Wedgewick Woman

by Patricia Strefling

  “The stallion is safe in the stalls. Excellent animal, too.” Ewan said proudly.

  “I know the horse is safe, I’ve already seen him.” He shot them a look.

  “Our apologies, we saw to our…our women. We’d heard you were otherwise detained and had ourselves a meal.”

  “I have been waiting for over two hours. Did it take you that long to eat your mutton and potatoes?” he said and watched the faces of Ewan and the other turn red as apples. They were unused to being teased by their Laird.

  “Get to the business of your report.” He set them free.

  “As to the other matters…” Ewan spoke. “The stone at your wife’s grave stands in perfect repair. There is not so much as a crack in it…and a right quality stone it is.” He added. “The packages were delivered to Miss Annabel Wedgewick at her cottage which is a good five miles out.”

  “That far? Hmmmm…” he drummed his fingers on the wooden table. “And what did Miss Wedgewick have to say?”

  “She did not open the bundles whilst we were there. She had just returned from London and carried a child in her arms.”

  “A child? What child? Does our Miss Wedgewick have…a child?” he asked, pacing the room, hands clasped behind him, the headstone forgotten for the moment.

  “It appears so. She must have handed the child off to the governess, because she entered the room alone. We so happened to be peering out the windows when we heard her carriage pull up at the main road.” He shrugged.

  “Thank you, all is well.” He waved his hand. “Go back to your women.” He could not imagine that Miss Wedgewick…but then why should he be surprised? He snapped at himself. Perhaps that was the reason she needed money. The child’s father had run out and left her alone and she had a child to protect. And if she were anything like her elder sister, ‘twas no wonder the unfortunate man had taken flight.

  Was that why she had lied about Helen’s gravestone? He would get to the bottom of the affair as soon as he had the time.

  All in all he did allow himself to wonder if she was at all surprised when she opened the bundles. Had she swooned? Or had she expected it? The silks were beautiful and he felt a trifle obliged to atone for his bad behavior at her visit. She was not Helen and he must remember that. Then remembered her lies. After the debacle he must remember to be cautious. Still, he had behaved badly at the party.

  Stalking back to his desk, he reminded himself that he had much to do to reconfigure James’ account system. Poring over figures and looking for other discrepancies had taken too much of his time.

  Finally he had a full account of the monies paid to Miss Annabel Wedgewick and found it was not all that dreadful. Now that he had confronted her she would no longer be a concern. He tapped the table with his writing instrument and felt that at last he had come to some sort of closure regarding Helen.

  Then before a fortnight had passed he received two large bundles with a handwritten note attached.

  Dear Laird Carmichael:

  It is with deepest sorrow that I must return these gowns. It was so kind of you to send them, but I must refuse such gifts, now and in future. I live a very simple life and have no need for such finery. Please give them to someone who might make better use of them. With kind regards,

  Miss Annabel Wedgewick

  She had returned the gowns. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he tossed the missive toward the table and watched as it sashayed across the wooden top then flitted to the floor. He paced, his arms crossed across his chest. His thoughts attempted to presuppose what woman would send back expensive silk and velvet gowns. Especially since the shabby gray gown she had worn for the visit must have no doubt been her best…indeed the young woman was in need of improvement in that area. Perhaps she had a lover…the child’s father…and could not accept the gifts. Thinking so, he called for his secretary and had a letter returned -

  My Dear Miss Wedgewick:

  It is of no concern. I commend you on your honesty.

  Laird Leon Charles William Carmichael

  Still vexed by the refusal, he sat back in his chair, propped his booted feet atop the table and allowed himself a muse. The intrigue of the woman swallowed up too many minutes and he found himself wishing to see the small cottage she lived in. He knew the elder Mrs. Wedgewick had ample capital, for his father had given the woman a small fortune to be rid of her. Was the woman so selfish she had nothing to share with her own daughter and grandchild?

  He knew the answer to that one.

  Had that been the reason she had come to him for money, using Helen’s broken headstone as an excuse? Why then had she refused the gowns? She could have sold them and increased her treasury well enough.

  He thought of Meredith and tried to remember….what had Annabel Wedgewick said about her? The Opera…Paris? Something like that….oh yes, that Meredith was beautiful and talented….Helen had only been beautiful…he remembered the younger sister’s words exactly now.

  So was it that because Annabel was not as beautiful or talented as her sisters that her mother perhaps sent her away as an outcast? Was that why she was an unmarried woman with a child?

  Some kind of kinship grew in his mind. He, too, had been an outcast concerning the Wedgewick family. Perhaps they had a common ground. Thinking himself foolish he put away his thoughts.

  “Ross,” he called and was greeted instantly.

  “See to it that James is brought back here from London. Tell him he is not in dire circumstances…I have only a few questions I would like to ask of him.”

  “As you wish, m’lord.”

  Laird Carmichael laughed aloud. James had been found in London and Lee knew his heart would likely fail him at the mention of his request.

  Within minutes he heard the return steps of his most faithful guard…as his booted feet stopped tapping just outside his door. He must think of a way to reward The Four. They were faithful men…and now that his thoughts were free from all the unpleasant tasks of handling Helen, he wanted to make up for the times he had been unmindful of his men and his people.

  “Ross, enter.” He commanded quietly. When Ross appeared he asked him, “What think ye of a time of sporting?”

  “This late in the season?”

  “We have no celebrations near on the calendar…I would like to call a gathering of the clans, some good food and a time for games. I have missed the games.” He mused as he paced, hands behind his back. “What say you?

  “I say it would be a most admirable idea.”

  “Would Bria be willing to assist Mrs. Calvert in the planning?”

  “I believe she would, m’lord. She loves doing things for people and believes in intermixing the classes.”

  “Aye?”

  “Aye…says it’s good for everyone to know that all folks and kindred have knees and they bend just as well for the rich as for the poor.”

  “Does she at that?”

  “She’s about the castle in and out of the walls talking to this one and that one.” He said proudly. “I’d wager she knows every cottar’s wife and the names of their children.”

  Laird Carmichael saw the light in Ross’ eyes and asked, “What is it about Bria you most admire?”

  Covering his shock, for they had never spoken thus, he thought for a minute, rubbing his chin. “Well besides her being beautiful, she is kind and she thinks of others as much as she thinks of herself…perhaps even more.”

  “You appear dazed.” Laird Carmichael smiled.

  “Do I? Perhaps it is because as I think of it…I have never been asked to describe my wife’s attributes. I think I shall pay more attention to her when I am with her.” Now he smiled.

  “Do that…for Bria is indeed a good woman. She has raised fine children.”

  Ross bowed, but said nothing more.

  “Send Bria, when she has a moment free from her ministrations.”

  His guard excused himself and took his place by the door.

  “Ross, come in again.”


  He came and stood.

  “Fergus and Cameron…have they current wives?”

  “Fergus has his eyes upon Lady Livingston’s eldest daughter, Neila, to be exact. Cameron’s wife of ten years died some two years ago, as you will remember, but he has not sought out female companionship. He is fine with his bootmaking.”

  “Bootmaking?”

  “Yes, when he is not here he enjoys making boots.”

  “Ah…I see…I have been unattached to my people have I not?”

  Ross hesitated…but truth was always told. “It seems to be the way of it, m’lord.”

  “If all were known there is a certain Mrs. Campbell who is a widow and has her eye upon Cameron. But he refuses all such notions, saying he is happier as he is.” Ross sought to lighten the mood.

  “’Tis my own thought as well. Except I must think of the people and be about their leadership. I must be seeking about, but I am yet young, and although I know death is sure, I am not in a hurry to enter into the state of matrimony…. as you well know.”

  “Well, one does not have to enter matrimonial terms to conceive an heir.”

  “Such talk I will not hear of.” The Laird Carmichael interrupted his guard. “My children will be conceived within the marriage boundaries. Nor will I have them born into the sorry state such as I found myself in.”

  “Touché.” Ross agreed. “But when you have this celebration you realize that the females will think you are about to announce your betrothal.”

  “I had not thought of that.” He agreed solemnly.

  “Perhaps we should hold off…”

  “Not so…let the logs lay where they fall…it would do all good to have a time of singing and dance…to see the Laird in a happier state. The cold winds of winter will soon be upon us. Aye, me ears could use the sound o’ the auld bagpipes echoing in the Scottish hills.”

  “You are correct, of course. We shall proceed.” Ross continued. ”Ewan has his eyes upon the lovely Miss Ria Stewart…they will have red-haired children, no doubt of it, if they should marry.” Ross’ eyes hinted of a smile.

  “No doubt.” The Laird agreed, for they both possessed fiery red hair.

  “What of Cork?” Ross asked quietly, changing the topic.

  “What of him?” Laird Carmichael stopped and turned.

  “He will want to be about some sort of service for his Laird.”

  “Aye…or he will be about more mischief. Give him the duty of keeping the dogs away from the food and…” he thought a minute…”let him sleep in my tent.”

  Ross looked at his employer. “We will set up the tents?”

  “Aye, but for three days or so…as you say the raw winds will be here…autumn is the best time to sleep under the stars. We will build a fire…a big fire, roast potatoes and mutton.

  “Aye, ‘twould be good for all the people.” Ross agreed. “My Bria will be beside herself in the planning of it, if I know my good wife.” He rubbed his whiskered chin.

  “We will invite the tenants and the cottars.”

  “Fear you the Campbells at this time?” Ross’ voice turned serious. “Some of the tenants will have to travel near the Campbell byways to attend.”

  Lord Carmichael crossed his arms over his chest, for this was an important question. “I do not fear them, what say you?”

  “Our runners and spies have not heard of any uproarings as of late, but that does not mean…” He paused. “Your people, even near the Campbells, are a peaceful lot. There should be no trouble.”

  “Do you think we expose ourselves overmuch by meeting outside the castle walls for the celebration?”

  Ross thought for a moment, then answered carefully…”I do not…but we would be wise to set guards at all four points. We can rush the castle if we are attacked and the new reinforcements you have added to the outer walls should be protection enough.”

  “As you say, so it is.” He agreed.

  Ross stood a bit taller. His Laird was becoming a more fitting leader. He was no longer the boy that was tossed into a doomed marriage and had since learned to handle females…although Ross knew his Laird still held a secret bitterness in his stubborn Scottish heart.

  “We will begin our plans today. It is a time for renewal and peace among the Clan. I am ready to forget the past and begin the new.” Laird Carmichael’s smile was a welcome sight.

  Ross drew his sword and they crossed them in humor. “Be it as we have proclaimed.” The clang of the steel echoed off the large stone-walled room. Ross laughed heartily and took his position at the door post, wondering at the Laird’s high mood.

  Laird Carmichael felt his youthful spirit begin to bud inside his heart.

  Notice of the games rang out through the glens and hills in Southwest Scotland. The celebration would arrive in mid-October, just the season for a hearty round of games before the colder days arrived.

  Chapter 20

  “But I cannot wait.” Doctor Heys. “You said yourself, as did Dr. Kane, that it was of the utmost importance that we do the surgery as quickly as possible.”

  “I’m afraid you will have to wait my dear. I must make my journey to Oxford, for we are studying a new progressive type of surgery. You must realize that it is entirely possible I may return with a more preferable method of repairing your child’s foot…and Eleanor will be much the better for it. Please understand.”

  “Dr. Kane will accompany me. He is a good surgeon, even though young, and shall bring back to London hope for others who find themselves in your daughter’s condition.”

  “Yes, of course. You are right, it’s just that I…”

  “You will bring her back then at the appointed time?” He inquired gently.

  “Yes.”

  Annabel walked from the doctor’s office, disappointed and yet hopeful…perhaps waiting a month would be best. She stopped to see James at his office and told him the despairing news.

  “Oh James, it’s just that it seems there’s one interruption and then another.” She whispered.

  “Annabel, it will be better for Eleanor if you wait. Look, she is so happy today. Shall we eat luncheon? There is a nice restaurant at the hotel that will suit us. Perhaps it will lift your spirits.”

  “Thank you James. You are good to me. You are right, I am melancholy and I shall work to alter my condition.” she smiled wanly.

  “Now that’s my girl.” He said in his familiar way. “’Tis not the end of the age…you will survive another month’s time, and so will Eleanor.”

  “I must decline your offer however…I do not wish to be seen among London’s cafés. You understand?”

  “Of course, how foolish of me to suggest.”

  “I am grateful for your support, James. I have no one else to talk to.” She lifted Eleanor onto her opposite hip whispering to her softly, “Soon you will be a little one walking everywhere and I shall say how sorry I am that I grumbled at all this day.” She laughed as she waited for her carriage, James already walking back to work.

  When she returned to the cottage and Phoebe put Eleanor down for her nap, Annabel noticed a written note on the table. It was on the Clan Carmichael letterhead.

  An invitation to a celebration? Whatever for? She wondered as she removed the wax seal, noting Bria’s precise hand. Annabel thought for a moment…there was no holiday coming. She read on and discovered it was to be a fun day, food, sporting and games, and her favorite music with the bagpipes, which were hardly ever heard in England. Why had she been invited? She wondered. “Surely the Laird does not wish to see me…” she whispered.

  She could not go, of course. Eleanor would not be able to attend and she would not leave her alone. Annabel sat at the small table and with her own letterhead, politely declined.

  James, having arrived back at his post, found two gentlemen awaiting his return. He nearly fainted dead away when he saw them. Two of Laird Carmichael’s second guard stood in his office. What was he to do? He had no choice but to face them squarely.

&n
bsp; “Caddock, Galven.” He greeted them as officially as his countenance would allow. “Would you have a seat?” James looked for some sort of intent in the eyes of both but read nothing there.

  “We bring word from Laird Carmichael,” and he handed James a note, “that he would like your presence, Tuesday two weeks forward. Will you accept?”

  “Yes.” He answered and let his eyes fall to the note.

  “Laird Carmichael would have you answer personally.” Galven’s deep voice penetrated his scattered thoughts.

  “Of course.” He said formally, then quickly scribbled a quick reply and handed it back.

  “With regards.” The one said and then both men were gone.

  James fell into his chair. It was finally here…the day of reckoning he had known would come…perhaps he would be taken into the courts. Sighing, he let the idea drop. The note could have just as easily been a trial summons, he reasoned…and since it wasn’t…

  He called his secretary and made arrangements to leave on Tuesday two weeks hence. “May as well get it over with.” He mumbled.

  * * *

  The drive North to Dunbeernton Castle was one of beauty and serenity. At least, James reasoned, if he was going to be hauled into some sort of disagreement, he’d had a most pleasant ride. The fall colors had put him a most fortuitous mood. He wore his fashionable tweeds and had on a new pair of brown leather boots straight from an exclusive London shoppe and carried a black umbrella, more for support than for the threat of rain. If he were assaulted, he would, at the very least, have a weapon to protect himself, paltry as it may be.

  Chapter 21

  “Come in James,” Laird Carmichael looked up from his work, pointed to a chair.

  “As you wish,” James tried to be cordial but found himself crossing and uncrossing his slender legs.