When Dr. Taylor had complied, Mr. Harris said in a low, conspiratorial voice, “Is there any reason—should Miss Lamb agree, of course—if I left here tonight with this child, that anyone would know he is not my own? The one I arrived bearing?”
Daniel Taylor’s face looked ashen and angry behind his grim mask. “For that to work, Miss Lamb would need to falsely claim your, pardon me, deceased son, as her own. And I should also have to lie to verify that somehow a perfectly healthy infant in my care has died during the night. The death certificate would need to be forged and the birth certificate falsified. And then there is the problem of the accoucheur and the monthly nurse who witnessed your son’s struggle. But beyond these minor inconveniences”—his tone was acid—“I see no reason whatever.”
Mr. Harris ignored his sarcasm. “The accoucheur will be so relieved his patient has a living child—that his own reputation will not suffer—he will raise no alarm. And I am quite certain he completed neither birth nor death certificate. Remember, my poor child was still alive, though just barely, when we left the house.”
“And why would I lie for you and risk my own reputation and career?”
“You would not for me,” Mr. Harris said, “but you would for Charlotte. You’d do anything you could to help her.”
Dr. Taylor paused but did not deny the man’s words. “If it was what she truly wanted.” He looked at her, and the panic and nausea that rose in her while they discussed details of an act that would surely kill her now made her whole body tremble.
“How can I? How can I part with him?”
Mr. Harris searched her face earnestly. “I shall appeal to you only once more, Charlotte, and then torment you no further. But think on this. You do not know how you would provide for Edmund, though I’ve no doubt you would try admirably. With Katherine’s wealth and, God willing, a return to prosperity for Fawnwell, Edmund will have the best of everything—the best doctors, the best tutors, the best schools. When Katherine and I die he will be our heir. He will know no want and want for nothing.”
“And he will never know me.”
“A terrible loss to be sure, but he will not know what he is missing.”
“But I shall know what I am missing.”
“Yes, dear Charlotte. You will know.”
They stayed as they were for several moments, none of them speaking. Charlotte thought not so much on Mr. Harris’s promises of abundance for her child but rather on the alternatives. What flashed before her mind were not idyllic images of Edmund romping about the croquet lawn in a fine suit of clothes, but rather the things she had seen at this place. She saw the perfect brown-haired boy she had fed die for no apparent reason. She saw the desperate young woman who put her infant on the turn beg for a wet-nursing post hoping to be reunited with her baby—only to find her heel-marked daughter dead by morning. She thought of women like Becky’s mother, who couldn’t afford to feed her children, of Becky herself, who would likely have to give up her baby and go back to work or starve.
But surely she had more options. Wouldn’t Aunt Tilney help her? She’d already offered her a place to live, and she could nurse Edmund herself for at least a year, if her milk held out. But what then? How would she buy him food, let alone all the other things he’d need? Would her uncle allow her aunt to help further against her father’s directives? Not likely. What sort of post could she get with an infant to nurse every few hours? The words she had so naïvely spoken to Mae echoed back at her,“I would never give my child to someone else to feed...”And here she was, considering doing just that.I must be insane.She shuddered.
Dr. Taylor cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Miss Lamb, there might be something I can do. I haven’t a large income, but I am sure I could find a way to help you out of this predicament.”
Dr. Taylor clearly had no idea how inappropriate his offer was, but she knew he offered with the best intentions.
“I thank you anyway, Dr. Taylor, but you have a wife and your own child to think of.”
Charlotte looked down at Edmund’s small face, which had instantly become so precious to her. Sobs overtook her again. “Must I decide right now? I cannot. I cannot.”
She held her tiny son close and glared up at the men. “Can you both please excuse me? I need a few moments alone. I cannot think with the two of you staring at me.”
Charles looked at his pocket watch. “But—”
“Of course,” Daniel overrode him, leading the other man from the room. “We shall return directly.”
When the door closed behind them, Charlotte got up, one hand on Edmund to keep him safe, and fell to her knees beside the bed. Tears dripped from her face onto the blanket she’d embroidered as she looked down at her bundled son.I cannot do it, Lord, I cannot. When I prayed for you to provide a way for him, this is not what I meant! This is too hard. Too cruel. Is it truly the right course? Your way out of this muddle? If so, you will have to help me. I cannot do this alone....
Her prayers turned to thoughts of her son, and she whispered through her tears, “Oh, my little one, you will never remember me. But I will always remember you. Always love you. Never think I did not love you ... or want you. Oh, God, it is too hard... .”
Charlotte Lamb laid her head down on the bed beside her son and cried, knowing she must somehow do an impossible thing.
The milkweed pods are breaking,
And the bits of silken down
Float off upon the autumn breeze
Across the meadows brown.
—CECILCAVENDISH,THEMILKWEED
CHAPTER15
