The Foundling

I hushed my baby at my breast, a sob painfully caught in my throat. Shush sweet child! Please let no one hear us! And Lord above, let no one recognise us! It was pitch dark and bitterly cold as I stood outside the iron gates. I wrapped my baby daughter tight in the skinny rag that was her only blanket, her only covering at all. I shivered violently against the harsh London evening. Dear God! Let this be quick! I was anguished with the weight of my decision, but knew of no other alternative than to hand my 9 week old Sarah over to the governors of the Foundling Hospital. Several other women with their infants waited with me and my child, but I stayed as far away from them as possible, for fear of whatever disease they may be carrying. I was forced to live like them, but I would never live like them. I was highly educated for a girl in 1762 - an even more unlikely event alongside my current status - having had the rare privileged upbringing as a servant's daughter in a wealthy home. My father's employers were kind and generous in every way, including clothing me in fine dresses and allowing me to be reared along side their own daughter in regards her time spent with tutors. But I was a pretty girl and became womanly in my appearance at a very young age, drawing the unwanted attention of the very man who paid my father his wages. I soon found my self with child, and just as quickly found myself thrown out of the home by the wife, my father right behind me. My father has not spoken to me since, my being the very cause for his lost employment, for it couldn't possibly be any fault but my own. No amount of tears nor pleading nor begging for understanding would bring my father back to me. I birthed my daughter in an alley with the help of a scraggy gray haired toothless woman who stank of the heavy drinking of gin, but she has brought hundreds of babies into this world so I had no choice but to give my life and that of my daughter's into her hands. My Sarah was born hearty - round and plump, pink and squalling. But now she is weak in my arms, my thin milk providing little nutrients. She was born into this world with hope and promise, and I am quickly draining that from her tiny body as I find it more difficult to beg for food as the cruel winter settles upon us. I dread what I am about to do, but to keep her is to murder her slowly over the days ahead. I know not what will become of me when I give her up, for she is all I live for at the moment. I am able to reclaim her if I find the means to do so - the Foundling does not wish to house so many unwanted babies if it does not need to. But where am I to gain the means? My only prayer is that without a child on my hip, I might find employment as a domestic and come back for Sarah in a few years time. I am unsure if the face of my child burning bright in my memory will give me reason to fight, or reason to die.