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She was dimly aware that Josie was shouting. Anabel screwed up her face and started howling.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Henrietta said, instinctively pulling the baby back against her wet gown and cuddling her against her shoulder. “That’s all right. Don’t cry. Is your tummy upset?

Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

She rubbed her back until the baby stopped wailing and put her head against Henrietta’s shoulder. Henrietta’s heart twisted with pure longing as she looked down at the bald little head, with one pink ear showing. I must do something about this, she thought to herself prosaically. If I have become so drunk with longing for a child that I admire a creature who just spewed on my best walking costume, I am truly going insane.

Josie was dancing up and down before her. “She’s sorry!”

she shouted, her voice shrilling into a near shriek. “She’s sorry, she’s sorry!”

“So am I,” Henrietta said, grinning at her. “It’s a good thing that I’m not made of sugar and I won’t melt.”

Some of the anxiety that pinched Josie’s little face disappeared. “She ruined your pretty dress,” she said, stepping closer and touching Henrietta’s pale amber walking gown. “Nurse says that Anabel should have stopped doing that by now. Anabel is almost a year old, after all, and she drinks from a cup. But she can’t seem to stop. I don’t think she knows how.”

“I expect you’re right,” Henrietta said, snuggling the damp little bundle against her shoulder. “Perhaps we had better find your nurse, though, because Anabel needs a change of clothing.”

16 Eloisa

James

But Josie shook her head. “Oh, no, she can’t change her clothing yet. Nurse Peeves says she must always wear the wet ones until they dry, because otherwise she’ll never learn to stop throwing up.”

Henrietta narrowed her eyes. “What?”

Josie told her again. And she added, “Could we please sit down and wait for the dress to dry? Because that way Nurse would never know, and Anabel hates being smacked.”

“That’s what I thought I heard,” Henrietta said. “I shall not allow your nurse to smack Anabel, but I do intend to have her clothes changed immediately. I am going to have a conversation with your nurse. And your father.” She reached out her free hand, and Josie didn’t even hesitate, but trotted at her side across the street and into the inn.

A plump man hurried out of the Golden Hind as they picked their way toward the entrance. “Lady Henrietta! What a great pleasure to see you!”

“Good day, sir. How are you and Mrs. Gyfford?”

“The better for your asking, Lady Henrietta, and so I’ll tell my wife. But what on earth?” He nodded toward the child.

“That child is surely too heavy for you. And whose is it?”

“I can carry her without problem, Mr. Gyfford.” That was a lie; Henrietta could feel that her leg was starting to drag. If she didn’t put Anabel down soon, she’d begin to list to one side like a ship in a storm. She tightened her grip.

“I was hoping you could tell me to whom these children belong. I found them wandering down the High Street. Josie, do you—”

But at that moment Gyfford spied Josie and his face brightened. “That’s one of Mr. Darby’s little ones. He has a private parlor. Now, how did you get out of the inn, young lady?”

“I should like to speak to Mr. Darby,” Henrietta said firmly. “Would that be your blue parlor, Mr. Gyfford? I mean to have a word with the girls’ nurse as well.”

Fool for Love

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The innkeeper bustled ahead of them through the carved archway leading into the inn proper. “Well, my lady, as to that, their nurse has just left.”

“Left?” Henrietta stopped in the narrow hallway. “I suppose that explains why these children were wandering down High Street by themselves.”

Mr. Gyfford nodded as he opened the door leading to the blue parlor. “Left a short time ago, with bag and baggage and not a word of warning. Said she didn’t bargain for leaving London and she didn’t like traveling. Quite tearful about it, she was, saying the children were too much for her, and she’d been abused and the like.”

To Henrietta’s mind, the nurse herself was vicious, given Josie’s artless tale about vomiting and wet dresses. The fact that little Anabel was drowsily nodding on her shoulder and obviously quite uncaring about her damp condition was beside the point. The child could have caught inflammation of the lungs. Moreover, given that Bartholomew Batt’s Rulesand Directions for the Well Ordering and Governing of Chil-dren maintained that a nursemaid could influence a child’s life forever, Anabel’s father had been wantonly careless in hiring such a contemptible person to care for his children.

“Go right in, Lady Henrietta. I’ll just bring you a cup of tea. Can’t have been easy, carrying that child down the street.”