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

of the night. Tilly and I took turns walking the halls to soothe the child. In the wee hours of the morning, Tilly nodded off. I hadn’t the heart to awaken her. Instead, I allowed her to sleep and cared for the child myself.

The baby nodded off as light broke over the horizon. I managed an hour’s sleep before Tilly roused me to rise for the day, not wanting me to be disciplined for laziness.

After that night, the baby’s care was left primarily to me with Tilly to assist. We spent six months taking care of the child who we named Bessie, short for Elizabeth. Without the ability to afford a wet nurse or formula, we used cow’s milk and a spoon to nurse babies. On occasion we used dippy bread when milk was in short supply. But whenever I could manage it, I used animal milk, even if I had to forego my portion for the child.

One Sunday morning, Tilly and I set to feeding Bessie as we tidied the kitchen area. Tilly held the child in her arms, spoon feeding her milk as I wiped the counters. “One day we shall nurse our own children, Lenora,” Tilly gushed.

I smiled at her. Tilly was a dreamer; I, a realist. We often possessed different opinions on what the future held for girls of our kind.

“Oh, do not give me that look,” Tilly chided.

“What?”

“That knowing glance. I fully intend to have my own family one day, Lenora. Wait and see! I shall have six children and a loving husband!”

“My, my, such plans,” I joked.

Tilly grimaced at me before bursting into a giggle. “You wait and see. I shall grab the world by the tail one day!”

“I hope you do, Tilly!”

Tilly did not respond. I finished wiping the last counter and washed the rag in the sink. I wrung it dry and turned to face her. Tilly stared into space, a silly grin on her face. Daydreaming about her future escapades had taken over her mind completely.

“Tilly!” I exclaimed, rushing over to her. “Stop daydreaming and pay attention! You’ve spilled the milk all over Bessie!”

Tilly snapped back to reality, glancing at the baby. “Oh!” she cried, spotting the stream of milk now dripping from Bessie’s chin. I wiped the child clean and Tilly handed her over to me. “Perhaps you should finish. Golly, I hope I am better at feeding my own children.”

“I am certain you will be,” I assured her, relieving her of the baby and taking her place as she stood. I spooned more milk into the child’s mouth.

Tilly stared at me from across the room. “Did you finish with the counters?”

I nodded. “Yes. Just the sink needs wiped.”

I fed Bessie three more spoonfuls of milk before I set her against my shoulder to burp her. As I set to patting Bessie’s back, I found Tilly still staring at me. “What is it?” I asked.

“You are so very good with her.”

“She is not the first baby we have cared for here,” I answered.

Tilly shook her head. “No. You are special, Lenora. You will make a wonderful mother one day.” I did not answer, instead returning to feeding Bessie. Tilly set to her work, cleaning the sink. “You should not take such a negative view. You do not know what the future may hold!”

“Oh, to have your optimism, Matilda Anderson!” I exclaimed.

Tilly giggled and grinned at me. When we finished with our chores and Bessie’s feeding, I changed then dressed her. I sat with her on the floor of our bedroom, reading to her. Tilly worked on a composition assignment, promising to relieve me soon so I may finish my work before classes tomorrow.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, continuing down the hall toward our bedroom. Headmistress Williamson appeared in the doorway. She glanced in at us, her face set into its usual frown. “Lenora,” she snapped. “Clean up the child and prepare her to be seen by prospective parents. Bring her down as soon as you have finished. Do not delay.”

“Yes, headmistress,” I responded, a lump forming in my throat. Headmistress Williamson spun on a heel and disappeared from my sight.

“Perhaps they will reject her,” Tilly offered.

I clung to Tilly’s optimism with every fiber of my being, though a piece of my mind warned me to prepare for the inevitable. Babies were not often rejected by prospective parents. It was a marvel the child had gone this long without being claimed.

I closed the book and made sure Bessie was presentable. I fixed her dress, ensured her face was clean, and that she did not need her nappy changed. Satisfied, I carried her downstairs with Tilly following me.

A man and woman stood with Headmistress Williamson in the foyer. I slowed as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Ah, here is the child now,” Headmistress Williams announced. She pulled the baby from my arms, offering her to the woman. “As you can see, the child is quite healthy. She sleeps through the night without trouble. She is a pleasant little darling, very alert yet never demanding or fussy.”

I held back rolling my eyes. Headmistress Williamson rarely bothered herself with the child’s care. She gave the same speech with every child, having no idea of any of their temperaments.

The woman accepted Bessie from her. “Oh, Charles,” she breathed, turning to the man, “isn’t she beautiful?”

“Mmm,” the man murmured. “And she has no known diseases?” he asked Headmistress Williamson.

“None at all!” Headmistress Williamson assured him. “Healthy as can be!”

The woman rubbed her cheek. “Hello there, darling. Would you like to come home with us?” she asked Bessie.

“And the agreed upon sum for her adoption is set? No reduction in cost despite her age?”

“I am sure, Mr. Bedford, we can work out a sum agreeable to both of us.”

My stomach turned. I held Bessie’s blanket in my hands, her only possession. I clung to it, wringing it in frustration. Tilly would be proved incorrect. The couple planned to take the child.

“Do not dicker, dear,” the woman