Replacement Baby

Replacement Baby

Book One of The London Rose Mysteries

by

Mary Ann Smart

Copyright

Copyright © 2015 by Mary Ann Smart

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Prologue

London, England

1977

There, there, now,
Rose,” spoke the soft voice.

A woman dressed in a plain grey dress sat on a shady bench in a large London park. A simple baby carriage rested beside her. Every so often, she looked up from her book to peer into the pram and softly coo and comfort the infant inside.

This woman was a widow, her husband having passed away nearly one year before while flying an airplane during a practice for the Royal Air Force. She leaned back on the wooden bench and sighed, the cool Autumn air brushing her face. She bent over once more to glance at her sleeping baby, who had pale cheeks and fine blond hair, and was wearing a cheerful yellow dress and bonnet.

She removed a white handkerchief from her pocket. The handkerchief initials
HJ
were embroidered in one corner.
HJ
, Harry Jennings. Her husband. He had carried this piece of lace edged cloth in his pocket on their wedding day two years before. She clutched the wadded handkerchief in her left hand and stroked her silver wedding band, still clinging to her finger. She sighed and opened her hand to gaze on the handkerchief again.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew down on her and overtook the handkerchief, causing the square of cloth to leave her hand and dance down the sidewalk. The tall, slender woman jumped to her feet and chased after it, down the hill, and over to a small pond where it finally got caught in the brambles of a holly bush.

The woman snatched the handkerchief up and began the walk up the hill, back to her sleeping baby. She approached the baby carriage and peered down to see that sweet, sleeping face. Instead, she gazed upon the white lining and the knitted yellow blanket. The baby carriage was empty.

Chapter One

Brooklyn, New York

1995

Lisa shook the
wrinkles out of her full black skirt and retied the hot pink sash that cinched her waist. She gazed at herself in the mirror for five minutes, adjusting her glimmering cubic zirconia necklace and combing her light brown curls.
I finally look like a grown woman
.
It’s about time,
she thought to herself, feeling pleased. Smiling into the mirror, and admired matching cubic zirconia earrings with her hot pink painted nails, which matched her dress. She flicked one of her earrings with her fingernail.

“Lisa, I’m running over to the grocery store,” her mother called from downstairs. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Okay, Mother!” Lisa shouted downstairs absentmindedly, tugging at her neckline. She twisted a tube of pink lipstick and smoothed it over her lips. “Perfect,” she said to herself. She powdered her nose to cover up some of the brown freckles, which dotted it. With her new look, she was certain that she would have the attention of all the guys at the night club. At least, that was what she was hoping for. Tonight it mattered that she had the appearance of a grown woman, because in the evening was her eighteenth birthday party.

Her mother had purchased her this new dress at Macy’s, just for the occasion. It hugged her figure and featured a deep neckline. The dress fit her in ways which were unlike any other dress she had ever owned.
I’m shocked that Mother is letting me wear this
,
but I won’t complain,
she thought. Then she glanced down at the shoes on her feet.

“Hideous,” she mumbled aloud. The shoes, thick and clunky Mary Jane’s, complete with a strap across the top of each foot, stared up at Lisa, glaringly ugly. These were the shoes that were part of her school uniform.

Crinkling her nose, Lisa hopped onto her bed and lay down on her stomach. She picked up the telephone and dialed. The phone rang three times before she heard the voice of her friend, Kim, answering.

“Hello?” Kim chirped.

“Hi, Kim!” Lisa replied with an upbeat tone. “I’m calling to see what you are wearing tonight.”

“Probably my new green dress,” she answered absently. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Lisa responded. “Just curious. Oh, and I wanted to ask you, what size shoe do you wear? I couldn’t remember.”

“An eight, why?” Kim asked.

“Darn,” said Lisa. “I’m wondering if I could borrow a pair, but I wear sevens. Oh well. Hey, have you heard from any colleges yet?”

Lisa glanced at the long, white envelope sitting on her dresser.

“Nothing yet,” Kim told her. “But I don’t really care. I’m just applying to make my parents happy, anyway.”

“Well, you sure are lucky that your parents want you to go,” Lisa told her friend. “My mom keeps telling me I’m too young to go off to college.”

“Well, I guess some parents are just more overprotective than others,” came Kim’s unsympathetic reply.

“I know, I know,” Lisa said with annoyance. “But I’ve graduated from high school and I’m eighteen. So what’s the big deal?”

“Well, your mom just cares about you,” Kim said, annoying Lisa further. “Parents are just like that sometimes.”

Kim loved to give wise advice, but it got on Lisa’s nerves.

“I guess,” Lisa said to satisfy Kim.

“Did you tell your mom about your acceptance letter yet?” Kim asked.

“No, not yet,” Lisa said, glancing back toward the letter on her dresser. “I want to tell her soon, but I’m worried. My mom just freaks out sometimes.”

“Oh come on, Lisa,” Kim said with an emphatic tone. “She’s just your mom. All moms freak out. You need to be honest with her about it.”

“Yeah, I guess I need to just go for it,” Lisa replied. “Well, you need to make sure to call me as soon as you hear back from your first college. See you tonight.”

“Okay, see you!” Kim chirped. “Seven o’ clock, right?”

“Yep, seven!”

“Oh, Lisa? I forgot to tell you,” Kim added. “You got something in the mail from that nice lady who cleaned your house years ago. Probably the birthday card she mails to my house every year. I’ll bring it tonight.”

“Okay, thanks! Bye, Kim!”

“’Kay, bye.”

Lisa hung up the phone.

Lisa’s thoughts drifted to Mrs. Harrison. Mrs. Harrison had been their housekeeper several days a week, and often stayed with Lisa when she was a little girl and her mother would travel for work. Lisa loved the time that she spent with the older woman. Three years ago, Mother fired Mrs. Harrison after she caught her taking Lisa to church. Mother thought that church was for the foolish and weak-minded, and she often said so. But even after Mrs. Harrison was dismissed and moved away, she always mailed Lisa a birthday card with $25.00 inside. She sent it to Kim’s house so Mother would not find out and get upset.

Staring at her ugly shoes again, Lisa turned her attention back to ways to solve her predicament.
I’ve got more than enough birthday money saved up to buy shoes, but Mother will make a fuss if I try to go anywhere.
She stood up and stared in the mirror.

Lisa’s stomach began to grumble and she realized she had not eaten lunch and it was almost four o’ clock. Not wanting to mess up her make-up or get spill anything on her new dress, she opted for a chocolate bar she had purchased on her way home from school the week before. Mother didn’t like her to eat candy, so Lisa always shoved chocolate bars in the back of the cabinet that held the plates and glasses. Candy, foods high in sodium, and fatty foods were banned in the house. Mother was a bit of a health nut.

Stuffing the candy wrapper in a brown paper bag, she pushed it down it into the trash can.
Have to hide the evidence,
Lisa thought with a mischievous smile. She leaned on the kitchen counter to eat. The surface seemed to sparkle in the afternoon sunlight, but this was probably because Mother scrubbed it with bleach every other day. She decided to head back upstairs after a minute or two to finish her treat. Walking down the hallway upstairs while eating her candy bar, Lisa noticed that her mother’s door was opened about an inch. This was unusual because Mother always kept her door locked. Lisa could not remember ever going in there by herself. She had seen inside from the doorway a few times when Mother in the room, and that was all.

I wonder if Mother’s black high heels would fit me,
she wondered, suddenly having the idea. Again, she stared down with disgust at the black, boxy Mary Jane’s.

Pausing at the door, Lisa began to think, nervousness creeping into her mind.
Should I do it? Should I go in? Maybe Mother won’t even notice if her black high heels are missing for the evening.
I’ll put them right back when I’m done.
But what if she recognizes them on my feet? My skirt is long, so maybe she won’t see.
Taking a deep breath, she paused.
I should just do it.

Seizing the opportunity, Lisa grasped the doorknob. Pushing the door open, Lisa rushed into her mother’s bedroom, eager to grab the shoes before she got back home from the grocery store. She dashed across the worn, but polished, wood floors of their narrow Brooklyn townhouse. The simple furniture was dust free, just like everything else in the house. She opened the closet door and began rifling through the shoes, which all sat in a neat and tidy row on the floor. Mother was a clean freak.

Leaning on her hand, Lisa reached toward the back of the closet. Suddenly, the floorboard that her hand was leaning on gave way and her palm began falling. The floorboard lifted up, revealing a small metal box underneath the floor. Curious, Lisa reached in to take it out.
How weird. Why is a box hidden under the floor?

She sat down on the floor and opened the lid. Inside rested a small stack of old, yellowed newspaper clippings and a lemon colored lacy baby’s gown and bonnet resting on top. Lisa set aside the baby clothes and lifted the first newspaper clipping to her face.

LONDON INFANT MISSING,
the headline read. The short article went on to describe the baby girl’s appearance and dress, as well as the state of the distraught mother, who discovered her infant child missing from her pram while they visited Green Park.
Who is this missing baby? Why did someone bother to save these and hide them so well?
Lisa asked herself.

The second newspaper clipping had more of the same information, though it seemed to have been published later. Once again, she read the description of the baby’s clothing. Suddenly, she straightened up and her eyes grew wide. The outfit described appeared to be just like the little yellow baby dress and hat in the box. Bright yellow. Lace. Bonnet. Could it be the same outfit? Had kidnappers lived in this house before her mother purchased it years before?
How crazy!
Lisa thought, a thrill of excitement filling her.
Maybe there were real kidnappers living in this house!

Even more curious now than before, Lisa shuffled through the papers, searching for a date. Then, at last, she spotted a date, in the right hand corner of a clipping. November 18
th
, 1977. Lisa thought for a moment. “This is weird,” she whispered to herself. “My mom has lived in this house since 1970. She’s told me that before.”

She lifted another article, dated November 3
rd
of that same year. This one had a small, square photograph of a baby with thin, pale hair, light eyes, and small, rounded cheeks. The information in the article contained more of the same. Infant Rose Garnet Jennings disappeared from her baby carriage while in a London park. Her mother was sick with worry. Anyone with information regarding the disappearance of the infant should contact Scotland Yard. There was a $5,000 reward.

An article near the bottom of the box featured a black and white photograph of a tall, slender woman with soft curls and light eyes. She held a small white bundle. She wore a slight smile on her face and a smart looking dress. According to the short article, this woman was Loretta Grigsby Jennings, the mother of the missing child. Her husband had been a military pilot, died in a training accident not long before.

Lisa rifled through a few more newspaper articles, skimming each one. The most recent one was from January of 1978. At the bottom of the box was a yellowed photograph with a white frame around it. The picture was of a baby with enormous cheeks and thick, crow black straight hair. The baby had dark, staring eyes.

Lisa examined the photograph. This was clearly not the baby in all of the newspaper clippings. Who was
this
baby? What was the reason for this photograph of a different baby being in the same box with the newspaper clippings about the kidnapping? She flipped the picture over to find a scrawling, yet familiar-looking, handwritten note.
Lisa Elise Porter, born June 15
th
, 1977.

“This is my name and my birthdate,” Lisa mumbled in a shocked tone. She flipped the photo over in her hand and examined it again.

This is me?
Lisa thought with curiosity.
This is my name and my birthday. But what about the baby’s dark hair and dark eyes? This baby looks nothing like me. It makes no sense.
She began thinking of photographs she had seen of herself as a baby and toddler. Now that she thought of it, the only one she could think of was a photo taken when she was probably one year old. In it, she wore a white dress and sat propped up on a stool, a hand behind her back. Her curls had been pale and her eyes light. The photo sat in a pewter frame on the fireplace mantel downstairs. In the picture, she looked nothing like the baby in the small photograph she held in her palm.

Downstairs, a door slammed.
Mother is home!
Lisa thought frantically. In a frenzy, she scooped up the newspaper clippings and stuffed them inside the box, along with the photograph with her name scribbled on it. She pressed the baby outfit in as well on the top of the messy pile. Her hands shaking, she shoved the box down under the floorboard and slammed it shut. Completely forgetting about the high heels, she closed her mother’s closet door and dashed out of her bedroom. She ran, panting, out of the room and turned a corner in the hall, almost ploughing into her mother.

“Why is your face all red, Lisa?” Her dark haired mother asked, her voice stern. She stared at Lisa with a scowl. “And why are you breathing so heavy? Did you go out while I was gone?”

“I… I… uh… yes, I did,” Lisa stammered. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I was going out. I just went for a walk.” Her gaze dropped to the floor so as not to give away her lie.

Her mother grabbed her wrist and twisted it, pulling Lisa close to her. She held her for a few moments, and then stuck her face just inches from Lisa’s. “You’d better start listening to my rules, or that party of yours will be canceled. It was against my better judgment to even have a party for you, but because of your high marks in school this year and because of your graduation and 18
th
birthday, I thought I would be
generous
.”

“Yes… yes, Mother, I’m sorry! Ouch! Please let go!” Lisa begged as her wrist began to throb.

“No going out without
permission
, Lisa,” Mother growled.

Lisa nodded, agreeing. Her mother released her and Lisa turned to rush away down the hallway and into the small bathroom. She shut the door behind her and sat down on the cold black and white tiles, hugging her legs. She began crying, something she rarely did. Her heart was still pounding.

Why is my heart beating so fast?
She asked herself. Her head began spinning. Her wrist appeared red and aching. She reached up to the sink faucet with her other hand and turned on the water. The cool liquid flowed down into her palm. She patted her face with her wet hand. She grabbed a towel to dab her face, wanting to erase any evidence of tears.

“Tears are a sign of weakness,” Mother always said. “Only babies cry. Crying lets others know that you lack strength.” By the age of five-years-old, Lisa rarely cried. Her mother’s words always came to her when she felt the urge to weep. “No crying,” Lisa would tell herself, over and over again as a little girl. “No crying. Crying is for babies.”