Fortune's Mistress (21 page)

She shook her head.
“That is not my name.” She looked beseechingly at him. “Please, please, you must listen to me.”

He nodde
d, and she seemed to relax somewhat. Perhaps it was best, after all, if the telling would help to ease her mind.

In the darkened room, her words tumbled over each other: the story of a young girl named Marianne Gardiner entering the jaded world of the
ton,
full of hope and romance. She told him of her flirtation with the Marquis de la Roche, his attentions and flattery, and finally his betrayal.

“
I knew I should not have gone to him,” she whispered. “But I was headstrong, certain I knew what was best, certain my life would fall into the perfect lines of a fairy tale. I slipped away and met him in a park, thinking he might perhaps try to kiss me, but no worse. I even cherished a hope he might offer for me—not because I fancied myself in love. It merely would have suited my pride to count such a distinguished gentleman among my conquests.

“
When I reached the park, I found he had his carriage waiting. I protested, but he laughed at me and coaxed me inside—and took me to his house. His servants had been sent away for the afternoon, he told me, so I need not worry that my visit there would be reported. He seemed very kind, at first, merely interested in showing me his collections—music boxes, exotic bibelots, such things as would appeal to a young girl’s fancy.”

She was silent for a moment then, and Venables took her hand. She barely returned the pressure of his fingers.

“Before I knew it,” she went on wearily, “we had found ourselves in an empty chamber. That is when he— he forced me to his will.” She swallowed hard and shut her eyes. “I was so stupid, so horribly stupid. How could I not have seen—?”

Venables chafed her hand between his.
“Hush, my love,” he said. He felt his jaws tighten as he saw the tears shining on her eyelashes. He felt an anger, greater even than he had felt for Stratford, rise up in him. He had not known de la Roche, but had certainly heard of him in his younger days. The man had, in fact, been something of a hero to that debauched set to which he had himself once belonged. He shuddered now to think of it.

“
When he had done with me,” Marianne continued in a hollow voice, “he had his carriage drop me just beyond my own home. I was confused and distraught— I did not keep my secret long. My mother has sharp eyes and soon knew something was amiss. My parents were not prepared to hear my revelations with . . . equanimity, and I was still too headstrong to long bear what I viewed as their tyranny and rancor. They kept me locked away in my room until they could discover whether or not I was increasing—thank God I was not!

“
One night, I ran away. In a matter of days, I was back with the marquis. There was no other place to go. He kept me for a year or so, then I formed other liaisons. I made my way in the world as only a woman in my fallen state could. Through sin.”

As he listened to Marianne
’s story, he recognized it. He had heard it before, as had everyone in the
ton.
That the subject of it should prove to be one so gentle and good, that she should have been sinned against by all and sundry, tore his heart. No, he thought—regardless of self-condemnation, she knew nothing of sin. He stroked her hand and her hair, as the candle guttered in its holder. He knew he would tell her his story when the time was right. It would do nothing to raise him in her opinion, but at least then, she would know what sin was.

When Marianne slept at last, spent by the tur
moil of her confession, he left her again to Mrs. Bridges’s care, then stepped out into the corridor and followed it down the stairs to the kitchen. The fire still glowed, and a kettle sat warming at the hearthside. In the shadows, he could see Maggie, staring into the embers.

“
I will brew us a tisane, doctor,” Maggie said, as he entered. A linen bag hung from her waist, and he watched as she procured from this several small bags he supposed to contain herbs. When she had stirred them into an earthenware pot, she turned to him and indicated a low bench by the fireside. “Come join me here,” she said.

He did as she suggested, waiting quietly until the tea had brewed. At last, she poured out a
cup of fragrant, steaming liquid and held it out to him. He took it from her and breathed deep. Almost at once, he felt soothed and refreshed. She was a redoubtable woman, this Maggie.

“
I am glad you are here for this birth,” he told her. “I have wanted to see you at work for some time. Your reputation borders on mythic, you know.”

She shrugged away the compliment.
“Time will tell. I do not think this will prove the most difficult I have seen, as first births go.”

“
I am by no means convinced of that,” he said ruefully. “Mrs. Glencoe has undergone a shock this afternoon. I am glad there was . . .”

“
Aye. It is another woman she is in need of this night. Men have not been good to her, you see.”

He looked at her sharply. Her eyes sparkled back at him, as if she read his thoughts.

“She’s told me nothing in words. I have only read what is in her face, and in her heart. You have done the same, have you not? The pain of the past is written there clear enough for those who will see.”

True, he had perused that mysterious text since he had first met the lady, but to little avail. This night
’s revelation only made the matter more thorny.

“
I am not certain,” he said slowly, “what I have read there.”

In the darkness, her low chuckle sounded like a dry leaf crumbling.
“You need not hold back with me, doctor. It is the tradition of healers, you know, that they may speak freely with one another. Or are you still so much of that other world that your lips will not let ‘scape an honest word?”

What she implied was true. Venables had done what he could to exorcise the demons of his life in the
ton,
but it was still a part of him in the form of reticence and closely guarded secrets. For all he had tried to be free of the past, her words brought him reeling back. Outside, the wind howled mournfully. “What would you know of that world?” he asked.

“
More than enough to see it is bounded by hypocrisy on the one side, and fear on the other,” she returned tartly.

“
Hypocrisy, yes. There can be no denying that,” he agreed. “But fear? How do you mean?”

“
What we all fear: that we are human.” She stared into the fire for a long moment. “The quality— they act as if true feelings were not for such as they,” she went on, “as if this life were but a game to out-dance death. They blind themselves to the truth: their sparkles and fine ways are nothing. In the end, we all suffer the same fate, countess or scullery maid.

“
Now, you and Mrs. Glencoe are different, though you’ve sprung from that world,” she said with a sharp glance at him. “The shadow of the past is still upon you, but you’ve come through hell, the both of you, and see sometimes with clearer eyes.”

“
Only sometimes?” he asked.

“
Aye,” she nodded. “Neither one of you can see what’s written plainly before you, what even little children can see.”

He remained silent, hoping she would say more. Perhaps this strange woman knew as well as he what was written in his heart and Mari
anne’s, but he sensed that direct questions would not serve him here. Maggie seemed content to let the silence hang between them for the moment, though she did not take her eyes from him. He busied himself building up the fire, for the room had grown quite chill.

When he had addressed this task, he found himself anxious for further conversation, and unnerved by what had been left unsaid.
“You criticize my reticence,” he said quietly, “yet you will do no more than talk in riddles. Tell me what more you know, Maggie, if it is honesty you value.”

“
Aye, I value it well enough,” she said. “You have caught me out— not many do. As for riddles, that is the shape my knowledge comes in. I do not always know what it means myself, and must often guess.” She looked up from the fire and caught his eye. “Very well. I do not have leave to tell you all, but I will say what I may.

“
I look at your face and the mistress’s, and I see you’ve traveled much the same path, and ended at the same spot: regret. Aye, but there’s the need for forgiveness, too, more for yourself than others. Is that a riddle now, or do you think I speak more plain?”

Venables felt his heart start at these words. True, she did not speak in terms a stranger would have been able to interpret; as for their application to his and Marianne
’s various histories, her words held true. Still, he frowned in consternation, feeling as if he knew both more and less than he had before.

He heard just then the sound of Mrs.
Bridges’s step in the passage. “Come quick,” she called to them. “ ‘Tis the mistress in a mortal bad way. She be tossing about and talking wild.”

Venables tore up the stairs, while Maggie followed at a less hurried pace. When he gained the chamber he sought, he was greeted with the sight of Marianne thrashing wildly, as if caught in the throes of a nightmare.

“
I do not know what’s come over her,” Mrs. Bridges said in apprehension. “She was sleeping peacefully enough, then woke with a start, saying it was all to pieces here, and she must fly.”

Joining them, Maggie took the lady
’s arm and, leading her away, said, “Pay it no heed, Mrs. Bridges. I have seen it thus more than once. It is the pain and the fright with these first children. Do go to bed and rest yourself now. I shall call, if you are needed.”

When they were left alone, Maggie went on,
“‘Tis better if we are left in peace to our work. Sally Bridges is no gossip, but still ‘tis best if the mistress has her privacy. Households run better where there’s nothing to repeat.”

Venables nodded, and crossed to the bed to take stock of the situation. As he approached, Marianne turned her head away from him, tears still glistening on her lashes. He knelt and ca
ressed her forehead.

“
I am being punished for my folly and sin,” she whispered. “I thought I could outwit fate. I thought I could be happy.”

“
Poor soul,” Maggie whispered.

“
Mrs. Glencoe sustained a nasty shock this afternoon,” he explained quietly as he chafed Marianne’s wrist. “Sometimes the full effects of such shocks are not immediately realized. It is bad enough her child is come early, but her mind seems disordered as well.”

Venables was far more distraught than his calm manner indicated. To hear the despair in her voice, see the tears streaming down her face, to know the pain the night held in store for her, was overwhelming. If only he might bear some part
of the burden.

Marianne moaned and reached for his arm.
“You must promise me something,” she murmured.

“
Anything,” he said softly.

“
If I should die tonight—“

“
No! You will not die. Do you not see? Why, Maggie and I are with you. Together we can— “

“
But if I
should
die,” she went on implacably, “promise you will send my baby to my sister. Promise me?”

“
Yes,” he said. “I promise. Now, do not fret yourself further.”

“
Olivia will love it as I would have done,” Marianne whispered weakly, “treat it as I would have, never speak a word of reproach, for my past is not the baby’s fault, you know.”

“
Of course not,” Venables said soothingly.

“
Do the sins of the mother pass to the child, do you think?”

“
Of course not,” he assured her. “Babies are good and sweet—like kittens. Do you not remember telling the children?”

She wrenched away from him then, caught up in pain so severe her skin seemed paler than the very sheets. Her hands clutched at the edges of the featherbed beneath her, till her knuckles showed white. A moment later she relaxed again.

“It is good for me to suffer, I think,” she murmured. “Perhaps heaven will look kindly on my child.”

They had a long night of it and into the dawn. By the time it was done, both Maggie and the doctor were glad to admit the benefit of the other
’s expertise. They were worn to a frazzle, for once labor had begun it became clear the child’s position was breech. Here, Venables was doubly glad of Old Maggie’s years of experience, for she undertook not only to guide the baby safely into life, but reassure him as well that all was going as well as it might. When it was done, she wrapped the baby, a healthy though small girl, and laid her beside her mother.

It was now well past dawn, and it had been some time since Marianne had spoken. Whether from exhaustion or sheer desperation of spirit mattered not; Venables was beside himself with worry for her, relieved there was none other it would be his task to reassure this night. He felt for her pulse: it was faint, but steady.