The Sixpenny Cross Collection

by Victoria Twead

  “Whew,” she said, dropping an envelope onto the table beside the untouched carrot cake and heading for the sink to wash her hands. “That was a big delivery! I got them to pile it all up in the hall.”

  “Thank you,” said Abigail, tearing the envelope open. “I wasn’t expecting anything. I wonder what it is?”

  She unfolded the contents and stared. The name of the company that had delivered was Baby Magic, and Abigail ran her eye down the list of items delivered.

  “What…”

  Daisy looked over her shoulder and read aloud.

  “Baby bath, blankets, steriliser, bottles, nappies, nappy cream, a dozen tins of formula, travelling cot, clothes, more clothes, high chair, car seat, stroller… Abigail, did you order all this?”

  “No! Of course I didn’t!”

  “Well, then who did?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Does the delivery note show who ordered?”

  “No, it just says ‘paid in full with cash’ and my address.”

  “Do you think it’s a mistake? Delivered to the wrong address?”

  “Nobody has a newborn baby around here.”

  The two women stared at each other.

  “Or was it the gypsy woman?”

  “I doubt it. Why would she buy all this for me?”

  “What does it say on the envelope?”

  Abigail picked it up, and stared at the neat typed words on the front.

  Tiffany Martin

  12, Sixpenny Lane,

  Sixpenny Cross.

  Daisy saw the blood drain from her friend’s face and snatched the envelope to read it for herself.

  “Tiffany?”

  “My watch…”

  “I know. This is surreal.”

  Abigail clutched the baby closer to her. In that moment, she knew that if she was allowed to keep this baby, her name would be Tiffany. But her heart was full of dread. This baby would soon be taken from her. Very soon.

  “Does Aiden know about any of this?”

  “No, of course not. You know how he feels about adoption.”

  “Abigail, before this gets any deeper, I want you to phone the police station. You need to tell them everything, the whole story. You can’t just keep this baby.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you want me to do it for you?”

  A tear trickled from the corner of Abigail’s eye.

  “Yes. You do it.”

  “Right. I’ll find the number.”

  Abigail stood up and began to pace the floor, cradling Tiffany in her arms. The baby was already asleep, but Abigail walked up and down, up and down, as Daisy dialled.

  “Hello? Is that Stan? … Hello, Stan, this is Daisy Grainger. … Yes, I’m fine, thank you, and so is Simon. ... No, it’s nothing about lawnmowers! I’m actually phoning from Abigail Martin’s house in Sixpenny Lane. We have a bit of a situation here. … No, no, it’s not an emergency exactly, but it is a police matter, and I think it might be a good idea if you could come round as soon as possible? … No, it’s a bit delicate, I’d rather we explain when you come. … Good. We’ll see you then. Goodbye, thank you.”

  Abigail paced up and down, up and down, her head bent low over the sleeping child.

  “Well, that’s good then,” said Daisy brightly. “Stan is going to hop onto his bike and come round right away.”

  Abigail didn’t reply. Instead, she began humming a tuneless song as she walked up and down, up and down.

  Martha snapped her pink designer suitcase shut.

  “That’s it then, all packed. I’m gonna walk right out of your life. New York, here I come and it just can’t come soon enough for me!”

  “No hard feelings, eh?”

  “Aiden, don’t be an idiot. You never meant anything to me.”

  “Martha…”

  “Come on! I don’t think I ever meant much to you either. We worked together, we played together a few times, hey - we even lived together! We got that contract together, but this is where it all ends. We both gained from the arrangement, but we draw the line now.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “Of course! I came to England with one thing on my mind. I wanted to make me a load of bucks. And I have. We got paid handsomely for that contract, as you know, but your little, er, contribution, was the icing on the cake!”

  “Will you keep in touch?”

  “Nah, what for? I’m done here. I’m ready to start frying other fish.”

  Aiden held out his hand to touch her arm, but Martha backed away.

  “So long,” she said, her ridiculously high heels clacking on the marble floor as she and her pink suitcase headed for the private lift. She pressed the button and the lift doors slid apart.

  “Martha…”

  “Enjoy your life in Ten Cent Dump. Enjoy your dull little wife. I’m outta here.”

  The lift doors whooshed shut behind her, but Aiden remained transfixed for a very long time.

  8

  “Come on in, Stan. Mind the boxes. Abigail’s just had a rather big delivery, but we’ll explain about all that. She’s in the kitchen.”

  Stan side-stepped round one box, but managed to trip over a smaller one poking out cheekily.

  When they reached the kitchen, Sam wagged his tail and Abigail looked up from her easy chair. She was still cradling Tiffany, but at the sight of the policeman, her grip tightened.

  “Morning, Mrs Martin.”

  Abigail said nothing, but gave the police officer a half smile.

  “Please sit down, Stan. I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea while Abigail tells you the story.”

  Stan pulled out a chair and sat down. He looked from Daisy to Abigail and then to the tiny baby she held in her arms.

  “It all began the day before yesterday on the village green,” said Abigail dully. “And now I have Tiffany, and I don’t think I can let her go.”

  Stan waited.

  “She’s very upset,” said Daisy, plonking the teapot on the table. “Abigail, shall I tell the story? You can stop me if I forget anything.”

  Abigail nodded, her blonde head bowed over the infant.

  Daisy sat down, poured tea, and started. As soon as she got to the part where Abigail handed over the watch, Stan held up his hand.

  “Hold on, Mrs Grainger, I think I’ll take notes as you talk, if you don’t mind.”

  He slipped out a notebook and patted his uniform pockets, searching for a pen. He found one and began writing.

  “Did the gypsy woman give you her name?”

  “Bufniță,” whispered Abigail. “She said it meant ‘owl’ in Romanian.”

  Stan scribbled in his notebook. The ink was refusing to flow properly but he’d be able to read the dents in the paper later.

  Daisy continued, with Abigail supplying further details when asked.

  “And this is the basket you found the baby in?” asked Stan, pointing with his pen.

  The pen lid fell off, bounced on the floor, and rolled under the table. He bent down to pick it up, bumping his head on the table edge as he straightened up.

  “Yes, that’s the basket,” said Abigail, ignoring the incident.

  Daisy went on to describe how Abigail had brought the baby home and cared for her overnight.

  “And the next thing that happened was a banging on the door. I answered it for Abigail, and it was the delivery. Well, you’ve seen the packages and boxes in the hall. Piles of baby stuff, all brand new. Here is the delivery note.”

  Stan looked at the envelope with interest.

  “Tiffany? Wasn’t your watch a Tiffany watch?”

  Both Abigail and Daisy nodded.

  “Well, this is quite a story,” said Stan, closing his notebook with a decisive snap. “I think we have quite a bit to work on. I’m going to go back to the station and make a start. The gypsies won’t be hard to track down, so they’ll be interrogated. We also have this delivery note to check up on. Do you mind if I take it with me?”
/>   Abigail shook her head.

  “Then there’s the watch. Perhaps it was offered to pawn shops recently. Also, we need to search Sixpenny Woods thoroughly, there may be clues left behind. And of course we’ll check that no babies have been reported missing or kidnapped.”

  “And Tiffany?”

  “I was coming to that. Social Services are terribly overstretched, and I was wondering whether you would be kind enough to consider looking after the baby for the moment? I can see she’s very comfortable here, and this case may take a little while to sort out.”

  Abigail’s whole demeanour changed. She sat straight in her chair, and a huge smile lit her face.

  “Oh, I’d love to!” Abigail bent down and kissed the baby’s head. “Hear that, Tiffany? You’re staying for the moment.”

  “Brilliant!” said Daisy. “That’s great news.”

  “Right,” said Stan, getting up and making the table rock. “I’d better get the ball rolling. Mrs Martin, you will get a visit from the local Health Visitor, just to check the baby is okay. And a visit from Social Services to sign a few papers about the fostering. Of course it’ll need a signature from your husband, too. Is he due back home soon?”

  Had Abigail’s head not been bowed over Tiffany, the policeman would have seen a flash of fear cross her face.

  “Yes, Aiden is coming back tomorrow evening,” said Daisy.

  “Right, thank you, I’ll be in touch. I’ll see myself out,” said Stan, going out into the hall.

  The ladies heard him stumbling over the boxes in the hallway, then close the front door.

  “Well, that went well!” said Daisy. “I think Stan has loads of good leads to chase up. Bet nothing so exciting has happened in Sixpenny Cross for decades! And you get to keep the munchkin for the moment.”

  “But what am I going to tell Aiden?” wailed Abigail. “He’ll never sign any papers to foster a baby!”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do! You know how much I love him, but that’s one thing we have never agreed about. We’ve had this conversation so many times. I’ve always said I’d consider adoption if we can’t have children of our own. He always said he never would. He says if I don’t fall pregnant, then we aren’t meant to have children. He’s an only child, you know. I don’t think he has the same need to have children as I do.”

  “Let’s wait and see, shall we? You are only fostering after all. Perhaps he’ll fall in love with the little munchkin, just like you did. Remember how he didn’t want a dog? And then one day you brought a puppy home. Look how he loves Sam now!”

  Sam heard his name mentioned and swept the floor with his tail.

  Abigail said nothing. She knew that Aiden would never agree to Tiffany staying, temporarily or permanently.

  The next day and a half flew past. The Health Visitor called and checked Tiffany over and pronounced her wonderfully fit and well.

  “How old do you think she is?” asked Abigail.

  “I’d say she’s about three weeks old, and doing well. We’ll keep an eye on her weight to check that she’s gaining weight steadily, as she should be. I must say, you are doing a grand job! Any problems or questions I can help you with?”

  “No, thank you. She’s as good as gold.”

  “Good, I’ll pop in again soon.”

  Abigail had begun to plunder the boxes in the hall. While Tiffany slept, she read the baby care books from cover to cover. The stroller was now assembled and, when Tiffany was fractious, Abigail pushed her around the house and garden.

  “Listen, that’s a blackbird singing his heart out. He’s probably got a wife and babies somewhere close. And look, there’s a robin redbreast. See how bold he is sitting on the fence?”

  Abigail couldn’t remember when she had been happier. The birdsong, the kaleidoscope of spring flowers, and the baby in the pram, all made her heart dance with joy.

  It couldn’t last.

  9

  Abigail stowed the tins of formula in a kitchen cupboard, and the steriliser on the counter. The baby bath was in one of the bathrooms and tiny baby clothes were folded and neatly put away in the chest of drawers in the little room next to their master bedroom. Abigail had always thought it would make a lovely nursery.

  Mrs Robinson from Yewbridge County Social Services rang the bell.

  “Hello, I’m Tina Robinson,” she said, showing Abigail her badge. She glanced down at her clipboard. “And you must be Abigail Martin.”

  “Yes, that’s me,” smiled Abigail. “Please come in.”

  Mrs Robinson had a warm manner and kindly smile, but she was also a very shrewd individual. Her eyes darted everywhere, missing nothing, and she approved of what she saw. The house was clearly clean and comfortable.

  Abigail led her into the kitchen where Tiffany was asleep in the moses basket.

  “Here she is. I’m calling her Tiffany for the moment.”

  Tiffany sighed in her sleep, and the two ladies smiled.

  “What a sweet thing,” whispered Mrs Robinson. “It’s hard to believe that any parent could abandon their baby, but sadly, sometimes it happens. We’re so grateful to you for fostering this little one until we find her mother.”

  Abigail smiled again.

  “It really is my pleasure,” she said, meaning it from the depths of her being.

  “The Health Visitor tells me that she’s very happy for the baby to stay with you. If you could just sign here,” said Mrs Robinson, “then I’ll come back early next week to get your husband’s signature. Is that okay?”

  A dark cloud flitted across Abigail’s soul.

  “Yes,” she said.

  It isn’t ‘okay’ at all, screamed her heart.

  Stan phoned a couple of times to keep her in the loop.

  “There are absolutely no reports of any babies being kidnapped,” he said. “In fact, nobody has reported a missing child in the whole country for several months.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “We found the gypsies,” Stan continued. “They moved into the next county. My colleagues gave them a visit, and found the old lady who calls herself Bufniță.”

  Abigail’s heart lurched. She held her breath.

  “The old woman refused to admit to anything except that she met you for the first time on the village green when you were walking your dog.”

  “That’s true,” said Abigail. “And Jayne Fairweather at the Post Office will tell you the same. She saw us that afternoon.”

  “Bufniță said she didn’t know anything about your watch, denied even having noticed it. She totally denied leaving a baby in Sixpenny Woods, or knowing anything about an abandoned baby. The gypsies allowed my colleagues to search the camp and there was no sign of the watch, or anything to lead them to believe they might have had a baby in their midst recently.”

  Abigail felt strangely relieved.

  “We haven’t got very far with the delivery note, I’m afraid. The goods were paid for in cash so there’s no paper trail. The shop is holding a spring sale at the moment, and they’ve had crowds in. They hired temporary staff for the checkouts, and nobody remembers who served that customer. Their security cameras haven’t helped either.”

  “Did you find any clues in the woods?”

  “No, nothing. Just recent signs of the gypsy encampment, as we expected. Never mind, we’ll keep investigating, something will turn up.”

  Abigail quietly prayed that nothing would.

  Aiden phoned. Uncharacteristically, she didn’t pick it up, but held her breath as she listened to his message.

  “Hi Abs, I expect you’re out walking Sam. Sorry to have missed you, but I’ll be back tomorrow anyway, so don’t bother trying to catch me. The contract is all sewn up, and I can’t wait to be home! I reckon I’ll have packed up by the afternoon, and, allowing for traffic, I should be with you early evening. Can’t wait to see you! Love you, bye.”

  Abigail knew she should be pleased, but she wasn’t. Without any dou
bt, Aiden’s homecoming spelled the end of her motherhood. There was no way Aiden would allow Tiffany to stay. No way that he would sign the Social Services fostering papers. And if no trace of Tiffany’s parents was found, no way he’d ever agree to adopting her.

  There was nothing she could do. Nothing.

  Or was there?

  Abigail pressed Tiffany to her chest and began to pace up and down, up and down, humming tunelessly.

  Aiden’s eyes flicked to the clock on the dashboard. Half past eight already. A bit later than he’d guessed but rush-hour traffic was always unpredictable, and Fridays were the worst.

  His fingers raked through his dark hair, then he drummed impatiently on the steering wheel. Soon he’d pass through Yewbridge. Even though the wide roads would become twisty country lanes, he estimated he should be in Sixpenny Cross by nine o’clock.

  “You usually complain that there’s not enough police work to keep you busy in Sixpenny Cross,” said Sally Cooper, smiling and shaking her head.

  “I know,” said Stan, kissing his wife’s cheek. “This case is really unusual. I thought finding the mother of this baby would be a simple matter, but I was wrong. I’ve got nowhere with it. And I’ve only just put the phone down and locked the office.”

  “I wonder who her parents are, poor little mite,” said his wife. “Look, why don’t you pop over the road for a pint to relax you? I’ll have your dinner ready in about half an hour.”

  “Great idea, thank you. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  Through the window, Sally watched her husband walk across the road and enter the Dew Drop Inn. She put the shepherd’s pie into the oven and began to lay the table.

  Well, she thought, that little baby girl was lucky to end up with Abigail Martin. Nice girl, and not short of money either, thanks to her husband’s high-powered job. Just a pity it keeps him in the city so much of the time.

  It was nearly nine o’clock. Being spring, it was still light outside, although twilight was setting in. Abigail kissed Tiffany’s warm head and laid her in the moses basket, tucking the coverlet round her securely. The baby lay still, with open eyes, contented after her feed.