The Birthright (14 page)
“Please,” she implored her mother, searching for some sense of her world. “Start at the beginning.”
She saw Catherine blink back tears. This was not the way a new grandmother usually delivered the news that a baby had arrived safely. Anne felt terror grip her soul.
“You fainted,” Catherine began.
Anne struggled to remember. Yes, she had fainted. Just after her father had arrived. Her father. Was he here? She strained through the fog of uncertainty. Perhaps it was he by the foot of her bed.
“I fainted,” she agreed with a barely perceptible nod of her head. Somewhere in her dim memory came the remembrance of pain. Pain. It was all so strange. “But why?”
“Cyril has been…ill.”
Cyril. Of course. It was Cyril. It all rushed in on her now. Cyril was ill. Desperately ill. She must go to him. She must. She pushed against her mother’s hand, exerting all the strength she had left in the attempt to raise herself up.
“You must remain calm,” Catherine said, but her words blurred with tears.
Then her father moved up beside her. “You went into early labor—because of the strain and anxiety,” he said. Even his voice sounded different to Anne. “The baby’s small but quite strong. He’s a little fighter. And he’s going to be fine.”
“Cyril?” mumbled Anne, shaking her head in hope of clearing the confusion. Was this all some horrid nightmare? Would she soon awaken to have her world restored again?
Andrew took her unresponsive hand and rubbed it between his two strong hands. It was some time before he found his voice. “Cyril’s prayer was answered,” he said softly. “He was able to tell his son that he loved him.”
Anne puzzled. What a strange thing to say. So strange it cleared some of the fog from her brain. “What are you saying?”
Again a long pause. “My dear…I would give my life not to have to say this to you, but…your beloved Cyril has left us and gone to glory.”
“What…?”
“Cyril passed away, my dear. Not long after he held his newborn son in his arms. His last prayer was for you—and your baby boy.”
“You’re mad,” Anne screamed as she heaved herself to a sitting position, despite the hands that tried to hold her. Never had she spoken to her father in such a way, nor to anyone, but she was beside herself with fear. “I want to see Cyril,” she demanded. “I want to see my baby.”
“Hush, my dear, hush.” Catherine sought to comfort her. “You will only bring harm to yourself. You must think of your child. I’ll bring him to you. It’s true that his father is gone, but the baby is right here with you. You must think about him now. That is what Cyril would want.”
As Andrew held Anne tightly, trying to still her trembling while the sobs shook her body, Catherine turned and left the bedside. Soon she returned and placed a small, frail bundle in Anne’s arms. Her son. With all the strength she could muster, Anne gathered him close to her heart. It was true. She had a son. But her mind couldn’t escape the accompanying fact: that it must also be true Cyril had lost his battle with the ugly disease that consumed his body.
Tears of grief streamed down her cheeks as she mourned for the man she had lost. How would she ever live without him? How could she bear to spend her days and nights alone? What would happen to the child in her arms? Baby John, whom they had looked forward to welcoming to their home. The little one who was to bring them such joy and make their family complete.
Oh, dear God
, her heart cried out silently,
please, please help me
.
Three weeks after her arrival in England, Nicole and Charles set out for London. As with everything else to do with life in Harrow Hall, their departure was an enormous affair. Gaylord and Maisy had left the day before. One of the maids shared the wagon’s front bench, young Will perched himself high on a heap of belongings, and a footman went along as driver and guard. Charles had explained he wouldn’t have subjected her to a journey so soon after her arrival, but the London season was drawing to a close. And it would be more fitting if they attended at least one event.
Nicole did not mind at all. Little seemed to touch her very deeply these days. The contrast between England and everything she had known previously was so extreme, it had left her without a profound reaction to anything. Her days had been occupied with a flurry of activity as she learned her way around the manor. Yet nothing seemed to reach beneath the surface. Charles doted on her as did the household staff, everyone seeking to anticipate her wishes. But she had none. It was proving hard enough to accept the idea she had been brought there so that she might become heir to Charles’s estate. So that everything she saw—the house and gardens and furniture and paintings and opulent fittings—would become hers someday.
The staff gathered to see them off, a duty made pleasant by their genuine smiles. Then, just as Nicole was settling into the coach, one of the gardeners came rushing down the long, tree-lined front lane waving the familiar leather packet over his head. “Just arrived, sir! Just arrived!”
“Well done, Harry. This is a good sign for the journey ahead, wouldn’t you say, my dear?” Charles accepted the post through the window, then called out, “Let’s be off, Jim!”
“Right you are, m’lord!” The young driver cracked his whip, and the horses wheeled about and headed off with a clatter of metal shoes on cobblestones.
“Is there any word from home?” Nicole asked.
Charles had to work at masking his wince over the word
home
. But Nicole caught sight of it and immediately understood how hard he tried to be happy for her as he hefted the thick envelope from among the others. “I say, this
is
a gift towards a good journey!”
“Finally!” Nicole’s hands shook as she took the envelope and broke open the wax seal. She unfolded the letter, and then a second page fell out. “Look, I also got a letter from Mama Robichaud!” she cried.
Charles sat in silence and let her read, then reread the two letters. Nicole devoured the pages, one in English and the other in French. The first one was all Catherine, brisk and bright in spite of the heartache she felt over Nicole being so far away. Catherine closed with a further note that caused Nicole to raise her head. “Anne does not write. Apparently she’s busy tending Cyril, who has come down with the chest ailment.”
Charles showed not the least worry. “He’s a strong young man and a wise doctor. He should have no difficulty in throwing this off, particularly so late in the season.”
“Yes, you must be right.”
“What do your relations in Louisiana have to say?”
Nicole found it helped to translate the letter. Otherwise there was the threat of losing herself in the soft French words, the sweet memories of fragrant green waters and of a home far removed. “They say all the family are fine, and the spring harvest was the most bountiful anyone can remember. But there are signs of trouble on all sides.”
Charles’s expression hardened. “The war?”
“Yes, it seems to be coming ever closer. The English occupy the fort at Baton Rouge and have warned the Spanish in New Orleans not to become involved.” She could not hold the tremor from her voice. “My family and Vermilionville are directly in the middle.”
“I should not worry.” This was not Charles the kindly uncle who spoke now but rather a man of power and knowledge. “No doubt they hold Baton Rouge to keep the Spanish well apart from this conflict. They shall now go after the main strongholds farther to the north and not scatter their forces by trying to occupy the smaller villages. Especially when the locals are deemed noncombatants.” He stared out the window, seeing strategy and harsh images. “What utter nonsense this whole affair is, what balderdash, what tragedy.”
“You are against the war?”
“More than that, my dear. More than that. I am against the
principle
of this war.” He drummed his fingers on the window-sill, his face as serious as Nicole had ever seen. “These are not foreigners within some land our army has chosen to occupy. The largest contingent of American colonists is British! Do you know what it means for them to rebel against the nation that many of them still consider their homeland?”
She found it difficult to see much further than her own aching heart and the longing she had for places and people across the sea. But the conviction with which Charles spoke helped her to set her homesickness aside. At least for now. “They must be very angry.”
“They are
wounded
. We, our British government, have done such a horrid job of ruling, they see no other course than to cast us aside.” He waved his hand out the open window, not at the green English countryside but at more distant lands. “We cannot hope to conquer a people stretched over such a vast continent. Either we rule them in peace and harmony, or we grant them what they wish. Anything else is utter futility.”
The carriage rocked and drummed its way onward, until Charles refocused on the moment and inquired, “Might I ask what else they say?”
“Mama writes with news of the family. My brother has a new baby, a boy. Both mother and child are well.” Nicole swallowed hard against the sadness she felt in her mother’s words…Louise’s yearning to see her darling daughter, the void in her kitchen and her home and her heart. “My father is not a man who writes much. He says merely that if I am in Canada, I am to go. And if I am in England, then I am to stay.”
“A wise man.” Charles examined her face and saw beyond the brisk tone Nicole had adopted. “I do so hope you enjoy your time in London, my dear.”
Nicole took a hard breath, then pushed out the air and the sorrow both. It would do no good to regret her decision or yearn for what was not possible. The only answer was to throw herself fully into life in England and try to make a success of it. “I intend to do just that.”
“That’s the spirit,” Charles replied as he pointed ahead. “If you look out your window, you will have your first sight of one of my villages.”
‘ ‘
Your
villages?” Nicole turned and sat beside him. “We are still on your land?”
Charles coughed discreetly. “A bit of explanation is in order. The title of earl was Saxon in origin and granted to someone who ruled a province or county in the king’s name. Our own earldom has been handed down now for more than two hundred years. My land continues quite a ways yet, so far in fact that we shall overnight at an inn that’s still within my holding.” He patted her hand fondly. “In the last century, my forefather did a great service for the king and was granted yet more land in Wales and the second title of viscount. This is considered a lesser honor than earl, so with the king’s permission, it was deeded to the appointed heir. Thus you, my dear, will be referred to as viscountess, that is, once the rites of passage are completed.”
Nicole was saved from having to respond by the carriage slowing and clattering into the village proper. The houses were ancient mortar and wood, with roofs of deep thatch or slate tiles. Nicole was astounded by the sight of people emerging from the doors and windows. “What are they doing?”
“Oh, I suppose they wish to greet me. It’s a formal thing, you know.”
But it did not seem formal at all. Many children and some of the adults trotted alongside the coach, calling out their greetings and their respect to his lordship. Ladies stuck out of upstairs windows and waved kerchiefs. There were numerous smiles and shouts of God’s blessings on his honor. Charles called to many by name, smiling back at them and waving to all.
One young man clambered aboard the side and clung to the windowsill. From behind, the footman yelled, “Here, you! Get off!”
“It’s all right,” Charles said, patting the man’s arm. “You’re looking well, Tom. How’s the wife?”
“She’s splendid, your lordship. We cannot thank you enough.”
“All recovered from the birth, is she?”
“Aye, and a fine bonny lass we have!” He then beamed at Nicole and said, “You’re seated next to the grandest man in all of England, m’lady!”
“None of that,” Charles said mildly. “Now, be sure and give your darling lady my best wishes.”
“I will. We’ve named the lass after you, m’lord. Charlotte Tiles, she is, and may she bear the name proudly!” The man dropped off and ran alongside for a while, waving his hat as the village border was cleared and the horses gained speed.
“What was that about?” Nicole asked.
Charles seemed embarrassed by the effusive man now disappearing behind the coach. He looked out the window while they sped along the higher road, then finally said, “Since my return, I have tried to administer my holdings as God’s servant. I make a mess of things more often than not, but I do try.”
“And the young man?”
“My father employed an overseer who ruled by fear. To my great shame, I let the man stay on. He died when I was in America, no great loss to anyone. I have decided to release all my tenants from debt and have begun to build public barns in which to store winter grains. Some of the younger men have been willing to learn new methods of farming. In return, I have rewarded them with greater holdings.”
It was the perfect thing to hear at that moment, for the words included not only a new insight into her uncle’s character but a challenge for herself. “I shall try to make myself worthy to carry on after you, Uncle.”
He turned to Nicole, gratitude shining from his face. “I could ask for nothing more.” Then a thought struck him. “I say, would you like to give Jim a hand with the horses?”
She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, could I? I was afraid to ask.”
“Never be afraid, my dear.” He used his walking stick to rap on the roof. “I say there, Jim! Pull over, will you. The lady wishes to have another go.”
The Canadian summer turned out to be as bright and constant as the spring had been cold and harsh. The entire world was alive, the fields so fruitful and the forests so full of game every family in Georgetown was busy salting meat and storing produce for the upcoming winter. The children grew red and round as little piglets and raced around the village from dawn to dusk.
Yet there were two dark clouds on the horizon. One was the news. From everywhere came word of battles fought and more still to come. The British won here and lost there. Catherine felt helpless, as if she were caught in the vortex of a maelstrom, and there was nothing she could do but watch and listen as all around her the world was being threatened by forces out of control. On market days, people grumbled over the high prices charged for anything not homegrown. Everyone prayed that the war would remain far beyond the horizon.
