Lady of Milkweed Manor (20 page)

“Yes, I know her well.”

“If we act now, and give Edmund to her, she will believe him her own and he will grow up with every advantage, free from scandal, with both a father’s and a mother’s love. But if she knows he is not her own flesh and blood, I fear she will reject him, or at best be bitter toward him-and me-all his life. While Katherine has her failings, she is capable of great love, great loyalty and devotion, and I can promise you Edmund will have all these things from her.”

“She will not mistreat him?”

“Of course not. He is my own son! And she will believe him hers as well.”

“If I were to consent to this, would you be willing to promise me something?”

He nodded cautiously.

“If she does realize Edmund is not her own, if she cannot love him utterly, I beg you please, return him to me. Promise me you would not let him suffer.”

“I give you my word.”

“Would you give me some time to think about it?”

“We haven’t much time, Charlotte. If I take Edmund home now, or at the very least in the next few hours, when Katherine is just waking from the sedatives, I can easily persuade her that this little boy is her own, home safe and well from his trip to the hospital. If we wait and she suspects, not only is her devotion in question, but my ability to bequeath my land and holdings to him as my legal heir would also be at risk. If we are to do this, it must be now. Tonight.”

“But how … ?„

“Taylor!” He startled her by shouting.

Dr. Taylor opened the door, behind which he had been standing at the ready as promised.

“Come in, man, and close the door.”

When Dr. Taylor had complied, Mr. Harris said in a low, conspiratorial voice, “Is there any reason-should Miss Lamb agree, of course-if I left here tonight with this child, that anyone would know he is not my own? The one I arrived bearing?”

Daniel Taylor’s face looked ashen and angry behind his grim mask. “For that to work, Miss Lamb would need to falsely claim your, pardon me, deceased son, as her own. And I should also have to lie to verify that somehow a perfectly healthy infant in my care has died during the night. The death certificate would need to be forged and the birth certificate falsified. And then there is the problem of the accoucheur and the monthly nurse who witnessed your son’s struggle. But beyond these minor inconveniences” his tone was acid-“I see no reason whatever.”

Mr. Harris ignored his sarcasm. “The accoucheur will be so relieved his patient has a living child that his own reputation will not suffer-he will raise no alarm. And I am quite certain he completed neither birth nor death certificate. Remember, my poor child was still alive, though just barely, when we left the house.”

“And why would I lie for you and risk my own reputation and career?”

“You would not for me,” Mr. Harris said, “but you would for Charlotte. You’d do anything you could to help her.”

Dr. Taylor paused but did not deny the man’s words. “If it was what she truly wanted.” He looked at her, and the panic and nausea that rose in her while they discussed details of an act that would surely kill her now made her whole body tremble.

“How can I? How can I part with him?”

Mr. Harris searched her face earnestly. “I shall appeal to you only once more, Charlotte, and then torment you no further. But think on this. You do not know how you would provide for Edmund, though I’ve no doubt you would try admirably. With Katherine’s wealth and, God willing, a return to prosperity for Fawnwell, Edmund will have the best of everything the best doctors, the best tutors, the best schools. When Katherine and I die he will be our heir. He will know no want and want for nothing.”

“And he will never know me.”

“A terrible loss to be sure, but he will not know what he is missing.

“But I shall know what I am missing.”

“Yes, dear Charlotte. You will know.”

They stayed as they were for several moments, none of them speaking. Charlotte thought not so much on Mr. Harris’s promises of abundance for her child but rather on the alternatives. What flashed before her mind were not idyllic images of Edmund romping about the croquet lawn in a fine suit of clothes, but rather the things she had seen at this place. She saw the perfect brownhaired boy she had fed die for no apparent reason. She saw the desperate young woman who put her infant on the turn beg for a wet-nursing post hoping to be reunited with her baby-only to find her heel-marked daughter dead by morning. She thought of women like Becky’s mother, who couldn’t afford to feed her children, of Becky herself, who would likely have to give up her baby and go back to work or starve.

But surely she had more options. Wouldn’t Aunt Tilney help her? She’d already offered her a place to live, and she could nurse Edmund herself for at least a year, if her milk held out. But what then? How would she buy him food, let alone all the other things he’d need? Would her uncle allow her aunt to help further against her father’s directives? Not likely. What sort of post could she get with an infant to nurse every few hours? The words she had so naively spoken to Mae echoed back at her, “I would never give my child to someone else to feed … ” And here she was, considering doing just that. I must be insane. She shuddered.

Dr. Taylor cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Miss Lamb, there might be something I can do. I haven’t a large income, but I am sure I could find a way to help you out of this predicament.”

Dr. Taylor clearly had no idea how inappropriate his offer was, but she knew he offered with the best intentions.

“I thank you anyway, Dr. Taylor, but you have a wife and your own child to think of.”

Charlotte looked down at Edmund’s small face, which had instantly become so precious to her. Sobs overtook her again. “Must I decide right now? I cannot. I cannot.”

She held her tiny son close and glared up at the men. “Can you both please excuse me? I need a few moments alone. I cannot think with the two of you staring at me.”

Charles looked at his pocket watch. “But “

“Of course,” Daniel overrode him, leading the other man from the room. “We shall return directly.”

When the door closed behind them, Charlotte got up, one hand on Edmund to keep him safe, and fell to her knees beside the bed. Tears dripped from her face onto the blanket she’d embroidered as she looked down at her bundled son. I cannot do it, Lord, I cannot. When I prayed for you to provide a way for him, this is not what I meant! This is too hard. Too cruel. Is it truly the right course? Your way out of this muddle? If so, you will have to help me. I cannot do this alone….

Her prayers turned to thoughts of her son, and she whispered through her tears, “Oh, my little one, you will never remember me. But I will always remember you. Always love you. Never think I did not love you … or want you. Oh, God, it is too hard….”

Charlotte Lamb laid her head down on the bed beside her son and cried, knowing she must somehow do an impossible thing.

The milkweed pods are breaking,
And the bits of silken down
Float off upon the autumn breeze
Across the meadows brown.

-CECIL CAVENDISH, THE MILKWEED

CHAPTER 15

aniel left his carriage in the lane and walked across the Doddington churchyard just as dusk was falling the next eve. Two men were digging a grave beneath a yew tree near the cemetery wall.

He called out as he approached, “I am looking for a Ben Higgins.”

The younger of the two men looked his way without ceasing his labors.

“You found him. Though folks call me Digger.”

Not very original, Daniel thought grimly. “Might I speak with you?”

Digger straightened. “Well, I am a bit busy, man. What’s on yer mind?”

Daniel didn’t answer, but still the young man laid his shovel aside and climbed from the hole. He walked forward, removing his floppy hat as he came, revealing a mop of chestnut hair in need of cutting.

“You’re that doctor’s boy,” Digger said. “Apprentice, rather.”

“Yes, I was.” Daniel walked back toward the carriage, where the horse was tied to a post. Digger followed.

“Haven’t seen you ‘ere since I was a lad.”

“I am relieved you remember me.”

“And why is that?”

Daniel turned toward the wooden box on the carriage floor, and Digger followed his gaze. The young man’s eyes became wary and his mouth pursed.

“Oy, if that’s what I’m thinkin’ it is, you best move along. I’d be losin’ me job if I was caught doin’ any buryin’ not approved by the vicar.”

“I am not asking for myself.” Daniel pulled the sealed note from his pocket and handed it to the young man. He took it reluctantly.

“I am told you can read.”

“And who told you that?”

Daniel didn’t answer.

The young man read and his eyes widened. “Miss Charlotte … merciful heavens. Miss Charlotte’s own wee one. We did wonder what become of her. The vicar won’t even speak her name.”

“Which is why no one must ever hear of this.”

“I’ll take it to the grave with me…. Oh, sorry. Fault of the trade.”

Daniel reached over with a wad of folded bank notes. But Digger waved it away, then swiped at his eyes with the same hand.

“You tell Miss Charlotte for me. You tell her rest easy. Ben Higgins will take care of her wee one. A boy was it?”

He nodded.

“You tell her Ben Higgins will watch over her little lad. Never fear. You tell Miss Charlotte that for me, will you?”

“Yes, thank you. I certainly shall.”

My dear Aunt,

I know I should not write to you, but I feel I must. You have long been my most trusted confidante. As you have been asked not to correspond with me, I will not expect an answer. But still, I must tell you. Must share this awful weight or I fear I shall go mad.

My child is gone … lost to me. But it is I who feels lost. The pain, the self-recrimination presses on me until I cannot breathe. I cannot bear it. I must away. I feel the loss too keenly in this dreadful place. The milkweed pods have all broken, the soft white down flown away. Only empty wombs and dry stalks remain.

I feel I must soon depart for the place you offered me. Might I prevail upon you to see me one more time before I go? I so desperately need the comfort and counsel only you can give.

But no, I do not want you to risk condemnation from my father. Did he not threaten to prune you from the family tree along with me? One of us cut off is more than sufficient ….

Seeing Charlotte’s door ajar, Daniel looked in and saw her writing furiously at the little desk in the corner. She laid down the quill only long enough to swipe at the tears on her cheeks, then picked up the pen and dipped it again. In truth, he was surprised to see her out of bed. When he had last seen her the day before, she had seemed almost incapable of movement, of thought beyond her grief. It reminded him pitiably of his own dear Lizette, and the thought of Charlotte sinking in similar fashion made him feel physically ill. He wondered to whom she was writing. Had Charlotte already changed her mind-was she writing to Mr. Harris?