body again and keep her there, as safe as the unborn baby in her womb. "You can't take her from me. You can't. Oh God, no. No."
Madeline clung to Bryony and began to whimper. "Mama," she wailed as they pried her clutching, white fingers from around Bryony's neck. "I want my mama. Let me go! Mama?"
"Madeline!" Bryony lunged against Felix Fraser's restraining hold, but her uncle and the servant woman were already carrying the screaming, frantic child from the room. Heavy, retreating footsteps echoed ominously down the length of the corridor.
"Mama! Don't let them take me. Mama, please. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. Mama."
Bryony had a final, heartbreaking glimpse of Madeline's tearstained cheeks and desperate, wildly thrashing little arms. Then the door at the end of the hall closed with a hollow thud. Long after Madeline was lost to her sight, Bryony could still hear her, crying, and calling her name. Mama. Mama!
It felt as if they had reached into Bryony's body and wrenched out her heart. Her breath came in great, tearing gasps. She would have collapsed had it not been for Felix Fraser. He turned her in his arms and held her while the anguished, tortured sobs racked her body. "Go ahead and cry, my dear," he said, stroking her hair as if she were a child herself. "Go ahead and cry."
She didn't know how long he held her like that. When he thought she was able to listen, he began to talk. At first it was just words, washing over her. But slowly some of what he was saying began to penetrate her shivering agony.
"I know it's hard to believe, my dear, but it is best this way. The child is already ill. She might not have survived the voyage if we had secured permission for her to go with you. I know you will miss her, but you must comfort yourself with the knowledge that she is alive, and that your uncle will look after her."
"Uncle Edward look after her?" wailed Bryony. "Oh, God. When I think of her growing up in that dark, miserable house, with all that disapproval, and no love or kindness or—"
Felix Fraser's hands slipped down to grip her arms. He held her away from him and gently shook her. "At least she'll have a chance to grow up, Bryony. At least Sir Edward finally agreed to take her, however reluctantly. I've seen children her age—younger—torn from their mother's arms and left on the docks with no one to care for them. No one."
Then he hugged her to him again, this lawyer who wasn't related to her and who hadn't seen her more than a few times in his life; this funny little man who was willing to hold her and comfort her despite the filth and the stench and the fear of jail fever that had kept her uncle from even approaching her. "Oh, don't listen to this foolish old man. Go ahead and cry, my dear. It's an obscene, brutal system, and it's the innocent who suffer the most."
"It's just that I..." Her voice quavered, and she swallowed hard. "I don't think I can go on without her. Missing her, wondering always how she is. If she's happy. If she's well."
"You must, my dear. You have another child, remember? And this one they cannot take from you. Not if the ship does sail next week, as scheduled."
Bryony put her hands on her swollen belly and felt the child within her kick, as if to remind her of its existence. She shook her head. "But it's not Madeline," she sobbed, feeling more helpless and desperately alone than at any time in these last, terrible six months. "It can't replace Madeline."
"No, but it needs you, too, my dear," said the old lawyer, taking her hands in his and squeezing them. "You'll still have someone you love with you—a child who will give you its love. For its sake, Bryony, you must not give up. You still have a reason to live. Whatever happens, you mustn't forget that."
A howling wind swooped around the inn and threw rain against the panes of the casement window overlooking Sydney Cove.
From her pallet before the fire in the private parlor, Bryony watched the dancing golden
Madeline clung to Bryony and began to whimper. "Mama," she wailed as they pried her clutching, white fingers from around Bryony's neck. "I want my mama. Let me go! Mama?"
"Madeline!" Bryony lunged against Felix Fraser's restraining hold, but her uncle and the servant woman were already carrying the screaming, frantic child from the room. Heavy, retreating footsteps echoed ominously down the length of the corridor.
"Mama! Don't let them take me. Mama, please. I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. Mama."
Bryony had a final, heartbreaking glimpse of Madeline's tearstained cheeks and desperate, wildly thrashing little arms. Then the door at the end of the hall closed with a hollow thud. Long after Madeline was lost to her sight, Bryony could still hear her, crying, and calling her name. Mama. Mama!
It felt as if they had reached into Bryony's body and wrenched out her heart. Her breath came in great, tearing gasps. She would have collapsed had it not been for Felix Fraser. He turned her in his arms and held her while the anguished, tortured sobs racked her body. "Go ahead and cry, my dear," he said, stroking her hair as if she were a child herself. "Go ahead and cry."
She didn't know how long he held her like that. When he thought she was able to listen, he began to talk. At first it was just words, washing over her. But slowly some of what he was saying began to penetrate her shivering agony.
"I know it's hard to believe, my dear, but it is best this way. The child is already ill. She might not have survived the voyage if we had secured permission for her to go with you. I know you will miss her, but you must comfort yourself with the knowledge that she is alive, and that your uncle will look after her."
"Uncle Edward look after her?" wailed Bryony. "Oh, God. When I think of her growing up in that dark, miserable house, with all that disapproval, and no love or kindness or—"
Felix Fraser's hands slipped down to grip her arms. He held her away from him and gently shook her. "At least she'll have a chance to grow up, Bryony. At least Sir Edward finally agreed to take her, however reluctantly. I've seen children her age—younger—torn from their mother's arms and left on the docks with no one to care for them. No one."
Then he hugged her to him again, this lawyer who wasn't related to her and who hadn't seen her more than a few times in his life; this funny little man who was willing to hold her and comfort her despite the filth and the stench and the fear of jail fever that had kept her uncle from even approaching her. "Oh, don't listen to this foolish old man. Go ahead and cry, my dear. It's an obscene, brutal system, and it's the innocent who suffer the most."
"It's just that I..." Her voice quavered, and she swallowed hard. "I don't think I can go on without her. Missing her, wondering always how she is. If she's happy. If she's well."
"You must, my dear. You have another child, remember? And this one they cannot take from you. Not if the ship does sail next week, as scheduled."
Bryony put her hands on her swollen belly and felt the child within her kick, as if to remind her of its existence. She shook her head. "But it's not Madeline," she sobbed, feeling more helpless and desperately alone than at any time in these last, terrible six months. "It can't replace Madeline."
"No, but it needs you, too, my dear," said the old lawyer, taking her hands in his and squeezing them. "You'll still have someone you love with you—a child who will give you its love. For its sake, Bryony, you must not give up. You still have a reason to live. Whatever happens, you mustn't forget that."
A howling wind swooped around the inn and threw rain against the panes of the casement window overlooking Sydney Cove.
From her pallet before the fire in the private parlor, Bryony watched the dancing golden
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