by Mary Nichols
‘Where have you been?’ His face was white and drawn and his eyes seemed almost feverishly bright.
‘There is no cause for alarm,’ Margaret said, calm now that she was within the circle of light coming from the big house. ‘We went visiting and stayed too long.’ She gave a cracked little laugh. ‘Surely you were not concerned about me?’
‘You know very well that I was,’ he said in a fierce whisper, not wishing to quarrel in front of the servants. ‘I was about to send the men out looking for you.’
‘Well, I am home now, so you may dismiss them.’ She turned to her maid, who stood shaking behind her. ‘Come, Penny, I must change for supper.’ And with that she walked past her husband into the house with her head in the air, apparently cool and in control of herself.
Once in her room, she sank on her bed and sat staring into space. How much did Janet Henser really know? She had said that Roland still meant to leave, had said it was necessary. What had she meant by that? She smiled slowly as Penny busied herself fetching water, soap and towels for her to wash; she was being almost as foolish as her maid, believing in ghostly dogs and will-o’-the-wisps. By the time she was ready to go to supper in a simple gown of yellow silk, she had convinced herself that Mistress Henser was no more than a rather eccentric woman, with no powers above those of any other mortal.
Roland was waiting for her in the drawing-room. He was reading a letter but folded it away when she appeared and put it into the depths of his coat pocket. Her new-found confidence plummeted when she realised he was dressed for travelling in a dark green coat, frogged and braided, over a long green double-breasted waistcoat. His knee-breeches were buff and he wore riding-boots. He looked strained, as if he had not slept properly for some time.
‘Is there anything amiss?’ she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.
He had spent the last three weeks in a state of ferment, waiting for the summons from London, wanting it and yet dreading it. There had been days, bright, sunny days, when everything had seemed so right that he had begun to think the omens were favourable and he could safely stay with Margaret.
He had begun to wish he not been so foolish as to volunteer his services to his old commander. On other days, the heaviness on his spirit could not be lifted and he could not wait to get away, to find some relief in action. Now it had come, the letter telling him to make haste to Scotland. Scotland! It might just as well have been the other end of the earth. And he had to break the news to Margaret and risk another confrontation like the one they had had when he had first broached the subject of leaving. He hardly knew how to begin. He took a deep breath. ‘The time has come to leave.’
‘Now?’ She was surprised how calm she sounded. ‘You will surely not get far tonight?’
‘Far enough,’ he said. There seemed no point in delaying; it would not mend anything. Everything had been done that could be done, orders issued about the running of the estate, instructions given for Margaret’s comfort, and everyone from the bailiff to the pot-boy had been charged, on pain of dismissal and worse, to guard her ladyship with their lives. Johnson had finished the packing and had been sent to the stables to have horses saddled, one for him to ride, one to be led carrying his pack, and another for Johnson himself, who had announced his intention of accompanying his master whether his lordship willed it or no. ‘I would have gone earlier if you had not been missing.’
She gave a crooked smile. ‘I suppose it is no use my asking where you are going?’
‘I am afraid I cannot tell you.’
‘Cannot or will not?’
‘I can’t, Margaret, I do not know.’
‘Are you not even going to leave a direction where you might be reached?’
‘No, I do not know where I shall be. I have left instructions for the management of the estate and the outdoor servants with the bailiff. He is trustworthy and you need not worry about anything. And, naturally, in the house, your word is law.’ He took his tricorne hat from Johnson, who had come to the door to tell him the horses were at the front door, but he did not immediately put it on. Instead he stood looking at her, unable to drag himself away. He took a step towards her and reached for her hand; in spite of the warmth of the day, it was cold. ‘Margaret, I know I do not, can never, deserve your love, but I pray that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me.’ He bent his head to kiss her, but she turned her face away, knowing that if she allowed that small gesture her self-control would snap and she would dissolve in a flood of tears. She had to harden her heart if she was to survive.
‘Please do not let me delay you, my lord,’ she said stiffly.
He swept her a bow, clapped his hat on his head and strode out to his waiting horse. He did not look back. He dared not.
The weeks passed slowly and the days grew shorter and cooler. The leaves on the chestnut-trees by the village green turned to yellow and then deep ruby-red. The alder beds changed from emerald to bright gold and the reeds began to die back, but the autumn sunsets were glorious, streaking the huge skies with fire. Margaret, now in her sixth month of pregnancy, never tired of watching them.
The stubble fields, picked clean by the gleaners, had been ploughed and the wheat-seed sown, and now that the threshing was done and the grain taken to the miller, there was little to be done on the land. The villagers returned to their life on the fens.
Margaret kept herself busy with the school and charitable work and long walks over field and fen, ignoring Penny’s lamentations that she should rest more and think of her child. She was thinking of it; convinced that she carried a boy, she was determined that he would grow up strong and fearless. Winterford was her home and it was her son’s heritage; nothing could take that from him. He would learn to love the Fens as she had come to love them, to look after his people and earn their respect. He would not be weighed down by dread of curses as his father was.
She had heard nothing from Roland at all and did not know for certain where he was, but she was convinced he had gone to Susan. After all, that was why he had married her in the first place, to leave him free to marry the woman he really loved. She smiled grimly whenever she thought of them together; he would have a long wait for his freedom because she did not intend to die. She had never felt better. Plenty of fresh air and a walk every day kept her body healthy, and keeping ahead of her pupils exercised her mind. Sometimes she wondered what her husband would do when he came back and realised she had not been beaten by that old superstition. If he came back; he might decide to stay away. She would not let herself dwell on it and instead concentrated all her energies on giving her child the best start in life that she could. Whenever the thought came to her that the year was not yet over and she still had some way to go before she could truly say she was safe, she remembered her talk with Mistress Henser and told herself, ‘I will have faith.’
There was no shortage of people to talk to; servants obeyed her every whim and the village children, now they had become used to her, chattered away like the magpies which flocked on the fields. Their parents, although more reticent, would always spare time for a chat, but, for all that, she was achingly lonely. Occasionally she went into Ely or Cambridge, where she browsed round the bookshops, and once she went to Huntingdon to visit Kate, but Kate was not well, being close to her time, and she did not have the energy to entertain. Though she made Margaret welcome, it soon became plain that she wanted to be alone with her husband, who cosseted her dreadfully, and Margaret returned to Winterford feeling depressed and more isolated than ever.
She was feeling particularly despondent on the afternoon she met Nellie in the village. It was a raw day in November with a heavy mist creeping up over the low-lying land and obscuring everything further away than fifty yards. Nellie, bewigged and painted, had brought a pony to be shod and was standing in the warmth of the blacksmith’s shop, when Margaret passed on her way from visiting Mistress Reeve, an old woman who was suffering horribly from the ague.
‘My lady.�
�� There was a certain insolence in the greeting and the way Nellie bowed her head, making the rakish feather on her riding-hat brush her cheek.
‘Good morning, Mistress Capitain.’ She had no idea if that was how Nellie liked to be addressed, but as she did not know her surname, she could not call her by it. ‘How go you?’
‘Well enough.’ She moved aside so that Margaret might feel some of the warmth from the furnace. ‘You are well, I see.’ Was it simply a friendly enquiry or was there more to it than that, an element of doubt or surprise?
‘Why, yes, I have never felt better.’
‘Not long to wait now?’
‘Six weeks.’
The blacksmith called over his shoulder to his son. ‘Kit, fetch a stool for her ladyship. Where’s your manners?’
A stool was fetched and Margaret sat down, holding her cold hands towards the fire. Nellie stood and watched, a smile playing about her lips.
‘And his lordship, he is well?’ she asked.
‘I believe so.’
‘Where is he now?’
Margaret looked up at her sharply, but could define nothing from Nellie’s expression, perhaps because her face was so heavily painted. She hesitated before saying, ‘In London, on business. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. You must be lonely without him.’
‘A little, but I keep myself busy.’ She paused and smiled; there was no reason at all why they should not be friends. After all, if she was going to put an end to the hatred and anger, where better to begin? ‘Would you like to visit me at the Manor one afternoon? Or perhaps I could come and see you. My uncle would not object, would he?’
‘You ran away once—why come back?’
‘I did not like my uncle’s guests.’
‘No more don’t I. They leave and others come, but they don’t get any better. You would not like them, my lady.’
‘Why do you stay with him, Nellie?’
The girl shrugged. ‘Where else would I go? I can’t go back where I came from, can I?’
The question found an echo in Margaret’s own mind. Going back was never an option. ‘Could you not find work, some way of earning a living…?’
The girl laughed. ‘Whoring. No, thank you, my lady.’
Margaret looked at her, standing just inside the door, pretending not to care, and felt a great deal of sympathy. ‘Is that how you met my uncle?’
‘No. Not exactly, though who’s to say it wouldn’t have come to that? I worked in a tavern where he came to drink and gamble. He said I took his fancy. He was good to me, bought me presents, took me out. Then, when he said would I like to come home with him to the country, I couldn’t wait.’ She laughed harshly. ‘I didn’t know it would be like this. Mistress Clark left weeks ago, and I am an unpaid housekeeper, no more. Not that I’m much good at that. My mother was a whore and I never learned…’
‘I am sure you do your best. Did my uncle never mention marriage?’
‘Oh, he did at the beginning but that was only to get me down here. He wanted a hostess who wouldn’t ask too many questions.’
‘About his guests?’
‘That and… No, I ain’t saying nothing.’
‘Are you afraid?’
‘You would be, if you could see them. Huddled together over the card-table, whispering. And they’ve got knives and pistols.’
‘What are they whispering about?’
‘How should I know? They shut up when I go near. But I reckon they’re up to no good.’
‘Why does my uncle have them there? Entertaining them must cost a deal of money.’
‘They don’t stay long when they come, and they pay him well.’
‘Why do we never see them in the village?’
‘Because they arrive by boat and leave by a different boat. Henry will do anything for money, but he’ll pay with his life one of these days. This last lot are worse than all the others. Filthy and dressed in rags when they arrived, and they must be given hot water and clothes and fed and anything else that takes their fancy…’
‘Then you must stay with me and not go back. I’ll deal with my uncle.’
‘No.’ Nellie stood up to go. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you. Henry ain’t all that bad; it’s just that he’s hard up. If you go interfering, he’ll get into trouble and I’ll be blamed. I thank you for your interest, my lady, but there ain’t nothing you can do.’
‘Have you no family you could go to?’
‘No, nor money either. Besides, Henry would kill me.’
They were alike in that, Margaret thought—no home and no money and dependent on men who did not care what became of them. But Roland would never offer her violence; in that he and Henry were different. ‘Surely not?’
Nellie laughed but there was no humour in the sound. ‘No, I jest. But best leave well alone, my lady.’
Margaret was puzzled, but before she could ask any more questions Nellie turned and took the reins of the newly shod pony before dipping Margaret a slight curtsy. ‘Henry was up later than usual last night and snoring his head off when I left,’ she said. ‘I must get back before he wakes up and misses me.’ And with that she led the pony to the wooden block outside the door, mounted and disappeared into the fog.
‘I hope she does not miss her way,’ Margaret murmured.
The blacksmith laughed. ‘She may miss her way but that animal won’t. Have no fear for her, my lady.’
‘Does Master Capitain never come into the village?’
‘Rarely, my lady, unless it be his cellar runs dry, then he might visit the Crown. That woman——’ he jerked his thumb in the direction Nellie had taken ‘— buys his provisions for him and his guests, though why anyone should want to visit such an out-of-the-way place God only knows. Beg pardon, my lady,’ he added, suddenly remembering that he was speaking of her kinsman.
She smiled, bade him good-day and set off home, musing about her uncle and his succession of visitors. She did not think Nellie had been joking, whatever she said. The girl was afraid of Henry Capitain. But why? She decided she ought to find out, but when she arrived home she found that Kate had arrived in her absence and Nellie and Henry Capitain were pushed to the back of her mind.
Her sister-in-law had come with a carriage-load of baggage, a wet-nurse, a nursery-maid, a coachman and a footman, besides her personal maid, and all had to be accommodated and looked after, but Margaret was overjoyed to see her.
‘Kate, how well you look!’ She moved to embrace her and then held her at arm’s length to look her up and down. ‘Your figure has quite returned.’ She turned to take the four-week-old baby George from his nurse to cuddle him. ‘He is beautiful, just beautiful. How long can you stay?’
‘Two or three days. Charles has business in Newmarket, something to do with bloodstock sales. He has taken the coach and will call for me on the way back.’
‘Oh, how marvellous! We can talk and talk to our hearts’ content and no men to interrupt or become bored.’ She summoned servants to make rooms ready and light fires, and handed the baby back to his nurse.
‘Is Roly not home yet?’ Kate asked, following Margaret up the wide, carpeted stairs.
‘No,’ Margaret said, then added quickly, ‘Shall we eat in the dining-room or my sitting-room?’
‘Oh, in your sitting-room. It is cosy in there and we can draw the curtains and shut out the fog. Do you know, we could hardly see our way and I was afraid we would end up in the river? As it was we nearly ran into a chaise coming in the opposite direction; we both had lanterns but neither could see the other. I didn’t want Charles to go on tonight, but he insisted on going as far as Ely. I think he was going to meet someone at the Lamb.’
‘I am sure he knows what he is about,’ Margaret said as Kate drew breath. ‘I’ll leave you to change your dress and see George and his nurse settled. Come to my room when you are ready and we can have a good gossip.’
She knew that a gossip would entail explaining why Roland had not yet returned home
and admitting she did not know where he was; she did not see how she could evade it. On the other hand, it was possible that Kate knew more than she did. She might know where Roland was and what he was doing.
They dined at a small table drawn up near the fire, and Kate spent the first half-hour regaling Margaret with tales of baby George and his dazzling progress, but the time eventually came when she had almost exhausted the topic, or it might have been that she became aware that she had not once asked Margaret how she was. She stopped suddenly. ‘Oh, forgive me, Margaret, I have been prattling on and you haven’t said a word. Tell me, how are you?’
‘Very well. Why should I not be?’ Margaret’s answer sounded sharper than she intended it to be and she laughed. ‘How could I not be with everyone looking after me so well?’
‘Have you felt the baby kicking?’
Margaret smiled. ‘Oh, yes, he kicks quite a lot.’
‘He? You know it is a male child? Did you ask Mistress Henser?’
‘No, I just think it is a boy.’
‘What a pity Roly is not here to share your joy. Charles used to love putting his hand on my stomach and feeling George kicking.’ She paused. ‘Roland will be home soon, won’t he? I cannot think what is so important that it keeps him away at a time like this.’
‘I expect he is busy.’
‘But where is he?’
‘You do not know?’ Margaret looked up at her sister-in-law, wondering whether she dared confide in her.
‘No, or I would not have asked.’
‘I believe he is with Mistress Chalfont.’
Kate dropped her fork on to her plate with a clatter and stared at Margaret with her mouth open. ‘Susan Chalfont!’ she said at last. ‘I don’t believe it. Why would he go to her? She is nothing but an empty-headed, spoilt child.’