A Mother For His Family

by Susanne Dietze

  “Hush now. I’ve got you.” Although the poor child had been ordered to stillness and then hauled into the air. No wonder she screamed. He was scared, too. The bull didn’t charge, but it still moved closer, head bowed. Adam and a passel of men arrived, bearing ropes and rods.

  Helena waited with her arms extended, her features contorted into a portrait of grief. John shifted Louisa to Helena, and she folded the little girl against her chest, muffling Louisa’s sobs.

  “All is well.” She spoke in the singsong way his mother had comforted him. “You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry we frightened you.”

  Bitter as bile, anger filled John’s throat. Of course Louisa had done nothing wrong. It was him and Helena who endangered his children. Helena had challenged Catriona’s rules, and he’d allowed his desire for her happiness here to cloud his judgment. He’d been foolish to relent and allow the picnic, and while this was as much his fault as Helena’s, if she hadn’t pressed, this wouldn’t have happened.

  She had no right to comfort Louisa now, no right to be the one who soothed her with her maternal care. Who did this London-bred girl who knew nothing of his family or his ways think she was?

  She is your wife.

  John turned away from her and marched toward his men, but they’d already made quick work of roping the bull. For some reason, his inability to help capture the beast increased his ire.

  “I’m sorry.” Helena chased him, her words rising above Louisa’s tears. “Thank God the bull was never close to her.”

  “You and I do not define close the same way.” He loosened the noose of his neck cloth. “Have you no idea what could have happened? That bull is separated from the others because he shows aggression.”

  “Which is why we didn’t picnic near the animals. I don’t know how the bull got here.”

  Nevertheless, it had. Life was unpredictable. He’d tried to warn her of that the first day, when she took the children outdoors. “’Tis a good thing I decided to stop in.”

  “You do not trust me.” The skin around Helena’s mouth whitened.

  The children’s chatter increased in volume, reminding John that he and Helena weren’t alone. A glance affirmed Mrs. Knox and the children were now within earshot.

  Louisa pushed at Helena’s neck. “Tabitha!”

  The doll lay in a lump several feet away, still too close to the men prodding the bull back toward its paddock. A rescue would have to wait. John patted his daughter’s head. “She’s on the ground near the bull, Louisa. We’ll fetch her in a moment. It is not yet safe.”

  “He’ll eat her,” Louisa wailed.

  “Cattle do not eat dollies.” Helena tucked a stray curl under Louisa’s miniature bonnet.

  Callum pushed forward. “Goats do. They eat everything.”

  Gemma Knox’s ward Eddie held up a finger. “A goat bit my coattail, but Uncle Tavin pulled me away. The goat had teeth like this.” He held his thumbs and forefingers apart at least two inches, forming an exaggerated display.

  Gemma shut Eddie’s fingers. “I think it’s time we returned home, boys. Uncle Tavin will wonder what has become of us.”

  John forced his fingers to unclench. “Pity the day ended on a sour note.”

  “Oh, that is not it at all,” Gemma probably lied. “The boys require a rest.”

  Who didn’t? John rubbed his forehead.

  “Uncle Tavin will want to know about the bull eating Tabitha,” Eddie said.

  Louisa broke into a fresh round of wails. Helena bounced her in one arm. The other reached for John.

  She’d never initiated touching him before. She’d taken his arm when he offered it at church or to escort her into dinner, but she never held out her hand to him. It wasn’t that she wanted to touch him, John knew. She wanted his absolution. His comfort. Only he could not spare it for her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  “I must ensure they repair the fence. Pardon me.” He stomped after the men, his strides longer than they should be if he wished to do the gentlemanly thing and hide his anger from their guests, from his stranger of a wife.

  The fence must be mended now, though, within the hour. There were so many things in his life that were broken beyond repair. Here, at least, was one thing he could fix. He’d have to trust the Lord to see to the rest.

  * * *

  Once the children were comforted and settled—and Tabitha enjoyed a good scrub in the laundress’s tub—Helena took a deep breath, prayed God heard her plea for words, pushed down Mama’s insistence that Helena was about to behave uncouthly and sought out John. She found him in the library, striding toward the door, Iona at his heels. His eyes widened in surprise, then hardened.

  “Pardon me, but I’m heading out.” He brushed past her.

  “Already?” None of them had been in the house that long.

  He took his walking stick from the brass pot by the door. “I require a constitutional to clear my head.”

  Iona yipped, clearly understanding the word constitutional.

  He didn’t want to talk to her, and the way her heart hammered in her chest, she should take advantage and continue to be a quiet mouse of a wife. But she couldn’t. This was too important, so she didn’t budge from her position at the door. “We should discuss what happened.”

  “There is nothing to discuss.” He turned back toward his desk, almost tripping over Iona, who circled his feet.

  “Sit,” he ordered Iona. Iona pranced toward the door, looking back at him with longing.

  Helena stepped around the eager dog. “Please, John. This is not easy for me. I’m unaccustomed to conflict, but I imagine you are well versed in it.” At his shocked look, heat flooded her cheeks. “You are a politician, after all.”

  “Conflict in Parliament is one thing.” He passed her and replaced his walking stick in the brass pot with a resounding thunk. “I’m not accustomed to it at home, however.”

  “I do not wish to argue.” She reached behind him to shut the door with a soft click.

  “There will be no need for argument if you accept the rules my late wife laid down.”

  Iona jumped on his legs, her paws pressing into John’s thighs. He pushed her down with more gentleness than he seemed able to extend to Helena.

  “We were nowhere near the animals. The bull must have escaped its pen somehow.”

  “It did. The fence tore and no one saw it wandered free, but that’s the problem, Helena. I tried to warn you, that first day when you took them outside with nine pins. Things happen that are no one’s fault. That’s why Louisa must be protected.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it into a disaster. “You do not know the children well enough to know what is best.”

  Coldness swirled in her stomach. “When will I know them enough? Another month? A year? Or never, because I did not give them life, or because you do not love me?”

  His mouth opened, then shut.

  “You cannot expect to marry me and for nothing to change. I’m the mistress of this house. To care for the household and the children I must hold authority, yet my decisions are second-guessed and contradicted by Margaret as well as the staff. And by you.”

  “That’s not true. I relented this time, but look what happened. Near disaster.” He guided Iona’s paws from his legs again. “Sit, Iona.”

  The dog ignored him and twirled around Helena’s feet.

  “Iona, sit.” Helena pointed at the rug. “Sit.”

  The dog obeyed. John rolled his eyes and mumbled something about how he’d not roll over so easily.

  Well, neither would she. Helena stood tall. “We must ensure the children grow up able to cope with their lots in life.”

  “We must ensure their safety, or they’ll not grow up at all.”

  “John—”

  “You do not know them, Helena.” He moved so the desk sat between them, a
solid barrier.

  “And you do? You are in England more than half a year, and from what I’ve observed, there are a few things you do not know—”

  “How dare you accuse me of not knowing my own bairns.”

  Anger mottled his cheeks, but she could not stop. Not now that she’d begun. “Alex—”

  “I know my own son—”

  “—is petrified by his position as your heir. All he sees ahead is your life, which consists of duty and separation from his family, and it frightens him. I believe that is why he has nightmares. But during the day, he is mischievous because he is trying to have fun before he is forced to grow up.”

  His hands gripped the desk. “Alex will learn—”

  “But Callum is mischievous because he does not have to be responsible for anything. He taunts Alex about his position, which does nothing to improve Alex’s anxiety.”

  John’s features morphed, as if he recalled something painful from the past. Then he shook his head. “I regret that it pains Alex. And Callum, too. But their futures are set.”

  “They can be prepared, however, so they are not anxious. And speaking of preparation, what of Louisa?” She strode around his desk to intercept his gaze. “Have you considered what will happen when she is grown? She must be allowed a sense of independence now, so she will be ready. Today’s incident was terrible, but it was an accident.”

  “Which would not have happened if you had not convinced me to grant permission, something I’ll not do again.”

  “Louisa is no invalid. She cannot see, but she can hear, feel, smell. She must be allowed to live, to know the dignity of doing things for herself. To put a spoon in her hand and eat as a woman someday, not a child.”

  “Enough.” He shut his eyes. Oh, he must hate her. But she could not stop.

  “I’ve learned of a school in Edinburgh devoted to the blind. My friend Frances knows one of its benefactors and mentioned it to me before I left London, when I told her I was marrying you. She wrote to me with more information. It’s called the Relief for the Blind.”

  His lids flew open. The resulting glower almost made her jaw clamp shut, but she had to keep going. “Perhaps a member of their staff might advise us how to go about helping Louisa.”

  “Louisa will never be sent away from this house.”

  “I didn’t suggest that. The school is only for males, anyway—but the point stands, she can learn to do things for herself. Frances says—”

  “Enough.” His voice was dangerous in its lowness.

  “Then let us speak of Margaret. She has been allowed to behave as if she runs this household, perhaps because there has been no one to guide her. She is growing up. And she wore cosmetics the day of our wedding.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You accuse my niece of indecency?”

  “Not at all, but no one has taught her about being a young lady. I’m trying, but she will not yet listen to me. She needs you to pay note to her, too. If a young lady does not receive proper attentions from her father, she may one day seek it from another man. I know this better than anyone.”

  Admitting it stung, like she’d cut open her skin so John might look inside her. He would no doubt find the sight disgusting, but she couldn’t allow Margaret to suffer as she had.

  He stared at her for the length of several breaths. “I am not your father. And Margaret is not you.”

  But she could be.

  A knock on the door made her jump. Even Iona, who had curled into a ball and dozed off, hopped to her feet.

  “Enter.” John seemed relieved for the intrusion.

  Kerr entered the library, his expression grave as ever. “Pardon, milord. A man claims he has a most urgent message from Lord Carvey.”

  John’s good friend. She’d met the black-haired gentleman once or twice back in London, extending the cool courtesy she showed everyone below her in rank, as Mama had taught her.

  “Show him in.” John was all business, as if nothing was happening between them.

  The moment Kerr turned his back, Helena spun. “But you and I are not finished.”

  “Carvey is in London, Helena, yet something has occurred to make him send a man on an urgent journey here. You’d have the fellow wait in the kitchen, when we have nothing more to say on the matter?”

  She barked a laugh. “You may be done with our conversation, but I am not.”

  Iona scurried from the room, as if intimidated by Helena’s tone, but John folded his arms. How like Papa he was, after all. Dismissive of her. Unwilling to listen. It had taken courage for her to confront him, for her to lay bare her opinions and thoughts. She’d been taught emotional outbursts were unseemly, but despite the twisting of guilt and shame in her stomach for speaking out, she would never regret this.

  Kerr reappeared, followed by a brown-coated fellow with a sealed missive in hand. Helena smoothed her face into a mask and nodded to the messenger. “Refreshments await you in the kitchen when you have finished your business with his lordship.” She glanced at Kerr, conveying the request.

  “Thank you kindly, milady.” The messenger tugged a forelock.

  “Pray excuse me.” She cast a chill smile to her husband.

  To her surprise, he held up his hand. “Stay, wife, since we are unfinished, unless this particular matter requires privacy?” His questioning gaze was met by the messenger’s shake of the head.

  Ah, so he’d offered his own sort of challenge. Very well. She’d stay for whatever boring political tidbit Lord Carvey thought John must know. Some bit of gossip about the Tories like Papa, perhaps.

  “I’m to tell you what occurred, milord, as well as deliver this, which says the same.” The young man held out a letter. The strong smells of sweat and horse swirled from him.

  “What is your message?” John took a knife to the letter’s seal.

  “A group of agitators assembled Monday on a field in Manchester, milord.”

  Helena took a seat and John glanced up at the messenger. “Rumors of a gathering to protest their lack of representation in Parliament have churned for weeks, and little wonder. Their voices have gone unheard.” John’s voice was bitter as too-strong coffee.

  “Tens of thousands congregated, so it’s said.”

  “That many?” John’s brows rose. Helena’s hand went to her throat.

  The youth nodded. “Cavalry was called to disperse the crowd, and they did so with sabers drawn.”

  “Sabers?” Helena shouldn’t have intruded, but the question escaped. The way her chest tightened, it was a wonder she’d managed the single word.

  The messenger stared at John. “It was a massacre, milord.”

  Chapter Ten

  After excusing herself, Helena hurried to the nursery, drawn as if by an invisible tether. The world—or at least her sheltered understanding of it—had changed to a place of unexpected trouble, protests and massacres, but the nursery would be the same: mischievous boys, sweet Louisa, distrustful Margaret, all comfortingly predictable.

  But the scene greeting her at the nursery door was most unexpected. The boys sat at the table, rigid in their chairs, their eyes wide. Someone sobbed in the girls’ bedchamber.

  “What’s wrong?” She touched the children’s heads.

  “We don’t know.” Callum’s voice was uncharacteristic in its softness. “But it’s bad.”

  “I’m certain all is well.” Nevertheless Helena hurried inside.

  Margaret huddled in bed. For her part, Louisa curled in her own bed, sucking the fingers of one hand while she clung to the bedclothes with the other, as if they made a substitute for Tabitha while the doll was bathed.

  “She won’t tell me what’s wrong, milady.” Agnes’s fingers fidgeted against her gray gown. After letting go of Louisa’s hand today and losing sight of her, the nursemaid no doubt expected her position in the household
to be dubious. “I’ve tried everything, but she’s cryin’ like she’s dyin’.”

  “Margaret’s dying?” Louisa’s cries joined Margaret’s.

  Helena scooped Louisa and kissed her cheek. “She is not. Agnes, take the others to the long gallery. I’ll stay with Margaret.”

  While Agnes bobbed a curtsy and took Louisa from the room, Helena perched on the side of Margaret’s bed, as she did Alex’s when he suffered nightmares. Margaret wouldn’t want her here, but Helena had to keep trying. Lord, if you hear me, will you please help us to be friends? She licked her dry lips. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

  Margaret’s head shook. Helena’s fingers traced the quilted pattern on the coverlet, but then stilled. Alex hadn’t seemed to mind her touch, nor did Louisa. Would Margaret?

  With gentle fingers, she brushed the damp tendrils away from Margaret’s cheeks. When the child didn’t resist, Helena rubbed small circles on Margaret’s back. Margaret’s sobs slowed, and at last she took a long breath and swiped her eyes.

  “Now then,” Helena said. “Are you upset about Louisa and the bull?”

  “It’s my fault.” Margaret blinked. “I took her from Agnes. She was with me one minute, and then I wanted to play with the boys—Archibald’s right. I’m a baby, too.”

  Helena’s hand stilled and her thoughts tumbled over one another, back to her wedding day. Then her jaw dropped. “The solicitor’s son?”

  Margaret nodded.

  “When have you spoken to him? I’ve not seen you exchange a word at church—” Helena clamped her mouth shut. She knew quite well how to meet a young man in secret.

  “I was being neighborly.” Margaret’s mouth set in a mulish expression. “You can’t punish me for bidding a neighbor good afternoon when he’s here at Comraich.”

  “When did he call at Comraich?” They’d had no visitors except the clergyman’s wife.

  “He didn’t.” Margaret sniffled. “Not on us, anyway. His father had an appointment with Meeker this afternoon to look at horseflesh—I overheard them discuss it at the kirk Sunday. But everyone was so busy with the bull, I thought I should meet him so he wasn’t wondering where everyone had gone.”