Fairfield Hall (12 page)

‘Vicar, Vicar, please –’

He crossed the street and reached them, panting, his eyes wide with terror. ‘Please come. Babby’s dying.’

Annabel’s eyes widened and she gasped in shock, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

Mr Webster turned towards her. ‘I’m sorry, m’lady, but I must go with Adam. They need me. His wife gave birth to a baby boy only three weeks ago, but the poor woman has no milk
to feed him. Perhaps – if we could talk another time . . .?’

Annabel shook her head firmly. ‘I’m coming with you.’

The four of them crossed the road and entered the cottage. It was dark and dismal inside and it took Annabel a few moments for her eyesight to adjust to the gloom. Then she saw a woman sitting
by a fireless range, rocking a tiny baby in her arms and weeping. Behind her stood two older children – a boy of about nine or ten and a small girl of about three, Annabel guessed – but
her attention was drawn back to the baby. Its breathing was rasping, its colour like alabaster.

‘He’s dying,’ the child’s mother burst out. ‘He’s starving to death because I’ve no milk.’

‘What does she mean?’ Annabel whispered to the vicar, for the poor woman didn’t even seem to notice who had come into her home. Her whole attention was on her sick infant.

‘They’ve no proper food. None of us have. We haven’t had any for weeks and poor Betsy can no longer produce milk naturally to feed her child.’

Annabel stared down at the baby lying limply in his mother’s arms for a moment, her mind working swiftly. ‘I’ll get them some food.’

‘But you can’t feed the whole village, m’lady,’ Richard Webster said. ‘We thought when you married his lordship, all would be well. We thought your
dowry—’

Annabel turned to look at him. ‘My what?’

‘Oh dear, didn’t you know?’

Annabel shook her head. She longed to ask him more, but this family needed her help this instant. ‘We’ll talk later, but for now I’m going to get help.’ She turned to
Jane. ‘Run and get Mr Jackson to hitch up the trap again and ask him to come with us.’

The girl turned and ran out of the cottage.

‘What do you need?’ Annabel addressed the weeping woman, but it was her husband who answered. ‘Milk for the baby. We’re all starving, m’lady, but if baby Eddie
doesn’t get some sustenance very soon, we’ll lose him.’ He nodded towards the other two children, who were staring up at Annabel, pleading in their eyes. ‘The rest of us are
all right for the minute, but Emmot here –’ he put his hand on the little girl’s shoulders – ‘she’ll likely be the next – she’s so weak now
–’ He gulped and stopped.

Annabel bent down and took the little girl’s hands in hers. ‘I’ll get you something to eat, darling. I promise.’

‘But, Lady Annabel, the whole village is starving,’ the vicar whispered. ‘If we single out one or two folks, it’ll likely cause terrible resentment. You can’t feed
everyone.’

Annabel stood up and turned slowly to face him. Quietly she said, ‘Just watch me, Mr Webster. Just watch me.’

At that moment, they heard the rattle of pony and trap outside and Annabel hurried out.

‘Mr Jackson was on his way back to fetch us, m’lady, so we can go straight away,’ Jane called out. ‘Wherever that is.’

The bailiff was sitting in the front of the trap holding the reins. He looked mystified as Annabel smiled at him briefly. ‘I’ll explain as we drive. We’re going to town first
and then on to my grandfather’s farm. Meadow View Farm. Do you know it?’

‘Aye, I do, m’lady. I know Mester Armstrong well.’

Mr Webster, who had followed Annabel out of the cottage, helped her into the back of the trap. For a brief moment he held her hands and looked up into her eyes. His voice was husky as he said,
‘God bless you, my lady, and God speed.’

‘Mr Jackson, thank you for coming with us. We’re going to need your help.’

‘Just “Jackson”, m’lady.’

Even in the seriousness of the moment, Annabel chuckled. ‘That’s what
Mr
Searby said, but I’m very much afraid you’re going to find that I’m no lady, even if
I do bear the title now.’

He glanced at her briefly and smiled, the laughter lines around his blue eyes crinkling. It was the first real smile anyone in the village had given her, she realized, as her mind focussed on
the immediate problem. As they passed the vicarage, the church and then the school, Annabel saw a little cottage standing on its own at the edge of the village and set apart from the rest of the
dwellings. In the garden she saw a young boy of about four playing with a ball. He glanced at the trap as it passed, but he did not smile or wave as she would have expected a child to do.

It was not until very much later that Annabel realized what had been strange about the child playing on his own in the garden. But now, she turned her attention back to Ben Jackson. ‘Do
you know where the doctor lives in Thorpe St Michael?’ Annabel asked.

‘I do, m’lady. But it’s Sunday. He’ll not be available.’

Grimly, Annabel declared, ‘Oh yes, he will. There’s a baby dying back there and he’s coming out to see that little boy if I have to drag him there myself.’

She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Ben Jackson chuckle softly as he flicked the reins and urged the pony to go faster. They were lucky; the townsfolk were just leaving their
own morning service at the church in the centre of the small market town.

‘That’s Dr Maybury. The young man over there with the pretty young woman on his arm. He’s not been here long. I don’t expect he even knows where Fairfield village
is.’

‘He very soon will,’ Annabel said, as she jumped nimbly down from the trap and hurried towards the tall young man whom Ben had pointed out.

‘Dr Maybury?’ Annabel stood in front of him, panting slightly.

The young man removed his hat courteously, the sun glinting on his fair, curly hair. He was a handsome man with even features, a strong jawline and smiling blue eyes.
‘Ma’am.’

‘I am Annabel Lyndon, Lady Fairfield.’ The doctor raised his eyebrows and one or two people nearby paused to eavesdrop. But Annabel hardly noticed. ‘I know it’s Sunday,
Doctor, but there is a very sick baby in Fairfield village and I want you to come out now to see him. I – I think he’s close to death.’

The young doctor’s eyes darkened and beside him, his wife said, ‘Oh Stephen, you must go.’ The young couple exchanged a loving glance, but there was something more behind the
look and as the woman turned back, she was smiling gently though her eyes were full of sympathy. ‘We’re expecting our first baby in the spring,’ was all she needed to say for
Annabel to understand her compassion.

Annabel turned to look at the doctor who said, ‘Of course, I’ll come at once. I would have done anyway. That’s what I’m here for – the Sabbath or not. Let me
harness my own pony and trap and get my medical bag.’

‘We’re going on to my grandfather’s farm to fetch food. There’s something very wrong in Fairfield, Doctor. I shall want you to see each and every one of the inhabitants
over the next few days. I don’t know what’s been happening, how it’s come to this, but I intend to find out and try to put matters right. The cottage you need is the first on the
left-hand side as you drive into the village. I don’t know the family’s name yet –’ She glanced at Ben Jackson, who had followed her more slowly across the road.

‘It’s Cartwright, Doctor,’ he said.

‘I’ll find them. Don’t worry.’

As the young doctor hurried away, Ben helped Annabel to climb back into the trap. He pulled himself up, though it was an effort for him. But he took up the reins once more and they were on their
way to Meadow View Farm, which lay only a couple of miles beyond the town. Edward was near the back door of the farmhouse when the trap pulled into the yard. Annabel almost tumbled out of the back
in her haste to reach him.

‘Oh my lovely, whatever’s the matter?’ He held his arms wide and she flew into them.

‘The villagers are starving – there’s a baby dying. Oh Gramps – please help us.’

Edward held her close and patted her back. Then he looked beyond her to see Jane coming towards them and Ben Jackson tethering the pony. ‘Come along in, all of you. Hello, Jane, love. And
Ben,’ he held out his hand to the man, ‘it’s good to see you.’

A smile flitted briefly across Ben Jackson’s face. ‘I’m not sure you’ll think so in a minute or two, Mr Armstrong.’

‘Edward, please. We’ve known each other long enough. Mind you, I haven’t seen you at the market for months now. I was beginning to wonder if there was owt wrong. I asked
around, but no one seemed to know. Anyway, come along in. The missis will get you all a hot drink and dinner is underway. You’ll stay and—’

‘We can’t, Gramps. We must get back. But if you could let us have as much milk and bread as you can spare . . .’

Edward looked puzzled. ‘Of course, you can have whatever we’ve got and you’re welcome to it, but why? What’s happened?’

‘It’s a long story, Edward,’ Ben said as the farmer ushered them into the warm farm kitchen and Martha hurried forward to greet them. ‘Come in, come in, you’re all
very welcome. Sit down, sit down. I’ve freshly baked scones.’

Although Ben eyed them hungrily, he said softly, ‘Please may we take them back to the village, Mrs Armstrong? They’ll likely save lives, not to put too fine a point on it.’

Martha laughed. ‘My scones – save lives? Now, you’re teasing me.’ But her smile faded as she saw the serious expression on the man’s face. And even worse, tears
filled his eyes, though he brushed them away in embarrassment. She turned to glance at her husband and then at Annabel. ‘Whatever’s happened?’

‘I don’t know yet, Ma.’ For many years, Edward had often called his wife Ma and she called him Pa – it was a term of endearment between them. ‘But I mean to find
out.’

‘I don’t know it all yet myself, Gramps,’ Annabel said, ‘all I know is we need to get food to the villagers – all of them. Even the Lyndons up at the house and
their servants. It seems everyone is bordering on starvation. I’ll be going into town first thing tomorrow and will order proper supplies, but now—’

Ben was shaking his head. ‘M’lady, the shopkeepers in town won’t supply you, not unless you settle all their bills.’

There was a stunned silence in the kitchen until Edward said quietly, ‘You mean, they haven’t been paid?’

‘Not for months,’ Ben said. ‘They’ve refused to supply anyone in Fairfield, not even the big house. The vicar’s been the only one who could get any food but even
his funds have run out now.’ Bitterly he added, ‘Except for her in the cottage at the end of the street, of course.’

In her anxiety, Annabel did not pick up on his remark; her mind was still on the starving villagers and especially the tiny baby whose life was ebbing away for lack of nourishment.

‘That explains a lot,’ she heard Jane mutter.

Ben was staring at Annabel. ‘His lordship was supposed to settle everything on Friday, but when I went into town yesterday morning, they all said the same thing; they still hadn’t
been paid. And now he’s gone away.’

‘I see – well, I don’t, but never mind all that now. We must get some immediate help to the villagers. Gramps, what can you let me have?’

‘All we’ve got, my lovely.’ He patted his rotund stomach. ‘Won’t hurt us to go without for a day or two, will it, Ma? I’ve plenty of vegetables in the barn.
You could make some nourishing soup with them. I don’t think starving folk should eat too much too quickly, but the doctor will advise you on that. Go and see him.’

‘He should be already on his way to the village. I’ve asked him to see a baby who’s very sick. He might – he might already be too late . . .’ Tears flooded
Annabel’s eyes and her grandfather hugged her to him. ‘There, there, we’ll do whatever we can.’

‘I baked on Friday,’ Martha said, bustling between her large pantry and the main kitchen. ‘So you can have bread and scones and there are two cakes, a meat pie and two apple
pies. And you can take a ham . . .’

‘We mustn’t take all your food, Mrs Armstrong,’ Ben began, but his objections were waved aside.

‘I’ll bake more bread again tomorrow,’ Martha promised Annabel, ‘and your grandfather can bring it to you. He’ll bring more milk too. We’ll do whatever we can
to help. You just say the word.’

‘I may need Gramps to come with me to the bank in town tomorrow. I’ll need to transfer my account from home and perhaps he could come with me to see Mr Parker. I’ll sell some
of my shares, if I have to, but I’ll need Gramps’s signature as I’m still not yet quite twenty-one. I must pay all the shops in town and get them supplying the villagers
again.’ She hugged Martha swiftly. ‘’Bye, Granny. I’ll see you soon. And thank you for everything.’

And then they were on their way back to the village, with Edward Armstrong following them in his farm cart loaded with three churns of milk, sacks of potatoes, carrots, two hams wrapped in
cheesecloth and everything that Martha had baked two days earlier. He’d even thought to put two sacks of coal, wood and kindling onto the cart.

‘You go ahead,’ Edward had said, as he’d climbed onto the front of his cart. ‘I won’t be far behind you.’

When they arrived back in the village they saw the doctor’s pony and trap standing outside the Cartwrights’ home. Ben pulled the pony to a halt behind it. Annabel
jumped down and hurried into the cottage, carrying the small can of milk Martha had suggested she should take with her. Although Edward was following with more supplies, perhaps every minute would
count where the baby was concerned. She opened the door and tiptoed inside, standing a moment for her eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom. They were just as she’d left them; Betsy sitting
with the baby on her lap, the two older children watching with round, solemn eyes, and Adam, hunger and the most terrible fear etched into his gaunt face, standing a little to one side. But now Dr
Maybury was kneeling down in front of Betsy and gently examining the tiny form. Annabel stifled a gasp. Was she already too late? But then she breathed a sigh of relief as Dr Maybury said softly,
‘He needs milk. Since you haven’t any yourself, Mrs Cartwright, you need to warm some cow’s milk and feed it to him drop by drop with a tiny spoon. And you’ll need to do
that every hour to start with.’