Frances Wilding had been brought up to be a dutiful daughter and a biddable wife, but at that moment something inside her snapped. The need to protect the infant was stronger than any other emotion she had felt in her whole life, and nothing anyone said or did would make a scrap of difference.
‘Go home, Joseph,’ she said firmly. ‘I intend to remain here until I am satisfied that Angel will be looked after properly.’
‘You are telling me to leave you here? In a police station with common prostitutes and villains of every kind?’
‘Yes, I am. I won’t move from this spot until I know what arrangements have been made.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Or else I’ll bring her home and hire Miss Heavitree as her wet nurse.’
‘This is ridiculous. Have you lost your senses, Cordelia?’ Joseph paled visibly. ‘What about my status in the business world – have you considered that?’
She turned her back on him. ‘I’m not listening.’
Joseph stared at her in horror. This angry person was not the docile wife who had run his household and acted as hostess to his business acquaintances for more than twenty-five years. He barely recognised the mutinous woman who was openly defying him, and worse still he felt a wave of sympathy emanating from the desk sergeant. There seemed to be little he could do other than admit defeat and save face by appearing to support his wife.
‘Very well, my dear. I can see that this means a lot to you, so I’ll do as you ask, but only if you promise not to do anything rash.’
‘I’ll do what I think best, Joseph.’
Defeated for the first time in his married life, Joseph turned to Sergeant Wilkes. ‘I have to go now, but I’ll send the carriage back to wait for my wife.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand.’
Joseph lowered his voice. ‘I would be prepared to make a generous donation to any charity of your choosing if a suitable home can be found for the infant. My wife will not leave until she is assured of this.’
‘I can’t promise, sir, but I’ll see what I can do.’
Joseph turned his head to see his wife looking directly at him and his heart sank. ‘You heard what I said, Cordelia?’
‘Yes, I did, and I’ll stay here until I’m satisfied that Angel will be loved and cared for, but don’t be surprised if I bring her home with me, Joseph. I will not be swayed on this matter. It’s Christmas Day – a time for children and families – I can’t abandon her, and I won’t.’
Spital Square, Spitalfields – 1871
Angel put down her sampler and stared out of the window. The square was bustling with life and the sun was shining. She longed to go outside but she was forbidden to leave the house unless accompanied by Lil Heavitree, her nursemaid, although at eleven years of age she thought it ridiculous for a big girl like herself to be waited upon hand and foot by an old woman. Lil must be forty, if she was a day, and her large ungainly figure seemed to broaden with every passing year. Clumsy and prone to using bad language when she forgot herself, Lil was looked down upon by the other servants and Angel was constantly flying to her defence, particularly when her guardian’s personal maid, Miss Nixon, used her wiles to get poor Lil into trouble. Quite often, when Lil’s innate clumsiness had caused her to smash a valuable figurine or one of Mrs Wilding’s best Crown Derby dinner plates, Angel had taken the blame. Aunt Cordelia might grumble, but she would forgive Angel, whereas Lil would probably lose her job. There were times when Angel heard the underservants calling Lil names, referring to her as Lumpy Lil and taunting her about her former life. Angel was not sure what Lil’s crimes had been, but they haunted the poor woman even after nearly twelve years of devoted service.
Angel leaned forward, attracted by the cries of a young woman selling strawberries. Aunt Cordelia loved the sweet succulent fruit and the season when they were at their best was far too short. Angel leaped to her feet with a show of lace-trimmed pantalettes and a swirl of her silk taffeta tartan skirts, and she ran from the room, grabbing her reticule on the way out. The coins clanked together merrily as she raced down three flights of stairs, flying past the startled housemaid as she crossed the entrance hall and let herself out into the street, just in time to catch the strawberry seller before she moved on to Norton Folgate.
With a punnet clutched in her hand Angel went to find Aunt Cordelia, but her way to the drawing room was barred by Miss Nixon.
‘Where do you think you’re going, miss?’
Her enthusiasm dashed by Miss Nixon’s tight-lipped expression and sharp tone, Angel wafted the strawberries under the maid’s nose. ‘I bought these with my own money as a present for my aunt.’
‘Have you no sense, child?’ Miss Nixon’s voice was laced with acid. ‘The master is dead. Do you think that a few berries will mend a broken heart?’
Angel stared at her blankly. She heard the words but they made no sense. ‘He can’t be,’ she whispered. ‘I saw him yesterday and he greeted me with such a kind smile.’
‘That may be so but he was taken suddenly. An apoplectic fit, so the doctor said. Anyway, it’s none of your business. Go to your room and don’t bother Mrs Wilding. She’s prostrate with grief.’
Slowly, Angel ascended the stairs. The smell of the warm berries was suddenly nauseating, much as she loved the fruit, and she abandoned the punnet on one of the carved mahogany tables that were placed strategically on each landing. The old nursery on the third floor was now a schoolroom, but Angel’s governess had retired recently, leaving a gap in her life once filled with lessons on history, grammar and mathematics. Aunt Cordelia had insisted that Angel should receive an education fit for a young lady, although Uncle Joseph often stated within Angel’s hearing that filling girls’ heads with knowledge was a waste of time – and now he was dead. It was hard to believe that a large, ruddy-faced man, seemingly in the prime of life, should have been struck down so cruelly. Angel entered the schoolroom to find Lil waiting for her.
‘You’ve been told, have you?’
‘Miss Nixon said my uncle is dead. Is it true, Lil?’
‘Dead as a doornail, love. Felled like an ox, he was. Just got up from the breakfast table, so Florrie says, and collapsed at her feet, and her still holding the coffeepot. It’s a wonder she never spilled it all over him. Not that he’d have felt a thing. He were a goner for sure, and the missis screamed and fell down in a dead faint. Such a to-do.’
‘How awful,’ Angel said sadly. ‘It must have come as a terrible shock. I ought to comfort her. Do you think I should go to her now, Lil?’
‘Not at this minute, my lovely. The doctor’s been and given her a strong dose of laudanum, and the undertaker will be here any minute. Just stay up here until the missis sends for you.’
‘I bought her some strawberries.’ Angel walked over to the window and peered out. ‘It’s such a lovely day.’
‘It don’t matter whether it’s raining or sunny – when your time is up, that’s it. The master has gone to his Maker, and I don’t doubt that
