Death of a Duchess by Nellie Steele (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📗

I offered one of the books I had brought for the trip to Ella, which she gratefully accepted to pass the hours. We arrived in the late afternoon. After settling in and a brief rest, dinner was already upon us.

“Will you visit with your acquaintance?” Robert asked me as we dined.

“Yes. I hope to!”

“Hope to? Have you written her about our trip?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Though I have not received a reply.”

“Perhaps she has moved,” Robert suggested.

“Perhaps,” I answered, hoping she had. “Though she is undoubtedly busy and perhaps it slipped her mind. At any rate, I shall attempt to call upon her tomorrow where she last resided.”

“Will Sinclair accompany you?”

“No. Sinclair has plans to visit her mother.”

Robert frowned. “Oh. I had hoped she would accompany you to visit, eh, Tilly, was it? Perhaps she can postpone the visit.”

“Yes, Tilly,” I confirmed. “I have no need of a chaperone. I have already given Sinclair permission to visit during the day. I will not renege on it.”

Robert continued to frown. “Well…”

“I shall be fine,” I assured him, patting his hand.

“You had better be,” he answered with a smile. “My business should conclude shortly after lunch. I thought we may take a stroll in the park ‘round the corner together. Are you keen on it?”

“Yes, it sounds very pleasant,” I agreed.

“Excellent. Shall we meet at the entrance at, say, quarter to two? Will that give enough time for your visit?”

“Yes. Quarter to two will give me plenty of time.”

“Wonderful. I shall look most forward to sharing the afternoon with you.”

Chapter 15

When I retired for the evening, I laid awake in my bed. The last time I had been in Glasgow, I had laid awake as well. Worry for Tilly had consumed me then, as it did now. Worry over what, I did not understand. Perhaps anxiety crept over me at the prospect of Tilly’s predicament. Becoming an unwed mother set both mother and child at a severe disadvantage. What would become of Tilly? Of the child? Would the child become another unwanted orphan being cared for by a callous caregiver? No, Tilly would not desert her child, I affirmed in my mind. Though what if circumstances warranted no other choice? My mind whirled and nothing I did could quiet it.

In an attempt to push the vexing thoughts from my mind, I considered my home. I recalled my tower room with its small library shelf. The comfortable chaise lounge, the cozy window seat, the small singing box I had left on my table there. All awaited my return. My mind turned to another awaiting me: Annie. I pondered over our last encounter. Why had she been hovering at the sitting room doors?

I fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning and was awakened by Sinclair as she entered the room. “Apologies, Your Grace,” she said as I stifled a yawn and stretched. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“No apology is required,” I assured her as she helped me with my dressing gown. “I confess I did not sleep well and slept later into the morning than I intended.”

“Perhaps you should return to bed and rest,” Ella suggested.

“No, I am quite well and prefer to pay my call as planned.”

Ella nodded and helped me dress for the day. After breakfast, she set out on foot to visit her mother. I offered a carriage ride to her, though she assured me the walk on the bright spring day would be pleasant and not overwhelming.

Later in the morning, I embarked on my own journey to Tilly’s brothel. As I navigated the streets, a knot grew in my stomach. I found my pace quickening with each step. Anxious to put my mind at ease, I dashed through the streets until I arrived in the less-than-desirable area of town. I approached Tilly’s street and hastened to her building. The dilapidated stone façade seemed more somber to me somehow.

I hurried up the few crumbling stone stairs to the door and knocked. No one answered. I knocked again and waited, my foot tapping on the gray stone beneath me. Still nothing. Had the brothel closed, I wondered? I chuckled at the absurdity of that notion. Brothels did not often close.

I stepped back, glancing into the windows, searching for any signs of life. Lamps burned inside, confirming the presence of people within the building. I stepped back up to the landing and pounded on the door.

It appeared the third time was, in fact, the charm! The door opened a crack, and a face peered out. “What do you want?” she demanded.

I was taken aback but proceeded with my request. “I am here to visit with Tilly Anderson,” I announced, struggling to see through the tiny crack in the door.

“She ain’t here, go away,” the girl responded. She shut the door. I pounded against it again. “I said go away,” the girl repeated after opening the door a crack.

I pushed against the door, shoving it open further. “No,” I insisted. “I demand to see Tilly.” My trepidation about Tilly grew with each passing moment.

The girl seemed shocked at my determination. She fell back a few steps, and I pushed inside the building. She gaped around the room for a few moments as though uncertain how to proceed next.

Another woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She sniffled, wiping at her face. She glanced at me, then at the girl.

“What is this?” she asked.

“This… lady,” the girl said, eyeing me, “pushed her way in here demanding to see Tilly.”

The girl seemed to shudder at the statement. She swallowed hard, staring at me. “Yes,” I confirmed. “I would like to see Tilly Anderson. Now, please. If you give my name, she will know it. We are friends.”

“Friends?” the redhead at the stair’s top squeaked.

“Yes,” I repeated. “Friends.” The two women shared another glance. “What is going on here?” I demanded.

“I think you’d better come at once, Miss… eh,” the woman