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“Ah,” Henrietta said. “And where do you suppose you left Nurse, do you think?”

“Back there,” Josie said, her lip setting mulishly. “But I’m not going back there. I won’t get in the carriage again, I won’t!” She looked down the row of mullioned windows that lined High Street. “We’ve run away and we’re not going back. We’re looking for a shop that sells ices, and then we’re going to walk even further.”

“Do you think that Nurse may be worrying about you?”

Henrietta suggested.

“No. This is time for her morning tea.”

“Still, she must be worried about you. Is she at the Golden Hind?”

“She won’t notice,” Josie said. “She had hysterics again this morning. She doesn’t like traveling.”

“If your nurse hasn’t noticed, your parents will, and they will be terribly worried if they can’t find you and your sister.”

“My mother is dead,” Josie announced. She gave Henrietta a look that implied the fact should have been obvious.

“Oh dear,” Henrietta said, rather lamely. Then she rallied:

“How would it be if I carried your sister, and we strolled back in that direction?”

Josie still didn’t reply, but she did drop her hold on Anabel’s hand. Henrietta reached out, and the baby toddled straight into her arms. She was plump and rosy and sweetly bald. Her whole face broke into a gleaming smile. She patted Henrietta’s cheek and said, “Mama?”

Henrietta’s heart twisted in its customary, lamentable surge of envy. “Goodness,” she said. “You are a darling, aren’t you?”

“Nurse says she’s a terrible flirt,” Josie said in a dampening sort of way. 14 Eloisa

James

“Well,” Henrietta said, managing to stand up with the baby in arms, “I think I would have to agree with your nurse. Anabel seems to be quite friendly for someone making her first acquaintance with me. Not at all the sort of thing that an older young lady would do, is it?” She smiled down at Josie and began walking slowly back toward the Golden Hind, praying that her weak hip would manage the weight. Anabel was a good deal heavier than she looked.

“Anabel does lots of things I wouldn’t do,” Josie remarked.

“Yes, I can imagine,” Henrietta said. She was conscientiously picking her way along the pavement. It would be dreadful if she tripped and dropped the babe.

“I don’t ever spit up, for example.”

“Of course not.” There was an uneven patch of ice coming up. Henrietta tightened her grip on Anabel.

“I did lose my supper once. It was Easter last year, and Nurse Peeves said that I had eaten too many candied plums. Which is a complete tarradiddle, because I only had seven. I don’t think seven is too many, do you?”

“Not at all.”

“Anabel, on the other hand, she—”

But Anabel’s propensity to spit up became all too clear just a second later. Henrietta had managed to negotiate the broken pavement, and was pausing to let a carriage and four go so they could cross the street to the Golden Hind, when Anabel gave a dry little cough.

“Careful,” Josie cried, clutching Henrietta’s skirts. Henrietta looked down at her confusedly. “It’s quite all right—” she began.

At which point Anabel threw up down Henrietta’s back. Warm—nay, hot—liquid rolled down her back and absorbed directly into her gown.

A second later it turned clammily cold.

Instinctively she pulled Anabel away from her and held Fool for Love

15

her away from her body. That was a huge mistake, because Anabel’s stomach wasn’t empty, and a wave of slightly curdled milk hit Henrietta in the chest and swept down her front with sodden violence. She shuddered all over but managed to keep hold of the baby.