Anna Phillips, or Mrs. William Giles, as she was now known, was considered the prettiest of the Phillips’ daughters. Although hers was not the most splendid match of the two married girls, it was not without advantages in the eyes of her relations; for her husband was a man of prosperous and independent means, with considerable property in his possession although he had no title and the misfortune of being a “country squire” in the estimation of society.
As a young man, he had come to London for a Season or two upon finishing his education and had subsequently left London with a bride. No Season brought Anna Giles back to London. The cares of being a wife and the mother of eight kept her perpetually upon her husband’s estate. In the society of Beiberry, however, “the squire’s wife” was considered the most genteel of women, a position which encompassed not only her husband’s means but her own education and manners. Her looks had not faded; the fashions might no longer be the finest in London, but they were elegant enough to impress the ladies of Beiberry who aspired to nothing higher than an India muslin with lace.
“Your traveling gown is quaint but very becoming,” said Anna. “Is it one of Louisa’s? The dark green is handsome enough, but it does not favor your complexion as it ought.”
“It is from last Season, I fear,” said Kitty. “It is merely refashioned; but the collar and the bonnet are new.” She undid the ribbons of her bonnet and removed it as she followed her sister through Marebrook’s main hall, where a great many tapestries were hung and more than one bowl or vase of flowers was displayed on its table. The blossoms withered and turned to dust as if the maid had neglected to remove them as a consequence of their fading away. A doll was posed upon the parlor’s sofa, a great tumble of wooden blocks spilled across the floor before the afternoon sitting room.
Here, Anna paused to collect them and scatter them out of the path. “I am sorry,” she said, with a breathless laugh. “The boys are fond of amusing themselves wherever they please in the house. I have tried again and again to confine them to the rooms upstairs, but they are so persistent.”
“You should not stoop down so,” said Kitty, in a gentle scolding, taking hold of Anna’s arm. “It does not matter about those things–I will collect them later. You must take care of your health and the child’s.”
The little maid had returned and was bustling about, gathering the tea things for her mistress, who sank down upon the chair near the fireless hearth. “Bring some of the new bread and the plum preserves for Miss Phillips, Patience,” she said to the girl. “You must be famished after such a long journey. I am sure the food at the inn is very dreadful compared to Louisa’s cook.” As she spoke, she drew a book from the seat beneath her, where one of the children had evidently hidden it beneath the cushion.
“I am well enough, Anna,” Kitty answered. “I need nothing, you should not trouble yourself. Else there is no point in my having come to you, is there?”
Anna merely laughed. “I am grateful that you have come,” she said. “Truly I am. There are a great many children in the house and I fear that I am not sufficient to look after them, not even with Patience doing the wash and mending and a half-dozen other things for them.”
“I can teach them their lessons,” said Kitty. “That you know well enough. I can hear the eldest recite Latin and the littlest ones their grammar lessons and geography.”
“You shall have to do something about their music, I am sure,” said Anna. “Lisbette and Juliet have no ear for it, but Mr. Giles wishes them to learn something.” She settled herself more comfortably into the chair. “Walter is the youngest, you know, and I must watch him constantly to see to it that he doesn’t go to the pond after the ducks. I‘m afraid he is forever getting into scrapes. But I can see to the girls and to young Richard most days.”
The maid had returned, bearing a plate of bread and jam which she placed before Kitty. Her mob cap was pushed back to reveal a sharp, narrow face and a pair of dark eyes which viewed the stranger before them with interest before dropping their gaze again. Kitty had taken her sister’s place before the teapot, pouring two cups from a set of plain crockery.
“Your maid seems very young. Has she been with you long?” asked Kitty, once the servant girl’s skirts disappeared from sight down the passageway.
“Patience? No, she is only recently come; I had two others until now, but they were not half as good and one has run off to Hadleigh be married to the greengrocer’s son but a week ago.” She cradled the cup of hot tea, taking only a dainty sip before speaking again. “Now that you are here, I shan’t have as much need of her, so I shall lend her more often to Mrs. Allgood’s house. The poor woman’s servants have practically all gone for one reason or another and she’s far too ill to keep up with their replacement. I can spare Patience now and then; I would not send Tillie or Sadie, for they are next to useless. She has no need for a manservant, so James and Martin are out of the question.”
Kitty placed her cup upon the table, silent in the moment which would have been her response. When she spoke again, her eye was upon her sister’s delicate frame and faint color made paler by the gown's vivid shade.
“I cannot deny that I am relieved that you seem so spirited, for in your letter to Louisa, you said that you were not well,” she said. “We half-feared that it was your condition and that you might be forced to take to your bed by a physician’s recommendation.”
“I have seen Mr. Harris for my general fatigue, but he found nothing amiss about my condition,” said Anna. “He believed it was only the cares of the house which have made me so dreadfully tired; and I fear he saw me in a moment of low spirits which undoubtedly influenced him on the subject.”
“Then you shall take more care,” urged Kitty. “Tomorrow, you shall rest half the day abed if you wish; and I shall be the children’s companion in its entirety.”
Anna laughed again, although this time more heartily than before. “I do not need such indulgences,” she said. “You shall be run ragged if you spend a whole day in the presence of my children, I assure you. Even Mr. Harris was greatly fatigued after spending fifteen whole minutes with John and Frank upon his knees and he has sixteen grandchildren in his house every Michaelmas.” She took another sip of tea, then set her cup aside and struggled to her feet.
“You must see the house and gardens while there is still light,” she said. “It has greatly changed since you were here last, Kitty–was it not five years ago?”
“More,” answered Kitty. “Seven or eight, I should think.” It was a great deal more than that, she knew. She had come, only once and briefly, with her mother and father in the months following Anna’s marriage, when her sister was first mistress of this establishment and reveling both in the dignity of her position and the advantages of her new home.
Marebrook Manor’s passages wound throughout the walls of the house like a stone maze, forming small chambers and unusual crannies which revealed a lack of foresight on the part of William Giles’s ancestors. The view from the windows revealed the open fields and the duck pond of Walter’s admiration in the distance, as well as a far-off hill where a line of trees marched steadily upwards along one side, known as Reiker’s View for its impressive horizon when one reached the top.
Below, in the overgrown garden of Marebrook, Kitty admired the spotted pig upon the command of her nephew John and confessed herself astonished by the remarkable talent in cartwheeling exhibited by Frank. She permitted Juliet to lead her to the fine establishment known as the “kitchen garden”, where untidy rows of vegetables and leeks were tended by the gardener and by Patience whenever she could be spared.
“What a pity Mr. Giles could not be spared from Chawton House just now,” said Anna, who leaned upon her sister’s arm as they moved towards the house again. “He was particularly hoping to offer you his compliments in person today; but there is a great deal to be settled with his uncle’s estate.” Chawton was a smaller farm of some value which was to be left to Mr. Giles upon his childless u
ncle’s passing, its operation now in his keeping with the elderly man on the threshold of death, it seemed.
“I shall see him yet,” said Kitty, pressing her sister’s arm warmly, “for I am sure to be here several weeks.”
Perhaps her stay would be longer, she reflected; but that remained to be seen. For her mind had not dismissed the faint notion gradually forming that this distant place, with its untended rooms and growing family of children, might become her home for many years if Anna did not send her away.
With this reflection, she helped her sister across the threshold again; then entered the disheveled chamber where stood a spinnet made over into a pianoforte, its top occupied by a stack of lesson-books and its bench occupied by a row of miniature metal soldiers marching single file.
*****
Upon the morrow, Kitty rose early and dressed herself without need of the mirror or elaborate effort to ready herself for the day. The girls’ lessons she intended to hear immediately after breakfast, then coach Richard on his languages before luncheon. Beiberry’s calling hours were between two and four, Anna had informed her, meaning she would be confined to the parlor to receive the village’s greetings.
She made her way downstairs, tying her apron over her plain brown muslin gown as she avoided a handful of jacks tumbled upon the steps. There was a sound like a child crying in the dining room, a babble of voices which struck fear in her heart as she pushed open the door.
“Kitty, dearest.” Anna’s voice was slightly strained. She stood at the table, half-bent with her hand holding its edge as if for support. The children were crowding around her with concern, along with a maid whom Kitty had not before seen. Upon the table, plates of half-eaten breakfast, a pitcher of milk overturned and pouring onto the floor.
“Anna,” Kitty darted forward, her fingers gripping Anna’s own, pulling them free of the table. She passed her sister’s arm around her neck, her own twined around Anna’s waist to support her. “We must get you upstairs–” she began, ushering her forward.
“It is nothing,” said Anna, with a slight gasp between laughter and pain. “It is nothing–”
“It cannot be nothing,” said Kitty, half-hurrying her towards the stairs, even as Anna pulled away. “I shall fetch the apothecary–”
“It is merely an ache as I have felt before,” said Anna. “Have Martin the groomsman fetch someone–he knows where to go.” She paused for a moment, her hand freeing itself from Kitty’s grip, pressing against her stomach momentarily.
“Go and fetch Patience, Kitty,” she said. “She is with Mrs. Allgood–but a little ways down the lane. She shall come and mind the children.” Released from Kitty’s hold, she climbed the stairs to her room in slow and careful measure.
Kitty was aware that the children had grown silent, their faces pale as they gazed from the dining room. The round-faced maid seemed frozen in place, as if her mistress’s sudden malady had rendered her incapable of taking action.
“Mrs. Allgood’s,” said Kitty to the maid. “Will you go there and fetch your fellow servant?” The girl did not respond, staring at her with wide eyes.
“I dinna know, miss...” she faltered. “The woman there–she wouldna listen t’ me...” The timidity of her speech was enough to convince Kitty that it was useless to order her, so she did not wait for the reply.
Martin, upon hearing Kitty’s order to fetch assistance, took off directly without lingering and increasing her anxiety. Breathless from haste, she watched him ride forth from the stables, then hurried in the direction where Mrs. Allgood’s house supposedly stood.
In a clearing cut small and square in a wood was a cottage, an ancient structure of stone and thatch which seemed unoccupied by human life when she pushed open its weathered gate. Its few windows were shuttered, no livestock present in its yard as she hurried to the servant’s door.
Two knocks created the response of movement from the other side. There were no windows through which she might see what manner of person stirred within. She heard a shuffling sound, then a grate as the bolt was drawn back and the door opened to reveal a woman approaching the final graces of middle age, clad in a black silk gown.
“Is there a servant girl named Patience within?” said Kitty, gasping for breath as she pressed one hand to her side.
“Patience Tibbets?” said the woman. “She is within, yes.”
“Her mistress–Mrs. William Giles–has great need of her,” said Kitty. “If she can be spared, she must come immediately.” In response to this statement, the woman raised her eyebrows.
“The squire’s wife?” she said. “Of course.” The door opened wider, giving Kitty a clearer view of the chamber within, where the servant girl in question was bending over the fire and stoking its coals beneath the kettle.
“Patience, we must part with you for today,” said the woman. “Go to your mistress; we shall make do with Fanny this morning.” Patience raised her head with these words and, seeing Kitty, did not linger but set the poker down and approached.
Patience did not ask any questions as they hurried along the lane. Kitty saved her breath, but could not keep her pace from quickening. Her eye strained for the sight of activity in the courtyard the moment the lane to Marebrook appeared before her, even when it was concealed by the trees. How far was the apothecary’s shop? How quickly could Martin travel there, how long for a man fatigued by entertaining sixteen grandchildren to be ready to assist his patients?
There was no horse in the courtyard, but it was to be expected that the manservant would have it taken to the stables. It had been but fifteen minutes there and back, perhaps shorter for a quick rider–surely nothing had happened of serious consequence in so little time. Although her mind knew full well that this logic was no defense against life’s true circumstances.
“The children’s breakfast things are in the dining room, Patience,” she said, as they approached the house’s entrance. “You must mind Walter and Lisbette; for your mistress is not feeling well this morning.” Her voice trembled slightly, attracting the maid’s fearful glance. The girl did not question her, but crossed the yard and went to her work obediently.
At the sight of Martin exiting the stable, Kitty moved swiftly past James the valet at the door and into the main hall. The sound of the children’s quiet voices was the only sound besides a general murmur from upstairs, the fearful maid from the breakfast scene lingering near the stairs.
“Is the apothecary with your mistress?” said Kitty
“Oh, ‘e’s not ‘ere,” said the girl. “I’ve been attendin’ ‘er ‘til just now. Me mistress is in ‘er chamber restin’...” Kitty did not linger further, but climbed the stairs and rapped hesitantly upon her sister’s door. Hesitation gave way to her concern, her fingers turning the knob to open it before an answer was received within.
Her sister lay beneath the covers, propped up and wide awake, with evident signs of relief on her countenance as she spoke to another person in the room. She held out her hand to her approaching sister with a smile, Kitty stepping forward with eagerness before pausing with the realization that the other person in the room was not one of the maids but a man in a black coat. Moreover, it was a young man, who had just taken hold of her sister’s arm with his thumb pressed over the wrist.
“I did not realize–” Kitty began. “I was told Mr. Harris was not present–” Her glance moved briefly in the young man’s direction.” She stepped backwards towards the open door to the chamber as if to excuse herself from the room.
“Do not go, Kitty; I should rather have you beside me than the girl Tillie,” said Anna. “This is not Mr. Harris; this is Mr. Turner the surgeon. Mr. Miles Turner, this is my sister. Miss Catherine Phillips.”
The young man bowed to Kitty. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said.
He was decidedly young, scarcely more than twenty, Kitty suspected. His face was clean shaven, his straw-colored hair of short and unmannerly style made his appearance altogether like a young boy’s de
spite the white cravat and serious black frock coat of his profession. A good-natured countenance and a handsome face and figure; perhaps this was why Miss Phillips blushed and glanced away upon meeting his eye.
“Mr. Turner,” she said, lowering her head as she curtsied. “How is my sister?”
“She is quite well,” he said. “Although a little tired, I think. She should rest for the duration of the day and not attempt to rise.” He directed these words at his patient as a gentle warning. Anna merely laughed in response.
“How difficult it is for a mother to follow the advice of your profession, Mr. Turner,” she said. “Did not Mr. Harris tell you that a stern countenance is a better means of frightening your patients into obeying than a smile?”
“If Mr. Harris were present, I believe he would have me persuade my patients by a gentle but truthful means,” he answered.
With that, he closed his medical bag and bowed to his patient. “Good day, Mrs. Giles,” he said. He turned towards Kitty again. “If I might speak with you for a moment, Miss Phillips,” he said.
She exited the chamber with him, closing the door behind her as she faced him in the passageway.
“It is quite a pleasant change for me to give my instructions to a member of your family instead of a servant,” he said. “Patience Tibbets is a good soul, as Mr. Harris avows, but in my eye she is yet too young to be burdened with such responsibility.”
His voice was marked lightly by an accent from the far north, which brought to her mind a friend of her father’s long ago who possessed a touch of Scottish brogue. Although the two voices were nothing alike to her ears, the foreignness of such tones in this place made her own voice less noticeable. Despite the shyness she felt before him, she forced herself to meet his eye with a gaze determined to know the best and worst of his opinion.
“You are anxious for my sister’s health, I believe,” she surmised, a note of anxiety in her voice. “Please tell me the truth, Mr. Turner.”
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