Cometh the Hour (The Clifton Chronicles 6)

“And when is the baby due, Morton?” asked Virginia.

“In about two months, my lady.”

“Do you still plan to have it adopted?”

“Yes, my lady. Although I’ve found a new position in a good household, while Mrs. Morton is unable to work we simply can’t afford the expense of another child.”

“I sympathize with you,” said Virginia, “and am keen to help if I can.”

“That’s very kind of you, my lady.”

Morton remained standing while Virginia outlined, in some detail, a proposition that she hoped might solve her problem as well as his. “Would that be of any interest to you?” she asked finally.

“It certainly would, my lady, and if I may say so, it is most generous.”

“How do you think Mrs. Morton will react to such a proposal?”

“I’m sure she’ll fall in with my wishes.”

“Good. However, I must stress that should you and Mrs. Morton accept my offer, neither of you would be able to have any contact with the child again.”

“I understand.”

“Then I will have the necessary documents drawn up by my lawyer and engrossed ready for you both to sign. And be sure to keep me regularly informed about Mrs. Morton’s health, in particular when she plans to go into hospital.”

“Of course, my lady. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

Virginia stood up and shook hands with Morton, something she’d never done before.

* * *

Virginia had the Baton Rouge State-Times airmailed to her from Baton Rouge once a week. This allowed her to keep up with the “wedding of the year”. The latest edition devoted a whole page to the forthcoming marriage of Ellie May Campbell to Cyrus T. Grant III.

Invitations had already been sent out. The guests included the state governor, The Hon. Hayden Rankin, both US senators, several congressmen and the mayor of Baton Rouge, as well as most of the leading society figures in the state. The ceremony would be conducted by Bishop Langdon, in St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, and would be followed by a five-course banquet at the bride’s family ranch for the four hundred guests who were expected to attend.

“Four hundred and one,” said Virginia, although she wasn’t quite sure how she was going to lay her hands on an invitation. She turned next to page four of the State-Times, and read about the outcome of a divorce case she had been following with great interest.

Despite meticulous preparation, there were still one or two obstacles that Virginia needed to overcome before she could consider setting off for the New World. Bofie, who seemed to have contacts in both the Upper House and the lower classes, had already supplied her with the name of a struck-off doctor and a lawyer who ha

d appeared more than once in front of the Bar Council’s Ethics Committee. Mellor Travel had organized her flights to and from Baton Rouge, and booked her into the Commonwealth Hotel for three nights. The hotel was sadly unable to offer her ladyship a suite as they had all been taken by guests attending the wedding. Virginia didn’t complain, as she had no wish to be the center of attention—well, only for a few minutes.

For the next month she prepared, double-checked and rehearsed everything that needed to be covered during her three days in Baton Rouge. Her final plan would have impressed General Eisenhower, although she only needed to defeat Cyrus T. Grant III. The week before she was due to fly to Louisiana, Virginia visited a branch of Mothercare in Oxford Street, where she purchased three outfits that she only ever intended to wear once. She paid in cash.

* * *

Lady Virginia Fenwick was picked up from her flat in Cadogan Gardens and driven to Heathrow in a private hire car arranged by Mellor Travel. When she checked in at the BOAC counter, she was told her flight to New York was running a few minutes late, but there would still be more than enough time to catch the connecting flight to Baton Rouge. She hoped so, because there was something she needed to do while she was at JFK.

A slim, smartly dressed, middle-aged woman stepped onto a plane bound for New York, while a heavily pregnant woman boarded the connecting flight to Baton Rouge.

On arrival in the capital of Louisiana, the pregnant woman took a taxi to the Commonwealth Hotel. As she stepped out of the back of the yellow cab, two porters rushed across to assist her. When she booked in, it wasn’t hard to tell, from the conversations all around her, that the hotel was packed with guests looking forward to the special occasion. She was shown up to a single room on the third floor and, as there was nothing more she could do that night, Virginia collapsed onto the bed exhausted and fell into a deep sleep.

When she woke at 4 a.m., 10 a.m. in Cadogan Gardens, she thought about the meeting she had arranged later that morning with a Mr. Trend, the man who would decide if her plan was realistic. She had phoned him a week earlier, and his assistant had called back to confirm her appointment with the senior partner. She hoped to have a little more success with her new lawyer than she had managed with Sir Edward.

Virginia took an early breakfast in her room and devoured that morning’s State-Times. The wedding of the year had advanced to the front page. However, she learned nothing that hadn’t already been reported several times during the past month, except that security at both the church and the bride’s family’s ranch would be vigilant. The local police chief assured the paper’s reporter that anyone who attempted to gatecrash the ceremony or the lunch would be ejected and end up spending the night in the city jail. Photographs of the bridesmaids and a copy of the lunch menu made a center-page spread—but would Virginia be there to witness the ceremony? After she’d read the article twice and poured herself a third cup of coffee, she became restless, although it was still only 7:20 a.m.

After breakfast she selected a maternity outfit that made her, with a little assistance, look about seven months pregnant. She left the hotel at 9:40 a.m. and took a taxi to Lafayette Street, where she entered a monument to glass and steel and, after checking the directory on the wall, took a lift to the twenty-first floor. She told the receptionist her name was Fenwick and she had an appointment with Mr. Trend. The young woman’s southern drawl made English sound like a foreign language to Virginia, but she was rescued by a voice from behind her.

“Welcome to Baton Rouge, ma’am. I do believe it’s me you’re looking for.”