For a moment she was at a loss to respond. Then, ‘Of course not! How can you suggest such a thing?’
His lips tightened. ‘Because of what happened to you. The thing that made you faint in the market—that made you run from Marmaduke Haw.’ He took a breath. ‘“Master Henry, please, no!”, you said. At the market.’
A shudder went through her. ‘Yes...’
Briefly, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again he was gazing steadily at her, his expression filled with compassion.
Tell him.
So she did. Seated beside him on a satin-covered settee, she told him the whole revolting tale.
He listened with patience, with anger, and with understanding. She finished by reassuring him that he did not remind her in any way of the foul Henry.
‘I like your kisses,’ she concluded simply.
There was only one reasonable response to that. He reached for her and with feather-light tenderness kissed her gently.
She tolerated this for just a few moments, before burying her hands in his dark hair, pulling him closer, and demanding access to his mouth with her questing tongue. Passion rose again, and once more it was he who put a stop to it, sliding backwards on the settee so they were no longer touching. Both were breathing raggedly.
Their eyes met and a slow smile grew on his face.
Her answering smile signalled the deep contentment within her.
Slowly reality intruded. Her grandfather was in bed upstairs after suffering a severe apoplexy. And here they were dallying.
She could sense the frown appearing on her own face.
He saw it too.
‘No, Jane, you will not feel guilty about this. If I am not mistaken, my uncle would think it excessively diverting, the old devil.’
She had to laugh. ‘Do you know, I believe you are right?’
‘Of course I am.’ His eyes were laughing.
I am in heaven.
There was a sound in the corridor outside, then a scratching at the door.
With a rueful grimace Robert stood, stepping away from Jane and moving towards the fireplace. ‘Enter!’
‘Sir.’ It was the butler. His eyes flicked briefly to Jane, but his visage remained impassive.
‘Yes, Umpelby?’
‘Henby has desired your presence, sir. She strongly believes Mrs Millthorpe should not sit all night with the master.’
Robert frowned. ‘I agree with her. Very well, I shall come.’
He bowed to Jane, a hint of warmth in his eyes, then left.
Chapter Twenty-Five
For three days they kept a vigil by her grandfather’s bedside. His valet and Robert shared the nights, while Jane, Mrs Kendal and Mrs Millthorpe took turns to sit with him during the day.
Her grandfather opened his eyes from time to time, which gave them all encouragement, but he seemed incapable of speech. Now and then he would take sips of wine, but grimaced when presented with food.
By Wednesday, he refused even wine.
Jane had written to her mama to explain that her return home would be delayed. Her focus was on assisting as best she could in nursing her grandfather, and in truth her former life at Ledbury House seemed far, far away.
Mama was there, and Miss Marianne, and her real life. But Jane had a purpose here. And people who were important to her.
The thought left her feeling torn, so she avoided it.
Mrs Millthorpe, despite continuing to complain, was assiduous in taking her share of the burden. Jane’s opinion of her increased by the hour as she devoted her attention to her ailing husband. Only strong persuasion made her allow others to take her place.
On Wednesday evening Jane was sitting with her grandfather, quietly reading, when Robert called in to his uncle’s chamber. They had had little time together since Sunday evening’s encounter, and had, on the surface, settled back into their familiar warm friendliness. Inside, though, Jane could not see him as anything other than the passionate, handsome man who had kissed her so thoroughly.
Her heart leapt, as it always did on seeing him. ‘Oh, Robert, but you are too early. I can do two or three hours more before you begin your night-time vigil.’
‘I know. I just wanted to make sure you have all you need.’ His smile was warm.
Was he remembering what she was remembering?
‘That is kind of you.’
There was a sound from the bed.
‘Grandfather?’ Jane hurried to his side, Robert following behind her. Her grandfather’s eyes were open, and he looked first at her, then Robert.
Lifting his good hand, he sought hers. She gave it, her heart sinking at how weak his grip had become.
And this is his good side.
The other half of his body had lain useless since the stroke had robbed him of his speech and his independence.
Taking her hand, he deliberately placed it on the counterpane. Then he reached out again, this time towards Robert, at the same time making noises signifying urgency.
Jane twisted to look at him. ‘He wants your hand, I think.’
Robert gave his hand and Jane glanced down at the counterpane, noting the contrast in the two—the old and the young. Robert’s hand so young and strong, smooth of skin and whole in muscle and sinew. Her grandfather’s claw-like, emaciated and weak.
Still, her grandfather’s spirit was strong. He placed Robert’s hand square on top of Jane’s, making a sound of satisfaction at the back of his throat. Jane looked from him to Robert’s hand and back again. Her grandfather nodded, then closed his eyes.
Jane and Robert stood like that for quite some time, Jane feeling safe and reassured by the warmth of Robert’s hand on hers and his chest at her back.
I must remember this moment.
Eventually, guilt stirred her into action. ‘You should go, Robert. You have a long night ahead.’
Gently, she withdrew her hand and turned to face him. He was standing very, very close.
‘Make the most of these few hours to read and rest. I have all I need here.’
This produced a slight smile in response. ‘Very well.’ He took a breath, then stood back from her. ‘I shall return at midnight.’
Jane nodded. Still he did not go. They both knew it was sensible for him to leave, yet Jane was loath to see him go.
He wishes to stay. Her heart warmed at the thought. I wish he would.
Then came the realisation. Her grandfather was dying. She could not be distracted by other matters. Everything else must wait.
Robert must have read the changing moods on her face, for abruptly he spun on his heel and left.
Once he had gone she sank into her chair and put her head in her hands, feeling bereft.
Caring for her grandfather was in a sense easy, for he just lay there. But it was also the hardest thing she had ever done. There was the constant worry of fearing he would die, that there was something she should be doing, that after he was gone her last link to Papa would die with him...
And then there was Robert. Robert. When had he become so necessary to her happiness? The thought of leaving here, never to see him again, was crushing.
I must be strong about this. I simply must.
In the end, she knew, events would propel her away whether she wanted to go or not. Her real life was waiting at or near Ledbury House.
Go well, my Jane, and never forget who you are.
Mama’s written words were ever there, at the back of her mind.
I am a lady’s maid on a short visit.
But the words no longer rang true in her heart.
I am Papa’s daughter. I am part of the Beechmount Hall family.
No. I am Mama’s daughter. I am a proud servant.
No. I am a former servant.
Her head felt as though it might explode
, like a firework.
I do not know who I am. Mama, I do not know!
At Ledbury House they would have had her latest letter by now, explaining that she could not yet leave Yorkshire. It would be something of a shock, she knew. No one had expected her grandfather to become so dangerously ill during her visit. Robert had made it clear to them that, although he was old, his uncle had been in reasonably good health.
Both Lady Kingswood and Mama had replied to her previous letters in their own way, showing interest in the happenings in Yorkshire while also wishing her home soon.
Home. Where is my home?
Papa, Grandfather, Eleanor—they were all here, in Beechmount Hall. Their presence lurked in every room, laughed and played and lived in every part of the house and the garden and the lake and the hill.
They are part of this place. As am I.
Never had she felt such affinity for a place before. She loved Ledbury House, and had been happy there until a few short weeks ago. But she had never felt this sense of connection.
It feels like home. And it isn’t just Beechmount Hall and the family. It is Robert, too.
She sat back in the armchair, gazing into the flames.
Robert...
Finally she allowed herself to look into her own heart. Where before it had contained only a very few people—Mama, Miss Marianne, and a degree of affection for Lord Kingswood and some of the other Ledbury House servants—now it was filled to the brim with Grandfather, with Mrs Kendal, with Mrs Millthorpe and Nancy, even with Miss Dodsworth.
Mostly, though, it was filled by one person.
Robert Kendal.
Surely the most handsome men she had ever encountered. Handsome face. Strong body. Generous heart. Lively mind.
His soul called to hers like a beacon in the dark.
I love him.
Her heart swelled.
I love him. Well, of course I do!
Closing her eyes, she savoured the knowledge, considering his face, his form and character in great detail.
I love him.
After a time her thoughts naturally returned to herself.
He likes me. He likes me exceedingly well...
Her heart fluttered as she allowed herself to dwell on wishes and hopes so long denied. Their friendship was strong, and they had an affinity of mind she had never before encountered.
He wants me, too.
Desire flooded through her as she relived the dizzying kisses they had shared downstairs. To share his bed would be heaven, and she had no doubt of it being an intensely agreeable and pleasant experience, were it to happen.
I know I could overcome my fears with him. I just know it!
But gradually, doubts began to creep in.
Can I think of marrying him?
She was an honest, respectable woman, but she was also a former servant. Could he possibly marry her? She shook her head. It just would not do. Why, it had been at the root of the divide between Papa and Grandfather. A gentleman should not—not ever—marry a servant.
She groaned aloud at the lowering thought, and her grandfather stirred in the bed. Hurrying to his side, she took his hand. It had not moved since he had used it to join Robert’s hand with hers earlier. He seemed to be asleep, his chest rising and falling with low breaths.
‘Grandfather,’ she whispered. ‘I love him. I love Robert.’
His eyes remained closed, but she was surprised by him briefly squeezing her hand.
He hears me!
She stayed with him for a while longer—until her grandfather’s valet arrived just before midnight to see to him and change him. Knowing it would be immodest to stay, she nevertheless wished she could, for she would have liked to see Robert one last time before retiring.
Instead she kissed her grandfather’s forehead, wished him a good night’s rest, and promised to see him again early in the morning.
This time there was no response.
As she climbed into her own soft bed, grateful as ever for Nancy’s thoughtfulness in building up the fire and warming the bed, she thought of Robert, beginning another long night in her grandfather’s chamber. She could picture him there, book in hand, seated in the very armchair she had not long vacated.
‘Robert...’ she murmured as sleep claimed her.
* * *
‘Miss Bailey! Wake up, miss!’
‘Uh...?’ Jane gradually understood that Nancy was there, holding a candle.
She looks upset.
‘Grandfather!’ Her heart ran cold.
Nancy made haste to reassure her. ‘He’s still alive, miss, but he’s bad. The young master has said all the ladies should come.’
Jane was already rising. ‘Oh! My slippers! What shall I wear?’
‘Here, miss.’ Nancy held out a diaphanous dressing gown. ‘Mrs Kendal says to take it, as she knows you don’t have one.’
Jane had never had occasion to leave her bedroom undressed before.
‘Thank you.’ Jane slipped her arms into the lace confection, part of her mind recognising the beauty and workmanship in the fine garment. The rest of her mind was filled with pain.
Nancy lit a full branch of candles, and Jane carried it to her grandfather’s chamber. The other two ladies were already there—Mrs Kendal crying softly in her son’s arms, while Mrs Millthorpe had claimed her place by her husband’s side and was even now gently speaking to him.
Jane approached. Her grandfather looked just as he had earlier—his face relaxed in sleep and his body and face calm.
Why have they called us? she wondered.
Then she noticed his breathing. Unlike the natural, steady breaths she had noticed earlier, her grandfather’s breathing had now changed to a rapid succession of quick breaths, accompanied by the bubbling stridor of phlegm at the back of his throat.
The death rattle.
Abruptly the noise stopped, and Jane counted to five inside her head before Grandfather breathed again.
He is dying. She glanced at the others. And they know it.
Robert, maintaining one arm around his mother, reached out to Jane with the other, and she gladly accepted the comfort of his embrace. Instinctively she reached out to Mrs Kendal with her other arm. The three of them stood like that for quite a few minutes, before separating wordlessly.
Her grandfather’s valet appeared with an extra chair, two sleepy footmen following him in with dining chairs.
Most of the household is awake, then.
Once seated, there was nothing for them to do but wait, and watch, and wait again...
* * *
For the rest of his life Robert knew he would remember this night. His uncle was spent, his body finally relinquishing the powerful spirit that had dominated most of Robert’s life to date. As well as the inevitable sadness, he felt also relief that his uncle would no longer have to battle with a body that simply would not behave the way he wished.
Following the stroke on Sunday, Robert’s unspoken dread had been that his uncle would be forced to live on, trapped inside a broken cage which allowed no speech and limited movement. At least this way, hard as it was, gave him freedom.
For many hours Robert simply sat with the three women and his uncle’s devoted valet—who, unsurprisingly, could not be persuaded to seek his bed. There was a calmness in the air that was entirely unexpected. Each of the ladies shed tears at times, but their collective acceptance of the inevitable led to a certain harmony and serenity that was unanticipated yet entirely welcome.
At times his attention wandered, and he found himself plagued by flashes of memory. Jane had arrived in his uncle’s chamber wearing a thin nightgown, covered only by his mother’s old lace dressing gown, and with her long dark hair unbound. He had never seen anything more beautiful.
The fact that she was clearly unaware of how her cl
othing so imperfectly concealed her form was a matter of both great interest and frustration to him. On several occasions he had to remind himself sternly that carnal thoughts were not appropriate in this present situation. Still, he saved the memories for a more appropriate time.
Jane and his mama took turns to doze in the armchair, and eventually he allowed himself to be persuaded to take his own rest there. He slept for only a short time, yet surprisingly deeply, and when he woke Jane was looking directly at him. Seeing his eyes open, she flushed slightly and looked away.
Robert glanced at the small clock. A quarter-hour before six. He rose, stretched, and made his way back to his uncle’s bedside. As he did so his uncle’s breathing paused again. In the way they had been doing all night, they all listened intently for him to breathe again. After what seemed like an age his uncle took another breath, and there was an audible sigh from Aunt Eugenia.
His mama tried to persuade her aunt to take a turn in the armchair, but she steadfastly refused. ‘I shall lay my head here, at the edge of the bed,’ she agreed.
‘An excellent notion!’ Mama pulled her chair closer to her aunt’s. ‘I shall join you.’
The two ladies rested their heads on the counterpane, and before long their breathing steadied and deepened.
Robert took his place by Jane’s side and lifted her hand. She squeezed his and let hers rest there. Eventually she, too, slept, her dark head resting on the side of his uncle’s bed. Robert stayed awake, holding his beloved’s hand and keeping vigil over his uncle.
They remained like that until just before seven, when the change happened.
The pause between breaths became almost a full minute.
Is this it?
Robert stood up. ‘Uncle?’
The ladies lifted their heads, looking confused and sleepy-eyed. Then his uncle breathed again, and Robert sank down.
It was not the end, but it was nearly so.
At ten minutes to eight, on a cold morning in early March, he breathed his last.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Preparations for the funeral began almost immediately. The bells were rung in the chapel, the undertaker was called for, the bees were informed in the correct manner and the hatchment went up above the door.
Rags-to-Riches Wife Page 22