The Tale of Hawthorn House (36 page)

Miss Keller pressed her lips together, stared defiantly at him, and said nothing. On the other side of the room, Dimity Woodcock gulped, audibly.

Beatrix put her hand on Miss Keller’s arm, leaned close, and spoke in a low voice. “As I told you, Captain Woodcock is a Justice of the Peace. I believe you should answer his question.”

“I am the child’s mother,” Miss Keller said, without expression.

“And who is the father?”

Miss Keller looked down at her hands. “He is dead.”

Beatrix cleared her throat. “Miss Keller—that is the name by which she is known at her place of employment— tells me that she and the man in question were married in secret, at Gretna Green. A few days thereafter, her husband was killed when the motor lorry in which he was a passenger went over a cliff in Wales. He left his widow without funds. This is why she had to retain her post at the school, and why she had to have the baby in secret.”

“I see,” said the captain, and Beatrix knew from his tone that he suspected that the story was not true. She hoped he would not demand to see a marriage license, for that would serve no useful purpose and would only further alienate Miss Keller. He seemed to reach the same conclusion, for after a moment he said shortly, “Well, then, go on.”

“Thank you,” Beatrix said and resumed her story. “Miss Keller, not wishing her situation to become known, wrote to her uncle, a certain Captain Villars in Calcutta, asking to have the use of Hawthorn House, which he owns.”

“Hawthorn House!” interposed the captain. “Of course! You are the lady I learnt about from old Hawker!”

Miss Keller looked at him but said nothing.

“Captain Villars agreed that she should take the place,” Beatrix went on, “and Miss Keller settled herself there. She hired a cook-housekeeper, Mrs. Hawker, and Miss Shaw as her personal maid. She did not go out, except for short walks in the garden. She preferred that no official record of the birth be made and she wished everything to take place in secret, so she avoided consulting with Dr. Butters. As the time of her confinement grew near, she obtained the services of Mrs. Graham, a local midwife.”

“Why, that’s the person we met at Longvale Farm!” Dimity exclaimed. “It was her mother who wove the blue coverlet!”

“Exactly,” Beatrix said. “Mrs. Graham assisted at the birth, which occurred without complications. But she did more. She agreed to take the infant as her own child. Having made this arrangement, Miss Keller returned to her post in London as soon as she was able, leaving the child in the care of Miss Shaw, who remained behind.”

“So you see,” Miss Keller put in defensively, “I committed no crime—except, perhaps, for the minor matter of failing to register the birth. I did not abandon the child. I arranged to have her cared for by a loving family. I even left a valuable ring, which could be sold to provide for her welfare, and promised to send additional funds as necessary.”

“Ah, the cornelian signet ring,” the captain murmured. The initials R.K.—Rowena Keller.

Miss Keller lifted her chin. “Yes. It was all working out just as I planned—until Mr. Graham came home and spoiled everything.”

“Spoiled everything?” Miles asked, but Miss Keller had lapsed back into a sullen silence.

“Mr. Graham apparently felt that three girls were enough,” Beatrix said dryly. “Had the child been a boy, he would have agreed, or so he said. Mrs. Graham was obliged to return the baby to Hawthorn House, but by that time, Miss Keller had already left for London, and Miss Shaw, who had accepted Miss Keller’s offer of a place in London, was preparing to follow.”

“So if Miss Keller had already gone, it was Miss Shaw who abandoned the baby at Hill Top Farm,” the captain said, pursing his lips.

“No,” Beatrix replied. She had debated how best to tell this part of the story and decided on a recital of the bare facts. “The baby was taken from Miss Shaw by an elderly person who appeared at Hawthorn House, abducted the child from its cradle, and subsequently left it at Hill Top.”

“I knew nothing of this, of course,” Miss Keller said energetically. “When Miss Shaw arrived in London, she gave me to understand that everything had gone as planned, and that the child was safe with the Grahams.”

Emily bit her lip. “I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“Is it true?” the captain demanded. “The baby was taken from you?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said Emily, raising her eyes. “She was. I swear it, on my honor. T’ lady—t’ person moved so fast that I couldn’t have stopped her, no matter how hard I tried!”

“Well, then, who was this person?”

“I doan’t know, sir. An old woman is all I kin say, sir. I’d nivver seen her before. She—” Emily swallowed. “She was strange.”

“And you really expect us to believe in this ‘strange old woman’?” the captain asked, clearly disbelieving. “Wasn’t it
you
who abandoned the baby at Hill Top Farm, so that you could go off to London in pursuit of your own pleasure?”

“Oh, no, sir!” Emily exclaimed, shaking her head violently. “It was t’ old woman as did it, sir! Wrapt up in all manner of odd shawls and scarves, she was. And she moved very fast.” She appealed to Beatrix. “Isn’t that right, Miss Potter?”

“If the captain will recall,” Beatrix said carefully, “I reported that I myself saw such an elderly person disappearing over my garden wall, immediately after I discovered the baby. Miss Shaw’s description tallies with my own observation. But as to the woman’s identity—” She gave a little shrug. “I couldn’t say. Perhaps she was one of the gypsies.”

She and Emily had discussed another possible explanation, one that involved the legendary Folk. Beatrix might be a grownup, but she had never quite given up her childhood belief in fairies, for in her personal opinion, there were some things in the world that simply did not admit of any other explanation. Still, she knew without asking that the captain was not of the same mind (or rather, his heart was not going round to the same tune, as one of her favorite writers had once put it). So there was no point in suggesting that Flora had been taken by one of the Folk.

“There may be other explanations,” she went on, “but that seems to be the most logical. As to why a gypsy woman should take Flora from Hawthorn House and leave her at Hill Top, I’m afraid I have no explanation.”

“I see,” the captain said, although Beatrix understood from his tone that he did not see at all. He frowned at Emily. “And it was you who took the ring to be pawned in Hawkshead, Miss Shaw?”

Emily nodded, at the same time that Miss Keller spoke. “You know about that?” she asked in surprise, and then lapsed back into silence, apparently regretting the question.

“Miss Keller has told me that there were periods when funds were in short supply,” Beatrix said. “She applied to her Uncle Villars for help, but it took some time for the money to arrive from India. In the meantime, she sent Emily with the ring to be pawned.”

“That seems to answer every question but one,” the captain said, with the air of a man who has almost cleared up a very substantial mess. “What’s to be done with the child?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Miss Keller crossly. “I no longer consider myself responsible. I made every necessary arrangement. I cannot see that I have any obligation—”

Dimity stood, cutting her off. “Major Kittredge and I would like to adopt Flora,” she announced in a tone that brooked no dispute. “We are to be married soon, and both of us are anxious to give her a proper home.” She looked at Miss Keller with a mixture of defiance and dislike. “She will be loved and cared for as our own.”

“Oh, Miss Woodcock!” Emily cried. “Oh, miss, that’s wonderful, truly it is! How fortunate for little Flora!”

Miss Keller gave a cough, which Beatrix thought signaled relief for herself rather than gratitude for Dimity’s offer. “Well, then, that settles it, doesn’t it?” she said crisply, with a gesture that might have been a washing of hands.

“Not so fast,” the captain said, speaking in what Beatrix thought of as his Official Tone. “There are several things that must be done, Miss Keller. First, you shall see that your child’s birth is properly registered. And then you shall sign an affidavit, before witnesses, stating that the infant’s father is deceased, relinquishing your maternal rights, and giving your permission to the proposed adoption. Is that agreed?”

Beatrix caught the look of surprised gratitude that Dimity cast on her brother and thought she understood what was behind it. Apparently the captain had reconsidered his opposition to the marriage—at least, his public opposition. Privately, he might try his best to work against the idea, but he was not going to voice any open opposition.

“I suppose,” said Miss Keller, in a hard tone. She cast a look at Flora, still fast in Emily’s embrace, and put on a softer smile. “It’s not that I don’t want to be a mother,” she said, “or that I don’t feel my obligation fully. It’s just that I cannot, in my present circumstance, care for a child. I’m sure you understand.”

Beatrix thought that no matter how daunting the circumstance, she could never have given up her own child. And she did not trust Miss Keller’s smile, for it seemed contrived and false. However, that was neither here nor there. Once the birth was registered and the affidavit signed and witnessed, Miss Keller would have nothing more to do with Flora. She would belong to Dimity and the major, who would do their best to be good parents.

Miss Keller stood. “If that is all, then,” she said, “I will be off. I’ve taken a room at the inn for the night.” She pulled down her mouth. “I had expected to return to London tomorrow, so I should like to get this official business over and done with as early as possible.”

“I shall see what I can do,” Captain Woodcock said.

Reluctantly, Emily handed back the baby to Dimity. “I’m so glad to know Flora’ll have a good mum and dad, miss,” she said, in a subdued voice. “I cared for her best as I could, y’ know. Wisht I’d done better.”

“I’m sure you did very well,” Dimity said. She hesitated, and Beatrix read what was in her friend’s mind, and very much approved. She smiled as Dimity added, “If you are not set on returning to London, Miss Shaw, I might be able to offer you the post of nursemaid—here at Tower Bank House at first, and later at Raven Hall. On a trial basis, of course,” she added. “To see whether it suits.”

“Nursemaid?” Emily exclaimed incredulously. She clasped her hands, her face wreathed in smiles. “Oh, miss, I should love to stay with Flora, and you, too.” Then the smiles vanished. “But Miss Potter said I could work for her, in Lon’on. I was thinkin’ I wouldn’t come back here. I’m afraid people may b’lieve that I—”

“As long as Flora is safe and cared for,” Beatrix interrupted, “it shouldn’t matter what they believe. Anyway,” she added reassuringly, “Miss Woodcock and I can set them straight. As to Bolton Gardens—that might be arranged later, if you still wish it.”

“Well,” said the captain, “everything seems to be settled.”

Dimity’s glance at her brother brimmed with happiness. “If you’d like to begin our arrangement tonight,” she said to Emily, “we can put a cot in Flora’s room for you.”

At Emily’s delighted “Oh, yes, please, miss!” Miss Keller stood, with a loud harrumph that said more plainly than words what an appalling mistake Emily was making. “I shall be off,” she said haughtily. “Captain Woodcock, I shall expect you tomorrow.”

When Miss Keller had gone, Dimity took Emily and Flora upstairs, leaving Beatrix with the captain, who offered sherry. When Beatrix declined, he poured a glass for himself, shaking his head.

“Miss Potter, I am constantly amazed by your powers. How in the world were you able, in all of London, to locate Emily Shaw and Miss Keller?”

Beatrix smiled and related the circumstances. “There, you see, Captain Woodcock? It was sheer happenstance.” It was probably wise of her not to mention her suspicion that the Folk had intervened in the business, for the captain would never admit the possibility. (You and I, however, know that it was when Beatrix walked under the hawthorn trees at St. Mary’s that she found herself turning to cross the churchyard, which brought her out at a point where she could not fail to see Emily. If we like, we can speculate that these ancient hawthorn trees—at least as old as the thorns at Hawthorn House—were home to some of the London-based Thorn Folk, for hawthorns are hawthorns, wherever they may grow.)

The captain nodded. “And why do you suppose Miss Keller wanted Emily Shaw in London? I should have thought the girl might be a threat, given what she knew about the baby.”

“I wondered that myself,” Beatrix said. “I think, however, that Miss Keller believed it was safer to have Emily where she could manage her with threats—and perhaps rewards—of her own. At a distance, Emily would be beyond Miss Keller’s control.”

“I see. Well, be that as it may, we are in your debt once again.” The captain seemed to hesitate. “I wonder—I thought perhaps . . .” He slid her a sidelong glance. “Would you be interested in motoring to Ambleside with me on Sunday afternoon, Miss Potter? We could have a bit of a look round and afterward stop to eat at a little teashop I know there. It’s quaint and very pleasant, and the drive is enjoyable.”

Beatrix thought swiftly. She liked Captain Woodcock, who struck her as an interesting and thoughtful person, and someone she might like to know better. But she had spent several days of her precious time in London, and there were a great many things she wanted to do before she had to go away again.

“Thank you very much,” she said regretfully, “but I’m afraid I shall have to say no. I’m truly sorry. But I have so little time to spend at the farm. I feel as if I am snatching at every minute as it races past.”

“That’s all right, then,” the captain said in a reassuring tone. “I’ll ask again.”

Beatrix nodded. It did not occur to her to wonder why he was asking.

“But you
are
planning to be with us for dinner tomorrow night,” he went on.