Papa let out a tired sigh. “Your mother is giving birth as we speak. Everyone is to believe your mother birthed this one at the same time.”
“You mean like a dog or cat has more than one?”
“Exactly like that. I want no questions, son. The only people who will know the truth is you, me, and the wet nurse. Now, it’s time I see your mother. Find the wet nurse. She can help with that parcel you’re holding.”
Noah sputtered. “But, is it a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. The wet nurse can tell you. Just give it a name and keep it out of my sight.”
*
London—1838
Geneva drudged upthe stairs, three flights, to No. 26 Berwick Street. She entered the flat she hadn’t lived in for the last two years, having been at Miss Greensley’s School of Comportment for Young Ladies of Quality. She unpinned the black veiled hat and tossed it on the scarred piece of wood that served as a table for her, Mama, and Papa on the rare occasions he was home.
With Mama now gone, the place felt almost haunted. The dreary London weather did nothing to dispel the notion. Mrs. Cornett still lived on the floor below, but she was feebler now and Mrs. Barding, whose husband had expired long before Geneva had left for school, was now Mrs. Cornett’s constant companion. Neither had been able to make the miserable trek to Mama’s services.
Papa had, of course, but he’d opted to stop at The Rat and Bull for a “quick” drink. Geneva suspected he wouldn’t return home for the remainder of the evening. Something for which she was innately grateful.
Geneva set the kettle on the stove to heat and changed from the dreary, black dress to something more comfortable. She was due to catch the coach back to school over the weekend.
The door flew back and Papa stood in the doorway, his small, beady eyes glittering—with fury? Madness?
But Geneva knew better than to cower, allowing him the upper hand.
His meaty hands clenched and flexed with ominous intent. “Where is it?” he demanded.
Level head, she told herself, turning and pulling a cup from the cupboard. “Where is what?”
“The locket.”
Geneva reached into the back of her mind, memories swirling. Just like the greatcoat of the mysterious stranger who’d haunted her dreams since the age of five. “I’ve no idea to what you are referring.”
He started toward her, the thick-knuckled fist rising. “Don’t be usin’ that highfalutin’ tone with me. Yer mum ain’t here to protect ye no more.”
But Geneva’s reflexes were sound. She managed to contain her flinch and snatched up the closest weapon.
The knife used for carving mutton on the rare occasion meat was in the house.
Chapter One
1847
“Geneva, have youcompleted theCall to Arms for Education Reform?” Miss Hannah Ruskin, sister of Baron Ruskin, and also fellow Miss Greensley’s Academy graduate, as well as one of her dearest friends, looked up, her blue eyes questioning.
Geneva Wimbley and her group of cohorts from Miss Greensley’s had created their own secret club:The Clandestine Sapphire Society, and they were on a mission: to further education for the masses with training for teachers, as well as a demand for better working conditions that included factory workers and others in need of basic human rights, food, shelter, clothing. The objectives also included promoting social justice and equality. Geneva, Hannah, along with Lady Abra Washington, and the Duke of Rathbourne’s only child, Lady Meredith Jephson—now Lady Perlsea, Geneva reminded herself—had tired of those who stole from the poor to raise their own statuses, only to mock those they treated so abhorrently. Meredith had wed three years prior and her arrogant, overbearing husband had banished her to Cornwall due to some sort of agreement their fathers had struck when the viscount and Meredith had been just children. It was so archaic.
Geneva missed Meredith terribly and it had been quite some time since she’d heard from her friend.
“Of course. How else am I to pay the rent? I’m just wrapping up. How does this sound?” She set down her pen and picked up the sheaf of paper and read, “‘In the quest of superiority in education, ’tis crucial we recognize the vital roles of educators. Instructors are not merely conveyors of information; they are the future of this great country. Mentors, guides, and inspirers of young minds. I implore you to support the quality of education, as it can only be as strong as the caliber of those from whom they learn. ’Tis with this conviction that the entire British population advocate for greater training across the board.’”
Hannah put her hands together, wheat-colored curls bouncing and infectious grin curving her lips, exposing a playful dimple in her left cheek. “Bravo! Bravo!”
Geneva rose from her chair and gave a grand bow from the waist, grinning back. “Thank you.”
Her friend took her cloak from the peg near the door, then set her bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons beneath her chin.
“Where is your maid?” Geneva worried about causing trouble for her friends. The baron in particular could be an issue.
