An Improper Companion (10 page)

I was contemplating this answer when I noticed a large house across the fields. “Who lives there?” I asked.

“My great-grandfather built it as a dower house,” Leslie explained. “I once thought Mary might wish to use it. But she did not and now my bailiff lives there.”

Something in his response puzzled me. “Why should Mary have wished to use it?”

Leslie frowned. “There was a time she and Gainesfield were ... quarrelling. She thought to return here. They managed, however, to avoid this measure and eventually reached a happy enough arrangement.”

I wondered what sort of quarrel could drive mild Mary to consider leaving her husband. But I did not question Leslie further. In any event, we were approaching the next cottage.

No one came out to greet us. Leslie frowned as we approached the door. He knocked and a voice bade us enter. At the far side of the room a young woman lay in bed. It was clear why she had not been at our reception. She was
enceinte
and very close to term. In the next moment I realised that she was, in fact, due now. I hurried across the floor to her side. “Jenny Bartlet? I am Heather Kinwell,” I said briskly. “Are I you in labour? Has your husband gone for the midwife?”

Jenny shook her head, close to tears. “He’s away in town, gone te fetch some things. There be no one te send.”

I took her hand. “Don’t worry. Sir Leslie will fetch her and I’ll stay until he does.” I turned to Leslie, “Do you know where to find her?”

He nodded. “Of course. But first I’ll send you back to the castle. Mrs. Morgan can find someone to stay with Mrs. Bartlet.”

Not wanting to argue beside Jenny, I took Leslie’s arm and pulled him outside the cottage. Then I faced him, hands on hips. “Listen to me, Leslie. I’ll not leave that poor girl alone. She’s no older than I am and half scared to death at the thought of giving birth!”

“And if she should need help? Are you as qualified to help her as someone Mrs. Morgan could send?” he challenged.

“I think I am!” I retorted. “Now please go and fetch the midwife.”

For a moment I feared he would forcibly carry me away.

But at last he turned and strode toward his horse. I ran after him. “Leslie, give me some silver, please,” I said.

Startled, he paused. “Why?”

“For the baby.”

He laughed and handed a few coins to me. Clutching them, I ran back to the cottage. I went over to the bed. “Don’t worry, Jenny,” I said. “Sir Leslie has gone for the midwife. Look, I’ve brought you the first present for the child.”

I showed her the coins and she smiled. Then a grimace crossed her face, and setting the coins on the table, I hurried to pour some cold water into a basin. I found a cloth and bathed Jenny’s forehead, for the day had turned very warm. When I had done that, I gave her my hand to hold, which she gripped with surprising strength each time the pains came. They were coming closer together now and Jenny was crying, though she had not yet screamed, as I had heard women were wont to do. Sometime later, she gasped, “I’m afraid, Lady Kinwell. Suppose she don’t come in time?”

I was surprised to hear myself say briskly, “Why, then I’ll deliver the child.”

She regarded me with awe. “Have ye ever done it before?”

“No,” I said honestly, “but I know what must be done.” Jenny accepted this and became calmer. I prayed I would I not be called upon to cope alone with the birth. I knew, in theory, what must be done, but that was not the same as practice. I had once spent a year where I was much with the school nurse and learned all manner of useful remedies. I had I also wheedled out of her very precise information about childbirth by pretending I was greatly afraid of the event and I determined never to endure the ordeal. This shocked the poor ! woman so, that she hastened to explain the “ordeal” in detail and all the various steps that might be taken to ease a woman’s suffering. I knew Leslie believed me mad, but I truly felt Jenny deeded me and that I could be of use to her. That she was badly frightened seemed clear, and I did not wish to leave her alone even for the time necessary to return to the castle and send someone in my place. I strongly suspected, moreover, that although I had never witnessed a birth, I had better knowledge of what was to be done than a servant who had had no nurse to instruct her. Above all, Jenny most needed to be encouraged. That I was her age and calm would help steady her, I knew.

I moved about the small cottage, tidying it and sweeping the floor. I pulled back the curtains to let in the greatest amount of sunlight and left the door standing open to coax in the breeze. After consulting Jenny’s wishes, I laid out a few things for the baby when it should come. Frequently I paused in this work to sit beside Jenny and hold her hand or bathe her forehead or just talk. And then, as the pain grew stronger, I tore my shift (for lack of other material) to provide straps for her to pull on; the other ends being tied beneath the bed. I talked with her, but of what I cannot recall. And I listened for the sound of Leslie’s horse returning. I laid aside a knife and some thread in the event the midwife should not come in time. But there was little danger of that since it was Jenny’s first and could be expected to be a long time emerging. Yet if the midwife could not be found ... ? I thrust aside the thought. If Leslie could not find the midwife surely he would summon a doctor.

Fortunately, Jenny had ceased to be so afraid, placing her trust in me. Yet we were both relieved when the sounds of a horse finally reached us. A few minutes later, Leslie entered with Kate, the midwife. She nodded to me curtly and professionally began to examine Jenny as Leslie pulled me outside. “Now will you come home?” he demanded.

Before I could answer, Kate called from the door, “She’s asken fer ye, Lady Kinwell.”

I nodded and said to Leslie, “No, I will not. I’ll return when Jenny ceases to need me. Pray give my regrets to Lady Mary that I shall not be present at dinner.”

Leslie was angry but I turned and walked back to the cottage. Behind, I could hear Leslie cursing me. Inside, I joined Kate in preparing Jenny. I smiled at her reassuringly but did not disturb Kate with needless chatter. I was oblivious to time as we worked. At some point Tom Bartlet returned, but Kate chased him out of the cottage saying he would be useless. When he rebelled, I left Jenny’s side long enough to allay his fears and suggest he fetch more cold water. Whether it was the calmness of my manner or the fact of my title, I do not know, but Tom quieted and agreed to our instructions. Inside, I teased Jenny over her husband’s concern and drew a smile from her. Kate assured me there would be no trouble with the birth and we settled down to wait. When it began to grow dark, I lighted the candles: Kate talked and we listened, Jenny and I. She talked about other births and the families in the nearby countryside. One of her first deliveries had been Leslie.

Then it began and we, none of us, had time to chatter. Kate used the knife and thread I had set aside. Soon I was holding the child and gently bathing it with another strip of cloth torn from my shift. A lusty boy who wanted his mother. And even as I held the child I felt a wave of sadness sweep over me, that I would never hold a child of my own. As the tears obscured my sight I handed the child to its mother. Kate signalled that Jenny was almost ready and I left the cottage in search of Tom. He was just outside. “You’ve a son, Mr. Bartlet,” I said, “and Jenny is well.”

He let out a shout of triumph and soundly kissed me before running to the cottage. Laughing, I followed. When I entered the doorway, I saw him bending over to kiss the baby. Then I found myself consenting to their shy request that I stand for the child at its christening. They had begun to discuss names when there was a knock at the door. I hastened to open it. A maid from the castle kitchens stood there, and I realised she carried a large basket of food. “Sir Leslie said I was to bring it,” she said shyly.

The basket contained two roast hens, bread, and some elderberry wine as well as some fresh eggs. Tom decided to broach the wine that we might all toast the new baby. I could not refuse, but after the toasts I insisted I must leave. We bade each other good night and I left with the maid, feeling warm and happy.

Outside I discovered she had come in the pony cart. “The maister said I was on no account to let ye ride back in the dark,” she said. “We’re te tether the mare te the cart.”

I smiled and agreed, adding that she must handle the reins as I’d no experience with carts. She, Gail, seemed pleased and more at ease then. And as we rode she asked about Mrs. Bartlet and the baby. I answered her questions as best I might and laughed at her surprise when I said I had tom my shift for straps and to bathe the child. At last, her curiosity satisfied, she sighed. “Well, but ’tis good for ye, I daresay. Ye’ll be having yer own babes soon and will know what te expect.”

I was glad of the darkness that hid my tears from her. I chided myself silently, saying it was only the fatigue which made me unhappy. Gail chattered on, oblivious to my distress. The servants, she told me, already discussed when the first child might come and whether it would be a boy or girl. From a distance, I heard myself say that a doctor had once told me I might find it difficult to conceive.
That
reduced her to a shocked, sympathetic silence.

I was grateful when we reached the castle. Gail sent me straight in, saying she would look to the horses. I stumbled up the steps and a startled footman let me in, saying the master awaited me in the library. I went there and rapped on the door. “Come in!” a harsh voice commanded.

I entered. As I did so Leslie rose to his feet with an exclamation, “Good God! Your habit!”

I looked down in surprise. “Oh dear, it’s ruined, isn’t it? The underskirt also, I fear. I’m sorry, Leslie, I forgot to be careful.”

He came and firmly propelled me to a chair and sat me down. “Have you eaten?” he demanded.

I shook my head. “Not since breakfast.”

With a muttered curse, he rang for a servant, and when she came ordered a cold tray and a pot of tea for me. Leslie paced back and forth, refusing to let me speak until I had eaten. When the tray had at last been carried away, I began to chatter. I told him how I had come to tear my shift and some of Kate’s stories. And I told him of Tom’s worry and his kiss. Then I paused. “I agreed we would stand for the child, Leslie. I suppose I should have asked you first, but they were so shy about it...”

A corner of his mouth twitched, but his face remained impassive as he said, “Very well. Go on.”

There wasn’t much else to tell. Until I came to the lie I had told the maid. I shrank into the chair, afraid of Leslie’s anger. But he looked more weary than angry. “Yes,” he said, “I suppose that will keep the servants from wondering why there are no children.”

He turned around and seemed to be attending to certain papers on his desk. Impulsively I rose and went over to him. Placing a hand on his arm, I said, “I’m sorry, Leslie.”

He looked down at me, an expression in his eyes I could not read. He put a hand on my head and said quietly, “Go up to bed, Heather. You’ve had a busy day.”

Confused, I withdrew to my chamber. Immediately, Ellen began to cluck over me and the ruined habit. I let her chatter. The tale of my action had indeed passed throughout the servants’ hall, and my behaviour was much remarked upon. Ellen, at least, seemed to approve. After a soothing bath, I dismissed her and sought my bed. Tired, sleep came quickly to me that night.

Chapter 9

Mary’s first words to me the next morning were, “My dear! How highly unsuitable!”

This was at breakfast. For the first time we all met at the morning table. I answered shortly, “She had need of me. That was all that was important.”

“But you could have sent a servant,” she protested.

I shook my head. “The very fact that I was Lady Kinwell helped. Also, I did not wish to leave her alone and I felt I had the necessary knowledge to cope if the child arrived before the midwife.”

“How could you?” she asked in a shocked voice. “Surely such things are not taught at Mrs. Gilwen’s school?”

I sighed. “No, they are not. Medical texts exist, however.” It was a small lie, but I was afraid that if Mary knew who had taught me she might cause the poor woman’s dismissal. Mary confined herself to shaking her head at me. Philip was interested. “Aunt Heather, weren’t you squeamish? I mean, it isn’t a pleasant process, is it?”

“Philip!” Mary’s shocked voice rang out.

“May I suggest,” Leslie interrupted, “that this is not a suitable topic for the table.”

His words silenced us until I turned to Mary. “The other day, ma’am, you suggested a trip into town. Are you still willing?”

She smiled and unbent perceptibly. “Of course, my dear. Have you many things to buy?”

“A few,” I admitted ruefully. “Is there a decent dressmaker in the place? I’ve need of a new habit.”

“A tolerable woman,” Mary replied.

“Why do you need a new habit?” Philip was curious. “Thought your blue one all the crack.”

I blushed. “I fear I ruined it yesterday.”

After breakfast, Leslie called me into the library. From the desk, he produced a small leather pouch of coins. “You will, naturally,” he said, “put such things as your new habit on account. You may need, however, cash for tea or small purchases. Or”—he hesitated—“for gifts.”

I took the pouch, feeling rather surprised and I stammered, “Th-this is most kind of you, Leslie.”

He slammed shut the drawer of his desk and said shortly, “It is nothing of the sort. You were promised a settlement and you shall have it. If you recall, I assured you that you would not lack for spending money.”

Dismayed by his tone, I said, “Very well. Then I shall simply say thank you.”

He was silent and I hesitated, uncertain if I should stay or leave. Then he spoke with a touch of bitterness, in his voice. “Congratulations, Heather. The servants have accepted your tale. This morning my valet, Peter, offered me his sympathy for your condition.”

I flushed. “Leslie, I am sorry. But I felt it better they should have no cause to wonder when no children appeared.” I bit my lip. “And after all, I could have said
you
were the one unable to have children.”

“And if later there should be children?” he demanded.

I grew white angry under his gaze. “I did not tell her conception was impossible, merely difficult. But you need not worry, sir, that I shall present you with”—I hesitated over the word—“a side-slip. Whatever your activities,
I
do not intend to pursue any affairs!”

We glared at each other across the desk. A knock at the library door recalled us to ourselves.

“Come in!” Leslie called as I quickly sat down and stared at the floor.

It was a footman. “Young Mr. Bartlet, sir, asks to speak with you, sir.”

“Send him up.”

“Begging your pardon, sir. I thought that would be your answer and I took the liberty of bringing him with me.”

“Very well. Show him in.”

Tom was bashful this morning. “Sir Leslie. Lady Kinwell. I’ve come te thank ye both fer what ye did fer me wife yesterday.”

“Why, you are quite welcome,” I said frankly. Then asked merrily, “And how is the baby? And the mother?”

He flushed happily. “Oh, famous, ma’m. Jenny’s feelin’ herself agin, and the babe, well, he’s got a powerful strong set o’ lungs!”

We all laughed. “When is the christening to be?” Leslie asked with a smile.

“Sunday, a week hence,” Tom told us.

“And the child’s name?” I queried.

Tom flushed again. “Ken Leslie Bartlet. We’d a named it Heather if it’d a been a girl. Now I won’t be wasting any more of yer time, Sir Leslie. I just came te say thank ye and tell ye the day of the christening.”

“Will you have something to eat before you go?” Leslie asked. “Mrs. Morgan could...”

He laughed. “Mrs. Morgan has already fed me this morning.”

We laughed with him again and Tom left, escorted by the footman. When they were gone, I turned to Leslie. “Good day. No doubt Mary awaits me.”

Mary was indeed waiting. I paused only long enough to fetch a reticule, gloves, and my hat and to speak to Mrs. Morgan hastily. “Sir Leslie expects another guest this week and does not know the day,” I told her.

“Which chamber shall I prepare?” she asked.

“I am not sure,” I replied frankly. “The guest is the Earl of Pellen. Best give him the most comfortable one.”

“Very well, my lady.”

I was glad I had prepared the week’s menu in advance and had no need to stop for it that day. Mary was growing impatient. “I’m sorry,” I told her when at last we were in the carriage. “I should have warned you had I known Leslie wished to speak with me.”

“Was he angry with you?” she asked sympathetically.

“I fear so,” I admitted and sighed. Then, needing to confide in someone, I said, “I started a silly rumour among the servants. I told one of the kitchen maids yesterday evening that I could not have children. Goosish of me, no doubt, but I could not bear the thought of speculation belowstairs as to when an heir might arrive.”

To my surprise, Mary did not reprove me but said she thought the idea a sensible one. I still did not know my
belle-soeur
very well. We came to a halt in the courtyard of the inn. Having compared our lists of errands, we determined to visit the dressmaker first to order my new riding habit.

It was to be expected that we would be stared at, the villagers being curious about the new Lady Kinwell. We were greeted with deference at the dressmaker’s shop, and it was clear she was both surprised and pleased to receive our patronage. After some discussion, I chose a fabric and style much like that of the ruined habit. Miss Markam promised delivery within the week. At the same time, Mary ordered a summer dress and I had the first indication of how long she meant to stay. For the dress could not be ready in less than seven days, and she said they might have a fortnight if need be.

As we walked past the other small shops many of the women paused to greet Mary by name and I was introduced. Even allowing for natural curiosity, I was puzzled by the intentness of many of the stares I received. I could not know that Kate had already spread the tale of my behaviour of the day before. In innocence I agreed with those who asked if I found the country a quiet place.

Laden with bundles, sometime later, we returned to the inn and placed them in the carriage. We had already decided to have nuncheon before returning to the castle. I was frankly elated with my freedom, the new experience of having sufficient funds for all I wished to purchase, and the deference shown me as Lady Kinwell. I should be a liar if I did not admit there were compensations to my new existence. The innkeeper hastened to serve us personally and seat us in a private parlor. We continued to discuss our purchases and the style of boots and shoes I had ordered, this being one article Leslie had been reluctant to choose for me. Indeed, at the moment, I had but one pair of each which must serve on all occasions. We were in complete accord concerning the shawl and lace cap Mary had purchased. I reflected that she, like her brother, possessed excellent taste. Mary confided that often she preferred to shop in such small villages since frequently, if one were careful, one could find very smart articles and the prices were not so shockingly dear as in London. Not that William was clutch-fisted. Quite the contrary. Still, a pound saved was a pound saved and there were all manner of other uses to which it could be put.

Feeling very companionable, Mary and I returned to the courtyard where the coachman waited. As he handed us into the carriage an impressive coach and four pulled up. A moment later, a youngish-looking man of about thirty-five years emerged. He was neatly dressed and carried himself with an air of importance. Beside me, Mary exclaimed, “Why, it seems to be Lord Pellen. Whom can he be coming to visit?”

I was amused. “Us. Or so Leslie has informed me. Do you know him?”

“Oh, dear me, no. But he is everywhere received,” she replied. “Of the highest
ton
and in politics, I believe, though rumour has it the family funds are a trifle flat.”

“Flat?” I said incredulously. “With that coach and four?”

“Well, in a relative way,” she temporised.

Confused, I gave the order to drive home. Confusion passed to anxiety as I wondered if Mrs. Morgan had prepared a room for the earl. I wished I had remembered to warn her yesterday, for I feared we should see him at the castle before nightfall. But the matter was of little concern to Mary and she began to discuss the gifts I had bought for Jenny Bartlet’s new son. Soon I was deep in a discussion of the relative merits of various sorts of rattles.

The sight of the castle reminded me of my responsibilities. Leaving the servants to deal with the packages, I apologised to Mary, then went in search of Mrs. Morgan. After a few questions I ascertained that a chamber was aired and ready with dry sheets and that it would be no trouble to lay aside some of the best wine for dinner. Satisfied, I decided to seek out Leslie and warn him our guest might arrive at any moment. He was, as I expected, in the library. As was his habit, he did not look up as I entered, and I was halfway to his desk before he realised I was not a servant. “Ah, Heather. Did you enjoy your visit to the village?” he asked.

I untied my bonnet and drew off my gloves. “Very much,” I admitted.

As I sat down in a wing chair he came to sit beside me. “And what did you buy?”

“Well, I ordered the habit, of course—’twill be ready within the week—shoes, and oh, the dearest boots...”

On I chattered happily, pausing now and again to ask if such and such a price had been reasonable.

Each time he gravely assured me it was. And he laughed when I described my dilemma in choosing a gift for the baby. When I had finished and sat staring at him, feeling a bit breathless, Leslie reached out and gently flicked my cheek. “You look quite pleased with yourself,” he teased. “And happier than I have ever seen you. I must send you shopping more often.”

“Oh, no,” I protested earnestly, “that would be terribly foolish. I should spend all your money...”

Abruptly I realised he was roasting me and blushing, I fell silent. “Did you do anything besides shop?” he asked gently.

Eagerly I told him about the splendid nuncheon at the inn. And the innkeeper’s deferential manner that had made me feel so strange. “Oh, I must tell you,” I said after, “your guest will no doubt be arriving today. Someone stopped at the inn with a travelling coach and Mary said it was Lord Pellen. She seemed surprised to learn he would be visiting at the castle, though she said she didn’t know him. I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Morgan. A chamber has been prepared and his comfort shall be seen to. I daresay even the groom has been warned he shall have extra horses to attend to.”

Leslie nodded absently, his thoughts clearly on other matters. He seemed disturbed almost. I wondered if he truly welcomed the earl’s visit and whether the reason for it were unpleasant. Some of this must have shown on my face, for abruptly Leslie asked if anything had gone wrong. “N-no,” I said, blushing, “it simply seemed that you were, well, concerned.” He smiled, but I sensed weariness behind the smile. “You needn’t bother your head about it. His lordship is arriving earlier than I expected, and I haven’t the least idea how I shall entertain him. That’s all.”

I wavered, uncertain if Leslie were shamming it. He spoke again, more gently. “Go along now and change, Heather. It’s almost teatime, you know.”

“Very well,” I said, aware there were things which required my attention, “I shall see you shortly.”

Ellen was waiting for me. Somehow she always seemed to know when I would need her. My packages were on the table, but resolutely I decided to ignore them for the time.

Suddenly I realised Ellen was regarding me oddly. “Is something wrong?” I asked her.

Hastily she set about helping me change. “Oh, no, my lady. Only ... well, that Mr. Bartlet this morning, told everything. I mean, we knew you had stayed with Mrs. Bartlet, and I could see from your habit you had helped deliver the child ... but to tidy the cottage! And standing for the child ... and ... and all ...”

I turned to face her. “Oh, dear, Ellen. Have I shocked the servants terribly? Have I sunk myself beneath reproach? But what else could I have done? She needed me.”

Ellen was shocked at my dismay. “Oh, no, my lady! That isn’t what I meant. Everyone is saying how wonderful it was ... and what a proper mistress for the castle you be. Proper sympathetic they are, too, at your position, and saying Sir Leslie had best treat you with respect.”

At the image of Leslie’s servants taking up the cudgel in my defense, I laughed. “So I am accepted then?” I asked.