No one came.
He knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Elizabeth’s heart began to beat faster. She had just lifted her hand to knock herself when the sound of bolts finally came from within. The door opened only a little at first, as though the person behind it feared who might be waiting.
Then it swung wide.
The woman in the doorway was much younger than Elizabeth expected—perhaps only two and twenty—her cap sat slightly askew, her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face looked as though sleep had become a memory rather than a habit.
“Miss Elizabeth?” the young woman breathed.
The relief in her voice nearly undid Elizabeth. “Yes. I came as soon as I could. You are Mrs. Thompson?”
Mrs. Thompson pressed a hand to her mouth. “Yes. Thank God you are here.”
Before anything more could be said, a cry sounded from somewhere within the house.
“Cousin Lizzy!”
Then another.
“Lizzy!”
The next moment, three children came tumbling into the hall.
Edward, the eldest, tried bravely to look composed and failed before reaching her. Sophie was already sobbing, one ribbon hanging loose from her hair, while little Thomas clutched a wooden horse in one hand and dragged a blanket behind him with the other. They fell upon Elizabeth all at once, and she sank to the floor beneath the force of them, gathering as many small bodies as she could into her arms.
“Oh, my darlings,” she whispered.
Edward buried his face against her shoulder. Sophie wrapped both arms around Elizabeth’s waist and cried as though she had been holding back tears for days. Thomas climbed half into her lap, the wooden horse digging painfully into Elizabeth’s side, and wailed for his mama with a heartbreak so complete that Elizabeth had to close her eyes.
For several minutes, she could do nothing but hold them.
Above her, Mr. Philips spoke quietly with Mrs. Thompson. Elizabeth heard fragments through the children’s cries.
“How many remain?”
“Cook, two maids, John the footman, and myself, sir. The nursemaid left the second morning after Mrs. Gardiner passed. She said she had family in Southwark and would not stay where there might be no wages. I could not stop her.”
“And the others?”
“Gone.” Mrs. Thompson’s voice shook with fatigue. “Some frightened by sickness. Some by the flooding. Some by rumors that the business was ruined and no one would ever be paid. I have done what I could, but the children—”
“You have done very well,” Mr. Philips said firmly.
Mrs. Thompson gave a small, broken sound that was not quite a sob. “I shall have rooms prepared for you directly.”
Elizabeth lifted her head. “No. Please do not trouble yourself. I shall stay in the nursery with the children tonight.”
Mrs. Thompson looked as though she might protest, then lacked the strength.
Mr. Philips added, “And I require nothing more than linens and a mattress. Do not turn the house upside down on my account.”
The housekeeper’s shoulders lowered in weary gratitude. “Thank you, sir. I shall see what there is for supper. The children have not yet dined.”
“Whatever is already prepared will do,” Elizabeth said at once.
