He went back to his chair looking distinctly dissatisfied.
‘May I have my son?’ she asked. ‘Will you fetch him to me? He will be hungry.’ When the surgeon did not reply she added, ‘Please. My breasts are painful.’
‘If you suckle, madam, you will stop the pains of your second child and he has delayed too long already. A wet nurse is here. I arranged for her to follow me from Settle.’
‘But I don’t want her! He is my child and I want him at my breast!’
‘Calm yourself. It is normal for ladies of the aristocracy to engage wet nurses.’
‘But I am his mother. I want to nurse him.’
‘His father is heir to Redfern, ma’am,’ he pointed out.
‘But you must let me hold him!’ Beth protested.
Dr Melville did not smile. ‘He is healthy, madam. You have my word on that.’
Fear gripped Beth’s heart. ‘Where is he? I want to see him now.’
‘Do not be difficult, ma’am. You have another child to consider.’
Beth saw the sense in this advice and tried to quell her fears. As soon as her second infant was born she would be able to hold them both. She considered asking for a potion to hurry along the birth but feared Dr Melville might suggest Edgar as a remedy and she was unable to face that. Besides, as the next day passed without any birth pangs the grimace on Dr Melville’s face became a set expression. However, he continued to re assure her that her second child had not died in her womb.
From time to time, she heard her son cry and climbed out of bed to search for him. But either the surgeon or Mrs Roberts were prepared to physically restrain her from leaving the chamber and she feared a struggle might harm her unborn baby. More worryingly, after her third attempt, they locked the door when they left her alone. Neither Edgar nor his mother visited her.
After five long days of frowning and grimacing, Dr Melville appeared to lose interest too and stopped attending her. She was left to the ministrations of Mrs Roberts whose smugness became more pronounced as Beth grew increasingly anxious about her unborn child.
‘Why is he taking so long?’
Mrs Roberts busied herself tidying the bedchamber.
‘Is something is wrong. Will you ask Dr Melville to speak with me?’
‘The babe’ll come when he’s ready.’ Mrs Roberts shook her head as though in despair.
‘Have – have you known of twin babies born separately before?’
‘I have heard tell of it – and why it happens.’ The smug satisfaction was in her voice. ‘Got found out, haven’t you?’
‘What are you talking of? You must tell me, Mrs Roberts! Will my baby live?’
‘Best if he doesn’t, ma’am, for your sake.’
Oh dear Lord, no. To go through all this and then to bear an infant who was – was what, a cripple or an imbecile? It was all too much. Perhaps that is why they were keeping her healthy son from her, so he would not be tainted by association. The phrase insinuated into her consciousness – was her second child a freak of nature? She began to feel ill in her mind as well as her body. Why didn’t the surgeon come to see her? She fretted about both her babies and their future in her travesty of a marriage. She was willing to be a good wife. She had tried so hard yet it seemed she was to be blamed for bearing a freak of nature.
A whole week after her son was born her waters broke for the second time and Beth struggled with her birthing pains all over again. At least this time she knew what to expect. So did Mrs Roberts who, in spite of their differences, behaved in a competent manner. But Beth realised something was dreadfully wrong and was quite frantic with worry by now.
It was daylight and when Mrs Roberts placed her child – a girl, a delightful girl – in her arms she could see her rosebud lips, tiny nose and blue eyes as well as every detail of her fingers and toes. ‘But she’s perfect,’ Beth breathed in questioning surprise. ‘Edgar will surely adore her?’
Mrs Roberts half laughed. ‘Don’t be foolish, madam. He doesn’t want to see this one.’
‘Whyever not? Is it because she’s a girl?’
Her temporary midwife did not reply and busied herself with collecting soiled linen for the laundry.
‘She is well, is she not?’ Beth queried, but still received no reply. ‘What is so wrong with her that my husband will shun her?’ she persisted. ‘Tell me. I insist that you tell me.’
‘Surely you know, ma’am. After all, you had both infants.’
‘What am I supposed to know?’
Mrs Roberts grunted. ‘Your innocent airs may have deceived others but not me. Babies made together are born together and – well – I’ve seen the firstborn and he’s got the Redfern brow from Master Edgar, so this one must be the bastard.’
Beth did not believe that she had heard correctly. ‘What did you say?’
‘Two infants born days apart like this have different fathers. I learned that at my mother’s knee. I thought they’d have taught you that at that school for bastards you’ve come from.’
Beth’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘It’s not true!’ she protested.
‘I was there when Dr Melville was talking to Master Edgar and the mistress. It stands to reason, if there’s two like yours born separate, then they’re bound to have separate fathers. You should be ashamed of yourself. Master Edgar swore you were a maid when you came here and there weren’t many you could have gone with at the time. I told ’em, I told ’em straight, it weren’t my Mr Roberts even though he were right friendly with you. It couldn’t ’ave been him because he couldn’t do it, he hadn’t done it for years.’ Beth gazed at the smug contempt on Mrs Roberts’s face as she finished, ‘I bet your mother was a whore.’
‘Get out,’ Beth breathed, ‘and take your filthy accusations with you.’
Mrs Roberts picked up a bundle of linen. ‘You ought to be nice to me. You are going to need my help with two bairns to look after.’
Beth found her heart was thumping with suppressed rage and her baby whimpered. She inhaled deeply to quell her anger. ‘Hush my sweet,’ she murmured. ‘You are a pretty little flower, aren’t you? What shall I call you? Daisy, I think. I like Daisy, do you?’
Daisy snuffled against her breast. Beth wondered about her son’s name. She wanted Albert after the Prince Consort but he wasn’t popular with everyone so she couldn’t decide; maybe Thomas or William or – or George, perhaps. She must speak with Edgar and stop this cruel gossip. Dear heaven, he was the only gentleman who had known her in that way and he was aware that she did not have a coy or playful nature. He would believe her. Propped up by pillows she dozed with Daisy in her arms until the bedchamber door opened again and Mrs Collins advanced to the foot of the bed.
Beth pushed back Daisy’s wrappings to show her face. Mrs Collins did not seem pleased so Beth lifted Daisy and said, ‘Your granddaughter Daisy, madam.’
‘Don’t you bring that – that bastard anywhere near me! Don’t think you can lie to me either. You will answer me and tell me who the father is.’
Oh no, thought Beth. She kept as calm as she could for Daisy’s sake. But her tone was firm. ‘She is Edgar’s child.’
‘It will be better for you to speak the truth and show remorse if you wish to see your son.’
‘I have done nothing wrong, madam.’
‘You are an adulterer and a liar, girl. If it were not for the boy I should have the marriage annulled and send you back to Blackstone.’
Beth thought that an angry exchange was not in the best interests of her child and stayed silent until Mrs Collins barked, ‘Well, answer me, girl. Who did you lie with when we were away – as if I cannot guess?’
Beth replied quietly, ‘I should like to speak to Edgar, ma’am.’
‘You wish to throw yourself on his mercy and hope he’ll want more heirs from you? He’ll see you in a nunnery first.’
‘He would send me to a convent?’
‘Rather that than have his lineage in question. You are a disgrace.’
&
nbsp; ‘I am Edgar’s wife,’ she retaliated, ‘and I have been faithful to my vows.’
Beth saw Edgar hovering in the open doorway. Mrs Roberts pushed past him with an armful of clean linen and a familiar smug smile. ‘They all say that, madam.’
‘Edgar! She is your child, I swear it.’ But he grimaced and answered, ‘Mrs Roberts has told us.’
The housekeeper seemed to be enjoying her chance to speak. ‘We know it was that Abel when you went up on the fell to take supplies. She was up there with him for nigh on a week of nights, madam.’
‘There was a rock fall! I had no choice. The track was blocked and neither of us could get through.’
‘Aye. Just a week after Master Edgar brought you here as his bride.’
‘But Abel did not touch me! As soon as he realised who I was he insisted on sleeping outdoors in the freezing cold.’
Mrs Collins’s face was as grey and still as stone. ‘Fetch him at once. I shall have the truth.’
Chapter 8
Mrs Roberts hurried away followed by Mrs Collins who hovered outside the open door and spoke to Edgar in a low voice. Beth was losing her patience. Of course Abel was not responsible for her second child! She was insulted that they should even consider the possibility. Dear heaven, he was going to be furious for he was an honourable man! She heard the thumping of his boots on the stairs. Even so, she was surprised to see him push past Edgar and Mrs Collins, and stand on the threshold to her bedchamber. He was dressed for riding and carried his crop in one hand and his hat in the other.
He bowed his head to Beth. ‘Forgive my intrusion, madam, but I shall not be slandered in this way. I insist that you tell them the truth.’
Mrs Collins’s shrill voice carried past him. ‘You forget your position in this household, sir. You will wait in the kitchen.’
He did not budge except to turn his head and reply over his shoulder, ‘No, madam, you forget yours. This farm does not survive without me.’
Beth watched Mrs Collins’s dark and angry face behind him. ‘Get out of here and take your coarse impudent ways with you! Not only have you coveted ownership of this farm since you arrived, but your festering jealousy of my son has pushed you to the lowest imaginable depths!’
Abel whirled on her. ‘He did not need my help, madam. He was assisted well enough by you. As for the farm, my interest is solely to prevent its further decay into ruin.’
Beth was shocked by Abel’s response. She had thought him a mild-mannered considerate man. Indeed he was but he was also observant and astute and, she would have guessed, not given to jealousy. He had seemed content with his lot as a shepherd, but his venomous tone indicated to Beth a hitherto suppressed hatred of Mrs Collins, a hatred that she shared.
Mrs Collins raised her right arm and brought the flat of her hand across his cheek with such force that it was she who reeled and had to clutch the door jamb to prevent herself from falling over. She was shaken but not deeply enough to stop her seething, ‘How dare you cuckold my son.’
Clearly surprised, Abel rubbed his cheek and directed his flinty gaze to Beth. ‘You must tell them, madam, that I have not touched you, nor would I, not ever.’
Of course he would not, Beth thought. He was a principled man and she was a married woman, so he would be deeply offended by such an immoral suggestion. But in spite of the emotional turmoil she was suffering, Beth felt another, different, stab of disappointment; a real hurt that drove through her as she registered his words. Nor would I, not ever.
These were words she did not care to hear from his lips for, she realised, with a sinking despair, that although she dreaded the prospect of her husband touching her, she knew she would welcome such an advance from Abel. If anyone harboured wicked thoughts it was Beth. Her instincts were telling her that he would treat her kindly, that he would love her in a selfless, considerate way; that he would love her as a husband ought to love his wife. Her wide-open eyes became shiny with unshed tears as she realised that she wished she had been married to Abel for her dowry. She stared at the pleading that flooded his face and her heart began to crumble.
‘I – I have told them the truth,’ she choked. ‘They do not believe me.’
Mrs Collins was not going to be persuaded, Beth was sure of that. She had made up her mind about her wilful daughter-in-law of dubious background. Perhaps Beth’s generous dowry had merely reinforced her view that it was the only way to secure a marriage for one who is handicapped by birth. Mrs Collins had treated her no better than she would a servant so why should that change now? Abel suffered a similar prejudice, Beth realised, as Mrs Collins’s attention and anger were focused on him.
‘I shall not tolerate such deviance from servants on my land. You will leave my farm today.’
‘Dear Lord no, Mrs Collins,’ Beth protested. ‘You cannot take away his livelihood!’
Strangely Abel did not appear as concerned as he ought to have and his response intrigued her. ‘Your land? Your farm? The bank owns half of it and without my sheep it will soon have all of it. You are in no position to end our agreement.’
Mrs Collins was shaking with anger. ‘My son is heir to Lord Redfern. This farm is nothing compared to his future wealth. Now remove your possessions from my stable and yourself from my sight.’
Beth was alarmed. This was financial suicide for the farm. Experienced shepherds were hard to come by and surely the sheep must be their main source of income? Although Beth realised that Mrs Collins never took any notice of her, she could not keep quiet. ‘But who will look after the sheep, Mrs Collins?’ Beth protested. ‘Surely you will lose them without a shepherd?’
Mrs Collins did ignore her, but Abel did not. He turned to her and explained, ‘The sheep belong to me, madam. I lease the fields from Mrs Collins.’ He turned his attention to the older woman and added, ‘It is my rent that keeps your farmhouse going, is it not, madam?’
‘Then surely you have an agreement, sir?’ Beth asked.
‘Indeed I have. But I shall not stay where folk think so ill of me. My sheep will be on the move tomorrow.’
Again Beth felt a hurt shoot through her and she wanted to shout out, ‘Take me with you,’ an act that would simply confirm his guilt in Mrs Collins’s eyes. But when Abel looked at Beth she saw sorrow in his eyes and uneasiness on his face. Perhaps he wished to say something to her as well, but knew better than to compromise her position further. He seemed undecided and, sensibly, Beth thought, said nothing. He simply gave a curt bow of his head to Beth and murmured, ‘Your servant, ma’am.’
‘Take your bastard infant with you.’ Mrs Collins’s imperious tone echoed through the chamber.
Horrified, Beth clutched her child closely to her breast. She had already given up her son to a wet nurse until her daughter was born. What was Mrs Collins thinking of? The woman was a monster! She gazed wide-eyed at Abel and for a moment she believed he actually considered the wicked offer.
Abel kept his voice level and low. ‘If the child were truly mine, madam, I should welcome her as a gift from God. Sadly, she is not mine and even if she were, I should not contemplate separating a newborn infant from her mother.’
Beth wanted to scramble out of bed and hug him for those words. The feeling was strong, as though he had tied a thread to her and was pulling her towards him.
‘Get out.’ The venom in her mother-in-law’s voice made Beth shudder.
She wanted to shout, ‘Don’t go, I need you’, but she didn’t and he left. His riding boots thudded on the landing and stairs, gradually lessening in their vibration until she could hear them no longer. Where would he go and what would he do? He was her only friend on this godforsaken farm and without him her life would be austere.
Beth sank back into her pillows dejected. He had been her only ally and confidante and now he was gone. But she had her daughter; Abel had known how much she would need her child, for who else was there to cherish in this hellhole?
Where was Edgar, she demanded silently? In all this
exchange he had remained outside the open door, leaving everything for his mother to deal with. Beth would have thought more of him if he had swung a punch at Abel as he left. Surely any supposed cuckold had an obligation to do that? Beth mused on what Abel’s retaliation would have been. He might have punched him back but perhaps not. Abel would have ignored the challenge as beneath his dignity and walked on. Abel was a proud man and she – dear heaven, the words formed in her head – she loved him for it.
Beth inhaled with a shudder. She was Edgar’s wife and could not reverse that. Her marriage was not happy but she had borne two infants, including a much sought-after heir. She must be strong about this. Soon she would be able to see her son and her life would be whole again. She cared not for Mrs Collins or her weak-willed son. She had her own two children to cherish.
Life was more comfortable here than Blackstone, in spite of her servant status. The work was nothing compared to her previous situation, although with two infants someone else would have to help. The farmhouse was old and large and she had, despite its occupants, grown to like its ancient timbers. But, she acknowledged, she would have lived for ever in a shepherd’s hut to be with the man she loved. Beth sighed. It was not to be for her. From now on, her children were her life.
Mrs Roberts fetched and carried willingly enough but Beth guessed she was Mrs Collins’s spy. The following day Beth asked her to bring her son, and she noted Mrs Roberts’s enjoyment in her reply.
‘The mistress has given strict orders to keep her grandson away from the harlot and her bastard.’
Beth had heard his cries and the crib had been taken from her chamber days ago. Daisy slept in an emptied drawer from the chest by her bed.
‘Get my robe and slippers,’ she demanded, climbing carefully out of bed. ‘And give me your arm.’
‘Oh I can’t do that.’
‘Just help me to the door. I’ll manage from there.’ But Mrs Roberts refused. Beth was weak and her head felt dizzy. Gratefully, she sat on a chair on the landing. She had no idea where the wet nurse was caring for her son, but Edgar, surely, must tell her. Eventually Mrs Roberts went downstairs and came back with Mrs Collins.
The Lost And Found Girl Page 8