comfort was not the main purpose of the vestry furniture. She unfolded the woollen shawl, which was new and of the best quality. The flannel nightdress was trimmed with lace and the yoke embroidered with tiny pink rosebuds. Someone, perhaps the expectant mother, had put time and effort into making the garment. Cordelia was not the most imaginative of people, but it seemed unlikely that someone who had taken such trouble over a simple nightgown would desert a much-wanted infant. The baby had not uttered a sound, and that in itself was unnerving and seemed unnatural. Cordelia had long ago given up hope of having a child of her own, and although part of her longed to take the little one home and give her the love and attention she deserved, a small voice in her head warned her against such folly. Her husband, Joseph Willard Wilding, was a successful businessman who had bought a failing brewery and turned its fortune around. They entertained regularly and she was expected to be the perfect hostess. A child would not fit in with their way of life.
‘You are a beautiful little girl. If you were mine I would christen you Angel, because that’s what you are.’
The baby gurgled and a tiny hand grasped Cordelia’s finger with surprising strength. She felt a tug at her heartstrings and an ache in her empty womb.
How long Cordelia sat there she did not know, but she felt a bond growing with the child and the sweet, milky, baby smell filled her with unacknowledged longing. Then, just as Angel was becoming restive and beginning to whimper, the door burst open and Jim entered, carrying a large portmanteau. He was followed by a police constable. The last words of ‘Come All Ye Faithful’ echoed around the vestry as the policeman closed the door.
‘This is the infant, Constable Miller,’ Jim said importantly. ‘The one I found in Angel Alley, lying in this here case as if she was a piece of left luggage. I don’t know what the world is coming to.’
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
