A Is for Abigail (5 page)

To Abigail’s delight, the beam of her dying flashlight caught a light switch.

“Tiffany, I’m going to give you your bottle first, because I don’t need light for that. By then the Drapers should be fast asleep and I can turn on the light and make us a warm, cosy den for the night.”

Tiffany whimpered. It was getting close to her feed time. The fresh night air had given her an appetite and she was making it clear she was hungry. Abigail plucked her from the basket and sat on a straw bale, cuddling her close and enjoying the warmth. She offered her the bottle and the baby sucked greedily.

Abigail’s teeth were chattering. She was cold and still a little shaky from the trek, but the shelter from the wind and the baby’s natural warmth were taking the chill from her bones.

The building had no windows but Abigail didn’t need light for this job, it was already second nature. She never tired of giving Tiffany the bottle. Normally she watched the baby’s eyelashes flutter as she fed but tonight it was too dark to see. She loved the closeness, and the little contented grunting noises Tiffany made as she sucked. Abigail hoped that it didn’t matter that she hadn’t warmed the bottle.

“Slow down, Tiff, you’ll choke! There isn’t any hurry, you know,” she whispered.

No sound came from the farmhouse and even the dog was quiet.

When the baby had drunk her fill, Abigail stuffed the gap under the door with loose straw, partly to block out draughts, and partly to stop any light seeping out under the door. She switched on the light, delighted when the single dirty bulb illuminated.

She still felt cold, and her head ached, but this place would do nicely for the night.

“There we are, Tiff!” she said softly. “We’re going to be fine tonight. I’m going to change your nappy, then we’ll have a little play, then settle down and go to sleep.”

Half an hour later, Tiffany was tucked up in her basket and dozing off. Abigail switched off the light. The straw bales served as a mattress and she curled up round the basket using her jacket as a cover. Her throat was sore and every bone ached. She desperately wanted a drink and something to eat. Eventually, she dropped into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.

aaaaa

As the orange morning sun rose in the chilly dawn sky, Archie Draper pulled on his wellington boots and whistled to his dog. It was his favourite time of day. Just a few chores to do before he went back inside to tuck into the breakfast Molly was making for him.

“Hey, Tyson, did I leave the gate open last night? That’s not like me, must be getting old.”

Tyson, nose to the ground, was busy. There were strange new scents here that needed investigating. For once he ignored the barn cats and concentrated on gathering information.

Strange humans had passed here during the night.

In the hay store, Abigail opened her eyes a crack, and listened. She felt terrible; cold, shaky and lightheaded. Every muscle ached. Her throat was sore and a desire to cough overwhelmed her. She buried her face in her jacket to muffle the inevitable sound.

“Tyson, did you hear that? Thought I heard a cough.”

Abigail froze, but another cough erupted. Tyson was already barking and pawing at the door.

“Tyson, who’s in there?”

Tiffany woke and began to whimper. Abigail sat up, grabbed the handles of the basket and took a deep breath.

Archie held Tyson’s collar and pushed the door open, allowing the morning light to flood into the dark interior. Disturbed dust particles danced crazily, suspended in the light. Archie Draper gaped at the scene before him. A woman and a baby in his hay store?

“What the…”

Abigail tried to stand, but the effort was too much. She sat down heavily again. At that moment, Tiffany decided that she was ravenous and began to yell. Tyson barked excitedly.

“Ye gods and little fishes! Tyson, quiet! Abigail Martin, is that you? What on earth are you doing in here?”

Abigail stared at him, then shielded her mouth as another cough racked her.

“Here, come with me, I’ll take you inside. That’s a nasty cough you have there. I reckon the dust from the straw has got into your throat, or you’ve caught a chill. Have you been here all night? The wife’ll get you some hot tea and a spot of breakfast. That’ll make you feel better. Then you can tell us the whole story.”

Tears trickled down Abigail’s pale cheeks.

“No need to get upset!” said Archie, alarmed. “I’ll take the basket, you hold the baby and hang onto my arm. You’ll feel a lot better when we’re inside.”

Abigail allowed herself to be steered out of the store room and across the farmyard to the kitchen. Tiffany grumbled, but her yells had subsided. Archie kept up his cheery chatter, and Tyson followed, his tail wagging.

“Our kitchen is nice and warm, and I know my wife will be cracking open some new-laid eggs, and setting the table for breakfast.”

Abigail didn’t say a word, grateful that he didn’t seem to expect a reply from her.

“Emily, put the kettle on, we’ve got visitors!”

His wife opened the door and her eyes widened.

“Mercy me! Come in, come in!”

“Tyson found them in the hay store,” said Archie, as though Abigail was deaf. “She’s freezing. I reckon she’s caught a chill. Young ’un seems fine though.”

As if to demonstrate there was nothing wrong with her, Tiffany exercised her lungs at full volume.

“Oh, my!” laughed Emily, peering at the baby’s red, screwed up face. “Reckon I’ll concentrate on your breakfast first, shall I? This bottle here ready to be warmed is it?”

Abigail nodded, and the farmer’s wife stood the bottle in a bowl of hot water.

“Sit yourself down, my love. Take the weight off your feet. I’ll have this bottle ready for this young madam or sir in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Then, when you’ve got some breakfast and a hot cup of tea or two down you, you can tell us all about it.”

aaaaa

About a mile away, the climbing sun was shining down on other early risers. Stan dismounted from his bicycle and pushed it the remaining yards up the gravelled drive to the Martins’ front door. He attempted to lean it against the wall, but the handlebars twisted round and it fell. His second attempt was more successful.

“Morning, sir,” he said as Aiden swung the door open. “Ready to start the search now that it’s light?”

“Morning, Stan, I’m more than ready. And I’ve just made a bit of a discovery. Somebody has been in the guest cottage. It’s unlocked and the door was open a crack.”

“Did you search it?”

“Yes, I think she was there, but she’s gone now.”

“Well, bearing in mind that Mrs Martin didn’t take her car, or any possessions really, I don’t believe she’s gone far. Of course she was weighed down with the baby, too. And I think you would have passed her down the lane last night if she had gone that way. We know she’d only just left before you arrived because you said the water was still hot in the kettle.”

“Where is she then?”

“We’ll find her, sir. My intention is that we search until midday. After that, well, then we have a bit of a problem. We can’t register Mrs Martin as a missing person. She’s an adult and can do as she pleases. However, she’s taken the baby. Unfortunately, if we go official, then she could be charged with kidnapping.”

Aiden sighed. He blamed himself. Abigail had taken flight because of him. He was totally responsible. He’d made no attempt to understand how much she yearned for a baby. No, he’d not only high-handedly announced that he’d never adopt somebody else’s child, but he’d also had an affair behind her back. He didn’t deserve her.

No wonder she couldn’t face him with a baby in her arms. No wonder she’d run away. And because of him she could now be looking at a serious criminal charge.

Aiden had lain awake most of the night, listening out for the slightest sound. His thoughts churned in his head like the contents of a cement mixer. Eventually he’d fallen into a fitful sleep, promising himself that when he found her, he’d beg her forgiveness.

“I’m guessing she didn’t cross the gravel at all, or you’d have heard her,” remarked the policeman.

“What? You think she may have gone down the garden and across the fields?”

“It’s possible…”

“Right! Let’s go! No, Sam, you can’t come.”

Sam’s ears were pricked and his delight at an unexpected early morning walk was evident.

“Excuse me, sir, but I think Sam might be able to help us here. He’s a retriever, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, perhaps if you let him sniff something of the baby’s, he might be able to help with the search?”

“Genius! Yes! Do you know, Stan, I think you may be onto something there!”

Aiden grabbed a towelling bib that was lying on the kitchen table and held it up to Sam’s nose. Sam wagged his tail.

“Go find it, Sam, go find it!”

Sam was in his element. This is what he was born for! Feathery tail swishing furiously, he bounded out of the kitchen door and into the garden. Nose down, he trotted along the path until he came to the guest house.

The two men looked at each other. Neither man was surprised, but they were definitely impressed by the dog’s sense of smell.

Aiden let Sam into the guest cottage. Sam sniffed around, particularly near the window, then ran outside again, along the hedge, towards the bottom of the garden.

“Hold on, boy,” panted Aiden, and clipped a lead onto his collar. “Okay, go find it!”

Sam usually walked perfectly on the lead, but today he was on a mission. Today he was hunting down the little human that smelled of milk. His nose never stopped working and he strained on his lead, pulling so hard that Aiden was forced to jog, the policeman trotting close behind.

Sam skirted the garden, paws soaked by the dewy grass. He followed his nose, and that took him along the hedgerow, exactly where Abigail had walked the night before. When he came to the gap in the hedge, he didn’t hesitate. He pushed through, tugging his master behind him.

“Shucks!” said Stan to himself as a branch whipped back and struck his face.

Once in the field, Sam swung his head left and right, until he picked up the scent again, clear and strong.

“Looks like we’re going for a trek across the field!” Stan panted.

Aiden felt a little more positive now they had a definite purpose, but he was tortured by the thought of Abigail stumbling across the field in the dead of night, clutching a newborn baby. They
must
find her. And quickly.

aaaaa

Abigail stared hungrily at the plate of food that Emily placed in front of her.

“There you are, my love. Two fresh, lightly boiled eggs, some buttered toast and as many cuppas as you can drink. Everything always looks better after a decent breakfast, you mark my words.”

Abigail looked from Emily to the plate in front of her. She still hadn’t said a word since she’d been discovered.

“Pass me that little angel,” said Emily, “and I’ll feed her while you tuck in. Oh my, Archie, were our kids ever this small?”

Silently, Abigail released her hold on Tiffany and watched as the baby sucked furiously on the bottle the farmer’s wife offered her. Only then did she nibble on the corner of a slice of toast.

It tasted good. No, it tasted delicious. Abigail polished off both eggs, all the toast and a big mug of tea. For the first time in hours she felt warm, inside and out. Her throat was no longer sore and her headache had departed.

“You look better already,” remarked Archie. “You’ve got some colour back in your cheeks.”

“Thank you,” said Abigail softly. “I’ll never forget your kindness.”

She looked round the comfortable, shabby kitchen and thought of her own chic one, knowing she infinitely preferred the Drapers’.

None of the chairs matched, neither did the worn, handmade cushions. In Abigail’s kitchen, every chair matched, and the cushion fabric repeated the pattern on the curtains. Crockery occupied every space on the Drapers’ dresser, along with a basket of eggs, and some jam jars. At home, crockery was arranged artistically on Abigail’s dresser, and rarely used. Here, Tyson lay on a threadbare rug near the cooking range, compared with Sam’s elegant rarely-used dog bed at home.

The kitchen table was huge, but dented and scratched, the wood pale from decades of scrubbing. An enormous teapot dressed in a knitted tea-cosy sat in the centre.

“Another cup of tea?” asked Archie, watching her.

“Thank you, yes, I’d love one. And I owe you both an explanation.”

“When you’re ready, my love, no rush,” said Emily.

Nobody noticed Tyson’s ears prick up. Nobody saw him jump to his feet, alert, listening.

“I’m ready now,” said Abigail, and took a deep breath. “You must be wondering why…”

But she never finished her sentence, because somebody knocked on the kitchen door at the same time as Tyson began barking.

Abigail leapt up, nearly knocking over her chair, and snatched Tiffany from Emily’s arms.

“Don’t let them take her!” she hissed, terror in her eyes.

“Nobody is going to take your baby from you,” said Emily, putting her arm round her frightened guest. “Archie, open that door!”

“Stand back,” he said, grabbing the poker.

He opened the door decisively, then gaped.

“Morning, Mr Draper,” said Stan. “Sorry to disturb you so early. May I come in for a chat?”

Sam was already in the kitchen, renewing his acquaintance with his old friend Tyson, and greeting Abigail with delight.

“Of course,” said Archie and stood back to allow the policeman entry.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing that!” said Stan, pointing at the poker in Archie’s hand.

The intense atmosphere lightened immediately as everyone but Abigail smiled and Archie replaced the poker.

“Is Aiden with you?” she asked, white-faced.

“Yes, he’s outside. I wanted to see you first.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“Ah, Sam helped us there. Excellent retriever he is! Led us a merry chase through your hedge and across the fields.”

Abigail forced herself to blurt out the one question that she really didn’t want answered.

“Have you found out anything more about Tiffany’s parents?”

“Yes.”

Abigail’s heart beat like a drum.

“I think the mystery has been largely cleared. We now know the identity of the baby’s mother, and the father, and how you came to find her in Sixpenny Woods.”

Archie and his wife exchanged glances. None of this made any sense at all.

Abigail’s distress was palpable. Her knees were shaking and she sank down onto a chair, tears coursing down her face. Her hold on the baby was vice-like.

“So you are going to take Tiffany away?”

“No,” said Stan gently. “No, I’m not.”

“It’s a trick! You’re going to take her! If you
know
who the parents are, then why am I allowed to keep her? Aiden put you up to this!”

Emily rested a supportive hand on Abigail’s arm.

“I’m sure that’s not the case, my love,” she said gently.

“It is! It is the case! Aiden will never let me foster or adopt a baby! That’s why I ran away!”

Before anyone could answer, another figure stepped into the doorway. Aiden stood framed, his face strained and as pale as the milk in the chipped jug. The room fell silent.

“Abigail, Stan is telling the truth. The reason why nobody will ever take the baby away is because Tiffany is my daughter.”