‘I just wondered whether I ought to be encouraging her to be active over the next few weeks. I want to make sure I don’t encourage her to do too much. On the other hand, I don’t want to mollycoddle her if there is no need for it.’
‘You’ve taken to her, haven’t you?’ said Philip, evidently pleased.
‘Yes,’ Madeline said.
‘And she’s taken to you. But as for her going riding or swimming, I don’t think you need to stop her. Dr Williams is of the opinion that fresh air and exercise will strengthen her constitution rather than weaken it.’
Madeline nodded. ‘Good.’
‘But don’t feel you have to spend all your time with her. Young girls can be tiresome.’
Madeline remembered that Letitia had said much the same thing, but she did not agree. ‘I’m sure Emma could never be tiresome. I want to spend my time with her. How else is she to be made to feel welcome? I want to make sure she enjoys her stay with us. This is her home, after all.’
‘Is it, Madeline?’ He looked at her intently.
‘Of course.’ She looked surprised. ‘It’s only because there has been no mistress here that she has been staying with her aunt. Otherwise she would have been growing up here amongst her family and friends. I am not criticising,’ she hastened to explain. ‘I know it wasn’t possible for her to stay here whilst you were abroad, but things are different now.’
He leaned back in his shield-backed chair, so that the front two feet of the chair left the floor. ‘If it was up to you, would she live here always?’
‘She would have to finish her schooling,’ said Madeline judiciously. ‘I don’t think it would be good for her to abandon it, and I’m sure she wouldn’t want to. She seems to have many friends. But afterwards, yes, of course. This is her home. It’s where she belongs.’
‘Even though you would have a young girl – soon turning into a young woman – under your feet all day?’
‘I can’t see Emma getting under anyone’s feet. And as to having a young girl – or a young woman – in the house, why shouldn’t I like it?’
‘Some women would think of it as competition,’ he said.
Madeline laughed. ‘How could I think of her as competition? Emma is a young girl, whereas I am a married woma . . . ’ Her voice trailed away as she realised she was a married woman for another few months only.
‘And how are you liking it, being a married woman?’ asked Philip penetratingly, ignoring the trailing away of her voice.
Madeline swallowed. The joy had gone out of her conversation. For a few minutes she had been carried away, and had forgotten the true nature of her marriage to Philip, but now she was reminded of it. A few weeks ago the idea that her marriage was temporary had filled her with a feeling of security, but now it created a gaping hole at the heart of her. ‘I . . . I like it very well,’ she said softly.
‘Do you, Madeline?’ he asked searchingly.
She nodded mutely.
‘Has it been what you expected it to be?’ he asked.
‘No. But then that is because it is only a temporary marriage,’ she replied, remembering her mother’s warnings: fainter now, but still there nonetheless.
‘Ah. So that’s what you think. You think it would be different if this marriage was permanent?’
‘My mother . . . ’ she began hesitantly.
‘Yes?’ he asked.
She did not reply.
‘Your mother?’ he prompted.
‘My mother warned me –’
And then the door opened, and Emma walked in.
Philip gave an exclamation of impatience. ‘I thought you were going to bed, young lady?’ he said.
‘I am,’ said Emma blithely. ‘I just forgot my book.’
She crossed the room to the window-seat, where she had left her latest Gothic novel. Then she tripped over to Philip and kissed him on the forehead.
‘Good night, my lord,’ she said, mischievously dropping him a curtsey.
‘Good night, minx,’ said Philip with affectionate exasperation.
‘Good night,’ she said to Madeline, kissing her on the cheek.
‘Good night,’ said Madeline, glad to have been interrupted. She was still unsure of herself; still unsure of her own feelings; and still unsure of her mother’s warnings. Had those warnings really been necessary? she wondered. Or had they been nothing more than the troubled words of an unhappy woman who had been trapped in an unusually unhappy marriage?
She stood up, ‘I will see you upstairs,’ she said to Emma.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Emma enthusiastically. ‘And you can tell me if you have read The Absentee yet.’
Talking about Maria Edgeworth’s latest novel, the two ladies left the room.
Chapter Twelve
Summer ended, and with it Emma’s visit. After she had gone, Madeline was surprised at how much she missed her. The two of them had spent many enjoyable days shopping and sightseeing, and had visited every family within ten miles, for Emma’s lively and affectionate nature had prompted her to see all her friends in Yorkshire before returning to Bath. She had been reluctant to go, but she had her education to complete, and besides, it would not be long before she returned to the Manor.
As summer ended, autumn began, and Madeline found that her duties underwent a subtle change. The day-to-day running of the Manor was still the same, but she also now had to oversee the bottling of the fruit and the making of jam, together with the other autumnal activities recounted in the old Countess’s diaries.
Perhaps the most important of these was the business of tending to the coughs and colds that were rife on the estate. October was misty and November wet, so that many of the tenants suffered from minor complaints, and some of them from more serious problems such as rheumatism, and she spent much of her time doing what she could to alleviate their suffering. In this she was guided not only by the old Countess’s diaries but also by Clarissa’s practical advice.
Madeline was indebted to Clarissa for a number of home-made remedies, and her first call on a wet and windy morning in November was on Old Ned. The cottage had been repaired since she had first seen it in the summer, and although the repairs were only a temporary measure, designed to make the cottage habitable until a new one could be built, they had made a difference. The cottage was no longer as damp, and the chimney drew better, so that the fire was a respectable blaze. Despite being in pain with rheumatism she found him lively and cheerful, as he always was on her visits.
‘It’s just like t’old days, when Her Ladyship was still alive,’ he said to her appreciatively as she entered the cottage.
Over the summer, Madeline had learnt that Ned’s phrase “Her Ladyship” referred to the old Countess, Philip’s mother, who had overseen the estate during his time as head gardener.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ asked Madeline, putting down her leather saddlebag on the homely table beside Ned’s chair.
‘All t’better for seeing you, lass,’ he said, leaving Sarah, his wife, spluttering at what she called his “improperness”.
Madeline, however, laughed. Over the last few months she had grown very fond of Old Ned, and he to revere her as he had revered the old Countess. Mixed with his worship was a sense of fun.
‘Ee, you’ll ‘ave to forgive ‘‘im,’ said Sarah, looking at her husband reprovingly. ‘‘e’s not ‘imself today.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Madeline teasingly. ‘He seems every bit himself to me.’
‘Aye, lass, tha’s in the right of it. If an old man like me can’t say what he likes then, I asks you, who can?’
‘Did the ointment do any good?’ asked Madeline, unpacking the tub of salve she had brought.
‘Well, ‘tweren’t bad,’ conceded Old Ned. ‘But o’ course, ‘tweren’t as good as a bit of fun.’
‘A bit of fun?’ asked Madeline, pausing.
‘Aye.’
‘What kind of fun?’ she asked.
‘Well, lass,’ he said
, sending Sarah spluttering again, ‘the bit o’ fun I was thinking of were in t’nature of a Christmas fête.’
‘Ee, Ned,’ said Sarah indignantly. Then, turning to Madeline she said, ‘Take no notice, my lady. ‘E’s been drivelling on about that all week.’
‘Proper Christmas parties for the servants and tenants we used to ‘ave,’ said Ned with a twinkle in his eye. ‘When Her Ladyship was alive.’
Madeline’s interest was aroused. She was always eager to learn about the customs of the estate. It had started off as a formality, something she had felt she ought to do in order to make her pose as Philip’s wife convincing, but it had quickly become a pleasure, and she had found Old Ned a fountain of knowledge. Being now eighty-two and having lived on the estate all his life he knew more about it than almost anyone else alive, and he liked nothing better than to pass on this knowledge.
With only a little prompting he now regaled Madeline with a full account of the Christmas festivities that used to form an important part of the Stonecrop year before the old Countess had died, but which had since lain dormant.
‘And all t’lads would steer all t’lasses under t’mistletoe,’ he twinkled at Sarah. ‘And that’s how I caught me a wife.’
‘Ee, Ned, get on with you,’ said Sarah, nevertheless clearly very pleased with the memory.
Madeline stayed in the cottage for some time, listening to Ned’s tales of Christmas fêtes in years gone by. She found that, the more she thought of it, the more the idea of reviving the custom appealed to her. Ned remembered everything, from the gown the old Countess had worn at his first Christmas fête, to the man who had played the fiddle at the last.
So interested did Madeline become that she lost all track of time, remembering at last that she had a dozen more things to see to before dinner and that she must be getting on.
Having made sure that Ned had everything he needed, and having promised that she would visit him again on the following day, she donned her pelisse and gathered up her leather bag before mounting her mare and returning to the Manor, accompanied by the faithful Jenkins.
‘Old Ned was asking about the Christmas fête,’ she told Philip that afternoon as, having been kept inside by the rain, she sat doing a piece of tapestry. ‘He wanted to know if the custom was going to be revived.’
Philip looked up from his plans for the home farm. ‘The fête,’ he said musingly. ‘I haven’t thought about the Stonecrop fête for years. It’s a lot of hard work,’ he said meditatively, but there was an unmistakable gleam of enthusiasm in his eyes.
‘I should be doing most of that,’ said Madeline. ‘It’s the Countess’s duty to arrange it, or so Ned told me.’
Philip gave a wry smile. ‘Ned’s an old rascal. He’s right, though. It was my mother, and my grandmother before her, who used to arrange everything, down to the last detail.’
‘Well, my lord?’ asked Madeline, resting her work on her lap and looking directly at Philip. ‘Shall we revive the custom, do you think?’
Philip threw down the plans. ‘Why not? Christmas used to be the highlight of the Stonecrop year. It’s time we made it so once again.’
‘Who comes to the fête?’ asked Madeline.
‘Everyone. The tenants, the servants, the villagers, they all attend. Jason will be in York again for Christmas,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘He remembers the fêtes. He will want to come and he will be no doubt willing to help us with the preparations nearer the time. But if we’re going to hold the fête we’d better start making the preliminary arrangements at once. I’ll have a word with the head groom - the fête is always held in the long barn, and it will need to be cleared for use - if you will have a word with Crump. He will need to know what we are planning.’
The rain had eased off again, and Philip went out to the stables to make sure the head groom remembered what had to be done, whilst Madeline consulted Crump on some of the finer points of the arrangements, Mrs Potts not having been at the Manor the last time a fête was arranged. As she did so, Madeline reflected on the change the autumn months had made. No longer was she organising something on her own, or with the aid of servants, as she had done with the ball, now she was arranging it with Philip.
They had begun by splitting their concerns down the middle, with Madeline tending to the house and Philip the estate, but now everything had merged into one, and whether it was plans for the home farm, dreams for the gardens, or arrangements for the Christmas festivities, they organised things together.
But not for much longer. Their marriage had almost run its course. The thought of it made her feel bereft. Why was she feeling like this? Why was she not looking forward to moving into the house in York? Why was she not filled with happiness at the thought of having her own home and a generous annuity so that she could live out the rest of her life independently, in comfort and style?
These were the thoughts that plagued Madeline in the weeks leading up to the fête.
December 21st, the date set for the Christmas fête, finally arrived.
‘Grand, lass,’ said Old Ned with a sense of wonder as he looked around the long barn as the party got under way. ‘Ee, it’s reet grand.’
‘Aye, my lady,’ said Sarah, his wife. ‘Tha’s done us proud.’
The barn had been cleared and swept. Chairs had been brought in and set around the sides, so that those who did not wish to dance could sit and watch instead. At the far end, trestle tables covered in white damask cloths groaned under the weight of hams and cheeses, pies and bread, whilst barrels of ale stood next to them, ready to be consumed. Holly and mistletoe hung in garlands from the rafters, their red and white berries glistening in the candlelight. Everywhere there was noise and chatter. Every servant, every tenant and every villager from miles around was there and the barn was almost bursting at the seams.
Having welcomed everyone with a friendly word Madeline and Philip led the dancing, a fact much appreciated by their guests. There were to be no ballroom dances tonight, no cotillions or minuets, but a fine selection of lively and rumbustious country dances instead.
As the opening chords of The Shrewsbury Lasses filled the air, Madeline saw Jason’s toes tapping and noticed him looking round for someone. To her delight she realised he was looking for Clarissa. They had both of them enjoyed themselves enormously in the week leading up to the fête, and had come up with a number of joint plans for the decoration of the barn, and now it seemed right they should be dancing together. And how well Clarissa looked tonight, thought Madeline with a warm glance at her friend. But then she had no more time to notice anything else as she gave herself up to enjoyment.
Throughout the evening whilst some danced, others ate, helping themselves to the wholesome fayre laid out on the trestle tables. Meat pies, hunks of bread and whole cheeses were eagerly partaken of, all washed down with flagons of ale.
As the evening drew on, the noise grew. It was many years since a Christmas fête had been held at Stonecrop Manor and it had been sorely missed. Even Jenny, Madeline’s maid, was there, and Madeline was pleased to see that she was enjoying herself, dancing with a handsome young groom.
Her eyes wandered round the barn, alighting on Philip. He was chatting to some of the tenant farmers and was at that moment complimenting Mr and Mrs Taylor on their fine son. They had had no one to leave the boy with and had decided to bring him with them, intending to stay for no more than an hour or so before returning home. She saw Philip swing young Tommy Taylor onto his shoulders, whereupon Tommy crowed delightedly to his father, ‘I’s bigger than you!’
‘You’ll be having your own children before long,’ said Clarissa, who had joined Madeline unawares and was looking adoringly at the little boy. ‘It must be the most wonderful feeling to have a little one of your own to play with,’ she sighed.
Madeline flushed, not out of modesty, but because she realised at that moment that she wanted children. And not just any children. Philip’s children.
Her mother had spoken of the per
ils of marriage, but never the joys, and yet they were just as real. As Madeline watched Philip playing with Tommy she wanted, with an intensity that surprised her, to give him children. A child of their own to play with; a child to cherish. But it would never happen. Because Philip was self-destined for Letitia.
And suddenly she was angry with him. Why did he want to marry Letitia, a vain and selfish woman who would bring him no joy in life? Why was he being so perverse? Why had he not chosen some loving young woman who would be a companion to him? Who would love and look after his children, instead of banishing them to the nursery as Letitia would do? A young lady who would provide a welcoming home for his sister, and make the Manor a warm place he would want to live in, instead of a cold and glittering showcase? Someone who would share his hopes and dreams, and who would melt when ever he touched her? Why was he so blind to what would make him truly happy in life? She could not bear it. She wanted the best for him. And the best wasn’t Letitia.
But were her feelings really so selfless? she asked herself. Was it just because she wanted the best for Philip that she didn’t want him to marry Letitia? Or were her feelings far more personal?
She shivered, and wrapped her arms round herself. It was better not to let her thoughts wander down those channels, but it was becoming more and more difficult to stop them, even though she knew those channels would only lead to heartache. Philip was to marry Letitia. It was all arranged; and she must accept the fact, because it was not about to change.
With difficulty she turned her attention back to the festivities. She tempted old Mrs Green to a meat and potato pie and handed Mr Salter a flagon of ale, but quickly found herself unsettled again when Philip strolled over to her side.
‘What is it?’ he asked her, drawing her aside, with a perception she wished, at that moment, he did not possess.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.
‘Something’s made you angry.’
His face as he looked down into hers was concerned.
The Six Month Marriage Page 16