by Jocelyn Kirk
“Well, I do not know. I must think a bit about it.”
My heart hammered. “Lila, I am not asking permission. I am simply advising you of my intention to travel with her.”
An uncomfortable silence seemed to endure for several minutes but in truth probably lasted only a few seconds. Finally, Dr. Carter spoke, “A fine idea. It will make Georgina’s journey more pleasant, and Mrs. Stanfield will no doubt enjoy her time in Bath.”
“But Cassandra,” cried Lila, “what am I to do without you? October is the harvest month, and we will have no servants.”
Carter quickly replied before I could gather my thoughts. “Mrs. Loch, I will give you any help you require. But let me make a suggestion to you: Why not assist with the harvest?”
Lila’s eyes widened, and her eyebrows rose into dark arches. I studied the carpet to hide a smile.
“Assist with the harvest! You would have me march into the fields with the farmers with a great scythe slung over my shoulder?”
Carter laughed. “Such a vision! I believe you are strong enough to swing a scythe, but of course I was not suggesting any such thing. During the harvest, the women and children cook for the men. All the foodstuffs go to Jesse McCrae’s great barn, and trestles accommodate meals for the workers. I spend a great deal of time in that barn myself during harvest, for there are always injuries to attend to, fortunately most of them small. You have experience in medical treatments and would be a valuable aid to me.”
“I see,” replied Lila. “If I could be of use…then perhaps…”
“Of course you would be of use. Your very nature propels you to organize, and that is often the thing most needed.”
“I believe you would enjoy yourself, Lila,” I said. “Your strengths, both mental and physical, make it a tailor-made assignment for you.”
“The best part comes after the harvest,” added Carter. “The men move away the trestles, the fiddlers take their place, and everyone dances. The hard work of harvest is over, and if the men drink a bit too much ale, who can blame them? Their efforts have provided food for all of us through the winter.”
Lila leaned forward, eagerness displayed in her bright eyes. “I believe I will take your advice and participate. But who is the farmer you mentioned? Who is this Jesse McCrae?”
“His farm is very large and lies about three miles outside the village. He is a gentleman farmer, the second or third son of a fine old country family. He has two sons of his own and two daughters.”
“I have no objection to visiting the home of a gentleman farmer. This McCrae, if he behaves as a gentleman, as well as being born into a gentleman’s family, would be acceptable as a common acquaintance.”
I gave John Carter a glance of gratitude. “How exciting for you, Lila! I will be away only a month, and you will be so busy the time will fly.”
After this conversation, which assured me of my visit to Bath, the summer passed pleasantly. I visited back and forth with Georgina and learned to paint simple pictures under her tutelage. John Carter remained an attentive friend and neighbor, and Lila began to assist him in his doctoring duties.
One evening, Dr. Carter banged on our door just as we were getting ready to retire and begged Lila to accompany him, for the midwife was ill and it seemed, from what the child said who fetched Carter, that the labor was a difficult one.
I had never seen John Carter so abrupt and hurried. “I beg you,” he cried, when we opened the door, “one or both of you must come with me. I need you!”
Lila seized her cloak. “Cassandra faints at a cut finger. I will go.”
Thank goodness, I breathed to myself when they were gone. I would surely have fainted and disgraced myself. Then, ashamed of thinking of myself in such a situation, I spoke a little prayer for the health of the mother and child.
The babe arrived safely, and Lila came back full of Dr. Carter’s praises. From that time on, instead of bragging of her own abilities, which she was wont to do, she learned from him. His quiet method of instruction and his praise of her efforts and accomplishments worked what I can only refer to as miracles with her. She was a naturally strong, intelligent, well-organized, and observant woman, and John Carter used these gifts to their full advantage. By the time mid-September sharpened the wind and shortened the days, Lila was proficient in many treatments and could manage simple cases on her own. John Carter dubbed her “Doctor Loch,” and although she laughed at the term, I believe she secretly enjoyed hearing herself called so.
One morning we awoke to a cold, slanting rain. The sea writhed as huge waves battered the shore, and the beech trees swayed in the wind, showering orange and gold leaves into the turbulent ether. We stoked the fire ourselves, for Mattie would not walk from her father’s farm in such weather. We made cocoa and drank it accompanied by muffins and apple tarts. Alone together with a storm raging outside, we did not snarl at each other like two cats as we had done in the past but settled companionably in the parlor with hot tea, books, and our sewing baskets to while away the hours of the storm.
At one point, I laid down my book and observed Lila gazing out the window.
“You are far away,” I said. “Are your thoughts at North Commons?”
She turned abruptly as if I had awakened her from sleep. “Yes…in a sense.”
I waited attentively for her to say more.
“Cassandra…I want to speak of my husband, but…”
“But?”
“But you must assure me that the story I am about to tell you will go no further. Not even to your friend Lady Lovell or John Carter.”
“Of course, Lila.”
“My story will shock you, and I hesitate…”
“My dear sister, I am no longer a child You will feel relief if you share your story, and I assure you, I will keep your confidences.”
“You are correct. I must speak of this, for the truth has lain in my bosom for eleven years, and I can bear it no longer.”
I leaned forward, giving her my full attention. I felt a great deal of curiosity but also sympathy. This sister who had been a constant pillar of strength in my life—strength and sometimes cruelty—was in distress, and despite my ambivalent feelings toward her, I was sympathetic.
Lila drew a great breath. “Dr. Loch…”
“What is it, dear?”
“Dr. Loch killed my child.”
I stared at her, believing I had not heard correctly. “Wh-what do you mean?” I stammered.
She sighed deeply and twisted a linen handkerchief into hopeless wrinkles. She raised her head and gazed at me, with truth in her eyes.
“I must start at the beginning,” she said. Tears ran down her face, and for a time she could not speak. I wanted to comfort her, but I sat mutely, watching the twisting hands.
Finally she resumed, but slowly, as if she must force each word from her lips. “When I married Dr. Loch, I was with child, three months gone.”
“With child!”
“Yes. Dr. Loch did not know I was with child when he wed me.”
“Then…then the child was not his?”
“Yes, the child was his. We had failed in our duty to…to…remain chaste until marriage. He forced me to lie with him.”
“Forced you!”
“Yes, but I did not fight him as hard as I might have. I wanted to wed him and escape all the evils of my father’s house. Therefore, I was in a sense complicit.”
“Oh, Lila! To wed a man who forced himself upon you!”
“Do not judge me, Cassie. You know how cruel Father can be.”
“No, no, I mustn’t judge you. Pray continue.”
Lila raised her teacup with a trembling hand, while I waited, all agog.
“Because Dr. Loch used me before our wedding, he knew the child was his.”
I remained silent and waited for her to continue.
“He was the vicar of North Commons Parish, as you know. He said it was not possible for him to remain in his position if the people of the county l
earned of our mistake.”
“And so he forced you to use some method to end the quickening, to miscarry the child?”
Lila placed the twisted handkerchief on the table and took up her teacup. Her hands were shaking, but she managed to sip.
“It was worse than that, much worse.” She sighed quaveringly and continued, “I disguised my condition as well as I could so no one would know how far into my quickening I actually was. At full term, I delivered a daughter with no one in attendance except my husband. He had dismissed the servants on some pretext, and fortunately the birth was an easy one.”
Lila stared toward the window, but I knew she was seeing into the past, into that hour when her infant was born. I shivered, knowing what was to come.
“What happened?” I whispered.
But Lila did not answer. Her face turned pale, and she slid from her chair to the floor. I rushed to her and helped her sit up with her back against the wall. She stared at me as if not knowing who I was. Then she seized my hand and clutched it in both of hers.
“My child…,” she whispered. “My child. She was pink and beautiful. She waved her tiny arms and seemed to look at me as I held her. But then, Dr. Loch…”
My stomach churned, and I feared I was about to be sick. I turned away.
“Do not turn from me!” cried my sister. “I tried to stop him! But I was too weak!”
With difficulty, I controlled my horror. “I am not turning from you. Whatever happened was not your fault. Did Dr. Loch…? Did he…?”
Lila breathed hard. “He said we could not present a full-term child to the world. He would lose his position, and we would starve.”
“Oh, dear God,” I whispered.
“He said the child must die, and he took her from me. I struggled to keep her, but he pulled her from my arms. He…put a pillow over her face.”
“Oh God, no!” I cried. My tears fell as thickly as my sister’s. We were on the floor together, our hair and clothing all askew and our hands clutched together. For a time we could do nothing but weep. Finally my sobs stilled, and I carried my sister’s hand to my lips.
“Did anyone know?”
She shook her head. “We told everyone I had given birth too early and the child had died.”
“How you must have suffered! But, my dear, you stayed with Dr. Loch! How could you have borne his companionship knowing what he had done?”
She looked into my face, and her expression of sadness broke my heart. “I stayed with him because I had not your courage.”
“My courage! I made a terrible mistake. That was not courage!”
“You despised Stanfield. Has it not occurred to you that the reigniting of your passion for Bart was simply a ploy visited upon yourself to give you leave to fly?”
Her words roused me. I thought back to the night I had left my husband’s house. I had looked up at the stars and breathed one word—freedom.
“Perhaps there is something in what you say, but…you berated me so when I crawled home to North Commons.”
She smiled a bitter, mirthless smile. “I suffered with jealousy. You had rid yourself of your husband, and I had remained like a coward with mine. Ever since that terrible night, I have burned with a fire of anger. I took care of my husband and obeyed him until the blessed day he died, but I inflicted my rage on others.”
I could not argue that point. “Rosamund especially seemed to annoy you.”
“Father was the instigator of bringing Rosamund to North Commons, and I became his ally, convincing my mother it would be a good scheme. I thought the child could spend time at the parsonage with me and fill the void in my heart, but she was a skinny, sniveling child, afraid of her own shadow. She could never take the place of the little beauty I had borne, and I despised her for it. I loathed her for being alive while my child was dead.”
I struggled to my feet and helped Lila into her chair. I gently wiped away her tears with a clean cloth and straightened her hair. She smiled at me, and I hoped that telling her long-kept secret would give her some peace.
“We have both suffered,” I said, “but certainly your pain has been far greater than mine. And Lady Lovell’s, also, losing her husband and child at the same time. My own grief consumed me and I failed to consider that life might have given others worse things to bear than I have endured.”
Lila slowly rose and crossed the room. She opened a cabinet, pulled forth a bottle of port wine, and poured full glasses. I took mine willingly, and we sat in the parlor silently, sipping the strong wine and allowing it to soothe our fevered breasts.
Chapter Five
One might imagine that the baring of such a dark secret as Lila’s would result in the world turning to dust or some other strange astral phenomenon; but the day passed quietly away, the night showed stars and a great full moon, with the storm having blown itself out, and morning came just as it usually did. Bright fall sunshine awakened me.
Mattie came in with the post, and there were two letters from Rosamund. Lila was busy with her cocoa and newspaper, so I settled in the parlor to read them, beginning with the earliest date.
My dear Cassandra,
Pray forgive me for addressing you by your Christian name, but my news will, I believe, justify this freedom.
I hope you and Mrs. Loch are well.
I have happy news. Your brother Frederick has asked me to be his wife, and we are engaged. I cannot express my happiness at this event. I believe you guessed my feelings for Frederick in the past. My love for him was no doubt expressed on my face every time I looked at him. He is the best, kindest, noblest man who ever lived. The focus of my life from this day forth will be on giving him the happiness he deserves.
These tidings may surprise you, for it is less than a year since Frederick ended his pursuit of Miss Loch. I would not marry him if I felt for a moment he still cared for her, but he has assured me he does not. He is still weak after his recent illness, so we will wait before embarking on our married life together.
My dear Cassandra, I do hope this news will delight you and not give you unhappiness or uneasiness. Mrs. Loch, I am sure, will not be pleased, so pray break it to her gently.
Frederick has not yet approached his father for permission, but he is hopeful that no problems will arise in that quarter.
Your loving friend,
Rosamund
Rosamund’s news did not shock me. She and Frederick had always been close friends, and it is commonplace for friends to eventually fall in love. They had a great deal in common, both being religious and painstakingly moral. I had not forgiven my brother for his part in sending me into exile, and so I could not agree with Rosamund that he was “the best, kindest, noblest man.” He certainly had not been kind to me; however, he had always been influenced by our father. Indeed, quiet, fearful Rosamund had shown more courage than my own brother in their treatment of me.
I threw the letter down on a side table for Lila to read. My feelings for my sister were such a mixture of pity and horror, I was not inclined to take up Rosamund’s advice. Lila could read the letter and make her own judgments.
I took up the other letter, but to my surprise it was not from Rosamund, as I had assumed. The return address was London, but there was no name inscribed above the street and number. Curious, I opened it quickly and scanned to the signature. It was from Miss Bettina Loch.
Mrs. Stanfield,
Although I can understand your unwillingness to receive a letter from anyone associated with my brother, Bartholomew, I beg you to give me the indulgence of a reading. I know that Bart had some share in your removal from your husband’s home, and I do not attempt to excuse his behavior. But he is my brother, and I love him dearly. Do have compassion for me in my present circumstances.
If you remember, Rosamund wrote you to ask if you knew the whereabouts of my brother. I have heard nothing from him for months, and I am frantic with grief and worry. My uncle, Admiral Cranley, is now as concerned as I am. He contacted the London Me
tropolitan Police at Whitehall Place but learned only that a constable would search the city and that would be the extent of their assistance.
Please, Mrs. Stanfield, I entreat you, if you have the least notion of where Bart might have gone, do write to me. I fear he is ill somewhere and in need of help. I must find him!
Yesterday, to confound my present discomfort, I received a note from Mrs. Appleton informing me that your brother Frederick is to marry Rosamund Quinn. Although it made me very low, perhaps it is for the best. Frederick and Rosamund can spend their lives moralizing to the good folks of North Commons Parish. The fickleness of men! I thought he cared for me, but if he could trade me for Rosamund—indeed, if he were such a coward as not to defy his father’s order to forsake me—all is well. A younger son for a husband would never have suited me even if I had foolishly married him.
I must leave off as Lady Staunton’s carriage has just pulled up under the portico. We will dine at Mrs. Brady’s townhouse, a tedious business, but what can one do? I hope my friends have not yet heard of Frederick’s engagement, for if they have, they will quiz me severely. On the few occasions when he was in town, he was a favorite with all of them.
Do write to me. I am certain you must know something of Bart.
Your friend and well-wisher,
Bettina Loch
Distractedly, I placed Bettina’s letter in my pocket. There was no need to share this with Lila. I wondered at Bart’s disappearance, and I could certainly understand his sister’s and his uncle’s concern. I hoped he was alive and well; my hatred of him had dissipated, and I had gradually reached the point of understanding that I had caused my own troubles. My mistake was in marrying Charles Stanfield, a man I not only did not love, but whom I came to actively dislike due to his cold manner. From that error, undertaken out of anger at Bart’s not proposing marriage and my habitual obedience to my father, had sprung all that followed.
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Lila had been right in her words last night: My physical desire for Bart in combination with my desperate need to rid myself of Mr. Stanfield had caused me to risk not only my father’s wrath, but my reputation. My flight from home no doubt titillated the gossips, and through the tale-telling of servants, everyone in London surely knew that Bart had accompanied and abetted my escape. Society viewed me as a fallen woman, and such a woman is an outcast. It was difficult for me to say the following words, but I said them aloud. “I have made my bed, and now I must lie in it.”