In the last photograph, a man had his arm around a laughing woman, who held a chubby baby.
“That’s Elsie,” Lizzie blurted. “Whose baby is she holding?”
Madge straightened the shiny frame. “You might as well know. It’s Alice, Elsie’s baby. She died last year of the double pneumonia. And then Norman, Elsie’s husband, was killed in an accident with a tractor. Elsie’s not been the same since.”
Elsie’s baby, Alice, had died—that was the secret! But how could Elsie think this new baby was Alice?
“Doesn’t Elsie know the baby we found isn’t Alice?” Lizzie asked.
Madge sighed. “Her mind’s playing tricks on her. She sees what she wants to see.”
Lizzie thought about Colin Craven in The Secret Garden. He was lonely and sad because his mother had died and his father ignored him. He believed he had a lump on his back even though his spine was perfectly straight, and he was sure he’d die young. Colin imagined things because he was miserable. Elsie must be lonely and sad too—was that why her mind played tricks on her? Was that why she thought the lost baby was Alice?
“Madge, we know the baby’s not Alice. How can Elsie keep her?”
Madge set her mouth in a firm line. “Listen to me. Now that our Elsie’s got this baby, she’s more like her old self. If we give the baby up, she’ll be unhappy again.”
Lizzie twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “We saw a Gypsy in the lane. She was looking for a lost baby. What if the baby is hers?”
“Humph! No one leaves a baby in a field by accident. Those Gypsies aren’t natural mothers. They don’t take proper care of their children. There’s not a one can read and write. None of them goes to school. They run around all day, filthy dirty most of them.”
The Gypsy children Lizzie had seen in the camp didn’t look neglected, but leaving a baby in a field certainly wasn’t taking proper care of it.
Madge continued. “The colonel says Elsie can keep the baby. So that’s what we’ll do, and you’ll not say a word to anyone about finding her in that field. Not even to your own parents. Do you understand?”
Lizzie nodded her agreement. What else could she do?
The Gypsy woman stalked Lizzie’s dreams that night.
When Lizzie woke the next morning, she stared at the cracks that crisscrossed the bedroom ceiling. Surely the baby would want to be with her real family; Lizzie would give anything to be with hers.
If she helped the baby, she’d be going against Madge and Fred. But if she didn’t help the baby, no one else would.
Folding back the blanket, Lizzie crept out of bed and dressed quietly without disturbing Peter. She sneaked down the stairs and out of the house.
The colonel had said Elsie could keep the baby, so Lizzie would have to change the colonel’s mind—Madge and Fred would never argue with him. But Lizzie didn’t know where he lived, so she walked into the village, hoping to find someone to ask.
A woman cycled up to the shop, leaned her bike against the wall, and unlocked the door.
“Excuse me,” Lizzie said. “Can you tell me where the colonel lives?”
“The colonel’s a busy man. What do you want with him?” the woman said.
Lizzie thought fast. “Fred Arbuthnot, the policeman, sent me.”
“Oh, well, then,” the woman said. “You can’t miss the Manor—it’s the biggest house in the village. Just keep going along the road.”
The colonel’s house was so big, it had a chimney at each end of the roof. Lizzie walked through the huge iron gates and down the curved gravel driveway toward the massive oak door. Back at Elsie’s, her plan had seemed simple. But now that she was outside the grand house, nothing seemed simple. What if the colonel chided her for interfering? What if Susan found out about her visit and told Madge? What if Fred discovered her lie?
There’s no sense in worrying about something until it happens, Nana would say.
Instead of knocking on the imposing front door, Lizzie followed a narrow flagstone path around the back of the house. Beyond an archway in a tall brick wall, rows of vegetables and ranks of apple trees marched in straight lines like soldiers.
The gardens were so like those she imagined at Misselthwaite Manor in The Secret Garden that Lizzie half expected to see Ben Weatherstaff weeding the plants while a cheeky little robin watched him.
Instead, a harsh voice behind her made her spin around. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Lizzie recognized the man who’d met them at the railway station when they’d arrived in Swainedale. The colonel repositioned his round glasses on the bridge of his nose and peered at her; his eyes were huge, distorted by the thick lenses.
Before her courage failed her, Lizzie plunged into her story. “I’ve come about the baby I found in a field. You told Fred that Elsie could keep her, but the Gypsies are looking for a baby. Shouldn’t we find out if she’s their lost baby?” Her words tumbled out in a rush.
The colonel arched an eyebrow over the black frame of his glasses. “Impertinent child—questioning my decision. Those Gypsies are poachers and thieves. They don’t deserve to have children, especially not one they left in a field. Now run along.”
The gravel crunched under his feet as he turned and strode away.
Lizzie watched his retreating back. She had disobeyed Madge to come here, and the colonel hadn’t even given a minute’s consideration to her request. She had not helped the baby. And if the colonel told Fred about her visit, she would be in trouble.
There was only one thing left to do.
Chapter Seventeen
ELIJAH
ELIJAH SHIVERED in the chill morning air. Mammy handed him a slab of bread and a bottle of cold tea. He winced at the sight of her pale face and bloodshot eyes. She spoke to the space above his head.
“I’m going to see if I can find that woman we saw yesterday. I’ll take Angela and May. Yer granddad’s gone off on Duchess. He says you’re to stay here in case there’s news of Rose.”
“I can’t stay. Not again. I want to look fer Rose meself.”
“Do as yer granddad says.” She walked away, leaving him standing alone in the field.
Elijah grabbed the ax and began chopping the logs in the pile that Bert Baines had given them, taking out his frustration on the firewood. The hard work calmed him. He stopped to rest, wiping sweat from his brow with his handkerchief.
A girl approached the gate. Her too-big boots smacked against her bare legs with each step she took. He recognized the frizzy hair, the pinched face, and the mouth that seemed too small for her teeth. She’d been to their camp before.
Planting his feet, he folded his arms over his chest. “What do you want? Have you come to throw stones?”
She flinched and Elijah paused. She was the sister of the boy he’d met in the field. If he was rough, he wouldn’t find out what they knew about Rose.
He swallowed his impatience and gentled his voice. “Sorry. That’s what folks like you generally do when they comes here.” He opened the gate and stepped forward. “I’m Elijah. What’s yer name?”
“Lizzie.” She looked at the almost-empty field. “Where did the others go?”
What was it to her?
But he bit back his retort. “They’re off to the fair. We had to stay here because me babby sister is lost.”
She stared at him for so long that he felt the telltale heat of a blush beginning in his ears and spreading to his neck.
“How did you lose a baby?” she finally asked.
She was left by a stupid cowardly fool, he thought.
“She were left by accident, and someone took her.”
“Who leaves a baby by accident?” Her voice, pitched high anyway, rose even higher.
She was like a terrier with a rat—not letting the questions go. Why was she being so nosy?
“Do you know summat?” he asked. “If you’ve seen our babby, you should tell me now.”
He took a step toward her.
&nb
sp; She opened her mouth but shut it again without saying anything. She turned away from him as if she were going to leave, but then she didn’t move. She didn’t seem to know what to do.
“Why did you come here?” Elijah said.
“Someone told me you lost a baby. I came, I came . . .”
She looked over his shoulder, and he saw her eyes widening with fear. “I have to go,” she said, and suddenly ran off down the lane.
Elijah turned to see what might have frightened her.
Bill stood by his wagon with a pair of headless chickens dangling from one hand and his knife clutched in the other. He was staring up the lane in the direction the girl had taken.
Elijah beat his clenched fist against his thigh. Bill was like a bad penny, turning up at all the wrong moments. He’d frightened the girl—Elijah was certain she knew something—but now she’d run away and Elijah couldn’t follow her because Bill would see.
Elijah needed to leave camp so that he could make his own decisions, and he had to get away from Bill. Then he could look for the girl.
He sprinted to Mammy’s wagon and stuffed a handful of potatoes into his jacket pocket. He grabbed a canvas sheet and tucked it under his arm, then he whistled for Jack and ran out of the gate. Cutting across fields, he began the climb up the dale side, pushing through knee-high bracken. When he reached the flat moorland, he followed a sheep path through the thick heather. Just a few weeks ago, heather flowers had carpeted the moorland in vivid purple, and he’d carried Rose up to see them; but now the flowers had faded to brown, and Rose was gone.
Crossing a boggy patch of moorland, he jumped from one clump of marsh grass to another in a futile attempt to keep his boots dry. He passed the old stone cross standing sentinel over the wild land and leaped over a tiny beck. By the time he reached one of Colonel Clegg’s grouse-shooting blinds, he was breathless.
Heather plants sprouted from gaps between the mossy stones in the blind’s low wall, providing perfect camouflage. From here, Elijah could see for miles in all directions; no one could sneak up on him. Best of all, he was directly above the Baineses’ farm and the row of houses.
He didn’t know how long it would take to find Rose, so he built a shelter. He draped the brown canvas sheet over the top of the blind and anchored it with rocks. He unsheathed his knife and gathered an armful of bracken fronds to spread over the damp floor.
When his shelter was finished, he set off down the dale side to the houses. They were close to where he’d left Rose. That’s where he’d start looking for the girl.
Chapter Eighteen
LIZZIE
EVERYTHING LIZZIE DID seemed to make things worse. She’d angered the colonel, which had left her with only one option for helping the baby—visiting the Gypsies themselves. But when she’d finally plucked up enough courage to go to their camp, she’d run away from the Gypsy boy without telling him anything.
The boy had been gruff and unfriendly, and the big man with the bloody chickens had frightened her. What if all the Gypsies were rough and wild like those two? What if the baby wouldn’t be safe with them? She knew so little about the Gypsies—how could she decide what to do?
As she walked through the village she saw a new sign in the shop window:
GOVERNMENT SAYS WE’RE IN FOR A LONG WAR.
RATIONING COMING SOON.
How long was a long war? Would it be weeks or months? Would the war last until Christmas? She couldn’t imagine being away from home for that long.
Lizzie sat on a bench by the village green, leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin on her hands. At least she could try to help the baby. But how? She was afraid to go back to the Gypsy camp.
She remembered the kind lady at the farm: Hetty Baines. Mrs. Baines had soft plump curves and a smile that reminded Lizzie of Nana. Nana couldn’t help Lizzie now, but if Lizzie told Mrs. Baines the truth about the baby, would Mrs. Baines know what to do? Or would telling her cause even more trouble?
Lizzie walked at a snail’s pace back up the lane. She stopped to sniff tall spears of bright pink flowers blooming in the grassy verge. Standing perfectly still, she watched a tiny wren flitting between branches in the hedge. She dawdled, postponing the moment when she would reach Elsie’s house and have to make a decision about what to do next.
When she finally reached the row of houses, she stopped walking. A woman hung washing on a line at the back of the nearest house while a group of small boys played marbles in the lane. Lizzie took a deep breath and then continued on and up the track leading to the Baineses’ farm. Lifting the loop of rope, she opened the gate, before closing it behind her.
But it wasn’t Mrs. Baines she met; it was the Gypsy boy Elijah.
He stepped out from behind the barn and blocked her way. His hair was unkempt, and dirt crusted the bottom of his trousers. Mud caked his little dog. Lizzie imagined Dickon, Mary Lennox’s friend, to be brown and earthy, as if he’d sprung from the land, but this boy seemed a creature of dank, dark places.
“I want to talk to you,” he demanded.
How had he arrived at the farm before her? Either he knew a shortcut, or she’d taken longer to walk up the lane than she’d thought. She wanted to get away from him, but something vulnerable about his expression kept her standing there.
“I have to find me sister. It’s my fault she’s lost.” His desperate voice was a stark contrast to his wild appearance.
“If you don’t help me, none of the folks ’round here will. I’ve got to find our Rose. Mammy’s right sad without her. We all are. Will you help me?” He held out his hands, pleading with her.
Lizzie cast a quick glance at the farmhouse. She was close enough to shout for help.
“You have to answer some questions first,” she said. “You said you’d lost your baby sister. What does she look like?”
Elijah’s eyes softened. “Our Rose has black hair and bonny brown eyes and dimples in her cheeks. She’s little. She can’t even crawl yet. She’d a dress and a knitted coat and a blanket, too.”
The lost baby’s clothes had roses embroidered on them. Roses for Rose?
“How did you lose her?”
A door slammed somewhere nearby, and they both jumped. Lizzie thought she saw a face at one of the farmhouse windows.
Elijah turned his head to scan the farmyard. “Too many people can see us here. Come ’round the back of the barn. We’ll be hidden from plain sight there, and I can tell you everything.”
Lizzie shook her head.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I promise. Come on.”
Her mind said, Don’t go! But her feet followed him to the barn.
Patches of bright orange lichen made a pretty contrast to the weathered gray stones of the barn wall. Lizzie stood beside a wooden door that had been made in two pieces—the top half was open as if waiting for a horse to peer out, but the bottom half was closed. A skinny black cat slunk toward them but darted away when it saw Elijah’s dog.
Elijah spoke fast. “Bill, that man you saw at our camp, made me leave our Rose in a field. Then someone took her.”
“How did he make you leave her?”
Elijah didn’t flinch from her question. “He forced me go rabbitin’ with him. I wasn’t gone long, but when I got back to the field, Rose were gone.”
Lizzie had to be certain. “Did she have a toy?”
“Aye. A little brass horseshoe on a ribbon.”
“Oh.” Lizzie covered her mouth with her hand.
Elijah changed in an instant, like the weather when a sudden squall blows in from the sea. His face hardened. His voice was harsh. “You know summat about our Rose. I know you do. Where is she? You’d better tell me. Now!”
Chapter Nineteen
ELIJAH
LIZZIE SHRANK BACK against the barn wall. He’d frightened her again! She was his one link with Rose, and somehow he kept on scaring her. He was suddenly conscious of his uncombed hair and filthy clothes. He must look wi
ld—no wonder she was afraid of him. What could he say to convince her to help him?
“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping away from her. “I don’t mean to be rough with you. It’s just that I’m fair desperate to find me sister. I wouldn’t ask fer help if I didn’t have to.”
He’d never ask a Gorgio for help if he could avoid it, but now he’d no choice.
They stared at each other. It was Jack who moved first. He sniffed Lizzie’s feet, then licked her hand.
Good boy, Elijah thought. Make friends with her.
She stooped to pat Jack’s head. “Why should I help you?”
“Because no one else will.”
She frowned at that, but then she straightened her back and looked him in the eye. “Do you love your sister?”
What kind of silly question was that? “Of course I do.”
“Then why did you leave her?”
His shoulders slumped. “I gave in to a bully, and I’m right ashamed of that. Our Rose has suffered fer it. I need to get her back. Do you know where she is?”
A rooster crowed in the farmyard. Somewhere nearby a horse whinnied. Elijah waited for her answer.
Lizzie spoke so quietly that he had to lean toward her to hear what she said. “I’m the one who took your sister from the field. I heard her crying and she was all by herself, so I took her to Elsie’s. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Who’s Elsie?” he asked.
“She’s the person I’m staying with. She had a baby who died. A little girl called Alice. Now Elsie thinks your sister is Alice.”
Elijah’s knees almost gave way beneath him. “That woman must be mad if she can’t tell the difference. I can’t leave our Rose with no madwoman. I’ve got to get her now.”
“You can’t,” Lizzie said. “I’ll get in trouble. Fred and Madge and the colonel all say that Elsie should keep the baby.”
The words exploded from him. “Mammy’s right about you lot. You think you can do anything. You’re all rotten. No Gypsy would steal a babby from her family.”
Lizzie and the Lost Baby Page 6