‘Does the baby not have relatives?’
‘None that the neighbour knew of. All she could tell the hospital staff was that the mother came from Keswick and her name was “Jane”. When I arrived at the hospital for my monthly visit, I was told of the baby and his tragic fate. I went to visit him and, even though he was unwell at the time, I admit to being quite taken with him and his plight.’
‘He looks very well now.’
They both watched as the baby stirred, his tiny rosebud lips forming a pout of disapproval, before emitting a sucking noise. ‘Soon he will wake and need feeding. There in my basket you will find a bottle. Would you warm it? I am instructed babies don’t like it cold.’
‘Is it human milk?’ Flora asked, fascinated, as she found the bottle in the basket and began warming it in a pan of water on the range.
‘All the babies are weaned on watered-down animal milk, though I am told that cow’s milk sometimes gives them colic, in which case they are fed goat’s milk instead.’
‘Yes . . .’ Flora hesitated. ‘Why is the baby here with you? Are you and William thinking of adopting him?’
‘Goodness me, no! However much I mourn that I will never be a mother, I accept that it would be unfair to take in a baby now. Flora, my dear, perhaps you forget that I am fifty-two years of age, old enough to be this little one’s grandmother. What a thought,’ Beatrix chuckled. ‘William and I will almost certainly be dead when he comes of age.’
‘So you are simply minding him for the day?’
‘Yes.’ The baby began to stir in earnest, his tiny arms appearing from beneath the blanket as he stretched himself. ‘On my visits to the hospital,’ Beatrix continued, ‘I see many sick babies and young children, but this little one is a fighter. Despite the traumatic circumstances of his birth, the nurses have told me he has recovered completely. Would you mind if you took him for a while? My arms are aching dreadfully.’
‘I . . . I’ve never held a baby before, I don’t want to drop him or harm him . . .’
‘You won’t. We were both babies once, and despite, I am sure, our inept but well-meaning mothers, we managed to survive. Here. I’ll get the bottle.’ Beatrix lifted the baby into Flora’s arms.
The solidity of him startled Flora; he looked so tiny and yet, as every part of him began to move in different directions and he mewed just like Panther for food, his sheer determination to be alive brought a tear to her eye.
‘I’ve tested the bottle on my hand to make sure it’s not too hot to burn him, or too cold to frighten him off,’ said Beatrix as she handed it to her.
‘What do I do with it?’ Flora asked as the baby, perhaps smelling the milk so near and yet so far, began to wail loudly.
‘Why, put it in his mouth, of course!’
Flora teased the teat between the rosebud lips, which had perversely clamped together. ‘He’s not taking it.’
‘Then drop a little milk onto his lips. Flora, I’ve seen you nurse enough lambs and encourage them to drink. Simply employ the same technique.’
Flora did so, and after a tense few seconds, she finally managed to wedge the bottle into his mouth and he began to suck. Both women breathed a sigh of relief as peace reigned once more in the kitchen.
‘What will become of him?’ Flora asked after a while.
‘Who knows? Now he is well, he can’t stay at the hospital. They have written to me to ask me to enquire for him locally, but if no home can be found for him, he will be sent to an orphanage in Liverpool.’ Beatrix shuddered. ‘I have heard it is the most dreadful place. And then, when he is old enough, he will be found some form of employment in a cotton mill if he’s lucky, or the coal mines if he’s not.’
‘And that is really the best this innocent child can hope for?’ A horrified Flora looked down at the baby’s calm expression of contentment.
‘Sadly, yes. Perhaps the best thing would have been for him to be taken with his mother. There is little hope of a future, as the number of foundlings grows apace every month. Many women are struggling without any means of support for their children since their husbands have not returned from France.’
‘Surely we have seen enough of wasted human life?’
‘Waste breeds waste, dear girl. The entire world is trying to recover from its near destruction. Forgive me for saying so, but tucked up here in front of our well-fed fires, it is very easy to become dislocated from what is happening beyond us. When I journey to London, I see the desperation of the maimed soldiers begging on street corners, the poverty that is this dreadful war’s own epilogue.’
‘He’s finished, he’s falling asleep.’ Flora put the bottle onto the table. ‘Beatrix, why have you brought this baby here?’
‘Because I wanted you to see him.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Mostly yes. Also . . .’
‘What?’
‘Sometimes I worry that you have closed yourself off from the outside world.’
‘Maybe that is what I wish for. Like you, I prefer animals to people.’
‘That is not true, Flora, and you know it. My main source of happiness is another human being. If it were not for my husband, my life would be very empty indeed.’
‘Here.’ Flora handed Beatrix the sleeping baby. ‘He is fed.’
‘For now.’ Beatrix took him back into her own arms, then stood up. ‘Will you hand me my basket?’
Flora did so and watched as Beatrix wrapped the blanket around the baby in preparation to leave. ‘Thank you for bringing him here,’ she said as they walked out of the door and down the front path. ‘What is his name?’ Flora asked as she opened the gate.
‘He is known as “Teddy”, because all the nurses want to cuddle him.’ Beatrix smiled sadly. ‘Goodbye, Flora.’
Later that evening, Flora sat down to write her journal, but found it impossible to concentrate. The baby’s huge eyes and their uninhibited gaze haunted her. In the end, she gave up and paced around her immaculate drawing room. Everything was in its place, exactly where she had put it. No one ever came to disturb the safe calm order she had created for herself.
She made herself a cup of Ovaltine, which Nannie had always advocated before bedtime for Violet and Sonia.
Violet . . . dear Violet, so passionate and still controlled by her overwhelming love for her friend, Vita Sackville-West. She knew that Vita had married a few years ago, but Beatrix had recently brought mutterings of gossip from London about a renewed relationship between the two women. Flora, as always, closed her ears to talk of her past life, but even so, she had gleaned enough to understand that the love between the two childhood friends had blossomed into something deeper.
Flora sighed at the thought that if anyone should be the subject of the newest outrageous liaison in London, it should be Violet, truly her mother’s daughter. She had been schooled for it – and learnt through her upbringing that notoriety was normal.