The Child Lives On

Chapter Six

It is a normal day amongst weeks and months and years of days which run together in my mind. I awaken in the same manner, shave using the same strokes, dress in the same style, and consume the same breakfast. I arrive at my office, via the same route, conveyed by the same coach and driver. Barnaby, my clerk, delivers a cup of coffee, adds exactly the same amount of cream and sugar, stirring ten rotations clockwise with a spoon. A stack of papers lay on my desk, begging for attention. Picking one from the middle, as usual, I lean back in my chair and peruse.

The stack is slowly dwindling. A light clearing of the throat catches my ear. I look up. Barnaby is beside my desk.

"What is it?" I ask.

"A child wishes to see you, sir."

"A child?"

"She says to tell you…" He hesitates.

"Yes?"

"She still has the dolly you gave her, sir."

"Show her in… and bring some coffee, if you would."

"Right away, sir."

"Wait."

"Sir?"

"We don't give coffee to children, do we?"

"Not as a general rule, sir."

"Bring tea."

"Yes, sir."

What a delightful surprise. I'm not generally fond of children, as a rule, but this particular child is an exception.

Barnaby ushers the child into the office, closing the door behind her. She is wearing a lovely white and pink frock, with little pink gloves and tiny pink slippers. Auburn curls poke out, here and there, from under a white and pink bonnet trimmed with lace. A welcoming smile brings out the dimples on her chubby little cheeks.

I rise to my feet. "To what do I owe this pleasure, my dear."

She removes her gloves, dropping them into a large white and pink cloth-bag, pulls a jar from the same bag, and places it on my desk. "Good morning, Mr. Johnson," she says. "I brought something for you."

Resuming my seat, I stare at the jar, saying, "I thought this was gone for good. Mr. Hammer…"

"I smuggled it in for you."

"You have my eternal gratitude."

Unbeknownst to the world at large, this child produces the most heavenly elixir. Since she moved away, I have been searching high and low for a substitute. Nothing I've found, however, comes close.

Barnaby brings in the tea-service, gently placing the tray on a small table. "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"Not right now," I say. "Thank you."

He leaves as quietly as he came in.

The child pours the tea and places a cup on the desk in front of me. I take a sip, absentmindedly. She drifts around the office, like a tiny ballerina, examining every little thing.

"What brings you to England?" I ask.

"Ruthie's wedding," is her answer.

"Ah."

"Does it still hurt?"

How does she know? I didn't let it show. "No, no," I say. "I was resigned to it long ago, when I first saw them dancing together."

"And yet you came around often."

"At the time, occupying the same room was enough. Do you like France?"

"Very much so. You should see my garden. It's three times as big as the garden I had here."

"And you're still making elixirs?"

"Oh yes. Monsieur Marteau sells them in his shop."

"If you don't mind my asking, where is this shop?"

"I'll give you the address if you like."

"Thank you."

In my excitement, I scurry to the door and open it. Barnaby is at his desk in the antechamber, sipping coffee. When he notices me, he sets down his cup. "Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

"Paper," I say.

"Right away, sir."

"And… um… do we have a stool?"

"I believe I can locate one, sir."

"Very good. Thank you."

While I am returning to my seat, Barnaby appears with the paper and stool. He sets the stool on the floor by the desk and offers the child his hand. Taking his hand, she steps onto the stool and writes out the address on the paper. Her handwriting is exceptionally neat.

I give the paper to Barnaby. "File this, will you?"

"Right away, sir," he says, helping the child to dismount, and taking the paper and stool away.

"I was just about to leave for lunch," I say to the child. "Will you join me?"

"It would be an honor, sir."

I choose a little café, haunted by lawyers. It's just beginning to fill up. We find a table near the door. From my point of view, I can only see the top of the child's head. "Do you need something to sit on?" I ask. The waiter, anticipating, hurries over with a large book, placing it on a chair and lifting the child onto it. "I know how it is," he says. "I have three little girls myself."

We order steak and kidney pudding. In a matter of minutes, it is placed before us. I punch a hole in the crust with my fork, allowing the steam to burst forth.

"Does your mother know you're here?" I ask.

"Yes," says the child. "She's busy with the wedding."

"How did you get here?"

"Lady Harrington loaned me her carriage."

"The driver isn't waiting, is he?"

"He will come back for me."

"I see. What would you have done if I wasn't here?"

"I would have found a quiet place to wait."

"All alone?"

"Certainly. I have my knitting to keep me occupied."

The pudding seems cool enough. Taking a bite, I enjoy the savory splendor. The child does the same.

"I'm surprised Miss Harrington isn't with you," I say. "I remember…"

"She found a beau," says the child.

"Did she?"

"Head over heels, as they say."

"She never did anything halfway."

"He's a fine gentleman."

"Lord Harrington would never allow just anyone to court his daughter."

"Certainly not."

"Give them my best regards."

"I will."

Looking down, I notice the pudding is gone. Did I eat it all? Calling the waiter over, I order coffee, tea, and strawberry tarts. I don't normally eat desserts; but then again, I don't normally entertain such a charming guest.

"Did you have a happy childhood?" asks the child.

Surprised by the question, I pause to consider. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

"Let me think." I tap my chin and furrow my brow, then cross my arms and look at the ceiling. "It wasn't happy or sad," I say. "My father planned my life from the cradle onwards."

"He planned everything?"

"Every little detail."

"I'm surprised he didn't arrange a marriage."

"He did. But he died before he could see it through. I was spared."

Her stare is profound. For some reason, I am ashamed. "Perhaps I should have said, she was spared."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Any wife of mine would be unfairly compared to your sister. I've tried to put her out of my mind, but once you've seen a heavenly vision, you can't unsee it." What did I just say? And why?

"I wish I could help you, but this is beyond me."

"I have no need of help, my dear. Bachelorhood has its advantages."

"We are in the same boat."

"How so?"

"I will never marry."

"How can you know?"

"I have determined it, just as you."

"You still have time to change your mind."

"As do you."

I can't help but chuckle. "You would make a fine lawyer, my dear, turning my arguments against me."

"Is it just playing games with words?"

"Not when there's a life in the balance."

Concern darkens her pretty face. "You, sir, have a very important job."

"Just a cog in a wheel, my dear."

"As always, I learn something when I'm with you."

"And I with you."

Watching her from the window, waving goodbye as she enters the carriage, I am gratified to have acquired such a friend. She had no reason to seek me out, but did so anyway. Remembering the elixir she left on my desk, I open the lid, lift the jar to my lips and take a sip. Feeling a sudden burst of energy, I attack my next task with vigor.