The Reckoning (80 page)

‘
Yes, my lady,' said Moss blankly. How could Parslow, a
bachelor, know anything about the internal workings of a
lady, she thought? The idea was preposterous.

But three days of hard riding and hot bathing had not done
the trick. Even Marcus now noticed Rosamund was looking
pulled, and what with the hard riding, he put two and two
together and assumed she was trying to take her mind off the troubles of the past year with physical exercise. Trying to be
tactful, he asked her quite mildly not to overtire herself.

‘
I won't risk asking you to be careful, after you bit my head
off the last time,' he smiled, tut remember we can stay here
as long as you like. You don't have to try out all the horses in
the first few days, you know.'

‘
Don't fuss me, Marcus,' was all his lady vouchsafed by
way of answer.

‘I won't, love, but you are looking awfully tired.'

‘
Stuff! I'm perfectly all right,' Rosamund said, looking far
from all right.

‘
You don't want to knock yourself up before Parslow
arrives with Magnus, and not be able to enjoy him, do you?'
Marcus said cunningly.

‘
I'm as strong as a horse,' she said vigorously, 'and I have enough of being told what I may and may not do in London.
Don't you begin on that here.’

Marcus felt it wiser to leave it there. When she was alone
again, Rosamund sent for Moss.

‘
It's not working,' she said desperately. 'We've got to do
something. Isn't there something else to try?'

‘
Yes, my lady,' said Moss, putting her doubts behind her. It
surely could not be worse for her lady than worrying so much.

That day, whenever she could be sure of not being
discovered, Rosamund jumped down off things — chairs,
stools, benches, boxes — landing as heavily as she could; and
that night as she prepared for bed, Moss brought her a bitter
concoction to drink, which she said was made from peri
winkle, broom, juniper, elder and foxglove. It looked brown
and cloudy, and tasted disgusting.

‘
I hope I've got it right, my lady,' Moss said anxiously. 'I
was told
what
to use, but not how much of each thing, so I
had to guess.'

‘
I hope so too. I also hope you haven't poisoned me,' Rosa
mund said as she handed back the empty cup.

Half an hour later, she was suffering from an acute
stomach-ache. She lay hunched up in her bed, her knees drawn up, sweating a little, groaning softly, and deeply
thankful that Marcus had not chosen this night to sleep with
her. After a while she began to be afraid that she might really
have been poisoned, and wondered whether she ought to call for help; but then it would all come out about the tisane, and
she didn't want that. Fortunately the stomach pains began to
wear off shortly afterwards, and she fell at last into an
exhausted sleep.

When she woke in the morning, she found that either the
jumping or the herbal potion had worked: she was bleeding. A
wave of enormous relief washed over her, making her feel
quite weak, and when Moss came in she told her the news in a
voice high with euphoria.

‘
Yes, my lady? I'm very glad for you, my lady,' Moss said in
a voice brimming with gloom.

‘
You don't sound it,' Rosamund said. Of course, servants
always wanted their mistresses to be having babies — and all
very well for them! she thought savagely. But Moss's lack
of enthusiasm had punctured the balloon of her relief. As
she washed and dressed, her gladness seeped slowly away,
to be replaced with a sense of anticlimax, and, oddly,
disappointment. She shook that away, angry with herself, and
reminded herself of the horrible fate she had avoided.

But as the day wore on, she began to feel guilty and
depressed. If Marcus knew, how upset, how angry he would
be! He, of course, would love her to have his child. Well, he was not the one who had to go through with it. All the same,
she felt she had cheated him, done something dishonest by
him. And what of her mother? If her mother ever found out,
she would be horrified, Rosamund was sure. It was a bad
thing to do, wasn't it? Unnatural — a sin, even.

Oh damn those feelings! Out with those thoughts! It was done now, and that was that, and having taken the decision
and gone through with it, it was foolish beyond permission to
agonise over it. Besides, it might have happened anyway. The
things she had done might have had nothing to do with it.
She was only a few weeks late. She might not have been with
child at all.

And then, ever the realist, she told herself that she had
better hope it was Moss's remedies that had done the trick, or
what would she do next time it happened? But a further
conversation with her maid told her that it might not have to
come to that another time. Moss told her that there were
times when a woman was more likely to conceive than others,
and if she avoided her husband's embraces at those times, she
might manage very well without ever falling pregnant.

‘
Why, my lady, there are fashionable ladies in London —
you'd know which ones better than me, I dare say — who
don't have babies, and never even have to go riding, if you
understand me.'

‘
I understand you very well,' Rosamund said with a
grimace; and then, not to be ungracious, 'Thank you, Judy. I
do appreciate your help, and I'll buy you something nice next
time I go into York.'

‘
Thank you, my lady. There's no need — but thank you.’

‘
By the way —' Rosamund called her maid back from the
door, 'where did you find out these things?'

‘
When we were in Brussels, my lady. Some of those foreign
maids were real knowing creatures — and my, how they liked
to talk!’

In Brussels, yes — it fitted, Rosamund thought as Moss
went out. She looked at her pale reflection in the glass, and
felt a hundred years old. She wondered which ladies of her
acquaintance had maids with that sort of knowledge. None in
London that she could believe it of — except perhaps Lady
Greyshott, who was reputed to have had a great many lovers,
but had only had the two children. In Brussels, of course, the
presence of the Allied Army had attracted a much more
dashing set. Amongst them, Marcus's Lady Annabel, for one,
must have known what was what, she was sure. Yes, Lady
Annabel would surely, in her long and dishonourable career,
have had to have recourse to jumping.

*

When John Anstey raised the question, Héloïse expressed
herself more than willing to offer Polly a home at Morland
Place.

‘
I know what it is to be homeless, and unhappy, and
afraid,' she said to James when they were alone together. 'I
only don't know why I didn't think of it before. Since Lucy is
abroad, this is the obvious place for Polly to live.'

‘
I'd have thought that with Rosamund was the obvious
place,' James said, tut however, I don't mean to put objects
in the way. If she'd be happier here, I have nothing to say
against it. There's plenty of room in the house, and she's so
quiet, I dare say we'd never even notice her.'

‘
Much too quiet,' Héloïse said. 'She's like a person newly bereaved. I wonder if there is something more troubling her
that we don't know about.'

‘
She seems to have taken to Miss Rosedale,' said James.
‘Perhaps she could talk to her and find out.'

‘
Yes, of course. What a good idea! When I think how dear
Rosey did such wonders with Fanny — though the cases were quite different of course — she must be the very person to get
Polly to confide in her.'

‘
I'm sure Rosey would relish the task. You know she feels
she hasn't enough to do to earn her salary. If she can help
that poor tormented young woman, she will have earned it
ten times over.’

*

The Morland box in the grandstand was crowded on the
opening day of the meeting, for the Ansteys traditionally
shared it on that occasion, and various friends were walking
up all day to sit for a while and chat, to take a glass of
champagne, or share a cigar and some inside information.
‘Put your money on The Dook,' James advised everyone
cheerfully. 'It's the best advice I can give you.'

‘
But the odds are so short. Seven to four on is the best I can
get,' Lord Anstey complained.

‘
That's because he's going to win,' James said simply.
‘Would I offer you a loser? I brought that colt up by hand, I
know him.'

‘I'd sooner you offered me an outsider.'

‘
Put Louisa's money on him, then — she won't care about
the odds, she'll simply enjoy seeing him romp home!’

Father Moineau leaned across. 'Be advised, sir, that Mr
Morland's money is entirely elsewhere! A very pretty horse by
the name of Turkish Princess, I believe —'

‘
Treachery!' James cried in mock wrath. 'That's the last
time I discuss horses in the confessional!'

‘
Would I break the confessional, sir?' Moineau said,
pretending outrage. 'No, I was standing beside you when you
placed the bet, don't you remember?'

‘
Oh you villain, James,' Anstey grinned. 'Turkish Princess,
eh? Chubb's new filly! And what were her odds — a little
longer than seven to four on, I imagine?'

‘
A hundred to one,' James said with a shrug. 'Well, there's
no point in betting on the favourite, is there? And I reared Princess by hand as well — sold her to Chubb last month.
She's a scud, and has a heart like a house!'

‘
Yes, I see — this way you're covered. If The Dook wins,
you have the prize money, and if Princess wins, you have the
betting money —'

‘
And either way it's a Morland horse, so we get the fame!’

‘
And how much did you put on Turkish Princess, may one
ask?’

James dropped a wink. 'A hundred. But for God's sake,
don't tell Héloïse! Oh Lord, I wish Ned were here!' he sighed.
‘It just doesn't seem the same without him.'

‘
Don't tell me what?' Héloïse asked, joining them with
Polly and Miss Rosedale.