In a Gilded Cage - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,88
my jug and her saucepan. “I’d better take this back. And I’m going to see your Mr. McPherson. He might be able to make you up some medicine to take down your fever and ease your stomach. And I’m going to ask him to recommend a good doctor for you.”
“But I can’t afford doctors.” She attempted to sit up.
“Nonsense, I’m paying. You owe me my fee, remember? Besides, I rather think that you’ll soon have the money to pay for things without worrying.”
“You’ve really found out the truth?” she looked up at me. “You know who my parents are?”
“I do indeed.”
“And am I an heiress?”
“Maybe.”
She reached out and grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into me. “So tell me my parents’ names.”
“Your mother was a lovely, fun-loving young woman who married the wrong man.” I paused. “Her name was Lydia.”
“Like my aunt? Wait.” Her eyes opened wide again. “Do you mean my aunt Lydia?”
“The very same.”
“Don’t tell me that Horace Lynch was my father,” she said angrily. “No father ever treated his child as I was treated.”
“You’re right. He wasn’t your father. Hence his bitterness to you and your mother.”
“Then who was my father?”
“A charming and handsome Italian gardener. Your mother was a young girl at the time. She fell madly in love with him, but she was married to Horace Lynch.”
“I see.” She lay there, eyes closed, contemplating this. “She couldn’t run off with the gardener, could she? She was stuck with Horace.”
“He agreed not to turn her out onto the street, but said the baby had to go. She fought for you, Emily. He agreed that they would keep you but not as their own child.”
She lay silently again, thinking, then she said, “You know it’s funny, isn’t it, but small children know. I said to her once, ‘I wish you were my mother’ and she had this funny, sad smile on her face and she said, ‘No mother could love you more than I.’ But she died soon after that.”
I nodded.
“How did you find this out?”
“I’m a detective. I went to Lydia’s birthplace and talked to people.”
“Does Horace Lynch know you’ve found out?”
“I extracted the full story from him.”
“But he still wants nothing to do with me?”
“I did point out to him that legally he is your father and things could be very embarrassing for him should this come to the courts. I also suggested that you might be quite content with a small allowance, rather than going after your mother’s entire fortune.”
“Molly! You didn’t say that!”
“I most certainly did.”
“Didn’t he shout at you most horribly? He’s terrifying when he’s angry.”
“No, I think I had shocked him into silence by that time.”
She laughed. “Amazing.” The laugh turned into a racking cough. When it finally subsided there were beads of sweat over her forehead.
“We must get you well again,” I said. “I should go now and I’ll come back with a doctor.”
She touched my arm again. “Molly, do you think I’m going to die?”
“I won’t let you die,” I said. “If I can conquer Horace Lynch, I’m not going to let your illness win, either.”
She smiled sadly. I took the china basin I had borrowed from the delicatessen then hurried down the stairs and out onto the street. I had promised Emily she wasn’t going to die, but I knew that Fanny and Dorcas had had the best care and attention available and they had both died just the same. Worry clutched at the pit of my stomach. I had dropped off the basin and was just about to enter McPherson’s drugstore when something in the window caught my eye. The display in the corner.
COMPLEXION CREAM FOR THE FINEST, WHITEST SKIN. AS USED BY LADIES IN PARIS.
The cream was in pretty white jars with blue lids. What’s more, I had seen one of those jars recently. On Dorcas’s dressing table. And I remembered the conversation at Fanny’s house. She praised the cream that Ned made and told Emily she needed more of it. I stood staring for a moment, then I turned and ran back to Emily’s room.
“Emily. That face cream. The jar with the blue lid.” The words came out as a gasp, as I was out of breath from running up six flights of stairs.
“The one Ned makes?” she asked. “I have one here on the shelf. Do you want to try it? It’s wonderful.”
I went over to the shelf above her sink and took down the small white jar. I opened it. It was full.
“Ned