“It is important for you to know your heritage.” Bettina made a bid. She mused on her own history. Her father descended from an old respected French family. A heaviness weighed her down over losing him too soon.
“The inn where you work was part of this estate. Uncle said estates used to have their own inns for guests.” Frederick snatched up her cards. “I won that one.”
Bettina wanted to laugh at the inn’s connection to Bronnmargh, a connection she knew was snapped in half.
“You fancy Uncle Everett, don’t you, Mademoiselle?”
She sucked in her breath at his astute remark. Frederick’s blue eyes looked hopeful, and she blinked. “I believe your uncle has other lady friends.” She smiled to hide the pain of betrayal that churned again inside her.
“Oh, no, after Aunt Miriam left, I’ve never seen him with another lady.” The boy bent forward. “I think he fancies you, too.”
“I … I do have something important to discuss with you.” Bettina ignored the nick of sadness and laid down her cards. The guilt of deserting this innocent child welled up in her. “I plan to travel to London myself, in about two weeks. I intend to find my mother, or other family members there.”
“But you’ll come back?” He kicked the table leg.
“I do not think so. I need to make my own life, elsewhere.” She reached out to clasp his hand.
“You have to return. Who will teach me French?” He snatched back his hand and crumpled up the cards.
Bettina thought of the boarding school he might be forced to go to. “I wish I did not have to leave you.”
“Everyone leaves!” The child stood, his eyes moist. “My mother, my father, now you.”
Surprised by his vehemence, Bettina jolted back in the chair. “I am sorry, I….”
He stomped from the room. Bettina understood his deep sense of loss. Everything had slipped through her fingers since the revolution. She stared at her porous fingers, then covered her face, the lump in her throat about to choke her.
Chapter Eighteen
“I won’t do it. Not her … she’s so young. I’ve done enough bringing her here. They’ll have to solve this some other way. She probably doesn’t know a thing about it. She would be of no use to them.” Armand’s voice rasped in the next room. Bettina heard it clearly through the wall as he argued with Madame Hilaire. Armand rushed into her room and grasped her hand, pulling her up. He steered her to the top of a dark, bare set of stairs. They began to descend. He held a lantern, but Bettina couldn’t see more than two steps in front of her. Armand whispered for her to ‘uncover the truth’, but when she turned, he had disappeared. She felt trapped, staring into what must be Bronnmargh’s cellar. She took another step, but someone grabbed her by the arm and jerked her back.
“Mamsell, wake up. Why you be shivering so?” Kerra’s harsh whisper filled her ears as she shook her arm. “You have to help me.”
“What is the matter?” Bettina sat up with a gasp. Disoriented, she rubbed her face, the convoluted dream still swirling in her mind. “What time is it?”
“Before cockcrow … hurry, get dressed.” Kerra hovered over her with a flickering candle. She looked haggard, her eyes red and moist.
“What is it? What has happened?” Bettina studied her through groggy eyes. In reluctance, she swept aside her blanket and plopped her feet on the cool floor.
“I done something wrong, I know … but it be too late.” Kerra sat beside her on the bed. “I'm breeding. Maybe two months. Kept trying to deny it, but I’m certain sure of it now.”
“Breeding? Hélas!” Bettina clasped her friend’s trembling hand, her stomach doing flips. She’d waited in fear for her own menses to start. “Oh, Kerra, does Charlie know?”
“Fie, I can’t tell him. He told me he didn't want no wife nor children till he got his little farm workin’, money saved. That’s why he don’t want marriage for a spell.”
“But he should know; this changes everything.” Bettina thought of her similar words to Everett and cringed. “He will marry you now, will he not?” She spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. Men didn’t offer marriage when you thought they should.
“You don’t understand.” The candle flame wavered from Kerra’s gush of breath. “I don’t want to trap him into marrying me. Ain’t no good that way. I may be peasant poor to some people, but I want a man to marry me ’cause he loves me, not since he has to.”
“Yes, you are right, we all want that.” Bettina sighed and hugged an arm around Kerra’s bony shoulders. “But … tell me, how many times does it take to … become with child?”
“Uh … I dunno. At least three or four times.” Kerra sniffed and wiped tears from her cheeks. “Will you help me?”
Bettina felt slightly relieved, but she had never seen Kerra this fragile. “What do you intend to do? How can I help?”
“First, Maddie must never know, she’d be so angry. There’s a doctor down near Padstow who’ll … take care of things for the right price. Lend me the money. I'll pay you back a little each month. I know you been saving your—”
“Take care of things? You are not thinking of…. It sounds too dangerous. In my religion, it is a terrible sin.” But Bettina had already sinned by having sex with Everett without the sanctity of marriage, and her piety had gone by the wayside long ago.
“It’s the only means out for me. I be careful from now on, till we do get married. I swear it. But that might be a year or two.” Kerra’s little face scrunched up. “Please help me with the money. An’ go to Padstow with me, now.”
Bettina dropped down and squeezed under her bed, reaching to the far corner where she had loosened the floorboard—ages ago, it seemed. Here she’d stashed her necklace, along with her savings. “How much will it cost?” she asked, drawing out the guinea Everett had left her when he went on a previous London visit. She gripped it, hating to part with her path to freedom.
“That should be enough.” Kerra took the coin, running a thumb over its surface. “Now please get dressed. We must go quick afore Maddie gets up and asks questions.”
Bettina pulled her nightgown off, then held it over the breasts Everett so recently kissed. Her resentment toward him faded with that memory, but only for a second. “How will we travel to Padstow? Is it not a couple of hours from here? I do not think you will be able to ride a horse after….” She hadn’t even known of such procedures until living at the inn.
“I did plan for that. Borrowed Charlie’s gig an’ horse, telling him Maddie wanted me to pick up supplies in Port Isaac today. He brung it here last night. I wanted to ask you then, but thought it best to surprise you. Hurry, let’s be off.”
* * * *
In the dawn chill, the two of them hitched up the gig and urged a sleepy horse out onto the road. They traveled in strange silence, watching the sunrise in a milky yellow haze as they rambled down the coast. Bettina’s concern for Kerra was magnified by her own recent actions—reckless actions that could lead to this very condition. “I still think you should speak to Charlie. He loves you, he will—”
“Nay, my mind is made up.”
“But there must be other ways. You might go somewhere, a convent, and have the baby.”
Kerra snorted and shook her head.
“This doctor, where did you hear of him?” Bettina asked, watching her pale profile.
Kerra gripped the reins and shifted on the seat. “His name’s Thatcher. Lives out on Pentire point, this side before Padstow. Dory told me about him.”
So this was something Dory was an expert on, disposing of unwanted babies? Bettina didn’t dare ask.
“Charlie ain’t no ne’er-do-well like his brothers.” Kerra’s tone was sharp. “Works real hard and steady, he wants to make a good life.”
“But if he plans to marry you … oh, what do we know of men’s plans.”
A seagull screeched overhead.
“You angry? What of you an’ Camborne?”
“We are … there is no
thing between us.” Her heart sank, but she was growing used to that reaction. The gig rattled on and she swayed with its rhythm.
“He thinks he’s too above you, don’t he?”
“We do not have the same future in mind.” Bettina tried to soften the bitterness from her tone. She realized her plans from the start hadn’t included any romantic relationship.
“I tried drinkin’ the wormwood and pennyroyal, as Dory said sometimes works, but it didn’t do nothing.” Kerra twisted the leather reins in her hands.
Bettina rubbed her throat. She might have to resort to such actions. How sinful her life had become.
They passed Port Isaac and the sun rose higher, bringing a stab of warmth to this coastal land. The scent of wild garlic rose from the drying grass. Farther south, Kerra directed the horse down a narrow twisting road tangled with bracken. The road curved under a sharp cliff. At the bottom, a small slate cottage appeared to have sprouted from the cliff side. The place looked neglected, with weeds growing in the wall’s cracks.
The wind moaned, a suffering sound, and slapped Bettina’s hair into her face. She shivered, her hand reaching for Kerra. “This is not a wise idea. Let us go—”
“Be still now.” Kerra hopped down and rang a rusted bell that hung above the door. It made a dull clatter. Bettina joined her on the step.
A stout florid-faced man of over fifty years opened the door. His shock of white hair tumbled uncombed on his forehead. “Can I be of service to you ladies?”
Bettina resented his small eyes as he squinted at them through thick spectacles. His shirt was creased and stained beneath a frayed waistcoat.
“Are you Dr. Thatcher?” Kerra asked in a shrill voice.
“Do come in.” He swung the door wide, and they entered a dim parlor. The man shooed a cat off a settee cluttered with papers, books, and other rubbish. Bettina wrinkled her nose at the sour smell of the room.
“A friend of mine says you can help me,” Kerra said, her little face pale and earnest.
“That all depends.” Thatcher leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his paunch.
“I need to get rid o’ something. We has money. We can pay.” Kerra’s voice splintered and she began to shake.
Bettina grabbed her hand, squeezing it. “We can go. You can forget this and make Charlie—”
“Nay, I come this far, I has to be done with it.” Kerra pulled back her hand, her chin lifted in determination. “I’m breeding, an’ don’t wanna be. Can you fix it for me, doctor?”
“Let me see your money,” he said, officious in the face of their distress. Bettina disliked him even more.
Kerra showed him the gold guinea, then handed it to Bettina. “When you’re finished, she’ll pay you.”
“Then let’s get started. Follow me.” Thatcher opened a door to the right. Bettina started to move alongside Kerra, but Thatcher put out a wide hand. “Sorry, you’ll need to wait out here. It’s my policy.”
Bettina stood back, hands clenched, as they disappeared behind the door. This man must be an incompetent doctor to perform such surgery. He had some nerve to event out a ‘policy’. Weren’t women known to die during these reprehensible procedures?
Her ire switched to alarm, and she flung aside items on the settee and sat. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to think of something else. The dream. Armand. Who had he been trying to protect her from? The revolutionaries? Could her anger toward his sending her to England be misplaced? She remained tormented about the old man’s intentions. Perhaps the Hunter had the answer, but he taunted her with it.
Her life had sunk so low. She didn’t want to end up with the possibility of a base born child. After all, she questioned Kerra’s expertise on such matters. She clamped her fingers to her abdomen and knew she’d be damned from ever re-entering any decent society.
Despite this, Bettina relived the way it felt when Everett kissed her. Their naked bodies sweetly entwined before it turned painful. She took another deep breath. The cat meowed and glared at her from under a shabby chair, twitching its tail. She heard a whimper from the next room and stifled her own urge to cry out.
* * * *
After an excruciating amount of time, the doctor reappeared in the doorway with Kerra. Thatcher’s florid cheeks glistened with sweat. “You can take her home now, we’re finished.”
Bettina sprang up and clasped the arm of her trembling friend. Kerra looked ghastly, as if every ounce of blood had drained from her skinny body. “Mon Dieu, Kerra.”
“There might be a small amount of bleeding. Just put her to bed with her feet up … and don’t forget my fee.” Thatcher held out his plump hand.
Bettina tossed the coin onto his rumpled settee, then assisted Kerra out to the gig. “I hope I never have to see that odious man again.”
“Ooof … same for me, Mamsell.” Kerra’s voice sounded distant. She whimpered when Bettina helped her to the seat.
Bettina slapped the reins and the horse clopped up the narrow lane. Kerra sat hunched over, groaning at each bump and jostle. Bettina had no words to comfort her. After almost a mile on the main road, her friend sagged forward, whimpering.
Bettina stopped the gig. “Are you about to be sick?”
“My insides hurt like hell! I think he done something terrible to me!” Kerra looked down at her dress and screamed.
Bettina stared in horror at a red blotch pooling in her friend’s lap. Kerra began to slide off the seat. Bettina grabbed for her, but she crumpled to the floorboards. Kerra’s skirt bunched up, blood running down her legs. A blood-soaked wad of cloth squelched between her feet. Ripping at her own petticoat, Bettina stuffed another ball of material between Kerra’s thighs.
“Is this what he calls a small amount of bleeding?” Bettina cursed the butchering Dr. Thatcher. Bile rose in her throat at the stench of blood.
Her thin body wedged between the seat and footboard, Kerra squirmed and moaned in agony. “Don’t touch me no more, please!”
“I have to stop the bleeding.” Bettina applied even more pressure, both her hands saturated with blood. “I am taking you to the doctor in Port Isaac.” She left Kerra where she lay and beat the horse into a gallop up the coastal road.
“Nay, nay, Mamsell.” Kerra grasped Bettina’s ankle. “Take me to Dory’s.”
“Do not be insane, we are going to the doctor.”
“Then they’ll all know what I done. No!” Kerra glared at Bettina with huge frightened eyes, her pallid skin stretched tight against her skull.
“Affreux, Kerra, you will die if I do not. You need this help.”
“Please, please take me to Dory’s. She can help me. I’d soon as die than have that quack spreading word ’bout Kerra Tregons bein’ a whore. The Justice might even be called in. What would Charlie’s mamm say?” Kerra gripped Bettina’s ankle until it hurt.
“It is a little late to worry about his mamm. But I cannot let you die. I cannot.” Bettina sobbed, the leather reins biting into her hands, the metallic smell of blood all around her.
“I won’t die, I promise. You hafta do this. Dory lives in the first cottage in the village on the right.” Kerra started to pant. “’Course if Mads finds out, she’ll kill us both.”
“Parbleu, this is total lunacy.” Fighting more tears, Bettina threw out better judgment after more begging from Kerra and the threat of arrest, and bypassed Port Isaac. She took odd comfort in Kerra’s grip on her ankle, for it meant she clung to life.
Dory ushered them inside her tiny cottage. A field rush dipped in fat burned a smoky light.
“Bring her over here,” Dory said in a sluggish voice, leading them behind a partition. A frail older woman crouched on a thin mattress on the floor. “Can we use the bed, Mamm?”
“I hope no one saw us. Let us take these bloody clothes off. We will need warm water to clean her.” Bettina laid Kerra down and removed her shoes and stockings. Kerra didn’t protest, but closed her eyes and fainted.
“Did a right
bad job, did he?” Dory stared at the profusion of blood as if she couldn’t believe all the fuss.
Bettina swallowed a retort. “Hand me that blanket. I will prop up her feet to stem the flow.”
“Mamm, fix up that herb drink to stop the bleedin’,” Dory called to the older woman. “Maddie says the Lady’s Mantle works best.”
Bettina shook Kerra awake to sip the herb potion. Then she checked between Kerra’s legs. The bleeding seemed to have slowed. Bettina ripped more of her petticoat and applied a fresh bandage. She watched her friend, so frail in just her threadbare shift, sink back to sleep. Bettina tucked more blankets around her.
At last Bettina rose and stood in exhaustion in Dory’s front room—or only room, it appeared. Four children stared at her from behind a table, where they whispered and shoved at each other.
“Gets up to the talfat, you rascals!” Dory ordered.
The youngsters of varying ages scrambled up a ladder to a loft-like protrusion, a crude plank structure a foot and a half from the ceiling. They poked their heads over the edge and giggled.
“That’s me brothers ’n sisters, and me mamm,” Dory said with a tired wave of her hand.
The older woman, now sitting on the hearth, nodded and smiled, showing a missing front tooth. Harboring bloody visitors must have been commonplace to her.
Bettina grasped Dory’s sleeve and leaned close. “Promise me, if Kerra becomes worse you will send for the doctor—the reputable doctor, in Port Isaac.”
Dory frowned. “An’ who’s gonna pay for it?”
“I will. Please promise me.” Bettina turned to leave, half-afraid to abandon Kerra to Dory’s care.
“If you says so.” Dory flicked a scuttling cockroach aside with her bare toe. “Don’t see why, when a doctor done the damage to start with.”
“Just do as promised.” Bettina stormed out the door with an angry shudder so Dory’s mamm wouldn’t have to witness her daughter being slapped.
Instead, she hopped into the gig and slapped the reins over the horse’s back. The animal cantered up the road. Parking the gig near the inn stable, Bettina put the horse in a stall. She scrubbed her hands at the pump where the water ran pink, then splashed a bucketful over the gig’s floorboards. She tiptoed in through the kitchen, lamenting that she’d have to work an extra month to gain back the money she’d lost.
Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) Page 19