Page 39 of A Landscape of Love

“Oh.” Kathy put her hand to her swollen belly and swallowed hard.

Mr Fisher nodded. “There has been the occasional joyful reunion, I’m happy to say, though not nearly as many as we might hope for.”

Hart exchanged a glance with his sister, who nodded. They had spoken about how best to handle the matter as discreetly as they were able. There was little choice now but to proceed as planned. It would have been perfect to simply identify the boy, find him within the school, and for Hart to decide on the spot to adopt him, but that would have been too easy, he supposed.

“Mr Fischer,” Kathy began, once more sliding into the role of Lady Vane. “From what I have seen so far, the foundling home is a place worthy of my patronage. However, I must be able to have complete confidence in the staff who work here. I need to trust them implicitly, both with my money and with my reputation.”

“Why, of course, my lady. I assure you there is no difficulty there. You may put your confidence in us all.”

“And in you, Mr Fischer?” she said, her tone pointed. “May I rely on your discretion?”

Mr Fischer paused, noting the change in her tone. “I am the soul of discretion, my lady,” he said with dignity. “You may have no fear on that score.”

Kathy nodded and turned to her brother. Hart regarded Mr Fischer. “I am here on behalf of a friend who is in search of her son. Her father removed the child from her arms within minutes of his birth and recorded in writing his intention to bring him here the very same day. Yet no child is registered within your books on any of the days of that week. Is there a possibility that the entry could have been made elsewhere, that an error could have been made, or that someone else could have intervened? The father, perhaps? And would such details have been recorded?”

“Ah,” said Mr Fischer, colouring somewhat as he looked at Hart.

Hart glowered back at him. “The child is not mine,” he ground out. “I am merely doing a service for a lady who cannot, for obvious reasons, make enquiries for herself.”

Mr Fischer cleared his throat and nodded, the colour draining from his cheeks as quickly as it had arrived as he regarded Hart’s furious glare. “Of course, of course. I quite understand. Well, yes, if the circumstances were unusual, there is a chance I would make a note of the fact in my personal diary. Gentlemen who wish to… er, place their illegitimate offspring within our care, often make arrangements to… to…”

“Abandon?” Kathy suggested, her tone icy.

“Er… to leave the child in our care during the early hours of the morning,” Mr Fischer carried on doggedly. “As the circumstances are usually rather delicate, I deal with these arrangements myself and hand the child into the care of a nurse at once.”

“Then would you be so good as to check your diary, sir,” Kathy demanded.

“On the second of February, eighteen forty-five,” Hart added.

Mr Fischer’s eyebrows rose. “Five years ago? Well, of course I shall consult my diary. If you would excuse me for a moment?”

Hart and Kathy nodded their agreement, and the man left the room. Hart surged to his feet, crossing to the window and folding his arms, scowling at the grey skies beyond the glass. His guts were in turmoil. He had promised Fidelia he would find her son for her, fool that he was. What business had he making such a promise? But it had seemed an easy enough thing to do when he knew the child was here. Why wasn’t the child here, though? That was what he could not understand. It wasn’t as if the duke would have changed his mind. Hart considered all the possible scenarios, including some that made his stomach roil, but surely even Beresford wasn’t cold-blooded enough to murder an innocent babe?

“Hart, do stop pacing. You are wearing my nerves out, never mind the floor,” Kathy complained.

Hart opened his mouth to make a snappy retort, but the door opened, and Mr Fischer returned to them.

“Well,” he said, regarding their expectant faces with a grim smile. “It was an unusual night, it appears. According to my diary, I spent the evening awaiting an arrival. The rendezvous was arranged for two in the morning. Yet when I went down upon hearing the carriage arrive, I discovered I was too late. The carriage was driving away. There was a young woman there, though, holding a newborn infant in her arms. I asked her if she wished to leave the child with me and she replied, in no uncertain terms, that she would burn in hell before she left the boy in a place like this.”

“Good heavens!” Kathy said in surprise.

“Who was she? What did she look like?” Hart demanded.

“As to who she was, I cannot tell you,” Mr Fischer said to regret. “I remember the night in question clearly now, for it stuck in my mind for some time afterwards, and she was a lady, well spoken, despite her rather forthright manner. She was also very beautiful. She wore a cloak that shielded much of her face, but I should know her anywhere. Such bone structure, and those eyes…” Mr Fischer gave a wistful sigh. “I assumed it was the mother at first, but then why would her father have given the child into her arms, unless he decided to wash his hands of them both? I confess it puzzled me for some time, but sadly there are so many stories here, my lady. One forgets in time,” he added apologetically.

“It was not the boy’s mother,” Hart said, frustration gnawing at his bones. “Damnation, what the devil am I supposed to do now?”

Mr Fischer shrugged. “There is nothing you can do, I am afraid. I have no notion who the woman was or where she took the child. I never saw or heard from her again.”

Hart groaned and put his head in his hands.

Kathy put a comforting hand on his arm. “You did everything you could,” she said gently. “You can do no more than that.”

“It will kill her,” he said, his tone bleak. “She was so unhappy and I… I made her think it was possible, that she had hope, and now—”

“And now she’ll survive because she has a friend to turn to,” Kathy said firmly. “She was alone in her grief before, Hart. Now she has someone else who knows and cares what happened. Don’t underestimate the difference that will make.”

“There is one thing, my lady,” Mr Fischer said, having watched this exchange with interest. “I remarked in my diary that the night was uncommonly cold, and that it began to snow in the early evening. Indeed, the snow fell thick and fast for several days, making travel nigh on impossible. It strikes me that the woman could not have gone far with a newborn in that weather. She must have stayed nearby until the weather cleared, so perhaps—”