In the next days while Robbie was still confined to her room, she would occasionally see Birdie outside, attempting to train Lady Perlina. Teaching her to fetch. To stay. To come. Lady was a perfect student—most of the time.
At one point even Lady had gotten tired of work and jumped on Birdie with such vigor, she knocked her off balance and she fell to the ground. Instead of being upset, Birdie allowed her to playfully snatch at the ribbon of her gown.
That day Mrs. Murray stood beside Robbie as she watched. “’Tis like she be two different people, don’t it?”
“I think I like this Birdie better, don’t you?”
Mrs. Murray had snorted an unlady like laugh. “Do ye have to ask?” She waited a moment and then said, “What’s to be done?”
Robbie inhaled, expelling her breath slowly. “I wish I knew. I suppose it isn’t unreasonable to expect her to stay here, with us.”
“But Lord Almighty, I hope that don’t happen.”
“It’s not all that unnatural for sisters to live together,” Robbie mused, albeit not happily.
She turned to find the housekeeper studying her. “Well, it isn’t.”
“There be only one person who wants that, and she’s outside, playin’ with yer dog, being the sweetpea for a change. It won’t be long before she’ll be back to her sourpuss ways.”
Robbie knew she was right. And she rather liked the expression. A sweetpea and a sourpuss, always one or the other. Both of them were too dramatic by half.
The door swung open, and Gavin looked in, his face wreathed in worry. “There’s been an accident.”
Mrs. Murray and Robbie waited for him to explain.
“The small stove in the schoolroom exploded; the kirk is on fire and there are children and adults needing attention. Colin is already gone. I’ve got Lydia waiting in the foyer.”
Robbie turned toward her wardrobe. “I’ll get dressed—”
“You’ll do no such thing,” both Gavin and Mrs. Murray said.
Gavin crossed to her. “Please, Robbie. I know you want to help, but how can the rest of us do what we need to do if we’re still worrying about you?”
“Nicely said, Mister Eliot,” Mrs. Murray praised. “I’ll put together some supplies and follow you in the wagon. Maureen can stay here; no need to leave you alone, Robbie, dear.”
“What about Birdie?”
Both of them looked at her. “What good would she be?” It was Mrs. Murray’s observation.
“Oh, please, just take her with you. Knowing Birdie, she’ll stay out of the way to protect herself, and who knows, she might even be helpful.”
“And if she refuses?” Gavin asked.
“I’m sick of her theatrics. Tell her she’ll have to find other lodgings if she doesn’t do as you ask.”
Under his breath, he murmured, “It will be my pleasure.”
• • •
There was fire and chaos everywhere. Birdie had never seen such turmoil. Of course, she hadn’t seen much havoc in her life; she always tried to avoid it. But suddenly she was thrust in the middle of people shouting, children screaming, women wailing. She briefly pressed her hands over her ears, almost wishing she were blind again so she wouldn’t have to look at what was before her.
“Please.”
Birdie looked down. Beside her was a young woman, a girl, really, whose face was blackened with soot. One arm hung lifelessly at her side, and in the other she held a baby, small enough to tuck close to her body.
“Here, please, I beg you, take the bairn.” She thrust it at Birdie, who took it hesitantly.
“What am I to do with it?” Birdie held down her panic.
“Keep her safe.” The girl struggled on.
Birdie peeled back the dirty blanket. A pair of big, blue eyes looked back at her, serious as sauce. Birdie glanced around, looking for someone to pass the bairn off to, but everyone was busy, and she did not see Lydia anywhere.
Uncertain as to how to proceed, Birdie found a bench far from the chaos where she sat and studied the infant more closely. She cocked her head as she considered the lass, who appeared to study her as well. All at once the child giggled and smiled, and Birdie gasped, so surprised she nearly dropped the armful.
“Well,” she said softly, “who are you, little lassie?” She put her finger to the child’s cheek, and it was instantly taken into the baby’s mouth and sucked on.
The most unusual feeling coursed through Birdie, one she had never ever experienced before.
“Birdie!”
She looked up and saw Colin rushing toward her. “What have you there?”
She opened the blanket and showed him.
“Whose is it?”
“I don’t know. Some poor wretch shoved the child at me and told me to keep her safe.”
Colin watched her, his gaze tender. “Will you be all right for now?”
Feeling embarrassed, which was a new sensation for Roberta Bean, née Fleming, she merely nodded. When she looked up at him, despite the ravaged scars on his face, he almost appeared handsome. “What shall we do with her?”
“I think it’s a perfect job for you; stay put and keep her safe. We’ll find out who she belongs to after all of this is over.”
Birdie swallowed. “That means we’ll have to take her back to Erskine House, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, unless someone claims her before the night is over.”
Birdie felt an odd rush of excitement followed by an instinctive realization of how her sister would feel upon hearing the news.
Isn’t it just like Birdie to find a baby to care for right after I’ve just lost one? She could hear Robbie’s voice in her ears, and it rang true.
In the meantime, she let the baby suck on her finger, knowing that sooner or later that would not be enough. Then what? Thank God for people who knew how to care for babies. She certainly didn’t, nor did she think she ever wanted to. How does one concentrate on oneself when there’s someone so small who constantly needs tending?
Suddenly Lydia was beside her. Her hair was askew and her face and clothing were covered in soot. She looked very tired. “Dr. Innes just told me.” She peered into the little face. “I’m thinking it will need more nourishment than your finger very soon.”
“I thought that very thing just before you came,” Birdie answered. “What shall we do?”
Lydia looked back at the mayhem. “I have to get back and help. See that coffeehouse over there?” she asked, pointing to the little building across from the dress shop. “They must have milk or something.”
Birdie watched Lydia hurry back to the accident site, then she wrapped the baby up tightly in the dirty blanket and crossed to the coffeehouse. Surprisingly, it was open. She dashed inside.
A young woman with hair almost as white as Gavin’s looked at her, alarm registering on her face when Birdie showed her the baby. “I need to find something for her to eat. Or drink. I don’t know, but soon she’ll tire of my finger.”
The woman studied her, a small smile marking the corner of her mouth. “It’s your bairn, then?”
“Oh, God, no,” Birdie answered. “Some young woman gave her to me.” Birdie shrugged. “I have no idea what to do with her.”
Appearing to consider the situation, the young woman went into the back of the shop and returned a bit later with a bottle.
“It’s goat’s milk,” the woman explained. “Try it.”
Awkwardly, Birdie took a seat and prepared to feed the infant. She glanced at the woman and said, “I’m surprised you’re not out there with everyone else.”
“They have plenty of help. My place is sort of a haven where people like you can come for support.”
Her explanation sounded reasonable; at least Birdie was glad she was open. She touched the nipple to the bairn’s mouth, and in spite of Birdie’s inexperience, the lassie latched and began to suck. Birdie looked up at the woman and grinned. “Well, look at that.”
“You’re new in town?” the woman asked, sitting down across from her.
Birdie nodded. “I’m staying at Erskine House. Oh, I’m sorry, my name is Roberta Bean. I recently lost my husband. I’m…currently staying with my sister.”
“So you lost your husband, what a shame,” the young woman appeared sympathetic. “I’m Faith Baker. I know Gavin Eliot well; we were friends in Edinburgh.”
Surprised, Birdie asked, “I haven’t heard him mention you, I’m sorry. You see, I’ve just recently been able to see; after my husband was killed before my eyes, I lost my sight for a few months.”
The baby finished the milk, and instinctively, Birdie raised her to her shoulder and patted her on the back. After a healthy burp escaped, Birdie continued to stroke the bairn.
Miss Baker threw her head back and released a quiet laugh. “Oh, I know all about you, your sister, Gavin’s mistake…” She seemed unnaturally pleased with her knowledge.
Oddly, Birdie felt a wave of protection for her sister. That was new. “She was in a terrible predicament when that all came about. You see, she was living in the slums of Edinburgh—”
“I know that too. And I also know how she made her living.”
The babe fell asleep against Birdie’s shoulder. “She was doing some kind of honest work, I’m sure. If my sister is nothing else, she’s an honest person. Perhaps the most honest one I know.” Again, Birdie found herself defending her sister, and it was a new sensation.
“Oh, indeed she was.” Faith Baker laughed again. “Only I’m not sure exactly how ‘honest’ it was.”
The door flew open, and Colin stepped inside, his gaze traveling between the two women. “Things are settling down, Birdie,” he said, not taking his eyes off Faith. “At least for now, I think you and Lydia should take the bairn back to the house.”
As they left, Colin said, his voice low and threatening, “Mind yourself, Miss Baker. Mind yourself.”
He helped Birdie into the wagon next to Lydia. Mrs. Murray climbed in as well, taking the babe from Birdie and snuggling the child close.
Birdie felt an odd sense of loss. Good God, she was losing her mind. To feel bereft of something she’d held only briefly? She then remembered Robbie. “What’s Robbie going to think of this?”
The wagon lumbered along, Lydia at the reins. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, she’s just lost a bairn, and here I come, rescuing one from a fire.”
Lydia looked straight ahead; the lantern on the side post giving them enough light to see the road. “She’ll be grateful you were there, I suspect.”
“But…you don’t think she’ll be upset?”
“If she is, she won’t show it,” Lydia answered.
Birdie glanced at Mrs. Murray, who was humming a soft lullaby that Birdie recognized from her childhood, as they made their way home.
• • •
The injured were put at the inn. There were more than a dozen there. Gavin bent over a boy he recognized from school. His name was Bernie Kostner. “Bernie?”
The boy’s face was covered in soot, as Gavin was sure his own was. He opened his eyes. “Mr. Eliot?”
“How are you doing, lad?”
“Me leg hurts real bad,” the boy told him, fighting back tears.
“Dr. Innes will be here very soon. He’ll take care of it for you. In the meantime, is there anyone you need to contact? Where’s your mam and your da?”
“I don’t know where they are.” Tears slid down his cheeks.
Gavin understood the lad’s fears. He saw the innkeeper and his wife trying to give water to some of the patients who were alert. He caught the innkeeper’s wife’s eye and motioned her over.
“Are you familiar with Bernie’s family?”
She nodded. “Aye, I’ll try to find them,” she said without being asked.
Soon after, Colin came in carrying supplies. He put them on a table and hunkered down beside Bernie. “How are you doing, young man?”
“It hurts real bad.”
Colin had prepared something in a vial and told Bernie to drink it down. The boy did as he was told, and it wasn’t long before he was drowsy enough for Colin to begin his work.
“Fortunately the break didn’t go through the skin,” he said to Gavin. “I can brace it temporarily, and then tomorrow I’ll look in on him at home and fix it up right.”
The door slammed against the wall, and a portly woman hurried in, her face creased with worry. “Bernie, my Bernie!”
Gavin took her over to see her son, who was now sleeping peacefully. “He’ll be fine, Mrs. Kostner. Dr. Innes has put a temporary splint on his leg.”
She was wringing her hands. “Can we take him home, then?”
Her husband, even portlier than his wife, came in behind her. “The rig be ready. ’Tis time to take him home.”
Gavin and Colin gently lifted the boy and carried him out to the family wagon and settled him in the back.
As they watched the wagon roll away, both men knew that although they were exhausted, their night was only beginning.