Daniel left his carriage in the lane and walked across the Doddington churchyard just as dusk was falling the next eve. Two men were digging a grave beneath a yew tree near the cemetery wall.
He called out as he approached, “I am looking for a Ben Higgins.”
The younger of the two men looked his way without ceasing his labors.
“You found him. Though folks call me Digger.”
Not very original,Daniel thought grimly. “Might I speak with you?”
Digger straightened. “Well, I am a bit busy, man. What’s on yer mind?”
Daniel didn’t answer, but still the young man laid his shovel aside and climbed from the hole. He walked forward, removing his floppy hat as he came, revealing a mop of chestnut hair in need of cutting.
“You’re that doctor’s boy,” Digger said. “Apprentice, rather.”
“Yes, I was.” Daniel walked back toward the carriage, where the horse was tied to a post. Digger followed.
“Haven’t seen you ’ere since I was a lad.”
“I am relieved you remember me.”
“And why is that?”
Daniel turned toward the wooden box on the carriage floor, and Digger followed his gaze. The young man’s eyes became wary and his mouth pursed.
“Oy, if that’s what I’m thinkin’ it is, you best move along. I’d be losin’ me job if I was caught doin’ any buryin’ not approved by the vicar.”
“I am not asking for myself.” Daniel pulled the sealed note from his pocket and handed it to the young man. He took it reluctantly.
“I am told you can read.”
“And who told you that?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
The young man read and his eyes widened. “Miss Charlotte ... merciful heavens. Miss Charlotte’s own wee one. We did wonder what become of her. The vicar won’t even speak her name.”
“Which is why no one must ever hear of this.”
“I’ll take it to the grave with me... . Oh, sorry. Fault of the trade.”
Daniel reached over with a wad of folded bank notes. But Digger waved it away, then swiped at his eyes with the same hand.
“You tell Miss Charlotte for me. You tell her rest easy. Ben Higgins will take care of her wee one. A boy was it?”
He nodded.
“You tell her Ben Higgins will watch over her little lad. Never fear. You tell Miss Charlotte that for me, will you?”
“Yes, thank you. I certainly shall.”
My dear Aunt,
I know I should not write to you, but I feel I must. You have long been my most trusted confidante. As you have been asked not to correspond with me, I will not expect an answer. But still, I must tell you. Must share this awful weight or I fear I shall go mad.
My child is gone ... lost to me. But it is I who feels lost. The pain, the self-recrimination presses on me until I cannot breathe. I cannot bear it. I must away. I feel the loss too keenly in this dreadful place. The milkweed pods have all broken, the soft white down flown away. Only empty wombs and dry stalks remain.
I feel I must soon depart for the place you offered me. Might I prevail upon you to see me one more time before I go? I so desperately need the comfort and counsel only you can give.
