Chapter 1: A Rainy Evening

Marianne stood partially concealed by the bedroom curtains, observing a young woman—more of a girl, really—who held a child tightly as she stepped onto the street, quickly veering onto Tavistock Place towards King's Cross station. Just two months had passed, but the thought of never seeing little Henry again made Marianne's heart ache.

Thick, heavy raindrops fell against the window, sliding down in long streams. The downpour mirrored that fateful night when she and Frank had left the Odeon Cinema in Leicester Square.

The film 'Edward, My Son' proved to be a difficult watch for both Marianne and Frank that Saturday evening. They nestled together, silently reflecting on their own grief, as the rest of the audience slowly exited the theater.

Finally, they were left alone. At last, Marianne could let her tears flow freely. Frank, sitting beside her, held her tightly, whispering words of hope. One day, he assured her—he could feel it.

Upon leaving the cinema, the last black Austin FX3 taxi had just pulled away. They were too late; all the cabs had been taken. Frank searched for the nearest phone booth to call for another taxi.

The kiosk at the street corner was occupied, but he could see a silhouette inside. Opening his large umbrella, they huddled beneath it, discussing their next move.

"We could just take the Tube," Marianne suggested.

Frank glanced at the red booth, which was now vacant. "No, I'll call a cab."

They danced around the puddles on the street and stepped into the phone box. As Frank gently pushed Marianne inside, he noticed something on the floor.

"What on earth is that?"

"It's a box… with a BABY!" Marianne exclaimed.

Kneeling to examine the woolen blanket, a piece of paper fluttered out, which Frank picked up before she noticed.

"It says… PLEASE KEEP HENRY. DO NOT TURN HIM IN. I WILL RETURN FOR HIM IN A COUPLE OF MONTHS!"

Marianne carefully cradled the sleeping infant from its makeshift bed. "Then we must keep him!"

"Nonsense—I'm fairly certain that would be illegal…" Frank murmured, scanning the street for anything unusual. And there it was, a small dark figure lurking behind a streetlamp.

Frank's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Let's take the Tube."

"But, darling… surely it would be better…"

"Come," he said, grabbing her arm. "I have a plan."

With Henry nestled in Marianne's arms, they hurried to the underground station for the blue Piccadilly line. Frank's instincts from the war kicked in, and he frequently glanced over his shoulder, sensing they were being followed. But he felt that his plan was falling into place.

The northeast-bound train arrived, and they settled in a half-empty carriage. Frank noticed that their 'follower' had boarded two carriages down.

Three stops felt like an eternity to Frank. While Marianne was enraptured by the baby's delicate features, Frank's mind raced with possibilities.

Russell Square.

The rain had ceased, but the streets were shrouded in heavy fog, permeated by the smell of decaying leaves.

Ideal conditions for a game of stealth, Frank thought, as they made their way toward Brunswick Square. Their footsteps, along with the city's evening traffic, were muffled in the mist. He couldn't see much behind him, but he knew—she was there, tailing them closely.

"Let’s cut through St. George's Gardens," Frank whispered.

Marianne looked at him, alarmed. He silenced her with a serious look before she could ask. "Trust me."

At the park’s edge, Frank abruptly turned toward a large brick building.

"But Frank… what about the note?" Marianne protested, halting in her tracks.

He placed a finger to his lips. "Hush."

Before he could elaborate, a desperate voice called out from behind them. "Please—wait… don’t do it!"

A small, agile figure emerged from the fog, stopping between them and the imposing building. "Please—give me back my baby!"

Frank seized the girl’s arm, pulling her into a side alley. He was ready to confront her, but as the dim light of a streetlamp illuminated her weary face, glistening with tears, he lost his words.

So much for a stern lecture, he chastised himself, but quickly barked at both women, "Let’s go—we need to talk!"

The young woman allowed herself to be led through the alley toward Regent Street without protest. At least they were moving away from the orphanage, and her fears eased. Marianne hurried behind them as best as she could in her high heels, utterly perplexed.

The aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted through the kitchen.

Henry remained blissfully asleep on the living room sofa, unaware of the unfolding drama. Marianne carried three steaming cups and a plate of chocolate digestives to the table.

"I hope you like these… they're the only biscuits we have," she said, apologetically, as any gracious hostess would.

Frank nodded approvingly, rising slightly as Marianne took her seat beside him. Grace—Henry’s mother—stood awkwardly in the doorway, like a schoolgirl awaiting her fate.

"Henry is your baby, then?" Marianne gently inquired, attempting to break the tension and gesturing for Grace to sit.

"Yes, ma’am, he is."

Marianne noticed Grace’s frail frame and the noticeable bump beneath her clothing.

"But if he’s… then why are you still…?"

"Oh, that…," Grace waved dismissively, unfastening layers to reveal a small pillow tied around her waist with a scarf. "That’s not real."

Frank’s eyebrows shot up, and Marianne’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

"See—Henry wasn't supposed to arrive for another two months."

"But he looks so healthy," Marianne replied.

"Oh, he is… it’s not like that… I just have to pretend to be pregnant for two more months, you see…"

"What are you talking about? This is preposterous!" Frank interrupted, but Grace, undeterred, finally sat down to share her story.

"It’s quite straightforward, really. When Henry and I married in April, I was already… you know," she gestured to her round belly.

"Henry?" Marianne reached for a biscuit. "You mean baby Henry’s father?"

"Yes—well—no," Grace’s face flushed as she avoided their probing gazes. "He is the father—he will always be the father… he knows I'm expecting, but the baby isn’t due until January. So, I must hide him until then. Nobody must know he was born already."

Frank grew visibly impatient. "And you think your husband won't notice that you’re no longer… well, you know… for two whole months?"

"Oh no, sir, he’s not around… he’s in the army. It’s the nosy neighbors and friends and family I’m worried about."

"In the army?" Marianne gasped, remembering her own courting days with Frank during the war.

"The draft, you know."

"The National Service Act of 1947," Frank explained briefly. "It just took effect this year."

"But before he left in April, we decided to marry. We’ve known each other a long time. In May, I wrote to him that we were expecting a baby—he was thrilled." Grace smiled.

"That’s all well and good, but I still don’t see the issue," Frank said. "So, the baby came a little earlier than expected—what’s the big deal?!"

"Well, yes—but two months early?!" Marianne interjected. "That’s far too early…," she turned to Grace, "… so you and Henry—were you not… together… before the wedding?"

"Not like that."

"I see—so, who is the father?"

"Henry is—he’s the only father…" Grace’s voice broke.

"Of course, I understand, but—who was the man that…?"

"There is no man… I couldn’t say… such things are a sin just to speak of—a curse, that’s all…" Grace’s slender shoulders began to tremble violently as she covered her face with her hands.

"Never you mind," Marianne whispered gently, squeezing Grace’s shoulder in a gesture of support. "We don’t need to know…"

Frank rose from his chair and began pacing anxiously. This was not the Saturday night he had envisioned. Yet, he felt compassion for the young stranger at his kitchen table, worried about how this baby situation would affect Marianne's state of mind.

Marianne reached for a napkin and handed it to Grace. "Don’t worry, I understand everything. You want to ensure nobody suspects anything other than that Henry is the baby's father. So, you must hide the baby for a few months, pretending to still be pregnant. And when the time is right… voilà… little Henry is born!"

"Yes," Grace wiped her tears. "It’s for the best… for everyone… for Henry… for the baby… for the whole family… it must be done this way…"

"Oh, good grief," Frank interrupted. "That’s complete nonsense. Nobody will believe a word of it once you bring home a newborn."

"I wouldn’t worry about that, sir; most folks can’t tell the difference… a baby’s a baby… it’s only a couple of months…"

"Most folks can’t tell…," Frank rolled his eyes in frustration.

"I’d like to see you try!" Marianne chuckled.

Frank shot her a stern glance, disapproving of her lightheartedness, yet he had nothing to retort. Being an only child, he had never held an infant before.

"We must help Grace!" Marianne declared, her face flushed with determination.

"But what about you?!" Frank’s gaze bore into Marianne with genuine concern.

Grace—sensing the unspoken worries—whispered, "Don’t you worry, sir… this will work perfectly… my grandmother always said that back in the old village, when a woman took a long time having a baby after a wedding, they’d let her care for a neighbor’s infant for a while… it worked like magic… every time…"

Frank shot her a skeptical glance. "Old wives’ tales."

But it was evident he was ready to concede.

The following weeks filled their Storrington flat with joy and commotion.

Neighbors grew curious, but Marianne crafted a charming story about a cousin who fell ill after the baby’s arrival and needed help. Little Henry was showered with affection and gifts wherever he went.

Frank noticed the positive impact Henry had on Marianne. She ate more, smiled more, and her cheeks glowed with health. Still, he couldn’t shake the worry of what would happen when Grace returned for her child.

For a long time, he held onto hope that Grace might not come back. Perhaps her story was a fabrication, or maybe her plan had crumbled, leading her to abandon her child rather than face single motherhood. He even secretly researched the process of adopting a foundling.

But his dreams faded one January evening when he discovered a handwritten envelope in the mailbox. It was from Grace. She would return on Saturday.

Just three days remained.

When Frank shared the news with Marianne, tears filled their eyes.

Grace and Henry had long vanished from view. Marianne stepped away from the window and, with a heavy sigh, sat on the bed. She noticed Frank peeking in silently, his expression filled with pain as he saw her tears. What he didn’t realize was that her tears were a mix of joy and sorrow—a secret yet to be revealed.

He tiptoed to her side, careful not to disturb her in her sorrow, and nestled beside her.

Struggling to find words, he gently caressed her cheek. She looked up and smiled at him.

"I know you’ll miss Henry terribly," he whispered. "You’ve grown accustomed to not being alone while I’m at work."

"I will miss him very much," she said, a pained smile on her lips. "But—I won’t be alone anymore when you’re gone."

Frank looked into her eyes, puzzled. "Not alone anymore?"

"Not anymore…"

"… I’m having a child."

In the first video, "No Place Like Home: The Story of the Foundling Hospital," viewers are taken through the historical narrative of the Foundling Hospital in London, showcasing its significance and the emotional depth of the stories it holds.

The second video, "A Visit to London's Foundling Museum | UCL Institute of Education," offers a guided exploration of the Foundling Museum, revealing the rich history and touching accounts related to the foundlings of London.

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