Death of a Duchess, Nellie Steele [non fiction books to read .txt] 📗

“Mrs. Fletcher,” I finished for her. “Lead the way.”

I skirted the rude girl and ascended the steps. As I approached the other woman, I noted her blotchy skin and red nose. She had been crying. My stomach turned over, though I assured myself a crying prostitute was likely not uncommon.

She led me up the remaining stairs and down the hall to a closed door. She glanced to me before opening it and proceeded inside. The distinct sound of sobbing filled the air as I rounded the bend into the room. Several women stood inside, a few crying, one wringing her hands.

My brow crinkled as I witnessed the scene. I scanned the room, searching for the reason behind their sorrow. The women who had summoned me to the room touched the shoulder of another and whispered something into her ear. The girl who stood in front of a bed, glanced over her shoulder at me then backed away. Only then could I comprehend their upset.

I gasped and tears filled my eyes as a sob shuddered through my body. On the bed lay Tilly’s body, lifeless. Pale as the sheet she lay on, her open eyes stared upward, though saw nothing. Her colorless cheeks were slack, and her jaw hung open. One woman held Tilly’s hand, sobbing over her, though it no longer mattered. She was gone.

“Tilly!” I cried as tears rolled down my cheeks. “No!” I rushed to the bed, placing my palm on her cold cheek. I collapsed onto the bed next to her body as another sob escaped me. After a moment, I closed her eyes and pushed a lock of hair from her face. “What happened?” I whispered.

No response came. I glanced around at the others, waiting for an answer. The woman who brought me to Tilly spoke. “She…” The woman paused, steadying herself as another wrapped an arm around her shoulder. After a sniffle, she proceeded again. “She had her baby this morning. But then she started bleeding. Lots of blood. And it didn’t stop. Just kept coming.” The woman choked on the words, sobbing with each sentence.

“Aye,” a blonde woman added. “We tried to help her, even pooled some money to call for a doctor, but…” Her voice trailed off.

“She died before he got here,” the rude girl who had followed us upstairs finished.

I glanced back to Tilly’s exanimate form. Only now did I notice the faint traces of blood on the sheet that covered her body. Poor Tilly. Always so full of life, so exuberant, now cold and quiet. Another tear rolled down my cheek.

My thoughts were frazzled but one constant centered itself in my mind. I stood and faced the other women. “What of the child?” I questioned.

They gaped at each other, none certain how to answer. “Is it also…” My voice faded away, unable to finish the sentence.

“No,” the blonde spoke up. “She delivered a healthy baby boy before…”

“Where is he? May I see him?”

The blonde nodded to the rude girl who disappeared into the hallway. She returned in moments carrying a small, swaddled figure. The tiny newborn mewled in her arms as he slept.

The girl handed him to me, and I stared down at his tiny face. He was wrapped in a stained white sheet. His coverings contrary to the child himself. Porcelain skin and pink cheeks like his mother’s, I noted. And their mouths, identical. I wondered if he possessed her sparkling blue eyes. The only difference was the crown of dark hair on his head, the antithesis of Tilly’s flaxen tresses.

He fussed, huffing and whimpering. “Shh,” I offered. “There, there.” I jostled him a bit to soothe him back to sleep. “Has the father been informed?” I asked, my eyes remaining on the child.

I glanced up sharply when I received no response. The redhead shook her head, sighing.

“There is no father,” offered the blonde. My brow furrowed at her statement.

The redhead clarified it. “She don’t mean that literal. But we don’t have no idea who he is. With our… profession… it’s impossible to tell.”

“Tilly seemed to know,” I argued. “Did she not confide in any of you his identity? She seemed to believe he wanted the child.”

A chuckle emanated from the rude girl. It turned into an uncontrollable laugh. Several of the women hushed her, but she continued to snicker. My brow furrowed further, and a frown crossed my lips. “That’d be Tilly, all right,” she answered, calming herself after noting my expression. “She always insisted someone would be back for her.” The girl rolled her eyes and met my gaze. “There weren’t no father, no marriage proposal, no man wanting that baby. She dreamed it all up. Told herself that bedtime story to get through it, she did. There weren’t no truth to it.”

I glanced around the room and was met by a few nods. Rude as she may be, the girl was correct and most of the others acknowledged and confirmed her take on the unfortunate situation.

I looked down at the child in my arms. It was as I suspected. Tilly’s dreams of marriage and family were only that: dreams. Poor child, I contemplated. What would become of him? Questions swirled in my mind as I struggled to process the events.

I gathered my thoughts before speaking again. I glanced up at the women. “What…” My voice trailed off. I stared into the room’s corner. A blue-eyed, pink-cheeked, flaxen haired woman stared back. Tilly. My heart broke for her. It took all my strength not to weep again in that moment.

She approached me, glancing down at the child in my arms. She placed her hand on his head, her thumb stroking his tiny forehead. Tilly glanced up at me, tears filling her eyes. I offered her a sympathetic look.

“Please, Lenora,” she said, sobs filling her voice. “Take him.”

My expression changed to one of bewilderment. I glanced to the baby then back to Tilly. “Please, Lenora,” she repeated. “Take him. Minnie is correct. He has no father. They cannot and