“I did. For all the good it did me. The woman is a raving lunatic, and they are thinking of sending her over to Bedlam, for she screams at the other people who live there. She attempted to come to blows with a young woman who was quite advanced in pregnancy, calling her a trollop, and saying she was no better than she should be.”
“How very strange,” Percival commented. “Was the young lady in question unwed?”
“No, and that’s the peculiar part of it. She’s a widow. Her husband was killed in a street brawl. She was evicted for lack of rent. She is fearful of losing her child when the babe is born. She thinks that the people who run the house will put it up for adoption immediately.”
“Is this a common practice? Why would anyone steal an infant?”
“More common than you might think, My Lord, for those who need an heir, yet are unable to get one in the ordinary way.”
“Do you think that Tiffany might have been such a child?”
“She might. And might be there’s other complications. Did you know that the bakery still stands empty?”
“Odd. I thought it had been sold. Tiffany certainly thought so.”
“That was the story that Mrs. Bentley put about when she was evicted. But it seems that there was something else. Something about an inheritance condition not fulfilled.”
“Is that so? How very odd. Were you able to see the will?”
“No. I was not. But I have put about to the various law firms, inquiring as to whether Mr. Bentley might have sought their services.”
“So what is it exactly that you suspect, Constable Brooks?”
The stout fellow waved his hand, as if flapping at flies. “Not quite sure just yet, My Lord. Not sure enough to say. The Widow Bentley was screaming about by-blows and unwed mothers, and her ravings were interspersed with comments like ‘cursed brat’ and ‘left her everything.’”
“Really?” Percival focused intently upon Brooks. “Do you think the shop in actual fact belonged to the adopted daughter?”
“I think that there is a good possibility of it. But getting the true story from Widow Bentley will be nigh impossible. Any mention of Tiffany sets her to raving.”
“Good heavens! No wonder the young woman found it necessary to leave. But to think that it might be possible that she spent two years on the streets when she was heir to her adoptive father’s business.”
“It’s a mighty pe-cooo-liar world,” the former constable shook his head. “It is a very strange world, indeed. When I was part of the Watch, I saw many odd things. That I did. But until I can track down that will, it might be difficult to say for sure.”
“Was there an inn that burned?”
“As a matter of fact, there was. But I’ve not been able to locate a single boarding house with an owner altruistic enough to keep watch over a babe while the parents were at work.”
“That is very curious,” Percival said. “Thank you for the report, and I will appreciate it if you would continue to look into the matter. It does all seem very odd.”
“Quite so, My Lord. And I will admit that my own curiosity has been aroused.”
“Keep looking,” Percival said. “Stop in my man of business’s office for your retainer on your way out. This is certainly a development that should be pursued. But I will not speak with the girl about it until we know more.”
“A wise precaution, My Lord. It might be that I am only an old fool poking about in mare’s nests. It would be unconscionably cruel to give her false hopes, especially since she seems to be settling in here so nicely.”
“Quite so,” Percival agreed. “I find that I am enjoying her company very much, and we are all delighted with her culinary skills. I declare, I shall grow quite stout.”
“Ho, ho!” Brooks laughed, and patted his own ample waistline. “I know nothing of this getting stout. Unfortunately, mine is only a fondness for a good beer. Well, I shall be off, and see what more I can learn.”
Percival saw him to the door of the small drawing room, where McClellan was waiting to see him down to Mr. Wilson’s office.
After the constable’s departure, Percival stared out the window. A trio of sparrows were twittering about and fussing with one another. As he watched, he realized that two were little cock sparrows, and the third was a drab little hen.
Even in the natural world, there are rivalries and alliances. How fortunate I am to have had my uncle to help guide me through these years since my parents’ death. What would I have done without him?
He tried to imagine what it must have been like for Tiffany to have dealt with a woman who was clearly not in her right mind, while grieving for the only loving parent that she knew.
I wonder what Brooks will discover. How very strange it must be not to know who your parents are or the true circumstance of your birth. Sometimes I feel bound down by my circumstance, but at least I know who I am. Who are you, Tiffany? Why did the Widow Bentley hate you so much?
