Chapter 10

Dearest Miss Violetta,

I have not received a letter from you in over a week. Have you run away with some no-good libertine who has stolen your heart and your wits? I can think of no other reason for such recalcitrant behaviour on your part. Something, or someone else, has stolen my share of your attention. I want it back.

The weather has finally set fine here at Goshen Court, just as well as I believe Leo and Ashburton may have murdered each other if they were confined to the house for another day. Ashburton's ‘Little Bird' has kept Leo entertained at least and busy drawing pictures for her and playing games. I have mixed feelings about the child. She slips me food under the table, which I appreciate, and she pets me often, but she also likes to dress me up in her dolly's clothes, which is most undignified for a cat of my magnificence and stature. Leo thinks it most amusing. I'd like to see him wearing a frilly bonnet and a pink pinafore. I suspect he would not grin so inanely then.

Well, duty calls, for I hear a rustling in the wainscotting that tells me a hunt is in the offing. Wish me luck, fair lady. To the victor, the spoils.

P. S. Perhaps I shall send you a nice, juicy rat, beautifully wrapped and tied with a blue ribbon to match your eyes.

―Excerpt of a letter to the Hon'ble Miss Violetta Spencer (cousin and adopted daughter to The Right Hon'ble Kitty and Luke Baxter, Countess and Earl of Trevick) from The Hon'ble Cat, Mau.

2nd March 1850, Goshen Court, Monmouthshire.

The sound of the front door slamming had Leo looking up from the letter he'd just finished. Mau, sitting on the desk beside him, paused in the act of licking his paw, listened for a moment as something moved in the panelling beside them, and carried on washing.

"You're a lazy devil, Mau," Leo observed, carefully adding two small paw prints to the bottom of the page. "I give you far too much credit."

Mau yawned, showing an expanse of pink tongue and many sharp white teeth.

"There's no need to be rude," Leo said to him, shaking his head.

Voices emanating from the entrance hall suggested they had a visitor, a rare occurrence at Goshen Court, which was not exactly a place that people thronged to. Still, Pip seemed to like it that way. That the man had a child who was now seven had come as rather a shock to them all but explained a good deal about Ashburton's behaviour over the past years. Tilly was a sweetheart, however, if rather spoiled and headstrong. Hardly to be wondered at, however, when Pip was so thoroughly smitten he could deny the child nothing. Only her nanny seemed to hold her in check: a rather terrifying female who seemed to hold Pip in contempt and was barely civil to him if Tilly was not in earshot.

Deciding it was time to investigate the new arrival, Leo put the letter to Vi aside to post later. He smiled unrepentantly to himself as he imagined her chagrin at the promise of a nice juicy rat arriving through the post. She could not be quite certain he wouldn't really do it. Leo could just imagine her opening parcels at arm's length for the next few weeks, just in case.

"Come, Mau, let's see who's here," he said to the cat, who stretched luxuriously and leapt onto Leo's shoulders. Leo shook his head as the heavy weight settled in place. A deep sonorous purr rumbled in his ears and Leo reached up to scratch Mau under the chin. "You're a good fellow, but you weight a ton, you lazy brute," Leo told him, and walked to the stairs.

The voices were muted now and coming from Pip's study, not bothering to knock, Leo strode in.

"Ash!" he exclaimed, grinning broadly. "Well, well, this is a turn up. I didn't expect to see you here. What brings you to these parts?"

Ash shrugged and accepted Leo's hand, shaking it. "Needed a change of air," he said noncommittally before smothering a yawn. "Lord, it was a devilish long journey, though. Couldn't you get a place in Surrey, Pip? Be a sight easier to get to."

"Then you'd not have your change of air," Pip observed dryly, holding out a drink for Ash.

"Don't mind if I do, thanks," Leo said, swiping it before Ash could get his hands on it and settling himself down in a chair by the fire. Pip sighed and went and poured Ash another drink. Ash downed it in one go, grimaced, and asked for another.

"Blimey," Leo observed. "Like that, is it? Well, it's a bit early, but I'm game if you are."

Ash shook his head. "I'm having this and going to bed."

"Bed?" Leo repeated in astonishment. "It's still morning."

"It's after two," Pip replied. "Which you might realise if you were ever up before noon."

"Well, even so. It's a damned odd time to go to bed. Are you sick?"

"Yes," Ash replied, taking the second glass of brandy from Pip and treating it much like the first. "Sick to death."

Pip and Leo exchanged glances. "Who is she?" they asked in unison.

"Bugger off," Ash replied. "I'm going to bed." And with that he headed for the door.

"Top of the stairs and turn right, third on the left," Pip called after him as Ash disappeared.

"Well," Leo replied, shaking his head. "He's out of sorts."

Pip frowned and settled himself in the chair opposite Leo. "It certainly appears so. Any clues?"

"Not a one," Leo replied. "Must have happened since I've been here."

"Papa, Papa!"

Before they could discuss the matter any farther, Tilly burst into the room at a run and was flying towards Pip when a severe voice sounded from the doorway.

"Miss Ottilie! Is that any way for a young lady to behave? How dare you burst into your father's study without so much as a knock? Come outside and close the door and then do it properly."

Tilly froze in the middle of the room, her eyes wide. She sent a look of appeal to her father, who melted as he always did.

"It's quite all right, Mrs Harris," Pip said with a smile as he and Leo got to their feet. "I'm not busy, as you see. Mr Hunt and I were just—"

"Yes,I see, my lord," Mrs Harris replied dryly, her eyes lingering on the glass in Pip's hand. "However, you employed me to raise your daughter as a young lady, not some manner of wildebeest, and if that is what you wish, she will do as she is told. Come, Ottilie, show your father your manners, child."

Tilly, not the least bit abashed by this scolding, sent her father a swift grin and walked obediently out of the room. The door closed and was followed a moment later by a soft knock.

Leo glanced at Pip and grinned. Pip, rolling his eyes, called out: "Come in."

Tilly walked in ahead of Mrs Harris, dipped a neat curtsey and said, "Good afternoon, Papa, good afternoon, Mr Hunt. How do you do?"

Leo took the girl's hand and bowed over it. "I am well, Miss Tilly, and how are you? May I say you are looking fine as fivepence this morning?"

"You may. It is a pretty dress, isn't it?" Tilly said, giving a twirl to make the pale green material spin around her. "It's new. Papa bought it for me."

"And it looks very well on you," Pip replied, reaching for her hand. Tilly ran to him, throwing her arms about him. Her father smiled and reached down, stroking her pale blonde curls. Looking up, he regarded Mrs Harris. "Won't you sit down, Mrs Harris? Would you like a glass of sherry?"

"At this hour?" came the scathing reply.

"I can order some tea if you prefer," Pip offered.

Leo regarded the nurse with interest. She was petite, but Leo's expert eye ran swiftly over a figure that was soft and curving in all the right places. Her hair was an absolute fright. Leo wondered what on earth she did to it to make it such a dingy, flat brown. It was scraped back in a bun at the base of her neck and pinned ruthlessly in place. He'd been trying since he'd got here to figure out what colour her eyes were, but to no avail. In some lights he'd have sworn they were dark hazel or even brown, but other times… it was those awful glasses she wore, covered in finger marks. Leo wondered how she saw anything at all through them. He'd thought at first that she was a woman in her forties, having only caught glimpses of her, but on closer observation he had realised she was young. Somewhere in her twenties, perhaps.

"No tea, I thank you," Mrs Harris replied, her voice cool. "Tilly only wished to perform her French recital for you."

"Oh, of course," Pip said. "We'd love to hear that, wouldn't we, Leo?"

"Can't wait!" Leo replied at once, though he barely spoke a word of French.

Mrs Harris perched on the very edge of the sofa, as far from them as she could get, and looking like she might bolt at the slightest provocation. "Carry on, please, Ottilie."

Ottilie curtsied again and recited a poem in French. It certainly sounded to Leo as though she spoke well, but she could have been declaiming a shopping list or telling them they had frogs in their hair, and he'd have been none the wiser. The only thing he was certain of was the length. It was interminable. Even Pip's eyes were glazing over when Tilly finally curtsied again and ran to her father, throwing herself into his lap.

"Well, Papa? What did you think? Do I speak French as well as Mama did? I didn't make very many mistakes, did I?"

"None that I heard," Leo replied truthfully.

She beamed at him.

"You're a clever puss," Pip said fondly, kissing her cheek. "You mama would be very proud of you, as am I."

Tilly, flushed with pleasure, looked to Mrs Harris.

"Very nice, child," she said, her voice far gentler than Leo had heard it before. "You worked hard and did a good job. There were one or two mistakes, but we shall work on those. Now, bid the gentlemen a good afternoon. The sun is shining, and we ought to get some fresh air.

"Oh, but Harry, I want to stay," Tilly whined, receiving a stern look from the lady in question. She closed her mouth with a snap and sighed, turning to her father. "Good afternoon, Papa. We're going for a walk now. I shall see you later though."

"Indeed, you shall see me at dinnertime. Mrs Harris, I hope you will join us."

Mrs Harris stared at Pip in shock, for he had never before invited her to dine with them.

"Whatever for?" she exclaimed, so startled by the invitation she forgot to mind her own manners.

Pip's mouth quirked, but he squashed the smile Leo felt certain was desperate to emerge and said simply. "Tilly would enjoy it if you joined us. I beg you will not disappoint her."

There was a challenging note to his voice that Leo did not quite understand, but Mrs Harris did. She met his gaze, her jaw set. "I would be delighted," she replied. "Come, Ottilie."

Taking the child's hand, she swept from the room.

"Delighted to cut your throat while you sleep," Leo observed. "Brr. Is it cold in here or is it me?"

Pip snorted and sat down again. "She loathes me," he said cheerfully.

"Well, you seem awfully pleased about it," Leo observed.

"It's my latest pastime," he admitted. "Seeing how many times in a day I can rile Mrs Harris. I win if I make her lose her temper."

"I see," Leo said slowly. "Ashburton, old man, you don't think perhaps you've been living in seclusion for too long? I begin to fear for your sanity."

"Says the man who writes letters from his cat," Pip observed with the lift of one eyebrow.

"Mau is an excellent correspondent," Leo replied with dignity. "He simply has trouble holding the pen in his paws."

Pip snorted and burst out laughing. "Pillock," he said with a grin.

2nd March 1850, Vane Hall, Chiswick, London.

Hart looked up at the imposing fa?ade of Vane Hall and sighed. He didn't much want to be here, not being on the best of terms with his sister's husband, Lord Vane. Kathy had also been adopted from the workhouse as he had been, though happily when she was only hours old, so she had only known the loving environment of their family home. Hart adored his sister, annoying wretch that she was, but she had married a man with a dark past and Hart could never quite come to terms with that. If he was being fair, which was hard whenever he considered Lord Vane, the man seemed to be a reformed character, and he made Kathy happy. Just as well, for the slightest slip, and Hart would have been quite prepared to find a big hole somewhere remote and bury him in it. He just hoped the devil wasn't home. It was his sister he needed, and he didn't want Vane poking his nose in.

For once, he was in luck. The butler greeted him and took him at once to his sister.

Lady Vane was reclining on a chaise longue, a book balanced on her well-rounded belly and a biscuit in her hand. She exclaimed as Hart walked in, setting the book aside.

"Hartley!" she said, struggling to her feet. "What a lovely surprise."

"Lord, sis, you're enormous," Hart said in wonder, hurrying over to help her up. "Is it due any day?"

"Yes, like a big fat tick," she said cheerfully. "And no, you great lout. You know very well I've another three months."

"Well, I suppose I might have been a tad more complimentary," Hart replied, smirking.

"Not much, so I figured I'd best get in first. Now come and sit down and tell me what trouble you're in." Sitting down again with a sigh, she patted the seat beside her.

"What makes you think I'm in trouble?" Hart demanded indignantly.

"Because you wouldn't be here if you weren't," Kathy replied, with only a hint of reproach.

Guilt swamped him. It had been a long time since he'd been here. In fact, thinking about it, not since Kathy's daughter's christening. She must be two by now.

Hart groaned and put his head in his hands. "Sorry," he muttered.

Kathy laughed and reached over, ruffling his hair. "It's all right. I know you by now. You just don't notice the time flying past, but it is, Hart, and it will pass you by if you don't stop and look up now and then."

"I'm busy," he said defensively. "I've a name to make for myself, things I want to achieve."

"I know," she said soothingly, patting his arm. "Now, about this trouble you're in," she added, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Hart sighed. He might as well get it over with. No point beating about the bush. "I need you to come with me to the Foundling Hospital and take a child away."

Kathy's face blanched, her mouth opening in a little ‘o' of astonishment.

"No, Kath!" Hart said hurriedly, realising a bit of beating around the bush might have been prudent. "It's not what you think. Not a child of mine, I swear it."

Kathy let out a breath, holding her hand to her heart. "For the love of heaven. You might remember I'm with child. I'm not supposed to get overexcited or endure shocking news."

"Sorry," Hart said again. "I suppose I'd best explain."

His sister looked, and him and shook her head. "Yes, my boy, I suppose you best had."

The foundling hospital was immense and looked well kept, but Hart could not suppress the shudder that ran down his spine. He did not want to go in.

Kathy, dressed in all her finery and looking every inch the countess, paused beside him and reached for his hand. "Courage, Hart. Your friend is relying on you, is she not?"

Hart nodded and gritted his teeth.

"From what I hear, this place is better than most," she added gently, her smile reassuring. "It's well run and a far cry from the workhouse you experienced. Come along."

This last was a command and Hart forced himself to move, following her up the steps into the offices of the Foundling Hospital. At least they were separate from the vast building that served as a home for all the unfortunate children that dwelled in it.

"Leave the talking to me, remember," Kathy said, not that he needed any encouragement to do as she asked.

Hart's hands were clammy and his mouth dry. All he wanted was to get Fidelia's son and get out of here as fast as he could. Despite Kathy's words, memories he had done his utmost to suppress were jostling in his mind: the filth, and the loneliness, the recollection of being cold and so hungry he cried himself to sleep at night. The feeling of hopelessness and being powerless to change his fate had been a sensation so familiar in those days and so long forgotten now, that to have it rush back at him made his breath catch, ice water sliding under his skin. If not for the whim of fate, making his face the one Minerva had seen the day she had come to visit the workhouse, what then? What if it had been another boy and not him? His guts tied themselves into a tight knot.

A man answered the door promptly upon Kathy's knock, took one look at her, and ushered her inside. He was a small fellow, neat as a pin, with thinning grey hair. Hart suspected the harried look on his face was a permanent fixture, as was the pallid complexion which spoke of a man who spent every waking hour indoors.

"Good morning, madam," the man began.

"Lady Vane," his sister corrected coldly. "And this is my brother, Mr De Beauvoir."

"I beg your pardon, my lady," the man said meekly, hurrying to correct his mistake. "I am Mr Fisher, and I would be pleased to help you, however I can. What may I do for you?"

"I'm considering a charitable donation," Kathy said, transforming before Hart's eyes into Lady Vane, a cool, upper-class creature he felt he did not know in the least. "But I am no fool, sir, and I wish first to have some knowledge about the property. I believe you know my husband is famous for his philanthropy, however he leaves much of the choice of where he spends his money to me. If I am pleased with what I discover, we shall be generous patrons."

The fellow beamed at her, clearly used to such treatment and not in the least disturbed by it.

"Of course, of course, my lady. Would you care for a tour of the—"

"No, sir. I wish to see the books," she said, giving him a hard look. "All of them for the past five years. Accounts and registers too. I wish to know how many children are here, how many you can accommodate at full capacity, how many children go on to proper employment, what manner of education is given to them…"

Hart regarded his sister with dawning respect as she gave the fellow her demands. Mr Fisher looked somewhat startled, but it was clear Lady Vane was fabulously wealthy from her attire alone, and generous patrons were hard to come by.

"I will be pleased to accommodate you, my lady. If you would care to come through to my office."

Kathy returned a regal nod and condescended to follow Mr Fisher into his offices, where he presented stacks of books in neat piles on his desk. "I'll ring for tea," he said, beaming at Kathy. "Do take your time."

With a slight inclination of her head, Kathy indicated this was acceptable and surreptitiously slid the oldest register towards Hart. Once Mr Fisher had left the room, he fell upon it, rifling through the pages until he got to the week Fidelia's son should have arrived here. His finger slid down the entries until he regarded the date in question and frowned.

"He's not here," he said, a hollow feeling in his stomach.

Kathy shot a look of concern at him and moved to peer over his shoulder. "The day after," she suggested.

Hart shook his head. "There were only four arrivals that entire week. Two were older boys, a five-year-old and seven-year-old. The other two were girls. He's not here, Kathy."

"You're sure this is the place?" she asked, receiving an impatient look for her trouble.

"My friend's father wrote the name of the place in his diary, and the date which he brought the child here," he said impatiently. Though he trusted his sister implicitly, he had not mentioned Fidelia's name. It was not his secret to bandy about and he would not be the one to give her away, not even to Kathy.

"Well, errors can be made," she said, looking up as Mr Fisher returned bearing a tea tray.

"Are all the arrivals noted here in this book?" Kathy asked him.

Mr Fisher nodded as he set the tray down. "Oh, yes. We take great care to note all the details as closely as we can. Approximate age, physical description, health, and whether they have anything with them. Mothers often leave the child a token. Often a coin or keepsake that's been broken in half. If their circumstances change, they use it to identify their child, so such details are important."

"Oh." Kathy put her hand to her swollen belly and swallowed hard.

Mr Fisher nodded. "There has been the occasional joyful reunion, I'm happy to say, though not nearly as many as we might hope for."

Hart exchanged a glance with his sister, who nodded. They had spoken about how best to handle the matter as discreetly as they were able. There was little choice now but to proceed as planned. It would have been perfect to simply identify the boy, find him within the school, and for Hart to decide on the spot to adopt him, but that would have been too easy, he supposed.

"Mr Fischer," Kathy began, once more sliding into the role of Lady Vane. "From what I have seen so far, the foundling home is a place worthy of my patronage. However, I must be able to have complete confidence in the staff who work here. I need to trust them implicitly, both with my money and with my reputation."

"Why, of course, my lady. I assure you there is no difficulty there. You may put your confidence in us all."

"And in you, Mr Fischer?" she said, her tone pointed. "May I rely on your discretion?"

Mr Fischer paused, noting the change in her tone. "I am the soul of discretion, my lady," he said with dignity. "You may have no fear on that score."

Kathy nodded and turned to her brother. Hart regarded Mr Fischer. "I am here on behalf of a friend who is in search of her son. Her father removed the child from her arms within minutes of his birth and recorded in writing his intention to bring him here the very same day. Yet no child is registered within your books on any of the days of that week. Is there a possibility that the entry could have been made elsewhere, that an error could have been made, or that someone else could have intervened? The father, perhaps? And would such details have been recorded?"

"Ah," said Mr Fischer, colouring somewhat as he looked at Hart.

Hart glowered back at him. "The child is not mine," he ground out. "I am merely doing a service for a lady who cannot, for obvious reasons, make enquiries for herself."

Mr Fischer cleared his throat and nodded, the colour draining from his cheeks as quickly as it had arrived as he regarded Hart's furious glare. "Of course, of course. I quite understand. Well, yes, if the circumstances were unusual, there is a chance I would make a note of the fact in my personal diary. Gentlemen who wish to… er, place their illegitimate offspring within our care, often make arrangements to… to…"

"Abandon?" Kathy suggested, her tone icy.

"Er… to leave the child in our care during the early hours of the morning," Mr Fischer carried on doggedly. "As the circumstances are usually rather delicate, I deal with these arrangements myself and hand the child into the care of a nurse at once."

"Then would you be so good as to check your diary, sir," Kathy demanded.

"On the second of February, eighteen forty-five," Hart added.

Mr Fischer's eyebrows rose. "Five years ago? Well, of course I shall consult my diary. If you would excuse me for a moment?"

Hart and Kathy nodded their agreement, and the man left the room. Hart surged to his feet, crossing to the window and folding his arms, scowling at the grey skies beyond the glass. His guts were in turmoil. He had promised Fidelia he would find her son for her, fool that he was. What business had he making such a promise? But it had seemed an easy enough thing to do when he knew the child was here. Why wasn't the child here, though? That was what he could not understand. It wasn't as if the duke would have changed his mind. Hart considered all the possible scenarios, including some that made his stomach roil, but surely even Beresford wasn't cold-blooded enough to murder an innocent babe?

"Hart, do stop pacing. You are wearing my nerves out, never mind the floor," Kathy complained.

Hart opened his mouth to make a snappy retort, but the door opened, and Mr Fischer returned to them.

"Well," he said, regarding their expectant faces with a grim smile. "It was an unusual night, it appears. According to my diary, I spent the evening awaiting an arrival. The rendezvous was arranged for two in the morning. Yet when I went down upon hearing the carriage arrive, I discovered I was too late. The carriage was driving away. There was a young woman there, though, holding a newborn infant in her arms. I asked her if she wished to leave the child with me and she replied, in no uncertain terms, that she would burn in hell before she left the boy in a place like this."

"Good heavens!" Kathy said in surprise.

"Who was she? What did she look like?" Hart demanded.

"As to who she was, I cannot tell you," Mr Fischer said to regret. "I remember the night in question clearly now, for it stuck in my mind for some time afterwards, and she was a lady, well spoken, despite her rather forthright manner. She was also very beautiful. She wore a cloak that shielded much of her face, but I should know her anywhere. Such bone structure, and those eyes…" Mr Fischer gave a wistful sigh. "I assumed it was the mother at first, but then why would her father have given the child into her arms, unless he decided to wash his hands of them both? I confess it puzzled me for some time, but sadly there are so many stories here, my lady. One forgets in time," he added apologetically.

"It was not the boy's mother," Hart said, frustration gnawing at his bones. "Damnation, what the devil am I supposed to do now?"

Mr Fischer shrugged. "There is nothing you can do, I am afraid. I have no notion who the woman was or where she took the child. I never saw or heard from her again."

Hart groaned and put his head in his hands.

Kathy put a comforting hand on his arm. "You did everything you could," she said gently. "You can do no more than that."

"It will kill her," he said, his tone bleak. "She was so unhappy and I… I made her think it was possible, that she had hope, and now—"

"And now she'll survive because she has a friend to turn to," Kathy said firmly. "She was alone in her grief before, Hart. Now she has someone else who knows and cares what happened. Don't underestimate the difference that will make."

"There is one thing, my lady," Mr Fischer said, having watched this exchange with interest. "I remarked in my diary that the night was uncommonly cold, and that it began to snow in the early evening. Indeed, the snow fell thick and fast for several days, making travel nigh on impossible. It strikes me that the woman could not have gone far with a newborn in that weather. She must have stayed nearby until the weather cleared, so perhaps—"

"Oh, Mr Fisher, well done!" Kathy said, beaming at him.

Mr Fischer flushed with pleasure, smiling at Kathy, and gave a modest shrug. "I am glad to be of assistance, my lady. I only hope it helps you."

"It has," Hart said firmly, willing to grasp at straws by this point, though the man's words had given him hope. "You've given us somewhere to carry on our search, and I cannot thank you enough. You may rely on my generosity, as well as my sister's, Mr Fisher."

"Oh," Mr Fisher said, brightening perceptibly. "Well, that is wonderful, and I wish you success in your search for the boy. It would be nice to think there was a happy ending for the child, there are far too few of them not to consider each one a precious thing."

Kathy rose and Mr Fisher got up, moving around the desk to her as she went to him, holding out her hands. "I admit I did not know what to expect upon coming here," she said, dropping all pretence of the icy Lady Vane persona she had adopted. "A place of misery, if I'm honest, I suppose. But if the children are cared for by people like you, Mr Fisher, perhaps this is not such a terrible place to be, after all."

Mr Fisher took her hands and regarded her solemnly. "I cannot promise that it is always a joyous place, and I cannot speak for every member of staff here, my lady, but there are those of us who believe in what we do, and try our hardest to minimise the suffering of those poor innocents that find their way here. That, I promise you."

"Thank you, Mr Fisher. We shan't forget the help you've given us this day," Hart said gravely, before escorting his sister from the building.

Though he was champing at the bit to begin his search at once, Hart could see his sister was flagging. Frustrated as he was by the delay, he could do no less than escort her home and see her properly settled before returning to Camden. Having procured a local map of the area, he first marked every tavern and boarding house, before crossing off any that looked like decent establishments. No respectable house would entertain the idea of taking in a single female with a babe in her arms, though perhaps on such a freezing night someone might have taken pity on her.

Deciding his best option was to begin with every low gin house and pub, Hart set off on his quest.