proudly.
She had walked away, her heart beating frantically.
It had not taken long to discover the inn of which the warden had told her. She had ventured inside, hoping to find a reasonable woman with whom she might bargain for the return of her daughter. However, she had soon discovered the innkeeper’s wife to be a filthy slut who harangued her husband and her customers and screamed abuse at any provocation. She’d eyed Lucinda suspiciously and demanded to know what she wanted.
‘If you’re after summat, yer’ll get naught here,’ she said. ‘If yer want to service men, you’ll do it elsewhere. I run a clean house here and don’t harbour doxies.’
‘I was looking for a child. She was adopted from the workhouse five years ago.’
‘What do yer want her fer?’
‘She is my daughter and I want her back.’
‘Yer do, do yer?’ The woman glared at her. ‘I’ll sell her fer five hundred guineas if yer like.’
‘I have only a silver trinket box and a diamond brooch that was my godmother’s,’ Lucinda said. ‘The child is my daughter. She was stolen from me at birth and I have just discovered that you have her. For pity’s sake, let me take her. I will give you all I have.’
‘Clear orf. The girl will fetch good money in a year or two. I’ve had offers for her already and they were more than you’re offering. I know your sort. Yer think I’m green behind the ears. Men will pay a fortune for a wench like that—and I’ll sell her to the highest bidder when the time comes.’
‘No, you mustn’t. Please, you can’t,’ Lucinda cried in distress. She could not allow such a wicked thing to happen. ‘I’ll get money for you. She’s my daughter. I swear it on the Bible.’
‘The price just went up to one thousand guineas,’ the woman said, a gleam of avarice in her eyes. ‘You’ve got a week to find the money or she goes to the highest bidder.’
‘Let me see Susan, please.’
‘Yer can see ‘er—but no funny business. Try snatchin’ ‘er and I’ll call me husband and yer’ll be sorry.’
Lucinda promised she would not and waited while the woman went into what looked like a kitchen at the rear. Her nails curled into the palms of her hands as she reappeared, dragging a reluctant child into the taproom. Lucinda’s heart plummeted as she saw how dirty and thin the little girl was. She wanted to weep for pity, but knew that she must show no emotion. Kneeling in front of the child, she tipped her chin with one finger and her heart turned over. She had seen those eyes before—a curious greenish-blue; she saw them every day when she looked at herself in a mirror. The child was hers. The warden had not lied to her.
Resisting the urge to snatch her in her arms and run, Lucinda smiled at the little girl, reached into her pocket and took out a small cake she’d brought with her. She offered it to the child, who looked suspicious.
‘It is a cake for you,’ she said. ‘Listen to me, Susan. One day soon I am going to fetch you. I am going to take you to live with me.’
‘Not unless I get me thousand guineas you ain’t.’ The woman shoved the little girl. ‘Back to your work.’
‘Please be kind to her,’ she said as the child bit the cake, her eyes opening in wonder as she tasted its sweetness. ‘I shall be back within the week.’
It had cost Lucinda so much pain to leave her daughter here. Her heart wrenched with pity as the child glanced back at her before disappearing into the kitchen.
‘What work does she do?’
‘Anyfin’ I tell ‘er,’ the woman answered.