“I suspect you know what I’m about to ask you,” he said.
“Yes, I do,” Miss Nichol admitted, wondering if anyone would ever employ her again, and even if she might end up in prison.
When Dr. Greenwood reappeared ten minutes later, Miss Nichol knew exactly what was going to happen to her and where she would end up.
“When you’ve thought about it, Miss Nichol, perhaps you could give me a call at my office, and if your answer is yes, then I’ll need to have a word with my lawyers.”
“I’ve already thought about it,” said Miss Nichol. This time she did look Mr. Davenport directly in the eye. “The answer is yes,” she told him, “I’d be delighted to continue working for the family as nanny.”
4
Miss Nichol studied the photograph when it was published in The Hartford Courant. She was relieved to find that although both boys had inherited their father’s square jaw, Andrew had curly fair hair, while Nat’s was straight and already turning dark. But it was Josiah Preston who saved the day, by frequently remarking that his grandson had inherited his nose and pronounced forehead in the great tradition of the Prestons. Miss Nichol constantly repeated these observations to fawning relatives and sycophantic employees, prefaced with the words, “Mr. Preston often remarks…”
Within two weeks of returning home, Ruth had been reappointed as Chairman of the Hospital Trust, and immediately set about honoring her husband’s pledge to build a new maternity wing for St. Patrick’s.
Miss Nichol meanwhile took on any job, however menial, that allowed Ruth to resume her outside activities while she took charge of Andrew. She became the boy’s nanny, mentor, guardian and governess. But not a day went by without her dreading that the truth might eventually come out.
Miss Nichol’s first real anxiety arose when Mrs. Cartwright phoned to say that she was holding a birthday party for her son, and as Andrew had been born on the same day, would she like him to be included.
“How kind of you to ask,” Miss Nichol replied, without missing a beat, “but Andrew is having his own birthday party, and I’m only sorry that Nat won’t be able to join us.”
“Well, please pass on my best wishes to Mrs. Davenport, and tell her how much we appreciate being invited to the opening of the new maternity wing next month.” An invitation Miss Nichol could not cancel. When Susan put the phone down, her only thought was how did Miss Nichol know her son’s name.
Within moments of Mrs. Davenport arriving home that evening, Miss Nichol suggested that she should organize a party for Andrew’s first birthday. Ruth thought it was a splendid idea, and was only too happy to leave all the arrangements, including the guest list, in nanny’s hands. Organizing a birthday party where you can control who should or should not be invited is one thing, but trying to make sure that her employer and Mrs. Cartwright did not meet up at the opening of the Preston Maternity Wing was quite another.
In fact, it was Dr. Greenwood who introduced the two women while giving his guided tour of the new facility. He couldn’t believe that no one would notice that the two little boys looked so alike. Miss Nichol turned away when he glanced in her direction. She quickly placed a bonnet over Andrew’s head, which made him look more like a girl, and before Ruth could comment, said, “It’s turning quite cold and I wouldn’t want Andrew to catch a chill.”
“Will you be staying in Hartford once you’ve retired, Dr. Greenwood?” Mrs. Cartwright asked.
“No, my wife and I plan to retire to our family home in Ohio,” the doctor replied, “but I’m sure we’ll return to Hartford from time to time.”
Miss Nichol would have let out a sigh of relief had the doctor not stared pointedly at her. However, with Dr. Greenwood out of the way, Miss Nichol felt a little more confident that her secret would not be discovered.
Whenever Andrew was invited to join in any activity, become a member of any group, participate in any sport or just sign up for the summer pageant, Miss Nichol’s first priority was to ensure that her charge didn’t come into contact with any member of the Cartwright family. This she managed to achieve with considerable success throughout the child’s formative years, without arousing the suspicions of either Mr. or Mrs. Davenport.
It was two letters that arrived in the morning mail that persuaded Miss Nichol that she need no longer be apprehensive. The first was addressed to Andrew’s father and confirmed that the boy had been admitted to Hotchkiss, Connecticut’s oldest private school. The second, postmarked Ohio, was opened by Ruth.
“How sad,” she remarked as she turned the hand-written page. “He was such a fine man.”
“Who?” asked Robert, looking up from his copy of The New England Journal of Medicine.
“Dr. Greenwood. His wife has written to say that he passed away last Friday, aged seventy-four.”
“He was a fine man,” Robert repeated, “perhaps you should attend the funeral.”
“Yes, of course I will,” said Ruth, “and Heather might like to accompany me,” she added. “After all, she used to work for him.”
“Of course,” said Miss Nichol, hoping that she looked suitably distressed.
Susan read the letter a second time, saddened by the news. She would always recall how personally Dr. Greenwood had taken Peter’s death, almost as if he felt somehow responsible. She remembered how tired she had grown, hearing friends and relations telling her to thank God that one of them had survived. Didn’t they understand that Peter was dead, and she had lost a son? Dr. Greenwood had understood. Michael had hoped that his wife would begin to recover from the loss once she’d left the hospital and returned home. But it wasn’t to be. Susan still talked endlessly of her other son, and kept a photograph of the two boys by her bedside.
Perhaps she should go to the doctor’s funeral. She was about to share the news of his death with Michael, when her husband suddenly leaped in the air and shouted, “Well done, Nat.”
“What is it?” asked Susan, surprised by such uncharacteristic exuberance.
“Nat’s won a scholarship to Taft,?
?? said her husband, waving his letter in the air.