The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) (41 page)

“Not if it’s about the baptism. I just want to forget that.”

“No, it’s about Richard. That night, when he came to your room. Graeme thought I’d kicked him in the balls too, although he didn’t guess why like you did. I didn’t. What I really did was…”

It’s true,
Beth thought as she walked home later, her step light.
It does make you feel better, sharing something with someone you can trust. Much better.
She saw things in a clearer perspective now that she’d laughed about it with Sarah. It would all be all right. Anne would not provoke Richard, ever. She was incapable of it. He was older now and had everything he wanted. He had no reason for violence. He would settle down. Anne would work wonders with him, as she had with Stanley Redburn, and in time would give Richard an heir too, which if Edward failed to marry, as seemed increasingly likely, would one day inherit the Cunningham title and fortune. Richard would certainly be pleased with her if she did that.

Everything would be all right.

When Sarah arrived at the Peters’ residence the next day it was Sir Anthony himself who greeted her at the door, bowing to her with an exaggerated flourish that in anyone else would have been a sarcastic gesture, her status being so much inferior to his, but which in his case managed to convey genuine respect. He gallantly took her basket of beauty preparations and ushered her into the house.

“My dear Sarah!” he gushed, “I cannot tell you what an honour you do us, to agree to assist us at this difficult time! Acting the part of an angel of mercy is becoming a habit with you.” His dark blue eyes sparkled with humour and beneath that, a genuine regard, and she returned his smile.

“I’m sorry, I’m a bit later than I agreed with Beth…Lady Elizabeth,” Sarah corrected.

He waved his hand about impatiently, and the glass bottles tinkled merrily in the basket.

“I am sure I will not be offended if you call my wife by her diminutive name. After all you have known her for longer than I, and are a most trusted friend.”

The emphasis on the word
trusted
made her pause in taking off her cloak and glance up at him. For a moment she saw a different man entirely; tall, menacing, and the cold warning look in his eyes made her shiver. Then it was gone, she must have imagined it, and he was fussily assisting her off with her cloak and leading her up the stairs, the trivial, harmless fop once more.

“It matters not a jot that you are late, as my cook is not expecting you,” he said, turning back to whisper confidentially in her ear. “I thought your visit would come better as a surprise.” He clapped his hands in ecstasy, nearly dropping the basket in the process. “I do so love surprises! When they are of a pleasant nature, of course. Now, let me introduce you.”

He knocked politely on the door but then entered before Maggie had had time to respond, thereby spoiling the deferential effect somewhat.

“My dear Margaret!” he said, showing himself fully so that Maggie would instantly know that he was Sir Anthony, her employer, and not Alex, her friend and kinsman. “I have a visitor for you, and a most delightful surprise! I am sure you remember Miss Browne.”

“Yes, sir, I do. I never had the chance to thank…” Maggie began, sitting up in bed. The shutters were open, but the curtains were drawn, and the room was bathed in a dull blue light.

“Miss Browne is here in quite a different capacity today, Margaret,” he interrupted, moving across the room to open the curtains. “There! That’s better!” he trilled as sunshine streamed into the room, lighting up the pallid face and lank tangled hair of his cook, who bestowed a venomous look on his brocade-clad back.

“Now,” he said, turning from the window and beaming at the company, “Miss Browne is a woman of many talents, and her greatest is to make the very best of every woman, or man, who visits her establishment. Why, I have seen her take ten, even twenty years off an old lady at the mere stroke of a brush, and her reputation is unparalleled. The nobility flock to her in droves! But today she is here to devote her attentions exclusively to your good self!”

“That’s very kind of you, Sir Anthony,” Maggie said in a tone that expressed nothing more than the ardent wish to plunge a knife into him at the first opportunity, “but I really havena any need…”

“To thank me! As you know, I always like to take the very best care of my staff! Well, I will leave you two together. I am sure you will get along famously. Be sure to call in the library before you leave, Miss Browne. Murdo will take you home. In the carriage,” he added.

In a flurry of lace and violets he was gone, leaving Sarah standing uncertainly in front of her none-too-willing client. They regarded each other in silence for a moment.

“Miss Browne…” Maggie began.

“Sarah,” said Sarah, moving to the foot of the bed. “You had no idea I was coming, did you?”

“No,” said Maggie. “And I’m sorry for your trouble, but I really have no need of a fancy hairstyle and face paint. I dinna ken what he’s up to, but you’re wasting your time.”

“I think he’s worried about you,” Sarah said, sensing that here was a blunt woman who would not appreciate prevarication. “I know Beth is. She’s not used to being helpless, but she knows she can’t help you.”

“Nothing can,” said Maggie, “least of all some fancy creams and scents. I’m sorry, I dinna mean to be rude, but I’ve tellt them all, I’ll get up when I’m ready. In a few days. I just need a wee bit of time, that’s all. Thank ye for what ye did for me. I appreciate that, all of it.”

Sarah bent down and picked up her basket.

“Well now I’m here, I might as well make myself useful,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d want a fancy hairstyle, so I didn’t bring any hairpieces, or paint for that matter. But I could at least wash your hair for you. That’d make you feel fresher at any rate, and make me feel as though I’ve earned a little of the fee Sir Anthony is paying me. I just need some warm water, if you agree, that is.”

As if by magic, there was a dull thud at the door and then it opened to reveal Duncan, arms full of steaming buckets of water, his shoulders draped in towels.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling apologetically. “I had to kick instead of knocking. Sir Anthony thought ye’d be in need of hot water. I can bring more if ye want.”

“Christ!” said Maggie under her breath. “All right, I give in!” She glared at Duncan, who smiled and nodded at Sarah before backing out of the room hurriedly. “It seems they’ll no’ be satisfied until ye’ve done something tae me, at any rate.”

Sarah got Maggie arranged on a chair with her back to the dressing table, and, filling a basin with warm water, asked her to lean her head over the back of the chair into the water. She worked silently, wetting the lank red hair and gently massaging the soft lavender-scented soap into her scalp, until she felt the tension leave Maggie’s body. Then she waited a little more, until the green eyes closed and the mouth relaxed.

“You have beautiful hair,” she said, eyeing the dark red locks floating in the basin with admiration. “It’s a very unusual colour.”

Maggie smiled, but didn’t open her eyes.

“Aye, it’s my best feature. My only good feature, in truth. I’m no’ blessed wi’ good looks, but then neither is Iain, so we make a fine pair.”

“How is he coping?” Sarah asked. “He must be worried about you too.”

“He’s coping by being busy,” Maggie said. “I’m coping by thinking it through. We’re different.”

Sarah closed her eyes. A spasm passed across her face at what she was about to do and then was gone, unseen by the other woman.

“When you’re thinking it through, though, do you find yourself going over and over the same little detail until you think you’re going mad?” she asked.

The eyes shot open and the mouth tightened again. Sarah looked into Maggie’s eyes, continuing to massage her scalp in languid circles.

“That’s what it was like for me, that’s all,” she said, marvelling at how casual she was managing to sound, when her stomach was screwed up in a little ball. “I thought it might be the same for you. I found myself going over and over every detail, trying to blame somebody, because I thought nothing so terrible could have happened without someone being at fault.”

Maggie stared up at her, unblinking, silent.

“I couldn’t blame the father, because he was long gone,” Sarah continued. “As soon as he found out I was pregnant, he was running for the hills. And I couldn’t blame the midwife, because I didn’t have one. I had to do everything myself. And anyway, my daughter lived for a week after that.” She swallowed heavily, and smiled sadly down at her client, her fingers moving more slowly. “So I blamed myself instead. For a long time.”

Maggie reached up and gripped Sarah’s wrist, stilling her motion.

“Do ye still blame yourself?” she whispered.

“No. There were lots of reasons why she didn’t live. I couldn’t get enough to eat, the father didn’t help me as I’d thought he would. My father…” Her voice faltered, and she gently removed her wrist from Maggie’s grip, taking her hand instead. “But the real reason she died was because she wasn’t meant to live. That’s what I think now. Her leg was…not right, sort of twisted. And the life I had after that wasn’t what I’d have wanted my daughter to grow up with.”

“Iain was perfect, though,” Maggie said. “And he had two parents who loved him. He would have had a good life. It
was
my fault,” she added with sudden passion. “Everyone kept telling me to rest, and I wouldna. I had to prove that I was strong. If I’d kent what I was doing, I’d have rested all the time. It’s a punishment from God because I was too proud, that’s what it is.”

Sarah kept her hold on Maggie’s hand but moved round to crouch down in front of her.

“Have you told your husband this?” she asked.

Maggie lifted her head out of the bowl and water poured down the back of the chair on to the floor. Neither woman noticed.

“No,” she said. “I canna tell him that. If I do, he’ll either try to persuade me I’m wrong, or he’ll start to wonder what he did amiss, too. It wasna his fault.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” Sarah said. “Let me tell you something about myself, although maybe you know already. Beth does, and so does Sir Anthony. Before she hired me as her maid and brought me to London where I could make a new start, I was a whore. I didn’t have much choice, really. I didn’t have any skills that I could earn money from. I couldn’t go home, and I didn’t really care what happened to me at that time. So I went to Liverpool at first and got in with a woman who set me up in a place near the docks. Am I shocking you?”

“Aye, a wee bit,” Maggie admitted. “But go on.”

“Well, then, I won’t go into the life I had, you’ll have an idea what whores do, I’m sure. And in spite of all the ways women try to avoid getting with child, it happens. And once the baby’s in there, it’s the devil’s own job to get him out before he’s ready, no matter what you do. I can’t tell you the times I’ve seen a woman delivered of a normal healthy child when she’s spent months sitting in hot baths, drinking gin, jumping up and down and even throwing herself downstairs. And I’ve seen women like you, who’ve done nothing, and whose child has been born early anyway, or full term like Lucy, and still died. And most times there was something wrong with them, especially the ones that came early. Twisted legs, withered arms, blind…it’s as though God, if you believe in a God, has decided this one will be better off with Him instead of here, where life is hard enough even for perfect children. Iain looked perfect, true, but you wouldn’t have known until he started to grow up. There was a reason he was taken, and it wasn’t because you wouldn’t rest, believe me. That had nothing to do with it.”

“Did you try to get rid of your baby?” Maggie asked.

“No, I wanted her, like you wanted Iain. But it wasn’t meant to be, and I accept that now. I do not believe that God punishes you by hurting innocent children.”

“But the Bible says…” Maggie began.

“To hell with the Bible, and all the so-called men of God who twist its words,” Sarah spat, with such hatred in her voice that Maggie was silenced. She turned away, picked up a towel and wrapped it round Maggie’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she continued after a moment, her voice calmer. “You’re a Catholic, I know.”

“D’ye no’ believe in God at all, then?” Maggie said, shocked.

“Of course I do,” Sarah replied acidly. “I’m the daughter of a minister, after all. I was brought up to believe in all of it, from Genesis and the sin of Eve that tainted all women forever, to St Paul and the fact that women must always be subservient and obey men, who are their superiors. I believed that all people are sinners, and must constantly pray, and fast, and beg for forgiveness on their knees on stone floors for hours at a time. And as I was already tainted with Eve’s unforgivable sin, I didn’t hold out much hope of going to Heaven, whatever I did. When I was really small, I accepted that father was beating and starving me for my own good, to drive the sin out of me and bring me to Christ’s mercy. Now I just think he was a vicious bastard, like lots of men I’ve met since, who liked causing pain. And to answer your question more seriously, yes, I do believe in God, but not in men, and one day I’m going to learn to read and find out for myself what Christ said, and if it was that what my father did to us was right, then I won’t believe in Him, either.”

This wasn’t how Sarah had meant the conversation to go. She was supposed to be comforting Maggie, and here she was, blurting out things she had never told anyone and had never intended to tell anyone. But at least Maggie had forgotten her own troubles for the moment. She was pondering quite a different problem now.

“Christ didna say that you should beat bairns, I’m sure,” she said. “I havena much in the way of the reading myself, but my da used to read the Bible to us when we were wee, and Father MacDonald, who used to come from time to time, used tae tell us all sorts of lovely stories about the Holy Family. The Old Testament’s full of fearful stories, but our Lord Jesus was a kind, caring man. He loved children. He wouldna have beaten them, or starved them either.”