Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) Read Online Free PDF

middle-aged woman dressed in an old-fashioned brown gown.
    From the doorway, she curtsied. “Mister Markham, I’m sorry for coming to see you.” She sniffed loudly. “I don’t know anyone else who might be able to help.”
    Dominic indicated one of a pair of chairs, upholstered in faded green brocade.
    Mrs Cooper looked down at her sturdy brown leather boots. “I don’t want to dirty your fine carpet.”
    “How thoughtful of you. Don’t worry, a little dust from the lane will do no harm. Seat yourself opposite my desk, and tell me what your problem is.”
    She perched on the edge of a chair. “It’s my daughter, Bessie. Wicked he is, and she’s a God fearing girl.”
    Dominic rested his elbows on the desk, and made a steeple with his fingers on which he propped his chin. He supposed Bessie, a rosy cheeked young woman, was with child. Presumably, Mrs Cooper wanted him to persuade the seducer to marry her daughter. “Who is wicked?”
    His parishioner withdrew a large cotton handkerchief from her pocket. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose before she answered his question. “His lordship.”
    Surely Mrs Cooper was not so naïve that she believed a member of the aristocracy would marry a country girl. For whom did Bessie work? He searched his memory and recalled the name of her employer.  “A relative of Lord Beringford?” he asked.
    “No, sir, she worked for him until his youngest son left the nursery. Next she worked for Lord and Lady Woolsey. Recently, the Earl of Pennington employed her to look after his grandson.”
    Dominic frowned, aware of unpleasant rumours, which circulated with reference to the so called gentleman. One of them even hinted there was little Pennington would not have done to father a son, who would become his heir instead of his nephew. His frown deepened. Surely, even Pennington would not want to try to father the next in line to an earldom on a servant, whom he would marry if she became pregnant. He sighed. “I think the best we can do for your daughter’s child is to persuade the earl to provide for it.”
    Mrs Cooper’s eyes opened wide. “I am shocked to the bone, sir! My Bessie is a good Christian girl. Surely you don’t think she would….would-” flustered, she broke off,  colour flooding into her weather beaten cheeks.
    Somewhat embarrassed by his assumption that Bessie was increasing, he looked at Mrs Cooper. “I beg your pardon for my false assumption. Please explain your daughter’s problem.”
    “I hardly know where to begin, Mister Markham. My poor girl’s in jail in St. Albans. She’s accused of theft. I swear it’s not true, sir, I know it isn’t. Bessie’s honest. Even if she were starving, which she’s never been because I’ve always laid a table with good food, she’d never steal even a crumb of bread not rightfully hers.” At the end of this somewhat muddled sentence, she sniffed several times, her work worn hands clasped tightly together on her lap.
    “Did the Earl of Pennington accuse her?”
    Mrs Cooper nodded, seeming too overcome by Bessie’s dreadful circumstance to speak.
    “What is the charge?”
    “The charge? Oh, do you mean what did he say she’s taken, sir?”
    Dominic nodded.
    “Well, it was like this. The earl’s only got one grandson whom Bessie told me he dotes on and spoils. She wasn’t allowed to punish him even if he was rude and disobedient.” Mrs Cooper leaned forward. “I tell you, Mister Markham, if any of my sons ever spoke as Lord Castleton did to Bessie, after the sting of their father’s cane, they would have been rubbing their backsides.”
    Dominic held up his hand in an attempt to halt the aggrieved housewife’s flow of words. She ignored the gesture.
    “Well sir, one day, after Bessie told the boy to drink all his milk, he threw his silver mug at her. To punish him, Bessie explained the mug was too good for him and put it away. The nasty little boy complained to his grandfather,” she spluttered.