The Benedict Bastard (A Benedict Hall Novel) (32 page)

Dickson said, “How many children are in there, daughter?”

“Far too many, Father. And not in good condition.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“There has to be.” Blake produced the blanket, and she pulled off the little boy’s filthy shirt. Beneath it he was completely naked. She wrapped him in the blanket, and when Blake opened the door of the Cadillac, she slid in on the seat. “Frank, Sarah is still in the house.”

“No, here she comes, Margot. She seems fine. I don’t think Jenks is really dangerous.”

“Unless you’re a child,” she said bitterly.

Their eyes met above the little boy’s matted hair, and Frank gave her a tight smile. “We’ll get them out of there, Margot. Somehow.”

Behind him, Dickson growled, “Damn right, Frank.”

Margot settled into the plush seat of the Cadillac, and cuddled the child—Preston’s child—tightly in her arms. He turned his face into her chest, like a puppy snuggling close to its mother. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “Don’t worry, little one,” she whispered. “You’re going home. You’re a Benedict, and you’re going home.”

C
HAPTER
31

Margot carried the little boy, who was apparently nameless, in through the back door of Benedict Hall. Hattie, alerted by Blake, came rushing to meet her, and together they labored up the servants’ staircase and straight to the bathroom Margot and Frank shared.

“Oh, the sweet little chile!” Hattie exclaimed, though she could see only the greasy and tangled towhead above the folds of Blake’s blanket.

“He has lice, Hattie,” Margot said grimly. “And he’s thin as a stick.”

“Old Hattie will get you a bath going, and then fetch some food for the poor little mite. You’ll see, baby boy, we’ll have you plump as a pigeon in no time!”

“He needs a name,” Margot said, as she sat on the dressing stool and waited for the bath to fill. The boy had fallen asleep against her chest, a node of heat drenching her shirtwaist with perspiration. The skin of her neck itched where he had nestled his head, but she thought that was probably as much from the heat as from the lice.

Hattie tested the water with her hand, and then reached toward the boy. Margot shook her head. “No, Hattie, you’d better let me do it. We don’t need everyone in the house getting infested.”

“Nothin’ I haven’t seen before, Miss Margot,” Hattie said stoutly, but she stood back, folding her hands over her apron. “Go ahead now, let’s see if he’ll take to that bath all right.”

Margot carefully unfolded the blanket, saying, “We’re here now, little one. We’re going to have a bath. Wake up, but don’t be afraid.”

His eyes opened stickily, and he looked around at the shining bath fixtures, the thick white towels, the gleaming mirror on the dressing table. When he caught sight of Hattie’s dark face, his mouth opened in an O of surprise, but he didn’t make a sound.

Hattie’s easy tears brimmed in her eyes and slipped over her cheeks. “Oh, my sweet Lord,” she whispered. “Mr. Preston’s eyes, as I live and breathe! Oh, you little baby boy, you look so much like your daddy, old Hattie can hardly bear it!”

Margot let the blanket fall in a heap on the floor, and gently lowered the child into the warm water. He made a sound as it enveloped him, a slight groan, but whether it was of pleasure or fear, she couldn’t tell. She pulled the small cake of delphinium soap from her pocket, the one Sarah had gotten out of the storeroom at the clinic, and showed it to him. “I’m going to wash your hair,” she said, miming the motion. “It won’t hurt, but it will get rid of those nasty bugs.”

He watched with wide eyes as she lathered the soap in front of him, and then began to scrub. She started with his feet, winning a tiny crow of laughter at the tickle, and she worked her way slowly up to his hair. Hattie handed her a cup to sluice his head, and though he sputtered and grasped at her hand when water ran over his face, he didn’t cry again. She had to take care to make certain none of the soap got in his mouth. It was nasty stuff.

“He hasn’t spoken a word, Hattie,” she said.

“Nobody bin talkin’ to him, Miss Margot. He’ll talk soon enough.”

Margot lifted him out of the bath, and Hattie hunkered down before him with a towel. Margot watched as Hattie’s strong hands wrapped around the little boy, enveloping him as much with her love as with the soft terrycloth. He lifted one hand to touch her cushiony skin with a curious finger, and she chuckled richly. “Oh, yes, baby boy,” she said softly, pressing her cheek against his damp clean hair. “Oh, yes, we gonna have you talkin’ up a storm in no time. Old Hattie’s got you now, baby boy.”

She glanced up, over his head, and said, “Why, Miss Margot! You’re cryin’!”

Margot touched her own cheek, and found that it was true. Two tears had escaped without her realizing, and were dripping down her face.

Hattie gave her a wide, white smile. “I haven’t seen you cry in years, Miss Margot. Don’t you worry now. Everything’s gonna be all right.”

Margot sniffed, and laughed. “I know, Hattie. I know. It’s just—I think of Preston, and that girl—and now this child. Who doesn’t even have a name!”

“We’ll leave that to Mrs. Edith,” Hattie said sagely. “This chile gonna be her boy now.”

 

Hattie was going to carry the child down to the nursery to see if anything of Louisa’s might fit him, but when she picked him up, he whimpered, and reached for Margot.

“He’s just frightened,” Margot said. “Too many changes, too fast.”

“I know, Miss Margot. That’s okay. I’ll sit here with him while you have your bath, then we’ll go down together.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Hattie. There’s a comb there on the dresser. Could you go through his hair, make sure they’re all gone? I didn’t see any nits, but I could have missed them.” Margot stripped off her own clothes while a fresh bath ran. She was relieved not to see any lice as she tossed her skirt and shirtwaist into the hamper. The rest of the household would be unhappy if she’d brought such an infestation into Benedict Hall. She was quick to duck beneath the water and soap her hair.

Within half an hour, both she and the little boy were clean and dressed. Margot wore a beige summer frock of polished cotton, and she covered the child in a nightdress that had been sent to Louisa, which Nurse had folded away until she was big enough to wear it. Nurse cooed over the newcomer. She found a tiny pair of bloomers for him to wear, muttering something about hoping he was past the diaper stage.

Hattie went ahead to prepare the way. Margot carried the boy down the wide front staircase. His little bare feet, peeking out from beneath the nightdress, looked so vulnerable that she almost shed more tears. She tightened her lips, and told herself that her crying wouldn’t help anyone. He was, just the same, a pitiful and moving sight.

And an unnerving replica of his father as a child.

 

Margot, with Nurse following behind, carried the boy to the small parlor, where the rest of the family was assembled and waiting. Dickson and Frank had bathed, and Frank’s silver-shot hair still sparkled with damp. Ramona was in an armchair, with Louisa on her lap. Edith sat on the divan, gazing blankly into a sherry glass. Dick stood by the cold fireplace, looking worried, and Dickson had a whisky in his hand.

Blake was standing just outside the door, and he nodded gravely to Margot.

“Did you bathe, Blake?” she asked. She paused in the hall, where she could see the family, though they hadn’t yet caught sight of her and her little charge. “Any sign of lice?”

“I did, Dr. Margot,” he said, his voice reassuringly deep and calm. “No bugs I could find.”

“Good.” She cast a wary glance at the gathered family. “Are they ready, do you think?”

“I have no doubt about it,” he said.

“They understand he doesn’t speak?”

“I asked Hattie to come in to explain. She did an admirable job of it.”

Margot cast him a grateful glance. She murmured into the boy’s ear, “There are a lot of people waiting to meet you.”

He didn’t make a sound, but his eyes stretched wide, and she could feel the quick flutter of his heart beneath her hand. He clung to her, his legs around her waist and his head turned into her neck. She said, “There’s no need to be frightened anymore. This is your family.”

She stepped through the doorway as she said this, and every eye turned to her.

Dick exclaimed, “My God, he looks just like—”

Ramona breathed, “Oh! What a darling!”

Louisa cried, “Baby!” and slid abruptly from her mother’s lap to race across the room to Margot. She seized Margot’s skirt in her two fists so she could tip her head back and look up. “Baby!” she said again.

“Yes,” Margot began. “Yes, this is your cousin. We don’t know his name, but—”

Edith spoke, in a clear, light voice that carried above the flurry of exclamations. “His name is Charles,” she said. “For my father. I always meant my first grandson to have my father’s name.”

Though Louisa reached up to seize the boy’s bare foot, Edith intervened. She pulled Louisa’s hand gently away, and said, “We mustn’t frighten him, Louisa, dear.” She held out her arms, and said, “Margot, may I hold my grandson? I’ve waited such a long time.”

Mute with wonder at the transformation in her mother, Margot loosened the boy’s grip on her, and transferred him carefully to Edith’s arms. He looked up at his grandmother, and instantly buried his face against the cream silk of her bodice. Edith pressed her cheek to his fair head, and closed her eyes. “Poor little Charles,” she murmured. “You’ve had such a bad time, but it’s all over now. You’re safe. You’re home.”

Margot and Frank and Dick joined Dickson in his cramped study after dinner. Ramona had gone up with Nurse and the two children, and Edith had gone with them to be certain all was well. Margot sat on the stool, her arms around her knees. Dick took the other chair, and Frank lounged against the door, smiling at Margot above his brother-in-law’s head.

“We’ll need another nurse,” Dick said to his father. He crossed his legs, and accepted a cigar from Dickson’s hand. “If we’re really going to do this.”

“Is there any doubt?” Margot asked. “I haven’t seen Mother so engaged since—well, you all know.”

“Yes,” Dickson said. He snipped the end off his cigar, and took a match from the silver matchbox. With the cigar between his teeth, he said, “Damned good to see Edith smile again. Worth any cost.”

“We can turn the guest bedroom into a second nursery,” Margot said.

“Build a guesthouse for company,” Frank offered. “I can help with that, sir.”

“That’s a hell of a good idea, son,” Dickson said. “Plenty of room in the back garden.”

Dickson and Dick both lit their cigars, and smoked in contented silence. It was past time to go to bed. Margot was returning to work at the hospital in the morning, then on to her clinic. The men had their offices to go to. There was a sense, though, of savoring the moment, of appreciating the importance of today’s events. They would have an impact on everything to do with Benedict Hall for years to come.

There were legal matters to be handled. Dick and Ramona were going to start adoption proceedings, declaring the child a foundling. Since Mrs. Ryther’s record keeping was all but nonexistent, and since the Jenks family had no legal claim on the child, they felt the adoption would go ahead without incident. Charles Dickson Benedict—or Charlie, as Frank had already started calling him—would be theirs, if the single obstacle to their plan could be surmounted.

None of them knew what Miss Morgan might want, now that the child had been found.

“Ramona will make a telephone call to her tomorrow,” Dick said. “She and the young lady became friendly, and she thinks she’s the best person to give her the news.”

“She doesn’t have any legal standing,” Dickson said. “There’s no proof.”

“Moral claim, Father,” Dick said.

“Good for you, Dick,” Margot said softly. “I know it’s hard to face, but it’s only right.”

“Not my affair, perhaps, but I agree,” Frank said. “Face it now, or you’ll always worry.”

Dickson blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “I just can’t bear the thought of Edith being disappointed. Feels like she’s coming back to us at last.”

Margot leaned forward, and put a hand on her father’s knee. “It does feel like that, Father, and it’s marvelous. Let’s try not to worry until we learn what Miss Morgan has to say.”

“Spoken like a doctor,” Dick said with a dry chuckle. “Try not to worry while we wait for the test results.”

She smiled. “Yes. A taste of my own medicine.”

At last they parted, though reluctantly. Margot bent and kissed her father’s cheek. “Sleep well, Father,” she said.

“You, too, daughter. Frank.”

“Good night, sir.”

Dickson stayed on in his study for a time, and Dick walked up the staircase with Frank and Margot. At the landing, Margot said, “You’re very generous to take in Charlie as your own son, Dick. I think Preston would—well, despite everything—I think Preston would thank you.”

“Doubled my family in one stroke,” Dick said with a grin. “There wasn’t any question, really, Margot. He’s ours.”

“Lucky little boy,” she said.

“I hope so,” Dick said. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”