Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

  “Verbena, I hope this reaches you in time. Your sister nears the end of her confinement, but all is not well with the pregnancy. I am most concerned.”

  The words became hard to read. Verbena realized the letter was shaking in her hands. Her breath shuddered as she fought the cry of fear building inside. She forced herself to continue.

  “I am including funds for you to hire someone to watch the children and for your trip. Please come with all haste. Aunt Mabel”

  Verbena looked up at the man, who handed the solid package of money over. It was heavy.

  The cold had turned his face red, but areas showed spots of white. Her own feet could still feel the chill he had brought in with him. Verbena suddenly realized the white of his hair under his hat was not snow – he was old. His hair was thick, but totally grey, and his hands, when he took the gloves off, were wrinkled, and liberally covered with age spots.

  “Come into the kitchen. It is warmer there, and I will get you a cup of tea. Please, give me your coat.”

  The man took off his greatcoat, stiff with cold and raining snow onto the floor. He was dressed in some dark green livery with gold braids on the shoulders and cuffs, but the braid was fraying, threads had come loose, and the green of his jacket was shiny with wear. He scraped his boots off and followed her. Annabelle and Lizabeth still sat at the table.

  “What is that?” Annabelle asked, staring at the stack in Verbena’s hand.

  “Is that money?” This time it was Lizabeth who had the wide eyes. “Why did he give you money?”

  Verbena looked down at the bundle of notes she held, and back up at the old coachman’s uniform. What had they done when they sent Edeline off to Aunt Mabel’s? What kind of burden had they placed on their mother’s sister?

  “I’m supposed to bring you right away, miss.” The coachman turned his hat around in his spotted hands. “It will take us a good three days to get back, specially in this weather, and yer aunt is a bit worried, she is. I planned on us leaving right away.”

  As if in warning, another gust of wind whistled around the corner of the house, shaking the windows. In those few minutes the light had faded to a faint grey. How long could they possibly travel tonight? “We are waiting for my brothers to come back. I won’t leave until I know they are home safe. A woman in the village has helped us from time to time. I will ask her again.”

  Before he could protest again, she added, “There is a small inn in the village, next to the tavern. The food is good, and I hear it is clean. Why don’t you spend the night there? By the time arrangements have been made, the day will be gone. If we leave early tomorrow, the storm might be over. We will have all day to make up the delay.”

  She poured a cup of tea into her father’s large mug and set it in front of the empty chair. “Please sit. You need something warm inside you before you go out again.”

  The coachman said nothing for a moment, then smiled. The smile softened his old face. “Well, I don’t mind tellin you I did not look forward to headin back out in this weather.” He sat down with the stiffness of age and breathed in the fragrance, then took a careful sip. “Thank you. This will hit the spot.”

  Annabelle looked at her with large, suddenly aware eyes. “Where are you going? Can I go, too? You are not leaving me behind, are you?” Her gaze went from Verbena to the man.

  Lizabeth chimed in, “With him? Who is he? Why does he want you to go?” Her hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “We don’t know him.” Annabelle seemed to have decided the issue for them. “You can’t go with him. He is a man. You can not go with a man, not unless it is Damon.” She folded her arms and glared at the coachman as if it was all his fault and this proclamation from her could settle the matter.

  Damon again. Verbena never knew when the girls would mention his name. Despite the stab of pain every time he came up, it was comforting to know she was not the only one thinking of him and missing him and waiting for him . . .

  She gave herself a mental shake. “This man is from Aunt Mabel.”

  “I don’t know any Aunt Mabel, and I don’t know him. And you don’t neither.” Annabelle’s little chin came out pugnaciously and she switched her glare to Verbena.

  The kitchen door burst open, bringing in more cold and the boys, thank goodness. Their arms were full of branches. They stopped short on seeing the strange man sitting at the table. Matthew remembered to shove the door closed.

  Julius asked first. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

  “Boys, I have to leave tomorrow, the earlier the better. I have to go to Aunt Mabel’s.” Verbena motioned at Aunt Mabel’s man.

  “Aunt Mabel?” Julius’s brow furrowed. “But that is where Edeline went, isn’t it? She already has Edeline there, why does she need you as well?”

  The girls did not know the full extent of the situation, and she did not want them to. Verbena turned to the man. “I need to speak with my brothers privately. Please. Rest. Warm yourself. Have as much tea as you wish. The kettle is full.” She headed toward the parlor, and the boys followed her, tracking snow across the floor. The parlor doors pulled shut smoothly. Damon’s gift. She blurted out the news. “Edeline is having a baby, and Aunt Mabel wrote that something is wrong.”

  “With Edeline?” Julius’s eyebrows came down in a worried frown. “She is having a baby? How long have you known? The whole time?”

  “Yes.” Old guilt rose again. “The whole time.”

  “Oh, Verbena.” His worried eyes matched her own, she was certain. “You should not have let her go. She should be with the Therns. She would be in better hands there. They can afford doctors, and besides, that will be the heir. If it is a boy.”

  “Julius, there is so much she never told you. Things about which she did not want to burden you.” Verbena looked into her brother’s face and suddenly realized how close to being a man he was. “Things were not – easy for her there.”

  “Because we are poor?”

  “Partly.” She hesitated. “Mostly. Anyway, it was her decision.”

  “Verbena, the Therns are in London. There must be hordes of midwives there. And doctors, too. And they have the money to get her care.” He braced fisted hands on his thin hips.

  “Well, she did not want to go with them. She had her reasons. I did try to talk her out of it. But it was her decision.” Verbena swiped a hair out of her eyes. “Aunt Mabel lives in Bath. There are plenty of healers there. No doubt she could receive as good care there as in London. I don’t know what the problem is. I have to go to her, so I will be leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Aunt Mabel left us enough money for my trip, and for Mrs. Downs to come again.”

  Matthew rolled his eyes at his brother, but kept his mouth shut.

  She looked from one to the other. “You two must help out with the girls. I don’t want you to neglect your studies, though.”

  Julius gave a shrug. “Well, if you are determined to go, I will see if Mrs. Downs will come and cook. Don’t worry about the girls. I promise to take over teaching their lessons.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “How much do you want the girls to know?”

  Verbena took a breath, startled by how heavy her chest felt. For the first time, she realized just how very alarmed she was. She might have shoved it aside by concentrating on details, but her body had kept worrying. “I don’t want them afraid. It might be different if they had not come to know her while she stayed, but they were beginning to grow attached to her.”

  Julius nodded. “They are already alarmed. They need to know something. Say Edeline is ill and needs your help. Even bad news is better than not knowing.” Again, she saw the first signs of adulthood, even young wisdom.

  “Thank you, Julius.” She gave him a spontaneous hug. “You, too, Matthew.” Verbena stepped over and pulled him in for a hug as well. “I am so proud of you two. How would I have managed this winter without all your help?”

  Matthew shuffled his feet. “You would have thought of something. You a
lways do. Besides, Damon’s money helped.”

  Verbena reached up to ruffle his hair. “It did, indeed, but you helped us not be a bigger burden than we had to be.” She waved toward the doors, and the kitchen beyond. “Will one of you go with him to the village and hire Mrs. Downs again? If she is willing? There is plenty of money to pay her wages.”

  *

  On the surface, it was a happy meal that evening. Mrs. Downs promised to be over by midday the next day. Despite the few new gowns Verbena had been able to make with Edeline’s money, she had so little to pack that it did not take her long to get everything ready. Her soup, the quickest way to prepare a small meat meal, filled the air with richness. Carrots had been available, saved through the winter by being packed in sand at the general store. Verbena was comforted to know that, with Aunt Mabel’s money, the children would be set for weeks. Not that she would be gone that long.

  There was enough flour for bread for weeks, and the oat bin was full. They had a dozen duck eggs, a string of sausages, a leg of lamb, dried apples and cherries for tarts and pies, and herbs to flavor the food. Julius even had bought walnuts to put in cakes.

  Every now and then the laughter lagged and Verbena knew they – the three eldest – had Edeline on their minds. But for the two younger, they pretended to be carefree.

  After everyone was in bed and the girls had been kissed and hugged extra-long in case they did not wake in time for the morning’s farewell, Verbena lay in her bed and tried not to think about the journey and what lay on the end of it.

  How bad was Edeline? Was Aunt Mabel being overly pessimistic?

  What frightened her most was that her aunt was right and all was truly not well and she would get there too late. Maybe she should have packed her bags and rushed off immediately.

  And blunder through the storm? With an old coachman who had not had any time to get warm? Or be fed? Or have any sleep at all to keep him awake during the terrible journey?

  It would not do anyone any good at all to drive off the road in the swirling white and die of exposure. It had happened, and more than once. Carriages and stages had been found in drifts nearly to the roof, with the passengers frozen to death inside.

  No, she had made the right decision. She would just have to pray that things were not as bad as Aunt Mabel feared.

  But in spite of her reassurances, sleep was slow in coming.

  *

  Morning dawned bright and clear. The world was white and beautiful, but the air hurt the lungs to breathe. The children all were up, handing her last-minute items, the remnants of last night’s soup, carefully packed in a crock, one of Father’s flasks rinsed and filled with water, his greatcoat wrapped over her old pelisse for warmth. The coachman, Cranley, said the carriage had a heavy blanket.

  Verbena decided he needed it far more than she would, and packed another pair of socks.

  The minutes passed by with increasing speed while she peppered them with additional instructions. Food, schooling, “and don’t forget to help Mrs. Downs wash the clothes, be good, I know you will be,” portioning the money so there was enough for her to stop at inns for meals on the way and at least two nights lodging, a promise to write, and at last hugs all around. She had a few seconds of disguised panic when she climbed into Aunt Mabel’s large carriage with the wool padding showing through the fabric of the seats, the once-grand glass windows cracked, and the poor old man in the bitter cold on the driver’s seat.

  The carriage lurched as the horses braced themselves against the thick snow and tugged. Another jerk, the carriage groaned and slid, and then the wheels began to turn, the snowdrifts whooshed and swished against the underside, and the house eased away. The long ride down the drive, trees weighed with the heavy white that sparkled like a world of diamonds, and the small figures of the children standing in the cold at the front door waving grew smaller and smaller.

  She was alone in the carriage with her thoughts, and they were not pleasant company. Was Julius right? Would Edeline have done better in London? Might she have gone if Verbena had not been so willing to help her escape?

  No. If Edeline had gone – or been dragged – to London, she would have been miserable. Worse than miserable. Edeline had been truly afraid.

  All is not well with the pregnancy. I am most concerned.

  She was most concerned now, too.

  CHAPTER 14

  Damon stood by the counter in the bookstore and waited for the attendant to return with Margaret’s book. What had been delicate white flakes for the past day was now coming down large and heavily, pushed by the wind. He was surprised that in this weather the store was as busy as it was, but those who had stayed in London for the winter needed something to distract themselves. If they could just beat the worst of the snow to come, everyone could nestle in front of a fire and read.

  He wondered if his father had been right keeping his family in the city for the winter instead of joining the migration back to the country like most of the ton. Perhaps the sickness that had plagued the women would have found country dwellers as well, and they would not have been safe wherever they stayed. A nasty cough that was slow to pass had started first with Catherine. It moved down into her chest, and for days they had wondered if they might lose her so soon after Andrew. The memory of seeing his younger sister, the one so like him in looks, her own dark hair matted and dull, her face flushed and dry with fever, still made him shudder.

  Leaving London then had been unthinkable. The doctor had done all he could but told them he had other patients just as ill, and left them to mop her brow and pray alone.

  Catherine’s fever had finally broken, just in time for the sickness to move onto his mother. Once again, he had given up all thought of travelling north. They had just believed their prayers for her had been answered when Margaret began coughing. It had been a desperate time. Imogene was still hot. Her cough brought up ugly green mucous. Margaret’s fever seemed to rise with no end in sight.

  Damon would stand outside the door of one or the other and, between his own prayers, wonder if this desperate sickness reached beyond London. Reached as far as Thernbury, and that little house on the edge of the village. One letter to his sister-in-law and a box might be overlooked. A second letter would cause the very talk he most wanted to avoid. Not to mention linking him to Edeline.

  He often thought of traveling back to Thernwood, but leaving now, with this frightening sickness raging through his own family, was impossible. He had to content himself with letters to the housekeeper, and the desperate wait for a reply. Word came back that no one there was ill, but nothing had been said about the villagers.

  Visits to the apothecary became an almost daily event. Packets of herbs were stirred into water they had to fight to get the two women to swallow.

  Only he and his father seemed to have escaped its ravages. Even the servants spent days dragging through their chores and hacking. Thankfully there had not been a new case in the house for a week or more now, his mother was eating again, and Margaret finally felt well enough to become demanding. Hence this trip in the snow and cold.

  He had kept his word – of sorts. He had not gone back in person, but rather sent Edeline that trunk of trinkets and keepsakes from her house. He hoped he picked correctly. One coat or hat looked much like another. He had chosen other things as well: vases, jewelry boxes with necklaces and bracelets, a couple books with Andrew’s signature in them, and other odds and ends.

  The thing that kept his hopes high and the waiting both easier and harder, was that the grateful reply had come not from Edeline, but from Verbena. And it had been both formal and warmly informal, starting with the salutation, “Dear Mr. Thern,” and ending with “warmest regards.”

  That same letter rested safely locked beneath his accounts book in his desk drawer in his study. The bills from the village stores took on a new, more intimate tone, as if her purchases of fabric, mutton and dried fruit were in lieu of another letter.

  Damon leaned back
against the counter and scanned the store. An elderly woman in rich fur with a hat nearly as tall as she was strolled along the shelves. Her companion, clearly her maid, holding a basket and the woman’s gloves, trailed by her side. Several young bucks browsed by the section on military history and bragged about what they planned to do to Napoleon when they were able to join the army.

  Damon hoped Napoleon was long dead before they were able to join. There were horrors in war that did not belong anywhere, especially not in a peaceful bookstore in the heart of London’s fashionable district.

  A young woman browsing the shelves against the far wall must have finally warmed up. He smiled as she impatiently brushed the hood of her cape back off her head. Beneath the bonnet the hood had hidden, her hair peeked out and caught his eye, as yellow as summer sunshine, with a hint of curl.

  He knew that hair, that wash of golden curls. How had she gotten here and what was she doing in London? He took a step forward, only to be blocked by a large woman and an equally large basket.

  The young woman turned. It was not Verbena after all.

  Of course it would not be. She was stuck in that tiny village, taking care of her brothers and sisters.

  But when the bookstore’s door opened and another patron scurried in, bringing a wash of cold air, Damon could not stop his mind from traveling back to that small, worn house where the Barnes would likely be facing the same storm that swirled outside.

  Was it as cold in Thernbury as it was here in London? At least he knew Verbena – and Edeline and the children, of course – were being cared for. It made the months easier to bear.