“Papa,” Joshua called. “Charlie thinks the baby is hungry.”
That drew the grown-ups’ attention.
“Yes,” his father said, “I expect it is. That settles the matter, Mrs Grimble. I think you had better take the child to your labourer’s wife to care for. Here is some money for her trouble.” He placed a handful of coins in her palm.
“But sir, there is five guineas here. Peggy won’t expect that much,” the farmer’s wife said with certainty.
“I will leave it with you to decide how best to distribute it.”
“If I find some clothes for the baby, and give the woman a shilling every week, she can bring the little one when she comes to work at the farm. That way I’ll know she’s taking proper care of it.”
“An excellent idea, ma’am,” said Squire Norbery. “Later, if the child thrives, she can be educated in the village school, and repay your good nature by working on your farm like the mother.”
Relieved the matter was resolved; Tom dispensed a coin to the verger for his trouble, and climbed into the chaise. The boys settled back in their seats, with Sophie on the floor, apparently unconcerned by their absence.
He’d had enough mediating for one day. It must be the season for abandoned children. First, it was Charlie and Sophie, now a newborn baby.
Probably the mother was a country wench who found herself in trouble, and risked losing her home. There were always young men ready to sow wild oats. Tom hoped his eldest son was not the cause of this problem. It would not be the first time. He knew Matthew had faults aplenty, but did not think women featured prominently in his life – quite the reverse. He used them to be cruel.
With his mind filled with the events of the afternoon, Tom turned the chaise around and headed out of the village along the drovers’ road that bordered the rear of Linmore estate. He glanced at Joshua sitting at his side, a look of deep concentration on his face. Eventually, he had to ask, “Is something bothering you, Joshua?”
“Why did you say, her, Papa? We thought it would be a boy.”
“Mrs Grimble said it was a little girl, and she should know.”
“Mmm.” Joshua nodded his acceptance and turned to Charlie.
On reaching the back drive to Linmore, Tom drove the chaise through the gates into the park, and headed for his sister-in-law’s woodland cottage, situated half a mile beyond the lodge.
The children were talking amongst themselves, and he was glad they showed no ill effects from when he’d brought the chaise to a sudden stop. It was safe enough when Joshua and Charlie sat together on the seat beside him, but not with Sophie huddled on the floor between their feet.
He had tried to insist that there was not enough room for all of them to sit in comfort, but she refused to stay behind. Truth to tell, she was no trouble when he let her do as she wished. She was definitely an original character, and Tom was growing accustomed to her quaint little ways. He wanted her to feel at home at Linmore.
Almost before he had drawn the horses to a halt in front of the stone-built single-storey cottage, Joshua jumped down and dashed along the garden path to be first to relate the news. Charlie followed close behind. The front door opened immediately and Jane emerged.
“Aunt Jane, we found a baby. Papa said it was a girl, but we don’t know for sure.” Joshua stopped to catch his breath, and then hurried indoors to impart the news to Jessie, the maid.
“Yes,” said Charlie, “someone left it in a basket of rags.”
Jane looked enquiringly at Tom. “Where was this?”
The sight of her always warmed his heart, but he kept his tone light.
“In the church porch at Hillend, of all places,” he said, then stepped down from the chaise and handed the reins to the waiting outdoor servant.
“Thank you, William Rufus.”
He looked back to the lone little figure squatting on the floor of the chaise.
“Are you coming with us, Sophie? I think we are staying for tea.”
She scowled when he held out his hands, offering to lift her down. After a brief moment of deliberation, she shuffled towards him. When he set her feet on the ground, she dashed after the boys into the house.
Jane walked beside him towards the front door, but instead of entering the house, they walked around the side and traversed the length of the garden to an arbour containing a wooden seat. It was an idyllic spot, hidden amongst the trees and shrubs, sheltered from prying eyes, and a suntrap on a warm summer day, such as this year was producing.
It was always a joy to spend time at the cottage. It was Jane’s home, and the only place where she could escape from Kate. That is why Tom built it for her – for them – and somewhere Joshua could come when life at the Hall became too much for him.
“Was it a newborn baby?” she said.
“Yes, a little girl, only a few of days old by the look of it. Drakestone, the verger, dashed out of the churchyard gate to intercept the chaise. It was a stupid thing to do, frightening the horses, which could have killed him. I was all set to give him a rare trimming but the farmer’s wife from Oak Apple Farm was with him. She wanted to consult me about what should be done with the child.”
“Did you advise them?” Jane asked.
“I simply agreed to her suggestion that she take the infant to a woman in the village who lost her baby, but was still lactating. Mrs Grimble said the young woman was one of her servants, and could be trusted, so I gave her five guineas for the woman’s trouble. It saved the baby going to the Westbridge poorhouse.”
“And the breast milk will be put to good use. Poor little mite, I wonder to whom it belongs.”
“Apparently, there was a piece of paper with the baby’s name, amongst the rags in the basket, but nothing to indicate from where it came.”
Jane nodded and changed the subject. “I presume that would be the younger Mrs Grimble? At least, she was twenty years ago, when my father was alive. I imagine she has aged like the rest of us.”
“She is decidedly matronly, whereas you don’t look any older to me than you did then, Jane.” His voice deepened as he raised her hand to his lips.
“Flatterer,” she said softly, but her grey eyes shone. “Let us be practical. I am long overdue a visit to Hillend. Would you like me to drive over to see Mrs Grimble during the week to see if her plan came to fruition? Now you have taken an interest, I have a curiosity to see this little waif for myself. I am sure Jessie can find some baby clothes and linen to take for the child.”
“But she was only the size of a doll. She was lost in the basket.”
“All the better, they will fit her for longer. Did she have any hair?”
“Yes, Joshua described it as being the colour of the chestnut foal born last month. He was enthralled. He’d never seen anything like her.”
“That’s a wonderful tawny colour. I wonder what happened to the mother. How sad if she was forced to abandon her babe.” Her voice wobbled.
“I doubt if we will ever know,” he said. “Maybe she did not survive childbirth. We don’t even know if the little one will thrive.”
A shadow crossed her face. “We must do our best to ensure she does. I will leave some money with Mrs Grimble. How much do you suggest?”
“I’ve already given five guineas,” he said.
“I will discuss it with Mrs Grimble,” she said with a smile. “There are bound to be things she will need, and I can always go again to see how she is progressing.”
“You would have loved to have a little girl, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes… yes, I would, but… it cannot be.” She bit her lip.
“In that case, my dear, you must indulge yourself, and adopt the little waif. Who knows, maybe one day she will come to work for you.”
“Yes, maybe…”
CHAPTER 8
“Are you ready, Miss Jane?” a gruff female voice called. “I’ve packed the bag for Mrs Grimble, and William Rufus has the gig outside, but he doesn’t want to keep the horse wai
ting.”
The final words had the desired effect.
“I’m coming, Jessie.” Jane stopped her musings about the unknown baby, and reached for her “Miss Littlemore” hat, the one she wore on visits around the estate. Dark coloured straw, plain and utterly respectable – just as she was – except that her wavy hair was anything but plain.
As a child, she had a riot of tumbling honey-brown curls that defied all attempts to control it. Her stepsister called it an abomination – but Kate never said a kind word about anyone.
Jane grimaced at the recollection and jabbed the hatpin through the fabric, then checked the contents of her purse to ensure she had enough coins for her needs. Now she was ready.
When they set out, Jessie sat with her in the gig, and William Rufus walked beside the horse. Jane was capable of driving without an escort, but it was something on which Tom insisted and she never ran contrary to his wishes.
The journey to Hillend was a matter of three winding country miles, and Jane knew every inch of the way to the village where she was born. A high redbrick wall bordered the drovers’ road on one side and on the other, neat hedgerows and trees. Beyond that, the hay meadows merged with gentle wooded slopes skirting the western side of Linmore Hill.
Travelling by this particular route never failed to bring back memories of a series of tragedies that ruined many lives. It was bad enough when the sinking of an East India merchant ship lost her father a fortune. His death a few months later was worse, but at least no one doubted the shooting was an accident. It had to be, for James Littlemore was a man of honour, who would not have left his beloved wife and daughters in straitened circumstances.
When her mother died of a fever within a year of her widowhood, Kate’s uncle said it was typhoid, caused by brackish water from the well. The servants had other ideas, but no one dared speak out. The outcome meant Jane’s youthful dreams were shattered when the man she loved was compelled to marry another woman.
Whilst the church taught one to revere family members, it was hard to tolerate the older stepsister who usurped the position intended for her.
Jane might have accepted it better if Kate had made an effort to fulfil the duties of a landowner’s wife. Even in the early days, her sister ignored the tenants on the Linmore estate, and not once in almost twenty years had she visited the poor and sick children. Having assumed the responsibility, Jane had a special relationship with servants at the Hall and estate workers’ families.
She did it to help Tom, and in her father’s memory. How else would anyone remember Squire James Littlemore, late of Hillend parish? If her father had lived, she would have been the wife of some great man of means, but she was content to live at Linmore. It was her life, her greatest love and would be until the day she died.
On leaving the drovers’ road, Jane approached Hillend village along the narrow lane bordering the rectory grounds, turned right at the corner and continued towards the Lych-gate. William Rufus stayed with the horse, while Jessie carried the basket of flowers as they made their way to the porch.
It was so quiet that their appearance caused the verger to look up from his work in surprise, and Jane spent a few minutes hearing his news, before placing freshly picked flowers from the gardens at Linmore on her parents’ grave.
As she drove towards the Bluebell Inn on the village green, several people came out of their houses to acknowledge her presence. She could do no less than stop to pass the time of day. Although many years had passed since she went to live at Linmore, they still remembered her family with affection.
From there, she moved on through the village towards the turn to Oak Apple Lane, its corner marked by the old tavern known as the Drum and Powder Monkey. A place frequented by the dregs of the social divide, who came seeking cheap ale, and who cared nothing for the rotting timber of the windows and warped roof as long as the drink flowed freely. A favourite haunt of the army recruitment brigades that passed through the area, and from where many local workers had disappeared over the years.
Reaching the junction, she gazed in the direction of her old home. It was little more than half a mile, and for a moment, she was tempted to go the extra distance. Then she remembered the reason for her journey, and turned resolutely up the lane towards Oak Apple Farm. Memories were all very well, but today she had a purpose to fulfil.
William Rufus walked ahead and made their presence known at the farm.
Mrs Grimble was effusive in her greeting. “Oh, Miss Littlemore, this is a surprise. To think you’ve come all this way to see me.”
Jane smiled as she stepped into the parlour. “I must apologise for arriving unannounced, Mrs Grimble, but I was visiting the church, and thought it would be prudent to see you. Squire Norbery was anxious to know the outcome of your quest concerning the baby found in the church porch.”
The woman’s face creased into a smile. “In that case, ma’am, you may see for yourself, for the child is here.” She indicated a crib in the corner of the room, near the fire. “The maidservant I mentioned to Squire Norbery is upstairs making the beds, but I told her to bring the little one here while she works. It’s no trouble for me to keep an eye on her.”
Before Jane could protest, Mrs Grimble lifted the baby from the cot and brought her forward. “Here she is, ma’am. This is Nell.”
Jane’s heart melted when she saw the little face. Tom was right, the baby was about the size of a doll she had as a girl. That more than anything brought back the force of her memories.
“She’s beautiful, Mrs Grimble,” she said tremulously. “Thank you, so much for showing her to me.” She stroked the tiny hand with her finger, and felt an instant response as the babe opened her eyes, and her mouth started working.
“It looks like she’s hungry, ma’am.” The farmer’s wife moved away to the door leading to the staircase. “Peggy,” she called upstairs. “Come down here, and attend to your child.”
Jane was not sure what kind of person she was expecting, but not a girl scarcely into womanhood. She could not have been more than sixteen years old, with a slow manner and good-natured face. Nevertheless, she was well-endowed to provide for the baby’s needs, and a look of tenderness transformed her flat expression as she fixed the baby to the breast. Yes, she would probably do well.
While the young mother suckled the infant, Jane called Jessie forward with the supply of baby clothes and linen. Then, she donated a further five guineas to be dispensed at Mrs Grimble’s discretion, and went on her way, asking the farmer’s wife to keep her informed of the child’s progress. She did not expect to have too much contact, but at least she could tell Tom that for the moment the baby was safe.
Once Lucy and Julia returned to Linmore from visiting their grandparents, there was no reason to delay the resumption of lessons. Joshua had shown Charlie the room where they would undertake their studies, and let him see the nursery classroom where Sophie would share lessons with his cousins.
After more than a month of freedom, it was hard to drag their feet up the three flights of stairs to the classroom, but if Joshua expected his tutor to be similarly reluctant to start, he was mistaken.
On each floor, they stopped and peered through the landing windows, and looked across the parkland.
“What shall we do after the lesson’s finished?” asked Charlie.
Before Joshua could say a word, a stern voice responded from the upper storey.
“Before you make plans, gentlemen, you have to achieve that objective. Your lesson should have started ten minutes ago.”
They looked at each other, and scuttled up the remaining flight of stairs, and through the classroom door. The holiday was over.
Having taken an unplanned sabbatical at Squire Norbery’s request, the Reverend, Dr Edgar Hawley, was ready to resume his work, and test the new pupil with untried capabilities.
“As this is Master Cobarne’s first Latin lesson with us, I will permit him to use my personal copy of Virgil, but I expect the book to be shown
the same respect we give the subject. Now, gentlemen, repeat after me, if you please… Amo…Amas…Amat…”
Joshua rolled his eyes skywards. There was scarcely time to enter the classroom and introduce Charlie to his tutor, before the lesson began.
The language was dry as dust, just like the inside of his mouth, and there was at least another hour to go. It was bad enough reciting Latin on his own, but with a new friend to talk to, he could think of more interesting things to say.
At least with Charlie there, his mumblings would pass unnoticed. For once, he did not mind the restricted space in the little room on the top floor.
He supposed Matthew must have used it as well, but for all he learned the time was wasted. From what he could see, it was pointless to send his brother to university, for a more unlikely student would be hard to find. Then he thought about the benefits of his absence, and could not wait to be free of harassment.
“Master Norbery,” his tutor’s voice brought him back to reality. “I would be obliged if you would share your time with us. Your mind was clearly elsewhere.”
Joshua sneaked a look at the wooden clock hanging on the wall, and resumed his droning. Fifty minutes more. Why did time have to drag? It was lucky Charlie was familiar with the subject, because his enthusiasm was as dead as the ancient language. Morte, he thought the word was in Latin.
He knew it was fatal for his lessons, but he began to wonder how Sophie was coping down in the nursery classroom with his two cousins. Charlie was starting to fidget, and he sensed his mind was similarly distracted. Then they had the first intimation all was not well below stairs.
The sound started as a faint squawk, coming from the direction of the lower nursery, which grew louder as it progressed up the back stairs to the landing, all the way to the attic classroom. Outside the door, the wailing was replaced by a thump, sounding suspiciously like a kick.
Dr Hawley stopped his recitation, and looked perplexed. “Was it you making the noise, Master Norbery?”
Joshua looked at Charlie and said, “I think there is someone outside the door, sir.”
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