“Of course.” Not that there was anything to worry about. Abigail Dole wasn’t likely to be contagious, or a danger to me in any other way.
By the time I reached the cluster of people on the lawn, it had swelled to include Uncle Herbert and Crispin as well as Francis and Aunt Roz. The latter two were on their knees on the grass, one on either side of Abigail. She was, for all intents and purposes, pale as death. Her eyes were closed, with dark circles like bruises against her translucent skin, but her chest was moving, so at least she was alive. Her pale arms looked like sticks poking out of the sleeves of the dress.
Uncle Herbert had taken it upon himself to pick up little Bess. When Abigail had crumpled, the baby had tumbled out of her arms onto the grass, and had started wailing.
It hadn’t been a far drop and the landing had been soft, so it was probably shock more than pain, and the shrill cries died into wet hiccoughs as Uncle Herbert cradled the baby in the crook of one arm and rocked back and forth with her, crooning.
“Well, hello there. Aren’t you a pretty girl? Who do you belong to, then?”
Crispin was standing a few feet away staring at them both, eyes wide in his pale face.
“You’ve seen her before,” I asked him briskly as I brushed past with a—quick deliberate—knock of my shoulder to his arm, “haven’t you?”
He slanted his eyes my way before turning back to Uncle Herbert and Bess. “It was a few months ago. She—it—didn’t look like this then.”
No, I could well imagine. A two-month-old looks quite different from a five-or-six-month old. She’d been a bit less distinctly a Sutherland the last time he’d seen her, I imagined.
“Are you sure you don’t know her mother?” I asked, looking over at Abigail. Aunt Roz was patting her hand now, while Francis was peeling back her eyelids to look at her pupils. Crispin examined her, too, for a moment, and then shook his head.
“No, Darling. I realize you have no reason to believe me, given my—” he grimaced, “reputation, but I swear I don’t. I saw her at Sutherland House in March, of course, you know that, but that was the first time I saw her.”
After a moment he added, “I do try to be careful, you know. The last thing I want is to have to marry someone just because I had a bit too much fun one night.”
“Of course.” It would be about his own convenience and no one else’s. Of course it would. “If you’re worried about that happening, you could just keep your flies closed, you know.”
“In this case,” Crispin said coldly, “I did.”
Uncle Herbert was still rocking the baby, shifting from one foot to the other. Her cries had died to sniffles and she had found her thumb and was sucking on it, eyes on his face. One pair of Astley blue eyes contemplated another.
“Are you all right,” I asked, “or would you like me to take over?”
He shot me a quick look. “I imagine I have more experience with this than you do, Pippa, having had three of my own. She’s fine for now, and so am I.”
I nodded. “Her name is Bess. Elizabeth, I guess. Last name Dole. Her mother is Abigail. She came to the flat last week, looking for Christopher.”
At those words, the color drained out of Uncle Herbert’s cheeks, too. “Kit?” he croaked.
“Obviously not,” I said. “I mean, yes. She was looking for Christopher. But he’s not who she’s really looking for. We all know that.”
I looked back down at Abigail. By now, Francis was scooping her up off the ground and into his arms, and Aunt Roz was getting to her feet, too.
“—don’t know what we’ll do,” she was saying. “We don’t have a single available bedroom. Wilkins and Hughes have to put up above the pub in the village as it is. Perhaps one of you boys wouldn’t mind…?”
The three of them started for the terrasse and the door to the house. Aunt Roz was still talking.
“—should have a doctor look at her, I suppose, although it’s probably just exhaustion and the heat. She may not have eaten anything recently. Some rest and food might be all she needs. But?—”
As they moved past us, Aunt Roz took Uncle Herbert by the elbow and tugged. “Come along, dear. She’ll want to see her baby when she wakes up, I expect. If we keep him or her?—”
“Her,” I said quickly as I fell in behind. “Bess.”
Aunt Roz gave me a look, but didn’t inquire, “—her away, I’m sure it won’t be a good idea…”
The procession moved across the flagstones. From out of the corner of my eye I could see Lady Laetitia and her mother, their heads together in a whispered conversation, and Uncle Harold, with his face like stone. Crispin had followed the rest of us up on the terrasse, and was making his slow way back to their table, seemingly deep in thought.
“Crispin, dear?”
When Aunt Roz said his name, he jumped, and his eyes shot to her, startled. “Yes, Aunt?”
