Free The Tale of Hawthorn House by Susan Wittig Albert Page A

“Won’t hurt to have a look around.” He grinned. “I can keep my eyes peeled for Jack’s trousers and Mathilda’s hen, but I doubt I’ll see anything of Henry’s missing undergarment.”
    Beatrix fingered the blue-and-white-checked cover on the basket. “This fabric has a distinctive pattern,” she said thoughtfully. “It appears to be hand-woven. If we found the weaver—”
    “If there are no infants of this age in the village,” Miles said, turning to Dimity, “this baby must have come from the district at large. What’ve you heard, Dim?”
    Feeling helpless, Dimity shook her head. “Not a thing, Miles. And if a mother had lost her baby, we would certainly have heard of it immediately.” The families of Near and Far Sawrey were bound by close ties of kinship and friendship. Babies were welcomed with a great deal of enthusiasm, and provided much happy gossip among relatives and friends.
    “What about the Mums’ Box?” Beatrix asked, sipping her tea. “Has anyone borrowed it lately?”
    “Only Mrs. Hopkins,” Dimity replied. “She’s still using it for Baby Jeremiah.” The parish Mums’ Box was filled with infant garments and necessities and lent out to mothers and babies in need. As the volunteer-in-charge, Dimity had possession of the box between babies.
    “I happened to see Dr. Butters on my way here,” Beatrix said. “I took the liberty of asking him. He said that the last girl baby was born at High Loanthwaite Farm two months ago, the other side of Hawkshead. At a quick glance, he guessed that Flora is a fortnight old. If she was born in this area, he knew nothing of it.”
    “I’ll make inquiries,” Miles said. He cast a concerned look at the basket. “But in the meantime, what’s to be done with the child?”
    “I should be very glad to keep her,” Beatrix said, “if only for a little while.” Dimity saw that her friend’s blue eyes were filled with longing and her mouth was sadly wistful. It was a revealing look, Dimity thought with a pang. Beatrix’s life must be a lonely one. Another reason, if one were needed, to encourage the match with Miles! They were still young, and Beatrix might yet have the baby she so obviously wanted.
    “By all means, then, do,” Miles said, smiling warmly. “I’m sure she would be in very good hands with you, Miss Potter.”
    Beatrix gave him a regretful look. “There’s nothing I should like better, Captain Woodcock, but I can’t. I’m expecting my brother today, and I want to be free to take him around the district. And I must go back to London later in the week—Wednesday, I think—to see to a business matter with my publisher. It’s just for a day or two, but—” She made a gesture. “I would suggest Mrs. Jennings, but little Clara has a very bad cough. I’m afraid we shall have to think of something else.”
    Dimity understood. Beatrix had to look after her books— although when she married Miles, that sort of thing would certainly be less important than it was now. She smiled to herself, thinking how good it would be for her brother to have a wife who would make him the center of her world. And how wonderful it would be for Bea to have a husband to take care of her.
    “Well, then,” Miles said, “we shall have to give her over to the parish authorities. If her parents cannot be found, they’ll send her to the workhouse at Ulverston, to be cared for there.”
    “The workhouse!” Dimity cried, horrified. “Oh, surely not, Miles! Not the workhouse!”
    “But something has to be done with abandoned children,” Miles replied reasonably. “That’s the law, Dimity. Don’t worry—she’ll be looked after. I don’t know how many foundlings Ulverston has at any given time, but I’m sure it’s several.”
    Beatrix leant over to smooth the pink knitted cap. “Perhaps she might be kept in the village until her parents are found.”
    “Yes, Miles, yes,” Dimity said urgently.
    Miles frowned. “Whom would you suggest?