Linley had calmed herself by the time she got home. Toby was in his crib after his little outing with CeeCee. Her aunt had taken to her bed to sleep, to regain some energy, she said.
James had taken the cart back into High Street to search for more of CeeCee’s requirements. He’d be checking for mail at the post office. He’d purchase the fencing timber he needed for the back yard and, he said, there was also sugar for Millie Cooke. He’d deliver it all himself.
Her aunt had given James such a menacing look as he left, and Linley wondered why. He’d merely smiled at CeeCee, kissed her cheek and departed. CeeCee had sighed quietly and retreated to bed.
Linley rocked the cradle, then widened the open window to let the breeze fan the baby. He looked happy, comfortable. And sleeping soundly, she hoped, with a full stomach, for at least an hour or so. The resemblance to his father brought her thoughts back to Ard. Even in such a tiny baby, his father’s stamp was strong. The fine, dark hair had a curl here and there beginning, his tiny dimple a replica of his father’s.
Her chest palpitated and she lifted her hands from rocking to clasp them in front of her. It was time to read the letter Mary Bonner had sent. Linley knew Mr Campbell had held on to it until the circumstances Mary predicted had occurred. How long ago now? Two months and two weeks since she’d died.
Linley shuddered at the memory of going to the hovel in which Mary had lived with Gareth Wilkin. Waiting, seated inside a carriage with CeeCee and Mrs Lovell, a wet nurse, at her side. It was the same day Mary had died. The very hour, almost.
Miss Juno had stood on the crude step at the front of Wilkin’s house. Her back was straight and her head high, and she looked confident. She had been a quiet strength as they all endured the carriage ride to the house. Linley had decided then and there that she would like to get to know Miss Juno. CeeCee had often talked with Mr Campbell about her own philanthropy and her work for women’s rights; perhaps Miss Juno was sympathetic, too.
The doctor had emerged, sidestepped Miss Juno with a nod, and beckoned two men at a cart parked ahead of CeeCee’s carriage. They climbed down and took an empty pallet from the back. They would bring out the dead.
Linley watched as Miss Juno stood stoically by the doorway. She hadn’t heard what Miss Juno said, her voice too low. Then Wilkin appeared and thrust a bundle at her.
‘Here’s the brat. He’s shat himself again.’ Then he slammed the rickety door in her face.
They’d all heard that clearly enough.
The men carrying the pallet thrust the door open and marched inside. Miss Juno rushed back to the carriage and handed the infant up before climbing in. Horrified, Linley rose and reached for the raggedly swathed baby. She staggered back under the stink that followed him inside. With a cry, she clutched the baby to her and sat back heavily.
CeeCee handed her the small coverlet they’d brought with them, then held the baby. Linley, sobbing without tears, unwound the rags and flung them back outside the carriage. She wrapped him up again in the clean cover and cried aloud.
Mrs Lovell hadn’t uttered a sound. She opened her bodice, leaned over and took the baby firmly. She pressed him to her breast, a pale milky liquid already seeping. He latched greedily.
CeeCee sighed aloud. Miss Juno tapped vigorously on the carriage roof. It lurched forward.
Mrs Lovell rocked forward and back a little in time with the carriage. ‘He’s feeding well. He’s feeding well,’ she said and closed her eyes. ‘He’s strong.’
Linley could hardly bear to remember what the baby had looked like under the dirty fabric. His little belly button hadn’t quite dried off properly. Skin had crusted around it, and the soft baby flesh of his armpits and between his legs looked weakened and sore.
CeeCee had gripped her arm. ‘Your work for this little mite begins. Come along, Linley, hold on to yourself. We need to get him home and cleaned up, fed some more and loved.’ CeeCee looked over and smiled at the woman with the baby at her breast. ‘We are eternally grateful, Mrs Lovell.’
‘These little ones are not at fault, Miss Seymour.’ Her eyes remained closed as she fed him. ‘We must give them their best chance.’
Linley’s thoughts were a-jumble, her throat nearly closed with a lump that just wouldn’t go away. She sat by CeeCee, her aunt’s arm looped through hers.
‘First thing we do at home,’ CeeCee said, ‘is draw him a warm bath. Then we get a doctor.’ She turned to the woman beside her. ‘And our grateful thanks to you, Miss Juno.’
‘It is my pleasure to do it.’ She had nodded, given a taut smile as if she were holding on to strong emotion, folded her hands in her lap and turned away to stare out the window.
Now Linley couldn’t imagine that same little waif was this bonny baby sleeping contentedly, far away from the hell into which he’d been born.
Ard’s baby.
My baby. A rush of love surged in her chest, swelled her heart. She would love this little boy fiercely until the day she died and then into the hereafter.
She sniffed and let her hand trail off the cot. Checking that her aunt’s door was closed, she moved silently to her own room, its spartan furniture still alien and unwelcoming. Soon that would change because James would bring back other pieces, or order some more furniture to be delivered.
Under the pillow, she withdrew Mary’s two letters and laid the opened one aside. With a deep breath, she sat on her bed and held the unopened one between her palms. Would Mary tell her how to bring up her child? What name to call him? How she was to be remembered to him?
Linley slid a fingernail against the seal of the envelope. It opened easily, as if ready for her. She withdrew the only page inside and took a deep breath.
My dear Miss Seymour …