The Only Solution(15)

"It's lovely of you," Wendy admitted. "A life-saver, in fact."

The housekeeper paused at the door. "You'll find that all of the staff  will be happy to do anything we can for Mr. Mack's friend," she said  quietly.                       
       
           



       

Had there been just the barest hesitation before that last word? Of  course there was, Wendy thought. The staff wasn't certain exactly what  her position was, or why she was here. But whether the Burgesses  considered her a heroine for returning Marissa's baby to the bosom of  her family, or simply a glorified nursemaid, the members of their staff  were too professional to hazard an opinion.

She yawned as she wandered through the rest of the suite. Mrs. Parker  was as good as her word; everything Wendy might need was waiting for  her. The satin comforter on the enormous canopy bed was already turned  down, and spread across the fragrant linen sheets was a cream-colored  cotton nightgown. The fabric was crisp and new, but the style was  old-fashioned, with a multitude of tiny tucks and pleats down the front  and fancy stitching around the collar and cuffs. Beside the bed stood a  pair of soft slippers, and hanging on the back of the bathroom door was  an oversized white terry bathrobe.

And while she was in the shower, luxuriating in the strong hot spray,  her clothes vanished as quietly as if little mice had stolen them away.

She tucked herself into the big bed and hugged her pillow and wished  that Rory wasn't down the hall and around the corner but right here, in  her crib  –  just in case the baby needed anything.



*****



She dreamed that she heard Rory crying for her, but no matter how hard  she searched there were more rooms to inspect, more hallways unrolling  before her, more wings sprouting from the main part of the house, and  she never managed to find the child. Finally the dream faded and she  sank into exhausted sleep, to wake with a jolt to light pouring in  through the long windows.

Rory should have been awake by now, she thought, and was instantly  terrified. Why hadn't the baby cried this morning? Something must be  terribly wrong.

She sat bolt upright, and only then did she remember the Burgess house  and the canopy bed and the nursery down the hall and around the corner.

Indeed, something was wrong, she told herself. Unfortunately, it was nothing she could fix.

She heard a rustle from the adjoining sitting room, and a moment later a  maid in a dark green uniform with white apron and cap came in with a  tray. She stopped in the doorway when she caught sight of Wendy sitting  up in bed. "I'm sorry, miss, I didn't mean to disturb you. Mrs. Parker  thought you might like coffee or tea when you woke." She set the tray  down on the bedside table.

There were two thermos containers on the tray, along with a thin china  cup and saucer, cream pitcher and sugar bowl in the same floral pattern,  a crystal dish of lemon slices, and a small square envelope. Wendy  looked at the note with trepidation.

"If I'd known you were awake I'd have brought the pretty pots instead of  these ugly things," the maid fretted. "Shall I pour for you?"

Wendy nodded. "Coffee, please," she said absently and reached for the envelope. Whatever it was, she might as well face it.

The paper inside was monogrammed with an elegant script, but the note  itself was typed. Please forgive my informality, it said. It is  sometimes difficult for me to write. Will you do me the favor of calling  on me in my sitting room this morning, whenever it is convenient for  you? It was signed, a bit shakily, Elinor Burgess.

Wendy sipped her coffee and read the note again. It was simple and to  the point, and very difficult to interpret. It could mean that Elinor  wanted to have a bosom-buddy chat, or she might tell Wendy to pack her  bags immediately because there was no further need for her  –  or it could  be anything in between. There was nothing to be done but go and see  what she wanted.

And she might as well do it immediately, before her curiosity got the better of her and paranoia set in.

The maid was still standing beside the bed, obviously waiting for  further instructions. "Do you know whether my clothes have been  returned?" Wendy asked.

"Yes, miss. I brought them up myself earlier this morning. Shall I run a bath for you?"

"Heavens, no, I can still make a faucet function." Wendy pushed the  blanket back, and the satin spread slid off the foot of the bed and into  a heap on the floor. "Darn it, I didn't mean to do that."

"Oh, it happens all the time. You should have seen how tangled it was  last time one of Mr. Mack's lady-friends was here." The maid stopped and  clamped her teeth on her lower lip.                       
       
           



       

Better put a stop to that right away, Wendy thought. The emphasis the  woman had put on last time clearly indicated that she thought Mack's  interest in Wendy was a romantic one.

"I'm sorry, miss. I shouldn't have mentioned the subject to you."

"Probably not," Wendy agreed cheerfully. "Still, since I'm not one of  Mr. Mack's lady-friends, it hardly matters to me what any of them do."  She slid out of bed.

"Yes, miss." The maid sounded a bit doubtful. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Not a thing, thank you."

Wendy waited till the maid was gone, then started her bath running and  began to look for her clothes. She found them in the wardrobe, neatly  pressed and looking better than new. She put her hair up in a braid once  more  –  she really needed to get it trimmed, but there hadn't been time  –   and did the best she could with the tiny makeup kit she carried in her  handbag. The results were passable, if not exactly impressive. And at  least she wasn't keeping Elinor Burgess waiting; it was just thirty  minutes after the note had arrived when she tapped on the arched door of  the woman's sitting room.

The wheelchair was pulled up to a desk in the corner of the room, and  there was no nurse in sight. As Wendy came in, Elinor turned her chair  toward the door and looked up in surprise. "My dear girl, I didn't  intend for you to rush. You should have taken your time, and gotten your  rest. The maid didn't misunderstand me and wake you, did she?" She  gestured toward a chair.

At least that didn't sound as if she were being told to leave, Wendy  thought. "No, I was already awake. And I had a very restful night." As  social lies went, that wasn't such a bad one, she thought.

Elinor folded her hands together in her lap. "Mack tells me I hurt your feelings last night."

Wendy blinked in surprise. And maybe Mack should mind his own business, she thought. What had he been trying to accomplish?

"He says I told you, in effect, that I didn't want you to see or help care for Aurora."

"Well... I understand, of course. It's a difficult-"

"In fact, what I meant was that I did not want you to feel obligated for  her care. I want you to enjoy your visit, and my nurses have time to  spare. My doctor says I must have them close at hand, but in fact the  more I can do on my own the more slowly my disease progresses. So they  will be happy to take care of the baby for a few days. Once Christmas is  past, there will be plenty of time to think of hiring a baby nurse."

And that leaves me still squarely in the middle, Wendy thought.  Unnecessary, and very much in the way if I try to take a hand with the  baby at all. "It's not an obligation, Mrs. Burgess," she said softly.  "It's a joy to look after Rory."

"Aurora has been very fortunate to have you."

The nurse tapped on the door and came in. In one arm she held Rory,  wearing a tiny ruffled blue dress that Wendy had never seen before; in  her other hand was a blanket.

The baby caught sight of Wendy and started to squirm, madly waving her  arms and legs as if she was trying to propel herself across the room.  She babbled and giggled and cooed and smiled.

How I wish I understood what she's telling me, Wendy thought. The wave  of pure love which swept over her was too strong to deny. She didn't  care whether Elinor Burgess understood or not. Wendy could not turn away  from a little girl who simply wanted to be held.

Rory's compact little body fitted as neatly against her own as if they  had never been separated, and Wendy closed her eyes for a moment and  buried her face in the child's neck, breathing in the simple smells of  shampoo and baby powder and  –  was it peaches she'd had for her  breakfast?

"She's a sweetheart," the nurse said. She stooped and spread the blanket  on the thick carpet. "She fussed just a little at bedtime, but then she  settled right down and slept all night."