Work Text:
August 29th
She stared up at him from where she sat on the ground leaning against the brick wall of the house. In her arms was a baby that could not have been more than a few months old.” She rasped. “Please…”
Ashcombe had places to be, Charles had sent him on an important mission, but by the looks of things, this woman didn’t have long. She’d be lucky if she lasted the night. “Shall I call you a doctor?” He asked.
The woman shook her head. It looked as though that small action took a lot of energy. “Take… my child.” She rasped.
“Miss-“
Her breathing was becoming laboured. Or perhaps it was already laboured and he was just noticing now. “Please…” She said. “There’s… nothing anyone… can do for me.” She said. “But Christopher… he has a… chance.” She was breathing heavily. “Please.”
He couldn’t leave a baby to fend for himself. Not when the mother was begging him for help. He gave a soft smile and reached to take the child. With barely any energy she lifted the child and Ashcombe took the child.
The woman smiled. “Thank you…”
Ashcombe nodded and stayed beside her. Speaking with her until the morning came and she passed on. He may not have been able to get a doctor there to save her, but he could at least grant her the kindness of not dying alone.
***
He didn’t have time. His Majesty was expecting him back and taking a baby with him while in the middle of a war would not be a good idea.
Christopher gurgled in his arms. His fingers reached out grasping at air and Ashcombe put his finger into the small hand.
The baby’s hand was firm and Ashcombe found himself smiling against his will. He made the way to the orphanage he remembered from the last time he’d been in London. Gently removed his finger from Christopher’s grasp and knocked on the door.
The door opened to reveal a young man a reverend given his attire.
The man's eyes widened and he immediately stepped away from the door to let Ashcombe in.
“Lord Ashcombe.” The man said. “What might I do for you.”
“A mother’s just died,” Ashcombe said. “In the alley, she… she begged me to take the child.”
The Reverend took a look at the babe. “And the woman?”
“I alerted the authorities to her presence,” Ashcombe said. That had been hard to do, but he managed to keep his identity secret while alerting the proper people to the death of a woman. “She died shortly after handing the baby to me.”
The reverend stared down at the child and smiled at the way Christopher was grasping Ashcombe’s fingers. “He seems to like you.”
Ashcombe stared down at the young babe. The child was gnawing on his finger. “I cannot take him with me.” Though he felt the odd desire to do exactly that. He shook himself out of it.
Reverend Talbot nodded. “I’ll take the child,” Talbot said. “Did you happen to get any information from the mother?”
“The child was born on the 29th of May,” Ashcombe said.
“Same day as our king.” The reverend mused. “What about a name?”
“Christopher Rowe,” Ashcombe said. “The mother’s last name was Rowe. She never told me about his father.”
Reverand sighed and rocked the child in his arms. “Such a pity. I take it the child has no inheritance? An inheritance would help make sure that he can be placed into a decent apprenticeship.”
Ashcombe almost said no, but then he paused, and pulled out his pouch, he counted out 10 pounds and handed them to the Reverand. “For the child’s future.” He said then without a word Ashcombe turned and left. Swallowing a lump as he did so.