The Marquis started at the suggestion, for the girl's aunt was Mary Strongbow. He took only a minute to decide, however, and nodded in compliance. Darwin, who had not yet quit the room—hovering over his master as usual—went into the hall and called for a footman, giving the order. Both the doctor, the midwife... and Mary Strongbow were sent for.
As the pain increased, Hannah withdrew more and more into a state of nervous collapse. Her eyes wandered the room and when they fell upon the Marquis, she sat up and pointed at him.
Hannah cried out, the terrible physical pain, coupled with the pain in her soul, tearing at her. The vindictive, hateful words that issued from her throat rang in the Marquis' ears, his heart sore to watch Hannah suffering so, her words ripping him to shreds.
"I am lost, for God will not forgive what I have done... and you have led me to this. You have taken my soul!"
Hannah tossed back onto the bed, her body heaving with each new pain, but it was her mind that was spent, for her eyes, though they were fixed on the Marquis, saw nothing in front of her. Her eyes were trained on a distant place... and place where only she could go.
The Marquis moved to a chair in the far corner and sat, his head hanging low, his hands limp on the curved arms of the seat. He had not realized until now how much he cared for the girl, and her invective had pierced his heart, for she had become as a daughter to him. All for the want of an heir, he thought, so many people hurt, and suddenly wondered—for a fleeting moment—if it had all been worth it.
Hannah continued to thrash about, mumbling incoherently one moment, screaming in pain the next. Elspeth endeavored to hold her mistress still, with little success. The young woman was too lost in her dementia, too much a part of her pain, to be stilled.
When, less than fifteen minutes later, Mary Strongbow came quietly into the sleeping chamber, she ignored the Marquis, who still sat in the corner, and going straight to the bed, motioned for Elspeth to move aside. Taking the ranting girls hands in a firm grip she leaned over her as though to study her face.
Her eyes trained on the girl, she told the others—in a firm voice—to leave the room immediately and so they did. She never looked to see that they were gone.
Mary then knelt by the bed and began to sing a lullaby, holding onto Hannah's hands. The girl quieted some at the soft sweet melody, but when a fresh pain took her, she wrenched against it, the muscles in her body straining for release her from torture.
It was all Mary could do to keep her from plunging to the floor, for the girl leaned into her, pushing. Mary, not a small woman, and very strong, inclined all of her weight against the bed, feeling her knees brazing against the carpet as she struggled to keep the young woman from falling, all the while listening intently to her ravings... her pain... her fear.
After a very long time, the doctor came into the room, surveyed the scene, quickly mixed a sleeping draught, and held the girls head up, forcing her to swallow. Within moments, she was quiet. He quickly examined her and confirmed Mary's diagnosis of false labor, for she had no bleeding and was not dilated at all. He gave the woman some packets and instructions for their use—instructions that she impatiently interrupted—her knowledge of herbs and medicines being greater than his.
"I shall just go and tell the Marquis... " the doctor moved toward the door as he spoke.
"Nay. I will do it myself, doctor. 'Tis better." Her tone brooked no argument, and the doctor, knowing Mary many years, having delivered her own child, was not disposed to argue.
Mary Strongbow had a very commanding presence for the daughter of a village smithy. She was regal, if nothing else. It would take more than this elderly doctor to gainsay the woman. Better men had tried.
Chapter Eight
~~
"She will not deliver, it is a false labor. It happens sometimes with the first one... especially if the mother has endured great stress. If she's kept quiet, she will not lose the babe, and all will be well."
Mary spoke to the air behind the Marquis, unwilling to meet his eyes. It had been many years since the pair of them had met, and she was wont to ignore him.
He had taken David from her... taken her reason for living and given her father gold for his purchase. If David had not come to her for advice and she had not discovered the secrets of this house, she would never have answered the summons.
She looked at the butler, her eyes meeting those of yet another cousin, with some understanding. "Fetch a small cot, and I will stay with her tonight. Keep this fire built up and keep everyone away. No need to keep Mrs. Hutchins from her own bed. Send her home."
Mary went on in this vein for some moments, giving curt instructions in a no-nonsense voice, her eyes fixed firmly away from her long-ago lover. His gaze never wavered, though look at him she would not.
"As you wish." The Marquis answered her, though he knew she did not speak to him. "I shall have all done immediately."
His voice betrayed none of his feelings. And though he was much past the age of passion, he still held a deep and painful longing for the woman who stood so stoically, averting her gaze from his.
She had changed very little, though her hair was streaked with silver, her deep ebony eyes had tiny wrinkles at the corners and her mouth was a bitter, down-turned line. But her complexion was still a smooth olive, and her lashes still swept long and curling against her cheeks when she lowered her eyes from his scrutiny.
The Marquis, realizing that too much time had passed, and they were now as strangers, turned away, leaning heavily upon the cane David had brought him from the Orient. It was quite a unique device, with a dragonhead handle, carved from ivory, and its three-legged bottom gave him great purchase, lessening the chance of a fall. There were gifts for Hannah as well, but David had stowed them in the bottom of his sea trunk, knowing she would not accept them.
"Clayton," she called to him and he turned back at the sound of her voice, no matter that the tone was cold and distant, "you must get David here. He would want to be close... in case."
"In case? What do you mean?"
"Though she appears stable... sometimes these things do turn nasty. I would that my son... " she emphasized my son with a haughtiness that clearly stated her claim, "... not be kept from the woman he loves while her suffering might be eased by his presence."
"I did not send him away... but I will call him back." Irritated at her inference that David's departure were his fault, the Marquis experienced a quickening of the old spark between them, for they had argued often and made it up in the small cozy bed of the cottage.
Memory came to him in a rush, of the girl, supple and golden in the afternoon light, naked beneath him, her eyes closed in ecstasy.
Something must have shown in his look, for she turned away abruptly, returning to her ministrations with a purposeful stance, his dismissal a clear communication.
But, he had glimpsed an answering memory in her own eyes, and he was perversely pleased that she mayhap was not as indifferent as she would have him think. Though, truth be known, they were well past reconciliation. Still... they might become friends.
.
* * * * *
.
The messenger watched David mount the blooded stallion and ride bare back, at a breakneck pace, across the fields. He then followed the young master at a much slower pace.
The hooves of the stallion kicked up great clods of dirt, filling the air behind horse and rider with a dust cloud that could be seen for miles.
David slowed some as he entered the woods but his speed was still dangerous, for the trees were old and thick, their gnarled roots sticking up from the forest floor in a treacherous obstacle course.
The horse, sure footed, and accustomed the spirited rides of his passenger, kept his pace, and his footing. They arrived at the edge of the manor house lawn within minutes. He waved to the footman that hovered near the kitchen door and trotted the panting animal forward, dismounting in a rush.
"Walk, water and feed him." His direc
tive was curt, but his mission was desperate and the footman, sensing his distress and taking no offence, accepted the reins of the skittish animal, leading him to the stables, calling for the groom.
Through the kitchen, along the servant's passage way and up the back stairs he bounded, his route familiar, his purpose to be with Hannah. It was the first time he had ever entered this way before the prescribed hour of nine o'clock of the evening.
He turned right at the first landing and opened a small door which led to a steep staircase and coming to the top, opened that portal to find himself in the anteroom of Hannah's private suite.
His mother raised her eyes from her sewing, looked at him with a flicker of compassion for a long moment, and jerked her head wordlessly toward the inner chamber door, a door he knew quite well. He opened it timidly and peered around its edge, never having seen it in daylight before, indeed, never having seen it at all.
Elspeth, who sat dozing by the bed, gave a start as he shut the door, the noisy latch bringing her awake.
"Ma...master David," she eyed him with some trepidation at having been caught asleep, "... she is resting now. The doctor gave her a sleeping draught."
"You may retire for awhile, Elspeth, I will stay with your mistress." He gave the girl a kindly look, though he did not smile, and she escaped the room quickly, grateful that he had not scolded her. It was only as she went down the hall to her own small quarters that she gave a thought to his presence in Hannah's room.
Strange, that. Elspeth, whose imaginings leaned toward the romantic, worked that imagination overtime in her newfound knowledge. The young master had looked worried enough to burst and his eyes haunted.
David stepped close to the bed and looked down at the sleeping woman. Her amber eyes were closed, dark lashes sweeping her cheeks, not quite hiding the dark shadows beneath. Her small, pale face was drawn and tired, even in sleep.
Reaching out, he brushed a wisp of hair from her brow and she stirred, murmured, and turned her face away, falling deeper into her unconscious state, the sleeping draught having done its work well. She looked so tiny and fragile, the covers drawn up to her chin, one delicate, graceful hand atop the coverlet, her wedding band shining on her finger.
He went first to the window and drew the heavy drapes closed. Then he reached over and turned the wick down on the lamp, leaving the room bathed in the glow of the banked fire. In the nearly dark room, he was more relaxed somehow, and sat gingerly on the chair next to the bed.
It was a hard-backed, wooden chair with no cushion and no arm rests, designed to keep the watcher alert and awake. David knew he needed something more comfortable, for he planned to stay a long time. He selected a deep-seated, overstuffed fireside chair and lifted it easily, moving it near to the bed as he could get it.
He retrieved the footrest and set it before the chair, took off his coat and boots, placing them in the corner then settled into the chair.
David watched Hannah for a long time before his curiosity overcame his scruples, and he leaned forward to lift the coverlet, drawing it back to reveal her swollen abdomen wherein lay his babe.
Her night rail had ridden up over her hip on one side and her creamy flesh was exposed to him at last, but his eyes were fixed on the rounded stomach, his hand hovering just above, wishing he could touch her, but afraid of going to far, though the sleeping draught had put her out.
Even in sleep she might sense him and become agitated. He replaced the cover, tucking it close around her, and leaned back once more, his head resting on the back of the chair.
In the soft glow of firelight, his eyes roamed the room... her room. The dresser was neat and all the little bottles of salves and lotions that ladies put such store in, were lined up evenly. A silver-backed hairbrush and comb set, worn and tarnished, and, none to expensive, lay on a lace doily. A miniature of Hannah's parents was displayed in a gilded frame, propped against a small golden easel stand. Over the fire mantel, an array of tiny dancing figurines, delicate, hand-painted porcelain, were lined up evenly, just like the items on her dresser.
The little vase, filled with an array of wildflowers, sat on the bedside table beneath the lamp. He smiled to see it and wondered what had happened to the note inside, hoping she had found and read it. He sighed, remembering the simple heartfelt message, which had said only, 'I love you. Forgive me. Be happy. Yours, D.'
He leaned close to study the vase, to be certain it was the right one, and as he leaned closer, the door opened and his mother stepped in, beckoning him.
He pulled himself from the chair and followed her into the next room. "What is amiss mother?"
Her features were pensive as she stared at him, and, in her quiet way, she answered, gesturing him to be seated. Leaving the door ajar, he came and sat on the small stool at her feet, as he had so many times as a child.
She reached out and pushed the errant curls away from his forehead in a tender gesture and smiled. "David, my son. There are so many things you do not know... about her, about what she is feeling right now. Perhaps you should not be here."
He started to speak, but she held up a hand, effectively silencing him.
"I asked your father to send for you, and I can see that he did, but I did not intend for you to be just here... perhaps it would be well if you were to go to one of the guest rooms. I only meant for you to be close by."
"I cannot do that mother, and you know it well. If she should awaken and my presence upsets her then I shall go. Until then, here I stay."
"'Tis certain she will be upset should she find you here. Before the doctor came... when I was alone with her, she was demented in her pain..."
Mary Strongbow paused, heaving a great sigh. "Her ravings were nonsensical for the most part, but I heard enough to know that she has a burden of guilt for what you and she have done. A burden that is eating away at her, little by little, mayhap to drive her senseless if she cannot find some release from this terrible purgatory she has created for herself."
"But I—" David tried again to interrupt.
"Shush, David, I am not done. When you made this devil's bargain, did you not think of the consequences?" She patted his shoulder in an effort to take the heat from her words.
"I know that you have had a difficult time, but you should have come to me before you agreed to this. You father is a very selfish old man and he has wrung the very soul from that girl with his scheming. I cannot like it that you are the instrument of his debauchery, but if you wish to help, you will give the girl some distance... and some time to heal."
"Debauchery? Mother, that is a bit strong. I know you have no love left for him, but he has been kindness itself to her. And, though I must agree that this has been an... unethical arrangement, I would not call it a devil's bargain. I will spend time here tonight, just to assure myself that she is mending then I will go back to the cottage."
David got to his feet, leaned over and bussed his mother on her cheek, and went back into Hannah's chamber, firmly closing the door, hearing the uneven latch click into place. A familiar sound.
Through the night he watched her, dozing periodically, but alert to her every move, each change of her breathing, until his big body could no longer stand the confines of the chair. He then shed the remainder of his garments and slipped beneath the covers, drawing Hannah close. When she did not resist, he placed his trembling hand upon the place where his son slept and a soft flutter of movement beneath his hand as the babe responded to his touch, gave him a start.
Tears of wonder and joy welled in David's eyes, and he snuggled her closer, drawing strength from her warmth. She murmured something inaudible and turned into the heat of his body, resting there until daybreak, her small hand flung across his chest.
He slept fitfully, afraid to move lest he wake her, therefore was awake when his mother opened the door a crack and peered into the room. She glanced at the bed, then closed the door gently once more. David was not worried that she had seen him, for under the circumstances she c
ould hardly object to his being in the bed. He did worry though, that he really should not be here. Hannah moved, shifting her bulk and curled closer into his arms. He thought no more about leaving.
When daylight crept, gray and overcast, through the chink he had left in the drapery, David slipped quietly from her arms and dressed. Picking up his boots and jacket, exited the room.
"David, do you stay here, or return to the cottage?" As he slipped through the anteroom, his mother caught him by surprise.
"Mother, I had not expected you awake. I will return to the cottage, I think. As you say, Hannah is very distraught, and the sight of me surely won't help her. Just send for me if you think I can be useful."
"Your sin is not in loving her, David." She looked toward the half open door to Hannah's room and then again at her son. It is in the deception... and you know the other, as we have already spoken of it. Pray she recovers her senses and bears a healthy child."
Bowing respectfully to her, he went into the hall and bore to the left, toward his father's chamber. Tapping lightly, he entered before asked, looking around as he stole into that inner sanctum where he had never been. The Marquis sat by an open window, still in his clothes from the day before, his eyes watering at the sight of a son who had derided him so the day before, he thought never to see him again.
David crossed the room and knelt by the old man, his head bent low as he spoke. "Forgive me father. I was wrong to speak such to you, and I would have your blessing."
His father's hand upon his hair, told him he was forgiven, though the Marquis did not speak. They stayed thus for a while, each man deep in his own thoughts. Finally, David moved to a chair nearby and looked out the window before he spoke, the view of Darlington Manor's great park filling his eyes, trying to see what his father saw there.
The Silent Love Page 8