Marrying the Mistress (14 page)

But the two of them bent to the map again, the query dealt with, and I could say nothing of my dread as a sickness filled my lungs, blotting out each panic-stricken response as it arose. I would have to go and tell my family immediately. They must be warned of what was about to happen to their livelihood.

* * *

Though the rain had not abated all day, we were back home on Blake Street before darkness fell com
pletely. Winterson had found the chance to speak a few words with me alone and had demanded to know what ailed me. Was it fatigue, or something more?

No more than that, I lied, wondering how convinced he was. It seemed to satisfy him. He would be in town in a day or two, he said, and I think when he kissed me that he expected some pleasurable response rather than the vague nod that was all I could manage. Perhaps if his parents had not been staying, I might have told him what a catastrophe he was planning but, as it was, his fierce kiss was accompanied by the distant howls and screams of his over-tired nephew, reminding me of my promise to take Jamie to his birthday party on Tuesday. Straight away, I saw that I could make that the day for my visit to Foss Beck while Jamie and his nurse were at Osbaldwick, which was fortunately in the same direction.

As Medworth's carriage moved off, I made sure that Winterson knew about the invitation. ‘See you on Tuesday,' I called, waving.

It took what remained of my dwindling resolution not to change my mind about staying at Abbots Mere overnight when I could think of little else but wanting him. But to have done so would have convinced his parents that Winterson had already taken Linas's place as my lover, which was certainly not the cut-and-dried case it would appear to be, especially when I'd told him only recently that I would not allow that to happen. Yet it had not taken him long to find a way round my objections, and the last thing I wanted was for Lord and Lady Stillingfleete to label me as fickle.

For his father to recommend to Winterson that he
should marry me, a mere milliner and mantua-maker, was in itself remarkable when the pedigree of future daughters-in-law must be well documented and above reproach. Nothing so lofty could be said of mine, unfortunately, although Jamie's appearance had certainly helped in that respect. For one thing, he was the Stillingfleete heir and, for another, he was unmistakably Burl's offspring rather than Linas's, a fact that was unlikely to be admitted, but which could certainly be ignored, once his parents married. And for that event, I felt no immediate obligation to comply, after the way I'd been used by them.

I slept alone, and fitfully, plotting the course of the previous night's lovemaking while posing a hundred questions that could be answered in multiples, some of them concerning the fate of my family, who deserved better than poverty and obscurity and, on my part, denial.

* * *

My first duty next morning was to visit Prue with Debbie, carrying armfuls of clean bedding and food. But it was a doctor they needed most, and I called upon my own man, Dr Biggs, bidding him return with me, which he did, shaking his bald head sadly at the emaciated old couple too weak to move, and at the mess caused by the flood water in which they were obliged to remain. With all the stubborn pride of old folk, they refused even to consider accepting my offer to have them at Blake Street. Between us, we did what we could for them, yet I felt I was paying the good doctor for little else but a potion to ease their pain and a prognosis of only a few days more.

In Prue's absence, the shop continued to function just as if she was there, for now we had gained a very presentable young apprentice who had taken on many of
the daily chores that used up precious time. She was a neat and willing girl, glad of the chance to join our company and so, with Betty as deputy manager and myself to keep an eye on our list of patrons, new designs and accounts, we were able to fulfil all our orders to everyone's satisfaction.

* * *

That evening I called at Stonegate to order the phaeton and pair to be brought round to Blake Street early next morning, come rain or shine. I also bade Goody prepare for an overnight stay at Medworth's house, since I would be unable to collect Jamie from the party before dark. What a nuisance those short days were. But looking back on those decisions, I can see how unclearly I was thinking, how desperately I was trying to juggle my responsibilities, and how spineless I was being by not explaining to my child that I was going to see Nana Damzell yet again, without him. I even chose not to tell him that he'd be staying overnight at Osbaldwick, sure that, between them, Cynthia and Goody would fill the gap left my by absence. Yes, I admit it; I was afraid of provoking another tantrum. We have a saying, in Yorkshire: ‘What the eye doesn't see, the heart won't grieve over.' Applied to Jamie, it was patently nonsensical.

Cynthia's colourful description of the floods between York and the little village of Osbaldwick was not, for once, as exaggerated as I had thought. Although not of the high-perch design, the body of my phaeton was set well above the large back wheels and yet, even at that elevation, the water came within an inch of the
floorboard, the horses wading belly-high through flooded tracks. Unusually, Goody was heard to comment that, if dear Mr Monkton could have bestirred himself to send his carriage for us, we would not be subjected to such danger, all for a birthday party. Personally, I was relieved he had not, since I was carrying hidden supplies for my family at Foss Beck.

As soon as I could politely excuse myself from those gathered for the party, and with Jamie too occupied to notice, I went on my way eastwards out of Osbaldwick. Cynthia, so easy going, assured me that he and Mrs Goode were welcome to stay until I could collect them some time before dark the next day. However, not having ventured in this direction since the snowfall, I had not appreciated how serious the flooding was, kicking myself for not paying closer attention to Winterson's maps. For mile after mile I drove the phaeton through the flooded lanes, even the higher ground being thick with mud and rubble, the ruts made by other wheels being too deep to get out of.

I became increasingly concerned, for the skies darkened menacingly as rain began to sleet across the open moors, forcing the hardy sheep to huddle together for shelter. From rocky outcrops, water poured in angry brown torrents into deep gulleys, then across the track, the underground culverts being unable to cope with the volume. Then, and only then, did it occur to me that the usual dainty trickle of water at Foss Beck into the trout stream below would certainly now be as swollen as these.

* * *

I was right. The whole mercy mission was a complete disaster, for when at last I managed to reach
Foss Beck Manor, the house was up to its second storey in water, completely cut off from the world, and from me. My shouts to the boys had to be conducted across a new lake while I dripped with rain, the phaeton leaning into the mud, the horses exhausted. The news from my brothers was that Pierre had left them, gone who knew where, after angry words. My instructions to make Mother and her companions ready to leave as soon as I could get a boat to them were greeted not with thanks, but with caution, my brothers unable to agree with me that she would go anywhere, even with me. At that, I grew angry and yelled at them to insist, telling them that I would be back the next day, though heaven only knew how I'd get back home that night in those dreadful conditions.

* * *

My journey home was no better, for the dark was falling and the horses were unable to find the road in the deepening water and, when the phaeton jolted to a standstill with a lurch to one side, I knew that to walk the rest of the way was my only option. Shivering with the cold, I began to unbuckle the horses from the phaeton. Then, through the howl of the wind, I heard a shout that made them whinny in reply, my own reaction being both joyful and concerned at some gruff traveller's annoyance that my phaeton was in the way. No one would want to turn back or wrestle with a broken vehicle, having got so far. Paralysed with cold and wet, I stood with my ankles locked into the mud and my shoes buried somewhere behind me, my teeth chattering like castanets.

Flickering lamps appeared, a coach-width apart. Two
large horses loomed up with a dumpling-shaped coachman above them, with doors beyond that opened on both sides discharging men who called instructions and waded towards the horses as if this was all in a day's work. One tall familiar figure strode forwards out of the grey wetness, leaving a wake to wash against the banks. His arms reached out, ready to catch me. ‘Hell!' he called.

Hell, or Helene? I wondered. Either would do.

‘I'm s-s-stuck,' I gasped, flapping my arms to keep my balance.

Grim and gloriously handsome, with rain dripping from his hair and face, he caught my wrist, bending towards me and ducking his head under my captured arm. ‘Right,' he said. ‘I want you to lie over my shoulder…go on…bend…that's it. I'm going to pull.'

I thought he meant the arm held hard upon his chest, but then I felt my feet move through the mud and my body hoisted high into the wind where I hung over the swirling water like a sea bird, a very limp and emotional sea bird that mewed with relief to be wrapped untidily around the neck of its beloved. ‘Burl,' I sobbed into his broad back, ‘you came for me.'

‘Yes, and the sooner you stop galloping over here like an angel of mercy, woman, the better it will be for all of us. How the devil did you think you were going to reach Foss Beck when it's under water?'

‘You knew?'

‘Of
course
I knew,' he snapped. ‘It's my property and it's my business to know who lives on it. I'm not as nicked in the nob as all that. There.' He lowered me carefully to the ground. ‘Stand there and wait.' Pulling a rug from the carriage, he shook it out and parcelled me
securely inside it, lifting me up on to the seat where the hollow patter of rain made a welcome break from the squall outside.

‘I don't think you're nicked in the nob,' I muttered.

‘Then you should try thinking with your head instead of your heart, little fool, or I might be performing this wild goose chase once a month.' The door closed, and I was too exhausted to be affronted, to answer back, or even to think of a snappy reply.

As I saw it, I'd had little choice when to go, or by what method. As for the angel-of-mercy bit, that was what a man
would
think, especially one who sees a kindness as a chance to bargain. I lay there helplessly with my head on the velvet armrest, shivering and dizzy, half-listening to the comings and goings outside, the thud and splash of hooves as the horses were released.

He grunted and closed the door, then quickly opened it again to cover my muddy feet with the rug. ‘Leave the phaeton,' I heard him call. ‘We'll come back for it tomorrow. Come on, lads. Let's be away. Jump on.'

My deliverance was made all the sweeter when he climbed in, lifting me into his arms to hold me across him with my legs along the seat and my head resting against his wet greatcoat. ‘I can do nothing about the wet,' he murmured, ‘but I'm sorely tempted to beat the hell out of you, one day.'

‘Please don't,' I whispered.

I felt his warm lips touch my forehead, then the softness of his handkerchief wiping my eyes and cheeks, the tightening of his arms to snuggle me closer to him. Rocked and lurched, my aching limbs suc
cumbed to the warm dampness of his embrace while my mind wrestled weakly with an ever-growing mountain of problems. ‘I have to collect Jamie from Osbaldwick,' I mumbled. Already my plans had become confused.

‘No, you don't. Jamie is at home with Mrs Goode.'

‘Home? How did he get there? Did Medworth…?'

‘No. I took them. Then I set out to look for you. Don't you ever tell anyone where you're going these days?'

‘I told cook we wouldn't be home for dinner.'

‘Extremely thoughtful of you. But that's not quite the same, is it?'

‘It's the best I could do. I didn't know you'd be at Claude's party too.'

‘Just as well I was,' he muttered under his breath.

But I heard, and sensed that there was more to this than a kindly lift home for my son and his nurse. ‘Why?' I said, raising my head. ‘What's happened?'

‘Nothing,' he said, pressing me back onto his chest. ‘Jamie is perfectly safe at home, and probably fast asleep. As I suspect you would like to be.'

I sighed. If Jamie was safe, that was all I could ask for. I knew, however, that once I was home and dry, I would have some explaining to do, for this amazing man was not only Jamie's guardian, but mine too, and he was taking the role very seriously indeed.

* * *

I have no recollection how long it took us to reach York, though I realised it could not have been as long as the outward journey. The rain had stopped by the time we reached Blake Street, and it was the regular rumble of cobblestones under the wheels and the hard
clop-clop of hooves that woke me to the clammy warmth of my situation. Never had I been so thankful to be home, to be ministered to by my maid and housekeeper, to bathe in a hot tub, dress in warm robes and then to partake of soup and rolls by the fireside with my feet tucked into my best fur muff, mostly for effect. My hair was left loose to dry, the rainwater having done it no harm and probably some good.

My Jamie was indeed sleeping soundly and, on careful inspection, showed no signs of injury. Nevertheless, as I sipped at my soup, I questioned Mrs Goode about their few hours at Osbaldwick, expecting to get no less than the full unadulterated female version rather than Winterson's, which would probably not suit me half so well. He had promised to return in a couple of hours. There was no time to lose.

‘No, ma'am,' said Mrs Goode as soon as the door closed behind the footman, ‘it was not exactly a tantrum, but Jamie has a little temper, as we both know, and he's taken rather a strong dislike to Claude's little friend.'