Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin Book 4)

by Beverley Oakley

  “That will be nice!” Hetty called after her. “You’ve been as fluttery as Lady Zena trying to get out of her cage these last weeks.”

  Araminta was glad to hear her mother admonishing her sister, but Hetty was right in that Araminta had felt like a canary trying to escape its confines.

  Fortunately, there was not too long to wait, she reflected as the footman helped her into the carriage and slammed the door behind Jane. In the confined space, as the vehicle rolled down the gravel drive and picked up pace as it turned onto the road, Araminta could talk without fear of being overheard. Another reason the house had felt so confining, with her mother or Hetty likely to throw open the door with complete lack of regard at any given moment.

  “Not long, Jane, until his Lordship has his heir. Oh Lord, I don’t even know if it will be an heir, and I don’t know if I’ll be pleased it’s only a girl, or pleased if it’s a boy and I won’t have to go through all this desperate agony again.”

  “Yer babe came inta the world a mite quicker an’ easier than any of me mam’s,” Jane observed.

  “I hope you’re not inferring that I’m complaining, Jane.” Araminta regarded her coolly. “Oh, look, is this the place?”

  A drystone wall, crumbling in places, surrounded the ramshackle collection of buildings that made up what was apparently the Home Farm. As the carriage slowed to turn into the rutted road, a pack of barking dogs tore across the grass. From the main house, a middle-aged woman in a dirty apron and cap emerged, raising her hand, before trudging wearily across the grass to where the carriage had stopped.

  “G’day, m’lady.” She curtsied as Araminta was helped to the ground. “Mighty ’onored, we are, ter ‘ave yer stop by an’ favor us like this. I’m Mrs. Goodwin, Farmer Goodwin’s wife. ‘E’s gone to town to sell some sheep, but if yer’d like to step inta the parlor, I’ll make yer a nice cup o’ tea. Mrs. Mobbs says as ‘ow yer was worrit yer’d hurt our boy fer runnin’ in front of yer carriage. Well, don’t mind ‘bout that. ‘E got a good clip over the ear fer bein’ so careless not but that our ‘earts are gladdened yous shown such goodness. Now, up the stairs, there yer go.”

  In the kitchen, where Mrs. Goodwin paused to give the bootboy a jab of her foot in passing for clumsily dropping the leather belt he was polishing, Jane handed over the basket of victuals Araminta had hastily ordered from the scullery for the purpose at Mrs. Mobbs’ behest.

  “My, my, ain’t yer the kindest soul,” gushed Mrs. Goodwin. “An’ thinkin’ so much o’ others when yer should be thinkin’ o’ yer an’ yer young ‘un. Must be nearly due now. Any minute, I’d say.”

  It was only at that moment that Araminta saw the sly smile the farmer’s wife gave her. She must have revealed her shock, for Mrs. Goodwin clicked her tongue and her lips parted to reveal her browning teeth.

  Self-consciously she patted her mob cap and dropped her voice as she led them into the cool interior of the house. “I were a looker in me day, an’ a good friend o’ Millie Mobbs. We worked together, ‘er and I, ‘til I got inta the family way an’ Mr. Goodwin made an ‘onest woman o’ me. Worth ‘is while it were, jest like yer doin’ what’s worth yer while, m’lady. And don’t fink anyone’ll be the wiser. I got it all arranged. Now, ‘ere we go then. Inta the guest bedroom wot I made all cozy-like, jest for yer.”

  She threw open the door to the homely, sparsely decorated room containing a bed, washstand, and two chairs beneath a window hung with blue and white printed curtains, with a view out over the paddocks.

  “No neighbors round fer miles ‘bout, an’ Farmer Goodwin won’t be back from market fer anuvver day an’ a bit. I sent ‘im on ‘is way, I did, when the uvver young lady arrived.”

  Jane pulled back the coverlet on the bed as she stared dubiously between Araminta and Mrs. Goodwin, obviously thinking what Araminta was thinking. Both were forestalled when the farmer’s wife reassured them, “I always ‘ave visitors ‘ere from me London days so ladies in all manner o’ finery don’t faze anyone ‘ere, let me tell yer. Now, let’s get yer shoes off, eh, m’lady. Then ya can do a bit o’ moanin’ an wotnot after I tells yer to. Up yer get, there now, jest get yerself comfortable an’ I’ll fetch yer a mug o’ porter to give yer strength.”

  Araminta prepared to climb into bed, while Jane put down the small bag she was carrying, which contained a few necessities. She hoped she’d not have to remain long, but she’d have to send someone to The Grange in an hour or so with the message that she’d been accommodated by farmer Goodwin and his wife after the first labor pains had come on rapidly.

  Perhaps in another three hours she could be holding the baby, or rather handing it to the midwife she knew Mrs. Mobbs was organizing and then, in the morning, she could return home.

  Home without that ridiculous padding. Home to the comforts she could finally enjoy once more.

  Home to the anticipation of seeing Lord Ludbridge once more.

  Mrs. Goodwin returned when Jane was holding up Araminta’s fine lawn night-rail.

  “Got yer one o’ mine, dearie, cos ‘er ladyship, yer mama, will think it mighty odd yer came with yer own, don’t yer think?”

  Araminta shuddered when she felt the coarse linen against her delicate skin, but she suffered the indignity without complaining. At least the hateful cushion was finally a thing of the past. And soon she would be out of this dreadful place with her new babe. Mrs. Goodwin would obviously expect to be paid well for having provided this necessary service, and Araminta understood the need for keeping her onside.

  Jane tucked the blankets comfortably around her, and Mrs. Goodwin was just telling her the message the boy would deliver to The Grange explaining Araminta’s predicament, when she looked up at the sound of wailing.

  As the sound grew louder, Mrs. Goodwin’s smile broadened and she put her hands to her cheeks. “It’s the babe, the newborn babe; a lusty boy not an ‘our old,” she said, misty-eyed. “Soon ter be delivered inta yer arms, m’lady.”

  “Indeed it is.” Mrs. Mobbs appeared in the doorway, a smile of satisfaction lighting up her sallow face. “Yer’ll want to ‘old yer new son, o’ course, m’lady.”

  Shocked, Araminta stared between the child and the women. “Not really. I can see him quite well from here,” she said, waving Mrs. Mobbs away and trying to bolster her own trembling smile, for the babe was the ugliest she’d ever beheld. She tried to recall if the child to which she’d given birth was quite so unprepossessing. It certainly hadn’t been pretty. Perhaps it was just the way of newborns.

  Frowning, she remarked, “It has no hair,” though that was a good thing. Her own child’s hair had been so thick and black—she shuddered, as she tried to put out of her mind the white streak that so branded its lineage. How lucky, though, that its hair had come early, giving her the chance to ensure the baby was removed.

  “Many babes are bald, m’lady,” Jane said, taking the child when Araminta refused, and looking doe-eyed before she began to croon to it. Immediately it ceased its wailing and stared blankly,as if mesmerized by Jane’s plain visage.

  “Well, I hope it improves in looks,” Araminta observed, worried. “Jane, you keep it. I don’t want to hold it.”

  “But yer must, m’lady.”

  “Don’t tell me what I must do,” Araminta snapped, closing her eyes briefly, then opening them to offer Mrs. Mobbs a beatific smile. “You’ve done your work very well, Mrs. Mobbs, and I thank you. Jane, will you give her payment, as agreed?”

  Jane thrust the child into Araminta’s arms and, not looking happy at all, rummaged in the bag at the foot of the bed, withdrawing a small velvet pouch which she handed to Mrs. Mobbs.

  “Most kind, m’lady,” replied the other woman, curtseying, before tipping the contents into the palm of her hand. The rubies and diamonds of Araminta’s wedding necklace glittered in the shafts of late evening sunlight, and both older women could be heard to sigh audibly.

  “As this matter has been discussed already, I trust neither of you wil
l feel the necessity to revisit the events of this evening at some later date.” Araminta forced herself to smile, but hoped they heard the warning in her tone. “I have been more than generous, but this will help pay for the necessities I expect for my child, such as clothing and education. Please don’t expect me to offer more. My husband is not an easy man, and if he is ever made a party to this, it will not only be me who suffers. Do you understand?”

  Mrs. Mobbs nodded. “Indeed, no one profits from quibblin’ ova matters like this, m’lady, to be sure. An ‘is Lordship’s temper ‘as bin remarked upon by me friend, Maggie Montgomery’s girls many a time. We undastand completely what yer are sayin’.” Her eyes glittered, reflecting the sharp-cut crystals from which she seemed unable to tear her gaze away. “Yer secret is safe, but there is still more we must do ter prepare the room fer yer mama’s arrival. Mrs. Goodwin, ‘ave yer the bowl of chicken blood? Oh Lordy, is that rain I ‘ear a-thunderin’down?” She sent a gleeful look in Araminta’s direction. “Well, well, ain’t that the Good Lord smilin’ on yer, m’lady. On such a dark night as this wiv our roads so poor an’ prone to floodin’, I can’t see yer poor mama makin’ it ‘ere amid the pourin’ rain. I’ll ‘ave me boy send a note ter that effect, shall I, m’lady? Reckon we might jest mention the tree wot’s fallen ova the road that leads to the ‘ouse.”

  Araminta nodded. Suddenly, she felt more overwhelmed than she ever had, lying in that uncomfortable bed with Mrs. Mobbs and Mrs. Goodwin and Jane all looking at her but, worst of all, the baby grizzling in her arms, which did not smell at all nice.

  A boy, was it? Well, that should please his Lordship. And surely it would improve in looks. After all, it had blue blood in its veins, both parents nobly born. She exhaled on a deep sigh. Her own child would be well looked after with a small fortune to rear it well, and it would never suffer at the hands of Debenham should he have discovered he was rearing Sir Aubrey’s cuckoo. Really, Araminta should congratulate herself for managing the situation to everyone’s satisfaction.

  She was about to hand the child back to Jane, complaining that the noise it was making was hurting her ears, when a loud crack of thunder seemed almost to split the humble dwelling in two.

  Jane shrieked and covered her ears, and then to everyone’s obvious shock, a loud female wailing could be heard, even above the din, growing nearer and accompanied by the sound of footsteps running down the passage. Upon a loud shriek, the door was thrust open, and a wild-eyed creature in a bloodstained night-rail hurled herself into the room and snatched the child from Araminta’s arms.

  Admittedly, Araminta was quite glad to be relieved of it, but realizing this must be the young woman who’d just given birth to it, and who had surrendered it through need and for more than a tidy sum, she cried indignantly, “Get away! What do you think you’re doing? This is my baby!”

  The young woman opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Mobbs clapped her hands over her face while Mrs. Goodwin tackled her and wrested the child from her arms. The young woman put up an admirable fight. In the minute or so Araminta observed her, kicking and scratching and biting for all she was worth, she had to admire her determination, even if she was not at all the beauty she’d hoped the babe’s mother would be—though no one looked their best after giving birth, she supposed.

  She, too, was wearing one of Mrs. Goodwin’s coarse linen night-rails, and greasy strands of black hair fell across her tear-streaked face. Araminta turned her head away. It would be far better if neither recognized each other when a chance encounter on the dance floor at some worthy’s ‘drawing-room’ might throw them into one another’s orbit.

  Jane obviously had realized the same thing, for she was quick to step in front of Araminta and to assist with some judicious shoving of the flailing creature back toward the door and into the passage. Soon, however, it was clear that it was going to require three of them to subdue her, and once again Araminta was in possession of the squalling child while Jane, Mrs. Mobbs, and Mrs. Goodwin hurled themselves into the fray. The din was disturbing and horrible to listen to as they bore the woman away, and Araminta hunkered under the covers and tried to wish away time so that it would be tomorrow, and she could be back in her own comfortable bed with the baby in the care of the village wet nurse who had been arranged.

  She tried to close her eyes and rest, but the child was having none of it. Its lusty cries were on par with its birth mother’s, and it was tempting to try and smother the horrible sound with the blankets, just to give Araminta the time she needed to order her mind.

  But she was scared of doing anything to harm it. Knowing what to do with a baby was not in her experience, and she felt awkward and frightened as well as resentful toward it, as if it were the reason she was in her hateful predicament.

  But then she realized that it had been her savior, and she must guard it well. She’d wanted a healthy son to present to Debenham so he would gloat that she’d done her duty in a very timely fashion. Now she had one.

  So Araminta smiled at the baby and found she could, after all, block her mind to the noise and transport it to more satisfying planes...such as the knowledge that having satisfactorily executed her most pressing obligation regarding the family line, she could finally start to enjoy herself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Another standing ovation. Roses littered the stage, raining down about her as Kitty curtsied yet again to the sounds of the orchestra in the background nearly drowned out by the cheers of the audience. Her heart threatened to burst with joy. Tonight, her performance was being witnessed by a gathering of the Royal Family; the newspapers and gossip sheets had been equally flattering about her singing voice, her lithe dancing, the heartfelt acting, and Nash was forever showering her with gifts, telling her how much he adored her.

  She had everything, and more, than she’d ever dreamed possible when she’d run away to London.

  Except her family’s good wishes. Her mother had written one terse letter saying how deeply disappointed she and Lord Partington were at her defection, adding, pointedly, that the new baby was thriving.

  Her brother, Ned, had visited her after a performance the previous week, and gravely told her that while he, personally, was proud of her achievements, he couldn’t reconcile her desertion of their mother at this difficult time in her life. He’d added that Kitty’s selfish desires had always trumped her concern for anyone or anything else.

  From Lissa, she’d heard nothing.

  Which meant that Kitty’s sadness at her family’s lack of support—downright disapproval—was completely stripping the luster from what should be the most wonderful phase of her life.

  She was just straightening up from her final curtsy when a figure, rising out of a seat in the stalls to leave, caught her eye. The particularly erect bearing and sheen of dark hair was familiar, and for a moment she thought it was Lady Debenham. Shocked, she realized it was her sister. Lissa. Lissa was here tonight in company with a gentleman. Perhaps she was going to meet Kitty backstage.

  Excited, Kitty hurried from her final bow, accepting the well-wishes thrown her way from all quarters with much nodding and smiling, arriving in the crowded backstage area, breathless and full of hope.

  She swung around, her gaze roaming over every face, familiar or not, trying to pick the dark-haired beauty she’d seen earlier. A cluster of giggling chorus girls were changing out of their village-girl costumes, while a throng of admirers waited impatiently to thrust their own tokens of love and other sentiments at Kitty.

  But of Lissa there was no sign.

  Nash had not come to the theater that evening. He had a dinner to attend. Kitty spoke with a few gentlemen who pressed forward, but after the disappointment of not seeing her sister, she now hoped Silverton might have chosen that night to come along.

  He was not there either, so after changing into evening clothes, Kitty trudged through the busy streets toward her own home feeling unaccountably lonely. She knew she should take a hackney, and that Nash wo
uld be angry if he discovered she had not. Too often Kitty was mistaken for a lady of the night due to the fact she walked alone, but she never felt afraid. There were too many people about, and she had only a few blocks to cover.

  As she passed the apothecary, she remembered she needed to replenish her supply of Queen Anne’s Lace seeds. The memory of her half-sister, Lady Debenham, whom she’d last encountered the night she’d nearly lost her child—a child she’d clearly become encumbered with too soon—was a stark reminder of the risks Kitty took of having her own child out of wedlock.

  But she was careful. It would break her heart to bring into the world a tiny being who’d be branded a bastard from the moment it took its first breath.

  Inside, she gazed at the dark wooden shelves full of their glass jars and phials of powders and potions, and nervously awaited her turn to be served. She knew the stooped and balding apothecary would peer at her through his wire-framed glasses with great opprobrium, which is why she preferred to shop for such necessaries from Mrs. Mobbs.

  “Kitty!”

  Kitty swung around at the sound of her name, then rushed forward when she saw Dorcas in the shadows, turning away from the counter having just been served.

  She was about to embrace her but Dorcas stepped back, and Kitty noticed the lumpish fellow who stood close, towering over her with a distinctly proprietorial air.

  “It’s so lovely to see you,” Kitty said, lamely. “I hoped you’d visit.”

  “Nah, miss, I told yer ‘ow it is.” Dorcas flicked a glance up at the giant beside her and looked as if she were about to nod farewell, but Kitty reached forward and pressed a coin in the fellow’s hand. “Just two minutes to chat about old times?” she entreated. “I shan’t entice her away.”

  To her surprise, the hulk nodded and stepped back.

  Immediately, Dorcas beamed. “Oh miss, I bin thinkin’ o’ yer such a lot, I ’ave, but didn’t know whetha I should say nuffink an’ didn’t know ‘ow to get a message to yer.”