Almost at once, Radcliffe opened the door. “Well, if this isn’t the biggest shock I’ve ever had, I don’t know what is,” he remarked with surprise in his voice. “Lord Winterdale. I cannot believe you’re back with us. Your parents aren’t going to believe this. Please—please, come right in. Limping, are you? Have you been wounded? Come in and sit down.”
“I’ll explain it all later,” answered Win. “I haven’t time to sit down. Where is Mrs. Whitaker?”
“Mrs. Whitaker? Why, in the kitchen, I imagine, where she always is. I saw her very early when the staff had breakfast together. Why do you want Mrs. Whitaker?”
“I also want Oliver. Is he here?”
“My Lord, the Scotland Yard men are speaking with him, but I imagine they would be delighted to see you and to know you’re alive. They’re in the drawing room.”
Win made his way straight to the drawing room, and Josephine hurried to keep up with him. There sat Oliver, on the white velvet sofa, with two men across from him. Josephine recognized them as being from Scotland Yard.
“What the hell is going on here?” Win shouted.
“Ah, are you Lord Winterdale?” asked one of the inspectors.
“Yes, I am. I’ve managed to escape a prisoner of war camp in the Netherlands and have been on the road for weeks. Now, I’ve arrived to learn that my son is missing. Josephine tells me that all of the authorities think my brother may have something to do with this?”
“Please, sit down, my lord,” replied the chief inspector.
Win did so. Then he looked straight at Oliver and asked, “Are you involved in the disappearance of our son? You had better be honest, you damn rogue. If you are, I can promise you, we’ll find out, so you would be better off telling the truth.”
“Win, I’m delighted to see you home. I didn’t think I’d ever see you alive again. Of course, I didn’t have anything to do with Andrew’s disappearance. Why would I do such a thing? He’s my nephew. This is crazy.”
Win turned to the inspector. “We need to send someone to find our cook, Vera Whitaker, and have her brought up here immediately.”
“May I inquire why, sir?” the inspector asked.
“I think I know what's happened to my son. Don’t let that brother of mine move. I’ll go fetch Mrs. Whitaker myself.”
Josephine watched Oliver closely. His face took on a sickly look. He said nothing, but the expression proved a definite uneasiness. Could Win be correct? Had his brother played a role in Andrew’s disappearance?
“Never mind,” Win said. “I’m going to speak with her alone in the kitchens. She’s likely to be more honest with me if Oliver isn’t present.”
Win made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. Damn this foot, he thought. It kept him from moving as quickly as he wanted. Josephine followed directly behind him. He was nearly certain he knew what had transpired. Vera should have the answer if his hunch was correct. She definitely was a link to Andrew’s disappearance.
They entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Whitaker standing at the counter with dough rolled out in front of her. Obviously, she was about to do some baking. She didn’t even glance up as Josephine and Win entered the room.
“Mrs. Whitaker, I need to speak with you. Put down those utensils, and come here,” Win instructed.
Vera looked up, and a shocked expression came over her face. “What in heaven’s name? My Jay. You’re home.” She ran to Win, embracing him with all of her might. “How on Earth—the war hasn’t ended—I’m shocked to see you here, but oh, so happy.”
“Yes, it’s good to be back. Nevertheless, you may not be so happy when I’ve finished speaking to you.”
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be happy after I’ve spoken to you? I’m confused,” Mrs. Whitaker answered. She paused. “Would you like some warm cookies? I’m just taking a batch from the oven.”
It seemed an odd question to ask at such a time.
“No, I don’t care for any cookies. I want an answer to one question, Vera, and I don’t want any foolishness.”
“What question?” she enquired. “You sound awfully stern. You’ve never spoken to me like that before.” Tears welled in her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled.
“I’ve never had reason to, but I do now. What do you know about the kidnapping of my baby boy?” he asked her.
“Why, all I know is that he went missing from his playpen outside of your cottage. I learned that from your brother, Oliver. I’ve been worried sick. Have there been any new developments?”
“I suspect so. Someone telephoned Josephine the evening he was taken. Whoever the person was, they referred to me as Jay. Now, Mrs. Whitaker, do you know of anybody, besides you, who would use that name when referring to me?”
“Well, I suppose there could be a number of people. Jay is not an uncommon by-name for James. When I was coming up, there was a boy in my neighbourhood named James, and everyone knew him as Jay.” She paused again. “Are you certain I can’t tempt you with some cookies? They’re my sugar cookies, Jay. You’ve always loved them so.”
“Vera, stop it. Why do you persist with the subject of sugar cookies when my precious son is missing? The fact that your neighbour was called Jay is precisely why you slapped that label on me when I came into the world,” Win said.
Josephine took a seat in the chair at the kitchen table. His poor wife looked rather ill. No doubt, she’d begun to put the facts together.
“What are you trying to say?” Vera said. “Do you think I had something to do with your boy’s disappearance?” She had a very confused expression on her face.
Win recalled the night of the dinner at Winthrop Manor when he’d first introduced Josephine to his parents. At that time, he had been so consumed with obtaining his parents’ approval for marriage to Josephine, he’d paid scant attention when his mother had told him of her concern regarding Mrs. Whitaker, and the possibility that her mind was deteriorating. Now the conversation came back to him.
“Vera, I don’t want to frighten you with harsh words. You know how much I have loved you all my life. I think it’s a distinct possibility, Vera, that perhaps you had something to do with Andrew’s disappearance, but that you didn’t mean to hurt me or Josephine. Scotland Yard is involved in this investigation. If you aren’t going to be straight with me, I’ll call the chief detective inspector immediately. He is right upstairs in the drawing room. Perhaps you might choose to be honest with him,” Win threatened. He knew he was frightening her, but he had to have the truth. He was making every attempt to be kind.
“Oh, please, no. You wouldn’t do that, would you? I’ve loved you all your life,” Mrs. Whitaker pleaded. “My darling Jay. I’m so happy to see you. Won’t you please help yourself to a cookie?”
Win was extremely distraught. It was clear to him that the beloved cook was having grave difficulties with her thinking.
“I would love to have some of your cookies, if doing so would bring back my son,” Win replied. “But first, I must know where he is. You can help me so much by telling me why in blazes you would have anything to do with such a cruel action.”
Vera was silent for a minute. Clearly, she was trying to decide what to do. Win had no doubt she was involved in Andrew’s disappearance. Her features showed anxiety and confusion. Finally, she sank down in a chair by the table and began to speak.
“Jay— I would never have had anything to do with causing you pain. I thought what I was doing was right and proper,” she began.
“Do continue, Mrs. Whitaker. I believe you,” Win replied.
“Well, I overheard my lord and my lady talking about you and your wife. Both of them were saying how worried they were about something bad happening to you in the war. It was after Mr. Andrew was killed. The Lord Winthrop said he was happy to have a grandson to take over the estate if you died. He didn’t want Oliver to be the one to run it. Then my lady said she didn’t think Miss Josephine was the proper person to raise little Andrew since she didn’t have a
title and such. She said Miss Josephine refused to consider living at Winthrop Manor. They thought the boy should be raised in aristocratic surroundings—did I pronounce that right?”
“Did you pronounce what right?” Win asked.
“Aristocratic,” replied the cook.
“Yes, yes. Go on, Mrs. Whitaker,” Win answered impatiently.
“Well, after I heard all that, I worried and worried. If something happened to you—God forbid—my sister could raise the baby. She’s married to a gentleman who has a very nice position. They’re considered gentrified. I suppose you think it’s strange that a cook in a great house could have a sister who is quite high on the social scale.”
Win had always known that Mrs. Whitaker came from a better background than the average cook in a great house. “Go on, Vera,” he pressed her.
“Well, my sister Emily—you know who I mean; the one who has a very nice house in London. She can't have children. They’ve tried and tried, but there’s something not right. She’s cried so about it. They would like to adopt a baby, but it’s not easy.
“Then your brother Oliver got to talking to me one day while he was in the kitchen. I’d made him one of my special sandwiches. He said he didn’t think you would survive the war. Nobody in the family had heard anything about you since the letter from the military people arrived, saying you was missing in action. So many months had gone by and still no word. Oliver said he hoped your Andrew grew up to be a seemly member of the gentry. Otherwise, Oliver said, he’d have to take over Winthrop Manor, and he wasn’t keen on that.”
Win was well aware that Oliver hoped to become the next earl. He must have been manipulating Mrs. Whitaker. “Where did Oliver think the child would be raised in the manner befitting an earl?”
“He didn’t know, really. It was me who told him about my sister. Emily wanted a child but couldn’t ever have one. I said I thought it was very mean for anyone to think about not allowing the babe’s mother to care for him until the age of majority. He told me Miss Josephine simply wasn’t fit to raise a viscount. I couldn’t understand why he thought that, and I even said she’d never agree to let another person raise Andrew. He said she would, because she was very young and comely and would want to re-marry, but she hadn’t even been presented to the king and queen, so there was scant chance she’d marry a man of the sort Andrew’s father was, meaning you, Jay. That’s when he asked if I knew any lady who wished for a child.”
Win put his head in his hands. What a wicked, scoundrel of a brother I have. “What in blazes made him think you would know someone worthy of raising my son?” Win asked.
“Oliver knew I come from a nice background. I’d told him about Emily before. Well, we talked some more about it. He said he’d take care of getting the baby from Miss Josephine, and that they would give him to Emily. All Oliver wanted me to do was take the babe to Emily in London. Well, of course, he wanted me to tell Emily I’d learned of a baby who needed a good home. I was to tell her that the boy’s father was killed in the war, and the mother and father hadn’t been married, so the mother wanted to have the babe adopted out and raised proper. I argued some, because I didn’t want to tell a lie. He said it wasn’t really a bad lie. He was sure you’d been killed, and he knew I’d heard your parents saying your wife wasn’t fit to raise the babe, and he needs two parents.
“After a lot of talking, he started to make sense to me. It would solve a lot of problems. Emily would be able to have the baby she wanted so dearly, and Andrew would have a mother and father who could give him the sort of life you would want for him.
“I couldn’t figure how he would take the baby. I wasn’t sure Josephine would give him away, but he told me he knew her much better than I did. Well, that was true. I wanted what was best for your son, so I agreed to help in any way I could.
“The next thing I knew, Oliver brought the child here, to Winthrop Manor, and instructed me to immediately take the train to London, where Emily lives. He said he’d tell my lord and my lady that he’d sent me on a journey to London to buy some truffles from Harrods for a special dish he wished to have me prepare. I did what he told me to do. Emily was so happy. She just loved that baby the moment she laid eyes on him. She had a beautiful nursery all prepared and everything. Emily asked about papers and the like. She wanted to make sure everything was legal. Oliver had sent along a document—did I pronounce that right?”
“Yes, yes, go on, Vera.”
“Well, the document was signed with him as the baby’s guardian. It said you was killed in the war, and your wife felt it better to have Andrew raised right and proper. Oliver signed it, and so did Emily. I got to be the witness. Only, Oliver didn’t use his proper name. He wrote Oscar Littleton. I remember that, because it seemed strange, but he said that’s how things were done.
“When I returned, Oliver said it was all finished and done. He went off somewhere, and I started to do some baking. The more I thought about it, I got to feeling bad. I felt sorry for your wife. I thought she should at least know that her little baby wasn’t hurt or dead. So early the next morning, I put a cloth over the receiver and dialed her number. Oliver didn’t know I was doing that, and I knew he’d be mad if he found out. But there didn’t seem any harm in it, and if it made your wife feel a little better, then I couldn’t see why I shouldn’t call.
“To tell the truth, I felt even worse after I made the call. She sounded so upset. I wanted to be honest, but it was too late for that. I knew Andrew would be fine, and your Josephine would recover in time. Win had heard all he needed to hear. He sat absolutely still for a moment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
He now had the entire story, or at least the portion that would lead him to his precious son. Now, he needed to consider what the next course of action should be. The Scotland Yard detectives were still interviewing Oliver in the drawing room, and Win was well-aware that they would immediately make their way to London and retrieve the child. But he was also concerned that Mrs. Whitaker would be treated very roughly, and Oliver would be only too happy to place all the blame on her. He was also frightened that the police would take the infant and place him in some sort of government care until everything was sorted out. He wanted to hold his son for the first time. He wanted to sleep in his own home with his wife and child. Thus, as far as Win was concerned, he would take charge of the situation, and if there was a penalty to pay later, he would be glad to do so. Hadn’t poor Josephine been through enough? Hadn’t he? He decisively knew what his actions must be.
“Mrs. Whitaker, you have been a tremendous help. Please, just continue with your baking, unless you are summoned to speak to the inspectors upstairs. Josephine and I are going to London to bring our baby home. I’m not placing any of this on you. Oliver is not a good person, and, unfortunately, he used you as a means to accomplish what he set out to do. I don’t want you to worry. Once we have Andrew home, we’ll all be in a much better position to decide exactly what will happen going forward.”
She nodded, although it was quite clear she did not completely understand all of the intricacies involved. Win kissed her on the cheek and told her he and his wife would see her upon their return.
This was not her fault, he thought. There was definitely something amiss in the way her brain was working. She hadn’t been using common sense. Mrs. Whitaker might not be uncommonly bright, but Win was certain she would never, ever have considered doing anything to harm him or his child.
He glanced across the table at the face of the woman he loved more than anyone else on Earth. Perhaps because he had been in such a rush when he’d reached the cottage and learned of the kidnapping, he hadn’t taken time to notice how totally different Josephine looked. She was pale and wan and looked to be several stones thinner than she’d been when he’d left for the war. Her nails had been bitten to the quick; her lips were chapped, and her skin looked dry. What horrors has she endured? Worry about losing her husband, the kidnapping of her beloved baby, no parents to cons
ole her—not even her brother. Oliver would pay for this, he vowed to himself. That thought kept running through his head.
Mrs. Whitaker was still sitting at the table with them. Once again, she offered cookies, and Win agreed to take a couple of them. She seemed pleased and not at all aware of the unmitigated harm she had caused.
***
Josephine had spent the entire time during Vera’s recitation of the events leading to the baby’s disappearance with her head on the table, buried into folded arms. She was exhausted and terribly relieved to have her husband home to take charge. He had managed to do just that, and it appeared that baby Andrew would be returning to his mommy and daddy. She raised her head. Tears of relief created snail’s tracks on her cheeks. She reached across the table, taking Win’s hand in hers.
“I love you so much, darling. Thank God you’re home, and we’re going to be a family after all this time.”
“Everything will be fine, sweetheart. You can finally relax. I can’t imagine the heartache you’ve experienced. I’m so terribly sorry. I so wish I could have been here, so you didn’t have to face all this alone.”
“The important thing is that you’re here now, Win,” she answered.
“Miss Josephine,” said Vera. “I’m truly sorry if I caused you hurt. I thought I was doing the right thing. I should have known better. I hope you won’t be mad at me forever.”
“It’s all right, Vera. I’m not angry with you. Thank you for being honest with us. None of this was your fault. There are evil people in the world, and Oliver is one of them. I know you didn’t have any idea that he was just using you to get what he wanted.”
“What did he want out of this, Miss Josephine?” Vera asked.
“He wanted to assume the title of earl someday. He thought my husband wouldn’t come home from the war, and without the baby, Oliver would be the next in line to inherit. Do you understand?”
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