The landlord nodded. “Aye. It changed hands two or three years ago but the name is the same.”

After the route had been determined, Kendra accompanied Lucas out to the carriage and they set off again. She had to force herself to unclench her hands as they drove along. Now that she was so close to learning the fate of her lost child, the stress was almost unbearable.

It wasn’t actually raining, but the gray sky and lowering clouds were threatening. Fitting weather for the day. Gazing out the window, she said, “Even though the inn has changed hands, perhaps there will be longtime employees who might remember what happened.”

“We’ll find someone who knows what happened that day,” Lucas said calmly. “We’ll stay as long as it takes.”

Another hour of driving along a lane that was more track than road brought them to a scattering of houses, the outskirts of Lower Dauntrey. He asked, “Does this look familiar, Kendra?”

“Perhaps.” She tried to imagine the village covered with blowing snow. “I was in too much pain to remember much.”

“The landlord said the Red Lion is at the other end of the high street.”

Kendra caught her breath as the parish church came into view. “This is the place! I remember the church tower. Round at the bottom, hexagonal at top. I’ve never seen another like it. I sent a few confused prayers in its direction.”

“Let’s stop and see if we can look at the parish register,” Lucas suggested. “Births in the village should be recorded here.”

“Would there be a record of children born here even if the mother was just passing through?” she asked uncertainly.

“Perhaps. Registers vary in the amount of detail listed depending on the person keeping the records.” Lucas signaled their coachman to stop in front of the church. A weathered sign said it was called Saint Mary of the Fields. The building was small and obviously very old, but it had an air of peace, and the churchyard was well kept.

The arched oak door was iron bound and heavy, another proof of age. Lucas swung it open and Kendra walked in ahead of him. The interior was cool and the gray sky outside made it dim, but Kendra heard laughter when she entered. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she looked up the nave and saw a young woman arranging two tall vases of spring flowers and greenery, aided by a little girl of perhaps three or four.

Smiling at the sight, Kendra dropped a donation in the poor box, then headed up the aisle. The young woman glanced up as they approached. Her gown was worn and had obviously been remade more than once, but her voice was well educated. “Welcome to Saint Mary of the Fields. May I help you?”

“Thank you,” Kendra said. “We’d like to see the parish register. Is the vicar available?”