The Dashing Miss Fairchild (2 page)

"Gracious!"

"What is it?” Venetia cried. “I knew something was going to happen. What is wrong?"

Clare poked her head back out through the coach door to give Venetia a wide-eyed stare. “There is a baby in here! How do you suppose it got in our coach?"

Before Venetia could begin to vocally contemplate the various possibilities, Clare disappeared again. The infant had decided to exercise its lungs with terrifying intensity. With her experience as an aunt to draw upon, Clare expertly picked up the baby, cradling it gently in her arms, patting and stroking its back with soothing results.

"We must find the mother, Priddy. There has to be some mistake here. Surely no one would simply place their child in a traveling coach and go off?"

Priddy's eyes had softened at the sight of her mistress holding the infant in such a maternal and skillful manner. What a pity she did not have a clutch of her own to nurture. She merely nodded, holding out her arms to accept the child so Clare might get out of the coach.

"Come into the inn. We must make inquiries.'’ Clare led the way inside followed by a curious Venetia and a wary Priddy. Priddy was not accustomed to being around infants, not that she minded them. She had hoped long before this that her mistress might present her with such a one to admire ... from afar.

The infant took exception to Priddy's less than tender hold and began to howl once again. With a rueful smile, Clare paused her steps, took the baby in her arms, then charged into the common room in search of the innkeeper.

That gentleman looked askance when Clare approached him, obviously recalling that the ladies had come sans infant yesterday.

"Sir, we need your help. It seems there was a confusion in the inn yard. Someone placed their infant in our coach by mistake. Could you direct us to the family, please?” She jiggled the baby in her arms to quiet it, hoping that soon she would be rid of her increasingly odiferous and damp bundle.

The innkeeper looked even more distressed. “No one came with a baby yesterday, Miss Fairchild. Leastways, none I recollect."

Venetia inserted herself into the conversation. “Someone obviously came here with an infant, sirrah. I cannot believe you could fail to take note. Think, sir, think."

At this point the infant began to cry again, more loudly than ever. “It has an admirable set of lungs,” Clare murmured to Priddy. “See if you can find out anything for the in the servants’ area. I shall cope the best I can until we decide what must be done.” Turning to the innkeeper, she added, “I believe the best thing for the to do is return to the room I occupied last night to see if the baby can be made more comfortable.” As her abigail headed toward the kitchen door, Clare prompted, “And inquire about a wetnurse, Priddy, do."

The parade up the stairs would have been amusing had someone been around to appreciate it. Clare sailed forth with the squalling infant in her capable arms, followed by a distraught Venetia complaining that she was about to have vapors at the very least due to the delay in their plans. Clare heroically refrained from any comment about the slowness of the journey to this point.

Once in the privacy of her room, after firmly closing the door behind the ranting Venetia, Clare efficiently stripped off the outer garments from the baby, noting as she did the exquisite quality of each item. All were handmade of finest cambric and flannel with lace trim and embroidery worked with skillful fingers.

A gentle rap on the door brought a young maid with the basket from the coach. “Your coachman says as how you might wish this, miss."

Leaving the maid to keep an eye on the squirming infant, Clare dove into the basket to discover a packet of clothing in the bottom. Upon opening it she found shirts, caps, bed gowns, blankets, bindings, petticoats and stays, and last, but scarcely least, at least two dozen napkins.

"Thank heavens. This does simplify things considerably.” Armed with the necessary item in hand and the maid holding a basin of water, Clare performed the needed change while Venetia, after one peek, took herself off to the windows.

When the baby was again neat and sweetly clean, though inclined to whimper unless Clare cosseted it against her shoulder, Venetia declared roundly, “You might know it would be a boy. It is always the male of the species who causes trouble!"

"I doubt the baby had a thing to say about it, my dear,” Clare answered serenely.

The maid gathered up the soiled napkin and bathwater, promising to return with the washed and dried item as soon as possible.

"What do you plan to do?” Venetia asked, a frown creasing her forehead as she stared at the unwanted guest in Clare's arms. “Really, it is too bad of you to fuss so over him."

"I could not be so heartless as to dump him on the inn. It seems to the there was a reason this baby was placed in my coach.” Clare dug about in the basket to see if there was anything to pacify the increasingly hungry babe, if his nuzzling against her was any evidence. She found nothing, so permitted him to gnaw on her finger.

"Nonsense!” Venetia cried in alarm.

"Explain, if you please, how an infant in a large basket could be tucked into any coach by mistake and not noticed immediately. I saw him at once."

"Well,” drawled Venetia while eyeing the delicate embroidery on the petticoat and gown now worn by the boy. “That looks like remarkably fine work. It is probably stolen,” she concluded smugly. “The baby might belong to anyone."

Clare gave her friend a narrow look. “I doubt it. It is precisely the proper size and is all of a kind. I mean to say, the fabric is of the best, the embroidery the same quality. No, all of these items,” she gestured to the contents of the packet now spilled across her bed, “were made just for him."

At that moment Priddy entered the room, a young woman cautiously edging into the room behind her. “No word at all belowstairs, miss. Seems like the babe just dropped from the sky.” Behind her, the young woman peeped at the baby, her eyes round and questioning. Her hands twisted her starched white apron with quiet anxiety.

"That is errant nonsense,” Venetia declared.

"He is far too real to be a figment of our imagination. What else did you find out?” Clare glanced at the stranger, hoping that she proved useful.

"This is Jenny. She recently lost her babe to a fever, but still has her milk. She's agreed to be wet nurse, for I know we have need of one and promptly."

"How wonderfully convenient, Priddy,” murmured Clare while Venetia flounced from the room at the there thought of feeding an infant. Disgusting. Too, too shocking.

Once the shy Jenny was settled in a chair by the window, Clare drew Priddy to the far side of the room, keeping an eye on the gentle young maid all the while. “Does it not strike you as odd that she would be so handy?"

"Aye, that it does. But the cook swears to the truth of the matter. Not a soul would admit to knowing a thing about a stranger with a babe."

"Did Tom Coachman learn anything of interest?"

"No. ‘Tis like I said. The babe seems to have dropped out of the sky."

Clare glanced at the baby nursing heartily away, a small fist waving about in the air, and shook her head. “He does not look to be an angel."

"You sound like Miss Godwin,” Priddy muttered.

"I do not intend to rail against the male sex. I mean, he is too real, too substantial to be other than what he appears. But to whom does he belong is the question. And why in
my
coach? There were others before the inn this morning. We were not the first about to depart, thanks to the crash in the hallway."

"True,” agreed the abigail.

"We have a mystery on our hands, I believe,” Clare murmured, then walked to the maid. Seating herself on a nearby chair, she softly inquired, “Could you travel with us to Bath? I fear I must get there tomorrow at the latest. Your husband?” Clare hated to probe. The death of a new baby was difficult to accept, and it must be painful for this young woman, scarcely more than a slip of a girl actually, to handle another's child in her arms.

"I don't have a husband,” the shy creature replied, dropping her gaze to the baby in her arms. “I was got with child by one of them swells that was stuck here last October when we had that terrible rain. ‘Twas lucky for the that the cook let the stay on. I didn't need no baby, though she was that sweet, she was.” While Jenny's face remained impassive, she exhaled a gentle sigh.

"I see,” Clare replied, seeing a great deal. Venetia would find this a prime example of the thoughtlessness of the male species. Take their fun regardless of the consequences. The idea that servants were somehow less than human had always been repugnant to Clare, and she found herself very angry with the man who had treated this shy girl so badly.

The baby sated, he let out a resounding burp when placed against Jenny's shoulder. The sound brought smiles to all faces. Priddy surveyed the scene from behind Clare's shoulder.

"Will you come with us, then? I cannot leave the baby here, untended and unwanted. I have this feeling, you see. I believe there is a reason that a baby so obviously belonging to someone of refined background would be placed in my coach, my care as it were."

"Yes, miss. I think it be mighty fine of you to take him on,” the maid declared boldly, then subsided in blushing confusion at her audacity.

"You will remain in here with the, I believe,” Clare announced decisively. “I trust no one will harm the lad, but one cannot be too careful.” She glanced about the room, then turned to Priddy. “Order up a cot for Jenny, and anything else you and she deem necessary. I believe I shall wander about the area to do my own bit of searching."

In the hall Clare found Venetia about to go downstairs. She joined her, encouraging her to take a stroll in the inn's charming garden.

"I am told there were fish ponds here at one time and a bowling green as well. That appears to have been kept at any rate,” she observed as they strolled along a path. “No doubt something to while away the hours should one be delayed.” She thought of young Jenny, and her mouth firmed.

"'Tis a rather rambling place, is it not? Charming, however.” Venetia paused, then went on. “Do you actually intend to take that child with us in the morning?"

"What else can I do?"

"Leave it here,” Venetia declared with a disdainful air.

"That I will not. Perhaps my destiny is bound up with this baby?” Clare gave a musical little laugh at this preposterous idea. “I am being fanciful, I fear. But truly, I must see this matter through. Surely you can see my point of view?"

Venetia sniffed, a very telling sound revealing her total opinion of the scheme. “If you must. I can see that nothing
I
may say will sway you from your tenacity. You realize that creature must travel with us in the coach ... unless,” she said with hope in her voice, “you hire a conveyance to take them to Bath?"

"Rubbish,” Clare said, her even temper frayed just a bit. “If we speed up our pace a trifle, we can be in Bath in a trice. Hiring a carriage is an expense I will not stand. However, should you care to...?” Clare allowed her voice to trail off suggestively. Tom Coachman would be overjoyed to increase their speed. It must have galled him yesterday to have every vehicle on the Bath road rattle past him.

"Mercy, no,” Venetia stated fervently. The condition of her finances was such that only the needful was acquired. “I daresay we shall manage."

Clare appreciated the die-away air Venetia affected for what it was, a grateful, if grudging, yielding.

Thus it was that come the following morning, after Clare had made repeated efforts to locate the true parents of the baby, the little troop entered the coach. Within a very short time, the vehicle rumbled off toward Bath watched by the ostler, a couple of grooms, and an elderly nursemaid who happened to be passing by at the moment of departure.

"Fine leddy,'’ commented the ostler to a groom as he headed toward the stables to prepare for the next customer.

"One of a kind, oi'd say,” came the reply.

The journey was strained to say the least. Venetia remained in wounded sensibilities the entire trip. Jenny did her best to keep the baby quiet, but infants being what they are, it was not always possible.

Priddy was torn between her loyalty to her mistress and her growing affection for that scrap of humanity that, whenever she picked him up, tugged at the ribbons on the gown that covered Priddy's flat bosom.

"We shall have to think of a name for him. I mean, we simply cannot go on calling him the baby or whatever comes to mind.” Clare gave the infant a fond look, then turned to Venetia. “Do you have any suggestions?"

"No!” Venetia snapped. Then, seeing the annoyed expression on her friend's face, she shrugged. “John?"

"Was there nothing in the basket? No other clue I might have missed?"

Jenny frowned, then shook her head. “Only a scrap of paper in the bottom."

Guessing the girl could not read, Clare gently asked, “Is it there still? I cannot think how I missed seeing it."

"Yes, miss. I never threw it out.” Jenny fished around, then came up with a small piece of fine hot-pressed paper from which Clare read to the others, “'My name is William. Please care for the.’”

"William? Common enough,” Venetia said.

"Our beloved king thought it good enough to bestow on one of his boys. William it is,” Clare said thoughtfully. “Although, I believe I shall call him Willy, for he is such a small fellow."

With the increased speed, and no apparent ill effect on Miss Godwin, the coach rumbled down the hill into Bath in far better time than Clare had expected. They coped with the jolting ride over the cobbled streets with a degree of composure, then, when they stopped before a handsome edifice, got out to look about them.

The door opened, and a dignified man came out to greet them. “I am Bennison, Miss Fairchild. We welcome you to the Royal Crescent."

Clare had taken William from Jenny and stood before the house, appraising it with shrewd eyes. It looked to be just the sort of place her family would approve. A lady passed them by, bowing slightly with an inquiring look in her gaze.