Percy had done as she requested and then stepped back, trying to think of something to say. He hadn’t been expecting to see her. This woman, the sister-in-law, reminded him so much of her brother, Thomas Turner; they shared the same manner, effortlessly charming, a confidence born of privilege. Percy felt awkward by comparison. The sister-in-law’s expression had turned quizzical as Percy continued to stand there, before she smiled suddenly and said, “Oh, forgive me!” and she’d gone as quickly as a heavily pregnant woman could to retrieve her purse. She reached inside and plucked out a couple of coins, holding them out to him. “For your trouble,” she said. “Coming all this way on a day as hot as this one.”
Even now, Percy felt his face heat embarrassedly at the memory. He’d waved away the coins. “It’s no trouble at all,” he’d said quickly. “No trouble. I’ll leave you to it, then, if you’ll be all right with these?”
“We’ll be fine. Thank you again.”
She accompanied him to the door, and he had just stepped out into the golden dazzle of morning light when he spotted a figure walking down the sloping drive from the upper shed.
“Oh, there’s Issy now!” Mrs. Turner-Bridges lifted a hand to wave.
She’d been in the vegetable garden, Percy realized as she joined them; there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and a dainty teacup dangled lazily from her fingers. “You’re early, Mr. Summers,” she said with a smile. “Have you two met?”
“We have,” replied Mrs. Turner-Bridges. “Mr. Summers was good enough to carry the groceries inside.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here—I became distracted.” She motioned knowingly toward Mrs. Turner-Bridges’s pregnancy. “I’m going to have to stop doing that. It won’t be much longer now.”
“I certainly hope not,” Mrs. Turner-Bridges responded. “I know Isound impatient, but the sooner she’s in my arms, the better. I’m doing my best to move things along.” She glanced at Percy a little coyly, as if in acknowledgment of having broached the female mysteries of birth. “A brisk walk every morning with the dawn. It’s an old habit.”
“Nora is the only person I know who can reliably be counted on to wake before I do, and the greatest creature of habit. Rain, hail, or shine, she always takes a turn about the rose garden before the day begins.”
“It’s restorative,” said Mrs. Turner-Bridges. “Better than any vitamin you care to name. God willing it will soon bring forth this child!”
She had got her wish on Christmas Eve, and when Percy saw her at the community meeting on December 28, she was carrying her babe in her arms. As Sergeant Duke ran through the evidence for the assembled group of townspeople, Percy kept one eye on Mrs. Turner-Bridges. She was grief-stricken, that much was clear, and exhausted, and preoccupied with her baby. He watched the way she cradled her child, tucked within a fabric wrap against her front, leaning her cheek to rest it lightly against the little one’s head.
That gesture, the instinctive devotion it conveyed, convinced him. His plan might not be perfect, but he was out of time. He had to separate Meg from the baby, and sooner rather than later.
Percy braced himself for a difficult conversation, but Meg surprised him.
“Yes,” she agreed. “The baby needs to go; she should be with family.”
Meg said she’d come to know Mrs. Turner-Bridges—or Nora, as she called her now—in the days since Christmas, when she’d been going up to the house to help. “I’ve observed her to be a kind and capable woman. The dear little child will be in good hands.”
Relieved and glad, Percy told her his idea. After considering itcarefully, she gave a serious nod. “Yes,” she said. “I think that should work well.”
The weather was forecast to be fine on Thursday, December 31. Percy decided to go just before dawn. It would be dark enough that he could remain concealed, but close enough to daylight that the child wouldn’t be alone outside for long. It sickened him, the riskiness of what he was doing, but no matter how many times he thought it over, no matter how many ways he tried to get the pieces of the puzzle to fit together, it was the best he could come up with.
He carried her against his chest in the delivery sling, riding carefully and slowly up the back way toward the house. Despite the burst of sunny weather since Boxing Day afternoon, there was still a lot of water around and the ground was marshy. The last thing he needed was to get stuck up here.
He made his way up the last paddock, through the gate, and into the grove that led to the southern side of the rose garden. When he was close enough, he dismounted and slipped the reins over the post, looping them tight. The lulling motion of the ride had sent the child to sleep. Percy found himself staring at her in the light of the full moon. She was a beautiful baby—Meg was right in that. The moonlight on her face reminded him of when his boys were new. People said it all the time; it was a cliché because it was true: you forgot how small they were.
Percy crept across the garden. It was divided into a quadrangle—four floral plots with grass paths making the cross, and a large stone urn in the center. He was going to leave the baby in the farthest quadrant, near the walnut tree: that way, when the back door opened, the corner of the garden would be visible. All he had to do was wait until the light lifted just a little more, and then stay until the child was found.
He placed the baby down carefully, smoothing the ground first. Percy had made sure to wrap her well for the ride but loosened the blanket now, so she didn’t look too neat; he pulled the edge to cover the dirt beneath her head. The night, thank goodness, was not cold. He hesitated for a moment, gazing at the little face, the eyes wide open again, blinking at him; her mouth twisted at the corners, almost a smile. Percy grazed the top of his knuckle gently against the plum of her cheek. “Be well, little one. Won’t be long and you’ll be back home.”
He returned to the spot where he’d left Blaze and crouched behind the hedge. The first hint of light was breaking pink beyond the gum trees on the ridge, but the rest of the sky remained dark.
There was a noise behind him. Percy froze, listening. He quietened his horse.
He must have imagined it. No one else would be out now.
But there it was again.
He had to check. If anyone saw what he had done, if anyone could place him with the missing child, it would lead police to his family, to Meg or Kurt.
With a last glance over his shoulder at the white blanket on the ground, Percy skirted around the bush, careful not to slip. He shone his torch into the dark glen; he was sure he saw something moving.
“Hey,” he called out guardedly, a chill passing through his body as he did.
No one responded. Percy stood motionless and listened.
