Read Online The Tale of Hawthorn House by Susan Wittig Albert - Free Book Online Page A

and generally help in maintaining law and order. He was called out at all hours, in all weathers, and he always went willingly wherever he was needed.
    But when Dimity opened the door, the person ringing the bell was not Constable Braithwaite. She was Miss Beatrix Potter, wearing a gray mackintosh and a droopy woolen hat. She was carrying a large basket.
    “Why, good morning, Bea!” Dimity exclaimed with pleasure. She stepped back, holding the door open. “How very nice to see you! Come in and take off your wet things. I’ll have Elsa bring us some tea.”
    Dimity and Beatrix had grown to be close friends, although in Dimity’s view they could never spend enough time together. Beatrix’s parents, elderly and demanding, insisted on having her with them in London most of the time. Bea couldn’t escape very often, and when she did, she was busy with the farm.
    Which was a great pity, Dimity thought. For the past year, she had harbored the secret idea that Miss Beatrix Potter—attractive, capable, with a genuine kindness and sharp intelligence—was ideally suited to her own dear brother Miles, who (it went without saying) would make an ideal husband. He was good-looking, with regular features and fine brown hair, and was possessed of a pleasant and steady temperament. Beatrix’s parents, who had strenuously objected to her engagement to Mr. Warne, could hardly object to Captain Woodcock, a gentleman who commanded the respect of every single person in the parish. It would be a perfect match.
    Of course, Dimity was wise enough to hug this romantic plan strictly to herself. Miles was fond of Beatrix in a neighborly sort of way, but like most bachelors, he was fixed in his habits and needed a bit of encouragement—whilst Beatrix remained devoted to the memory of her dead fiancé. It might be some time before they could see how well suited they were to each other.
    Beatrix relinquished her mackintosh and followed Dimity into the sitting room, still carrying her basket. “It’s Miss Potter, Miles,” Dimity said.
    “Good morning, Captain Woodcock,” Beatrix said. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
    “Miss Potter!” the captain exclaimed, putting aside his newspaper. “No, not at all. How kind of you to call.”
    “I am sorry to intrude on a Sunday morning,” she said, “but I have something to show you.” She put the basket on the sofa and folded back the blue-checked covering.
    Dimity stared at the pink-wrapped bundle. “Why, it’s a baby!” she cried in great astonishment. She clapped her hands excitedly. “Such a pretty little darling! But where in the world—”
    “She was left at Hill Top Farm yesterday evening,” Beatrix said soberly.
    “Left!” Dimity exclaimed.
    “The devil you say!” Miles jumped to his feet, came to the sofa, and leant over the basket. “Left at Hill Top?” He took his pipe out of his mouth and bent closer, peering. “By Jove, it really is a baby,” he muttered, as if he had doubted Miss Potter’s word.
    Beatrix pulled off her gloves and folded them into the pocket of her gray tweed jacket. “I found the basket on my doorstep last evening, just as it began to rain. Mrs. Jennings supplied a bottle and my cow supplied the milk, so she has been fed.” She looked down at the baby with a fond smile. “Several times, actually. I have heard that young babies do not sleep the night through. Flora certainly proved the truth of that, although her crying was never very loud.”
    “Flora? That’s her name?” Dimity knelt down, putting out a tentative finger to touch the velvety pink cheek. The blue eyes opened and a tiny hand grasped her finger and held it tightly. She felt herself smiling. What a pretty little thing the baby was, with that dark hair curled in masses all over her head and that cunning little nose and rosebud mouth.
    But whose baby was she? And why in the world would her mother abandon her on somebody’s doorstep?
    “Yes, her name is Flora,” Beatrix said,