by Janet Woods
‘I feel a little faint.’
A woman obligingly gave up her seat and Marianne began to fan her sister’s face. The woman went off to alert Seth, who came back with a plate of supper for her and a drink. He looked concerned. ‘You should have eaten some supper,’ and he beckoned Dr Beresford senior over.
‘I’m sorry, I forgot. I was too busy talking.’
Lucian’s father declared the episode to be no more serious than a faint. He had drunk more than his fair share of punch so he was quite jolly and he whispered, ‘You young ladies shouldn’t lace your corsets so tight. You haven’t got a little surprise for your husband under that bodice, have you, Mrs Hardy?’ To which question the blood ran into Charlotte’s face and she nearly fainted away all over again.
In a short while Charlotte had recovered, and although she’d assured them that it was just a faint and she was perfectly all right, Marianne spent most of the remainder of the evening in her sister’s company, just in case it happened again. Seth didn’t dance any more, but spent time talking to his fellow clay producers.
Marianne saw Lucian dancing with many other women. How they simpered when he looked at them. He was so correct, keeping them at exactly the right distance. When he’d lifted her up at the end of the Lancers and set her lightly back on her feet their bodies hadn’t even touched. She smiled, wondering if she’d looked just as simpering. Probably.
The reverend went past with Daisy Thornton. Was that how she’d end up herself, a lonely spinster who supervised her nieces and nephews and lived on her family’s generosity? Would she be trotted out now and again at an occasional social occasion, wearing a gown that had long since died, and be called an old grey owl behind her back by some young woman who’d forgotten how to be kind? She sighed at the prospect. Perhaps Lucian would ask her to marry him, even though she was poor. They’d always been friends, and since he’d become a man she’d felt a strong yearning inside her to be more than friends.
She voiced her thoughts. ‘Will I end up an old maid, Charlotte?’
‘You’re too pretty to become a spinster. When I have children I want them to have cousins so they can grow up and play together.
When Lucian caught her eyes and smiled at her, Marianne’s happiness nearly bubbled over. The next moment she murmured as a black dog of doubt leaped against her chest, ‘What if he doesn’t ask me?’
‘Oh, don’t worry so much. It’s simple. I shall make it my business to find you a suitable husband of your own.’
Not if she could help it! Marianne wanted to be in love with her husband, or at least be able to like and respect him. She didn’t want to marry a man for the sake of convenience. Some of the speculative looks she’d received from men tonight had almost made her shudder.
A marriage of convenience had worked for Charlotte, she conceded, but lightning didn’t strike twice in the same place.
It wasn’t the first time that Nick had been in a bad storm. So far Samarand had weathered everything the sky could throw at her. Nevertheless he wondered if the masts would take it. He’d shortened sail to take the strain off both ship and the exhausted crew, but it had slowed them down.
He hunched in his sou’wester as lightning zig-zagged out of the sky and snicked across the water. There were two of them at the wheel, using all their strength to haul her round and keep her steady on course. He was nursing the ship along at a comfortable seven knots, allowing her sharp prow to cut through the water.
The roaring forties had lived up to its name and rounding Cape Horn was proving to be a nightmare so far. But the laboured shuddering was beginning to lessen, or was it his imagination? He said to the first mate, ‘Is the wind dropping, James?’
James Mitchell was a solid, unflappable Scot who’d been at sea since he’d been weaned from his mother’s teat on to a whisky bottle, or so his uncle had told him. It was comforting to have a man of his experience by his side, but there was no doubt that his uncle had put him there to keep an eye on him. Nick didn’t mind.
‘The command of this ship should have gone to you, James,’ Nick had told him once.
‘Aye, lad, but that would have been unfair, since I joined the Thornton company after you, though you were nae more than a bairn yourself and wet behind the ears at the time.’
Now James smiled. Licking his finger he held it up. ‘Seems so, Captain. At least the wind is blowing in the right direction. We’ll soon be around the Horn and homeward bound.’
But it was another twelve hours before they got into calmer waters. Even Samarand seemed to sense the respite. He knew the exact moment when she stopped fighting the water and capitulated, when her shudders became quivers and her hull settled into her own comfortable and particular rhythms. He sent seamen into the rigging to restore a full set of sails, and the ship surged eagerly forward on the regular roll of the homeward bounders.
There was relief in him that the ship had survived the most hazardous part of the journey once again. Having the crew relying on his seamanship didn’t always sit easy on him. It was a responsibility he didn’t want.
Sending James Mitchell below to get some sleep he placed the wheel in the capable hands of the bosun and a seaman while he calculated and adjusted their course. They’d drifted off, but not too far. Adjusting it would make the most of the prevalent currents and save them several sailing days. Time was money, his uncle always said.
His cabin boy looked a bit green around the gills when he brought his coffee up at dawn. ‘I’ve roused Mr Mitchell. He’ll be on deck to relieve you as soon as he’s had his breakfast.’
Cupping his hands around the mug Nick warmed his palms as he sipped at the bitter brown liquid. ‘I’ll be glad when we get home.’
‘Me too, sir.’
‘Rough night was it, Sam?’
‘It’s been a rough few weeks.’ Sam managed a wry smile. ‘I was all right for most of the time, though.’
‘Of course you were. It happens that way sometimes. The weather is as unpredictable as a woman.’
‘Yes, sir, I’ll go and get your breakfast. Cook said the chickens took fright and laid half a dozen eggs, and there’s some smoked ham to go with it. He’s baking some fresh bread while he’s got the chance.’
The weather was also as unpredictable as a man, he thought, as Sam made himself scarce. Who’d have thought that he’d get over Charlotte Honeyman so quickly? Fickle creature that she was!
There had been a few weeks of feeling sorry for himself, a few bottles of whisky, a few nameless women to restore his own belief in his masculinity and – apart from the occasional hurt feeling making it to the surface – he was beginning to think straight again. He’d had a relapse, of course. He’d woken up one morning in an alley in Melbourne, his pocket picked and a monumental hangover squeezing his brain. A woman had screeched at him and she’d sounded like Charlotte. Suddenly he’d experienced a strong a sense of freedom, and knew that her loss would never bother him again.
He was thinking now that he was nearly old enough to take control of the legacy his uncle held in trust for him, and it was about time he and his uncle talked seriously about the establishment Nick wanted to open.
Three
Poole, Dorset, 1851
It was near noon.
On her way home, from the top of the rise Marianne saw Lucian, his rig pulled by a placid grey horse that plodded along the pale ribbon of a track winding through the tough heathland plants.
‘Lucian!’ Marianne waved, losing her grip on her apron in the process. The fragrant early blossoming heather she’d picked to decorate the hall tumbled to her feet. Neither shout nor wave was effective. She was too far away to be heard and the wind was taking her voice in a different direction, pushing the sound across the sweep of tossed grey wavelets shivering across the water and on towards the bustling harbour town of Poole.
Marianne adored Lucian. Retrieving the heather and holding it against her body, she began to make her way towards her home. Harbour House was a solid b
uilding of weathered stone clutched in the grip of bony fingers of ivy. It stood on the next rise, defying anything the weather threw at it and affording the occupants a sweeping view of the sheltered haven it overlooked.
The wind flattened her skirt against her buttocks and loosened some of her hair from its bun, sending dark strands streaming. It was hard to keep tidy at the best of times. The management of her long curls depended entirely on the weather, and the skills of her sister. She began to run, leaping from tussock to tussock and startling the birds, which noisily scolded her as they exploded in splashes of colour from under her careless feet.
‘Lucian!’
They arrived at the house together, she dishevelled and panting, he perfectly calm. He watched her come, his mouth grave and his astute eyes filling with laughter when she skidded to halt in front of him.
He put out a hand to steady her, his palm warm under her elbow. Lucian didn’t know it, but she’d hankered after him ever since the Christmas ball nearly seven months previously, even though she’d seen him rarely. Now he was a fully trained physician in partnership with his father she adored him even more. He was so handsome. The trouble was, half the unmarried women in the district also adored him.
‘Are you here to visit us?’ She dropped her skirt, using her free hand to fuss with her hair.
Lucian messed it up again. ‘Stop fidgeting with it. You look exactly the same as the first day we met. I think you were about seven when you came running out of the heather with a bird’s nest tied to your head, including eggs, and the mother bird fluttering over the top and twittering in alarm.
‘Oh, you,’ she said. ‘You were a horrid young man at the time, and you laughed and laughed until I kicked you on the shin. And you know very well that I bought it from a gypsy on the heath who tricked me into believing it was a hat.’
‘I think she got the better of the bargain, since you handed over your silver locket in exchange as I recall.’
‘And my father stayed sober long enough to go after them and get it back, then he spanked me so I couldn’t sit down for a week – but not because I’d handed over the locket. It was because I’d gone on to the heath all by myself to visit the gypsies.’
The maid jumped down from the rig and grinned. ‘Shall I take the heather and put it in water for you, Miss Marianne?’
Marianne’s glance went to Alice in alarm as she handed over the heather. She hadn’t seen the maid earlier, she’d been shielded from her sight by Lucian’s body. ‘Is something amiss, Alice? My sister hasn’t fallen, has she?’
‘Mrs Hardy thinks she’s having her baby. She sent me to fetch the doctor.’
Marianne’s heart leapt. ‘But the baby is not due for another four weeks. Charlotte didn’t say anything this morning before I went out.’
‘No, Miss, but she was still in bed and that was at the crack of dawn.’ Alice gazed at the doctor and lowered her voice. ‘Her waters broke . . . could be she’s had it by now.’
Lucian smiled. ‘It would be highly unlikely for a first baby to arrive so quickly.’
Marianne watched Alice walk off towards the house and sighed. ‘Oh, Lor! I told Charlotte not to do all that cleaning work yesterday. She was a hive of industry all day.’
‘Don’t worry, Marianne, it’s normal for a baby to arrive a little early. We’d better go in so I can examine her and see if everything is progressing as it should.’
Her sister was composed, but there was a spark of relief in the blue depths of her eyes when she set eyes on them. ‘Nothing has happened yet, except I’m a bit damp.’
‘No pressure?’
Charlotte shook her head.
Lucian nodded. ‘Marianne, would you arrange the sheets so I can do a physical examination on her stomach?’
Together, Marianne and Charlotte had read a book about midwifery, and they knew exactly how the birth would progress. They’d even practised the event, laughing with excitement at the thought of having a baby in the house, and they’d sewn little garments that looked too small to believe anything but a doll would fit inside them.
Marianne wanted Charlotte to have a girl. Charlotte wanted a boy. John said he wanted a brother. When pushed, Seth had simply grinned and said he’d like one of each, and had remarked that if the infant looked like its mother then he’d be contented with whatever its rear end resembled.
Charlotte had blushed at that, and Marianne had giggled and wondered – and not for the first time – if her sister had fallen in love with Seth. After all, it had been a marriage of convenience for both of them, but more so for Charlotte who had entered into the union to keep a roof over their heads, and to save that same roof, and herself, from falling into the hands of Nicholas Thornton.
Harbour House had started out as an inn owned by Marianne’s ancestors. The family fortunes had fluctuated over the years and the Honeyman name had fallen into disrepute several times, including during the lifetime of their own father, who’d been described as colourful by various of his debtors. Their father had taken several years to drink himself to death after the demise of their mother in childbirth. There had barely been enough money left to pay for his funeral.
Now Charlotte was about to contribute a new member to the family. Excitement squeezed at her. How wonderful to have an adorable child . . . one who resembled Seth.
Marianne smiled at the thought of Nick not getting what he’d wanted, even though she had a sneaking regard for him. Nick had been a persistent, if demanding suitor, who’d taken Charlotte’s eventual acquiescence to a marriage between them very much for granted. It must be wonderful to have a suitor besotted by you, and she wished Lucian was more forceful in going about such matters. At least she’d then know where she stood in his affections.
While they waited for the maid with the water, Lucian chatted to Charlotte, putting her at ease. Even so, Charlotte caught her breath when he performed the intimacies of the examination, his hands probing the outlines of her stomach. But he was professional and remote from them, his mind on the job at hand, his voice soothing with reassuring phrases. Marianne couldn’t help but admire the detachment with which he conducted himself, something that was designed to cause his patient the minimum of embarrassment.
Finishing his examination he turned away and moved to the window. There he deliberated while Marianne tidied the bed and Charlotte composed herself.
Marianne nearly exploded with impatience and said to his impassive back, ‘Well, Lucian! Is Charlotte having this baby, or isn’t she?’
‘She is.’ He turned, the lack of a smile on his face somehow ominous. ‘There’s a problem. It appears that the infant is in the breech position.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘That it will be harder to expel the child because its rear will present itself first, instead of the head.’ He came and sat on the side of the bed, taking Charlotte’s hand in his. ‘You’re a healthy young woman, Mrs Hardy, but I want you to get as much rest as you can before the contractions start. They shouldn’t be long in coming. I don’t want to alarm you, but I do want you to know what to expect. This appears to be a large infant and it will not be an easy birth. You’ll need all the strength you possess to deliver the infant safely.’
‘Will my baby be all right?’
‘At the moment its heart is beating strongly. If you can bear the pain without panicking then the infant will have a much better chance of survival. But in any case, I’ll administer some chloroform towards the latter stages of labour. It will help ease your discomfort.
‘What’s that?’ There was alarm in Charlotte’s voice and Marianne took her hand.
‘It’s a liquid that gives off a gas, and will lessen the pain considerably. It’s dripped on to a pad and held to the patient’s nose, where it’s breathed in.’
It sounded as though Lucian was reading from a set of instructions, Marianne thought. ‘Have you used it before?’
‘Not in practice, but I’ve been trained in its use.’ For a moment his e
yes blazed with enthusiasm. ‘I’ve seen a man operated on under the influence of the drug. He went to sleep and didn’t feel anything until the operation was all over.
‘Why can’t Charlotte have the coliform earlier?’ Marianne asked.
‘Chloroform,’ he corrected, giving a faint, but rather superior smile at her mispronunciation. ‘It’s dangerous if too much is used, and not good for the baby. It could slow down the contractions.’
Charlotte nodded, but there was a twinge of fear in her eyes. Knowing she was thinking of their mother’s death during childbirth, Marianne took her sister’s hands. ‘I’ll be with you every minute, Charlotte, I promise. In the meantime I’ll make you comfortable so you can better relax.’
‘Should we let Seth know? He went into Poole early this morning to discuss business with the pottery owners he supplies clay to. He was going to attend a meeting and luncheon of the Clay Producer’s Association before picking John up from school.’
Taking out his watch Lucian gazed at it. ‘He’ll be home in plenty of time. I’ll alert the midwife, then go about my rounds and come back later. But anyway, the infant is not going to arrive in a hurry.’
Marianne followed Lucian’s tall figure down the stairs. ‘Charlotte will be all right, won’t she? Our mother died in childbirth, and I know it’s on her mind.’
For the first time Lucian looked troubled. ‘It’s better if she knows what to expect, then she can prepare herself. Breech births can be gruelling, and I cannot guarantee anything. The midwife knows her job, and I’ll do my best if any complications occur. Try not to alarm your sister in any way.’
‘That’s something you’ve already succeeded in doing, Lucian.’
He became distant. ‘Nonsense. I don’t need advice on how to do my job, Marianne.’
The reprimand was spoken so severely that she was shocked by his change of manner towards her. Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Lucian. It’s me who is rattled, I think. Will you forgive me?’
‘It will be my pleasure.’ He held her close for a moment, then kissed her on the forehead. ‘Be brave, Marianne. I’ll be relying on you to help to keep your sister calm.’