Christmas Rose Page 2

  “But what if she doesn’t want Rose?”

  “Then I promise you I will send her into the country, where she will be cared for by a tenant’s family. Of course, then she would not grow up as a lady, but she would be well-cared for.’’

  “I want what is best for her, that she be in no danger of the street. Of course, she is a lady because of her father, which is why I came here, to give her that chance, but above all, I want her safe.”

  Jonathan gently placed the baby back in the basket. “All right then,” he said. “I will carry the basket to our steps and pretend to have tripped over it. I will wake up my wife with a great deal of drunken amazement and then see what transpires. If she responds to the baby, we will keep her. If not, she will go into the country, as I promised.”

  “I hope she stays with you, sir. Perhaps you need her as much as she needs you.” The woman held out her arms. “May I have her just for a minute?”

  Jonathan hesitated, afraid that she meant to take her back, and was surprised at how naturally his arms tightened around the baby.

  “I only want to say good-bye, sir.”

  “Of course,” said Jonathan gently. The woman turned her back on him, and he could see her whispering and crooning to her daughter and then saying good-bye in a tear-choked voice. He had tears in his own eyes by now, for he had begun to appreciate the magnitude of the sacrifice.

  “Here, sir, take her, and God bless both of you." The woman thrust the baby at him and was down the steps and out the gate before he could stop her. “And I don’t even know her name,” he thought. Well, he’d not want to see her again, after all.

  He looked down at the small bundle in his arms. The baby was still sleeping soundly and didn’t move when he placed her back in the basket.

  “All right, little Rose, we are in this together, so don’t betray me.”

  He carried the basket clumsily down the street, wondering how the woman had handled it. Presumably she had taken a hansom cab.

  When he reached his own house, he stood outside the gate for a moment. He was much later than usual tonight, and so he assumed his wife was already in bed. The servants would also be sound asleep. He would have to make quite a racket to wake anyone, and he wished he were still drunk. He had, however, gained some renown at Oxford for his amateur acting, and he hoped his talent had not deserted him.

  He banged himself against the door, cursing and swearing in a loud voice and calling for their butler, and then began to bang with his hand.

  He could hear the household stirring. And then he heard his wife’s voice, demanding to know what the dreadful racket was and why that drunken reveler hadn’t been turned away from the door.

  Jonathan was about to beat the knocker once more when the door flew open and he lost his balance and almost fell in. There was their butler, Stoughton, his throat, which had been sore for a few days, wrapped in goose-grease-coated flannel, his feet thrust into floppy slippers, holding a candle before him.

  "My lord!”

  “Yes, it is I, Sshtoughton, but what is this, I want to know.” Jonathan leaned against the doorjamb as though he needed its support and pointed to the basket.

  Stoughton looked and shook his head. Unfortunately the flannel was wrapped so tightly that he only started coughing.

  “Stoughton, what on earth is going on?” Jonathan heard his wife coming down the stairs, and then, there she was, in her blue silk wrapper, her hair all around her face, and God, how he wanted her at that moment. Had wanted her hopelessly for the past two years. By now, however, he was into his role of a drunken sot of a husband, and he decided to play it to the hilt.

  “You may indeed ask what is going on,” said Jonathan, in the tones of an affronted drunk. ‘ ‘I have come home and almost killed myself over this laundry basket. It is a miracle I didn’t break my shoulder,” he whined, rubbing his left one. “I expect my wife,” he continued with drunken dignity, “not to leave our dirty laundry out for everyone to see.”

  Madeline’s face flushed with anger.

  “You are drunk, sir!”

  “Oh, and why not, when I have a wife who cares nothing for her own husband. I wonder what secrets this dirty laundry holds? I will investigate,” he added wisely.

  It was fun to be acting again, he thought, as he watched his wife’s color drain from her face. He was so tired of being so damned understanding, so damned cool. He had wanted to know if she had been unfaithful for months now, but had played the fashionable husband. Now, in a way, he was being more himself. Which was the better acting job, he couldn’t have said.

  He mock stumbled and leaned over the basket, making it look like he was ripping apart the covers, but in truth, being careful not to disturb the baby. There she was, little Rose.

  “My God, what is this?” Stoughton and his wife were immediately by his side, gazing down in wonder at the contents of the basket.

  “Jonathan, wherever did this baby come from?”

  “Why, I imagine where all babies come from, my dear.”

  Madeline grimaced and turned to their butler.

  “Stoughton, as you can see, Lord Holford is foxed. Could you get him inside and see that he gets some strong coffee into him immediately. I will take care of the basket.”

  Stoughton grabbed Jonathan by the arm and led him in, Jonathan protesting all the way that he was not really foxed. “Of course not, my lord,” murmured the butler, leading him down to the kitchen.

  Madeline stood bemused for a moment, looking down at the little face which peeped out of the cocoon of blankets. It took her a minute to realize that it was snowing and that the snow and cold were beginning to penetrate her light wrapper. And fall on the baby’s face. She dragged the basket through the door, expecting the child to wake up at any moment.

  Once the door was closed, she lifted the baby out and brought her into the drawing room. She placed the child on the sofa and sat next to her. Who on earth would leave a baby on their doorstep? And whatever would they do with it?

  Reporting it to the authorities was of course the logical thing to do, she decided immediately. Perhaps it had been kidnapped. No, more likely abandoned. How could any woman abandon a child on such a cold night, she wondered. How could any woman lucky enough to have a child not want it?

  The baby’s cheeks were getting pink, and she realized how well wrapped it was. Clearly it had not been abandoned to die in the cold, she thought as she began to loosen the flannel covers. And the little white wool cap that she slipped off the baby’s head had been hand-crocheted and threaded with pink velvet ribbon. And there were little pink roses embroidered on it. Someone had loved this child. And someone had lost this child, whether purposely or through some criminal act, she didn’t know.

  Madeline reached out a finger and traced the round cheek. How could a baby sleep through all this commotion, she wondered, and then worried. She leaned over and smelled the baby’s breath. A faint trace of the sickly sweet smell of laudanum remained.

  Madeline felt rather than heard someone come up behind her. “This poor baby has been dosed with laudanum,” she announced without turning her head.

  “Most likely so it wouldn’t cry,” said her husband.

  She turned to look at him. His hair was disheveled and his eyes bleary, but he looked almost sober.

  “Do you have any explanation for this, Jonathan?” she demanded.

  “Explanation? I fell over the basket. I am sorry for making such a racket, but I was a little drunk.”

  “More than a little, sir. Whatever shall we do? We shall have to call the authorities,” she sighed, almost to herself.

  “The authorities?” Jonathan had not thought of this as a possible response. He had hoped she would fall in love with the baby immediately.

  “Jonathan,” Madeline explained, slowly, as though she were talking to the child on the sofa, “someone, we don’t know who, has left a baby on our doorstep. Some mother out there might be frantic.”

  “Or reliev
ed. Did you think of that?”

  “I have, although I cannot believe that a mother who would go to such pains to embroider tiny roses and thread expensive ribbon through her baby’s cap would abandon it.’’

  “Maybe she couldn’t take care of her?”

  “Her?”

  “The baby.”

  “We don’t even know if it is a boy or a girl,” Madeline realized.

  “Well, you did say embroidered roses. Hardly likely to be a boy,” replied Jonathan. He had better be careful.

  “A very drugged little girl. I think, in addition to calling the authorities, we should call a doctor.”

  “In the morning, my dear.”

  “It is the morning, Jonathan. You were out almost all night.”

  “Well, but it is too early to drag a constable or doctor here.”

  “Doctors and constables keep early hours, Jonathan. Please send a footman out. I will wait here until the baby wakes up.”

  The doctor, when he arrived, concurred with Madeline’s diagnosis. “Laudanum. Probably given to keep the child quiet. But other than that she looks like a perfectly healthy baby to me,” he continued. “She will be a bit groggy when she wakes up, but if you have any other concerns, don’t hesitate to call me.”

  An hour after the doctor left, the baby began to stir and finally opened her eyes. They were a deep blue, and Madeline, who had looked down just at the moment they were opening, felt something stir in her that she thought was dead.

  All the longing for a child which she had buried under her frantic social activities, was suddenly back, stronger than before, and she reached down, picked the baby up, and held her on her lap. She ran her hand lightly over the baby’s head, which was covered with fine, silky brown hair, and then touched her round cheek. The little one turned and reached up her arms, and Madeline lifted her up to her shoulder, where she nestled in, sucking her thumb.

  And so Jonathan and the constable found her there on the sofa, sitting upright, as though not quite used to this new role. The baby’s head lifted as they came into the room, and Madeline turned, real fear in her eyes as she saw who accompanied her husband.

  “This is Constable Durham, my dear. I have told him the whole story.’’

  “Good morning, my lady. That’s a fine fat baby you’ve had dumped on you.”

  “Do you think she was abandoned then, Constable? I was afraid she might have been stolen away.”

  “We have no kidnapping reports, my lady. Indeed, the kidnapping of babies is not one of your common crimes. Abandoning children unfortunately is. This little one is lucky she landed on your doorstep. Or any doorstep,” said the constable, thinking of the numerous babies he had found dead in such places as dust heaps and abandoned buildings. “I would say that the mother hoped she would be well taken care of.’’

  “I was just telling the constable that if the child were not claimed, we would both make sure of that, Madeline. I was thinking of sending her to the Coopers," Jonathan turned to the constable. “One of our tenants, Constable. A good family.” Jonathan had decided that the fate of the little girl must depend upon Madeline. She must be the one to want her, while he raised objections. He was too afraid, given the state of their marriage, that if it were his idea, for that reason alone she would reject it.

  Madeline’s eyes opened wide at the thought of the Coopers. Her hand automatically went to the baby’s head, to cradle it and hold her closer.

  “They would surely make fine parents,” she replied slowly. “When would we be sure, Constable, that she is ours ... or could be theirs?”

  “I’ll put the word out today, my lady, and if we haven’t heard anything in a day or two, I’ll let you know.’’

  “Thank you, Constable. That will give us time to discuss what the best plan would be for the baby.”

  “Of course. I will be taking my leave, then.”

  Jonathan showed him to the door and then returned to his wife. “She is finally awake, I see, Maddy,” he observed.

  “Yes, although she seems quieter than a baby this age should be.”

  “What do they do at six or seven months?” asked Jonathan without thinking.

  “However did you know she was that old?”

  “Well, uhm, I have observed your sister’s children, as well as our friends’. And didn’t the doctor tell us she was about that?”

  “Did he? I suppose he did. Well, I think she can sit by herself, can’t you sweetheart?” Madeline placed the child on her knee while gently supporting her back. The baby gazed placidly around her.

  “Do you not think that the Coopers would make good parents?” asked Jonathan, holding his breath.

  “Jonathan . . .” his wife began hesitantly.

  ‘"Yes? Do you think that the Gunns would be better? But they have four of their own already.”

  “How would you feel . . . what if we kept her?” His wife’s voice sounded softer than it had in years.

  “How could we keep her?” he asked, trying to sound surprised. “How could we tell people we have adopted a child who was dropped on our doorstep? Who knows who her mother is? Probably some whore.”

  “Her mother must be a loving, caring one, whatever her . . . profession. She could as easily be an upper servant or shop girl as a whore, Jonathan. And she left her on our doorstep. Perhaps she knew of us in some way. Maybe she knew we had no children of our own,” continued Madeline softly.

  “Are you seriously suggesting we take this child in as our daughter?”

  “Couldn’t we say that some little-known relative named us as her guardian? Don’t you have a distant cousin in the West Indies?”

  “Yes, but it is hardly likely that he would have sent us his child in the middle of winter!’’

  “Oh, then, we’ll make someone up, for God’s sake. I want to keep her, Jonathan,” said Madeline firmly. She would not beg, Jonathan knew. She would not let herself be vulnerable.

  “I’ll ask Henshaw if he can dig up some forgotten relative from the family tree, if you are sure you want to do this.”

  “If she had been a boy, we couldn’t, Jonathan, and I’d understand that. But there is no question of inheritance here. And it would seem to be our only chance to become parents.”

  “All right, Madeline, if you are sure. We’ll engage a nurse immediately.’’

  “A nurse? Oh, yes, of course. But she can sleep in my room until we find someone appropriate.”

  “Do you think that wise, Madeline? After all, you will be coming in late at night, and babies get up quite early in the morning?”

  “Oh, for a night or two I can cancel my obligations.”

  “Of course, my dear. Whatever you wish.”

  Miracles do not occur overnight, even at Christmas time, Jonathan knew. But as he watched his wife over the next few days, he saw a slow but steady transformation. Madeline canceled her engagements for three days until they found a suitable nurse and opened up the small bedroom they had set aside as a nursery years before. She kept most of her afternoon commitments, but instead of coming home late from a shopping trip laden with ribbons and reticules which she did not need, Madeline came home early so that she could be there when the baby awoke from her nap and give her the brightly painted blocks that she had purchased.

  One afternoon, almost a week after the baby had arrived, Jonathan went up for a nursery visit himself and found his wife stretched out on the floor in front of the baby, who was on her stomach batting at the block towers Madeline was building and laughing delightedly when she managed to knock one down.

  Madeline looked up at her husband and gave him the first genuine smile he had had from her in years.

  “She is such a bright little girl, aren’t you?” she cooed. Jonathan sat cross-legged on the rug and constructed a few more towers which the baby again knocked down. He reached over and pulled her in front of him so that she was sitting up, and he gave her a block. She had a hard time getting her chubby fingers around it, but she did and brought
it immediately up to her mouth.

  “She has two teeth, don’t you sweetheart? Show your papa.’’

  Jonathan felt a thrill go through him as Madeline continued her cooing and baby talk. He was sure his wife wasn’t aware of what she had said, but the fact that she had said it meant they were on their way to becoming a family. And if they were a family, then surely they could again be husband and wife. He stuck his finger in the baby’s mouth, and she clamped down hard.

  “Ouch! She certainly does have teeth!”

  “Oh dear. Well, you have to get your finger in between them, Jonathan, or you will get bitten,” Madeline giggled.

  Jonathan turned the baby around and put her on his knee. “This is such a small nursery, little one.” He began bouncing her gently. “How would you like to visit the country for Christmas?” The baby began to smile and then gurgle. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? A bigger room? And a yule log?” He bounced her higher, and she crowed with delight. He turned to his wife.

  “What do you think, Maddy? We could pack up and be there in time for Christmas Eve. Or do you prefer to stay here with your friends?”

  “I think that our daughter has convinced me that she would be happier at Meare. My friends will not miss me.”

  “Then I’ll send Stoughton ahead and tell him to help Mrs. Rogers start cleaning and decorating.”

  “And how will we explain the baby to my parents, Jonathan? I have been putting off writing. It is one thing to lie to the ton, but quite another to ask them to be grandparents to a foundling.”

  “We will tell them the truth, Maddy. And they will not be able to resist her, our little pink Christmas Rose, will they, Miss Rosie?”

  “Why, that is the perfect name for her,” exclaimed Madeline. "She looked just like a little rosebud in her basket. And perhaps it was her name. Maybe that’s why there were rosebuds embroidered on her cap.”

  “Well, Rose she is. Lady Rose Holford of Meare,” announced Jonathan to the laughing baby.

  They managed to arrive at Meare two days before Christmas. The servants there had been told the same story as those in town: the master and the mistress had adopted a second cousin’s child. The only ones who knew the truth were Stoughton and the footman who had gone for the constable, and they were sworn to secrecy.