A Winter Scandal (5 page)

Now, however, she went back into the sanctuary and began to adorn the church for Christmas. She made her way down the left wall, cutting and arranging the fragrant branches on the sills of the stained-glass windows. When she reached the short intersecting arms of the church, she turned into the left one, which contained the small chapel devoted to St. Dwynwen.

Separated from the main part of the church by a decorative wrought-iron screen, the chapel held only a few rows of pews facing the main altar in the center of the church. Against one wall was a prie-dieu, flanked by a small stand of votive candles. On the other side of the prie-dieu stood a statue of a female saint, the Dwynwen for whom the little side chapel had been named. At the far end of the chapel, on either side of the single window, were stone sepulchres of a knight and his lady, their effigies carved on the top of the stone slabs.

This part of the church had always been Thea’s favorite. It was dimmer than the rest of the church because it had only one stained-glass window, and the few flickering candles in their red-glass votive holders cast only a small, atmospheric light. The statue of St. Dwynwen, somewhat smaller than life-size, stood on a short, square pedestal of stone. The statue itself was simply, even crudely, carved out of wood, and it was faded and fissured with time. The saint looked out and down, smiling sweetly, her arms held out to the side.

From the time she was a child, Thea had liked to sit in the chapel. She loved the quiet, the light and scent of the candles, the aged statue. St. Dwynwen, she thought, looked to be a kind and understanding soul, not pretty perhaps, but loving. It was said that the knight entombed in the rear of the chapel had carried the statue back with him from his campaign in Wales. The story went that he had stopped at a small shrine to St. Dwynwen to pray for success in Wales, and afterward he had won not only the battle but also the heart of a beautiful Welsh lady. In gratitude, he had pledged his devotion to the saint and brought the statue back to his home, where he had given it and the funds for building the chapel to the convent as a gift in the name of his Welsh wife.

The tale had caught Thea’s imagination, and she had pored through her father’s books until she found the story of St. Dwynwen. Dwynwen, it was said, had been the daughter of a Welsh king and had fallen deeply in love with a man named Maelon. Her father would not let her marry Maelon, but insisted that she marry a wealthier lord. In a rage at being denied his love, Maelon forced himself upon Dwynwen. Heartsick, she fled into the forest, where she prayed for help. An angel appeared and, moved by her plight, gave her a potion for the treacherous Maelon to drink. When Maelon drank it, he was turned to ice as punishment for his cruelty. The angel told Dwynwen that God would grant her three prayers. From the deep love and purity of her heart, Dwynwen asked that Maelon be released from his punishment, that she herself not ever have to marry, and that God look after all true lovers. Maelon was restored, and Dwynwen retreated to Llanddwyn Island and spent the rest of her life in solitude, becoming over the years the Welsh patron saint of love and lovers.

Over the years, many people had prayed before the statue, both at its original shrine in Wales and here in Chesley, and a local legend had sprung up around it. The legend was, of course, romantic. It was said that whoever prayed with a truly loving heart to St. Dwynwen here in her chapel would have his or her prayer granted. Some argued that only prayers for love were granted, but others said that the kindly saint would answer even prayers of broader scope.

Now and then Thea had said prayers here, and as best she could tell, few of them had been granted. Still, it was her favorite place to pray or just to sit and think. She loved the quiet and the solemnity of it, the beauty of the sanctuary and the marble baptismal font that centered the arm on the opposite side of the church.

She lit a candle and knelt to say a brief prayer beside the statue, then went to the end of the chapel to decorate the lone window with evergreen and holly. Afterward, she sat down in the front pew and began to wire the boughs into garlands to string across the front of the church. The peace and solitude of the chapel surrounded her, and the heady fragrance of the evergreens filled her nostrils. But sitting here in the quiet, she found it hard to ignore the cold lump that lay in the center of her chest. For a while her activity had masked it, subdued it, but now the coldness seemed to grow and spread.

Thea told herself the hard lonely feeling would pass. After all, though she loved her sister and her niece and nephews, they were not really part of her life. It was disappointing that they would not be here for Christmas, but the next few days would be much like her days always were. This was her life—her brother, this church, the vicarage, the town.

Except that none of it was really hers. Her brother was the vicar; it was his house, his church, the people his parishioners. She only shared in that life as he allowed her to, and if he died, it would all go to some other pastor, some other family, and she would no longer have even a home. Thea shook her head—what a morbid and foolish way to think! Daniel was young and healthy; he was not about to die. But, she reminded herself, he might very well marry one day. He had given no sign so far that he had any interest in marrying, but it could reasonably happen. If he did marry, Thea would no longer be needed. Daniel was too kind to make her leave, but Thea knew that she would not have a real place in the vicarage. It would be another woman’s home, not hers.

Tears pricked at her eyelids, and she was swept by an overwhelming loneliness. It seemed suddenly that she had no real place in the world, no home, no spot of her own, as if all her life were merely borrowed from others. This feeling had come over her before, a stark and cold thing that pierced her soul. Usually Thea could shove the emotion aside, fill her life with work, but suddenly she could not. With awful clarity, she saw the truth: she did not have a place, a life, of her own. She lived on the edges of other people’s lives—writing sermons that would be her brother’s, spending a week once a year with children that were her sister’s, living in a house that belonged to the church, busying herself with the affairs of a church that was not hers. She was twenty-seven years old, unmarried, and childless. And so utterly invisible that a man who had kissed her ten years ago did not have even the slightest twinge of recognition when he saw her.

She would never have a real life. There was no likelihood that she would marry. Whom would she marry in this village? She had known everyone here all her life, and clearly no husband for her was among them. Even if she could somehow magically live somewhere else, she had little chance of capturing any man’s heart. She was plain, and she could not even make up for her plainness with a sweetness of spirit. She was often opinionated—some would even say bossy—and she could be sharp-tongued. She had trouble asking for someone else’s advice or help when she knew what she should do. It was difficult for her to flatter and smooth and soothe. The combination of her looks and personality was, she was well aware, a deadly obstruction to marriage.

Her life seemed suddenly so empty and pointless that it took her breath away. Something close to panic swept through Thea, and she knotted her hands together tightly in her lap. She was afraid she might cry out, might weep. Abruptly she dropped down onto the kneeling rail that fronted the votive-candle stand. Her clasped hands on the wooden rail, she closed her eyes. The imprint of the dancing candle flames still burned in her vision.

“Please …” She dropped her forehead to her hands, her mind too overset to know what to say. Intercessions, prayers, pleas, tumbled through her head. “Please help me.” What did she want? “Give me a life. Please, give me a life of my own.” She remained bent over, pain and fear storming through her. For once she could not push it away, could not ignore it, could not superimpose work over it. She could only feel the desperate, lonely longing.

Thea was not sure how long she knelt that way before a noise outside in the church brought her back to awareness of her surroundings. She raised her head and noticed that her cheeks were wet; she knew that she must have been crying. With hands that trembled a little, she wiped away the tears and sat back on her heels, listening.

Again a noise came, something like a squeak. She rose to her feet, frowning. She wasn’t sure what the first sound had been. Perhaps a footfall or a door closing? She wondered if someone had come into the church. Thea wiped her cheeks and eyes again, thinking with embarrassment that she must look a mess. She walked out of the chapel and glanced around the church. It was silent and dimly lit, as empty as when she had entered it.

Then she heard an odd sputtering noise. It seemed to come from the vestibule, and Thea took a few steps in that direction. In the next instant, an angelic little face framed by pale gold curls popped up over the side of the wooden feed bin. Thea stopped, her mouth dropping open in astonishment.

A baby was in the manger.

Four

F
or one horrified instant, Thea
thought that she had gone quite mad. The baby let out a high-pitched squeal and grabbed the side of the manger with one hand, pulling himself into a sitting position. He grinned as he latched onto the manger with his other hand and shook it as he produced a series of bubbling, blowing noises. If this was a figment of her imagination, she thought, it was incredibly real.

Thea came out of her frozen state and hurried down the aisle, her mind tumbling with questions. She could not imagine who the child was or where he had come from. She was sure there must be a rational explanation for his sitting in the manger, but at the moment she had no idea what it was. Thea half expected to find the child’s mother in the vestibule, but when she stepped into the area, it was empty except for the baby and the manger. She rushed over to the door and opened it to peer outside, but there was no sign of anyone there, either.

Turning back around, she stared at the child. He gazed back at her with lively interest. Up close, she could see that he was truly lovely. He had a softly rounded face with pudgy, rosy cheeks and an adorable tiny dimple on his chin. His blue eyes were enormous and his hair a soft tumble of feathery blond curls. Though she could not pretend to know every infant in the village, Thea was certain that she had never before seen this boy.

“Who are you?” she murmured, coming over to the manger.

He seemed delighted at her movement, and he banged both his hands down on his legs, smiling and releasing a crow of delight. Thea chuckled at the noise.

“Where is your mother?” she asked, bending down toward him.

He grinned and held his hands up to her, and something melted inside Thea. She picked him up, and he latched onto the shoulder of her dress with one hand. With the other, he reached out to pat her cheek, his gaze steady on her face.

He wore the customary white baby gown, with knitted bootees on his feet and a knitted sweater atop the gown. He had been sitting on a small blanket in the manger, and a tiny knitted blue cap was beside it. Thea wondered if he was warm enough. Even though they were inside the stone church, it was still quite cool. Thea had taken off her cloak as she worked, but she realized that now, after doing nothing but sitting for a while, she was chilled.

“Are you cold?” Thea picked up the little blanket and wrapped it around the baby, tucking the little knitted cap in her pocket. “It’s a shame you aren’t old enough to talk.”

She went back into the church, which was warmer than the vestibule, and sat down in one of the pews to think. Try as she could, she could come up with no reason for his being in the manger unless someone had purposely abandoned him. She had heard stories of babies being left at a vicarage or a church. However, it seemed unlikely that someone could want to get rid of this child. He was utterly angelic in appearance, and he looked not only well fed, but was dressed in clean, new clothes.

Still, clearly, he could not have gotten into the place on his own, and whoever had put him in the manger had immediately fled. The other thing that was quite obvious was that Thea had to do something.

The first task was to get him out of this cold church. Thea set the baby down while she put on her cloak, then she pulled the knit cap onto his head. He did not seem to appreciate this, for he shook his head and grabbed at the cap, pulling it off. Thea persevered, pulling it on again and this time tying it quickly beneath his chin. She wrapped the blanket tightly around him, pulling up a flap of it to cover his head, and carried him out of the church and across the bridge to the vicarage.

She went in the side door into the kitchen, generally the warmest room in the house. Their housekeeper stood at the table, rolling out dough. She turned to look at Thea, and her eyes went wide.

“Miss Althea! What do you have there?”

“A baby.” Thea took off the blanket and draped it over one of the chairs.

“I can see that ’tis a baby. But why are you carrying him? And who is he?”

“I wish I knew.” Thea untied the cap and pulled it off as well, exposing the cluster of shining curls.

“Oh, my! Look at that; he’s just like an angel, ain’t he?” Mrs. Brewster came over to look at the child more closely, wiping her hands off on a towel.

“I thought the same thing myself.” Thea stroked her hand across his head, the silky curls soft beneath her fingers.

“But how—”

“I found him. He was in the church.”

“The church?” Daniel’s voice sounded from the door. He walked in, his eyes on the piece of paper in his hands. “Who was in the church?” He lifted his head when there was no answer. “Good God!”

Thea couldn’t hold back a chuckle at her brother’s stunned expression. “
He
was in the church. I haven’t a clue what his name is.” The baby made a rude noise with his mouth and bounced in Thea’s arms, and Thea laughed again. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Yes, I suppose so. But, Thea, I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either. I was decorating the church with the boughs I got this morning, and I heard an odd noise. When I went out to check, I found this baby in the manger.”

“In the manger!” If possible, Daniel looked even more astonished.

“Yes. It seems like Providence, don’t you think?”

“It seems like a bad jest to me,” Daniel retorted. “You have no idea whose he is?”

Thea shook her head. “I’ve never seen him; I’m certain of it.”

“Aye,” Mrs. Brewster agreed. “Me either. You wouldn’t forget this one.”

“But what are you going to do with him?” Daniel asked. “We can’t possibly keep him.”

Instinctively Thea tightened her arm around the baby. “I could scarcely leave him in the church!”

“No, no, of course not. But, I mean, well, he can’t stay here.”

“Why not? Mrs. Brewster, surely we must have something he can sleep in.”

“Oh, aye. There’s that big basket I carry the laundry in. It’s long and deep. We can put a pillow in it, and he’ll be snug as a wee bunny.”

“That’s perfect.”

“And I’ve got a little bit of oatmeal left over from breakfast. We’ll add some milk, and that’ll fill him up. I’ll get that basket.” The housekeeper bustled out of the room.

Daniel turned back to his sister in some exasperation. “Thea, have some sense! You cannot simply keep a child as though it were a stray dog or cat.”

“Of course not. But we cannot turn him away, either.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that. We should take him to the foundling home in Cheltenham.” He nodded, pleased with the solution.

“The foundling home!” An icy fist closed around Thea’s heart. “Daniel, no.”

“But that is where he belongs, surely. He’s been abandoned—an orphan or a child whose mother cannot take care of him or, well, I don’t know what, but it’s clear that he is a foundling.”

“But we cannot abandon him, too.”

“Thea.” Daniel’s face fell into puzzled lines. “I don’t understand. You cannot mean that you and I would—would raise him?”

“I—well, I had not thought that far ahead. I suppose we cannot.”

“There. You see?”

“But there’s no need to rush to take him to the foundling home, either. I am sure you have no desire to drive our pony trap in the cold all the way to Cheltenham.” Thea knew her brother well enough to know that such an argument would strike home with him.

“Well, no, but …”

“It may be that someone around here knows who he is, or to whom he belongs. We shall ask around, and Mrs. Brewster can ask, as well. Perhaps there is someone else in his family who will care for him. Or his mother might have second thoughts and return to get him. Maybe … maybe he was even stolen from his home. He looks quite well cared for, and his garments are nice. You see?” She brought the baby closer.

Daniel backed up a step. “Yes, well, if he was abducted, why was he left in the church?”

“I don’t know. They might have gotten frightened or felt remorseful. It doesn’t really matter. The point is that someone might turn up here looking for him soon. And then the whole problem would be solved.”

“Yes, but what about in the meantime?”

“We shall take care of him—Mrs. Brewster and l. You needn’t worry yourself about it. You will hardly know he is here.”

Daniel looked doubtful, but he was a man accustomed to letting his sister take charge of things, and he said, “All right … if you really wish it. Though I don’t understand …”

“I’m not sure I do, either,” Thea murmured, but she was careful to wait until after her brother had headed back to his study.

By the time Mrs. Brewster returned, the baby had started to fuss, wriggling and squirming and sticking his tiny fist in his mouth. Thea tried patting him, then jiggling, but he screwed up his face and let out a plaintive wail.

“What’s the matter with him?” Thea asked, anxiety rising in her. If he cried a great deal, Daniel might decide it was worth it to drive to the foundling home, even in the cold weather.

“Why, the wee mite’s getting hungry, I’ll warrant.” Mrs. Brewster bent over him. “Look at him, trying to eat his own hand. I’ll dish up some of that oatmeal right now.”

Thea walked around the kitchen, jiggling the baby and distracting him by showing him various objects while Mrs. Brewster warmed up the oatmeal and thinned it with milk.

“We need to call him something, don’t you think?” Thea mused. “I was thinking Matthew. It means ‘gift of God.’ That seems a proper name for someone found in a church.”

“Oh, aye, miss.” Mrs. Brewster cast a glance at Thea and smiled a little. “’Tis a fine name.”

“What about you?” Thea asked the baby, leaning her forehead against his. “Are you a Matthew?” She had thought more than once before that people said the silliest things to babies. But holding him now, she found herself wanting to do the same. She wanted, she realized, to see that joyous smile again.

“Here we go. Shall I feed him, miss?” Mrs. Brewster set down the bowl and held out her hands for the baby.

Thea felt curiously reluctant to hand him over, but she did so. The housekeeper, after all, was far more familiar with this sort of thing than she was. Thea watched as Mrs. Brewster sat the baby on her lap and curved one arm around him, then popped a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. Matthew’s fussing stopped immediately, and he eagerly took a second bite. Thea ate a light luncheon of cheese and bread while the housekeeper fed the baby, then she went up to her room to get a pillow and bedding for the basket.

With care, she lined the basket with a blanket and sheet to make sure the baby would not come into contact with the rough weave. Then she laid in two well-stuffed pillows, one on top of the other. The light throw she had taken from the foot of her bed would do, she thought, for a cover, in addition to his own little knitted blanket.

“Why, look at this!”

Thea turned at the housekeeper’s soft exclamation. Mrs. Brewster was bending over the baby, who was lying in the seat of the chair next to her. He was cooing contentedly as he wrapped his hands around his feet.

“Look at what?” Thea walked over to them.

“Well, I decided I’d diaper him with some of that muslin we tore up from your old dress, and look what I found pinned to his swaddling band.” She handed a brooch to Thea and returned to the task of diapering the baby.

Thea took the brooch in her hand. The small, elegant piece had an oval of onyx with a gold, ornate scrollwork letter
M
in the center. Thea stared down at the brooch in surprise. She had seen just such a letter
M
the other night. Lord Morecombe had worn a signet ring with an engraved letter exactly like that.

Lord Morecombe. In that moment, Thea understood. The beautiful baby was Lord Morecombe’s child. He even had the same little dimple in his chin! Matthew was a by-blow brought here by his mother, doubtless hoping that his lordship would acknowledge him. Had she taken the boy to his lordship and been turned away? Or had she simply left Matthew in the church, hoping that the brooch attached to his clothing would bring him to Morecombe’s attention?

It certainly was not an uncommon story—a lord who dallied with some girl and got her with child. He went on about his careless, hedonistic way while she was left to face the consequences. Whether a seduced maiden or an immoral drab, the mother was in a terrible position, without the means to support a child if the father did not acknowledge the boy and provide her with funds. If she made it through the difficulties of pregnancy and childbirth, she could not find employment with a baby in her arms. Usually, she had to resort in the end to giving the child to a foundling home.

And Lord Morecombe certainly fit the part. Thea recalled the reports of his scandalous behavior; the way she had seen him riding home early this morning from what had obviously been a bed other than his own; his sinfully handsome features and devilish smile. He was the kind of man who kissed so many girls at dances that he could not even remember them a few years later!

Thea closed her hand hard around the brooch, her face setting in grim lines. Lord Morecombe was not going to get away with this.

She whirled around and picked up her cloak, throwing it over her shoulders and tying it. Mrs. Brewster, who had finished diapering the baby and now sat with him on her lap, looked up in astonishment as Thea marched over and slipped the knitted cap and sweater back on the baby. He giggled with delight and reached his hands for Thea as she bent over him.

“Whatever are you doing, miss?” Mrs. Brewster asked, her voice tinged with some trepidation. “Why do you look so? Where are you going?”

“I am going to set things right.” Thea swept the baby up and once again wrapped the blanket around him tightly. Then she marched out the door, leaving the housekeeper staring after her blankly.

Thea’s anger carried her swiftly over the bridge and through the graveyard behind the church. Though it took some time to reach the Priory if one went by the road through town, it took no more than twenty or thirty minutes if she struck out through the grounds of what had once been the abbey. The December day was cool, but the vigorous walk kept Thea warm enough inside her cloak, especially since the weight of the child she carried added a good bit to the exercise.