The Babe and the Baron

by Carola Dunn

  “Is this more of your modern medicine?” Laura asked with interest.

  “It is, ma leddy. 'Tis the notion o' a young pheesician I met while studying in France, Laënnec by name. Much can be inferred aboot the condeetion o' heart and lungs by the sound they make. Monsieur Laënnec working to develop a special contrrrivance for the purpose, a stethoscope he ca's it.”

  “We must tell Uncle Julius,” said Laura with an irrepressible giggle. “Perhaps he can invent this stethoscope before Monsieur Laënnec. I beg your pardon, sir. Lord Wyckham's uncle is an inventor.”

  “I hae treated Mr. Wyckham for a chemical burrn,” said the doctor drily, but with a twinkle in his eye. “Be that as it may, in the meantime I find an ear-trumpet more effeeecient and less disconsairting than pressing my ear tae a patient's chest.”

  “Oh yes, doctor,” said Miss Burleigh with a shudder, “pray continue.”

  So Laura variously held her breath and breathed deeply while Dr. McAllister pressed his ear trumpet to various portions of her chest and back.

  “Well?” she said as he straightened at last.

  “Weel, noo, ma leddy, I never heard better. Eat weel, but not ower heartily, gentle exercise daily, rest when ye feel tired, and I'll recommend the midwife at Llysbury. Mistress Owen is a clean, willing body, and expeerrrienced. She has even read William Smellie's Midwifery.”

  “I do not need to consult you again?”

  “Not unless ye hae untoward symptoms: bleeding, airly contractions, any severe discomfort, and I dinna mean a backache. 'Tis nae likely.”

  Laura hesitated. She liked him, despite his somewhat severe demeanour. He had taken the trouble to explain about the ear-trumpet; he was definitely amused by Uncle Julius, and not unkindly.

  “If you don't mind, sir, I think I had best see you again, regularly. Lord Wyckham is...unused to having a pregnant female about the place, and inclined to be over...careful. If it is more convenient for you, I can come here.”

  “That willna be necessary, ma leddy. I can verra weel call at Llys Manor, for my work takes me that way often.”

  Miss Burleigh looked upon both of them with benign approbation. “You will always be very welcome to take pot-luck with us, Dr. McAllister,” she said.

  He bowed and took his leave.

  Laura lay back. “I believe I shall rest for a while,” she said. “If you have no more errands, ma'am, I should like to hear more of the history of Ludlow.”

  Miss Burleigh had scarcely embarked upon a recital of the royal and otherwise celebrated historical personages associated with the castle, when the door burst open.

  “What is wrong?” cried Gareth. “Damn his eyes, the man will not tell me because we are not blood-relations.”

  “There is nothing to tell,” said Laura soothingly. She held out her hand to him. He came to sit on the chair by the bed, taking her hand in a convulsive clasp. “What did he say to you?” she asked.

  “That all is as well as can be expected.”

  “I do believe he was teasing you, though he spoke nothing more nor less than the truth. I am exceedingly well, sound as a bell, and my heart is in the right place.”

  He grinned at her sheepishly. “Teasing me? The devil! Oh, pardon my language, Aunt. What do you mean, your heart is in the right place?”

  So she told him about the ear-trumpet. Somehow she forgot to retrieve her hand, but after all, he needed the comfort. Not until much later did she realize she had let both Dr. McAllister and Miss Burleigh assume she meant to stay at Llys until her baby was born.

  Chapter 8

  Laura retired early after the expedition to Ludlow, and woke early the next morning. The sun was shining again, but Myfanwy swore the puffs of cloud sailing in from the west meant rain before noon. The dressmaker, Mrs. Davis, was expected at ten—they had stopped in the village on the way home to request her visit—so Laura decided to take a walk before breakfast.

  She left by the front door and headed across parkland towards a knoll with a pavilion on top, sheltered by a crescent of trees. Red Hereford cows raised their white faces to inspect her as she passed, then returned to cropping the short grass.

  Approaching the little hill, she realized it was steeper than it had looked from a distance, but the view from the top must be worth the climb. The path, cutting diagonally across the slope, was not too steep, and if it tired her, the way back was downhill. She made for the beginning of the path.

  “Laura!” Gareth's voice, sharp with reproach.

  With a sigh, she swung round as hooves thundered behind her and stood with hands on hips watching him dismount from his dapple grey.

  “Good morning, cousin,” she said peaceably, stroking the horse's nose. “Another beautiful day, is it not?”

  “You promised to have breakfast in bed.”

  “As I recall, I said I was considering making a habit of it.”

  “Well, perhaps,” he conceded.

  “The morning is too fine to waste, and my maid swears it will rain later.”

  He turned to gaze into the west, where white mare's tails streaked the sky over the Welsh mountains. “Well, perhaps,” he conceded.

  “Dr. McAllister recommended gentle exercise, and it is much pleasanter to walk outdoors than up and down the Long Gallery.”

  “Well, perhaps,” he conceded, then grinned. “No, of course it is, but the ascent of Ash Hill cannot be described as gentle exercise.”

  “Well, perhaps not,” she conceded, “but I should so like to see the view from the top. I don't suppose you would lend me your arm?”

  “Well, perhaps, if you will make me a promise.”

  “Well, perhaps, depending on what it is.”

  He looked down at her seriously. “Don't walk in the park without company. In the gardens, someone is always around, but if you came to grief out here there would be no one to help.”

  “I shall not come to grief. Dr. McAllister says I am excessively healthy. Do you not believe him?”

  “Doctors are not omniscient. Besides, you might twist your ankle in a rabbit hole—Rupert has not been home enough to wipe out the population—or—”

  “Or fall out of a tree and break my neck, or drown in four inches of water in a fountain,” she said tartly.

  “Oh Lord, do I sound like a hysterical mother?”

  “A little. I really must see what I can do about Maria's children now that she and I are friends. But no, I daresay you are right. I will not walk alone except in the gardens.”

  “Is that a promise, or merely a habit under consideration?”

  “A promise. Now will you help me up the hill?”

  “Your wish is my command. Just let me hitch Fickle to that bush.”

  “Fickle?”

  “By Wanderer, out of Flirt.”

  The gelding rolled his eye at her and she laughed. “Most of the horses Freddie wagered on were fickle, at least where he was concerned.”

  “Do you miss him?” Gareth asked, busy tying the bridle to a shrubby elder heavy with strong-scented flowerheads.

  “Now? No. Is that very shocking?” She tried to explain. “When I stopped travelling with him and settled at Swaffham Bulbeck, at first I used to miss him when he went off without me. But soon it was more a...a sort of wondering where he was and when he would come home, not really missing him. I grew accustomed to his absence.” After all, Freddie had paid her little enough attention when he was at home.

  “One can grow accustomed to anything.” He offered his arm. As they started up the path, he spoke from some deep inner emotion, “Time does not necessarily lessen the pain.”

  “Not necessarily. For me it did. I was always pleased to see him when he arrived, but to tell the truth, I was always pleased to bid him goodbye, too. He could be dreadfully tiresome.”

  “That I can imagine,” he said wryly, doubtless recalling the times his cousin had sponged on him.

  “So now, you see, when I am not constantly wondering what he is up to, I seldom think of
him.” She remembered the relief she had felt after relating to Miss Burleigh the mortifying story of her elopement. Now, another sort of confession had liberated her from another burden. Now she recognized clearly that if she had been an undesirable wife, Freddie had been a most unsatisfactory husband. Almost gaily, she begged, “Pray do not tell anyone what an unnatural creature I am.”

  “My lips are sealed. As you are not a grieving widow, should you object to a small dinner party? I generally invite the local gentry to dine at the Manor when I am in residence. If I do not, they will be affronted. If I do, and you fail to attend, rumours will fly.”

  Gaiety fled. Her hand tightened on his arm. “Rumours that I am not respectable enough to meet your neighbours.”

  Gently teasing, he reassured her: “I was thinking of rumours that you are too high and mighty to associate with country nobodies. They are unpretentious folk, with short memories for London scandals if they even bother to read about them in the newspapers.”

  “I shall be happy to meet them,” she muttered, abashed at her overestimation of the interest her affairs had aroused, “if Miss Burleigh agrees that attending a dinner party is not improper in a supposedly grieving widow.”

  “We shall ask her. And then we shall ask Mrs. Davis when she can have an evening gown ready for you. The party shall be in honour of your new finery.”

  “You will not tell your guests!”

  “No? Will you deprive me of the triumph of announcing publicly that I have cleverly induced you to accept a few dresses?”

  “Odious wretch.” Reaching the top of the hill, she stopped.

  The pavilion was a simple circular structure, unenclosed, with a paved floor and white-painted pillars. Laura was glad to see the wooden bench around the sides and back. She had scarce noticed the climb, supported by Gareth's arm as they talked, but now she was ready for a rest.

  “Come and sit down,” he said. “You must be ready for a rest.”

  Though he echoed her thought, words of denial sprang to her lips. She swallowed them unuttered. For once he was right. Crossing to the far side, she sat down. He joined her and named the points of interest in the panoramic view that spread before them: Llys village with the river and the castle ruins on their mound; Radnor Forest in the distance, and Beacon Hill; ancient Celtic earth forts; the sinuous line of Offa's Dyke, built in the tenth century by a Mercian king in a vain attempt to keep out the Welsh; and lastly, the sprawling south façade of Llys Manor, with the central Tudor block and the idiosyncratic wings.

  Laura listened with interest, but a part of her mind was elsewhere. Dr. McAllister's opinion had clearly not set Gareth's mind at rest. She could not help wondering if the painful memories he had hinted at were connected with his fears for her.

  She had found relief in voicing her unhappy memories. Might he do the same? Did she dare ask him?

  “Bang, bang, you're dead!”

  Two small heads popped up above the bench-back, one on each side. Two sticks took unwavering aim.

  “I shot you, Cousin Gareth,” cried Henry.

  “You're Frenchies,” George explained. “We are Wellington's Guards and you're our prisoners.”

  “We can't be your prisoners if we are dead,” Gareth pointed out, his mouth twitching.

  “All right, you can be alive. We're going to take you to our castle and put you in a dungeon.” He pointed at the Manor. “We won't tie you up if you give your word you won't run away.”

  “If there is breakfast waiting at the castle,” said Laura, “I shall willingly give my word. I am ravenous.”

  “What's ravingous?” the younger Guardsman enquired.

  “Hungry, gudgeon,” his brother informed him condescendingly.

  “I'm not a gudgeon!”

  They trained the guns on each other in a chorus of bangs.

  “This would be a good moment to make our escape,” said Gareth, “but I think we had best take our captors with us. Maria is doubtless still asleep, but Miss Coltart may be frantic.”

  “Coley's not frankik,” Henry said, abandoning the battle.

  “Frantic,” George corrected. “She told us to go and play, Cousin Gareth, and she hung her watch round Henry's neck so's we can tell what time to go home.”

  “See?” Henry hauled on a chain about his neck and George consulted the steel-case watch that emerged.

  “Five to nine! We'll have to run. Come on, Henny-Penny.”

  “Don't call me that,” bawled Henry, pursuing George down the path. They rolled down the last part of the hill and set off towards the house like a pair of foxhounds on the scent.

  Laura and Gareth followed at a more decorous pace.

  “I suppose I must speak to Miss Coltart,” Gareth said with a sigh. “I hate to spoil their fun but she ought to know what is going on.”

  “Since she lent her watch, I suspect she knows very well.”

  “Possibly. That makes it the more imperative that I see her. For one thing, George ought to have his own watch. I cannot think hers safe in their care.”

  How typical of his generosity, Laura thought. “You do not mean to ring a peal over her then,” she said. “I am glad.”

  “No, I gave her a certain latitude with the boys, to keep her when she threatened to leave. They seem to like her. I just want to be sure she is aware of their roaming. Maria need know nothing of it.”

  “She shall not hear it from me. You know my opinion of her crotchets. I ought to meet Miss Coltart if I am to help the boys. May I go with you?”

  “I shall be glad of your support.”

  “After breakfast?”

  “After breakfast,” he agreed, grinning. He unhitched Fickle and, leading him, walked with Laura back to the Manor.

  * * * *

  Gareth sent for the governess to come to the library, partly because he did not want the boys present when he spoke to her. His other reason was to spare Laura the climb up three pair of stairs to the schoolroom, though he did not venture to tell her that. She had had enough “gentle exercise” for one morning, he reckoned.

  When Miss Coltart joined them, he invited her to sit down. She shook her head and stood there before them, square and pugnacious in her drab gown.

  “If it is about this morning, my lord, the boys have told me that they met you and her ladyship on Ash Hill.”

  “Did they tell you they had taken us prisoner?”

  She ignored this irrelevant interruption, continuing in her dogged way, “I take leave to remind you, sir, that you said I might follow my own method of education, provided Mrs. Forbes is not vexed. George and Henry were outside with my permission. They study better after exercise, and I find the time useful to concentrate on teaching Miss Arabella her letters. The boys have promised not to play in the gardens and not to climb trees, as forbidden by their mama, and to stay within sight of the house. They always return on time, well before there is any chance of Mrs. Forbes seeing them from her window.”

  “Admirable,” said Gareth cordially, taking the wind out of her sails. “The time is what I wished to discuss with you. I take it your watch has no sentimental associations or you would hardly have lent it to them?”

  “No, my lord.” Puzzled, she sat down at last, frowning.

  “Then may I suggest that you give it to them, and I shall provide you with a replacement, in token of my appreciation. Something pretty in gold, with a gold chain, would be appropriate, do you not agree, Lady Laura?”

  “Most appropriate,” she murmured, with a look of such warm approval that he flushed and hurriedly turned his attention back to the governess.

  She appeared flabbergasted. “Th-thank you, my lord,” she stammered, then pulled herself together and said, belligerent again, “As you approve my methods, sir, may I be so bold as to say that Master George must have a tutor. I have taught him all the Latin I know, and I have no Greek.”

  “I am amazed you have taught him anything,” Laura said, “since you are not permitted to discipline the boys,
I collect.”

  Miss Coltart turned to her eagerly, with no trace of pugnacity. “I try to make their lessons interesting, my lady. Besides, George is a natural scholar, and Henry struggles to keep up to prove himself as good as his elder brother. However, George's love of learning will go for nothing if he cannot study the classics.”

  Laura turned to Gareth. “Is there some difficulty about hiring a tutor, cousin?”

  He grimaced. “The worst. Maria is convinced that a male teacher will beat her little darlings.”

  “Ah,” she said in a thoughtful voice.

  “Also, my lady, it is past time the boys learned to ride.”

  “I take it there is no difficulty about providing ponies, Cousin Gareth?”

  “Only that they might fall off—”

  “—and break their dear little necks. Do not despair, Miss Coltart, I believe I see a way to your ends.” She cast a glance sparkling with mischief at Gareth.

  What the devil was she up to?

  Miss Coltart appeared to have perfect faith in her. “Thank you, my lady,” she said, standing up. “That is a load off my mind. Now, if you will excuse me, I had best get back to my pupils.”

  As she left, Lloyd came in to announce that the dressmaker had arrived. Laura went off to the sewing room.

  Gareth decided he, too, must have faith in her. Having made himself responsible for the boys, he owed them a decent education, but dealing with Maria was beyond him. He could only be grateful for Laura's intervention, whatever the result.

  In the sewing room, Laura found Mrs. Davis just taking off her tall Welsh hat. A short, rolypoly woman, she took Laura's measurements with painstaking care. That done, they opened the packages from the Ludlow shops. Laura was horrified anew at how much she had purchased.

  There were black cambric and jaconet muslin for walking dresses and morning gowns, black crape for family evenings, and a beautiful black figured silk for special occasions. For trimmings she had black, grey, and white ribbons of velvet and satin; lace, narrow and wide; bugle beads; and a few white silk flowers.

  “A pity it is your ladyship cannot wear colours, pretty as you are,” observed Mrs. Davis, echoing Myfanwy's flattery. She stroked the silk with its pattern of tiny grey ivy leaves. “Still, there's elegant you'll be, look you. How will I make up the silk?”