I’d talked with Mrs Johnson a time or two after they had moved into the cottage, and from what I could understand from her broken English, she’d been a lady’s maid at one time. I didn’t press either of them on the fact that they were now working on an estate in the country. I couldn’t fail to notice that the child looked nothing like his “father.” Female servants, even those in as elevated a position as lady’s maid, could easily fall prey to the master of the household.
Or a visitor to the master’s household.
Considering the man Sir Eustace had been, and considering the occasions when Aunt Cecily had been increasing, what surprised me was there weren’t many more of his by-blows about the estate.
Once we reached the cottage, we found Mrs Johnson in their bedroom, hovering over the boy, who was writhing and moaning steadily. “I want my mama. Ma…Ma…”