The Favourite Child (39 page)

She pushed her key hurriedly into the lock and almost stumbled over a bundle left on her step. What on earth was this? She picked it up to peep inside, and nearly fell over with shock.

Bella sat up most of that night in stunned disbelief. Why would someone leave a baby on her doorstep? It wasn’t a new baby, probably about three or four months old, a girl, and though she seemed somewhat fretful, the shawl wrapped about the child was clean enough. Tucked inside was a feeding bottle, sadly empty. Perhaps this was the reason she’d been abandoned. There was no note pinned to the cotton night-gown, no means of identification.

Bella boiled some milk and water, added a pinch of sugar and fed the mixture to the baby, hoping for the best. She suckled hungrily, her small hands taking a firm grasp on the neck of the bottle. Afterwards she seemed to settle and was fast asleep in seconds, snuffling gently. Bella sat on in her kitchen chair with the child snuggled in her lap, a tumult of emotions playing havoc with professional common sense. So many questions jostled in her mind.

Had some poor woman reached the end of her tether and abandoned the child because she could no longer feed it? Could it be someone who used the clinic? The baby was perhaps living evidence of a ‘failure’. It was clearly someone who knew her and who believed she would be prepared to help. From what Bella could see, after a hasty examination, the child had been well cared for, if somewhat small and underfed. The most important thing was to find the mother.

The next morning enquiries around the neighbours elicited no further details. No one had seen anyone approach Bella’s front door, or heard a sound outside. But then everyone was too busy enjoying their own Christmas celebrations to notice.

Dr Syd declared the baby fit and healthy but agreed she was slightly malnourished. She handed Bella a diet sheet and a tin of baby food, along with a whole string of instructions of which Bella understood about a third, before ushering her out of the surgery.

‘Is that it? What am I supposed to do now?’

Dr Syd chuckled. ‘You seem to be managing fine. Just keep it up.’

‘But I must find the child’s mother. Isn’t there an orphanage or some such? I mean, who usually deals with these sort of things?’ Bella felt confused, overwhelmed by this turn of events.

Her colleague gently stroked the baby’s cheek, tucked warmly in the folds of the shawl. ‘You’d need to contact the Board of Guardians. Sorry, but it is Boxing Day. This is only supposed to be an emergency surgery and, as you can see, I have a full waiting room. After this lot, I’m going home to enjoy my own Christmas, belatedly.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I can manage perfectly well, at least over the holiday.’

On her way home she suddenly remembered that she’d very little food in the house, and a loaf of Aunt Edie’s bread wouldn’t come amiss. With luck, Boxing Day or no, she would have done a batch since the little shop rarely closed.

Bella collected a small loaf, together with half a dozen freshly baked mince tarts but the visit to the cook shop naturally took twice as long as normal. Not only because the other customers were reluctant to leave the warm, festive atmosphere but also because the baby had to be passed around, jiggled and tutted over, amid much speculation as to whom she might belong to. Bella said that if anyone had any thoughts on the matter, they could discuss them with her in private, so as not to cause embarrassment for the woman, or girl, concerned.

‘I’ll ask around,’ Mrs Blundell said, nodding wisely as she let the baby suckle on her grimy little finger. ‘It’s knowing who to ask, that’s the secret.’

‘I shall leave the matter in your capable hands,’ Bella declared, retrieving the child from this possibly life threatening source of nourishment. ‘But if I don’t find the mother soon, I dare say I shall have to take her to the Board of Guardians. This was greeted with much indrawing of breath, clearly indicating the general opinion on this particular subject.

Once out of the shop, Bella hurried along Liverpool Street towards Jacob’s Court, anxious not to be late, and although she caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar figure in a slouch cap hovering on a street corner just ahead of her, by the time she reached the spot, he’d vanished. Bella put it down to an overactive imagination.

Violet was enchanted by the baby though utterly dumbfounded by her unexpected arrival.

‘Before you ask,’ her husband mildly remarked, from the cosiness of his chair by the kitchen range where he sat with his stocking feet propped on the warm fender, ‘the answer is no. We have enough to feed already. We want no more childer in this house.’

‘Nay,’ Violet said, rocking the baby up and down in her plump arms. ‘I weren’t going to ask thee, love. This little ‘un would be one too many even for me at my age, as she happen were fer her own mam. Poor lamb. But then this slump is putting the squeeze on everyone. What are you going to do with her?’ addressing this question to Bella, as if she had all the answers.

‘I don’t know. I rather hoped you might advise.’

They all sat down to a substantial meal of hot pot with lamb, instead of mutton, since it was Christmas. It tasted delicious, the potatoes all crisp on top and the juices from the meat making a rich gravy. The baby was a constant topic of conversation throughout the meal with much speculation as to its parentage and what Bella should do about it. The twins kept trying to persuade her to nibble a slice of carrot until Violet put a stop to their antics.

‘Whatever thee does, don’t take yon child to Ignatius House. I know them sisters are supposed to be charitable but by heck they show little indication of it. Hard as nails, the lot of ‘em. They don’t know the proper meaning of love and affection. If a child wets its bed, and what child wouldn’t, dumped in a huge monolith of a building where faceless women in black cloaks glide about freezing corridors, the poor mite gets the cold bath treatment. That’s supposed to ‘cure’ its bad manners. Heartless, they are. Nay, find a proper home for this little ‘un. She deserves better.’

Bella glanced across at the baby, now sleeping peacefully in the Howarth children’s old crib, then at all the kindly faces around this dinner table. Violet was right. The child did deserve to be loved and cared for in a proper family, not in an institution. Violet’s family might be poor but they were rich in every other respect. Richer than her own, for instance, certainly where love and affection was concerned.

Dan was stolidly eating his hot pot and Bella realised he’d said nothing, thus far, about the baby. Now she smiled at him. ‘What do you think I should do with her, Dan?’

His fork paused on its journey, hovered, was set down on his plate again. ‘I should think the answer is obvious. Find the mother. You can’t afford to care for a child, Bella. Neither can we. The woman, whoever she is, must be made to accept her responsibility.’

‘Made to?’

‘Helped in some way then. But this baby has a mother somewhere. She needs to be found. That’s all I’m saying.’

It was, of course, sound advice but somehow Bella felt a nudge of disappointment in him. Throughout the day he never glanced at little Holly, as she was duly named, it being Christmas after all. While other members of the family took turns to nurse and feed her, Dan kept well away. Even Cyril took his share of burping and feeding, singing her a lullaby to send her off to sleep. It was as if Dan didn’t want to know about the child. As if he didn’t care what happened to her. But Bella dismissed this thought as unfair. Hadn’t he only yesterday morning performed the role of Santa Claus for two hundred children, just days after he’d stated that he didn’t care for them and preferred to avoid the little blighters whenever possible.

‘Na then,’ Violet said, after the meal had been cleared away. ‘Shift yerself Father and mend that fire. I’m going to have ten minutes shuteye. We’ll mind the babby, lass. You go for a walk, pair of you. Fresh air’ll bring a bit of colour to thee cheeks.’

Bella and Dan strolled along Liverpool Street arm in arm in the brilliant sunshine of a frosty afternoon, the silence between them growing. They passed the Rec’, where they left the younger ones in the care of Ernest and George to watch the rugby, and continued on their way. They turned the corner into Bromley Street, a decision Bella instantly regretted as she found herself glancing over her shoulder every other second, as if half fearing Quinn might emerge from his house and start following her again.

They walked all the way to Brindleheath without speaking a word. At length, when they reached Dawney’s Hill and Bella could see the children running about excitedly flying their new kites, she could bear it no more. ‘Dan, is there something wrong?

‘Not that I know of.’

Despite his words it was perfectly clear that something had changed between them. His tone was brusque, even the slope of his shoulders seemed hunched and uncommunicative, repelling any invasion into this private world he was constructing about himself. Was it only her imagination yesterday, Bella wondered, or had he truly asked her to marry him? Hadn’t he looked at her with extra warmth, with a deeper intensity in his loving gaze? Now he barely lifted his eyes from the pavement. He seemed to be withdrawing, exactly as he’d done once before, the shutters coming down, the bridge that spanned the gap between them somehow disintegrating before her eyes. ‘You said it was time we talked. What about? Was there something particular that you wished to say to me, Dan?’

A long pause and then again, ‘Not that I know of.’

Bella’s heart contracted with a fierce stab of disappointment. How could he do this to her? One minute it was all Christmas kisses and loving promises, the next being cold shouldered for no reason that she could fathom. She’d expected a serious proposal today. She’d found herself dreaming of life as Mrs Dan Howarth, and hadn’t found the idea in the least unpleasant, quite the opposite. Intoxicating, in fact. Bella loved the prospect of being with this man she loved so dearly, day and night. She wanted to bear and raise his children, to be there for him on their shared journey through life. But if he was having second thoughts, surely it was no more than his usual lack of confidence, this chip he carried on his shoulder. The mood would pass, if she ignored it.

Bella began to tell him, in her usually bright cheerful fashion of Christmas Day with her family. She chattered on, making it all seem thoroughly entertaining and amusing, even her mother’s rendition of
Christians Awake
, in which she rarely struck a right note. She made much of the glass of sherry her father had finally produced for them, when it was almost time to leave. ‘Though it was little more than half a glass. He’s so
mean
these days,’ and then went on to describe her concern over Tilly. ‘I thought of going to the workhouse tomorrow, to try to find her. She might not actually be a resident, or inmate, whatever you call them but Edward says she’s been spotted queuing for soup. I’d like to find her, see that she’s all right.’

‘Aye, you find her. Then take her home and feed her, and find her a job, and look after her like you did Jinnie. Aye, why not? That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Looking after other folk. Sorting out and interfering in their lives, you and your ‘ladies’. You’ve time for everyone but them as matters most.’

Bella had stopped walking to stare at him and listen to this unexpected tirade, a frown puckering her brow. ‘What was that little outburst supposed to mean?’

‘Nowt.’ He turned up his coat collar, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and walked on, chin clamped down between hunched shoulders, leaving her where she stood in frozen dismay. Bella had to hurry to catch him up.

‘I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you. You were fine yesterday. What has changed?’

‘Nowt!’

‘It must have. You’re not usually this grumpy. I absolutely refuse to get into a silly squabble today, Dan. It’s Christmas for goodness’ sake and - and - damn it, I thought something special was happening between us, that you had something important to say to me about
us
.’

He strode on, glaring fixedly ahead, refusing to meet her gaze. ‘It is. I did. Well, I might have had, anyroad.’

‘Good. Well then, why don’t you tell me?’

‘Cause you’d not want to hear it.’