Dawn at Emberwilde (9 page)

Not so long ago, such sounds used to give Isabel a fright. But now her duty as caretaker prevailed. “I promise you, there are no animals in here. You are quite safe. Tomorrow, if the weather is fine, we shall take a walk around the grounds and you will be able to see for yourself how lovely Emberwilde is.”

Lizzie made no response; her silence on the matter was evidence of disbelief. The child dropped her head to Isabel's shoulder, and for several moments they were silent. Isabel thought her sister had drifted off, so still and quiet was she, but after several minutes of slow, steady breaths, Lizzie whispered, “I want to go home.”

The words, tiny and quiet in the stillness, tugged at Isabel. The concept of home had always been an abstract one. Even though her father lived in London and had a home there, Isabel had never returned to it after leaving for Fellsworth. The demands of his occupation prevented him from seeing her, and after he married Lizzie's mother, her stepmother was very clear that Isabel was not welcome in the home. Isabel often felt as if she were an orphan, alone and forgotten. When Lizzie's mother died, their father sent Lizzie to Fellsworth as well, and Isabel welcomed Lizzie, eager for even a bit of family to call her own. By the time her father died, she'd grown to consider Fellsworth home, and clearly Lizzie did as well.

Isabel stroked the child's wayward locks. “It is different here than at the school, is it not?”

Lizzie only sniffed.

“But do you not think it will be lovely to have a family around us? To have an aunt and uncle? And cousins?”

Again, no response passed Lizzie's lips.

Uneasiness crept over Isabel and frightened her much more than wind against the windowpane could. She had tried to push her uncle's words from her mind, but his words about feeding extra mouths and finding a husband for her would not leave her be. They echoed in her mind like a noisy blackbird, giving her mind yet another reason for caution and trepidation.

“All that matters, that
really
matters, is that you and I are together. Now, if the two of us are together, is there anything that can truly make us sad?”

Lizzie shook her head.

“No matter what happens while we are here, I promise you that I will never leave you. We shall never be separated. Do you believe me?”

The little girl nodded sleepily.

The words in Mary's letter flitted through her mind.

For there is a divine plan for each of our lives, and a journey, and you have started yours.

“We are on a journey, you and I.” Isabel squeezed her sister. “And I don't know about you, but I am excited to see what adventures are waiting for us.”

Chapter Eight

M
r. Galloway!”

Mrs. Daugherty's sharp voice echoed throughout Colin's small chamber on the second level of the boardinghouse.

“Mr. Galloway!” she barked, sharper this time. Knuckles rapped on his closed door in barbed persistence. “You are needed downstairs at once. The girl from the Holden farm is here and needs to speak with you.”

Pushed by the urgency in the voice, not to mention the desire for her to curtail the insistent knocking, Colin shoved his blanket away and jumped from his bed. He shook his fingers through his tousled hair and turned to the room's only window to gauge the hour. The gray light of early dawn crept in around the fabric covering the narrow pane.

Why would someone from the Holden farm want to speak with him?

The image of James Holden flashed in his mind. The short man with thinning gray hair and a round belly was a most capable fellow. A stolen chicken or missing cow was the likeliest reason the farmer would contact the magistrate. But at this hour of the day?

He called back through the closed door. “Be right down.”

As he reached for his buckskin breeches slung over the back of a nearby chair, he could hear Mrs. Daugherty muttering on the other side of the door.

Colin, too, muttered under his breath, not so much bemoaning the earliness of the hour as the impatience of his sharp-tongued
landlady. No doubt Mrs. Daugherty's razor-edged voice and intense knocking had woken the four other gentlemen who boarded here, including Henry, his own cousin, who let the room on the other side of his wall. Eventually, her footsteps retreated down the hall.

The previous day's conversation with Ellison echoed in his mind. Perhaps it was time to give more consideration to restoring his property and moving away from the boardinghouse. But with his heavy responsibilities as a solicitor and magistrate, it made little sense to move so far out of town.

He straightened, tucked his shirt into his trousers, and pulled his heavy black riding boots over his stockings. Before going out he paused to check the small looking glass hanging next to his door. Anyone calling at this hour, regardless of the reason, would have to accept his hasty dress as good enough.

Colin punched his arm through the sleeve of his coat, unlocked his door, and swung it open.

The scent of salty ham and baking bread met him in the hall—a familiar morning scent. He made his way down a stairwell so narrow his shoulders nearly brushed either side as he descended.

Cool air rushed him as he reached the bottom. The half door to the kitchen garden stood ajar, and windows were high in their sashes, letting the early morning's cool, fresh air into the low-ceilinged room. He filled his lungs with it before turning the corner.

There, just inside the main door, stood Mrs. Daugherty. Next to her stood a young girl with her arms around a woven basket.

Colin forced a smile to his face. “Good morning, Mrs. Daugherty, Miss Holden. How can I be of service?”

Thin arms folded over her chest, Mrs. Daugherty jerked her head in the girl's direction. “This young lady would like a moment of your time.”

At second glance, Colin recognized the girl as Becky Holden, the farmer's eldest daughter. He was not good at judging the age
of children, but she looked like she might be eleven or twelve. A roughly fashioned cape of gray felt was around her shoulders, and her hair was pulled into two tight plaits that fell down her back.

Becky cut her eyes toward Mrs. Daugherty, as if seeking approval, before turning her attention fully to Colin. Her voice was thin, almost a whisper. “We found her at our farm this morning.”

He was about to ask her to repeat herself when the girl thrust the basket toward him. He reached out and touched the blanket covering the basket's contents.

There, tucked beneath the blanket, was a baby. Judging by the color of its skin and its size, it was brand new to this world.

He jerked his hand back. He didn't know the first thing about babies, and the last thing he wanted to do was disrupt it. But at his motion, the infant's eyes flew open, and this was followed by a wail, feisty and angry. The child's face deepened to crimson in mere seconds and a tiny fist flailed into the air.

The girl shoved the basket toward Colin. “It was on the doorstep. Our hired hand found her there when he went to tend the sheep.”

Colin scrambled to keep the child from clattering to the floor. Once he had control over the basket, he held it to his chest, the baby wailing even louder.

The girl's face blanched and tears gathered in her eyes. She inched backward, and her eyes grew wide. “Mother said to bring her to you. She said we don't want any trouble and that you would know what to do.”

As magistrate, Colin felt responsible for seeing to the orphans, widows, and the poor. The number of abandoned infants had increased over the past year or so, ever since Northrop's foundling home had declared that they would accept any child into their care. Word had spread through the neighboring villages, and now, every so often an unwanted child would be left in some conspicuous place.
Several months ago a baby had been left on the vicar's stairs, and about a year ago one had been left at the inn. They were rarely left at the foundling home itself, because of the large gate surrounding it.

Colin set the basket on the table gingerly and blew the air from his lungs.

“For heaven's sake, Mr. Galloway,” exclaimed Mrs. Daugherty, taking the baby from the basket and cradling it in her arms. “She'll not bite. 'Tis but a babe, and you are acting as if you have never seen one.”

Colin cleared his throat and regained his composure. He looked to Becky, who was kneading the edge of her cape with her fingers. “Tell your father I'll be by his farm this afternoon.”

“Oh, but he hasn't done anything!” Becky's dark eyes widened, and her head shook slowly from side to side. “The baby was just there, it was just—”

“I know he's done nothing wrong,” clarified Colin, attempting to alleviate the girl's anxiety. “I need to speak with him just the same.”

Becky nodded, stepped backward, and ran out through the door.

“Tsk.” Mrs. Daugherty rocked the baby from side to side as she turned to watch the girl's retreating form. “You can go out to the Holden farm all ye like, but you know as certain as the sky is blue that he won't know nothing. You ought to keep regular hours, Mr. Galloway. That way folks would stop coming here like they do. I run a boardinghouse. Not an office.”

Mrs. Daugherty always feigned annoyance when Northrop's residents would visit the boardinghouse seeking assistance, but Colin knew her fascination with gossip. Because he lived here, she was often the first in town to know what was happening with her neighbors, and she liked it that way.

A landlady like her was both a blessing and a curse.

She clicked her tongue. “You must find a way to put an end to this before we have more babies than we know what to do with. If people
think that they can bring all their unwanted babes to Northrop, then we'll find ourselves in real trouble.”

It was true, Colin knew, but what could be done at the moment? “I will take the baby to the foundling home this morning.”

“You'd best hurry then. Poor thing's probably half-starved already.” Mrs. Daugherty returned the baby to the basket, inciting yet another cry. “Been a long time since I cared for a wee babe like that, but I do know babes are hungry all the time.”

He pressed his lips together in contemplation as he looked at the tiny wriggling figure.

The perfect light eyelashes. The tiny hand that waved in the air.

So very young.

So very innocent.

Mrs. Daugherty turned to leave, and Colin opened his mouth to stop her. The idea of being alone with the baby unnerved him. But then his cousin Henry came lumbering down the steps, awakened no doubt by either their landlady's incessant pounding or the baby's shrill cry.

“What in blazes is that?” Henry grumbled, his hair in disarray and his face creased with sleep lines.

Colin stepped aside so that Henry could see the basket, and the child released another wail.

Henry wrinkled his nose. “Cute little thing. Where'd it come from?”

“The Holden girl just brought it,” Colin explained. “Said it was left on their doorstep.”

Henry leaned over the basket, his neck cloth hanging undone around his throat. “Hmm. Any note or anything?”

Colin assessed the basket. Normally no note accompanied these abandoned children, but he ought to check. The baby fit tightly in the basket. He felt around the thin blanket to see if he could find anything.

“Egad,” exclaimed Henry, an amused expression brightening his sleepy face. “Just pick it up and look.”

Colin set his lips in a firm line. He reached into the basket, tucked his hand beneath the baby's head and body, and lifted. The baby let out a mighty wail, one so loud it rivaled the cries he had heard on the battlefield.

He held the child out in front of him, angling it uncomfortably.

“Quick,” Colin called to Henry and nodded to the basket. “Look in there. Is there a note?”

Henry lifted the blanket and shifted the small cloth at the bottom of the basket. “No, nothing.”

Colin looked at the baby in his hands. “I suppose it's best to take it to Bradford at once. He'll know what to do with it.”

“Best stop by and see if Mother will go with you. You know how she adores children and the sort, and besides, she will know what to do about the crying. I'd go with you, but I am due out this morning at Heddeston Park. Meeting with the steward. It seems they are getting close to identifying the heir, and I have offered to work with their solicitor to finalize the details as soon as possible. I'll fill you in later when you come into the office.”

Colin nodded. He attempted to return the red-faced, angry baby to the basket but could not get the angle right.

Yes, Aunt Lydia would know what to do.

By some miracle, the baby fell asleep on the short walk from the boardinghouse to Lockert Cottage, his aunt's home, which was situated on the outskirts of the village. With the baby quiet, it was actually a pleasant spring walk, despite the knot in the pit of his stomach caused by the fact that this little one had been left alone.