Leo nodded. He could believe it.
The old woman went on, “Andifshe’d chosen to whore herself, she could have made alotmore money and not been so short all the time—but she didn’t!”
Leo raised a skeptical brow.
“And if the squire chose to befriend her and help her out from time to time, what business was it of anyone else’s?” She glared at him, daring him to contradict her.
Leo could read between the lines. A gently bred woman with an illegitimate child, struggling to support herself and the babe, apparently without any assistance from her family or the father of the child. And if she sold her body to the squire in exchange for help? It was immoral, but the responsibility lay equally with Sir Bartleby.
“So Isobel stayed with you on Thursday nights?”
“If she did, what of it? Nothing wrong with visiting a neighbor, is there? Louisa adored that child, looked after her the very best she could. And I liked having her—good company the little lass was, even as a toddler. A bright, happy little soul, for all that her life weren’t easy.” Her expression grew bleak. “I wish I knew what had become of her.”
She smoothed her apron thoughtfully, then gave Leo ashrewd glance. “You know where she is, don’t you, sir? ’Tis why you’re askin’ about young Izzy’s ma.”
Leo nodded. “She’s living in London now.”
“And that’s all you’re going to tell me?” she said indignantly. “London is a wicked place, full of sin and danger. Is my Izzy all right? Is she with people who love her? How is she getting along?”
Her concern for Isobel was touching. “She’s in good hands—she’s living with my aunt and her half sister.”
She clapped a hand to her bosom. “She has a half sister?”
He nodded. “One who loves her very much, so you need have no fears for her.”
“Then why are you here, asking about her and her ma? Coming all this way to dig up dirt. If you mean her ill...”
“I mean her no ill. I just... needed to know.” Even to his own ears it sounded feeble. He rose. “I’ll take my leave now. Thank you for your time.”
“Wait.”
He turned.
“You’ll be seeing Izzy? You said she was living with your aunt.”
He nodded.
“Then wait a moment, I’ve something for her.” She hurried out and returned a few minutes later with a wrapped brown-paper bundle tied with string. “Would you give this to her, sir, please? It’s just a few bits and pieces I took from her mother’s cottage after her uncle took the child away. I thought one day she might come back and want them.”
Leo tucked the parcel under his arm and turned to leave, when the woman spoke again. “Young Isobel, sir—has she turned out beautiful like her mother?” She looked at him expectantly.
“She looks like her father, but yes, she’s beautiful.” It came out a little husky. And then, for some unknown reason, he found himself adding, “Very.”
Her face softened and she nodded. “You be good to my Izzy, then.”
Feeling absurdly self-conscious—why on earth had he said that?—Leo bowed curtly and left the cottage. He’d be glad to leave the wretched village behind him.
He wished he’d never come here, never learned those sordid details about her mother. Isobel was not like her mother, no matter what Sir Bartleby had claimed. Even her mother was not the whore that Sir Bartleby had claimed. Her actions, immoral as they might be, were no doubt unavoidable, given her vulnerable position, and Leo couldn’t find it in his heart to blame her.
***
Ohhh, I’m getting cramps.” Clarissa flexed the fingers of her right hand. “I’m so glad you had the idea to get them printed. It’s bad enough having to write out all the addresses.”
Izzy addressed her last invitation and sat back with a sigh of relief. “There, that’s my lot done. How are you doing?”
“Three more to go. How many is that now?”
Izzy grinned. “More than a hundred.”
