“Oh,” Frances whispered. “Good morning.”
The baby stared.
“I am afraid I do not yet know how to entertain you.”
A tiny fist flexed against the blanket.
“No? You are wise not to expect much. I have been told my conversation is improving, but only by myself.”
Nurse Ellis made a small sound that might have been a laugh disguised as a cough. Frances shifted her hold very slightly. The baby’s face puckered. Panic shot through her.
“She is going to cry.”
“Not necessarily.”
“She looks as though she is considering it.”
“She often does.”
“What should I do?”
“Keep talking.”
Frances looked back down. “Very well. You must not cry, because if you do, I shall be exposed as a fraud before breakfast, and that would be an excessively poor start to the day.”
The baby blinked. Frances took this as encouragement.
“Besides, we are allies, you and I. Neither of us understands our role in this house, and yet everyone expects us to behave as if we were born to it.”
The baby yawned. Frances felt something in her chest loosen.
“There,” Nurse Ellis murmured. “She likes you.”
Frances did not look up. “She has poor judgment, then.”
“She has excellent judgment, Your Grace. Babies often do.”
Frances wished, suddenly and painfully, that she believed it.
The routine began in small ways after that, lacking in confidence, for confidence belonged to women who lifted infants as though they were extensions of their own bodies, who knew from the pitch of a cry whether it meant hunger or temper, who could secure a blanket with one hand and pour tea with the other.
Frances possessed none of those talents, but she possessed effort.
She came to the nursery after breakfast and listened while Nurse Ellis explained the morning. She learned that the baby preferred being held against the left shoulder rather than the right. She learned that too much rocking made her fretful, but a slow walk near the window pleased her. She learned that she disliked cold hands, sudden noises, and one particular cap trimmedwith yellow ribbon, though Nurse Ellis insisted that last was coincidence.
Frances doubted it.
“The child has taste,” she said.
“She has lungs,” Nurse Ellis replied. “That is what I know for certain.”
Frances learned how to test whether the milk was too warm by touching it to the inside of her wrist. She learned where the clean cloths were kept, which drawer held the tiny gowns, which shawl was softest, and how to tuck the blanket around the baby without making her look like a parcel wrapped for posting.
The first time Frances attempted it herself, the blanket came loose almost immediately. The baby kicked one foot free, looking triumphant.
Frances sighed. “You see? She has defeated me.”
“She is very determined,” Nurse Ellis chuckled.
