Marriage Made in Money

by Sophia James

  ‘The village doctor has been sent for, ma’am, but Mrs Orchard asked me to tell you that Dr Phillips is at least two hours away at a difficult birthing for the maid in the parlour has a sister who works for him.’

  ‘Then we will start without him. The fever needs to be brought down and the wound to his leg has to be dressed. I had thought to treat it in the same way the Earl treated Deimos.’

  Unexpectedly the older man smiled. ‘’Tis not much difference between the wounds of a man or a horse, to my way of thinking, ma’am, and if Mrs Orchard’s home remedies have brought the master to this bad pass then I’d say it’s time to try something else.’

  ‘You think it will work?’

  ‘It did a treat with the stallion, though it took a few days. The wound has the same sort of look to it and there is no worse damage to the flesh that I can see.’

  ‘You’ll help me then?’

  In reply he rolled up his shirtsleeves and set to stripping the leaves of chamomile and thyme into the warm water before adding a lump of salt to the brew.

  Amethyst cut away the last of the breeches with her knife, pleased for the long shirt the Earl wore to cover his modesty. Still, her cheeks flared with the endeavour and she hoped when a nightgown had been sent down from the house and they dressed him later, he would not ask who had cut away the last of his trousers.

  The chamomile-and-salt paste obviously stung him even in his unconscious state, for he rolled from side to side trying to get away from their ministrations. It took her a long time to brush the wound out with the linen until it looked a healthier pink.

  As John readied the poultice she saw he had added his own mix of ingredients, which differed a little from those Daniel had applied to Deimos. Comfrey, angelica and feverfew were just a few of the herbs she recognised, but he had also peeled many cloves of garlic and crushed them into the paste. When he applied it to the wound the balm seemed to hold its shape with ease and she asked him about it.

  ‘It’s the stickiness of comfrey that does it, my lady. My mam used it all her life on us and I never forgot. Once Da lost three toes in an accident with an axel and she had him walking in weeks. Didn’t turn bad, neither.’

  The linen wadding and hot bandages came next and when the last of it was applied John positioned the Earl’s wounded leg on a high stack of cushions.

  ‘Can’t do this with the horses, ma’am, but I would if I could. It does wonders for the drainage.’ He stood back. ‘Now with a good amount of thin chicken broth in him and the windows open he has the chance to get well.’

  Amethyst reached for his hand, both their palms reddened from the heat and dried with white lines from the salt. ‘I will never forget this, John.’

  He smiled. ‘You’ve the way with his lordship that he needs, I think, ma’am. It’s been a rough few years with the army and his brother so a bit of peaceful rest will do him good. I will tell Mrs Orchard to send one of the maids over with that broth. Make sure you have some, too.’

  When he left Amethyst used the time to clean up all the basins and pails and twigs that were left around the floor. The village doctor had finally arrived, but on seeing what she had done had informed her that he could not have managed better and then left. The birthing he had been attending was a difficult one and he needed to get back, though he promised to return to Montcliffe in the morning.

  Drawing out a thin clean sheet from a large linen cupboard Amethyst arranged it across her husband, tucking in the top around his chin. Later she would find lavender for the room and perhaps a scented candle, but for now a tiredness descended upon her. Pulling a chair up to the bed, she dropped into it, glad to be off her feet.

  * * *

  It was dark and late and the pain that bloomed at the edges of his mind pulled him awake so quickly he felt the thumping of his heart in his chest.

  Daniel’s glance fell downwards and he saw his leg propped up with pillows and bandaged from groin to knee. As he wriggled his toes the relief that swamped him was enormous. It hadn’t gone, then, and he still retained the feeling.

  The days of being sick ran into each other, though he remembered Amethyst shouting something at him, anger in her eyes. He remembered John here, shadowed through the heat of a steamy room. He thought Dr MacKenzie from London had been by the bed at some point too, prodding at him and opening his eyes. But now there was only a dark silence.

  He was alive and the breath he took no longer hurt in each and every part of his body. The room was clean, with cool, fresh linen arranged across him and the awful smell of sulphur gone.

  He tried to lift his arm to wipe his dry lips, but the energy needed defeated him. Instead he turned his head and saw his wife on the leather chair and fast asleep. In stillness he watched, her small breaths rhythmic and deep, and the silky lashes on her cheeks long in repose.

  Parts of the past days came back through the ether. The heat of the bandages, the smell of garlic, a cold flannel gently wiped across his forehead, water dribbled between dry lips.

  I love you.

  He stiffened, trying to catch the cadence of the words.

  Had she said it or had he?

  Tiredness swamped him and even the light of a candle burning on the mantel seemed too bright. He groaned.

  ‘You are awake?’ Her voice was soft as she came from slumber, but he could only watch her, the wheat-and-gold curls held back with a band of dark blue cloth.

  ‘You have been ill. John and I have been tending to you and the fever broke this afternoon.’

  Leaning over, she applied honey to his lips. He could not even lick away the sweetness. ‘I will find you a drink for I am sure you must be thirsty.’

  Standing, she went from his sight, but her footsteps were close. Then she was back, one hand cradling his head and bringing him up. The fresh water was sweet and cold, though she allowed him only little sips.

  ‘Too much will make you vomit again.’

  Again.

  ‘Your physician was called from London and he said to give you only tiny amounts until your stomach can manage it. He says it will be a few days until the sickness subsides.’

  ‘MacKenzie was here, then?’ Nausea rolled through his body in slow and undulating waves.

  ‘Is here. Mrs Orchard has put him up in the house. He is pleased with your progress, too, because the swelling on your leg has gone down and the colour is better. There was a blockage and he removed it.’

  A blockage? The bullet?

  Daniel tried to ask her about it, but he could not. The skin beneath his wife’s eyes was bruised purple and the scratch from the ring on her cheek had scabbed. Exhausted. Because of him. Where was Mrs Orchard? Why were the servants not here helping her?

  Swallowing, he spoke, though the words came out as a whisper.

  ‘Thank...you.’

  Tears welled in her eyes before she wiped them away with a quick and embarrassed dash. He saw that her hands were blistered and with a huge effort reached out for the one that was nearest.

  ‘Sorry.’

  * * *

  He was asleep again before she could even answer, his fingers limp and warm. Sorry I have been sick? Sorry I cannot love you?

  Had he heard? Would he guess? Did he remember what she had told him in the quiet watches of his illness? And now that he was getting better, how did she hide what she truly felt?

  She couldn’t and the danger of it all spiralled.

  Bringing his fingers to her lips, she kissed each one, strong fingers with war imbued within them, no pampered and indolent lord, but a man who had lived through battle as well as peace and who had defended himself and his country.

  A knock on the door took her attention and, laying his hand down on the counterpane of the bed, she crossed to see who was there.

  Her father stood on the top step, question on his face. ‘I wondered if you were coming back up to the house this evening. It is late?’

  She shook her head. ‘I think I will remain here tonight, Papa. Lord M
ontcliffe is restless and may need me.’

  ‘Every man needs his wife, my jewel, especially one who has been so sick.’

  ‘I love him, Papa.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I am not certain if he loves me back.’

  A small frown crossed his face and then a smile. ‘Your mother would have said listen for things other than the words, Amy, and she would have told you to be patient. Love comes in many forms,’ he added and reached forward to lift up the gold cross at her neck. ‘It is here in your mother’s gift and there in your blistered hands. Look for it in Daniel Wylde, Amethyst, but do not be greedy. Men can sometimes be afraid of love.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘When I first met your mother I was. And now...’ He stopped himself before saying more, but she saw secrets in his eyes.

  ‘It is Julia?’ Her question held no regrets.

  Without hesitation he nodded.

  ‘I have seen a house not far from here for sale. It has a garden that runs from the steps at the front to a lake beyond it.’

  As he spoke he beamed in a way she had not seen him do for so very long.

  ‘If you are to live at Montcliffe Manor I would like to be close. Julia has expressed an interest in living around Barnet as well for she has no fixed abode to call her own. I know my heart is weak and there may not be many months left for me, but still...?’

  And then Amethyst knew. The truth as it must have been for all the days of their visit. Her father was enamoured with Julia McBeth, with her light brown and curling hair and her gentle pale blue eyes. A kind woman, a good woman. A woman who might see him comfortable and looked after for these last months or hopefully even years of his life.

  ‘Susannah said to make you flourish, Amethyst, and I think you will here, but I also need a life. Do you approve?’

  She flung herself into her father’s arms and showed him with every ounce of love just how delighted she was with his choice of both companion and of abode.

  ‘You know that I do. Anything to make you happy and relaxed were what the doctor ordered and this seems exactly that.’

  When he had gone Amethyst sat again at Daniel’s side. She felt safe finally. Indeed, if she had her way she would stay well out of the way of society and cocooned in the green heart of the countryside for ever.

  Chapter Twelve

  She was there watching him when he awoke again.

  ‘I cannot be...good company.’ The words were easier to say now. ‘If you wish to go...’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘It is late?’

  She nodded and he looked across at the window. The curtains were not drawn and the light of a full moon fell into the room. After one o’clock, at least, and more like nearly two from the slant of shadow.

  ‘Dr MacKenzie has had to go back to London, but he insists that you are being left in able hands.’

  ‘Yours?’ He smiled and moved his foot, bending his knee so that he could see the bandage and reassure himself that his leg was still there. Pain shot into his thigh, but it was bearable now, a lesser hurt. ‘It looks a lot like Deimos’s fetlock.’

  ‘John helped me.’

  The lines from his eyes crinkled with humour. ‘What did MacKenzie say?’

  ‘He said he thought he should be using the poultice in his own practice and he left something for you. He was certain you would be pleased.’

  Leaning over to the small cupboard beside the bed, she took out a dish and picked up a bud of hard metal.

  ‘This bullet came from your thigh.’

  Relief rushed through him, making the blood beat in his ears. ‘He got it out, then?’

  ‘Dr MacKenzie said that the swelling dislodged it from the bone. He has never seen that happen before. He also said that I was to get you up walking as soon as I could.’

  Daniel couldn’t believe the elation of knowing he hadn’t died or been left badly crippled by an amputation. He wanted suddenly to go outside into the light of the moon and feel the cold air upon his face, to put weight upon the bone and feel it strong and usable and real.

  Shimmying up on the pillows, he moved his legs around to the side of the bed. His thigh throbbed, but he made himself wait until his body became accustomed again to the new position.

  ‘I hope it was not you who had to dress me?’ His nightshirt was long and bulky. There was nothing underneath it save his skin.

  When she coloured he muttered something softly under his breath.

  ‘John fashioned this for you.’ Amethyst handed him a stick carved from hard wood. Its handle had been made into the head of a stallion, the rippled seams of dark knots giving the illusion of a mane. The cane felt good in his hand and sturdy as he stood, imbalance keeping him still until the world righted again.

  Limping outside, Daniel sat by the front door on a chair Amethyst had placed there, the herbs from the kitchen garden pungent. He was relieved to be away from the bed.

  ‘Nigel and I used to play here when we were young. Julia would bring us treats from the kitchen.’

  ‘She is a good woman.’

  He nodded.

  ‘My father is most enamoured of her.’

  Daniel smiled and for a moment they stayed quiet, nothing between them but silence, though his mind raced with all the other questions he needed answers for now that he felt stronger.

  ‘Did Whitely ever hurt you, Amethyst?’

  Even at a distance he could tell that she stiffened. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Lucien said the man had a reputation for striking out with his fists in the heady dens of London’s most expensive brothels.’

  She breathed out hard before answering. ‘He had a sickness, I think, that he could not control.’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ The anger in his voice was obvious, but even with effort he failed to soften it.

  ‘He was a man prone to high emotion that he had no way of controlling, you understand, and on top of that he liked to drink. More and more as our marriage progressed and he realised that our union had been a terrible mistake. It was probably my fault, too, because by that time I knew I could not abide him anywhere near me and I said so. The night-times were the worst because he was not able to...’ She stopped and took a deep breath, reasoning Daniel would hardly wish to hear about their more intimate problems. ‘He lashed out with words at first and then with his fists. A month after our nuptials he lost control and punched me in the stomach, as hard as he could. He told me that he could ruin my father’s reputation completely with some of the things he knew and I believed him.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I was sick all over his boots.’

  ‘God.’

  ‘So he left and did not come back again for nearly a fortnight afterwards. By then I had arranged a tutor in the art of self-defence, using the same knife that you saw me with the other day. He never touched me again.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘He had discovered other women who were more than pleased to accommodate him. He had our money behind him and was in the process of setting up his own dubious business schemes, which we knew nothing of until it was too late. Besides, I was more in the way than anything and he made certain to tell me I was ugly every time he saw me.’ She took a deep breath and went on. ‘I have a birthmark on the top of my left thigh, the kiss of the fairies my mother used to tell me it was, but to Gerald it was the stamp of the devil.’

  ‘And to you...what is it to you?’

  She turned away, but not before he had seen her tears. ‘It was my shame.’

  The shame of her own feebleness and paralysis. The shame of allowing another governance over sense and strength. The shame of not telling her father all that was happening and yet failing to deal with it well by herself.

  She could tell Daniel wanted to say something by the anger that flicked across his brow, but he didn’t. Rather he took her hand in his and they sat there, just the two of them, her perched on the top step and him on the dainty inside chair, watc
hing the sky and the stars and the large full moon above them.

  Finally he spoke. ‘Marks on the body show the journey of life, Amethyst. Were we to survive every year unblemished I doubt we would have truly lived.’

  He lifted the sleeve of his nightgown and she saw the same wound she had once before noticed, this time uncovered. ‘It is not pretty, I know, but if I touch this I think of how lucky I was to survive.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘My brother pushed me into a grain machine when I was nine.’ He smiled then, his white teeth easy to see in the moonlight. ‘Nigel got the fright of his life, but the scar turned out to be a godsend. Every time he played roughly after that I made sure he got a glimpse of it and he usually stopped.’

  His thumb stroked her wrist and he looked across at her. ‘This is the same sort of badge. You prefer carriages moving at the slowest of paces and who can blame you for that? Look at Whitely as another lesson, but know that one foolish marriage doesn’t mean you have made another.’

  She couldn’t help but frown at his logic. ‘But I did not decide to marry you for any other reason than to make my father happy in the last months of his life. A reason that was foolish to the extreme in any way you might look at it.’

  ‘Then it’s lucky I am nothing like your first husband...’ he returned and laughed out loud, the sound ringing in the empty chambers of her heart and filling them with gladness.

  My goodness, how she loved him. She wanted to say it out here with the night-time masking her shyness, but she couldn’t. He was still weak from all he had been through and he needed to be back in bed. Besides, if he did not feel what she did everything would change and she could not risk such disappointment. Better to leave it as it was, the hope of something, the taste of possibility. When he recovered there would be plenty of time to talk.

  * * *

  He awoke to her there in the morning curled upon the bed beside him and for the first time in days his body seemed free of heat and sickness. She lay in a full day gown on top of the counterpane, a pillow carefully positioned between them. Her hair was loose from the band she wore and the curls jostled wildly in short lengths of gold and blonde.