Jean put the phone down with a sigh.
"Alright, love?" Lucien wandered through with Amelia.
"That was Sister Josephine," she turned and switched the kettle off, tea would have to wait. "You're needed to assess a child who was passed to them by Amy Mallet, from the newsagent, left with the papers this morning, apparently."
"New born?"
"No," Jean shook her head, "but still a baby. Sister says about three months old, she didn't give any further details."
"Right, well ..." he looked at her, so far their request to be placed on the adoption list had only been met with raised eyebrows and not so subtle comments about their age. "... you comin'?" He'd not given the church orphanage much thought – until now.
"I shall have to bring Amelia," she sighed again.
"Won't hurt her to see how lucky she is, and meet some other children apart from my patients," he smiled.
"Gan'ma?" Amelia had looked from one to the other and listened to talk about a baby.
"How do you feel about going to meet some children at the orphanage, sweetheart?" Jean smiled, "they don't have mummies and daddies like you, or grandma's and granddads, either." Amelia was only three and Jean doubted she would understand, but how do you explain being an orphan to a three year old.
"Poor babies," she pouted.
"Indeed," Lucien agreed.
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Sister Josephine raised an eyebrow as Jean lifted Amelia out of the car. She knew, of course, that she was caring for her granddaughter but didn't expect her to be brought along with the doctor.
"Sister," Lucien stepped forward, "good morning. Hope you don't mind but we thought Amelia might like to meet some children."
"Hm," the nun muttered, "perhaps she can go with Mrs Blake to the little ones."
"Lovely," he smiled back, ignoring the pursed lips.
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Amelia played quite happily with some of the smaller children and listened as Jean read a story out of an old book one of the little boys thrust at her. It was a selection of bible stories – Jean expected no less – illustrated for the young reader. Jean chose the story of the flood feeling she could engage the children with the idea of the animals walking into the ark two by two and smiled when some of the children started to pretend to be those animals. She looked up as Lucien entered with a serious look on his face.
"Granddad!" Amelia squealed with joy and ran over to him.
"Hello, chick," he swung her up and kissed her forehead, "having fun?"
"We're going into the ship, like the animals," she giggled.
"Ah," he nodded wisely, "which animal are you?"
"A cat, granddad, like Blue," she rolled her eyes as if he had to ask.
"Of course, silly me," he smiled softly.
"Is everything alright, Lucien," Jean stood up and touched his arm.
"It's a little girl," he spoke quietly, "about three and a half months, I would guess, it wasn't in the letter tucked into her blanket; no name either. She has a deformed hand, the mother said she couldn't cope, otherwise she's just a little undernourished. Sister Josephine wants me to find her a home she doubts she will be able to find willing parents through the church."
"No, I expect they all want perfect children," Jean huffed. "How bad is the hand?"
"Partially formed is the best way to describe it. There is a thumb, but the fingers are just the tips and nails on a rather, well, lumpy, palm. It's her right hand."
"Well, being left-handed hasn't stopped Matthew," she mused.
"Jean ..." he sat down and set Amelia to play with her new friends and took his wife's hands, "Jean, you know ... we know ... that Family Welfare isn't going to consider us for adoptive parents ..."
"I need to see her first," she knew what he was thinking, the church were going to struggle to find someone and she doubted that the nuns had the wherewithal or knowledge to care for a disabled child. "I'm not saying yes, but we are well placed to care for such a child, with your medical knowledge ..."
"... and Amelia as a big sister ..."
"Hm," Jean wondered how she would cope with having another child in the house that needed a lot of attention.
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In the nursery a nun was changing the baby girl who lay obligingly still on the table, neither of Jean's boys were ever still whilst having their nappies changed, nor was Amelia, she wondered if there was more than the hand that was an issue.
"As I said, Jean," Lucien noticed her watching and thinking, "she's undernourished which is what I put her lethargy down to."
"Mm," she nodded slowly.
"Oh, Mrs Blake," the nun turned, "sorry, I didn't know you were here." She quickly wrapped the baby in a blanket, hiding the hand.
"That's alright, Sister, we did rather creep up on you. Dr Blake thought I might like to see the baby, Amelia of course is always curious." Jean smiled and stepped forward.
"Oh, right, well ..." she handed the baby to Jean.
"As you know, we were considering adopting a child, when we married ..."
"Oh Mrs Blake, surely you don't want one that is blighted?"
"Why? Do you think God has cursed her?" Jean frowned looking at the tiny bundle, "we all have our talents, Sister, no matter what, surely God has a plan for all of us?"
"She only has a left hand ..."
"... and...?"
"Isn't the devil left handed?"
"Goodness, Sister!" Jean gasped, "isn't the Archangel Gabriel God's left hand? On the side of wisdom."
Lucien loved it when Jean got into theological discussions with the clergy and he could see this nun was becoming more confused as the conversation went on; but it conjured up, in his mind, a picture of Matthew with devil's horns and a forked tail. He smirked.
"Gan'ma," Amelia tugged her jacket, "can I see?"
Jean bent down and showed her the baby.
"Pretty baby," she smiled and touched her cheek ever so gently; "does she have a mummy?"
"No, sweetheart, she doesn't."
"Poor baby," Amelia pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, "why don't you be her mummy?"
"Well, Amelia," Jean smiled, "babies take a lot of looking after, she can't do anything for herself, she needs feeding and keeping clean, she can't walk so ..."
"I don't need my stroller anymore, Gan'ma," Amelia tipped her head to one side, "she could use that."
"That's sweet of you, Amelia, but I think she needs a pram, like you had when you were tiny."
"I can help, Gan'ma," the little girl insisted.
"Oh darling girl, you are so caring," Jean looked at Lucien.
"Perhaps we should talk to Sister Josephine, my dear," he said reaching over and exposing the malformed hand, "while this doesn't cause me too much worry I do want to do further tests to check for any other conditions that this may be a symptom of."
"But even so, Lucien, that won't be a factor in our decision, will it?"
"Absolutely not, Jean," he smiled, fairly sure they had already made their decision, now it was up to Sister Josephine.
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It did not escape Sister Josephine's notice that Mrs Blake was holding the little foundling in one arm and her granddaughter with the other hand. She indicated they sit down in the seats opposite the desk. Amelia cuddled close to her grandmother and put her hand protectively on the baby's chest.
"How do you find her, doctor?" this was the original reason for asking Dr Blake to attend.
"A little undernourished," he hummed, "otherwise, apart from the hand, I have no immediate concerns, though I would like to do a further examination, an x-ray, perhaps an ECG to rule out any other problems the hand may just be a symptom of."
"Oh," she stuttered, "rather a lot to put a small child through."
"Yes, indeed, but best be sure, you wouldn't want adoptive parents to be totally in the dark about her condition, would you?" he smiled sweetly.
"Hm, yes well, adoption ... placing her is going to be problematic, I fear. Taking on a child with an obvious er ... shall we say ... 'difference' is not going to be easy."
"People can be so judgemental," Jean huffed, "does the age of prospective parents feature in your decision?"
"Er, well, not really. The obviously elderly would be discounted, we hope any adoptive parents would be able to see the child through to at least eighteen, guide them through their childhood and teenage years, why? Do you have someone in mind?" she wondered if they knew of a middle aged couple who had not been blessed with children.
"We do," Lucien looked at his wife and she nodded he should continue. "We would like to be considered as her parents. We have the room, even with Amelia, who would be like a big sister to her; she would get the best medical intervention should she need it, a good education and of course she would be loved."
Sister Josephine considered the couple before her, and the little girl who obviously had a kind heart – the way she stood now holding the baby's hand – perhaps this was for the best. Dr and Mrs Blake were not struggling financially and would be able to afford the best care for her.
"I will have to put it to the adoption committee," she sighed, "but I don't see much difficulty there. Now, child, Amelia is it?" she addressed the little girl. Amelia nodded.
"How do you feel about having a baby in your house?"
"I'll help Gan'ma," she nodded, "baby will be happy with us."
"Hm," Sister Josephine tapped her fingers together. "Leave it with me; in the meantime, shall I consider you as fostering her?"
"Now?" Jean gasped.
"I know you probably don't have everything she needs ..."
"That's not a problem," Lucien interrupted, "we can get all we need in town. Is there a birth certificate?"
"No, no paperwork at all, I don't think her birth was registered probably because of the hand," she shook her head.
"Hm, well in that case I suppose her birthday will have to be celebrated on the anniversary of her adoption, then," Jean sighed. She lifted her shoulders and looked at Sister Josephine, then back at Lucien, best take the bull by the horns, "can she stay here while we go and see how much we can get in town. If we can find a pram and a cot, clothes won't be a problem or baby food ...?"
"Of course, Sister Anne will take care of her until you return."
"It will be later today, if that's alright with you?"
"Perfectly."
"Gan'ma?"
"The baby is going to stay here while we go and get some things for her, Amelia," Jean soothed, "then we shall come and pick her up to stay with us."
"Goodie!" Amelia clapped her hands with joy.
Sister Josephine saw them out, the child happily chatting about the things they were going to get for her new sister and Jean answering all the questions – the little girl was going to be loved, in spite of everything.
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"Ordinarily," the shop manager frowned, "it would have to be ordered, well that and the cot, but we do have showroom models that are last year's styles."
Jean didn't think a cot had changed much, Amelia's cot looked much like the one she had had for her boys but she knew prams changed. A six week wait for a pram and a cot would be hopeless, especially the cot.
"Your choice, Jean," Lucien watched her smooth her hands across the top of the cot and test the drop side.
"It just needs a wipe down, finger marks and showroom dust," she hummed, "the pram with the shopping tray underneath would be good. It looks sturdy enough to take Amelia on the end if she gets tired ..."
"There is the possibility of putting a toddler seat on the end, madam," the manager suggested.
"Hm," Jean tipped her head; Lucien laughed as Amelia did the same. "I shall see how Amelia takes the walk into town. Could you deliver them today? I know it's short notice but we have been asked to foster a child, with a view to adoption ..."
"I expect I could arrange it," he hummed, "sometime this afternoon?"
"Lovely," Lucien took out his cheque book.
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The rest of the morning was spent arranging a space in Amelia's room for the cot and space in the chest of drawers for the clothes Jean had bought after they had seen to the cot and pram. A pile of nappies had been prepared and were set to one side and bottles of formula had been prepared and stored in the fridge. By the time they were ready for lunch all was set.
Jean, with Amelia's help, prepared sandwiches for lunch, fed Blue when she wandered in from patrolling the garden, and explained that under no circumstances was Blue allowed in the bedroom.
"Blue will want to explore the cot, darling, and she mustn't, especially if the baby is in there."
"Ok, Gan'ma, but Blue is a good cat, she never comes in the bedroom." Amelia reminded her and Jean couldn't explain to a three year old that cats like the smell of milk on a baby and it wasn't unknown for a cat to smother a baby when trying to find the source of the smell.
"Gan'ma?"
"Yes sweetheart?"
"What will you call the baby?"
"A very good question, we shall have to give that a lot of thought. Shall we discuss it while we have lunch?"
"Ok," Amelia nodded.
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Most of the names they came up with didn't feel right, or Amelia shook her head which made both of them smile.
"You know, Jean," Lucien sat back in his chair, "you mentioned that the Archangel Gabriel sits at God's left hand, what about Gabriella, we could shorten it to Ella for everyday use."
"Gabriella Blake, hm," she played with her teacup, "it does roll off the tongue nicely, what about Gabriella Jane, Jane was one of the names you suggested?"
"What do you think, Amelia?" he noticed she was thinking harder this time, "Gabriella Jane Blake for the baby, but we shall call her Ella."
She tipped her head from side to side then gave the name a try. Struggling over 'Gabriella' she tried 'Ella' and nodded her agreement.
"That solves that problem then, but how to find out her real mother?"
"We could try the hospital," Jean started to clear the table, "the midwives may know of someone that gave birth to a girl with a deformed hand."
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Plans for Lucien to drive Jean to collect Ella were derailed by a body needing an autopsy. The orphanage was too far away for Jean to walk and if she drove what would she do with the baby in the car. She huffed as she put the full laundry basket on the table, ready to fold the clean sheets and towels she had left on the line that morning.
"Bingo!" Lucien grinned. "Why don't you pad that out with towels and a blanket, it can sit on the back seat? You drive me to the morgue and then you can have the car to go and see Sister Josephine."
"Well," Jean frowned, "I suppose so; it wouldn't be the first time a baby had used a laundry basket for a bassinet. Alright, let's do that, heaven knows when you'll be back from the morgue." She rolled her eyes.
"Matthew didn't say what it was only that Alice would like me to attend."
"Not like her to balk at taking the lead."
"No," he frowned, "indeed – but you know Alice, a dark horse."
"Quite."
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Sister Josephine wasn't surprised when Jean arrived with Amelia. After that morning she decided nothing was going to be as usual with this fostering. Usually there was paperwork, and checking the parents, the house the dynamics between the various family members; this time it was Mrs Blake and Amelia and a sense of calm, of warmth and love.
"The doctor has been called away," Jean explained, "so we have come to take Ella home ..."
"Ella?"
"Yes, Gabriella Jane – Ella for short – after all, she has to have a name."
"Quite, we hadn't thought of one for her," Sister Josephine admitted, "we usually have a birth certificate or at least a letter, it's rare for us to have to name a baby."
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While Jean and Amelia were with Sister Josephine, Lucien and Alice were gazing down on the battered and subsequently drowned body of a young woman.
"Where was she found?" Lucien folded the sheet over her breasts.
"Out by Black Hills, they think she floated down the river," Alice hummed. "A walker called it in."
"What did you do to deserve this?" he murmured, stroking the cheek and brushing the hair aside to check for superficial bruises. "Too young to die."
"Quite," Alice coughed, "and so brutally. Why, Lucien? She was pretty, what most men want ..."
"You know that's not true, Alice," Lucien touched her arm gently, "we men are simple creatures, you would agree with that, but some of us want more than a pretty face and a slim figure. Jean has those, but she is also clever, insightful, knows Ballarat like the back of her hand and understands people."
Alice humphed.
"And you, well, you should ask Matthew, but I would guess, aside from your looks and figure ..."
"Lucien!"
"... he values your intelligence, your professionalism ..."
Alice blushed, she had refused all the officer's attempts to take her to dinner or for a coffee, not because she didn't like him, she did, it was just her previous dates with other men had not gone well.
"Right," he returned to the task in hand, "so, bruising over most of her body, quite a beating, lungs"?
"X-rays show drowning, so she must have been alive when she entered the water."
"Alice," he frowned, "this seems to be murder, which you are more than capable of calling in so why did you ask for me to attend?"
She inhaled and drew herself up, "this could have been me, a long time ago. I needed an objective view."
"Alice," he touched her arm in that gentle way she had come to appreciate as understanding and nothing more. "I'm sorry I should have known you have a very good reason."
"I was seeing someone, just after I qualified. I wouldn't ... well you know," she stared at the ceiling while he nodded his understanding, "he got violent ..."
"It's alright, Alice, I understand. I assume he's minus some vital parts?"
"They were a bit bruised," she shrugged, "but he shoved me into the River Yarra after a fight."
"I'm glad he didn't win, I'd miss you here."
She understood what he was saying as much as he understood why she had asked for him to attend – to keep her grounded.
The full autopsy revealed a young woman who had given birth recently, within the past three to four months; she had been dragged, beaten and thrown into the river where she had drowned.
"She leaves a child," Alice mused, "a motherless infant, Lucien ..."
"We're adopting," he finished closing up the body, "a little girl with a malformed hand. We've named her Gabriella Jane, Ella for everyday." He covered the girl with a sheet. "She was left at the newsagents shop and taken to the orphanage at Mount Clear. Sister Josephine thinks the church would have trouble placing a child with a disfigurement, so we have said we'll have her." He didn't know quite why he gave her so much information but somehow he thought the two things were connected – a baby with no papers and a young mother beaten and thrown in a river.
"You think this is Ella's mother?"
He shrugged.
"Well, she's a lucky little girl, though what Amelia ..."
"It wasn't quite her idea, but when we took her up to the orphanage when I was asked to attend she was quite protective – hand notwithstanding. She didn't even mention it. She just thought it was sad that some children don't have mummies or daddies. She suggested that Jean be her mummy."
"Oh."
"Yeah," Lucien grinned, "I'm incredibly lucky, Alice ..."
"Huh, what?" Matthew Lawson pushed open the door.
"Just tellin' Alice that we are adopting little girl and how Amelia kinda nudged us in that way – and how lucky I am," he raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes to Alice.
Matthew grunted but wouldn't look at the woman he would rather like to get to know better. "So this ..." he waved his hand over the sheeted body.
"Female, beaten and drowned, not a natural death ... she ..."
"It's alright ... well it's not, but we know now we're looking for a murderer."
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Jean settled Amelia and assured her that Granddad would be home soon and she wasn't to worry if Ella woke during the night for a feed.
"You did the same, Amelia," she tucked her in, "it will be a while before Ella sleeps all night."
"Ok, gan'ma," Amelia mumbled sleepily and snuggled down into her bed.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," Jean whispered, kissing her forehead, "you sweet and gentle child."
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Lucien arrived as Jean was feeding Ella. She had kept her in the pram planning on settling her in the cot as she went to bed herself, minimising the chance of disturbing Amelia. She looked up and gave him a little smile, he thought she looked lovely but the afternoon had saddened him.
"Bad?" she murmured.
He sat beside her and took hold of Ella's hand, "I think we just autopsied Ella's mother."
"Oh, Lucien, really?" she heaved a sad sigh, "are you sure?"
"As sure as I can be at this time. She was young, recently gave birth, but she was beaten and thrown in the river and drowned."
"No means of identification, I suppose?"
He shook his head.
"No missing persons report?"
Again he shook his head.
"Come on," she stood up, "Ella's not the only one who needs feeding, you can't think on an empty stomach."
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He opened the morning paper to be faced with his greatest mistake. There she was, her beaten face stared up at him from the page as the police asked for any information as to her name or where she had lived. The river had been flowing fast that day and he assumed she would end up in the sea before being found by a dog walker.
Suddenly he had lost his appetite. Leaving his breakfast untouched on the small kitchen table he went around the house collecting everything that could show she had stayed at his house – stayed – well she acted as a housekeeper for him. Far too young and pretty he had said but she had told him she had nowhere else to go and would work hard, she was a good cook, she said, and she proved it by baking fresh breads and cakes, heart-warming stews when the weather demanded it ... all in all it was a situation that suited them both.
She didn't openly flirt with him but smiled warmly when he complimented her on the meal, or the way she starched his shirts; the way she set flowers around the house and the church, her small suggestions for his sermons – Edith was an asset to his parish and no one thought anything of it for he had given himself to the church.
It all started, he supposed, when he found her crying over a letter she had received. It wasn't usual for her to get post, she said she had no family but what she meant, he found out with his gentle probing, was that her parents had passed away and because she had refused to marry the man her brother set out for her she had been thrown out without a penny.
"He was an awful man, Father," she sniffed into the handkerchief he passed her, "rude and over-bearing, rough, angry all the time, but my family don't have much and he was rich. Albert, that's my brother, thought that if I married him he could live off the two of us."
"My poor child," he soothed, "don't you worry about a thing. Neither your brother nor this man you speak of shall harm you. You are good and kind, a hard worker; you must make up your own mind about whether or not you marry and to whom. I hope he didn't take advantage of you?"
"Oh no, Father, never. He wanted to, but I kicked up such a fuss that not even Albert would agree that he should have me before we were wed, what would people think?"
"I'm glad they weren't prepared to go that far, to force you into a marriage. Now, we shall worry no more about it," he patted her hand, "how about a nice cup of tea?"
She smiled through her tears and nodded.
From then on they seemed to become closer, the priest could not stop himself smiling more in her presence and she returned the smiles, and the little touches to the hand and then one evening it started to go further than it should have.
He had been having thoughts unworthy of a priest and punished himself by self flagellation. She noticed him walking stiffly and not able to lean back comfortably in his armchair and asked him if he was unwell.
"'Tis nothing, child," he grunted, "age ..."
"You're not old Father," she smiled, "in the prime of your life, I should say."
"Pshaw," he smiled softly.
She decided against pressing him, though she could see he was in some kind of turmoil.
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As most of their large laundry items were sent out to be cleaned she didn't see the results of his thoughts on his bed-sheets but when she found a bloodied singlet in the hand washing she worried even more.
"Father," she stood at the door of his study as he tried to write his up-coming Sunday sermon, "Father, has someone attacked you?"
"Why would you think that, Edith?" he frowned.
"I er, you put this in the laundry basket," she held up the item, "there's blood on the back."
"Oh, sorry, I should have sent it out." He stuttered.
"I always wash the smaller items, Father," she stepped further into the room. "Is this why you have been in some discomfort?"
"Edith, child," he cleared his throat, "it is of no matter."
"Father?"
"Please, Edith ..."
She frowned but decided against pressing him, she would find out.
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He thought she was out shopping; he had had impure thoughts again that night and had to punish himself but he hadn't reckoned on her catching the bus to return with the groceries which were too heavy to carry all the way from the store.
She put the basket on the kitchen table and set about making tea when she heard a grunt and slap coming from his room. Thinking he was under attack from disgruntled parishioner she armed herself with the rolling pin and went to assist in whatever way she could. Silently she pushed open the door to see him bring the whip down on his back, the previous healing scars mixed with the fresh ones had her gasp and drop the pin in shock.
"Father!" she ran forward and snatched the whip from his hand, "what are you doing?"
"Edith," he turned a dropped to his knees, "you wouldn't understand – I must punish myself, I am not a good man."
"Oh Father," she knelt in front of him and cupped his cheek with her small hand, "you are the kindest of men, why do you need to punish yourself ..."
He pulled his head away from her, "I think things, Edith," he started to cry, "things no priest should entertain, yet I do ... Oh Edith," he slumped against her breast, "you are so good and kind, so gentle and pure and I think of such things with you and I must be punished."
She put her arms around him and rocked him, stroked his back with his discarded shirt, "sh, dear Father Daniel," she soothed, "you are a man, such thoughts are natural, unbidden ..."
"... but I am a priest ... sworn to celibacy ..."
"... and I am a woman, we all have thoughts, Father, we are not infallible ..."
Through her dress he heard her heart beat fast, felt the softness of her breasts, smelt the clean smell of her soap and he was lost and could not find a way to stop himself; when she dropped a soft kiss on his head he fell and took her with him ...
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He should have felt guilty for being with her, for sharing his bed with her, tasting and touching her, having her young body writhe with carnal desires under him, and he did but it was glorious, and it became their secret for months until the fateful day she realised she had caught ...
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She left in the dead of night, just a short note to say she could not stay, that their sins would be found out. He understood what had happened but he had no way to find out where she had gone. He hoped she was safe, advertised for a new housekeeper and took on a mature, less tempting woman to see to his laundry and cooking, though he spent many hours in prayer asking God for his forgiveness and praying Edith was safe, and the child she carried.
As the months went by he settled back into his old routines, those that were quiet before she had come into his life, and though he still felt a huge guilt for what he had done and for her leaving he could manage. Maybe he took a little more communion wine than was good for him, maybe a second – or third – drop of whisky at night, but he managed.
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Work for a pregnant young 'widow' was not easy, but she managed to find some kitchen work in a small hotel, work where she was not seen by the customers, until the time came for her to give birth. As her tiny daughter, with her malformed hand, came into the world she wondered if she should at least let the priest have sight of her, before she set her on the steps of an orphanage and went on with her life, somehow.
When she left the hospital she sent him a note to say she had a little girl and while she knew it was not wise for her to be seen at his house because tongues would wag she would like to meet him to say a proper good bye.
At first he was just happy to know she was well but he too knew she could not be seen with him, so it was some time before they could arrange a meeting. In the meantime he sent her a little money to help with her living arrangements until he found a place they could meet.
It was a pleasant spot beside the river, fast flowing with the spring waters, the perfect place to set their sins to rest.
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At first, sitting there on the blanket with a flask of tea and some biscuits he had brought from the house all was well. She told him of her life since she had left him and the baby slept on oblivious.
"She's a good baby, Daniel," Edith smiled.
"May I, I could bless her ..."
"That would be lovely," she passed over the swaddled child hoping she would sleep through the blessing and not wave the hand into his view. She was ashamed and was convinced it was a result of their sins, that their child should be blighted in this way.
Father Daniel made the sign of the cross on her forehead and murmured a prayer over her. The baby stirred and he stroked his hand down her and opened the blanket. In his shock he nearly dropped her.
"Edith!" he cried, "what is this? Oh God, what have we done? This is your fault, you tempted me!"
"Daniel, no!" she grabbed her baby, "how can you say that?"
"With your smiles, your softness ... you Jezebel!"
"Father!" she reached over to him, "please, I beseech you! We are going away, no one will know ..."
He grabbed her wrist, causing her to drop the baby on the blanket, and slapped her, hard. As she tried to defend herself he set about beating her in a blind rage until she lay bloodied and unconscious by her child. He kicked her into the river and washed his hands in the water as she floated away.
The baby cried.
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It was mid morning before he returned from the centre of Ballarat where he had left the child behind the pile of that morning's papers at the newsagents. He spent the day in the church in prayer and vowed to continue in his life in the church. He would confess his sins to God, and God alone each day, be a friend to the poor, kind to the destitute but never again look at a young woman with the lust he had for Edith. Perhaps if he had met her before he entered the priesthood things would have been different, they could perhaps have been happy and their daughter would not have had the disfigurement God had soiled her with. But he hadn't and things had turned out as they had – he would pay for this at the gates of Heaven when it was his time – then the morning paper had arrived ...
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His body was found hanging from a rafter in the vestry of the church the day he read the paper. On the desk was a letter to be posted to Chief Superintendant Matthew Lawson of the Ballarat Police.
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"A full confession," Matthew sighed, dropping the letter on the table, "all because a young girl was kind to a young priest – two lives wasted."
Jean cradled Ella after a feed and lifted the papers with her free hand. "Poor man, poor Edith," she read the last page, "he says he knows he will go to hell for his carnal actions so to hang himself, a mortal sin, is not such a big step to the gates of hell. Yet he chose not to kill Ella ..."
"Trying to make amends?" Lucien frowned.
"He killed her mother in blind rage, Lucien ..."
"Hm," he nodded, "a blind rage at who? At God, at Edith? Well, we will bring Ella up not to be ashamed of her birth, I'm sure, from what the letter says, Edith loved her and in another time, another place maybe he would have also loved her."
"I think he loved Edith," Matthew shrugged, "at least at first – first as a priest, and eventually as a woman but his calling was against that."
"Perhaps it's time for the Catholic church to allow priests to marry, to have that family life ..." Lucien sat back in his seat.
Jean still wasn't sure even though that church had excommunicated her because she married a divorcee – it would have preferred her to live a lonely life as a widow without Lucien's love, something she could not now contemplate. She sighed and turned to Matthew.
"How's Alice?"
He shrugged. Try as he might she still wouldn't go out for even a coffee with him and she still hadn't told him why she needed Lucien on this case, she was a more than competent pathologist; Lucien had not broken her confidence on this.
"Alright, I'll ask her, but you join us too, eh?"
"Yeah," he smiled, "yeah, I'd like that."
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Amelia was delighted that Matthew was going to have dinner with them, she treated him like an uncle though she didn't see him too often. She was a little afraid of Dr Harvey, just a little, she always seemed so stern but she had so much new in her life now – a sister to look out for. It amused both Jean and Lucien the way she alerted them to Ella being awake, or crying and she insisted Gan'ma or Granddad read the bedtime story to the both of them, even though they told her Ella was too young to understand.
Amelia would always be Ella's biggest champion – woes betide anyone who was mean to her in the future.
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A longer than usual chapter in these chronicles, but it is a long, long time since I have updated.