Anna's Refuge

by Kerryn Reid

  “I’m off to Leeds the day after tomorrow. We’ll return together the following day. Once Anna has recovered from the drive, I’ll take you to visit her at the vicarage. Without Father, if I can possibly arrange it.”

  Chapter 40

  So many times Anna tried to send Lewis away, and he had always come back. Somehow, now that she wanted him back—now that she could admit it—she feared he would not.

  She kept his self-portrait by the bed, showed it to her baby and told her about the man she would call Papa. If only Anna herself knew more about him!

  She and Putnam blessed him each evening when dinner arrived from the Rose and Crown. A red-cheeked, gap-toothed lad delivered it and took yesterday’s containers away, refusing the coins Putnam offered with an insistent shake of his head. “The swell done took care uv all that.”

  Anna spent those four days in front of the fire, sewing baby clothes and sleeping with the child nestled in the curve of her body. Remembering Kate Redfern, she made faces and babbled nonsense and fretted about her daughter’s health. The little thing seemed to consist of one round tummy with scrawny arms and legs attached…and a head, which spent an increasing amount of time open-mouthed and screaming.

  “Ach, ’tis just a touch of colic,” Mrs. Milledge assured her. “More common than not, especially in bairns as early as she was.”

  Christmas passed unremarked, except that Putnam went to church. Anna should have gifted her with something, but it would have to wait. She had nothing to give.

  When Anna awoke the following morning, it was snowing lightly. Why today, when Lewis would be driving back to Leeds? Had he left home already? Was the snow heavier in the Dales? Would it slow his progress?

  They had no expectation of seeing him before two o’clock. What would she do until then? They had packed everything they could manage without. The books had been returned to the library. She had no one to write to, no one at all.

  Two o’clock came and went. For the last hour and more she’d been listening for footsteps on the stairs. That pair turned and faded away down the long corridor, the next continued up to the floor above.

  This pair stopped after taking the steps in a rush. She was on her way to the door even before he knocked.

  His eyes lit up when he saw her. “Anna,” he said, his gloved hands gripping her shoulders. His gaze flicked down to her lips, then over her shoulder to where Putnam sat by the window with her mending. She felt a jolt of nerves as blood rushed to her cheeks. He placed a quick kiss on each one, his lips cold on her hot skin.

  “Shut the door then,” Putnam grumbled. “We aren’t all wearin’ a great heavy coat, are we.”

  “Sorry,” Lewis said, and did as she asked. With a grin and a hand at Anna’s waist, he guided her to the sofa and sat beside her. Their thighs touched.

  “No tears today?” he murmured.

  She shook her head, blushing hotter than ever.

  “I’m proud of you.” He kissed her hand and held it on his knee. “How is the baby? Have you found her name yet?”

  Anna dropped back to earth. “No. And she’s been fussy. The midwife calls it colic.”

  His brows rose in astonishment. “As in a horse?”

  “I don’t know. Do horses get colic? What do you do for it?”

  “Walk them around and hope it doesn’t get worse.”

  Anna frowned. “That’s not very helpful, is it? The midwife suggested laying her on her tummy. Sometimes it helps.”

  He got a good sample of the malady after dinner, when it was always at its worst. Anna apologized. “How can I inflict that din on Mrs. Redfern?”

  Lewis laughed. “Believe me, she’ll hardly notice.”

  He came back the next morning before they were ready. Anna was still nursing the baby when they heard the commotion in the alley.

  “Ach, ’tis a great monster of a carriage, miss,” said Putnam, peering out the window. “With four horses. Imagine, they’re tryin’ to bring it in backward! No, missy, you stay where you are. That little mite is more important than what’s goin’ on down there.”

  She left the room when Lewis’s knock sounded at the outer door. Shut in the bedroom, Anna heard his voice, followed by others. Footmen, she supposed. Questions and answers. She switched the baby to the other breast.

  Putnam returned with a glass of milk for Anna and hurried to lay out her clothes. She had completed alterations on the other Bristol gown, dove gray with long sleeves. “You’ll be glad of those today. It’s reet chilly out. When you’ve scrambled into those things, I’ll do your hair.”

  The baby was bundled in the layers of blankets and shawls that would keep her warm in the carriage. Anna’s nightclothes were stuffed into the last bandbox, her hair braided and pinned up. Her hands shook and her teeth scraped at the insides of her cheeks. All the dreams she’d taken to London ten short months ago, flown on the wind. But something stirred inside that she had never thought to feel again. Am I not through dreaming? Did I not learn my lesson?

  The bedroom door opened and Lewis was there. Her heart changed its rhythm. Whatever she might dream now, he would be at the heart of it.

  Putnam wrapped the shawl about her shoulders and then the cloak. They’d brought so little to these rooms, yet without it, the place looked forlorn.

  Lewis bowed low. “Your carriage awaits, mademoiselle.”

  Anna giggled. He scooped her up and headed out the door.

  “Lewis, no. It’s not safe. I can walk.”

  “Humor me,” he said. “I’ve been waiting a week for this.”

  It was indeed a monster of a carriage, but she had no time to admire it. Lewis handed her up the steps before helping Putnam with the baby. He climbed in and took the rear-facing seat beside a stack of blankets that reached the brim of his hat.

  A footman in forest green livery raised the steps and closed the door. Then they rolled out of that miserable alley, left on Vicar Lane, and left again on the Headrow. A right turn followed, and after that there was nothing she recognized at all.

  A million chilly hours later, at dusk, they crossed the river. “Here we are,” Lewis said. “This is the Wrackwater.”

  His voice vibrated with emotion, though she could not be certain what emotion it was. It was too dark in the carriage to see his expression. But Wrackwater Bridge was home to him in a sense that Anna had never known—and it would be her home too, however she felt about the place. Oh, how she wanted to be impressed, for his sake and her own!

  The road led into a little gray town, its main street paved only with dirt and so narrow the Wedburys’ carriage left hardly enough room for a horseman passing by. A few shops with a single floor above, and houses. No more than cottages, most of them. A mere hamlet compared to Bristol, but light shone from the windows, smoke curled from the chimneys, two children ran up the street, laughing.

  There was the church where she would be married, small but pretty, with its square tower and its little belfry, the weathervane silhouetted against the darkening sky… Was that a sheep? Whoever heard of putting a sheep on top of a steeple! But with Yorkshire’s fortunes dependent on wool, perhaps it made sense.

  Just past that stood a nice stone house at the junction with another road. “Here’s the vicarage,” Lewis said as they rolled to a stop.

  Even before the steps were let down, children came tumbling out the front door, their voices high and excited. Four of them, though it looked and sounded like the whole townful. The vicar and an older boy approached more sedately.

  Lewis helped Putnam to the ground and handed her the crying baby as the children huddled round her, petting and giggling. Then he took Anna by the waist and lifted her down.

  “Let me walk,” she said. “It feels good.” It did not—she ached from top to bottom—but she would not be introduced into this household—this town—as an invalid. Her stiff knees and frozen feet made her feel like one, however, and she held tight to his arm. The entire carriage floor had been laid with hot bricks�
�pity the poor horses, hauling such a weight—but they had given up their heat long ago.

  Mrs. Redfern met them in the hall. As the noise of the children flooded that confined space, finally Anna believed Lewis’s assurances that her own child’s cries would be insignificant.

  “Welcome, my dear,” said Mrs. Redfern. “You must be exhausted. Do come upstairs, and you too, Putnam. I’ve put you in the next room, and the cradle as well, if that’s all right?”

  “It’s perfect,” Anna said. She had to repeat it to make herself heard.

  Lewis spoke directly into her ear. “Can you manage the stairs?” She nodded, determined to do so.

  At the top, they turned through an open doorway—Anna saw nothing but the bed. A big, beautiful bed with posts at the corners and white linens embroidered with flowers. She would have cried if she weren’t so tired.

  “Best put her in the chair, Mr. Aubrey,” said Putnam. “She has work to do yet, if she likes it or not.”

  It was a big, beautiful chair too. Anna held on to Lewis’s hand. “Don’t go yet. I want to…”

  She wanted to meet the children. See the house. Talk with Mrs. Redfern about clothes and babies. Get some notion what Lewis had planned for her, which strangers she must meet when. She couldn’t put the words together.

  “It’s been a grueling day, my gallant girl. It’s Putnam you need now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bending down, he slid one hand around the nape of her neck and placed a soft, lingering kiss at the corner of her mouth.

  She hadn’t even the strength to say goodnight.

  She was awakened by a maid who came in to build up the fire.

  “Oh, g’mornin’, mum. I’m reet sorry.”

  It didn’t look like morning. She could not even tell where the windows were. The streetlight at the end of the alley had kept her sane in Leeds. There were no streetlights in Wrackwater Bridge.

  “It’s all right.” Anna sat up. “What’s your name?”

  “Nancy, mum. I’m th’ day maid.”

  Nancy’s dimmed lantern did little to pierce the gloom. Anna could see nothing of the body that accompanied the voice, but that it was short.

  “What’s the time?”

  “Near seven, mum. Mistress told me to keep your room for last. I didna mean to wake you. ’Tis a reet dull day, but the snow’s about stopped.”

  Finished with the fire, Nancy lit a lamp and then dropped a little curtsy on her way out the door with her candle and coal scuttle. “Someone’ll be up soon wi’ your breakfast, mum.”

  “Do you know if my maid is up?”

  “Yes’m. Did ’er room on my way in here. Shall I tell ’er you was askin’?”

  “Yes, please.” The baby was quiet, but if she was awake, she’d be crying before long.

  As soon as Nancy left, Anna slid to the floor. A shame to leave that lovely bed, but she couldn’t wait to see what lay outside the two large windows.

  The one nearest her bed looked over the street. There was no more light than there had been when they arrived the evening before, yet the town appeared quite different. Every horizontal surface lay beneath a white blanket. She couldn’t tell how deep it was, but a woman from one of the gray stone houses across the way was sweeping the snow from her door with a broom. It mustn’t be too bad. It wouldn’t keep Lewis away.

  She touched the spot where he had kissed her last night. How fortunate she was.

  She ran to the window on the adjoining wall and hooked the heavy winter drapes aside. Behind them was a window seat and outside, the church. Set farther from the street than its vicarage and separated from it by an alley’s width of snow, Anna had an oblique view of its façade. It was still too dark to see any detail. Immediately to her right stood an enormous tree, bare except for its decorative coat of snow.

  The door opened behind her and she realized the house was not quiet. She’d been vaguely aware of a clatter or two—now she heard a tumble of muted voices. Then Putnam’s, clear and distinct.

  “Miss Anna! What are you thinkin’ of, no bedslippers or dressing gown?”

  Anna jumped up from the window seat. She’d never even thought about them. But it was cold, though already heat from the fresh-laid coals wafted her way as she curled her feet beneath her in that big, wonderful chair and reached out for her daughter. Chewing on her own hand, the poor dear. Putnam covered them with Lewis’s blanket to keep them warm.

  Mrs. Redfern and her younger daughter brought Anna’s breakfast. “Miss Spain, permit me to introduce Miss Barbara Redfern. She is terribly vexed that Kate met you first.”

  Barbara’s giggles and her inexpert curtsy made Anna grin. “I’m five years old,” she exclaimed as she danced across the floor to Anna’s side, her light brown curls bouncing. “May I see your baby?”

  “Just a small piece, for now.” Anna extricated one little foot from the layers of wool.

  “Oh, such tiny little piglets!” Barbara cried. “This little pig went to market,” she sang, placing a kiss on each toe as she went down the line. “This little pig had mutton chops.”

  They stayed only a few minutes, all of them filled with Barbara’s chatter. When Mrs. Redfern opened the door to leave, children stood clustered in the corridor. “What did I say?” their mama scolded. “No bothering our guest. That means quiet,” she added, a finger across her lips.

  “We were quiet,” Kate objected, peeping through the doorway beneath her mama’s arm and sending Anna a little wave. Anna waved back.

  “Away with you now. We must get ready for church.” The door closed. Putnam breathed a sigh of relief, but Anna was sorry to see them go. Yes, the tumult was fatiguing, but Lewis was right. They were joyful.

  As she finished dressing, Nancy put her head in at the door. “Mr. Aubrey’s here, mum. Shall I bring ’im up?”

  “Oh, yes!” Anna checked her hair again, adjusted her shawl.

  His kiss was only a cold touch on her cheek, his lips chilled from the outdoors. His hand was cold too as he led her back to the chair. “You look better this morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Nearly the clock round, except for nursing the baby. And you?”

  “Well enough, but I started much later than you.”

  He held his hands toward the fire, his expression reverting to the familiar pucker of worry.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He met her gaze for a moment. “No, nothing. Sir John gave me a tip on a carriage someone wants to sell. Sounds like it might suit us. I don’t want some other buyer to get there first. Unfortunately, it means I can’t stay and keep you company.”

  She made light of it, but the day felt different after he left, glum and lifeless. In the carriage yesterday they’d seemed so intimate, like a couple long married. She’d slept in his arms, for heaven’s sake, leaning back against him with her legs up on the seat. Her head rested against his shoulder, her spine fit perfectly in the curve of his hip and chest. He’d slipped his arms beneath the blankets, and in spite of all the layers separating them, it had felt quite improper. And quite lovely.

  How ungrateful she was! If the drive had been grueling for her, it must have been so for him as well. He had borne the responsibility for all of them after driving the same road the day before. He’d borrowed that sumptuous carriage, arranged for those bricks to heat their feet, for cheese and apples to fill their stomachs, and hired a private parlor in Otley so Anna could feed the babe in comfort…while he sat downstairs alone.

  Now he was off again, riding round the countryside on her behalf. Yet all she could do was mope, wishing he would stay and smile upon her. Well, she was lonely, that’s all it was. The Redferns’ amiability did not change the fact that they were strangers.

  She curled up in the window seat with her blanket and watched the people of Wrackwater Bridge arrive at church. The town must be larger than she’d thought… Surely there were too many to fit inside? They came on foot or in various conveyances, wrapped up against the cold, talking and laughing
as they waded through the snow. She recognized Sir John’s carriage but could not see who emerged.

  Without leaving her room at all that day, she met all the household, except for the cook. The vicar brought the two older boys to make her acquaintance, and Mrs. Redfern came for half an hour accompanied by Toby, their youngest, and Kate to watch him. They managed a comfortable chat about infants, and Wrackwater Bridge, and even about marriage. “I think your Lewis is going to be an excellent father.”

  “After seeing his patience on the drive yesterday, I’m sure of it.” Anna leaned forward and laid out her biggest worry. “But how do I become an excellent wife? I know nothing of his beloved Yorkshire but a few streets in Leeds and some scenery viewed through the carriage window. It looked so barren, just brown hills laced with snow and dotted with sheep. I’ve never lived in a small town, never even spent a night in one. He must worry that I’ll never fit into his world—how could he not? I certainly do.”

  Mrs. Redfern was kind enough not to laugh at her anxiety. “Ask him, my dear. Ask him all your questions. A man in love need only know that his beloved cares about his interests, to love her all the more.”

  “Ah.” Anna sat back. It sounded easy.

  But what if the man were not in love?

  Lewis came again late in the afternoon, but Anna had little opportunity to practice Mrs. Redfern’s advice. She seated him in the big chair and asked about his errand, but he still seemed preoccupied. After riding several miles out of town to see the carriage, he’d found it in poor condition. And the snow had been much deeper in the high tops, whatever that meant.

  He held the baby for a few minutes and she worked some sort of infant magic on him, softening his clenched jaw, the hard eyes, the tension across his brow. He soon returned her to Anna’s arms, however, and though his lips curved when he bade her goodbye, she saw nothing in his eyes but fatigue.

  Hope leaked out of her like water from a cracked jug. Well, she had made this mess, and she must make the best of it.