by Martha Keyes
“This one,” said Hindley, “was owned by Sir John Birchworth. He purchased it nearly two years ago and immediately went to work on the furnishings. Unfortunately, his zeal acquired him many debts, and he is now obliged to sell it in order to rein in his expenses.”
“His loss may well be our gain.” Miles winked at Lydia then took her hand in his.
Hindley led them through the house, conveying what information he had received from Sir John. When they had gone through all the rooms, he left Lydia and Miles alone to discuss things.
“What do you think?” Miles asked. “It is certainly larger than the last two we saw. And a bit more expensive. Closer to my mother, as well.”
Lydia nodded. “It is larger, but that is not a bad thing necessarily. Plenty of room to grow into.” She averted her gaze. They had been married for only two weeks, and she was still accustoming herself to speaking of such things.
“Very true,” he said with an enigmatic smile, and he wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling her toward him. “Add in a few children, and this place will feel full to the brim.”
She went up on her tiptoes and closed her eyes, delighting in the feel of his lips on hers and the security of his arms around her.
“On second thought,” Miles said, letting their foreheads rest against each other, “I am not entirely certain I am ready to give up all my alone time with you just yet.”
She laughed softly, playing with a button on his waistcoat. “Do you wish to wait to start our family?” Our family. The very words warmed her.
“No,” he said, and he pulled away, glancing toward the window. “I can see it now. A crib right there”—he pointed to the space between the four-poster bed and the window—“and little Matthew running through the corridor, being chased after by his nurse.”
“Matthew?”
He looked at her. “Do you like it? I have always liked that name.”
“I love it,” she said. Knowing that he had been thinking of names for their children made her love him all the more.
It was easy to envision this as the home she would share with Miles and their children—the setting for fond memories for years to come. They would spend much of the year at Lynham Place, of course, but in Town…yes, this could be home away from home.
The Present
Lydia’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, the sounds of her dream lingering in the form of baby coos. She let her eyes remain closed, knowing from plenty of experience that the wisps of dream were impossible to grasp at this point.
But the coos grew louder.
Her eyes flew open, and she whipped her head to the side, memories flitting back through her mind as her gaze fell on the chubby little arms reaching up from the cradle beside her bed.
Her heart stopped then thudded like a drum against her ribs. She whipped the bedcovers over and hurried to crouch beside the cradle.
The baby’s eyes latched onto her and his mouth—it had become clear the night before while changing a soiled nappy that the baby was indeed a he—stretched slowly into a smile.
“Good morning, you sweet thing,” Lydia said as she reached into the cradle. She had never awoken to a more welcome sight. Certainly not since sleeping alone, at least. Her eyes were heavy. It had taken some time—and a great deal of rocking and singing—for the baby to settle and fall asleep, and he had woken hungry once during the night. He was in a new place entirely, and she wanted to ensure he felt safe.
“Shall we get you something to eat? What do you say? I just need to change first. Not all of us can wear naught but a blanket and feel presentable.” They would need to get the babe some proper clothing somehow.
She tugged on the bell and took the baby over to the window while they awaited her maid. The cold air from outside brought a chill inside, and she held him closer, but he leaned forward toward the window, setting his plump fingers upon it.
Sarah came in, and Lydia set the baby back in the cradle as she dressed for the day, keeping an amused eye on him. He was entranced by the molding work on the ceiling.
When Sarah left, Lydia took the boy back in her arms, allowing him to hold her finger tightly in his grasp. She let out a sigh, feeling a reluctance to leave the room. It felt like a little slice of a dream there, tired as she felt. And when she left the haven, she knew what would come next: a discussion of what to do with the baby. But it couldn’t be put off forever.
Miles was partaking of breakfast in the dining room—Diana and Mary were absent, as Lydia had expected based on the habit they had acquired since being in Town of staying abed late—and he looked up at the opening of the door, pushing his chair out from the table with a smile.
“And how is this little man doing?”
Lydia smiled, wondering if Miles knew she had let the baby sleep in her room. He could have easily discovered as much from the servants.
“Did he let you get any rest?” Miles tapped the baby on the nose lightly then looked at Lydia. He knew.
She smiled sheepishly. “Yes, he did. After nine lullabies and a fair amount of bouncing, we came to an understanding.”
“Spoiled rotten is what you were, then,” he said without animus. “I can hold him while you eat.”
“Oh, no. You finish first. I didn’t mean to disturb your meal.”
He shrugged. “I’m nearly done,” he said, and he pulled the babe from her arms. “He can sit on my lap while I finish.”
“Thank you, Miles,” she said. She was starving. “ Jane should be here with a bottle for him soon, but based on last night, it seems he’s quite interested in other types of food as well.”
They sat down at the table, and Lydia glanced at Miles arranging the baby on his lap, comfortably reclined in the crook of his left arm. She couldn’t help but feel the bittersweetness of it. It was like a picture out of the life they had planned together. The life that had never been realized. And never would be.
She put aside her melancholy thoughts as she reached for a roll—it was impossible not to smile at the picture Miles and the baby presented. He had left his reclined position in favor of the more thrilling prospect of the remaining food on Miles’s plate. Over and over again, Miles pulled the infant’s hands back where they belonged, but the baby was determined and began to fuss slightly.
“You’re a persistent chap, aren’t you?” Miles pushed the plate farther away. “Here.” He pulled a piece from the last bite of toast remaining.
“Oh, not too much, Miles,” Lydia said nervously.
He obediently broke it into a smaller portion and put it up against the baby’s lips. The baby shoved the bread into his mouth energetically, smacking his lips as he tried to decide what to do with it.
Miles and Lydia both laughed, and their gazes met. He nodded at her food. “You haven’t eaten anything.”
Her tea and roll were untouched, and she reached for a knife, scooping preserves from the nearby jar. “You two are too entertaining.”
Miles’s gaze shifted to the baby, and he sighed. “What are we going to do with you, child?”
Lydia’s smile disappeared, and she focused on spreading the preserves.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “What about the Foundling Hospital?”
Lydia’s hand slowed. “The Foundling Hospital?” She looked up in time to see Miles grab a fork from the baby’s hand.
“Yes,” he said. “It certainly seems preferable to the alternative the constable mentioned.”
“Is it?” she asked. She had heard of the Foundling Hospital, but that was the extent of her knowledge.
“Do you not agree? Its entire purpose is to provide for foundlings.”
Lydia looked at the baby. He was a veritable cherub, and she felt the urge to hold him in her arms once again. It was silly to feel an attachment to a stranger’s child—one she had only known for a handful of hours. And yet feel it she did.
“Certainly it is preferable to the workhouse, but I don’t know, Miles.” Her heart pattered against her chest
as she tried to decide whether to make a different suggestion. If she didn’t say it now, she would always regret it. “Is there a reason we can’t keep him?”
Miles’s brows drew together in a look of something uncomfortably near to pity, and heat crept into Lydia’s cheeks.
“Lydia.” He sighed and reached a hand toward her. “What if his mother comes to look for him? It may be unlikely, but it is a possibility, and surely she is most likely to look for him at the parish or the Foundling Hospital. You must see we cannot keep the chap. He isn’t ours to keep.”
Lydia tried for a smile. The baby wasn’t theirs, but that was just it, wasn’t it? What baby ever would be?
She tried to picture what the baby’s mother might be like. Would she come looking for him? Did she regret leaving him there in the cold, with naught but a blanket? It was the act of a desperate woman. Perhaps she had spent a sleepless night, wondering about her child.
“What sort of a place is it?” Lydia asked with a lump in her throat. “The Foundling Hospital, I mean.”
The baby started fussing, as if he knew what they were speaking of, and Miles bounced his knee up and down rhythmically. “I can’t say. I’ve only ever seen the outside. It looks to be a nice enough place. Perhaps we should go see for ourselves. If we find it acceptable, we can leave him there. If not….” He didn’t finish.
Lydia swallowed. It was a perfectly rational suggestion. “Very well.”
The gate opened, and the coach tumbled over the cobblestone and into the wide expanse that led up to the Foundling Hospital. Lydia let the baby stare through the coach window, wide-eyed. He had likely never been in a coach until last night. It was a new way of seeing the world, and it made it feel new for Lydia too.
The coachman let them down in front of the central building at the far end of the courtyard, and Miles helped Lydia from the carriage. It was as cold as it had been the day before, and Lydia readjusted the baby’s blankets. A queue of girls led by a severe woman in subdued clothing emerged from a doorway adjacent to the center building. They wore brown serge dresses with white aprons and caps, and each one held a book in her hand as she walked in concert with her fellows, all wearing serious expressions, their breath puffing before them in small white clouds.
“Come, my dear.” Miles was opening the door for her, and Lydia followed him inside where, after a few minutes, they were greeted by a somewhat harried man.
“Good day,” he said, eyes flicking toward the baby.
Miles put his hand on Lydia’s back. “My name is Lord Lynham, and this is my wife, Lady Lynham.”
The man gave a quick bow, one of his brows quirking upward in surprise. “Pleased to make your acquaintances. I am Robert Moss, and I am Secretary of the hospital. How can I assist you?”
“We had a few questions for you about the hospital.”
“I will do my best to answer them, my lord.” His eyes flitted down the corridor behind Lydia and Miles.
Miles nodded at Lydia.
She bounced gently. The baby’s eyelids seemed to be growing heavy, though he appeared to be fighting the desire to sleep, too interested in the people and surroundings to submit to such a boring activity. “I am afraid I am sadly ignorant,” she said. “What exactly do you do with the babies here at the hospital when they arrive?”
Mr. Moss clasped his hands in front of him and straightened. She had the impression this was not his first time being asked the question. “Each baby is baptized and given a new name shortly after arrival. After that, they are sent to the country to a nurse, who cares for them until their return when they are four or five years old.”
“Oh,” Lydia said. She had assumed that the babies were cared for right at the hospital. But perhaps it was better that they experience the beginnings of childhood in a place with more fresh air and room to play than they would have in Town. “And once they return?”
“They are inoculated against smallpox directly upon arrival then educated and prepared to become apprentices and servants over the next few years. Most of them begin some sort of apprenticeship when they turn fourteen.”
It was a good answer, really. While the life of a servant was certainly not what she would wish for her own children, it was a far cry better than what a child would experience growing up in the workhouse.
She glanced at Miles. He was watching her, no doubt wondering how she felt about what they were hearing. They held one another’s gaze for a moment then he turned back to Mr. Moss. “We happened upon this baby”—he nodded toward him—“last night while at the Frost Fair, seemingly abandoned in a nativity display that had been put on by what appeared to be a group of Irish Catholics. It was quite late when we discovered him there, crying, and none of the nearby merchants were able to provide any information about who might have left the child there. Given the circumstances, we thought it best to take him home with us until we could decide upon the best course of action, which brings us here.”
Mr. Moss’s lips were pulled into a thin line. “I am afraid you have come for little purpose, then.”
Lydia’s soft swaying slowed, and she looked at her husband, whose brow was furrowed.
“I am sorry,” Miles said. “I don’t understand.”
“We have a strict admittance process, my lord,” said Mr. Moss. “We are only at liberty to accept babies who are brought by their own mothers, and even then, there is a procedure in place.”
“But…but…it is a foundling hospital. How can you not accept foundlings?”
He grimaced. “We have had to adjust the way we operate over the years, I’m afraid. All babies were accepted at one point. At other times, foundlings with a donation of £100 were accepted. But at this time, we can only accept babies under the age of twelve months who have been born out of wedlock to a first-time mother in distress—and intent upon returning to the Lord through repentance.”
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. “Then what is to become of babies like this one?”
The baby was sound asleep now, his bottom lip jutting out in a lovable pout.
Mr. Moss shrugged apologetically. “They are the responsibility of the parish.”
“So, it is the workhouse for them.”
Mr. Moss nodded slowly. “I wish I could tell you differently, but it is not my decision, unfortunately. We cannot possibly take on all the orphaned children in this town. Particularly at such a time as this. We have had three mothers come in just this morning. Cold winters are not kind to the poor.”
“I can imagine,” Miles said. “Might we leave our names with you, then? Should the mother happen to come here in search of the baby, I mean. That way you could send us a message.”
He nodded. “I have your names. Lord and Lady Lynham, was it not? I will make note of them in the office.”
Someone appeared in a doorway down the corridor and motioned to Mr. Moss, who nodded and turned back to Lydia and Miles. “I apologize not to be of more help. It was very kind of you to take the infant in. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must finish the admission process for one of the newcomers. I wish you a good day, my lord. My lady.” He bowed and, with a quick stride, disappeared down the corridor and through a door.
Lydia looked at Miles, unable to dispel the sick feeling lodged in the pit of her stomach.
“Come,” he said, brows drawn together. “There is nothing for us here.”
The coach was brought back around, and they stepped up into it. Lydia couldn’t help but feel relieved that she wasn’t obliged to leave the baby at the hospital. It wasn’t only that she didn’t wish to say goodbye, though she certainly didn’t.
There was nothing ominous in the picture she had seen of the girls lined up and walking across the courtyard, but it had affected her all the same. What must it be like to grow up in such a place? With teachers and fellow orphans but no mother or father? To wonder if you would ever live to see the face of the woman who bore you?
She looked at the babe in her arms. She didn’t know
if she could have subjected him to such a future, little as she knew him. Did he not deserve more? Did not every child?
Miles let out a frustrated sigh. “Well, that was certainly not what I had expected.”
“No,” said Lydia. She was scared to ask, but she couldn’t make herself wait a moment longer. “What now?”
Miles tapped a finger on the top hat in his lap. “I hardly know.” He looked out of the window thoughtfully.
Lydia’s heart thudded against her chest, and the only sound was the rumbling of the coach wheels. “Might we not keep him?”
Miles’s head whipped around toward her.
“Just for a while. Until we decide what is best done. We cannot leave him at the mercy of the parish, Miles.”
“No,” he agreed, eyes on the babe.
Lydia shrugged, hoping she seemed more nonchalant than she felt. “We could keep him with us during Christmastide. It is so terribly cold, and with Christmas only two days away, I imagine it would be difficult to do anything else. People are taken up with preparing Christmas dinner and that sort of thing. We could give him a proper experience of the season, just as we plan to do with Diana and Mary.”
Miles said nothing, still staring thoughtfully at the baby. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He looked up at Lydia, and he smiled. “Let’s keep him with us while we try to arrange for a proper situation. I’m sure we can find something by Epiphany.”
Lydia nodded quickly, unable to keep from smiling. Epiphany was still more than a fortnight away. “Yes, yes, of course.”
Miles came to sit beside her and peered down at the baby. “He is a handsome little chap, isn’t he?”
“He is. Do you intend to keep calling him little chap for the next two weeks? Perhaps we should decide upon a name for him—I find it somewhat awkward to keep referring to him as the baby.”
Miles chuckled and pushed a tuft of the baby’s hair aside. “Yes, I think he should have some sort of name. They would have given him one at the Foundling Hospital, after all. But what name?”