When Roslyn preceded Drew inside, she was surprised to see that, unlike the surrounding squalor of the neighborhood, the room was neat and clean, and held a kitchen of sorts, as well as a sitting area with some threadbare furniture that once had been of good quality.
“If you will please wait here, sir,” the girl murmured before she scurried toward the closed door behind her and slipped inside.
Roslyn met Drew’s gaze silently as they waited for the child’s return but knew her own distress was showing.
Several long moments passed before the girl reappeared. “My mother is too ill to leave her bed, your grace, but if you do not mind, she can receive you there.”
The rear room was a bedchamber, Roslyn saw when they followed the girl. Crowded with three beds, it was just as tidy as the outer room but less welcoming, since the windows were open against the warm summer day and foul air reeked in from the lane below.
The woman lying in the largest bed looked gaunt and feverish. There was also another child sitting silently in one corner, a girl of about six who eyed them nervously.
The elder girl went straight to her mother’s bed and took her hand. “Mama?” she whispered. “Can you talk now, Mama?”
Constance’s eyes fluttered open, and she gazed blankly at her daughter. Then she gave a start as if coming to her senses, and her worried gaze found Drew. She wet her cracked lips before speaking in a rasping, barely audible voice, “Your grace? My son…has something happened to Benjamin?”
“Your son’s name is Benjamin?” Drew asked quietly.
“Yes…” She tried to sit up, but she was too weak to manage, and at the effort, she fell into a paroxysm of coughing.
Constance was gravely ill, Roslyn realized, hearing the rattle in her chest that was symptomatic of a deadly inflammation of the lungs.
Drew stepped forward with alacrity. “Pray, don’t exert yourself, Mrs. Baines. Nothing has happened to your son to my knowledge.”
Her daughter leaned closer, obviously distraught to see her mother in such distress, but Constance waved her away. When her coughing fit subsided, she collapsed back on the pillow. “I…don’t understand…what you want with my son, then.”
“We have some questions about him that I hope you can answer,” Drew said, offering his handkerchief to the ill woman, who took it with a strange mixture of reluctance and gratitude.
“What…did you wish…to know?”
He started to answer, but Roslyn forestalled him, concerned that the girls were too young to hear about their brother’s attempted thievery. “Mrs. Baines, I am Miss Loring. The duke and I are friends of Lady Freemantle. Perhaps it would be best if we spoke in private.”
Her expression suddenly growing more apprehensive, Constance nodded weakly and glanced at the eldest girl. “Sarah…please take Daisy to the parlor. Don’t be alarmed, my love…I will be fine with our guests.”
“Yes, Mama.”
When the girls had left, shutting the bedchamber door behind them, Roslyn moved to stand beside the invalid’s bed. “Mrs. Baines,” she said gently. “Your children’s father was Sir Rupert Freemantle, is that so?”
Constance’s fingers plucked at the coverlet. “Yes.”
“And your son Benjamin is about sixteen years of age now and has ginger hair?”
“Yes, Carrot-Top is what we call him.”
“Tell us, was he wounded recently? In the arm or shoulder, perhaps?”
Constance looked confused. “Yes. A fortnight ago he was helping…to harness a team to a carriage…when the shaft slipped and gouged his arm. Why do you ask? Is Benjamin in…some kind of trouble?”
Roslyn avoided answering directly. “We wish to speak to him, but we’ve had difficulty locating him-and you as well, Mrs. Baines. We know that you lived in a house in St. John’s Wood, but you left with your children several years ago.”
“Who told you so?”
“A solicitor named Farnaby.”
Constance’s eyes darkened. “That evil man…”
“Was Farnaby evil, Mrs. Baines?”
She set her jaw stubbornly, despite the effort it took. “Perhaps not evil…but he was certainly a thief and a swindler.”