Beth sat down on the bed, trying to drive away the memories of the last birth she’d attended, while Caroline moved straight to the window, drawing the curtains and opening the shutters, paying no heed to the midwife’s protests that her patient would be sure to catch cold. A blast of fresh cool air entered the room, and Beth took a deep breath.
“Are you all right, Anne?” she said, reaching for the new mother’s hand, alarmed by the tears that were pouring unchecked down her face.
Anne nodded miserably, but was unable to do anything else but sob brokenly. Beth took her in her arms, wondering whether it was normal for new mothers to behave in such a way. One look at Caroline's face told her it was not.
“Is the baby all right?” Caroline asked the midwife anxiously.
“He’s perfect!” the middle-aged woman beamed, looking tenderly down at the squalling tightly-wrapped infant, the only visible part being the furious red face. “It was a perfect birth, very easy. The little poppet slid out all by himself, straight into my hands!”
“Anne, what’s the matter?” asked Beth. “The baby’s perfect. You’ll be fine. You’re just a bit tired, that’s all. It’s to be expected after what you’ve just gone through.”
“Here,” said Caroline, deftly taking the crying bundle from the midwife and laying it gently on Anne’s chest. “Hold him. He’s lovely.”
Anne’s arms instinctively moved to cradle the baby and she looked down at him in wonder, then up at Beth.
“He looks like Stanley,” lied Beth smoothly. “That’s what you told me you wanted, isn’t it? A boy to remind you of Stanley.”
“He’s wonderful,” Anne said, “but I wanted a girl. I had prayed so for a girl.” She sniffed, and another tear spilled down her cheek. “What am I going to do?” she whispered, as though unaware there was anyone else in the room.
“You’re going to feed him, if you want any peace,” said Caroline practically. “Open the front of your nightdress and put him to your breast. He looks lusty enough, I think he’ll get the idea straight away.”
Anne looked up at her in horror.
“Oh, I can’t do that!” she said, forgetting her tears. “I mustn’t feed him myself! Richard was very definite about that. It will ruin my figure, he said. I must find a wet-nurse, or better still hand feed him. Yes, he said I should hand feed him. That would be the best.”
Beth bit back the extremely shocking expletive she had been about to use regarding her brother. All had become clear. Anne did not want a boy because Richard didn’t want one. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself before she spoke again.
“Anne,” she said. “I’m sure Richard will come round when he sees the child, and he will not be disappointed at all that it’s a boy. In the meantime,” she continued firmly, “he is not here and is not likely to be here for some considerable time. I can’t think of anyone likely to be a better mother than you.” She shot a quick look of apology at Caroline. “You should be happy. You have a lovely, perfect son, one of many no doubt, and it was an easy birth.”
Caroline came and sat down on the other side of the bed.
“And you should feed him yourself,” she asserted. “I did, and I assure you my figure hasn’t suffered at all. It’s a wonderful feeling. It bonds you to your baby like nothing else.”
Anne looked doubtfully from Caroline to the baby.
“I have read that it is the best thing for a child,” she said hesitantly.
“Of course it is,” said Caroline brusquely. “You of all people, with your great knowledge of ailments and cures should know that.”
“But when I told Richard that, he said it was a lot of new-fangled nonsense, and that there is nothing wrong with hand feeding, if it’s done correctly.”
“There’s everything wrong with hand feeding,” said Caroline. “Believe me, I know all about it. I read all the latest reports before Freddie was born, including some figures that Edwin got for me that aren’t available to the general public. Almost all the children who are hand fed die. If you really don’t want to feed him yourself, get a wet nurse. But even then your baby’s got a higher chance of dying before he’s weaned.”
By the time they left, Anne had breastfed her child for the first time, had smiled weakly and had tentatively expressed the hope that Richard would not be too disappointed when she wrote to tell him he was the stepfather of a boy.
* * *
“Of course he’ll be disappointed!” Beth raged once she was at home. “He’ll be absolutely furious that Anne has not only had a boy, but that she’s also decided not to murder it by following his advice!”
“Do you no’ think you’re being a wee bit hard on the man?” Duncan suggested carefully. “Ye do seem to think the worst of him all the time.”
“That’s because there’s nothing good to think about him,” she fumed. “He did it deliberately. He did his best to beat her into miscarrying, and now that hasn’t worked he’s trying to kill the baby by insisting she hand feed it, knowing full well that it has no chance of surviving if she does!”
“Did you know?” asked Alex, who was sitting on a chair watching his wife pace angrily up and down.
“Did I know what?” she said.
“That hand-reared bairns almost invariably die?”
She stopped pacing.
“No, I didn’t. Not until Caroline told me just now. She was magnificent, really authoritarian. But that’s not the point.”
“It is, Beth,” Alex said wearily. “You’re a woman, you talk to other women who’ve an interest in that sort of thing, and you didna ken. Why do ye think that Richard would?”
She paused, thought for a moment.
“Because the child’s going to disinherit him and he doesn’t want it,” she said. “But he can’t murder it outright, because even he can’t bring himself that low, so he’s made it his business to find out how to kill it without anyone suspecting anything.”
Alex buried his head in his hands.
“I give up,” he said.
“I’ve only met your brother a couple of times,” said Duncan. “But it seems to me that he’s no’ a particularly devious man, that he’s accustomed to getting what he wants by force, mainly. That’s why he beat your stableboy, rather than using more subtle means, is it no’?”
“Yes,” Beth said. “That’s why he hit me too, because I was too clever for him, and I wouldn’t give in to him.”
“Aye. And I can see that he might have beaten Anne hoping that she’d lose the bairn. But now ye’re giving me quite a different picture of the man,” he continued calmly. “Ye’re telling me that he’s subtle enough to have thought of killing a child by getting his mother to unknowingly deprive it of the nourishment it needs.”
“Even I wouldna have thought o’ that,” Alex added, “And I’ll admit to being as devious as they come. And ye tellt me that some of the stuff Caroline read about breastfeeding isna even available to the public. How the hell d’ye think Richard came by it, then?”
Beth sat down. The two men watched her searching for a way to still paint her brother black. Alex took her hand.
“Beth,” he said gently. “I know your brother’s cruel, and I know he’s ambitious, too. But he’s a man. He isna the devil incarnate, in spite of the fact that ye’re trying to make him so. Maybe the bairn will disinherit him, but he’s still rich. The allowance Redburn left Anne was generous to say the least, and it’s all Richard’s now. It’s more money than he’ll ever need, and the bairn’ll make no difference to that.”
“But he’s…” Beth began.
“No, let me finish, Beth,” he said. “I’m no’ defending him. I dinna like the man, and I canna forgive him for hurting ye. I also agree that he probably hurt Anne, which was why I did what I did at the club. But you’re unreasonable about him and you’re more likely to cause him to commit violence than restrain him. Ye’re like flint and tinder, the two of you, when you’re together.”
“Like you and Angus,”
Duncan said wryly.
“Aye, a bit like that,” Alex admitted. “Except Angus and I are well-matched in size and strength, and we love each other, whereas you and Richard dinna, and that makes all the difference. As angry as I get wi’ Angus at times, I never forget that, no’ for a minute. Richard’s no’ responsible for everything bad that’s happened to ye, Beth. In fact, if it hadna been for him, we wouldna have met. You should be grateful to the laddie.”
Beth smiled, to his relief. Her constant ravings about her brother since his marriage were wearing Alex’s patience thin. He was sorry for Anne, and would help her if he could, but ultimately there was little he could do. Anne had married Richard of her own free will; now she would have to learn to live with him, and Alex had tried unsuccessfully to make Beth see that for weeks.
“Maybe I was wrong about the breastfeeding,” she admitted reluctantly. “Maybe he didn’t know about that. But you don’t know what he’s capable of. He can’t stand to be thwarted in anything. He never could, even as a child. And he’s really ambitious. He wants power, and he wants money because the more money you have, the more power you have. And he’ll stop at nothing to get it. You don’t know him, Alex.”
“Well, no, clearly I dinna,” replied Alex, somewhat more sharply than he’d intended. “Because all I see is a somewhat brutal career soldier of average wit who wants to be a general one day, and maybe win a great battle. I canna understand why ye hate him so badly, Beth. Ye dinna rant on day and night about Lord Daniel, though ye’ve far more reason to. He threatened to cut your fingers off, and would have married ye and raped ye if I hadna got there in time! Is there something ye’re no’ telling me about Richard?”
She looked down at his hand, still clasping hers.
“No,” she said. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should let the past lie.”
“I dinna want you to stop talking about him to me, Beth, if there’s cause to,” Alex said, surprised by her sudden capitulation.
“No, I will. But I have been ranting on about him, I realise that. I’m just worried about Anne, that’s all.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
“So am I,” he said. “But I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise.”
To his relief, Beth stopped talking about her brother after that, except in the most casual way. Alex put it down to the fact that Richard was in Flanders, and therefore could do nothing to give her cause for comment until he came home. Hopefully it would be a long time before that happened, and in the meantime Alex was grateful for the return of his good-natured, loving wife.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Flanders, May 1745
Richard was angry. He was angry in spite of the fact that he had managed to acquire warm and comfortable lodgings in the village wine merchant’s house, to the envy of his men, many of whom were under canvas in driving rain in the sodden fields surrounding the village. He was angry even though the Belgian merchant was most accommodating, providing the best claret and port from his cellar and the finest food, expertly cooked, for a very reasonable fee.
He was angry because the slight wound he had received in his leg during the battle of Fontenoy, fought and lost ten days ago, was not healing as quickly as his impatience desired it to. He was angry because on the day of the battle Brigadier Ingoldsby, in spite of being ordered repeatedly by Prince William to attack the French fortified position in the wood near Fontenoy, had instead prevaricated, with the result that the foot soldiers had been subjected to devastating cannon fire as they advanced up the incline to face the whole French army. He was angry because in spite of all the odds, the British had actually been getting the better of the enemy until the damn traitorous Irish Foot, Jacobites to a man, had entered the fight on the French side and forced the British to retreat.
But most of all he was angry because the musket wound which itched and burned as he limped up and down the comfortable sitting room he had been allocated had not been inflicted on him during the actual battle of Fontenoy itself, but on the day before, when the cavalry had ventured forward and Lieutenant General Campbell, leading the Horse, had been careless enough to get his leg shot off by a cannon. This had resulted in the death of the general and many others and the withdrawal of the cavalry from all further action, apart from helping to cover the retreating infantry. And it had also resulted in the end of Richard’s dreams of achieving glory in his first battle as a captain, for now at any rate.
And to top it all, he had today received a letter from his pathetic little wife, which now lay open on the small escritoire and which he had read with disbelief. In it she not only told him the joyful news that she had produced a boy, who was hale and hearty and perfect in every way, but also that she had decided to disobey his specific order and nurse it herself. Of course she hadn’t worded the letter that simply; it was full of gushing endearments and hopes that he would forgive her; he could almost see her cringing in fear as she wrote, anticipating his reaction when he read it.
Although she was obviously not fearful enough, or she would not have the temerity to nurse the brat herself. His sister was behind this. Anne hadn’t mentioned Beth in the letter, but he could see her stamp all over this little rebellion of his wife’s. What he wouldn’t give to have them both here now, in this room, so that he could take all the frustration, rage and pain he’d endured in the past days out on them.
Someone knocked tentatively at the door.
“What?” snarled Richard, halting in his pacing. The door opened, and a nervous ruddy-faced young man poked his head round it.
“Er…you called for me, sir,” he ventured hesitantly.
“Ah. Yes. Smith. I would like some tea,” said the captain, in a more moderate tone.
“Tea, sir?” echoed Smith incredulously.
“Yes, tea,” said Richard impatiently. “I take it you have heard of the beverage?”
“Yes, of course, sir. Straight away.”
He started to duck back out of the door, with obvious relief.
“Sergeant,” said Richard, halting the man in his retreat.
“Yes, sir?”
“How is Titan?”
The sergeant swallowed nervously.
“Er…the surgeon managed to get the ball out of his leg, sir, and he thinks it might heal in time, with luck.”
“Good. You will ensure he gets the best of care. Did the surgeon say when he will be fit to ride again?”
“He’s…not sure if he will be, sir. He said it will be a few weeks before he knows. The ball caused quite a bit of damage, he said, sir.”
The sergeant closed his eyes and waited for the explosion.
“Ah. I see,” said Richard quietly. “Well, we will have to wait then, and see what happens. And how are you, Smith?”
“Me, sir?” said the sergeant, stunned.
“Yes, you,” replied Richard with something that looked almost like a smile. “You were wounded, were you not, in the battle? How are you?”
“I’m fine, sir,” stammered the sergeant. “It was just a scratch.”
“It was a lot more than that,” said Richard. “You fought very bravely. All the men did. Ask the landlord to give a bottle of wine to each man, at my expense. I should have done that immediately after the battle, but I’ve had other things on my mind.”
Now Richard did smile, at the sergeant’s expression of unbelieving wonder. He looked as though he’d wandered into the mouth of Hell and instead of the expected cloven-hoofed demon with a pitchfork, had encountered a golden, fluffy-winged angel. It was good to keep the men on their toes, and one way to do that was to sometimes behave in the way they least expected you to. A gesture of appreciation now and then went a long way too, especially when it was bestowed by a normally harsh officer like himself. And his men had fought well. They deserved his praise.
“Yes, sir, at once, sir. Thank you. Very much. Sir.” Smith said, beaming now. He made to leave the room again.
“Don’t forget the tea, sergeant,” Richard
called.
“No, sir.”
“And a woman. For the whole night. You know the sort I like.”
Once the door was closed, Sergeant Smith drew out his handkerchief and mopped the nervous sweat from his brow. Captain Cunningham was the most unpredictable man he’d ever met. You never knew how he was going to react from one day to the next. He would have a man flogged if he even imagined he was not being shown sufficient respect; he expected all his orders to be followed without question; he had no sympathy with weakness or any display of nerves in his men; and if he wanted something he expected it to be provided for him, and would accept no excuses. He had, as far as the sergeant was aware, no discernible sense of humour.
On the other hand, his bravery was beyond question. He would not expect any of his men to face anything that he himself would shrink from. Which was fine, except that there was nothing he would shrink from. He was reckless in his courage, which the sergeant personally considered a dangerous quality in an officer, particularly as it endangered his men, of which the sergeant was one. Since he had married well and come into money the captain was showing that he could be extremely generous to his men, if he felt they deserved it. His men feared their captain and some of them hated him. No one admitted to liking him.
The sergeant started down the stairs. Tea. Why the hell would anyone who was in the enviable position of having a wine merchant for a landlord ask for tea? Still, it should be easy enough to procure. The woman was a different matter. Richard’s reputation with women was already becoming notorious, and once a whore had spent one night with him she was not eager to repeat the experience, in spite of his generosity, and the word was spreading. There had been some whispered speculation in the mess as to whether the captain was a secret molly, who tried to hide the fact by buying women then taking his frustration out on them when he couldn’t rise to the occasion, but neither the sergeant nor the men really thought this to be the case. Captain Cunningham showed no sexual interest whatsoever in his own gender. No, the captain was a normal red-blooded male, although he certainly seemed to hold women in deep contempt, to hate them even. It would not be easy to find a whore who was willing to spend a whole night with him. The sergeant would have to find one, though, or face the consequences.
The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) Page 40