Constable Miller took the portmanteau from him and proceeded to examine it in the light of a candle sconce. ‘There doesn’t seem to be a note of any kind, Mr Fowler.’ He raised his head, giving Cordelia a questioning look. ‘Was there a note pinned to the baby’s shawl, ma’am? The child’s name, maybe?’
Cordelia shook her head. ‘Nothing, Constable. The baby is well cared for and clean, and her garments are of good quality.’
Constable Miller ran his hands around the lining of the case. ‘Aha. As I thought. There is generally something personal to the mother left with foundlings.’ He held up a gold ring set with two heart-shaped rubies. ‘This might be valuable,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but I’m not an expert in jewellery. Anyway, it might help us to find the mother, or it’s possible she will have second thoughts and return to the place where she abandoned her baby. Women do strange things in such cases.’
‘What will happen to the child now?’ Cordelia asked anxiously. ‘You won’t lock her in a cell overnight, will you?’
A wry smile creased Constable Miller’s face into even deeper lines. ‘I doubt if the other occupants of the lock-up would appreciate a nipper howling its head off, ma’am. I’ll have to report back to the station, but I expect she’ll end up in the workhouse if the Foundling Hospital can’t take her.’
Jim backed towards the door. ‘I’ve got to go, Constable. The service has ended and I’ll be needed to tidy up ready for the Christmas Day services.’ He let himself into the body of the church, closing the door behind him.
‘Busy for all of us,’ Constable Miller said drily. ‘No doubt we’ll be scooping the drunks off the streets and arresting the pros—’ He broke off, his face flushing brick red. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. I mean we’ll be keeping the streets as free from crime as possible in this part of the East End.’ He reached out to take the baby, but Cordelia tightened her hold on the tiny body.
‘I don’t like to think of Angel in such a place, Constable. Or in the workhouse, if it comes to that.’
‘She has a name, ma’am?’
Cordelia blushed rosily. ‘I’ve been calling her Angel because she was found in Angel Alley and because it’s Christmas, and she looks like an angel.’
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to take care of her for a couple of days, would you, ma’am? It would make my life easier and you obviously have some feelings for the little mite. Which,’ he added hastily, ‘I can understand, being the father of five. I’d take her myself, but for the fact that my wife is sick in bed and the nippers are having to look after themselves.’
‘I wish I could, Constable,’ Cordelia said with genuine regret, ‘but my husband wouldn’t agree, and anyway, she needs a wet nurse.’
‘Give her to me then, ma’am. I’m sure the sergeant at the station will know of some woman who’d like to earn a few pence for her labours.’
Cordelia hesitated. ‘I suppose that means some slattern who might be disease ridden and most certainly of low morals.’
‘That I can’t say, ma’am.’ Constable Miller kept his tone moderate but he was tired and coming to the end of his shift. His only wish was to take the tiresome infant to the station and see it safely settled before he went home to his family, left in the care of his eldest daughter, a child of ten. Whether or not they were asleep in bed was something he would discover when he opened the door of their two-up, two-down terraced house. No doubt they would have searched the cupboards for their presents, such as they were, but all he could afford on a constable’s pay were wooden toys made from offcuts by the carpenter who lived at number six, and rag dolls that his wife had spent many evenings sewing by the light of a single candle.
Cordelia rose to her feet, still clutching Angel, who was growing restive and her whimpering was rapidly growing in volume. ‘I must come with you, Constable. I have to make certain that this child is placed in safe hands.’ Cordelia turned her head as the door opened to admit Letitia, the vicar and Joseph Wilding, and judging by the expressions on their faces she realised that her decision was going to attract strong opposition. She explained hastily, but Joseph barely allowed her to finish speaking.
‘It’s ridiculous, Cordelia. The child has been deserted by her mother and goodness knows where it came from. The thing might be riddled with disease and you have a delicate constitution. Come away and leave the matter to the authorities.’
‘Yes, my dear,’ Letitia said smoothly. ‘Your caring attitude is admirable, but misplaced. There are institutions that care for this type of child.’
‘And what type is that?’ Cordelia demanded angrily. ‘Angel is an innocent, just like the Child whose birth we are supposed to be celebrating at Christmas.’
Shocked, Letitia stared at her wide-eyed. ‘That is blasphemous, Cordelia.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Pretend you didn’t hear that, John. Cordelia is obviously beside herself, and it’s very late. Time we were all tucked up in our beds so that we can be ready for tomorrow – or rather, later on today. Go home, Cordelia, and leave the matter in the hands of the police.’
Cordelia held the child closer as she rose to her feet. Rebellion was not in her nature and she would normally have complied with her husband’s wishes, but this was different. ‘No,’ she said firmly.
‘No?’ Letitia and Joseph spoke in unison.
‘It’s all right, ma’am,’ Constable Miller said hastily. ‘I will make certain that the child is well cared for.’
Cordelia shot a sideways look at her husband. ‘I am not abandoning this infant. I intend to accompany Constable Miller to the police station, and I will stay with Angel until I am satisfied that appropriate arrangements have been made for her care.’
‘Cordelia, I forbid you—’ Joseph broke off mid-sentence. The stubborn set of his wife’s normally soft jawline and the martial gleam in her large grey eyes both startled and confused him. Used as he was to commanding his army of workers at the brewery and generally getting his own way by simple force of his domineering nature, he was suddenly at a loss.
‘I am going with her,’ Cordelia said simply. ‘It’s Christmas Day and my little winter angel needs the comfort of loving arms. I will never know the joy of holding my own child, so please allow me this one small thing, Joseph.’
John Hardisty cleared his throat, touched to the core by the simple request of a childless woman. ‘I will accompany you, my dear Mrs Wilding. If Joseph feels he must tend to your guests then please allow me to be of assistance.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Vicar.’ Joseph moved to his wife’s side. ‘I’m sure my friends will understand. I don’t agree with what you’re doing, Cordelia, but I am prepared to humour you – just this once.’
She met his gaze with a steady look. For the first time in the twenty-five years of their marriage she knew that she was in control, and it was a good feeling. She said nothing as she followed the constable out of the church, wrapping her cape around the baby to protect her from the heavily falling snow.
‘Get into the carriage, Cordelia,’ Joseph said sternly. ‘Might I offer you a lift, Constable?’
‘I’m supposed to be walking my beat, sir.’ Constable Miller squinted up into the swirling mass of feathery snow. ‘But I suppose under the circumstances it would be appropriate.’
The desk sergeant dipped his pen into the inkwell. ‘Name, please?’
‘Cordelia Wilding.’
‘No, ma’am, the infant’s name, if it has one.’
‘Angel,’ Cordelia said firmly.
‘Angel?’ He looked up, frowning. ‘Surname?’
‘Really,