"My friend's gone missin'" the girl stood at the front desk in Ballarat Police Station and blinked tearfully at Bill Hobart. She was in Wendouree Grammar uniform, slipped out during lunch break, by the looks of things.
"And your friend would be..?" he stood, pen poised and stared down at her.
"Emily Jeffs," she huffed, "an't her mum 'n da come in?"
Bill leafed through the files on the desk – but there was no record of a missing person of that name.
"When do you think she went missing?"
"'Bout three days ago," she scowled.
"Maybe she's sick," he suggested.
"Well," she tipped her head and thought about this, "she's been a bit crook lately, after the Christmas break maybe a bit before, but that was then, she's been in school the last two weeks."
"You could have phoned – them I mean," Bill mused.
"I tried, this mornin' on the way to school, no answer." She leant on the desk and stared closely at him, "what'cha gonna do about it?"
Bill considered this, she was obviously concerned for her friend, but she was a child and there was also the possibility that she had made up the story to see what would happen.
"I'll talk to the Superintendant and see what we can do." He hummed, "give me the address, and I'll need your name and address, too."
"Why?"
"Because, young lady, I need it, so I can let you know what we find, if it's at all appropriate." He glared back down at her, deciding she was a cheeky madam and he would be contacting her parents.
She reluctantly told him her name. "Sandra Wilson," and her address and told him she expected to hear from him very soon.
He watched her run out of the station, hopefully back to school, and put the notes to one side. He'd make a cuppa then make a phone call to her parents to see if they knew what she was up to.
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"Oh really," Mrs Wilson huffed, "You can never be sure whether Emily is going to be in school or not – though two weeks is quite a record for the little minx."
"Her parents?" Bill sat with the receiver to his ear and his pen in one hand, ready to write down any pertinent information.
"He's a wastrel, wanders off to do some nefarious thing, I swear the man is not right in the head, and as for his wife, well ... secretive, can't get a word out of her when she's shoppin' and never buys quality, always end of day groceries that won't make it 'til the next one."
"Sandra said Emily had been unwell, before Christmas and for a little time afterwards."
"She said she'd been sick," Mrs Wilson grumbled, "who knows, always looks as healthy as you can when she's fed on scraps, though things might have been going better because the last time I saw her, before Christmas, she seemed to have filled out a bit."
"So you reckon there's nothing to worry about?"
"Doubtful, though I suppose if you're passing ..."
Bill took this as a suggestion that maybe he should look into Emily Jeffs' disappearance. If there was nothing to it then, that would be good.
He talked it through with Matthew who suggested he speak to Jean –
"Jean Blake knows everyone in Ballarat, even the itinerants," he grinned, "take her with you, she can make tea and soothe shattered nerves."
Bill didn't think Mrs Blake would take too kindly be being the tea and sympathy giver, but she was good with kids and if Miss Emily was in strife she would be better than him.
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"I know Mrs Jeffs," Jean told him, "she's an odd one, to be sure. Never speaks, always looking around furtively, though I don't think she steals anything, I just think she doesn't want to be known – if you get my meaning? Emily got into the Grammar on a full scholarship, I don't expect it's easy for her."
"Him?" Bill finished the cup of tea she had poured for him.
"Ah, now, wouldn't be surprised if he beats his wife and child," she frowned, "I know he's been arrested numerous times, punch ups, back alley thumpings – you know the sort ..."
He nodded, but he didn't remember arresting anyone called 'Jeffs'. Still, he wasn't the only copper in town that arrested wife beaters – Matthew and Charlie had seen their fair share, so had Danny. He didn't know why a man would see it as his right to use his wife or girlfriend as a punch bag, but what would he know, single, confirmed bachelor and likely to stay that way. He thought for a moment on this then decided that once he had seen to the Jeffs he would nip round and see if Deb Cooper wanted any jobs doing on the house. Without Clive and with Sean back in prison she was very much on her own these days.
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The Jeffs house was a tumbledown cottage, overgrown garden, more brown than green, and broken windows. While Bill pounded on the front door Jean looked through the broken glass into the gloom of the small living room. She looked at the shards of glass on the verandah and noticed that they were on top of any dirt, dust or leaves, as if it had not long happened.
"Bill," she pointed, "this is new."
"Hmm," he crouched down and peered at the glass, "you could be right. There's no answer, I'll go round the back, you stay out of the way in case someone comes out." He stared at her, Blake would kill him if she got hurt.
"Alright, yell if you need me." She smiled. Bill was such a gentle and caring soul unless you had crossed the line of the law, his old fashioned chivalry was so much like Lucien's and she quite liked it – most of the time.
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Bill found little more at the back of the house. Nothing had been done in the garden it was just a patch of weeds, the washing line had snapped, been tied together and snapped further along. He pounded on the door and received the same answer he had at the front – namely nothing. Shrugging his shoulders there was only one thing for it - he kicked it in; it came off its hinges and fell flat on the floor.
Clouds of dust flew up and he had to stand there for a while until it settled, by which time Jean was there.
"No answer, Bill?" she smiled.
"Stay here," he ordered, but she followed him into the kitchen and looked around anyway.
"No one's been here for days," she looked in the sink at a few dirty pots, the bread hard as a rock on the table and the milk solid, stale – more cheese than milk.
She followed him as he checked the small, dark living room, the hall ... all dirty, dusty, empty. Bill tested the stairs for stability and solidity, falling through them would be painful as well as embarrassing, but though each one creaked eerily they held.
"Hello!" he called, "anybody home?"
Jean pushed open the first door she came to – the bathroom. There was a rusty ring round the bath, two spiders skittered around the bottom, trying to get up the sides, no toothbrushes or towels, no flannel and in the cabinet no toiletries, pills or signs of life.
On the landing Bill chose the next nearest door and peered round it, half expecting a wild man, or woman, to charge at him cackling and scratching, but there was nothing, just the usual furniture, the bed with a sheet and blanket over them. They were heavily darned and stained with something he wasn't prepared to show Jean. He stood scratching his head at the complete abandonment of the house, the eerie dusty and slightly damp smell, the silence. Suddenly, from another room Jean screamed his name.
"Bill!" then he heard mumbling, soothing sounds.
"Jean?" he found her in the only other room, a small bedroom with a single bed in it and Jean, peering down at something on the bed, hastily stripping her cardigan off and picking up and wrapping whatever it was in the soft wool.
"Bill," she turned, "can you get me to the hospital, they've left a baby here, new, nearly starved ... oh Bill, how could they?" Tears filled her eyes. "I don't ..." she sniffed. She wasn't sure if it could be saved, but she had to at least give it the chance and the hospital was the best place to start.
"Right," he coughed, "come on, a few traffic laws to break, eh?"
She just nodded, "it's a little girl, she's so tiny, maybe early, maybe just small, but ..."
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Bill drove quickly, very quickly, at Jean's insistence to the hospital and pulled up at the front. He opened the door for her and she ran up the steps calling for a doctor, a midwife ... nearly knocking over Alice Harvey as she passed her in the corridor.
"Jean," Alice grabbed her arm, "what ...?"
"Oh Alice," she gasped, "sorry, I need some help, we've found a baby, nearly ... oh, Alice ..." she blinked back tears and showed the pathologist the tiny bundle in her arms.
"Come on," Alice didn't hesitate, she may not know much about babies but she knew Jean and that was enough.
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Everything happened very quickly. An obstetrician was called, shook his head and said there was no hope for such a little scrap.
"Starved, Mrs Blake," he shook his head sadly, "too late, I'm afraid. Looks like she was delivered then left. See the meconium, the poorly tied stump ... it won't be long for her."
"That's it?" Jean glared at him, "that's all you're going to do? Not even try?" She picked up the scrap of humanity and turned to the nurse standing holding a gown and nappy that would swamp the baby, "give me that," she held out her hand, "and get me a bowl of warm water and cloths and towels – now!"
The nurse looked at the doctor, then at Dr Harvey then back to Jean not sure who she should obey.
"I suggest you do as Mrs Blake has asked, nurse," Alice raised an eyebrow, "at least she can make the child clean and comfortable, eh?"
The nurse gulped and left the cubicle at some speed, returning even quicker with the things Jean had demanded. She watched as Jean tenderly bathed the baby, soothing her with gentle words and careful touches. The baby flexed her tiny fingers at the touches and made a soft mewling sound, tried to turn her head.
"Nurse," Alice turned to her, "perhaps a small measure of formula, not quite full strength ..?"
"Yes doctor," she turned again, perhaps Mrs Blake had something, but she had little hope for the infant.
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The baby struggled to suck on the teat so Jean dripped milk into her mouth until she got the idea and took a little of the liquid. Jean held up the bottle when she dozed off and nodded a sort of satisfied nod.
"Jean?" Alice had watched her coax the baby to life.
"About half an ounce, I'd say," she murmured, "try again later, in an hour, maybe," she tipped her head in thought.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Blake," the obstetrician returned with the Sister from the maternity unit, "we don't believe this child has a chance, it's just prolonging the agony."
The Sister looked down at the sleeping baby and shook her head. "Too small," she sighed, "and left immediately after birth?"
"I think so, given the state of the cord and the lack of bathing or clothing," Jean agreed, "but you're saying you won't do anything for her."
"Mrs Blake," Sister frowned, "I've seen too many of these babies fall at the first hurdle, lack of care, feeble ... and this one hasn't been fed since birth."
"No, but she's still here," Jean straightened her shoulders, "that shows she is strong, even if it doesn't look like she is. Well," she stood up, "I have things to do," she turned to Alice, "I wonder, Dr Harvey if you would assist me? I need to get some things for her, a bassinet, nappies, formula and the like ..."
"You're going to take her?" Sister gasped, "but ..."
"You don't seem to want to take her, to give her the chance, and frankly," Jean huffed, "if I leave her with you I don't trust you to try so, yes, I shall see to her needs ... take it up with the police if you have to, but they are busy trying to find her mother who will need medical care." She turned back to Alice who was watching with amusement at Jean Blake taking charge, and why shouldn't she? The idea of having this baby on her mortuary table appalled her so she started to usher Jean out with a pleasant nod to the medical personnel gathered there.
"Right," she nodded, "but, nurse," she turned to the other woman standing there, still holding the bowl of warm water, "I don't think Mrs Blake should be worrying about trying to source nappies and gowns, just now, the hospital will provide those – won't they?" she glared at the Sister who just gave a slightly worried nod, "I'm sure Mrs Blake will return them when she has no need of them; also bottles and formula." She folded her arms.
Jean watched her friend and relaxed a little, Alice was right, she had to get the baby home and flying around Ballarat getting baby paraphernalia would be exhausting. The laundry basket would do as a temporary bassinet until she knew what was happening, Lucien would see to the baby's medical needs. He never gave up hope.
The nurse met them at the car and put the supplies on the back seat.
"Good luck, Mrs Blake," she smiled.
"Thank you."
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Alice didn't say anything as she drove Jean home, she knew that the foundling brought back memories of the baby she lost years ago, the one she never got to hold.
"I'm sorry, Alice," Jean broke the silence, "I'm being a nuisance."
"Never, it's no more than I would expect from you Jean, you and Lucien always champion the underdog. But, you must understand, she is not in the best of health. However," she smiled, "at least if she doesn't make it, her last hours will be happy ones."
"She'll make it," Jean nodded emphatically, "if she's made it this far, she'll make it further."
"What will you do, though? I mean, it's not really your call, is it? Won't you have to inform welfare?"
"I should, but what are they going to do with a sickly, abandoned baby? Send her back to the hospital and we know where that's going to go, don't we?" She frowned, Alice was right, but, "I shall leave that to Matthew and his team, they have to find the mother first, the family who abandoned her. I have a feeling that the girl, Emily, is the mother, and if she is Sandra Wilson's friend then she is only about fourteen – so who got her pregnant? Who is responsible for her pain? So, until then I - we shall keep her safe."
"Are you going to give her a name? I mean," Alice turned into the driveway, "you can't just keep calling her 'the baby', can you? Rather impersonal, because it's no use me telling you not to get too close, is it?"
"Rosemary," Jean got out of the car and went to open the door, "I shall call her Rosemary. The plant is for remembrance, so it seems fitting, don't you think?"
Alice smiled and lifted the things the nurse had put into the car for her, following Jean into the house and watching her go to see if Lucien was in the surgery as he hadn't been in the morgue that day.
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Lucien looked up as the door opened, his jaw dropped as he saw Jean was cradling what appeared to be a tiny baby.
"What ...?"
"Underfed, possibly an early birth, left to die at the Jeffs' cottage. Bill and I found her. The hospital wanted to leave her to ..." she gulped, "they said she didn't have a chance ..."
"But you think she does, eh?" he smiled gently, "well, let's see eh?"
"She's been bathed, by me, at the hospital, given some formula, about half an ounce was all she would take, but she has reflexes and a voice ... I couldn't leave her there, for them to do nothing." She lay the baby on his examination table and unwrapped the blankets to expose the tiny figure.
Lucien didn't say anything, his face didn't show his feelings, just listened to Rosemary's heart and lungs, checked her reflexes and smiled when she objected with a faint whine. He noticed the nappy she was wearing was wet so that side of things were working and as he tickled her foot she left a further deposit on the cloth.
Jean laughed, "Seems she doesn't like her feet being tickled."
"Neither do you," he whispered, "well, miss, let's see how my wife's care does for you, eh?" He wrapped her back up and handed her to Jean. "It's not going to be easy, Jean, frequent feeds, which means broken nights – tell me the story."
"Let's go and have some tea," she smiled, "I shall redress Rosemary ..."
"Rosemary?"
"Her name, because she needs a name."
"Of course, how silly of me." He kissed the top of her head.
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In the kitchen, Alice had boiled the kettle and made up some bottles with small feeds in them, brought cups and saucers from the cupboard and was in the process of making tea when Jean and Lucien entered. Lucien gasped, Alice huffed.
"I can follow instructions, Dr Blake," she held up the can of formula, "and knowing how much she took in the hospital, Jean, I've made up two ounce feeds."
"Perfect, Alice, thank you," Jean set to changing Rosemary and making her comfortable, "when there's one cool enough we shall try again."
"So, her story ..." Lucien looked at the two women and waited. Jean started with how Bill Hobart had come to see her on Matthew's advice ...
"... and that is how we found her," she tested the temperature of the milk on her wrist, "it was dreadful."
Lucien reached over and squeezed her hand.
"You say the hospital didn't have any hope?"
Alice took over and told how the obstetrician dismissed the child out of hand and also the maternity sister, "Jean didn't have a choice, well she did, but neither of us liked the idea of leaving her in the hospital if they were just going to leave her to die – I mean they didn't even bother to wash her, until Jean demanded a bowl of warm water and cloths." She huffed, "look, Lucien I know nothing about babies, not about caring for them but believe me, if I'd been the one to find her I would have done the same."
"I'd like to have seen Matthew's face if you did that," Lucien grinned.
Alice glared back at him, then laughed, it would have been interesting, she thought.
"Well, I think you're right," he sat back and folded his arms, watching Jean patiently feed the baby, "she's tiny, frail of course, but if she has lasted three days, and given the state of the stump that's about right, then she has a core of steel. We shan't give up on her, now what's happening about the mother?"
"Bill left me at the hospital and went to report to Matthew," Jean shifted in her seat, "I think they are going to search the garden, such as it is, and then put out a missing person shout. That's all I know."
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Alice left them after washing up the tea things, though Jean said she didn't have to.
"You've got your hands full," she tipped her head towards the now replete baby snoozing contentedly in Jean's arms. Lucien, on Jean's orders had gone to get the laundry basket and start to line it with blankets and padding before putting it in the studio bedroom. He fully expected Jean to be knitting like one possessed that evening. While Rosemary was with them, she would want for nothing in the way of love, at least. If she was to stay, then they would see about the things she would need.
"Do you think we'll have problems with Welfare?" she sighed.
"I've been thinking about that, and we need evidence of her condition, and follow ups so, I should like to take frequent photographs of her, starting with now. If they see how she is, now, and how she goes, together with my notes we may persuade them she should stay, if that's what you want."
"What I want is what's best for her," she frowned, "I think we can give her that. We can afford to care for her, she will have on site medical care ..."
"Can you love her, Jean?"
"I think I very much can," she smiled, "I think I already do, in a way. And you?"
"I don't know, yet," he answered honestly, "but I will give her all the care and treatment she needs and in time I'm sure I shall come to care more than her real parents and I will fight by your side for her."
"I take that as a yes, then," she smiled, knowing he was the more realistic in this case. Strange, it was usually her that was the more pragmatic of the two.
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Jean settled Rosemary in the laundry basket, put the used nappy in a bucket to soak, washed the empty bottle and set to preparing dinner for the two of them and Alice and Matthew.
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It had to have been the most painful experience Emily had ever experienced but she looked down at the product of her pain and scooted back up the bed. It was horrible, she thought, as it moved amongst the placenta and blood and whatever else there was. If her parents found out what she had done, why she had been sick and secretive they would kill her. While she wanted nothing to do with the child she had delivered she still cut the cord and tied it with a bit of string then thought about what she should do next.
When she had told her boyfriend what had happened he said he'd look after her, nobody would know, he's make sure of that so when she had called him to say she thought the baby was on its way he told her to go into her bedroom and he'd deal with her parents, lure them away from the house and then come and get her. That had been hours ago, or more, she wasn't sure and he hadn't turned up. She hated him for that, for leaving her, for doing what he had promised not to do. Karl had made her feel special, the only one in the school who hadn't avoided her, bullied her and made her life hell. Even Sandra Wilson had blown hot and cold depending on who she was with at the time. Karl was in his last year, sweet and gentle and exciting. They had gone from walking home together, to kissing to finally, one night when her parents were out somewhere – getting drunk – making love; it had been wonderful and once she had let him she wanted more. He had teased her, caller her a 'nympho' but if she was willing he was more so. They found places to have sex where they would be caught; in school, in her house, in the storeroom of the shop he worked in on a Saturday – it made it even more exciting.
She cleaned herself up and went downstairs, taking the waste and wrapping it in newspaper and throwing it in the garbage bin. She couldn't bear to touch the baby so left it on the bed to die.
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"Where've you been?" she flung herself at him. "It came ..."
"Where is it?"
"Upstairs, on the bed, it's dead," she grimaced, "it was horrible Karl, I don't want it to happen again. What've you done with mum and dad?"
"They won't bother you, but we need to get out of here, before they find out," he grabbed her hand, "come on, I've got dad's ute, supplies ..."
"I need clothes ..."
"Quick then ..."
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She barely glanced at the tiny baby on her bed as she grabbed the few clothes other than her school uniform she had, and ran down to Karl.
She didn't even give a backwards glance as Karl steered the ute out of the drive and away out of Ballarat, nor did she wonder what Karl had done with her parents – they hadn't really cared, kept her under their thumb as much as they could, now she was with someone who did care.
Karl said nothing about what had happened with Mr and Mrs Jeffs and Emily didn't ask; he had taken them out to a clearing in the bush just outside the town, telling them he had found what appeared to be the proceeds of a robbery, buried in the bush, there was enough for all of them but he needed their help to retrieve it all. Mr Jeffs was always up for a quick financial fix that didn't involve actual work, and Mrs Jeffs just followed like a lamb – which Karl knew would happen.
"Just down here," he led them to the clearing, and a pit dug especially for the occasion. In the pit was what appeared to be several bags which he said contained money and jewels. As the Jeffs peered down he stood behind them, took a pistol from the back of his trousers and fired off two shots. He checked that the bullets had done their work, though with half their heads missing the Jeffs were not going to survive that.
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"Where are we going?" Emily watched the scenery go by.
"First a little hotel," he smiled and showed her a bundle of cash, "just so you can recover. When my mum had my little brother she stayed in bed for a week! I ask you! Anyway, we can stay for a few nights, you can have nice warm baths instead of cold washes and then I thought maybe another state. We can find little jobs to get the cash we need – we're free, Em, we can do what the bloody hell we like and no one can judge us."
Emily grinned, that sounded like a good idea – particularly the warm bath; but ... "Karl, I don't want to have another baby ..."
"Don't worry, got these," he lifted several packs of condoms, "won't happen again, and if it does, we'll do something about it – no worries."
"No worries," she smiled and reached over to squeeze his arm.
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Matthew sent a team up to the Jeffs' house to look for any clues as to where they might have gone. They were to search the grounds as well as the house, collect evidence, while he was going to talk to Sandra Wilson again, see if she could tell them anything more about Emily's friends.
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Sandra's mother scowled at her daughter as she listened to her tell how most people ignored or bullied Emily because of where she came from. How the only people who were nice to her were herself and Karl Steadman.
"I think they were goin' steady," she whispered.
"Steady?" Mrs Wilson raised her eyebrows, "she's only fourteen."
"I know, some of the girls called her a slut, and a tramp – especially when Margie Rollinson saw them comin' out of the art storeroom. She said they'd been doin' 'it'."
"Now really, Sandra," Mrs Wilson huffed, "Karl's a nice young man, works hard in the ironmonger's on a Saturday. He wouldn't do that, and not with a girl like Emily Jeffs."
"Well, you keep tellin' me well brought up girls don't do that until they're married," Sandra tossed her head, "but Katy Simpson says she let a boy touch her and her dad's a councillor."
"If I catch you up to anything like that before you have a ring on your finger, my girl ..." Mrs Wilson wasn't sure what she would do but Sandra would regret it for the rest of her life. Sandra just shrugged, as long as you didn't catch, Katy said, nobody would know.
Matthew thanked them for their time and thought he might go and see Karl Steadman, talk to the ironmonger and get his take on the young man.
The ironmonger admitted Karl had worked for him but he had let him go when he found him with his hand in the till. He had trusted him enough to let him count up the takings at the end of the day but now he was sure he had been skimming some of the money, not enough for him to notice at first, maybe just the odd change, but he had actually caught him putting money into his pocket.
"I told him to put it back, get out of the store and if I found him hanging about here again I would report him," the owner folded his arms and glared at Matthew, "young people these days. Still, I can't say how much he took, he's worked for me for a good year and a half."
He gave Matthew his home address which was how he found out that Karl was not at home, and hadn't been for the last three days.
"He's finished his exams and said he wanted to go camping for a few days, clear his head," his father smiled, "took the old ute ... he usually goes out into the bush," he took out a map and showed Matthew where Karl and his friends usually camped.
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Danny radioed for the ambulance and reinforcements then waited, standing by a tree where he wasn't constantly looking at the corpses of Mr and Mrs Jeffs – he presumed that was who it was - face down in the pit with half their heads blown off. He just about managed to hold his lunch down; the bodies had been chewed at by wildlife and flies were crawling all over the shattered skulls, the mashed up brains. There were no indications that anyone had been camping nearby but he guessed that Karl, or Karl and Emily had taken the couple out to the area on a ruse, shot them and scarpered. He wondered if Karl knew Emily had given birth to his baby and this was their way of covering up the underage sex, the pregnancy and how they planned to run off together.
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"Murder, then," Matthew sighed as Alice handed him the autopsy report.
"Yes." Alice sat opposite him, "any sign of the kids?"
He shook his head.
"I didn't hear Rosemary last night?"
"Y'know, I reckon Jean Blake has a magic touch," he smiled, this was the only good thing to come out of the whole sorry story, "she's doin' ok. She's taking more milk, cries properly now she did after you left this morning ... Blake's going to take regular photos so the authorities can see the progress she's making."
"Good, has anyone told welfare yet?"
"No," he shook his head, "I've got a lot to do, doctor," he smirked, "I'll get round to it, eventually."
"Matthew," she scolded.
"What are they going to do? Put her in the orphanage, back in the hospital? Blake says she is getting specialist care, least if they come callin' that's what he's going to say."
Alice left it at that, as long as the baby was doing alright there was no reason for welfare to get involved; from her experience they usually got it spectacularly wrong.
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In spite of being woken in the night by the baby's cries Jean was pleased with her. The cry was a proper cry now, a hungry and uncomfortable cry and she and Lucien took it in turns to attend to her needs. He had taken the last turn and she awoke to find him slightly propped up against the pillows with a sleeping Rosemary spread-eagled over his chest. It was such an adorable sight she almost went to get the camera but then thought that if welfare got hold of such an image they may not be best impressed. She would hold the image in her head for the rest of her life, she thought, wondering if he had done the same with Li all those years ago.
"Mornin'," he whispered, "ok?"
"Very much so, she looks comfortable," she kissed him softly.
"Yeah, well ..."
"You've fallen for her, haven't you?" she teased.
"Might have done," he shrugged and Rosemary snuffled and whimpered.
"Tea?"
"Please," he shifted a little, but not enough to wake the baby. "Perhaps another feed for her."
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The morning passed in a well ordered fashion. Once Matthew had left for the station Jean bathed Rosemary and set her in the temporary bassinet, set about boiling the previous day's nappies and washing the little gowns. Lucien examined the baby and took his first daily photograph, noted how much she was taking at each feed and how she slept. He was just getting out the patient files for the day's surgery when there was a loud, insistent hammering on the door, which woke Rosemary and had Jean standing in the hall frowning.
"I'll get it," he waved her into the living-room, "you attend to her."
She lifted Rosemary from the basket and rocked and soothed her, wandered round the room singing softly to her and telling her everything was alright – though she was worried.
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"Dr Blake, I presume," the woman he was faced with spoke before he could. She was small, pinch-faced, her grey hair in tight old-fashioned marcel waves under a severe hat. She peered at him through thick round glasses and pale grey eyes.
"I am he," he nodded politely, "you are?"
"Miss Smith, Family Welfare ..."
Lucien sighed, it was inevitable but Matthew had said he was far too busy to be contacting welfare – he had a double murder and missing persons to solve, and Alice wouldn't have contacted them. The baby was in no danger so who had contacted Miss Smith?
"How can I help you, Miss Smith?" he inquired pleasantly, revealing nothing.
"You have a baby here that doesn't belong to you," she huffed.
He couldn't deny it, Rosemary was giving vent to her feelings and he could hear Jean in the kitchen setting the kettle to boil to heat up a bottle for her.
"You'd better come in, though I wonder who sent you?"
"Privileged information, Dr Blake," she tipped her nose in the air and marched down to the sound.
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"Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral, Hush now, don't you cry ..." Jean murmured the lullaby as she prepared the milk and rocked the baby.
"Mrs Blake, I believe ..." Miss Smith's harsh, high voice disturbed Rosemary even more and Jean glared at her.
"Well, thank you," she snipped, "I'd just calmed her down and now you've upset her." She grabbed the jug with the bottle sitting in it and stalked off to the living room.
Miss Smith stared after her; she wasn't used to people talking back to her in such a tone.
"I am here to take the child to a place of safety," she followed her.
"Er, Miss Smith," Lucien had caught up with them and observed the interaction, "we need to talk. What do you mean by a 'place of safety'? Isn't Rosemary safe here?"
"She is not your baby, Dr Blake," she straightened her shoulders.
"She isn't yours," he countered. "Rosemary was abandoned, my wife and Senior Sergeant Hobart found her, the hospital were just going to let her fade away because, in their words, she was too small, feeble wasn't it Jean?..."
Jean nodded.
"... feeble and starved. Well she made it to day three without food or care, we think she is stronger than the obstetrician and maternity nurse give her credit for – so just where are you planning on taking her?"
"The orphanage ..."
"Sister Josephine does not have the resources to care for such a child. She needs specialist care, frequent feeds and daily checks," he went to sit next to Jean on the couch, "Rosemary will receive all that here, one on one care ..."
"That's by the by, doctor," she huffed, "abandoned babies cannot just be taken by whoever finds them, there are rules ..."
"Who sent you?" Lucien stood up and effectively blocked her from getting any nearer Jean and the baby.
"I'm not at liberty to say, it's confidential," she took a half step backwards, Lucien was very tall compared to her, well built and had a commanding presence when his family were threatened, and that is what he felt was happening here.
"I know it isn't the police, they are busy trying to find her biological mother and see she gets the medical care she needs, it isn't the pathologist who was with my wife at the hospital, so is it the hospital, are they upset because my wife went over their heads and took matters into her own hands, eh? They were just going to let her die, they didn't even bother to wash her, or find her something to wrap her in – my wife had to do that ..."
"You only have her word for that," she stood her ground.
"No, I have the word of Dr Harvey who happened across my wife when she initially took Rosemary to the hospital, seeking appropriate treatment. She was there throughout the time they were dismissing Jean out of hand. Rosemary stays here until her mother is found ..."
"You can't do that," Miss Smith squeaked.
"Maybe not in your world, Miss Smith," he glared at her, "but as your option is to send her to Sister Josephine I think we both know that she is better off here."
"Sister Josephine is prepared to take in another baby, I rang her."
"Did you tell her the condition of the infant? Did you say that she had been abandoned and needed particular care? Or did you just say she was an abandoned baby? Shall we ring and give her the details? I can ring the orphanage if you like, from here, you can talk to the Sister and ascertain whether or not they have the facilities, but as I provide the medical care for the children I can assure you that if you do send her there, I shall have her removed to my wife's care." Lucien picked up the phone in the kitchen and dialled the number, speaking to Sister Josephine before Miss Smith could offer any objection. "Ah, Sister Josephine," he perched on the edge of the table, "how are you? Good, good, now about this baby Miss Smith is sending up to you ..." he listened as the nun told him what she knew. "I see, so you haven't been told that she needs two hourly feeds, daily medical checks as to her progress, special care for her fragile skin ..."
He waited while Sister Josephine told him she knew nothing of this.
"I see, well the baby, which Jean is currently caring for as she found her – long story – was left for dead for about three days as far as I can make out from the state of the umbilical stump, the hospital said she was too feeble to survive so Jean brought her home ..." He listened while Sister Josephine huffed and puffed about not being given the proper information, that she didn't have the resources for a sickly babe and would have sent such a child to the hospital if it had been left at her door. She was deeply sorry but if the child was taken up to her then she would have to find a suitable foster home for her and it seemed she already had one, with Mrs Blake. "Perhaps you would like to speak to Miss Smith, Family Welfare?" he offered, "she's here right now." He handed the phone to Miss Smith and watched and listened as she stuttered through a conversation that was pretty one sided. He knew Sister Josephine well, through Jean and knew that she would not see a child in danger, but also he knew that she would have sent Rosemary to the hospital if she had been abandoned on her doorstep.
"There are procedures, Sister," Miss Smith finally managed to get a word in. "Thank you, at last someone is seeing sense." She put the phone down and turned to Lucien with a satisfied smirk on her face.
"Sister Josephine says you are to take the baby up to her and she will see to her welfare."
Lucien frowned, then the thought occurred to him. The nun had said she would have found a foster home for the baby but she seemed to have one with Jean. Miss Smith had used the word 'procedures', he wouldn't put it past Sister Josephine to have come up with a plan.
"Very well," he scowled, "it would seem you have got your way. If anything happens to this child I shall be speaking to your superiors."
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"Lucien," Jean's eyes were filled with tears as he returned from escorting Miss Smith off the premises.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he bent and kissed her head, "wrap her up well, I think Sister Josephine has a plan, something she said to me."
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Nobody could accuse Sister Josephine of quick thinking but this time she had come up with a plan. Any child taken to the orphanage was a ward of the church and as such it was up to the church to find suitable places for the children to be adopted into. She pulled a sheaf of papers out of her desk and proceeded to fill in the gaps, she wrote a letter to be kept by the doctor and his wife and thought a short word with the priest when he came to take confession would suffice for her immortal soul.
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Jean was nervous as she entered the office at the orphanage, Lucien's confidence worried her, he was up to something.
"Dr Blake, Mrs Blake," Sister Josephine greeted them, "tea, please, sister," she turned to a young nun at her side. As the nun left she sat behind her desk and tapped her fingers together.
"Well, now, you've met Miss Smith."
"Yes, but we don't know who told her that Rosemary was being cared for by Jean," Lucien nodded.
"Rosemary? Ah," she hummed, "you've already named her."
"Well, I couldn't just keep calling her 'the baby'," Jean admitted.
"May I see her?"
Jean pulled the blanket aside just enough to show her tiny face.
"Goodness, what a wee scrap," she gasped, "how often is she fed?"
"Every two hours, at the moment," Jean held her a little tighter. "Two ounces, but I was going to raise the amount by an ounce today. She's taken to the bottle well, now, at first she didn't know how to suckle so she needed a little encouragement."
"Any comments on her health, doctor?"
"I am pleased, she made it through the night, cried to be fed and changed, her reflexes are good and her heart and lungs sound healthy. She's a determined little mite." Lucien smiled.
"Right, well ..." the tea arrived as an interruption as she thought how to word the plan she had. "... as you know I have authority to place children in foster homes, and sickly babies usually go to the hospital, but ..."
"... the hospital were going to let her fade away," Lucien cut in, "they said she was too feeble to make it."
"Hm, so you said," she sipped her tea, "well, a foster home then; so, she would need access to specialist medical care, so that takes out that family," she crossed a name off a list on a sheet of paper, "perhaps no other children," she crossed off several names, "experience with children – quite a few here, but I have in mind for her a new foster home, not tried before, no other children in the house, though I believe the woman has a grandchild, and has access to medical care," she lifted a sheet of paper with several paragraphs typed on it, "sign here, Dr Blake, you and your wife are now foster parents." She'd put them through enough agony. "I thought, when you rang, that if I had the baby here in the orphanage for an hour," she checked her watch, "then she could be construed as a ward of the church and therefore it would be up to me to place her ... so here we are, another fifteen minutes and you can take her with you, just enough time for you to tell me her story and finish your tea."
"You planned this?" Jean gasped, her eyes wide with the nerve of the woman.
"I know Miss Smith, how she got a post with Family Welfare I shall never understand. God help me, she is harsh, cruel sometimes ... she took a baby from its natural parents because they struggled. They were young, needed some guidance but their own parents were in another town and couldn't be there all the time. She brought the baby here and that was the first time I had to resort to using church rules. I found someone who could help them with the care of the baby, just pop in daily and help with organising the day and the feeds and sent her back home. So, how do you come to have Rosemary?"
Jean told how she and Hobart had gone to the cottage, the hospital and Dr Harvey's support.
"Well, she's a lucky little girl," Sister Josephine smiled, "I know, doctor, you think I'm strict, perhaps not loving, but if I got too emotionally involved with these children my heart would have shattered years ago. All I want is for them to go on to have a good life, if I can find them a family then that's even better. Now, if you bring Rosemary back in a month we can see about a church adoption, if that is what you want, otherwise long term fostering. Or I can find her a home with someone on my list –but I think she has her home."
"I don't know what to say," Jean gasped.
"I have known you for a long time, Mrs Blake, through the good times and the bad, and even though I thought the fresh fruit was a flash in the pan you have continued that, and the medical care you give our family, Dr Blake is not on a whim. The church may have abandoned you, Mrs Blake, oh yes, Father Emery told me, but God is in you, my child, in both of you ... go in his Grace, God bless both of you."
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"I suppose we'd better order some things for her," Lucien smiled as he drove the car away. "Jean, Jean ... are you alright?"
"I'm stunned, in shock, I never thought she'd do that." She looked at him, "and adoption, we need to talk, Lucien."
"We do, but, how do you feel about it, about Rosemary staying with us permanently?"
"I didn't dare to think about it," she leant back against the seat, "I mean not that I didn't think it would be nice, to have a child around the place but we are too old, according to welfare, to adopt, I just didn't want to be hurt, or you to be hurt. Lucien, can we do this?"
"Of course we can, we are doing it, and the broken nights won't last forever, will they? So, shall we order a pram, after all you can't carry her while you are shopping, can you?" He smiled, that morning, while Rosemary had snoozed on his chest he had wondered if they could keep her beginnings quiet and make up a story of how she came to be. A formal adoption was the best way, but he had known that welfare would never allow them to do that, and Miss Smith had shown she had no thought about the baby's welfare at all. This would wipe that satisfied smirk off her face.
"We need a cot, and a proper bassinet, I need my laundry basket back, nappies, I'd like to take the hospital ones back, and their gowns ..."
"Let's go shopping then, before she wakes for a feed, eh?"
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They had to place orders for the cot and pram, but were able to buy a bassinet, nappies and gowns, a few little dresses and bootees until Jean could get sewing and knitting. She already had one matinee cardigan on the go, and she had plenty of scraps of fabric that she could make dresses and knickers for her.