The arched oak door was iron bound and heavy, another proof of age. Lucas swung it open and Kendra walked in ahead of him. The interior was cool and the gray sky outside made it dim, but Kendra heard laughter when she entered. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she looked up the nave and saw a young woman arranging two tall vases of spring flowers and greenery, aided by a little girl of perhaps three or four.
Smiling at the sight, Kendra dropped a donation in the poor box, then headed up the aisle. The young woman glanced up as they approached. Her gown was worn and had obviously been remade more than once, but her voice was well educated. “Welcome to Saint Mary of the Fields. May I help you?”
“Thank you,” Kendra said. “We’d like to see the parish register. Is the vicar available?”
The young woman smiled. “My husband, Mr. Hutton, is curate here. He’s in the church study working on a sermon, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to be interrupted! His study is just back here.” She gestured for them to follow her through a narrow door in the right corner of the nave, next to the lady chapel.
The study was a small room lit by a pair of lanterns, and the walls were lined with full bookshelves. There was also a fireplace not currently in use. Curates were the lowest rung of the clerical ladder, and they were often paid barely enough for survival, which meant no money was wasted on unnecessary fuel. A battered desk took up most of the space, and behind it sat a bespectacled young man who was frowning at the page in front of him. When they entered, he looked up inquiringly, then stood when he saw a woman was entering.
“Good day, Mr. Hutton,” Kendra said. She and Lucas had discussed how to introduce themselves and she’d decided to use her married name since that was how she’d been known when she gave birth in this village. “I’m Lady Denshire and this is my cousin, Lord Foxton.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said amiably, though he looked puzzled at having such elevated visitors.
His wife said helpfully, “They want to look at the parish register, my dear. There’s no rule that says they can’t, is there?”
“Not at all, they are public records.” Mr. Hutton fumbled in his pocket for a small key ring, then turned to a double-locked cabinet. When he’d opened the doors, he said, “I presume you’re interested in a particular year?”
“Yes, 1806.” Kendra pulled off her gloves and began twisting them nervously. “Nine years ago in December, my husband and I were caught in a blizzard while heading home for the birth of our child. The baby was coming early so we took refuge at the local inn, the Red Lion. A midwife was summoned, but I was very ill and my life was despaired of.”
Mr. Hutton pulled the volume marked 1806 from the middle shelf and laid it on his desk. “Yes?” he said encouragingly, understanding that there was more to the story.
“My son, Christopher, was born and is a fine, healthy boy. But since I was near death and in pain, I was dosed with a great deal of opium. There were several days of which I have no clear memory.” She took a deep breath and realized that she was holding Lucas’s hand as she came to the most painful part of the story.
“What I didn’t remember until several days ago was that Christopher had a twin sister. I believe she was born second and was terribly frail. I remember now hearing that she wouldn’t last the night.” Her mouth tightened. “No one told me about her later. I presume they didn’t want me to grieve over her loss.
“But now I have remembered, and I came here to find out what happened to her.” She couldn’t bear to repeat Denshire’s cruel order to get rid of it. Lucas squeezed her hand comfortingly, so she continued, “My hope is that she lived long enough to be baptized, and perhaps buried in your cemetery. Do you remember any of this?”
He shook his head, his expression compassionate. “I’m sorry, I’ve only been at St. Mary’s for three years. I’ve heard nothing of your story. Wasn’t your husband able to tell you what happened?”
Wanting to say as little as possible, she said, “After the birth of his heir, we led largely separate lives and are now permanently estranged. There is no chance he will speak to me, and he had no interest in a girl child that didn’t survive. Once I remembered her birth, I realized that Lower Dauntrey would be the best place to find answers.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “If she is buried here, I’d like to visit her grave and . . . and say good-bye.”
“I’m so very sorry,” Mrs. Hutton said as she tightly clasped the hand of her own small daughter. “No doubt those who didn’t tell you of your daughter were well intentioned, but it’s wrong to keep such knowledge from a mother.”
“I quite agree,” Kendra said, unable to keep a bitter edge from her voice.
Lucas squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. “Let’s look at the parish register. That might tell us what we need to know.”
The curate opened the register. “December, you said?” He flipped the pages to the end of the book. “Here is the section on births and baptisms.” There were a dozen or so listings. He said indulgently, “A rather large number of births for one month, but I always think that December shows the results of celebrating the arrival of spring.”
Kendra and Lucas crowded around him to study the page. The notations were written in crabbed, difficult-to-read handwriting. Three quarters of the way down she saw “Hon. Christopher Douglas Hawthorn, son of George Hawthorn, Lord Denshire of Denshire Park, gent. & his wife, Kendra, late Douglas, Spinster, 11th Dec. 1806, baptized privately.” But there was no listing for a little girl born that day.
Mouth dry, Kendra said, “What about the listings for deaths?”
Hutton flipped to that section of the book. She scanned the page and saw a listing for a stillborn boy late in December, but there was no mention of a girl child that month.
The curate said carefully, “Is it possible that because of your illness, you imagined a daughter?”
Kendra thought of the slight, warm weight of the baby in her arms, then said flatly, “I’m quite sure.”
“Do you remember the name of the midwife who attended you?” Lucas asked. “She would surely remember. You told me that she was kind, and she must have been competent since you and Christopher survived a difficult birth.”
“I don’t remember her name. I’m not sure I ever knew it.” Kendra frowned. “She might not have been from Lower Dauntrey. I have a vague feeling that she was summoned from some distance away. Perhaps another parish.”
Hutton said to his wife, “Your midwife was from Great Dauntrey, wasn’t she? I remember that you were pleased and comforted by how she cared for you and the baby when Elizabeth was born.”
“Mrs. Lowell,” his wife said immediately. “Yes, she had been recommended to me as the best midwife in the county and she was excellent. I can give you her directions if you want to call on her.”
“Thank you,” Lucas said. “Would there be any point in visiting the inn to see if anyone there might remember what happened?”
Hutton said, “I don’t think so. The new landlord brought in family members to serve in the inn after he bought it. I don’t believe any of the previous servants are still there.”
“The name Mrs. Lowell sounds familiar,” Kendra said slowly. “Can you give us her directions? I’d like to call on her this afternoon.”
“I’ll draw you a map,” Mrs. Hutton said. “She’s this side of Great Dauntrey, so not too far.” She perched in the plain wooden chair by the desk and drew a clear, simple map. Handing it to Kendra, she said softly, “I hope you learn what you need to know.”
Throat tight, Kendra nodded her thanks and she and Lucas took their leave. Outside, they conferred with their coachman about their new destination. He remembered the route they had taken from Great Dauntrey and said there would be no problem finding the midwife’s home.
In the carriage, Kendra silently caught Lucas’s hand and drew him down on the seat next to her. Though they’d agreed that they could only be friends, surely friends could innocently hold hands when touch was needed.
With wordless understanding, Lucas’s large, warm hand clasped hers.
Feeling her tension ease, Kendra said, “Thank you for taking this journey with me, Lucas.”
He smiled at her. “I’m glad to be of use, and I enjoy your company.”
“I’m not sure why,” she said wryly. “I’ve been a tangle of problems ever since we met again at that ball.”
“I like the way you face your problems,” he said seriously. “I turned away from mine for years. You’re a good example.”
She had to laugh. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me a good example! But I like the sound of it.”
As they relaxed into the swaying of the coach, Kendra gazed out the window. “I do hope Mrs. Lowell was my midwife. As I said, the name sounds vaguely familiar, but I might be imagining that.”
“If she was the midwife who attended you, she’ll know what happened,” Lucas said confidently. “If she wasn’t, she’ll know the other local midwives who might have been called. One way or another, you’ll be able to make your peace with your child.”
She hoped so. Lucas was a wonderfully comforting man.
As they turned onto the main road to Great Dauntrey, Lucas said reflectively, “As a baron, I control the livings for all the parish churches that are on my properties. The rector of Camden is old and in failing health. His wife died recently and he wants to move in with his oldest daughter and her family. Do you think Mr. Hutton would be a good replacement?”
“I think that’s a splendid idea!” she replied. “He and his wife were kind, intelligent, and helpful. They both seem caring and if all those books are any indication, Mr. Hutton is a learned man as well. Any parish would be fortunate to have them.” And rectors had good secured incomes, which would surely be a blessing to Mr. Hutton and his family.
“I’ll talk to Uncle William about this. He’ll want to meet Mr. Hutton, but I think he’ll approve.”
“Denshire controlled several livings. When one became vacant, he sold it to the highest bidder, which is typical of him.” She gave Lucas a sidelong glance. “I’m glad you’re more concerned with the welfare of your parishes and their congregations than with your income.”
He grinned at her. “I have no expensive vices, so I can afford to be generous.”
She laughed. He’d be embarrassed if she said that he was generous because he was a good man, but he was. The world needed all the good men it could get.
* * *
Mrs. Hutton’s directions were clear and it wasn’t difficult to find Mrs. Lowell’s home, a small stone cottage set back from the road. Smoke trickled from the chimney, so there should be someone home. Lucas helped Kendra from the carriage. “You may have your answers soon,” he said quietly.
She managed a smile. “I hope so. When I know what happened to my Caitlin, I’ll be free to return to worrying about my other problems.”
Lucas knocked on the door, and it was swiftly opened by a slim, blond girl of sixteen or seventeen. Her apron, the flour on her hands, and delicious aromas said that she’d been baking. Kendra caught her breath as the girl’s round pretty face immediately evoked the kind face of an older woman who spoke comforting words as she bent over Kendra’s pain-racked body. “You must be Mrs. Lowell’s daughter?”
“Yes, I’m Maggie Lowell.” She glanced at Kendra’s waist. “Are you wishing to engage my mother’s services? She usually sees patients in the morning.”
“I’m not a patient now,” Kendra said, “but I once was. I’m Lady Denshire and nine years ago in December, I was brought to bed prematurely when traveling and gave birth at the Red Lion in Lower Dauntrey. I was very ill and remember little, but your mother attended me and I need to speak with her about what happened.”
The girl’s brows furrowed and she stepped aside, gesturing them to come in. “I heard about you since it isn’t often my mother treats a ladyship. She didn’t come home for several days. When she did, she said she’d feared she’d lose you, but you came through and had a fine bonnie boy.”
“Did she say anything about a little girl?” Kendra asked tensely. “I only just remembered that my son had a twin sister who was too weak to survive. I hate that I actually forgot my own child! I hope to find where she is buried so I can visit her grave.”
The girl’s expression closed. Glancing at Lucas, she said, “Is this your husband? He should know what happened because he was there.”
“I’m her cousin and friend,” Lucas explained. “I was on military service at the time so I don’t know what happened, but I offered to escort Lady Denshire on her search.”
Maggie Lowell hesitated for a long moment before coming to a decision. “It’s best you speak with my mother. She’s visiting her sister, my aunt Jane, who lives in a cottage at the far end of our property. Just a few minutes’ walk away.”
Finally Kendra would know. Lucas touched her lower back reassuringly. “Can you point us in the right direction?”
Maggie nodded and led them through the house. Several loaves of bread and savory pies were cooling on a sideboard in the kitchen. Lucas said appreciatively, “If my nose doesn’t lead me astray, you’re a fine baker, Miss Lowell.”
The girl gave a swift smile. “I’ll never make a midwife, but I’m a dab hand in the kitchen if I do say so or shouldn’t. Hold a minute and I’ll put some food and tea in this basket if you’d be good enough to carry it over, sir.”
“Of course.”
Maggie packed the basket swiftly, as if it was a customary task, including a couple of sweet cakes. After handing the basket to Lucas, she led them through the kitchen to the back of the house. She opened the door and pointed. “It’s that cottage at the end of this path. You can’t miss it.”
The cottage was barely visible but the path was clear. Kendra was vibrating with excitement as she and Lucas walked swiftly through a vegetable garden and then along a fenced pasture where several placid cows grazed. The beasts were lean from winter and greedily enjoying the new grass.
The cottage was very small and looked as if it might have been a converted outbuilding. Kendra knocked on the door.
A woman’s voice called, “A moment.”
When the door swung open, Kendra’s first sight of Mrs. Lowell triggered a cascade of images of kindness and concern. Soft words, a cool hand on Kendra’s forehead, brisk orders to push! This woman had surely saved her life, and perhaps Christopher’s as well.
Mrs. Lowell’s expression froze. “Lady Denshire. You . . . you’re looking well. And your son?”
“He is also well, but that is not why I’m here today. I was so ill that for years after giving birth, I recalled very little of what happened. Then a few days ago, I remembered that I also bore a little girl who was not expected to last through the night.” She swallowed hard before she continued. “Was she baptized? Is she buried in the churchyard at Lower Dauntrey? I need to know.”
After a long, undecided pause, Mrs. Lowell sighed. “You have the right. Best come in.” She stepped back, giving Lucas a sharp glance. “You’re not Lord Denshire.”
“No, I’m Foxton, Lady Denshire’s cousin.”
Mrs. Lowell accepted his words at face value. They were in a small sitting room that included a table, several chairs, a rag rug, and a cooking corner with a fireplace. Lucas set the basket of food on the table. “Your daughter sent this. Bread and cheese, a meat pie, soup, tea, and probably a few other things.”
“Maybe she’ll be able to take the soup,” Mrs. Lowell murmured. She lifted the lid of the crock and filled a mug with the gently steaming soup. Then she crossed the room and opened the door into a small sleeping chamber.
Dim light came through an oil paper–covered window to reveal a haggard woman with fair hair lying limply on a narrow bed. She was asleep, her breathing strained and her cheeks flushed with fever. A little girl perched on the side of the bed petting a cat, but at the sight of the newcomers, she stood.
Kendra felt as if her heart had stopped. The little girl had dark
auburn hair and changeable eyes. She looked like Christopher.
She looked like Kendra.
My daughter!
CHAPTER 17
Kendra whispered, “Caitlin,” her face so pale that Lucas feared she would faint. He took her hand and she gripped his fingers fiercely.
Ignoring Kendra’s shock, Mrs. Lowell entered the room and gave the mug of soup to the little girl. “See if your mother will take some of this nice soup, Katie.”
“Thank you, Aunt Mary.” After an incurious glance at the visitors, the little girl accepted the mug, balancing it carefully as she sat on the edge of the narrow bed. She dipped the spoon in the mug and said coaxingly, “Have some nice chicken soup, Mama. It smells very good.”
Mrs. Lowell left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “That’s my daughter!” Kendra said in a low, fierce voice. “I’m her mother!”
“Yes, you gave birth to her.” Mrs. Lowell folded wearily into one of the plain wooden chairs and gestured for her guests to sit. “Do you remember how weak she was?”
“I now have a very clear mental image of holding her,” Kendra said unsteadily. “She was so fragile I feared she would never draw another breath. Then she was gone. Taken from my arms.”
The midwife nodded. “Do you remember your husband saying to get rid of it?”
Kendra hissed through her teeth. “Yes, and I can’t believe that I was ever fool enough to marry that man!”
“I wondered that myself,” Mrs. Lowell said dryly. “I didn’t think your little girl would last through the night, and I was so busy trying to save your life and keep your little boy breathing that I had no time to spare for the poor wee mite. My younger sister Jane Potter lived in Lower Dauntrey then, so I sent for her. I wanted to give the babe into loving arms for as long as she survived.
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