Page 63 of Beyond the Grave
"Yes," I whispered.
"But her eyes were brown."
"Mine are blue, like his." I wished I'd found out more about my mother from my father, before his death, but there'd been so little opportunity, and now he was gone. "Does the letter say what happened to her?"
"The matron notes that Ellen left in something of a hurry. She was upset at having to give you up, but she felt certain it was for the best. It was very hard for her to walk away, but she was very sick and knew she couldn't look after you. The matron says Ellen begged her to give you away to a nice, respectable family, one who desperately wanted a child of their own to love. When the Holloways came to them a few days later, wanting a daughter, she didn't hesitate to give you to them. You were a good baby, content, and the right age. The matron suspects your mother probably wouldn't have lived very long. She was too ill."
He watched me very closely, his gaze never leaving my face. I wanted him to hold me, comfort me, but I knew I would get no affection from him now. He'd made his stance clear.
"Why were the Holloways in France looking for a baby?" Seth asked.
"Aye," said Gus. "What's wrong with an English one?" Seth smacked his arm, spilling some of Gus's tea. "What's wrong with that question?"
Cook swore under his breath, gave me a pointed look, and smacked Gus's other arm.
"The matron doesn't know for certain," Lincoln said, "but she implies that the Holloways wanted to pass the child off as their own, after an extended tour of the continent. Apparently it happens frequently. Holloway claimed their decision to 'save a poor French babe,' as he put it, was made on a whim the day before, but matron said it can't have been. They already owned a perambulator and some baby clothes. With the previous day being a Sunday, they couldn't have purchased anything. They must have been planning an adoption for some time."
"Blimey, this matron has a good memory."
"She asks how you are, Charlie," Lincoln went on. "She's very interested to know how you turned out. If you'd like to write to her, I can translate for you."
I nodded dumbly, even though I couldn't think of a single thing I wanted to say to her at that moment. Thank you, perhaps?
"There is one final thing she notes. Your mother left something, with the stipulation that it would remain with you, but the Holloways wanted nothing from your past. She asks if I want it sent over."
"Yes," I said quickly. "Yes, please, tell her to send them." I rose, hardly knowing what I was doing. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts. The woman who'd given birth to me seemed more real now, not an unknown, vague figure. And she had loved me enough to do what was best for me.
"Excuse me," I said with a weak smile for them all. "The cake was lovely, Cook, but I'm not hungry. I'll finish it later."
"You ain't started," Gus noted.
"Shut it," Cook hissed.
I left and headed…somewhere. I hardly knew where to go. Outside, perhaps. I needed some fresh air. But Lincoln caught up to me before I reached the front door.
"Charlie, a moment."
I stopped and looked up at him. I was very aware of my full eyes, my tight throat. My emotions were close to the surface. Close to spilling over. Speaking with Lincoln might not be the best thing for my tender nerves at that moment.
His fingers brushed mine so briefly that I wondered if I'd just imagined it. "I'll take you." The words tumbled from his lips. I'd learned that he spoke that way when he said something on a whim, without much forethought.
"I'm not going anywhere in particular." I waved in the general direction of the front door. "Just outside for a walk."
"I mean to France."
"France?" Surely he wasn't serious. And yet he looked so earnest, so sincere.
"After we've found Buchanan, we'll travel to Paris together and retrieve your things from the orphanage."
I became aware that I was staring at him rather stupidly, my mouth ajar. "Lincoln…don't say things you'll regret later."
He clasped his hands behind his back. "Hopefully before winter comes, when the crossing is rougher. Sea voyages are unpleasant at the best of times."
"I wouldn't know." I waited for him to retract his offer, but he didn't. He simply stood there, as if he were waiting for me to speak. "Lincoln, I…I don't know what to say."
"There's nothing to say." He turned and marched off. His fingers twisted together at his back, the knuckles white.
I wanted to run after him, take his face in my hands and kiss him. But instead I simply called, "Thank you."
