It was a cold winter's night in 1903 when a small girl of about six was left outside the servants' entrance at the abbey with nothing but the clothes on her back and a note.

The note, scribbled in the messy penmanship of one with little education, read:

"This is Daisy Robinson. Her birthday is April 4, 1897. We can not afford to care for her any more. She is to much of a burden. She is the youngest of are 11 children and we can not feed her. Please look after her for us. She is good at dishes and house work. We do love her but we can not take care of her any more with all of her siblings."

It was not signed.

Donald, the footman who answered the door that blustery night, stared at the child, read the note, then stared at the child again. He hadn't the slightest idea of what to do. He looked out the door into the darkness. In addition to the small footprints of the girl, there were two larger sets of footprints in the snow. Clearly whoever dropped her off had fled as quickly as they could. He took the child by the arm and led her into the hallway.

"I need you to wait right here and don't move, can you do that for me?"

The little girl nodded her head.

Donald disappeared and returned a minute later with a grouchy-looking man with bushy eyebrows and the nose of an eagle.

"Here she is, Mr. Carson."

Carson looked the girl up and down, taking in her ragged and faded dress that looked to be at least one size too large. Her long brown hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and her large blue eyes were framed by a face of freckles. A prominent set of ears poked out from the sides of her head, but overall she was a pretty little thing. The butler read the note and then took the girl's cold hand.

******

"I don't know what you expect me to do." Mrs. Hughes looked menacing standing in the middle of her sitting room, hands on hips, and little Daisy hid behind Mr. Carson.

Carson looked sheepish. "I...uh...well, you are a…ahem…woman, after all. If it was a boy child it goes without saying that I would take responsibility for him, but, er...as it turns out...it's a girl child..."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Mr. Carson, but I'm a housekeeper, not a mother." She regretted her words once she spotted the little girl hiding behind Carson's coattails. Her features and voice softened and she removed her hands from her hips. She bent over so her face was almost level with the girl's. "There there, what's your name, my darling?"

"Daisy."

Mrs. Hughes took young Daisy's hands in her own. "Ooh, your hands are so cold! Don't you have mittens?" She cupped the small face in the palm of her hand and found that it, too, was quite cold.

"Why don't we put her in the kitchen? Mrs. Patmore has been complaining about the lack of help ever since Marie left."

"And what, have Mrs. Patmore look after her? Mr. Carson, are you forgetting about the fact that we need to find this girl's parents and send her back to them?"

"Mrs. Hughes, let's be honest. How much of a chance do you think this child has in an overcrowded house with parents who leave her in the snow with no jacket, mittens, or extra clothing? Now don't you worry about his Lordship; I'll speak with him and he'll probably have no problem taking this girl in. He might even give her a small stipend."

"Your heart is in the right place, Mr. Carson, but would you be so eager to have her stay if you were the one who had to look after her?"

Carson realized that she was probably right.

"I'll take that as a no. Nonetheless, I suppose you're right. If we send this poor girl back to her parents she's likely to wind up on the street. It's late, though, and she's surely exhausted. We won't send her into the kitchen until tomorrow; I'll bring her upstairs and get her settled and introduce her to Mrs. Patmore in the morning. Come now, my girl." She took young Daisy's hand and they disappeared into the hallway.