Read The Reluctant Husband Online
Authors: Madeleine Conway
The Reluctant Husband (15 page)
But Cecilia's confidence was dented as time passed and the forest seemed as silent and looming as ever, apart from the low murmur of the men playing at cards and occasional peeps from the baby. The toddler was silent, either asleep in a small bundle of tattered blanket or playing incessantly with its collection of buttons. There seemed to be no food in the camp. After a little while, the woman went over to the small fire and slopped some hot liquid from the kettle into a battered enamel cup. She walked over to Ceci and offered it silently. Her hair was matted, her face was beginning to wrinkle like a walnut, and her hands were bony and worn.
Cecilia took the cup and sipped at it gingerly. Then she offered some of the weakened, stewed tea to Amelia, who also sipped on it, grateful for any warmth and wet. So they sat on, huddled together against the dripping rain, the damp slowly rising to engulf their clothes and limbs, their ears straining for the sound of any approaching movement.
Much later, when the sky was darkening, Cecilia finally heard what she had been waiting for. A dog barked and was answered by another baying howl. The travellers did not stir, even when the sounds of men and hounds crashing through the undergrowth were nearing the dell where they had settled. Cecilia stood up and went toward the center of the dell, Amelia following tentatively behind. A compact missile hurtled toward them, throwing itself about Cecilia.
“We've found you at last!” exclaimed Reggie. “Ormiston sent for Lazenby's houndsâit was a capital idea, and they picked up your scent easy as can be, even through the rain. Who're those men? What are they doing here?”
The men were now standing, heatedly but incomprehensibly arguing. The woman had also risen and placed her hand on the toddler's shoulder.
“They found me last night. I was lost and I was crying and the big one found me and then they made me walk for miles and I thought I should be lost forever until Ceci came, and then it was just damp and horrible.”
“You are the stupidest girl to put us all to so much trouble.”
“I'm not stupid. And I didn't mean to put anyone to any trouble.”
Just then, Lazenby, Ormiston, and Buchan, narrowly followed by two exhausted handlers half-dragged by a pair of mastiffs, arrived in the clearing to find the Marchmonts reunited and Amelia clearly in fine fettle.
No one subsequently remembered the exact sequence of events which followed. The toddler started moving at about the same time as one of the dogs shook off its handler. The woman screamed. Cecilia shoved Reggie and Amelia behind her and then made to grab at the dog's leash. She caught it and tried to halt it, but the animal was so strong that it seemed to wrench her arms from their sockets. She was clinging on when she was tugged over onto her front and dragged by the dog along the hummocky ground as it still hurtled toward the child. It was going at full pelt for nearly thirty yards across the clearing, hauling Cecilia over roots and brambles, rocks and bracken, until it slowed and came to a bewildered halt, only to be pounced on by two of the woodsmen and its handler.
Ormiston hurtled toward his wife, whose grip had finally loosened from the dog's leash with her grip on consciousness. He turned her over on her back and she came to. Her pelisse was ripped and coated with mud, and her nose and chin and right cheek were badly grazed, the blood already starting to well. Her eyes were wide and staring with shock and she began to shiver. A sickening apprehension flooded through the viscount. He strove to suppress the panic welling within him. Softly, he spoke to her.
“Do you think you can sit up, my dear?”
He helped her lever herself up and cradled her in his arms. Amelia and Reggie were looking on with utter terror. Buchan came forward.
“Your sister will be right as rain in a moment. Come with me. It's not far to the road and we've a carriage there. Come along now. Ormiston will help your sister, but we'll all find it much easier if we start the procession. Earl Lazenby, would you be so kind as to offer some reward to those poor souls? We will settle our accounts tomorrow if that is convenient, but I fancy we must get these wanderers back to Hatherley with all speed.”
He shepherded the terrified children back to the carriage. Lazenby did go up to the wood-dwellers and gave them the few guineas he had on his person before going toward Ormiston.
“Lud, I'm sorry about the dog. Need any help getting m'lady back to the carriage?”
“I think we'll manage. Go on ahead and get blankets ready for her. Don't worry about the dog. It was an accident.”
Lazenby went off. Ormiston released the breath he had been holding and leant his forehead against Cecilia's. “Do you feel able to stand?”
She nodded, still not mistress of her voice. She watched as Ormiston rose up and held out his hands to her. She took them and staggered to her feet. Her eyes registered a flash of pain and her knees nearly gave way.
“What is it?” Ormiston swept her into his arms and held her.
“I don't know. Nothing, I expect. You can put me down.”
“No.” He started walking, but before he left the clearing, he turned back and called out, “Thank you for sheltering my wife and her sister. If you need food or shelter or work, come to Hatherley. Ask for Ormiston.”
The men shook their heads and waved them away. The woman was still bent over her children. The viscount moved away and with sure steps headed for the carriage. Cecilia seemed to faint in his arms, her body lax and suddenly heavier, her head lolling against his shoulder. It took nearly half an hour to get back to the road. He could hear Buchan encouraging the children forward and Lazenby with his great dogs moving ahead of him, but all he was conscious of was the burning in his arms and shoulders and his great fear for Cecilia. The short seconds of watching her body being pounded against the ground kept repeating over and over in his mind's eye, lasting longer and longer and moving more and more slowly as every thump and pummelling and jolt registered in his memory. His arms tightened about her, even when he paused to rest.
Finally, he saw the welcome sight of lanterns in the dusk, heard the clink of the harness, and saw the dim outline of John Coachman. The tiger was waiting with a blanket ready, and once Cecilia had been wrapped in it, between them, Ormiston and Buchan maneuvered her into the coach where Reggie and Amelia already sat, cowed and silent. Lazenby had already mounted his horse and was waiting to make his farewells.
Ormiston said softly to Buchan, “Will you ride my horse back? I must stay with Cecilia and the children. Do the pretty with Lazenby. We owe him a great debt, for without his dogs, we'd never have found the girls. The rest was a misadventureâtell him he mustn't blame himself or the handler.”
“You're more forgiving than I would be, I must say.” Buchan was gruff and his expression was fierce as he took in Cecilia's sorry state. “Be off with you. Do you want me to ride directly for the doctor?”
“Yes. Please. I hadn't thought of it, but you're quite right.”
Ormiston settled himself in the carriage, holding Cecilia close and Buchan pushed the door to and gave the order to the driver. The journey home seemed endless to all three conscious inhabitants. None of them could bear to break the silence, but Reggie cuddled his sister close as silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
Lavauden was waiting on the great steps as the coach rolled toward the house. She whisked the children away, murmuring comfortably about hot baths and warmed beds and soup, as Ormiston tried to rouse Cecilia. He carried her into the house and up the stairs to her room. A great tub of hot water was being filled as Dorcas came forward to help him remove the ragged, sodden clothes. She was shivering as he eased her into the water. Dorcas washed her hair, then Ormiston took a soft cloth and gently started to clean her face and hands of the dirt that had embedded itself in her skin. She winced and the fog that had descended over her seemed to lift slightly. The room was very quiet. Dorcas was combing her hair and dabbing at it with a towel; Ormiston was dipping the cloth into the water, then dabbing it against the grazes and bruises. The fire crackled and spat in the grate.
The first spasm came. Cecilia cried out in shock as a cramp twisted in her belly and she curved inwards, whimpering with pain. Dorcas shot up, knocking over her stool, dropping the comb and towel.
“Dorcas, is the bed warmed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you may go. Mr. Buchan has sent for the doctor. I will stay with Lady Cecilia.”
“Yes, sir.” She curtseyed and went slowly. “Are you sure you want no help, sir?”
“No, girl, just send up the doctor as soon as he arrives.”
She left, and Ormiston helped Cecilia out of the bath and wrapped her in a warm towel. He held her close.
“You know what this may mean?”
“I believe I do,” she whispered. He kissed her on her left temple, on one of the few patches of undamaged skin on her face.
“You are a very brave woman. Let's get you to the bed.”
Once under the sheets, she curled up into a small ball. Ormiston removed his jacket and boots. He lay down on his side, his head propped up by one hand, the other hand idly stroking her hair.
“Tell me if you need anything.”
“Nothing. You needn't stay with me. Dacre will want to see you.”
“My place is here. Does it hurt?”
“A dull ache.”
She dropped off and the evening darkened into night. She was roused by another fit of agonizing cramps. Ormiston rubbed at her lower back, desperately hoping the doctor would arrive before long. But it was another hour before he arrived, and in that space, Cecilia was subjected to more frequent pains.
Finally there was a knock at the door, and the doctor was ushered in. He pulled back the covers and asked Cecilia to attempt to stand. She did manage it, but as she was standing, the blood began trickling down her inner thighs, warm, sticky, and final.
Thirteen
For three nights and four days, Cecilia hovered in a feverish state which had the doctor in perpetual, agitated attendance. On the third day, he called in Letty Fourstep, the local midwife. She sent him off, along with a list of herbs and spices to collect and brew together, which confounded all but the cook, Mrs. Caterham. Letty applied poultices, brewed strange teas, and massaged Cecilia's stomach for what seemed hours to Dorcas, who was constantly on the run for hot water and fresh rags to rinse down her ladyship. There was a great deal of bloodâit frightened Dorcas, but Letty Fourstep seemed calm enough. The maid was unable to conceal her fear from Ormiston, however, who had been banished by Letty Fourstep along with the doctor. Unable to contain himself any further, just before luncheon he barged in and demanded that the wise woman tell him what was happening to his wife.
“Losing a baby at this stage is nigh as bad as giving birth. Besides, there's the chill she caught waltzing around the woods half soaked. The fever makes things seem much worse, but I reckon she'll pull around. She's bleeding steady now, and should do for maybe ten, maybe fourteen days. I'll stay on till the fever breaks. Hopefully tomorrow, otherwise the day after. I've seen worse cases.”
Ormiston nodded. Letty eyed him with speculation. “She's far gone for a bride of less than a month.”
“Yes. It's why we married so swiftly, even though her father had just died.”
“She might not be able to have children after this. It'll depend on what's settled in her. Some women have a time like this and then no more babies.”
“I don't care. I'd rather have her well and barren than lying like this. Get her better, Mistress Fourstep. You'll be well rewarded.”
“I always heard you were a blunt lad. If you love her, go and speak to her. It'll help. Tell her your heart. I must see Mrs. Caterham for some broth. I'll be a while. Sit with her and talk. You won't be interrupted.”
At first, Ormiston felt awkward speaking to the restless, insensate girl. He started talking about Amelia and Reggie. “They're utterly cast-down. Amelia thinks everything is all her fault, so you must get better. They need you, Ceciliaâthey have no one left other than you.” He hesitated. “And so do I need you. I need you more than I can say, more than I thought it possible ever to need anyone. I love you, Cecilia. You may not believe me, because I have seemed fickle and foolish. I have been callow and cynical, but now that I am in danger of losing you, I realize what love is. I only pray it is not too late. When I saw you reaching for the mastiff, I was frozen with horror, and by the time I reached you, it was too lateâyou were hurt and suffering. Now I can only think how I must have made you hurt and suffer before, when you were only a child. All I seem to have done is bring you pain.”
He reached for her hand and traced its outline against the linen sheets. Her skin was translucent, the veins at her wrist prominent. He stroked her skin and along her forearm. She was frowning in her stupor, as though trying to concentrate hard on a distant sound. He spoke again.
“Perhaps I will be able to make reparation for all that you have endured. Cecilia, I'm going to hold you to our bargain even though the reason for it is now gone. The baby was only an excuse for me. It is you I want, you I will always love. I've never been so helpless before, but Letty Fourstep seems to think that there is some succor for us both if I speak to you.
“How can I conceal it from you? Since we were married here at Hatherley, I have never been happier. You have been mine, you have been the most generous and passionate of wives, and I thought all would be right, that I would never have to profess my own passion for you. You have eased relations between me and my father, you have helped me to love my own home, and with every passing day, I have felt more strongly for you. It seemed inconceivable to me that you would choose to leave me at the end of our twelvemonth together. But now, you might slip away from me, and it would be too late, you would never know the truth.
“I want to show you how much I love you. I do not know the right way. Should I offer you your freedom as soon as you are well again? Or should I cling on and demand that you fulfill our agreement? What can demonstrate my true feelings for you best? What honors my love for you?
“I felt such exultation when you told me about the baby. I saw you faint when the will was read, and I knew then, as clearly as if you had told me. When you explained, I wanted to shout and crow and proclaim the news to the whole world, because you must be mine.”
He leaned forward and smoothed the damp hair away from her cheek and stroked the flushed skin. “Come back to me, Cecilia. Come back and let me love you as you deserve. Come back and put Amelia out of her misery. You've been at Hatherley only a month, and you have become its heart. Come back and restore joy to us all.” He kissed her brow and stood up. He went to the window and stood there, looking out over the gardens, seeing nothing, his head aching with the effort of suppressing tears.
Letty Fourstep returned and found Ormiston back at his wife's bedside, wiping the sweat that beaded her forehead and trickled into her hair.
“Go and rest, man. I'll call you back in a few hours' time. You look as though you haven't slept in days. There are two children hanging around outside. You might reassure them. They wouldn't believe me when I said her ladyship would mend.”
The Marchmont children were leaning on a side table in the hall, their eyes huge with apprehension.
“She's going to die, isn't she?” said Reggie in a small voice. Ormiston held out his arms to the children. They ran into his embrace.
“No. Mistress Fourstep says she will pull through. She is still unwell, very unwell, but it seems she is no longer in mortal danger. The fever should break tonight.”
Lavauden rushed up and tried to relieve Ormiston of the children. He shook his head wearily and begged that he might stay with them. They distracted him from the vision which remained embedded in his mind's eye of his wife either writhing or immobile in their shared bed. He could not escape the belief that it was he who had brought her to this pass. It had been he who had seduced her, without any care or conscience. She might have appeared worldly to begin with, but he had known by the time she touched him in the
cabinet des merveilles
that she was not what she appeared.
cabinet des merveilles
that she was not what she appeared.
He escorted the children to their nursery and remained with them while they were served with their lunch. The door opened and to the general astonishment, Dacre came in.
“Here you are! What's the latest with Cecilia? I had Lazenby here this morning making his inquiries.”
“Mistress Fourstep is with her now. She says I may return to Cecilia later. She is quite optimistic.”
“I am astonished that a chill should have had so deleterious an effect on her. Warburton doesn't usually call her in for a fever.”
Ormiston avoided his father's gaze. Everything between Cecilia and himself had been so fragile that they had not yet discussed the pregnancy. It had been one of those subjects from which both tacitly shied away in any conversation. He had made playful reference to the changes that the condition had wrought upon her bodyâher magnificent curves and enriched bosom. But they had not, beyond the brief mention he had made of the child when presenting to her the notion of remaining with him for a twelvemonth, discussed the fraught question of when and how her condition should be made public.
A suspicion formed in the marquis's mind, but he dropped the subject and turned instead to the simpler task of amusing the children. He brought out a pack of cards and played a series of very simple games with them, astonished to discover that Marchmont had studiously avoided teaching his children even the rudiments of which suit was which. Then, as Amelia was enjoying the opportunity of routing her elder brother in a round of Pelmanism, he flushed guiltily at the memory of the drunken wager with his old friend. Perhaps that unfortunate night's play had deterred Marchmont from introducing his offspring to the delights of cardplay. Now here he was, guiding the children toward the path of folly and ruination. But the children were enjoying themselves so much that he could not bring himself to call a halt to their pleasure.
Just after five, Letty Fourstep called Ormiston back to the sick room. Cecilia's state was unchanged. Beneath a sheet, her body was still twisting, her head tossing to discover a cool place on the pillow.
“Do you want to stay with her, or do you wish to leave her with me?”
“I will stay with her.”
“That will make things easier. That Dorcas is a sensible girl, but your wife needs to hear the voice of someone she knows well. You must talk to her, peaceably and calmly. Nothing rough or upsetting. Tell her about Hatherley, how it looks in the winter, what you love most, what you wish her to see and do here.”
It did not seem possible or sensible to correct Mrs. Fourstep's misapprehension about his relationship with Cecilia. At least he would be with her, whatever happened. It had been far worse to be kept away from her, only able to guess the worst of what was happening to her.
“Do you wish to rest a little? There is food downstairs, or at least tea or ale to sustain you. I will stay with her as long as you permit it.”
“I will go downstairs for a little. If you've a mind to, you could watch with me through the night. The fever is easing, but it isn't broken yet. It will be hard.”
“If it is hard, at least let me make it a little easier on you, Mrs. Fourstep.”
The woman eyed him shrewdly for a few seconds, then nodded her head, as if to indicate that he would do, before stepping out.
She had not exaggerated. The night seemed an endless round of changing linens and nursing their restless patient. Cecilia's temperature and agitation seemed to increase until her sweat drenched the sheets. Letty Fourstep's serviceable gray gown ended up splashed with water as she tried to cool the girl down, while Ormiston dabbedâineffectually, he feltâat her brow and tried to sustain his low-voiced narrative of the pleasures of Hatherley, his hopes for the future of the estate, his expectations of the role she would fill. Every now and then, Letty handed him a cup of an herbal brew which he tried to trickle into Cecilia's mouth without slopping it all over the sheets and pillows. From time to time, the midwife went around the room, exchanging wax stumps for fresh candles, pausing to cool herself down.
Lavauden came in at one point and sent Mrs. Fourstep to lie down on the chaise longue in the dressing room. She did try to persuade Ormiston to rest, but he could not bear to leave Cecilia. He did not say as much to the Frenchwoman who had known and loved Cecilia longer than he had, but he was not certain she would live and he knew that he must be with her if she should reach the point of death. Ormiston insisted that Lavauden go and tend to the children, but she looked at him in astonishment and protested that it was past midnight, that Reggie and Amelia had been asleep these five hours and she wished to keep watch with him.
While Mrs. Fourstep was dozing, Cecilia's eyes snapped open and she spoke quite lucidly for the first time in days. Lavauden was out of the room, fetching fresh water.
“Amelia! Is Amelia quite well? She hasn't caught a chill. No, Lavauden would have stopped all that. I tried to keep her dry.”
“Amelia is right as rain. It is you who have given us a fright.” Ormiston's voice quivered slightly with suppressed excitement and fear.
“I've lost the baby, haven't I? I'm sorry. Perhaps you won't mind terribly. You won't have us hanging around your neck after all.” Exhausted, she fell asleep, her temperature sinking by stages.
Mrs. Fourstep rose just before dawn and examined her unconscious patient.
“You've done the job, my lad. Between you and that Frenchwoman, you've brought her down and she'll do now. I'll stay until she wakes, but after that, she'll be on the mend.”
Cecilia slept for a further eight hours, not waking until early afternoon. Her rousing was not dramatic. She simply opened her eyes and found a strange woman with gray eyes and straw-colored hair sitting by her bed with a piece of tatting in her hands. She looked around the room for some moments, then cleared her throat and asked quietly who the woman was. The matter-of-fact response did little to enlighten her. She thought back to the events in the wood and flashes of memory came back to her. She reached a hand up to touch her face. The skin of her cheek and chin and temple were rough with scabs.
“May I have a mirror?”
Mrs. Fourstep rose and fetched a hand-mirror from the dressing table.
“It's not too bad. We've been putting my elderflower cream on it, but you've been sweating that off quicker than we can layer it on. Now you're quiet and cool, those will mend easy enough. There won't be a mark in a week. You won't be up before then, in any case. I should think you feel as weak as a kitten.”
“I do. The baby is lost, isn't it?”
“Yes.”
Cecilia turned away from Letty Fourstep onto her side, curled up, and silently, unstoppably, cried for the small life that had flowered in her and was now gone. The midwife came and sat on the bed and pressed a handkerchief into her hand.
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