In this new historical novel by the author of Daughter of the Reich, Londoners Eleanor and Edward Hamilton have wealth, status, and a happy marriage—but the 1929 financial crash is looming, and they’re harboring a terrible, shameful secret. How far are they willing to go to protect their charmed life—even if it means abandoning their child to a horrific fate? Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Louise Fein’s The Hidden Child, which releases on October 19th 2021.
SYNOPSIS
Eleanor Hamilton is happily married and mother to a beautiful four-year-old girl, Mabel. Her wealthy husband, Edward, a celebrated war hero, is a leading light in the burgeoning Eugenics movement—the very ideas that will soon be embraced by Hitler—and is increasingly important in designing education policy for Great Britain.
But when Edward and Eleanor’s otherwise perfectly healthy daughter develops debilitating epileptic seizures, their world fractures. Mabel’s shameful illness must be hidden or Edward’s life’s work will be in jeopardy and the family’s honor will be shattered.
When Eleanor discovers Edward has been keeping secrets, she calls into question everything she believed about genetic inferiority, and her previous unshakeable faith in her husband disintegrates. Alarmed, distressed, and no longer able to bear the family’s burden, she takes matters into her own hands.
Inspired by the author’s personal experience, The Hidden Child illuminates the moral and ethical issues of an era shaped by xenophobia, prejudice, fear, and well-intentioned yet flawed science. Vividly rendered, deeply affecting, and impeccably researched, Louise Fein’s new historical novel is a sweeping story and a richly drawn portrait of a family torn apart by shame, deceit, and dangerous ideals.
Eleanor’s first encounter with Edward is seared deep into her mind; the clarity of the memory takes her breath away, just as he did when she first set eyes on him eight years ago, in 1920. The broad shoulders beneath the sharp cut of his uniform. The medals lining his chest. A quick glance and she had recognized the Military Cross, awarded for exemplary gallantry during enemy operations. From behind her typewriter she had wondered, as he folded his tall frame into a chair outside the brigadier general’s room in the War Office, just what acts of bravery he had undertaken. Those haunting eyes had fixed on hers just a little longer than strictly appropriate for a captain waiting for his decommissioning appointment. She remembers the effect he had on her.
The hot fluttering in her chest and how the words she was typing melted and swam on the page in front of her. She could still feel the soft spring breeze from the open window touch her skin, hear the grind of traffic rumbling along Horse Guards Avenue below, and sense the press of his eyes on her flushed cheeks as she tried, fruitlessly, to concentrate on her work. From the corner of her eye, she’d watched him take a pen and notebook from his top pocket and, forehead wrinkled in thought, begin to write. She’d wondered if he was a poet or perhaps planning his words for the brigadier.
When Edward had disappeared behind the brigadier general’s closed door, Eleanor became aware of the strong thrum of her heart, the prickle of sweat on her skin, the rasp of her breath in her throat. The knowledge he would walk back out at some point had her patting her hair, smoothing her blouse, pinching her cheeks. It had felt like hours before he reappeared. It was ridiculous, she knew. She was just a young, ordinary girl—a secretary; he was a military man, a much older man. He must be, what, thirty, thirty-five even; she, only nineteen! And pretty much destitute, now that she and Rose were alone together in the world. Someone so smart and self-assured, so brave and handsome—he would never be interested in her.
But he did reappear, and he turned and shook the brigadier general by the hand. Best of luck with it all, the brigadier general had said, pumping Edward’s hand so vigorously his mustache had wobbled. A Temporary Gentleman, Eleanor surmised.
A man given a temporary commission to serve as an officer in the war, now released to return to his former profession. Back to what? she had wondered, unable to resist staring at him as he prepared to leave the room. Before replacing his cap, he turned and smiled. A warm, wonderful smile that lit up his face. Passing her desk on his way to the door, he slipped a folded note next to her typewriter, unnoticed by the brigadier general, whose mind was undoubtedly on the hundreds more men he had to decom- mission in the coming days.
I’ll be at the Café Bru, corner of Whitehall Place, at 6 p.m. this evening if you would care to join me for a cup of tea? Be reassured that my invitation is purely professional. Yours, Edward Hamilton, the note had read, which set Eleanor’s heart racing all over again.
Now, there’s a jangle of keys as Ted locks the postbox, the bulging sack resting in the basket between his handlebars. He turns toward Eleanor, touching his cap as though to say goodbye, but instead, his vision darts over her shoulder, and he lets out a yell. His hands leave the handlebars, the bike crashing to the ground, mail pouring from the sack. Eyes stretched wide, mouth agape, he is pointing at something beneath the tree.
Eleanor turns in confusion.
Mabel! Sticks scattered around her, she’s sitting on the dusty ground, face twisted, her eyes weirdly rolling back. Her chin drops to her chest, once, twice, hands twitching.
Eleanor’s feet are rooted to the ground in horror. Her daughter looks as though she’s been possessed, her normal sweet expression vanished behind the contorted features of her face. Ted moves first, walking slowly, hands extended.
“What’s the matter with her?” he says. “What’s happening . . .” His words snap her into action and Eleanor runs to her.
“Mabel?” She takes her in her arms. The little girl doesn’t respond. “Mabel!” Eleanor cries. What is wrong with her? It’s as though she’s not there, a strange creature inhabiting her daughter’s body in her absence. There’s a roar in Eleanor’s head, panic closes her throat, and she slaps Mabel’s face. Hard. Anything to rid her of the hellish grimace, the otherworldly look in her eyes.
“Shall I fetch the doctor?” Ted’s voice. His hand is on her shoulder.
And then suddenly she’s back. Her daughter. Mabel’s face returns to its usual self. Her eyes focus on Eleanor’s and they fill with cloudy confusion. Eleanor’s heart is beating hard, her breath shallow. The ground shudders beneath her feet. “It’s okay,” she whispers into Mabel’s ear. “It’s okay.” She sweeps the dust from her hair, her dress.
“Mrs. Hamilton?” Eleanor looks up into Ted’s worried face. “I said, shall I get the doctor?”
Eleanor looks back at her daughter, who has now popped her thumb in her mouth and is sucking hard on it.
“No,” she says, without any real conscious thought as to why not. Ted is motionless. “She’s quite all right now,” she says. “I don’t know what happened. She—”
“Cooee! Eleanor!”
Rose.
Eleanor staggers shakily to her feet, and turns to see her younger sister, a wide, wide smile beneath her floppy-brimmed straw hat, rosy cheeked and beautiful, striding toward them up the slope from the station, a vision of perfection, carrying her case in one hand, waving with the other.
Mabel shifts in her arms and points at Rose.
Rose is crossing the street. Sprinting the last few yards, she drops the case and launches herself straight into Eleanor’s arms. In a swirl of fine cotton and her sister’s flowery scent and laughter, she is swallowed into Rose’s embrace, Mabel squeezed between them. They pull apart as a whistle sounds from behind the station building. A cloud of steam rises and the sound of the train cranking and straining hard out of the station fills her ears. Mabel is too heavy, and Eleanor puts her gently down.
“Oh, Rose! How good it is to see you. I didn’t hear the train arrive!”
“And you, dearest Eleanor. Now, how is my favorite niece?” Rose gently pinches Mabel’s cheeks, and the little girl buries her head shyly in Eleanor’s skirt. “Goodness, how you’ve grown!” She turns to Ted, who is picking up the scattered contents of his mailbag. “What’s happened, can I help?”
“It’s quite all right,” he says, crouching to refill the sack. “I was being clumsy. Nice to see you back, Miss Carmichael. How long has it been?”
“Nine whole months!” Rose laughs. “Can you believe it!”
“Come on. Let’s get home,” Eleanor says. “I expect Mrs. Bellamy has made us all a nice Victoria sponge cake with strawberry jam inside just for you and Rose, Mabel.”
Dilly breaks into an eager trot. Eleanor glances at Rose’s profile. She truly does look radiant. Her months in Paris and the weeks traveling around Italy have clearly suited her.
They fall into a companionable silence, lulled by the sound of Dilly’s hooves, her smooth coat gleaming and dulling as she passes through patches of sunlight and lengthening shadows, the sun dipping lower in the sky.
From THE HIDDEN CHILD by Louise Feinn Copyright © 2021 by Louise Fein. Reprinted by permission of William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
