Lavender Lady

by Carola Dunn

  “The living at Lavenham is a good one, and I was brought up wanting for nothing except youthful company. My father is the sort of churchman who has more belief in damnation than in salvation, and from the age of ten I was not permitted to play with my contemporaries lest I be led astray. My brother is some years older than I, and the dearest person. I am sure that his religion is very different, though I have never heard him preach.

  “However, it was to my father’s sermons that I was forced to conform, so I reached the age of nineteen without ever speaking to a young man, let alone having any admirers. Imagine my feelings, then, when walking in the fields near my home I was overtaken by a gentleman on horseback who enquired the way to Audley End and complimented my eyes. I was covered with confusion, and that devil incarnate swore my blushes made my eyes shine the brighter.

  “He disclosed his name, Sir Hubert Rathwycke, and that he was staying at Audley End for several weeks. He asked, did I often walk that way? and I, foolish maiden, smiled and blushed again and nodded.

  “That was how it started. Daily he rode from Audley End to meet me in the meadows, and daily I went to find him there, telling myself I did but take my usual walk. How short a time it was before he professed undying love! Any female more worldly-wise than I must have been suspicious. I pressed him to call on my father. He threw my own words back at me: that my father waxed wrathful at the most innocent signs of passion. We must present my parents with a fait accompli. How romantic it would be to flee to Gretna Green together, whispered the tempter in my ear.

  “I fear I did not long resist. Rathwycke is a handsome man in a dark, satanic way. I thought myself in love with him, willing even to forego my parents’ blessing for the heaven of being his wife. I met him at midnight, not three weeks from our first acquaintance, and not until sunrise did I realise that the post chaise was rushing southward, that every mile which carried me away from my home carried me likewise further from any hope of marriage.

  “Sir Hubert owns an isolated house in the Hertfordshire countryside, near Hemel Hempstead. Thither he bore me, and them despite my struggles and entreaties, he encompassed my ruin. The very next day, already tired of his conquest, he set me on a horse behind his servant, whom he bade take me home.

  “I had left a letter for my parents telling them I was to be married, yet they were not surprised to see me return unwed. The appearance of rectitude being more important to them than its actuality, they had concealed my absence and now took me back, with many reproaches and penances. All too soon I discovered I was with child, which I hid from my parents as long as possible. About the end of the sixth month, I grew too big for concealment, and what I had suffered till then was nothing to the misery I now knew. They put it about that I had gone to visit relatives and shut me up in my chamber. I know not why they did not cast me off at once. But I surmise that they thought some accident of nature might still allow the preservation of appearances.

  “For three months, until the birth of my child, and for two months thereafter while I was too ill to walk, I saw only an old serving-woman. Not a word had I from my mother. I wrote to my dear brother, telling him all, but I suppose the letters were destroyed, for I had no answer, not even of condemnation. At last I was somewhat recovered, and the baby proving healthy and not like to die, my God-fearing parents thrust me out of the house just after dark one night. It was a fine night; I will allow them that.

  “Since then I have trudged the highroads, gradually selling my small bundle for food, aiming always for Somersetshire. Could I but reach my brother and show him my poor innocent child, I cannot believe he would not have compassion on us.

  “It’s too late now for me. I beg of you that you will write to him, John Collingwood at the vicarage in Wiveliscombe, and ask him to take care of little John, his namesake. And oh, I pray to see his face before I die!”

  Exhausted by her long and impassioned recitation, eyes dry and burning in her wasted face, Grace fell back against the pillows. Hester, who had listened to her history with mounting horror and indignation, moved from the chair to the edge of the bed, clasped her in her arms, and kissed her forehead. No word of sympathy was adequate. All she could do was give her fervent promise to write at once to the Vicar of Wiveliscombe.

  The promise given, Grace fell into a deep sleep. Her face, which had grown flushed with emotion as she spoke, was again deathly pale. She did not stir as the long hot afternoon slowly passed, but she awoke at sunset. Dr. Price shook his head gravely and said there was nothing more he could do. She was so weak she did not even attempt to hold her baby, though she begged to see his face one last time.

  She lay awake all evening, with Hester holding her icy hand. Toward midnight she whispered something, and Hester bent her head to hear.

  “Would your . . . vicar . . . come to me . . . and not condemn?”

  “I will send my brother.”

  Hester woke Jamie and sent him quickly to St. Mary’s Vicarage. Twenty minutes later he returned with Reverend Smythe, who had a greatcoat flung on over his nightshirt, his feet clad in carpet slippers, and a chequered nightcap on his head. Hester met the old cleric at the door and hurriedly told Grace’s story as she led him upstairs.

  She left them for a few minutes while she made a cup of tea. When she returned to the chamber, he was sitting in the chair clasping Grace’s hand, and the dying girl had the faintest of smiles on her face. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them briefly to cast a look full of gratitude at Hester.

  She died in the earliest hours of the morning, as the grey false dawn paled the eastern sky. Mr. Smythe, who had nodded off, woke then and told Hester he would make all the necessary arrangements. Looking with concern at her drawn face, he made her go and lie down.

  Hester slept all day. In spite of the coming and going of beadle, coffin-maker, and old women, the house was hushed. Even Robbie was subdued, and the baby, cosseted by Alice, did not cry.

  Jamie woke his sister at dinnertime. Though she had eaten very little for three days, her appetite was small. After a quiet meal, she went to see Mr. Fairfax.

  “I’m afraid I have quite neglected my other patient,” she apologised, trying to smile. “It was yesterday that you were supposed to have ventured below stairs, sir.”

  “My dear,” he said gravely, “you cannot think that I consider my claims so highly. You have borne a heavy burden these last days.”

  “It was . . . difficult. However, I have not forgot that I was excessively rude to you on Sunday. Pray forgive me. The situation was much as I supposed, yet even his evil doing pales before the conduct of her parents. To cast her out, ill and alone, with a newborn baby—their own grandchild! I cannot bear to think of it.”

  For the first time in all the stressful hours, Hester felt tears welling up. Ashamed, she hid her face in her hands and voiced a muffled apology. “I do beg your pardon. I do not in general act like a watering-pot.”

  Wordless, Mr. Fairfax laid his hand on her shoulder. As if his sympathy were the last straw, Hester broke down and wept. He felt his heart swell within him and longed desperately to take her in his arms and protect her, to take care of her and carry for her all the burdens he sensed were too great for her slender strength. And he was tied to his bed.

  Even had he been free, he realised, this was not the time to profess a newly discovered love. She was tired and overwrought; any confession on his part would simply be another burden to her. Already he was beginning to withdraw from his recognition of his own emotions. He had admired her strength, her serenity. Now that she had lost them, what more natural than that he should want to protect her? The urge was as instinctive as a mother’s urge to feed her children.

  He patted her back and gave her his handkerchief.

  “Thank you,” she sniffed, with a watery smile. “I am so very sorry. I have no right to bring my troubles to you, nor the intention. Only I could not cry before the children. I feel better now.”

  “Yes, I have always heard that a g
ood cry helps. Would that we men were permitted such an outlet.”

  “I hope you do not feel like weeping, Mr. Fairfax! I promise you shall go down tomorrow, without fail. Are you quite determined to lie in the back room? You will have no peace or privacy, you know.”

  “If I shall not be in your way. I daresay there may be days when I shall prefer the parlour. But tell me, do you think James and Geoffrey will be able to carry me down the stairs?”

  “They carried you up, so unless you have eaten too much gingerbread they should manage. The chief problem I foresee is persuading Robbie that he cannot help. He is most insistent that he can carry your head, or perhaps one foot. So Geoff told him that as they are not detachable he would only get in the way. Then Alice accused Geoffrey of being coarse, and Geoff protested that he had not advocated dismembering you. At that point I left the room.”

  “What, you did not stay to ascertain that Robbie would not take it into his head to separate my parts? Fie, fie, Miss Godric! When I wake up headless tomorrow, I shall hold you to blame.”

  “I daresay Dr. Pierce would also consider it careless of me. I must remind you of his directions. You are not, under any circumstances, to put any weight on your leg.”

  ‘‘Yes, ma'am.”

  “If it should be a great deal more painful after you have been moved, you are to confess and return to your bed for another week.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You must lie on the sofa and not move to a chair for at least another two weeks.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I only wish my brothers were half so obedient,” sighed Hester.

  “But perhaps I am merely wheedling you,” suggested Mr. Fairfax wickedly.

  Chapter 6

  Grace was buried the next day in St. Mary’s churchyard. Hester, James, and Geoffrey went to the simple, sparsely attended service, Alice being too tearful to join them.

  “Anyway, I have to mind the baby,” she said with dignity.

  Afterwards, Hester wrote to the Vicar of Wiveliscombe. She assumed that he had not received a letter from his sister and told him the whole story, explaining that Grace’s last wish had been that he see to the upbringing of his nephew. Nevertheless, she assured him that she would give a home to the baby if he could not. Closing with a request for a prompt response, she sealed the letter, sent Robbie to the post with it, and turned to her next task.

  Mr. Fairfax was expecting her. Cheerfully, she asked him if he was ready for his great adventure.

  “Quite ready,” he replied, “though I shall perfectly understand if you wish to postpone it until tomorrow. It is not easy to shake off the distressing impressions of such a harrowing experience as you have just passed through.”

  “It may seem heartless, but one cannot brood over such a happening; indeed one ought not. People who brood do not notice the next person in need who chances by. If I had been still in the mopes over your accident, I’d have been unable to help Grace. Now there is no more I can do for her, so I shall make up for my unconscionable neglect of you, I hope.”

  “Miss Alice and the boys and Ivy have taken good care of me, never fear. And I beg you will not tell Mistress Ivy, but I vow Susan’s cooking is quite as good as hers. Neither compares with yours, of course. What is for luncheon?”

  “You will see when you are below stairs. I fear the boys will not be able to manage your weight if you eat first.”

  “Wretch! If I am grown fat, it is entirely your fault. Pray say that you do not think I shall have to wear corsets, like Prinny.”

  “Does he really? You are bamming me, Mr. Fairfax. I had heard the rumour but could not credit it.”

  “You should hear him creak every time he moves, and you’d believe.”

  “You met him then? You moved in exalted circles, sir.”

  “Oh, the Regent is not the least exclusive,” assured Lord Alton hurriedly. “Where are my bearers, Miss Godric? They shall find me halfway down the stairs if they do not hurry!”

  Hester went to the door and called. “James! Geoffrey! Mr. Fairfax threatens to carry himself below!”

  Robbie was persuaded to be satisfied with carrying a waterglass and some books, and very shortly Mr. Fairfax was ensconced on a comfortably overstuffed, faded chintz sofa. He looked somewhat green about the gills.

  “Are you in great pain?” asked Hester anxiously, shooing her brothers out. “You do not look at all the thing.”

  “I confess I do not feel in prime twig,” admitted Mr. Fairfax with a crooked grin, “but I promise I am not yet ready to stick my spoon in the wall. My leg is not so bad. To tell the truth, I felt a little faint.”

  “Burnt feathers! Smelling salts! Lavender water! I shall fetch—”

  “No, pray do not. It is past already. I’ve no wish to make a cake of myself.”

  His colour was indeed a little improved, but Hester insisted on bathing his forehead with lavender water. He lay half-dreaming after the unaccustomed exertion, basking in the warmth of the fire, for it was a chilly, damp day, the first of autumn. The fresh, delicate scent pervaded the air and stilled the dizziness in his head.

  “Do not let it worry you,” Hester said in her gentle voice. “Recollect that you have been confined to your bed for a whole month. The weakness will not last.”

  Overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude, he took her hand and pressed a kiss on her fingers.

  “My angel of mercy,” he murmured, and fell asleep.

  Withdrawing her hand from his clasp, Hester felt tears rising to her eyes. She had a deplorable tendency to cry recently, she thought crossly. Well, she didn’t know what it was this time, for sure. She was growing as vapourish as Alice, and she had a family to take care of. She went to make lunch, feeling inexplicably low.

  * * * *

  Mr. Fairfax slept scarce half an hour and woke in fine fettle, very ready for luncheon. They all ate with him in the back parlour, sitting at the scratched and ink-stained table, which more often saw lesson books than the platters of cold ham and beef and bowls of fruit that were now set upon it.

  Mr. Fairfax, feeling now entirely one of the family, could not imagine how he had endured the isolation of the bedchamber above.

  “For though you all visited me often,” he declared, “now I may take part in your daily activities. When it comes to lessons, Robbie shall see what a harsh taskmaster I can be, as James already knows.”

  James mimed terror, as Hester protested, “I was going to move lessons into the dining room if you truly wish us to take meals here with you.”

  “I’m not afraid of him,” said Robbie stoutly, “for we go on famously together, don’t we, sir?”

  “Do you not think I should beat you with a cane?”

  “No, for you cannot get up, and besides Hester would not let you, would you, Hester?”

  “It’s all a hum,” Susan told him scornfully. “Mr. Fairfax don’t wish to teach a clothhead like you.”

  “Nor will he wish to eat with any of us if this squabbling continues,” pointed out Hester. “Geoff, I think it is coming on to rain. You’ll not be working outside this afternoon?”

  “No, I suppose not. If you have time, I should like to show you the cottage plans Barstow’s bailiff gave me. There are one or two things I don’t understand.”

  “Oh dear, I am sure you know more about it than I do. Though I’ll have a look if you feel I might be able to help,” Hester consented valiantly.

  “Now there I might be of assistance,” put in Mr. Fairfax. “I have some experience in the matter.” Noticing Hester’s surprised look, he hastily added, “A friend of mine with a large estate was building, new cottages a few years ago, and he asked my advice. I found the subject interesting and did considerable research into modern building methods.”

  In fact, his father had not been in his grave a year before he had begun rehousing all his tenants. He was no absentee landlord wringing every penny from neglected land, though he did leave the day-to-day running of his estate
to a steward. A steward who was elderly and slowing down and ought to be training a replacement, he thought, looking speculatively at Geoffrey.

  Unaware of the tentative plans being made for his future, Geoff was full of gratitude for the present offer of assistance. He even helped Rob and Susan clear the table in his haste to explain his difficulties to Mr. Fairfax and obtain his views on the excellence, or otherwise, of the plans.

  Mr. Fairfax, favourably impressed by Geoffrey’s grasp of the subject, was able to solve the problems and make several useful suggestions. They were deep in a discussion of the ways in which the lot of the rural labourer might be improved when James came in with his Greek books.

  Acres of plans were removed from Mr. Fairfax’s legs to the table, where Geoff continued to study them, and the Greek lesson commenced, interrupted by occasional queries about damp courses and flues. Hester, dismissing objections, had moved the children’s lessons into the dining room.

  At about four o’clock, she went to make tea. Robbie accompanied her to the kitchen, where he cut himself a huge doorstep of bread and butter and then made his escape by the back door. It was no longer raining, though the sky was grey and a chill wind blew, so Hester let him go. Not that rain would have stopped him.

  While the kettle boiled, Hester cut some bread. On a day like this, it was pleasant to make toast at the fireside. It always had a special smoky flavour to it, even if it did burn a bit.

  Sending Susan to fetch Alice, who was sewing in the baby’s room, she made the tea, set everything on a tray, and carried it across the hall. Alice, the baby in her arms, was just entering the parlour with Susan on her heels. Looking past her sisters, Hester saw a welcoming light spring into Mr. Fairfax’s eyes. Her suspicions were confirmed; he loved Alice.

  Thrusting the tray into Susan’s hands, she muttered, “Strawberry jam,” and hurried back to the kitchen, where she sank onto a stool and burst into tears. Even as she wept, she told herself that she was being very silly. At his age, she pointed out to herself, he must have been in love before, and disappointment had obviously not killed him. Alice might even learn to return his regard. And if she did not, but broke his heart, why should she, Hester, be weeping for him? Anyway, it was more than likely that the welcome had been for the tea tray; after an afternoon of architecture and ancient history, surely that was the most desirable sight a man could see.