Twelfth Night (6 page)

Chapter Nine

A
gallant
child
...
makes
old
hearts
fresh
.

—
The Winter’s Tale
, I, I, 40

I was alone with the child in the nursery for the better part of the day. Once he woke, which happened the moment Brisbane and Morag left me alone, he seemed entirely disinclined to sleep again. After an hour of walking him to and fro across the nursery floor, we were both entirely bored of the place, so I put him carefully into a basket and carried him down to our room in the Jubilee Tower.

“This is better,” I assured him. He gave me a look of owlish consideration, as if he had not quite made up his mind about me. I hastened to reassure him.

“We’re kin, after a fashion. Your mother is my second cousin—wait, that isn’t right,” I stopped, trying to calculate the exact relationship to Lucy. “Is it first cousin twice removed? I cannot remember. In any event, we are a large family, and we take care of our own. Your father is a horror, but we won’t talk about him now. That’s nothing to trouble yourself with. All you need worry about is growing up big and strong and wise as your elder brother,” I told him. “Now, how would you like to meet a raven?”

I introduced him to Grim and then to Snug, and let the little dormouse sniff the tiny fingers that stretched and grasped at the edge of the blanket. Even Rook, Brisbane’s tall lurcher, lifted his head from the hearthrug to give the child a sniff. I told him all the animals’ names and in return—

“Heavens, I forgot to ask Lucy what she means to call you!” I told him. “I wonder if she’s chosen a name. Perhaps she’ll call you Hector after my father, although between the two of us, I dearly hope not for your sake. Or perhaps Francis after Uncle Fly. He’s a dear fellow. You were born in his cottage, did you know that?”

I had been so intent upon talking to the baby that I had not heard the door open, but Morag’s disapproving voice was swift. “What sort of daft creature talks to a baby like that?”

She snatched the baby up and peered into the blankets. “Was Lady Julia being silly with my wee little man?” she crooned. She gave me a knowing look. “You must speak sweetly to babies. Not as if they were the postman.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” I countered irritably. “He seemed to like it perfectly well.”

“He is too well-mannered to do otherwise,” she said, holding him close to her bosom.

I saw the warmth of affection kindled in her eyes, and I felt a rush of something like pity for her.

“Morag, we know where he came from.”

Her dark eyes flared open in surprise. “One of the village girls in trouble, no doubt?”

“Not at all. As it happens, he is my cousin Lucy’s child.”

Morag knew immediately what I had not said. “He’s the master’s wee brother,” she breathed. “He’s the son of that villain, Black Jack Brisbane.”

“He is. Lucy has been fleeing him for months. He doesn’t even know about the baby,” I told her.

“And he shan’t,” she said fiercely, clutching him even more tightly. “I’ll defend him with my last breath. I have a knife in my stocking, you know.”

The image of Morag doing battle to the death with a hardened criminal boggled the mind. But then, she had seen things the likes of which I could not imagine. And I suspected Black Jack might find her a most rigorous opponent if he ever encountered her.

“I doubt it will come to that,” I told her gently. “But your keenness to protect young Master Brisbane there is noted. The point is, he’s family, not some village cast-off. When we can persuade Lucy to let us settle her here or somewhere in London, when she’s recovered from the birth, we’ll give him back, and she will be very happy to have him.”

“He’s a fine bairn,” she said suddenly. “Any woman would be lucky to have him.”

I smiled. “Yes, Lucy is lucky. He’s handsome and healthy in spite of all her troubles. He’s just had a bit of a calamitous start in life. We must help Lucy to make him a better one. For both their sakes.”

Before Morag could reply, the door was thrown back, and Brisbane stood in the doorway, brandishing a note.

“Brisbane?”

He crossed the room and handed me the note before going directly to the table where a decanter of whisky stood. He poured a hefty measure and tossed it down, sudden colour rising in his pale cheeks. He poured another and handed it to me.

“What is this for?”

“You’ll want it after you’ve read that.”

Morag stood quietly, crooning to the baby under her breath. Rook went to stand beside Brisbane, who dropped an absent hand to his rough head. In his cage, Grim cocked his head, and even Snug seemed poised and expectant.

I glanced at the envelope to see a familiar hand, and suddenly I knew precisely what I would find within.

“Oh, Lucy,” I said mournfully.

Brisbane gave me a sharp nod. Read it aloud.

I cleared my throat, but when I spoke, my voice was oddly unlike my own. “‘Dearest Julia, I know that you and Brisbane will care for my child far better than I shall. I cannot take him with me, nor can I endure the thought of his father coming to claim him. I have enclosed a sort of document in my own hand, witnessed by Nanny Bleeker and the Reverend Mr. Twickham releasing my child into your care. He is yours now. I shall not trouble him, nor do I wish to know what becomes of him. That is too sharp a pain to endure. Let the break be complete and let it be now. Give him all that I cannot, in mercy’s name. Lucy.’”

I paused to clear my throat. “There’s a postscript,” I told him. “She says she has called him John, but that Nicholas ought to be appended as his second name.”

I watched as Brisbane went to Morag. He slid his large, capable hands under the sleeping child and lifted him into his arms. Something in his face changed then, something that had been locked within him eased, and his eyes were witch-black and shining when he looked at me.

“You must go after her,” I told him. “She will regret this for the rest of her life.”

He hesitated then placed the child back into Morag’s arms. “Of course, you are right,” he said gruffly.

“Morag, take Master John back to the nursery,” I instructed, glad at last to have a name to put with his face.

She did not obey. She merely stood, rocking him as I downed the whisky, and Brisbane pulled on his greatcoat. He pressed a kiss to my cheek. “I will not be long. She cannot have got far,” he told me.

I nodded, and he left me without another glance.

Morag said nothing, but her silence was full of reproach. “Don’t,” I told her sharply. “You do not know Lucy as I do. This was impulsive and rash, the sort of thing she always does and always regrets. She will not get two miles before she turns back to fetch him. Do you want to care for him, to love him, only to have her come back and wrench him away?” I demanded.

Still she said nothing.

“Well. Take him to the nursery. I daresay it is time for his feed or something.”

She put him gently into his basket and left him on my bed. “I will fetch his things and you can do it yourself. I quit.”

“Morag!” She did not stop. She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. I did not follow. In a few moments, one of the footmen, William IV, arrived with an armful of supplies—the things Morag had cobbled together for him. There were bottles and odd bits of cloth I suspected were for some hygienic purpose, and even a small knitted dog that looked suspiciously like Portia’s decaying pug, Mr. Pugglesworth.

“His things, compliments of Miss Co-co-col—” he stumbled over the Scots surname.

“It’s Colquohoun,” I told him. “That’s why I call her Morag.”

William smiled. He was a kindly lad, and grateful to me for arranging his future rather neatly over Christmas—neatly and entirely to his satisfaction. He took the chance to peer into the basket.

“He’s got his eyes open—and yet not crying. That’s a wonder,” he told me.

“Is it? I’m afraid I’m not much use with babies. There was only Mr. Valerius younger than me, and none of my nieces and nephews were born here.”

“Oh, yes, my lady. I’ve six younger than me at home, and what I don’t know about babies isn’t worth knowing. He’s a fine little lad, he is. But the eyes are unusual.”

“How?” I asked, coming a little closer to the bed.

“They’re green. Most babes have blue eyes when they open, unless they’re meant to be dark. But his are a fine green right now, and that’s a thing to behold.”

He remarked upon the shining cap of silky black hair and the sturdy grip, and he showed me how to give him a feed and even how to remedy the discomfort of wet undergarments.

“There, nothing to it,” he said cheerfully when I managed on my fourth try. “The trick with babies is they don’t know any better. You can be an old hand or green as an unripe plum, but this little fellow will never know or care.”

I gave him a grateful smile. “You’re going to be a fine father, William. When is the happy event?”

He beamed at me, his pink complexion going quite red. “Midsummer, my lady. We mean to marry by the end of January, and the cottage will be ready for us in time for the spring planting. I’ll be a proper undergardener by then,” he added, fairly bursting with pride.

“Good luck to you both,” I told him. He smiled again and took his leave, promising to look in again later when his duties permitted. The rest of the family had given up heaving and hurling and were resting quietly after their poisonous oysters, while the staff had collapsed over steaming vats of tea and piles of toast, he had told me, grateful the worst was over. All that remained was for them to rest and recover their strength, and with three days left until the Revels, it seemed possible that they should still be held.

A quiet storm rose as the twilight faded, large soft flakes of snow falling silently over the Abbey. I thought of Brisbane, out in the cold, searching for a frightened young woman who had made a terrible choice, and I prayed to a deity I did not entirely believe in for both of them.

Poor Lucy. And poor little John, I thought as I lifted him from his basket. He was indeed a fine specimen. He would thrive, in spite of his harrowing introduction to life. But under whose care? His mother was in flight, terrified of the monstrous man she had married, and in fear of her life. What sort of life was that for a child? And even if safe haven could be found for her, with us in London perhaps, was Lucy stable enough to have the care of a child? She had been highly strung and nearly hysterical the day I had visited her in the cottage. Black Jack’s game of chase had played havoc with her nerves, fretting them to nothing, and she was as fragile as the child she had left behind.

He regarded me solemnly, his plump cheeks pink against the pale, perfect alabaster of his skin. Like Black Jack, like Brisbane for that matter, his hair was black, only a little dusting of it as yet, but it would grow thick in time, I imagined. And I wondered if I should be there to see it. How would it look, that black Brisbane hair with the bright green of the March eyes?

When Brisbane returned hours later, mud-spattered and tired from his inquiries, he found us tucked into bed, the child fed and sleeping sweetly as I wept into his blanket.

“Hey, now, what’s this?” Brisbane asked, settling himself on the bed next to me.

“I want him,” I said, snuffling through my tears. “I did not think I wanted a child, but when we lost ours—” I broke off. “I still don’t know that I want children. But I want this one. He’s half Brisbane and half March. He is ours. And do not tell me Lucy wants him back. I do not think I could bear it.”

He slipped his arm around me, pressing his lips to my shoulder. “I could not find her. She left behind a note that would indicate she has taken her own life, and one of the village lads found her shoes and gown by the river.”

I looked at him in horror, but he raised a hand. “She is not dead. I would stake my reputation on it. She merely hopes to throw my father off the scent should he come this far. It may take time, but I can trace her.”

“Your father has tried these last months and always she has eluded him,” I reminded him.

“I am better at this than he,” he told me.

I said nothing. He was entitled to his confidence. He had well earned it.

He looked down at the slumbering face of his half-brother. “Do you mean it? About keeping him?”

“We have no choice,” I told him, wiping my eyes. “Where will he go? A foundling home? Could you do that to a child of your own blood?”

“Of course not,” he told me softly.

“Neither could I. There is no decision to make. Lucy has made it for us. She knows we could not bear to turn him away. We must keep him.”

“But will such a thing make you happy?” he persisted.

The child’s tight little rosebud of a mouth puckered in his sleep. “Before today I would have said it was impossible. And I expect I shall be hopeless as a mother. But I mean to try.”

Brisbane said nothing for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice resolved. “I will tell Morgan the Apiary cannot be. I will keep to private enquiry work. It isn’t much safer but it will keep me closer to home, I suspect. And we will need a bigger house than Mrs. Lawson’s in Half Moon. I will tell her we rescind the offer, and we’ll start looking for lodgings tomorrow.”

“No,” I said firmly.

“No?” One handsome black brow quirked upward.

“No. We must begin as we mean to go on. We are neither of us happy without purposeful work, and we shall have it. There will be those to care for him when we are not there, and he will learn the value of a job well done from both of us. We will move into Half Moon Street as we planned, and you will work with Morgan to form the
Vespiary
,” I said, stressing the correction.

He smiled. “And what will you do? You will never be happy with teething biscuits and silver spoons.”

“No more than you,” I agreed. “But I will do as I have done. I will organise our household because, let us be frank, my love, I am better at it than you. I will work with you on cases that interest me. I will advise on the Vespiary when you think I can be useful. I will have my photography. And we will have...” I hesitated then said it for the first time and with ringing conviction, “our son.”