Mercy had always believed life was easier for the wealthy, had assumed money and titles provided everything a person could ever want. Yet Miss Lawrence’s battered body told a different story. Perhaps the devil could make his home in the wealthy parts of London every bit as much as in the slums.

“Is your sister along on the voyage?” Miss Lawrence asked weakly.

“No, I left her behind at the workhouse.” Once the words were out, Mercy felt the weight of them, as if she’d locked Patience there herself. Had she done the right thing in leaving her sister behind? Could she have done more for Patience if she’d stayed with her?

“I shall most assuredly pray for her,” Miss Lawrence said, reaching for Mercy’s hand.

“She’ll need the prayers, to be sure,” Mercy replied. Then before she could fall into too much despair, she pushed the melancholy aside. She had to keep believing Patience would get better and come on the next ship to meet her. She couldn’t give up hope. “And what about you, miss? You must be missing your family.”

Miss Lawrence shrank back deeper into her pillows, her face growing paler, her lips trembling. “I think about them every day and wonder what has become of them.”

“Become of them, miss?” Had they suffered the same abuse?

“I left them in a terrible predicament,” Miss Lawrence said in a strained voice. “Very terrible.”

Mercy wanted to press the gentlewoman further, but Miss Lawrence clamped her lips together as though she could say no more.

“A drink, miss?” Mercy lifted a tin cup and helped her take small sips before settling her back into the pillows.

“Thank you,” Miss Lawrence whispered and closed her eyes.

Within seconds the gentlewoman’s breathing was even with the peace of sleep.

Mercy watched the delicate face for a moment longer. She was sure she’d passed by Miss Lawrence many times during their excursions on the deck. But she wouldn’t have guessed this woman was hiding painful secrets, that underneath the layers of frilly and fancy garments was a broken and bruised body.

Maybe Mercy was as guilty of making assumptions about the wealthy as they were of forming their views of the poor. She’d do well to stop rushing to judge and instead see beyond the surface to the real person.

thirteen

Joseph paused in the open doorway of the stateroom.

Mercy crooned words of encouragement as she spooned broth into Miss Lawrence’s mouth.

When Arabella Lawrence had first come to his attention, she’d been so dehydrated, Joseph feared she would die. Thankfully, with Mercy’s persistence, the sick woman was finally beginning to keep down some sustenance.

Of course, it helped that the ship was cutting her way into the calmer waters of the mid-Atlantic and that the wind had abated. The closer they navigated toward the equator and into the tropics, the smoother the sailing.