Page 150 of The Missing Sister

‘I’d bet a few punts on it being a girl. Just look at those eyes.’

James did so, and even though the skin around them was blotched red from crying, the eyes were huge – of a deep blue, framed by long dark lashes.

‘I’d say you were right,’ James agreed as he timidly pulled away the damp, soiled cloth to reveal that yes, the infant in the basket was female.

‘What a shame, now you can’t name the child Moses,’ Ambrose quipped. ‘You think she’s a newborn because of the umbilical cord, but she’s really rather large. Not that I’m any expert on these kinds of things,’ he added.

James looked at the plump little arms and thighs – babies’ legs always reminded him of frogs’ – and nodded. ‘True, this child does look more well nourished than most of the scrawny mites I baptise around here. Now then, can I trust you to mind her while I find a cloth from the kitchen to replace this sticky mess of one?’

‘Of course. I’ve always loved babies, and they like me too,’ said Ambrose. ‘There now, little one,’ he soothed the child as James left, ‘you’re safe with us now.’

By the time James returned, having resorted to the hot press and tearing apart one of Mrs Cavanagh’s immaculately laundered sheets, the baby was staring up at Ambrose as he muttered softly to her.

James chuckled as he listened. ‘You’re speaking Latin to her?’

‘Of course. It’s never too soon to start learning, is it?’

‘As long as it keeps her quiet and calm, whilst I deal with the other end of things, you can use any language you want. We need to lift her out and put her on the towel so I can clean her.’

‘Let me hold her...’

James watched in genuine surprise as Ambrose took hold of the baby’s head with one hand and slipped another under her lower back, then placed her gently on the towel that James had laid out close to the fire.

‘Seems like you do have a knack with the small ones,’ James commented.

‘Why on earth shouldn’t I?’

‘True. Now, I’ll do my best to make a napkin, although it’ll be my first time.’

As Ambrose continued to talk to the baby – this time in Greek – James struggled to clean and then secure the piece of torn sheet around the baby’s plump little bottom.

‘That will have to do,’ he said as he tied a knot just below her belly button.

‘Was there a note of any kind left in the basket?’ Ambrose asked. ‘Or some clue as to who the mother might be?’

‘It’s not likely there will be, but...’ James shook out the blanket that had accompanied the baby, and a small object fell to the floor. ‘Oh my,’ James gasped as he bent to pick it up.

‘Is that aring?’ said Ambrose.

Together, they went to the light on the study desk to inspect the item in the palm of James’s hand. It was indeed a ring, unusually made in the shape of a star, with emerald stones set around a central diamond.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Ambrose breathed. ‘It’s got seven points, and the colours of the emeralds are so clear and vibrant... it can’t be costume jewellery, James. I’d say that this is the real thing.’

‘Yes.’ James frowned. ‘You’d think that someone who could afford this kind of ring would be able to keep their baby girl. Rather than answering questions, the ring has simply raised more.’

‘Perhaps she’s from a well-to-do family, the product of a forbidden love, and the mother had to dispose of her lest she face recrimination from her parents,’ Ambrose suggested.

‘You’ve obviously been reading too many romance novels,’ James teased him. ‘For all we know, the ring might be stolen. Whatever its provenance, I shall keep it in a safe place for now,’ said James. He fetched a small key and the leather pouch in which he kept the silver cross his parents had given him on his confirmation from his desk drawer. He slipped the ring inside with the cross, and then went over to his bookcase to unlock a cupboard set under one of the shelves.

‘Is that where you hide your whiskey from Mrs Cavanagh?’ Ambrose chuckled.

‘That, and other things I don’t wish her to find,’ said James, as he slipped the leather pouch into the cupboard and locked it.

‘Well, one thing’s for certain,’ Ambrose said, gazing down at the baby, who was now lying quietly on the towel, ‘it appears that our little girl is special indeed. She’s very alert.’

However, even Ambrose’s gentle attentions no longer held sway as the baby realised her tummy remained empty and she started to scream again. Ambrose swept her up into his arms and rocked her gently, to no avail.

‘This girl needs her mother’s milk, or anyone’s milk, for that matter,’ said Ambrose. ‘And that’s not something either of us can provide. What are we to do now, James? Kidnap the nearest cow and stick an udder in her mouth?’