Anna's Refuge

by Kerryn Reid

  Spain’s pen tapped a frantic rhythm on the desktop. “Your family should pay us for the loss of the benefits a good marriage would have brought. We should have sued, but Mrs. Spain persuaded me otherwise.”

  Lewis managed a shrug that he hoped appeared nonchalant. “You’ve already tried your hand with my brother and failed. I’m willing to clean up the mess, leaving you with a clear conscience. Do you have a better offer waiting in the wings?”

  Spain surveyed him beneath lowered brows. “How do I know you won’t be back here a year from now, asking for more?”

  Another shrug. “I have no debts, and I’m not a gambler. What had you planned? Five thousand? Give me that now and I’ll sign anything you like.”

  “Five thousand? You belong in Bedlam!”

  “Come now. I shall have your daughter and your grandchild to support. We need housing, food, and coal. Clothing and servants. A modest carriage and horses to pull it. These things cost money.”

  Spain glowered and named a lower figure. Much lower.

  Lewis returned to his inspection of that hideous epergne. Should he settle for what Spain offered? Invested wisely, alongside his own income, it would keep them in relative comfort for a time.

  But oh, it went against the grain to take a penny less than he could pry from this pinchfist who thought so little of his own daughter!

  He turned and spoke as though he’d just now had an epiphany—which he had. “Perhaps we should move here to Bristol.” Would he ever consider it? Lord no! But the Spains would hate it as much. If he could convince them he might really do it…

  “This seems like a fashionable part of town,” he continued, stepping toward the desk. “We could purchase a place, with your help. Mrs. Spain, you would be delighted to have your dear girl close by and introduce us into Bristol society, would you not? Then too, think of the benefits to the children! Our son could play with his cousins, and when the time comes I have no doubt you would be eager to contribute equally to his education.”

  Had he said enough? Too much? As much as he could get away with, in any case. Red-faced, Anna’s father stared. Mrs. Spain eyed her husband as if she feared either an apoplectic fit or an explosion of temper they would all regret.

  Lewis kept his expression as cool and ingenuous as he could. It was Anna’s mother who spoke, placatingly.

  “We could not ask such a thing of you, Mr. Aubrey. I remember how you longed for Yorkshire. Wrackwater, did you say? A quaint little town, I’m sure, with its cottages and its…um, its sheep? Your family is there, and the Wedburys are great friends, are they not?”

  Spain cleared his throat. His voice gruff and tightly controlled, he came up with a better number. “Be here at nine tomorrow and we’ll draw up the papers. Every minute you’re late, the amount goes down by a hundred.”

  Chapter 35

  Time stretched interminably. Smoke from the tallow candles made Anna’s throat raw. They would run out by tomorrow at the rate they were using them, but she must have light! Lying in the dark with nothing to occupy her but her own thoughts—that was the most frightening prospect of all.

  Choked by anxiety, she ate next to nothing; blinded by fear, she read the same lines five times but gleaned no sense from them. Lewis had been sweet to bring the books, but he’d wasted his time.

  Putnam had sat her down after they arrived in Leeds and insisted she learn some basic sewing. She had gained a certain tolerance for it, even found it relaxing on occasion, but today was impossible. First, she sewed a sleeve shut, and then she pricked herself, leaving red dots on the cheap white lace of a collar. Mostly she confined her efforts to minor repairs. How could she bear to make clothing for a baby that would be gone so soon?

  Putnam brought her more tea. How many cups was that? How many pains? How many hours since the midwife had left, and how many minutes ’til she returned? How long could this go on before she went mad? And once the baby was born, how long before she must say goodbye?

  Thank God for Putnam’s company, and for her patience. While the cramps lasted, she brought cool cloths for Anna’s forehead. In between she talked. Of her family, her childhood in Leeds when the factories were merely a glimmer, of springtime in Yorkshire, of nothing at all. Anna didn’t always listen, but the voice comforted her.

  The wind must have shifted. They heard the bells ring and both of them stilled, counting. Twelve.

  “It can’t be!” Anna cried. “It must be three, at least!”

  Mrs. Milledge came and examined her again. “There’s progress, but not much. First births are always slow.”

  Still the day dragged on. Anna spent half the afternoon on her feet, a few minutes at a time, hoping the child’s own weight would hurry things along. Perhaps it worked; the spasms came closer, sharper, and lasted longer, grabbing her like a vise around the belly and making her gasp. Another part of her penance for reckless stupidity. Not the longest, the last, or the most painful part—all that would come After. After she left.

  Anna took to her bed.

  Some time later, when daylight had faded to darkness behind the window curtains, Mrs. Milledge arrived with two bags full of supplies. Anna saw rags, a roll of muslin and another of string. A knife. Her heart settled into a frightening rhythm, fast and hard. God help me, this is real.

  The midwife examined her again. “Eh, ’twon’t be long now. Mrs. Putnam, if there’s aught you need to do elsewhere, best get it done. We’ll need your help.”

  Anna cast a desperate glance at Putnam and saw her own fear reflected in the woman’s eyes. She tried for a smile but couldn’t manage it.

  She was aware of Putnam’s return, of hands holding her, manipulating her. Wetness between her legs, a cool cloth to her face. Searing pain and a strip of something between her teeth…leather, the midwife had mentioned that. Words flowed by without meaning. Screams… Were they hers?

  Minutes or hours later, she heard a faint cry, like the mewing of a kitten. “A perfect baby girl.” No, it’s supposed to be a boy! Someone brought a bundle to the bedside.

  She turned away. If she didn’t see it, maybe it didn’t exist. Merely another nightmare.

  The bundle was laid in the crook of her arm, so light it might have been bare bones, like the apparition from her dream. Shaking with fear, she peeked, but could not see through her tears.

  Long past dark on the second evening after leaving Bristol, Lewis arrived at the Rose and Crown in Leeds. He stayed only long enough to deposit his bag and those all-important documents, wash his face and change his cravat.

  On the way north the sparkle of anticipation had lost ground to apprehension. How would Anna receive his news?

  He set off for Vicar Lane through a biting wind. Her door scraped across a compacted layer of old snow in the narrow alleyway as Lewis dragged it open. Holding his breath, he felt his way up through the familiar stench of the stairwell.

  Putnam answered his knock. “Why, Mr. Aubrey,” she said in surprise and pleasure. Anna was nowhere in sight and her door was closed.

  “Is all well, Putnam?” The room felt stifling after coming in from the cold—at least they were keeping it warm.

  “Well enough,” she replied, taking his greatcoat. “With room for improvement.” A roll of her eyes did nothing to clarify her statement.

  “What does that mean?” He frowned, following more slowly as she bustled over to the fireplace. She reached down into some sort of box, half-hidden by a chair, and straightened with a bundle in her arms.

  He froze in place. That box was a cradle. And the bundle was a baby.

  He’d known it was possible, of course he had. Yet he had failed to prepare himself in any way.

  “Come and see,” Putnam said.

  He stared down at the little face nestled in the blanket, serene and pink-cheeked. The bundle gave a jerk, the mouth contorted, and the eyes opened. Some indeterminate color between gray and blue. Thank God, not Gideon’s eyes. Lewis jumped when Putnam spoke.

  “It feel
s like I birthed her myself, I’m that proud. The most beautiful bairn I ever did see.” Her voice quivered with emotion.

  So did his, though he had no name for it. He’d never felt it before. “When did it… When was it born?”

  “Three nights past. ’Twas early, but mercifully the babe is healthy.”

  Three nights past. While he was in Bristol, celebrating the windfall he had won from her father.

  “And Anna? Is Anna all right?”

  “Aye,” said Putnam. Her voice held a note of caution.

  Lewis looked up from the child, anxiety flaring. “However?”

  After a glance toward the bedroom door, she went on more softly. “She’s recovering well enough, but her spirits are low, there’s no denying.” Putnam’s brow puckered with worry. “Except for the feedings, she won’t spend any time with the babe, which is what she needs. What they both need. ‘For what purpose,’ says she, and then it’s like she’s not here anymore. She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t cry. She won’t even think about names. She only eats because I sit her up and won’t let her lie down until she does. Now you’re here, I hope—”

  Anna called Putnam’s name. She sounded weak.

  His heart gave a jolt. “May I—”

  “Oh, not without warning. I must go to her.” She thrust the baby his way. “You hold her.”

  He put up his hands, palms forward, and retreated a step. “God no. I can’t. I’ll drop it.”

  “Of course you can. Just cross your arms like I’m doing.”

  Her arms were hidden by the bundle they held. He took a guess.

  “That’s right. Now rest her head in the crook of your elbow, like that. Only remember to support her head. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  He opened his mouth to protest but she was gone, whisking herself through the door and closing it again. He scowled after her. The baby moved and made an incomprehensible, alien sound, arching its back against his supporting arm. Was he holding it wrong? Was it going to roll out of his grasp and break on the floor? Surely he was capable of handling this tiny thing. It couldn’t be so different from a puppy.

  Except it was. It felt…

  No, Putnam said her. A girl. A daughter. Like Anna or Cassie. Like Kate and Barbara Redfern.

  He adjusted his hold and the baby relaxed. She yawned, showing him her toothless gums. Wriggling within her blanket, her face screwed up in discomfort or annoyance.

  Lewis chuckled. “Ho there, baby girl. Putnam might not think you so beautiful wearing that expression.” He discovered he could hold her on one arm, freeing the other hand to touch her cheek, her forehead.

  “But I do,” he whispered. “You’re the most beautiful girl I know, except for your mama.” She stared back at him with fierce concentration as though trying to understand.

  He stilled as raised voices sounded from the bedchamber. No, one raised voice—Anna’s.

  He lifted his gaze to the plain, uninformative surface of the door. He couldn’t distinguish the words, didn’t suppose he wanted to.

  She was determined to be difficult. Well, that would change when he told her.

  “I’d best not expect a miracle.”

  “Unh,” said the child.

  “She’s not likely to throw herself into my arms and proclaim her everlasting devotion.”

  “Nguh” came next, on an irritated upward inflection that sounded like a question.

  “Too much anguish, I’m afraid. She’s been flayed until she’s raw and bleeding. It’s going to take a little time. We must be patient, baby girl.”

  The baby twisted and stiffened, opened her mouth and cried. Not loud, at first, but rising to a high-pitched wail that made him thrill at Putnam’s return.

  From the look on her face, he would not be seeing Anna tonight. “She’s got the wee one to feed, and she’s plumb exhausted. Come tomorrow, not too early. I’ll get her ready.”

  He hoped he could muster more patience than Anna’s daughter.

  Chapter 36

  Dear God, he’s back. Anna had sent him away last night, sent him away for good. Why did he not believe her when she said no?

  She should have delivered the message herself, maybe chased him out the door with a broom. Who knew what Putnam had told him.

  But the bells had chimed nine long before he came. She hurt. She was cross as two sticks. She had to feed the baby again before she could think about sleeping. She had not glanced in a mirror since the child was born; what a fright she must look. And if she’d seen him, she might have cried, or screamed, or thrown herself into his arms.

  They’d arranged it last night, no doubt. She should have known when Putnam first came into her room this morning. That purposeful air, the rags and wash basin, all told the story.

  He’d brought flowers. Putnam, her eyes wary atop a determined grin, brought them to her. As though a few hothouse lilies would change her mind. She scowled at them and at Putnam too.

  “I shan’t see him. I told you that.” She kept her voice low.

  “Miss Anna, you must. He says—”

  “Nothing he says can make any possible difference. Please, both of you, leave me alone.” Ignoring Putnam’s slumped shoulders and downturned mouth, she shouted, “And take those vile flowers with you!” She wanted him to hear.

  She pushed deep under the covers as though they were a magical shield blocking all her senses. What they said in the parlor had nothing to do with her.

  Lewis lifted the baby from the cradle like some fragile treasure. Her warmth settled against his chest, soft and round, like a second heart.

  He kissed her cheek. “Good morning, baby girl. You’re looking—”

  Anna’s yell interrupted him. “Take those vile flowers with you.” He grimaced, and the baby grimaced in return.

  “Your mama doesn’t do things the easy way.”

  Putnam yanked Anna’s door closed and stalked past him without a word. She was flushed, her lips pressed into a thin line. At the lopsided table where they ate their meals, she poured some water from a cracked pitcher into a jar and stabbed the flowers into it. One fell to the floor; she stomped on it, again and again, until it fell apart into limp shreds of green and pink. She hid her face in her apron. Her shoulders shook with weeping.

  He crossed the room to her side. “Take the baby, Putnam. Don’t worry. It will be all right.”

  Four long strides took him to Anna’s door. He had to wiggle the handle to make it work. Then he was in, leaving the door unlatched.

  He’d expected the room to be tiny, but why was it so dark? The sun shone, but one would never know it in here. He peered around and saw only one possible place for her—the mound under the blankets. Hiding from reality.

  Well, reality had changed.

  “I told you to go away.” Her voice came muffled by the bedclothes.

  He marched to the window and opened the curtain. The next building blocked the sun, but at least there was daylight.

  “You did not tell me,” he said. “Not to my face. I’m not going anywhere until we talk.”

  The mound stilled, then churned as Anna battled her way out of her hole. Her hands appeared first, her head and shoulders following as she sat up, squinting at the brightness.

  She might have galloped hatless through a windstorm. One lock of hair hung over her flushed cheeks, obscuring most of one eye. The other was red and ringed by dark shadows. Her nightdress was askew, showing rather more of one round breast than she would have allowed, had she realized.

  He gaped at her, speechless. As desirable as any woman alive, despite the challenging attitude. If he had met her for the first time here in Leeds, he might have worried it was her natural temperament. Fortunately, he knew better.

  “You don’t like what you see?” Her voice quivered. “What do you expect, bursting in without an invitation?” She shoved that lock of hair off her face, hooking it behind one ear. It fell again, but not so far. Glaring at the window, she scolded. “We’re supposed to keep the ro
om dark.”

  A smile twitched at his lips, of sympathy and tenderness. He thought better of it. She would think he was laughing at her.

  Settling on the corner of the bed near her feet, he responded to the only part of her speech he could.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” she barked. But it was the bark of a mouse. A miserable, vulnerable mouse.

  “Why are you supposed to live in the dark?”

  Wilting, she looked down at her lap and shrugged. “Mrs. Milledge says so. The midwife. Warm and dark.”

  It was warm, all right. Lewis was sweating, though there were other possible reasons for that. A marriage proposal, for one.

  He cleared his throat. “Anna, I have good news. The best possible news.”

  She drew up her knees and hugged them to her, resting her cheek on top. Her gaze was dull, disinterested, as if she’d forgotten what good news meant. “What happened to your face? Were you in a fight?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Anna, I—”

  “Your eye looks dreadful. Does it hurt?”

  “No!” He jumped to his feet, exasperated. This was not going the way he’d expected.

  He pulled the reins taut on his temper. “Will you listen to me?”

  Lips trembling, she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead to her knees.

  “I’ve been to see your parents.”

  Her head shot up again, tilted to one side, a crease between her brows. “Why would you do that?” She hugged her knees tighter, her hands very white against the coarse gray blanket.

  “They’ve agreed to a dowry. We can marry.” It wasn’t much of a proposal.

  She stared at him as though she hadn’t understood. Her eyes widened. For one second, he saw a spark of joy. Then panic took its place.

  Whatever reaction he’d expected, it wasn’t panic.

  “No.” She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Twisting away, she buried her face in the pillow. If she looked at him, she would see the hurt she’d inflicted.