One Night in London by Caroline Linden Read Free Book Online Page A

of her anger over Wittiers to drain away, leaving weariness and a tinge of despair. She had never thought it would be this difficult. She had expected Ellen to be relieved by her offer to take Georgina; the girl was no relation to her, and Ellen must have her hands full with two small infants. She had been puzzled, then frustrated by Ellen’s stiff refusal, and then incensed when she realized Georgina’s maintenance must be providing vital funds to Ellen’s household. Flinging the accusation in the woman’s face probably hadn’t been the best course, but Ellen’s reaction had been ample confirmation. Her face had gone pale, and then Percival Watts had ordered Francesca out with the parting promise that she would never be allowed to see Georgina again for saying such a thing. And she hadn’t been.
    Even then Francesca hadn’t thought she faced such long odds. After Giuliana’s death, John had promised to name her custodian of Georgina in his will, but he met his unfortunate end before he made the change. Surely the court would at least consider her petition. The reluctance of nearly a dozen solicitors to embrace her case had infuriated and frustrated Francesca, but today she felt the first real chill of despair. The last thing she wanted to do was start a battle with poor Georgina stuck in the middle. And at this rate, Georgina would be grown and married before she even saw her again.
    She rapped the knocker and waited, and waited, and waited. She rapped again, feeling her shoulders tense in grim anticipation. An apology was certainly going to be required, and she would duly make it, even to Percival Watts’s face if necessary, but she would not enjoy a moment of it. Just standing here on the stoop was making it loom ever more galling in her mind. Just as she was reaching to knock a third time, a neighbor came out of the house next door, a large basket on her arm.
    “Are you wanting Mrs. Haywood?” the woman asked, squinting at Francesca.
    “Yes. But I fear they are not in.”
    “Not at all, ma’am, not anymore!” The woman juggled her market basket and closed her door, then hurried down her steps. Francesca slowly followed suit. The woman met her beside the street. “I’m Mrs. Jenkins; we were neighbors, you see. They’ve moved house,” she said. “Left . . . oh my, it must be three or four days now.”
    “Oh.” Francesca could feel the blood draining from her face. “I had no idea . . . Where have they gone?”
    The neighbor’s plump, pink face creased as she shook her head. “I cannot tell you, for I don’t know. We’d no idea they were thinking of leaving! Although Mr. Jenkins wasn’t sorry to see the twins go; such a racket those two could make.”
    “The little girl,” Francesca asked urgently. “Have you see the little girl recently? Georgina?”
    “Of course,” replied Mrs. Jenkins with a smile. “Such a sweet girl, and so helpful. I’ve seen her sweeping the steps ever so often, and so polite she always is. Much too thin, to my mind, but pretty all the same.”
    She closed her eyes in relief, but just for a moment. Georgina looked thin? She was always out sweeping the steps, like a servant child? Francesca struggled to keep her voice even. “But surely they left some word of how they can be reached.”
    “Not that I know of.” The woman’s expression melted into pity. “I’ve seen you call on them before. On the outs with Mrs. Haywood, are you?”
    “In a way,” Francesca murmured. “The little girl, Georgina, is my niece. I just wanted to see her . . .”
    The woman cleared her throat, and sidled a step nearer. “It’s not my concern, o’ course, but I think the family might have fallen on some difficulties. You weren’t the only one Mrs. Haywood turned away.”
    “Oh? Who else?” Francesca asked in surprise.
    Mrs. Jenkins lowered her voice even more. Gossiping had brought a glow to her round face. “Tradesmen,” she said with relish. “Some of them more than