by Nina Clare
Sir Ambrose followed him in silence. He could tell by the way his master’s shoulders were hunched and his head thrust forward that he was in an ugly mood.
The marquess found his lady-wife in the south gallery, reclining on a couch and laughing merrily, her cares temporarily suspended, as a young man with the same dark eyes and black, wavy hair as herself was crawling about the floor with Percy astride his back. Percy was squealing with delight, but Arthur stood watching sulkily with a scowl upon his face to match that of his father’s.
“Oh, my lord!” exclaimed Lady Beck, noticing her husband’s entrance. Her worry returned to her face. “You had a safe journey?”
“I had a darned slog of a journey,” said the marquess. He regarded his visitor with an unfriendly eye.
Lord Amando tipped the squealing Percy from his back and got to his feet, his eyes still full of laughter as he tugged down his handsome doublet and came forward to greet the marquess.
“My dear brother,” he said loudly in his accented voice. “A great pleasure to meet you again after these five years.” He pulled his velvet cap off and made a deep, sweeping bow.
“Did we meet?” replied the marquess gruffly.
“Indeed we did, my lord. When you graced our home in Portgua, and won the hand of my fair sister, we did indeed meet. I was but a boy,” he added. “I was but thirteen years. But now, as you see, now I am a man, and thus much altered!”
The marquess grunted an agreement. “Indeed. Are you staying long?”
“Sadly, this is a brief visit,” said the viscount. “I must return to court tonight to my duties as aide to the Portguan ambassador.”
“Indeed,” said the marquess, a little placated to hear that this foreign whipper-snapper who presumed to address him as “brother” would not be residing at Beck House.
“I hope to call frequently on my sister whenever my duties permit,” said Lord Amando. “It is uncertain how long the ambassador will remain at court, all depends on...” his speech trailed off, for he could not mention the king’s expected demise. “All depends on whether he can be of use to His Grace,” he finished diplomatically.
“Indeed,” said the marquess.
There was a silence, and no one spoke for some moments.
“I am pleased to find my sister so well,” said Lord Amando breaking the awkward silence, and wondering how it was that the marquess had not even greeted his wife after so long an absence from her.
“Indeed.”
“And all is well,” continued Lord Amando, “with the soon arrival of the newest member of your household.”
“Newest member?” said the marquess, looking alarmed. “How is it you know of that?”
“The babe?” said Lord Amando. “One could hardly not know of it.” He finished with a laugh, nodding at Lady Beck’s prominent belly.
“Ah – the infant. You meant the...yes, yes indeed. Time will tell. Time will tell,” said the marquess dismissively.
Lord Amando looked nonplussed. He noticed how young Percy who had had been shrieking in glee the past half hour was now standing behind his nurse with the look of a nervous fawn upon his face. Arthur, the elder boy who had not yet accepted his uncle’s overtures of friendship was stood in the same stance, and with the same look upon his young face as his father. Lord Amando shuddered within as memories of his own abrasive sire came back to him. He knew too well the kind of father this grizzled old marquess was.
“Supper is served, milord,” announced the butler.
“I should darned well think so,” grumbled the marquess, turning towards the hall where supper was laid. “How long does a man have to wait in his own house for his victuals when he comes in from his journey?”
Lord Amando held his hand out to his sister to assist her from the couch. Nurse garnered up the two boys and herded them away to the nursery.
“Oh! Lopo!” cried Lady Beck, as she tried to get up.
“Magdalena, what is it?” said Lord Amando.
“Oh, Lopo! I have such a pain,” gasped Lady Beck, pressing her hands to her sides and falling back to the couch.
“The babe?” said her brother anxiously.
She nodded, still gasping. “My confinement does not begin till tomorrow. Fetch Ama,” she urged.
He nodded, skittering about on the spot as though he could not decide which direction to run in.
“I am here,” came a steady voice, and Madame Labelle’s tall, black-gowned figure appeared. She appraised the situation in a glance. “Inform the marquess,” she ordered Lord Amando. “And send for the physician. But wait!” He paused, and she came to him, took his face in her hands and kissed him on each cheek as she had done to him as a child. “It is good to see you again, my lord.”
The viscount gripped her hand warmly in reply.
“Now, aller!”
He nodded vigorously and turned to run.
“Brother!” he called, running down the panelled gallery after the marquess.
The marquess had almost reached the hall where Sir Ambrose was inspecting his master’s dishes to approve them. The marquess halted with a grunt of vexation at the shouts.
“It is the child!” called Lord Amando. “Send for the physician!”
The marquess stared at him as though he did not comprehend his meaning.
Sir Ambrose looked up from the oak table, spread with silver platters and tureens. “Shall I send for the physician, milord?” he offered.
“Indeed,” said the marquess. He took his place at the table and motioned to the servers to fill his cup. “Come and eat,” he said to Lord Amando.
Lord Amando hesitated. “Should we not ensure all is well with Magdalena?”
The marquess shook his hand at him in a dismissive gesture.
“Nothing to be done,” he said. “Women’s business. Sit down and eat. Do you play dice?”
Harvest Moon
“How can two days seem like a whole week or more?” asked Kat, sitting at the long dining table in the servants’ wing. “When will it end?”
“I don’t ever want to have a baby!” declared the head housemaid.
“Not much chance of that,” said her cousin and fellow maid, elbowing her in the ribs. “No one would want to give you one!”
Her cousin elbowed her back.
“Does it usually go on for so long?” asked Penny, chewing her bottom lip anxiously.
“Not usually,” said the head housemaid, reaching out to take her bowl of porridge.
“Is something wrong, then?” said Penny.
The housemaid shrugged.
“My aunt Bessie was near four days in labour with her first child,” said the under-cook. “She had a boy so big he tore her you-know-what to ribbons.”
Penny looked appalled, and pushed her uneaten porridge away.
“My cousin’s wife was three days in labour,” added the youngest houseboy.
“And was all well?” asked the under-cook.
He shook his head. “She died.”
“I’m certain Lady Beck won’t die,” said Kat, seeing the look of dismay on her sister’s face. “She’s got the best physician in the city with her. He’s attended at the palace, you know,” she added for Penny’s sake.
“Only in the servants’ wing,” said the head housemaid.
There was the sound of quick footsteps. Madame Labelle appeared, looking uncharacteristically flushed, though her voice remained calm. “Kat,” she said sharply, “more hot water and more clean cloths – rapidement!”
Kat jumped to her feet.
“Send Bellchior for the apothecary!” Madame Labelle ordered the head footman. He also jumped to his feet.
Penny held the cloths and followed Kat who carried the large copper bowl of hot water up to Lady Beck’s chamber.
The sound of their mistress moaning in anguish could be heard all the way down the hall. The drapes were closed against the September sunshine outside, all was darkened to a gloom within, but there was a most heady smell of
roses in the air. Kat was relieved to see that the curtains around Lady Beck’s bed were drawn on the side facing them, so she and Penny could not see her.
Madame Labelle motioned them to bring the water and cloths. Even in the gloom Kat could see Penny’s face grow paler at the rise and fall of Lady Beck’s groans.
“Rub the cloths with this,” directed Madame Labelle, giving Kat a small stoneware bottle from which the smell of roses came. “Sprinkle a few drops on each cloth.”
Kat and Penny did as they were told. From the little bottle came oil as fragrant as a rose garden in midsummer.
“An apothecary is coming,” Madame Labelle said to the physician.
“Too late,” replied a grave voice.
Penny gasped and looked at Kat, tears filling her eyes.
“Oh no,” whispered Kat, putting down the cloth and grasping Penny’s hand. She wanted to pull Penny away; she did not want her to have to stand in this chamber while a woman and baby died in childbirth. Penny would not be able to bear it. Should they run?
“Too late,” repeated the physician. “We will not be needing to hurry things along by his wares – the baby is about to arrive.”
Madame Labelle put her hands together and looked upwards and said something in Francan that sounded like a prayer.
Kat let out her breath, not realising she had been holding it till then. She gave Penny’s hand a squeeze.
Lady Beck gave a sudden long, agonised groan such as Kat had never imagined her elegant, poised mistress could make – and then there came a tiny sound, like the mewing of a kitten – and then a cry – a real baby’s cry.
“Dieu merci! Dieu merci!” cried Madame Labelle triumphantly. She went to the bedside and a few minutes later reappeared from behind the bed drapes carrying something small and pink and bloodied.
She swiftly immersed the little body into the copper bowl of warm water and deftly washed away the blood. She wiped the baby dry and then proceeded to swaddle it with the rose-oil cloths Kat and Penny had prepared.
Penny stood open mouthed, amazed at the sight of the tiny baby squalling piteously.
“Let me see my daughter,” called the marchioness weakly from the bed.
“Send word to the wet nurse that she is to come quickly,” Madame Labelle ordered Kat.
Kat bobbed a habitual half curtsey and she and Penny left the chamber. But before they closed the door behind them they heard the physician say, “Lady Beck, you do not have a daughter. You have a son.”
“When can I see him?” asked Percy for the seventh time that morning.
“Soon,” said Penny, tidying away the scattered toys of the two young lords. “He is feeding now.”
“And then he will be sleeping again,” said Percy with a pout. “All he does is feed and sleep and feed and sleep, and I can’t see him ‘cause he’s feeding, and I can’t see him ‘cause he’s sleeping. When can I see him?”
“That’s what all babies do, doodlefop,” said Arthur who was pretending to shoot deer with a makeshift bow and arrow.
“I’m not a doodlefop,” said Percy petulantly.
Arthur swung his bow round to point it at his little brother. “Doodlefop! doodlefop!” He released the bowstring. “Got you!” he cried. “Shot you right in your doodlefop-head!”
Penny could sense trouble brewing and tried to distract Percy. “Let’s go and find Madame Labelle, perhaps she will take you to see your new brother.”
Percy’s face lit up and he put his little hand inside Penny’s outstretched one, which was not much bigger than his own, for she was only of eight years.
“Don’t you want to come and see, Arty?” said Percy over his shoulder as he and Penny left the nursery.
“What for?” said Arthur. “I’m going to Foversham tomorrow with Lord Orlan. I don’t care about doodlefop babies – I’m going to be a knight!”
“My congratulations, Brother!” said Lord Amando, his hands raised wide in the air as though he were preparing to embrace his brother-in-law.
The marquess looked alarmed and stepped backwards to repel any thing so repugnant as physical contact with this young whipper-snapper, who was not only over-confident in the marquess’s opinion, but a foreigner to boot.
Still, he was a darned good dice player for one so young, and the marquess did like a good opponent at the table.
“I thank you,” said the marquess gruffly. “She did her duty well this time. A fine lusty boy. Shame about his colouring,” he added. “Dark like his mother. Not a Beck feature on him. Still. He’s got Beck blood in his veins, so time will tell, time will tell.”
Lord Amando frowned at the unflattering reference to his sister’s colouring. “May I offer my felicitations to my sister and my new nephew?” he asked, his tone more subdued.
The marquess grunted and swept a hand in the direction of his wife’s chamber to signal permission.
Lord Amando hesitated, thinking the marquess would show him the way, but as he was now striding off in the opposite direction he concluded correctly that he was not.
“Allow me to show you the way,” said a polite voice. Sir Ambrose had stepped forward.
“I thank you,” said Lord Amando with a renewed smile. “Lead on!”
“My first full-blood nephew,” said Lord Amando, bending over the sleeping baby in the cradle. “Rufino has only had daughters thus far. You must be pleased to have borne a healthy son. Mother told me of your losses when you wrote to her.”
“I am so grateful,” said Lady Beck, “though surprised. I was quite certain I was carrying a daughter.”
“Only because that foolish old woman put the idea into your mind,” said Madame Labelle, who was sat on the window seat embroidering baby gowns.
“I do not think she was foolish,” said Lady Beck. “But she said I would have a daughter by Harvest Moon...”
“And tonight is Harvest Moon, and you have a son,” interrupted Madame Labelle.
“Well, she got it half right,” said Lord Amando.
“And I for one am most happy that she got it half wrong,” said Madame Labelle. “For if it had been a girl...” she trailed off, remembering that the wet nurse was resting in the antechamber and could likely hear their conversation.
“Lopo, can I ask something of you?” said Lady Beck.
“Of course.”
“Will you be godfather to him?”
“I would be honoured, Magdalena!”
“And you will take the duty seriously? You will have an eye on him for his welfare as he grows? You will help him if ever he should need it?” She leaned forward and grasped her brother’s hand, looking him intently in the eyes.
“I make you a promise, Magdalena. I will be the most attentive godfather and uncle the boy could wish for.”
“Thank you, Lopo.” She released his hand and fell back against the bed pillows. “That is such comfort to me, to know that he will always be able to rely on you if he should be in need.”
“He surely can rely on me. Though I hope he will live a charmed life and never be in need of his old Uncle Lopo.” He looked down again at the sleeping infant as he spoke.
“Old!” said Madame Labelle. “You are but a boy yourself.”
The baby stirred in his sleep and half opened one eye, seeming to examine his new godfather and uncle.
Lord Amando put a finger to the baby’s cheek and stroked it gently. “Do you hear, little Beck? I have solemnly vowed to look out for you, do you hear?”
The baby hiccupped, and closed his eye.
“Of course you know that if I am godfather he must be named after me?”
“I confess I had not thought of names,” said Lady Beck. “I had only considered girls’ names. His father will want to give him a family name, though I should very much like him to be named after his you. But his father’s choice will have to obeyed.” She sighed heavily. “Some of the family names are so hideous. The Anglianese language can be so harsh to the ear, Lopo.”
“Leave it t
o me,” said Lord Amando, bending over his sister to kiss her affectionately as he prepared to leave. “I have been invited to supper tonight, which is an honour, for your husband has an important guest arriving. I will speak to him and make sure my godson has a worthy name.”
“I fear you have little chance of success,” said Madame Labelle.
“I am glad he has invited you to supper,” said Lady Beck. “He must enjoy your company. Who is his guest?”
“Lord Orlan,” said Madame Labelle, snipping her silk thread with her tiny silver scissors.
“Of course,” said Lady Beck. “I had forgotten he is due this day. He has come for Arthur.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lord Amando. “Lord Arthur – the knight in training. Lord Orlan does the marquess an honour in coming in person for the boy.”
“He seems a most amiable man,” replied Lady Beck thoughtfully. “And I hope he will be a good fatherly influence on Arthur.”
“For he certainly is in need of it,” observed Madame Labelle.
“Lord Orlan’s here!” Kat called to the butler. “I can hear the horses.”
The butler hurried to gather his tray of refreshments to lay out for the travellers’ welcome.
“How many are with him?” he called back.
Kat pushed the kitchen window shutters further back and leaned out as far as she could to see the riders pass by.
“Two attendants,” she called back. “No...three...one is a woman.”
“A woman!” exclaimed the butler. “A woman riding all the way from Foversham!”
“And a child!” added Kat, dropping back from the window. “A little girl.”
“A child!” said the butler in astonishment. “A child riding all the way from Foversham!”
“What does she look like?” asked Penny, who had been sent to the kitchens to make mid-afternoon dinner for the wet nurse, who declared she needed small beer, toast and figgy pudding between each feed to keep her milk abundant.
“She looks...small,” replied Kat. “I could not say more, for she’s wearing a hood.”
The butler added a jug of water to his tray so he could offer the child-guest her wine diluted, and he hurried to meet them.