Wedgewick Woman (16 page)

“Mrs. Calvert, I would be needin’ a word with ye.” He passed his hands through his hair and fell onto the stool that sat near hers.  “I…I have a child…a lass….” He whispered and she watched frowning as he covered his face with his hands.  She had never seen him thus and truly did not know what words to use to comfort him.  A child?

“There was a child?” she said as though it were impossible.  “Helen?” she asked.

“Yes.  The lass is two years old.” He said, and the look he gave her brought up all her own motherly instincts for she had raised three sons.

She patted his hands that now lay on the table and noted his wide shoulders drooping. “There now.  Tell ye’re old cook all.”

He paused, took a deep breath and continued.  “Helen died in childbirth, Mrs. Calvert.”  His anger revealed itself.  “She hated me so much that she gave the child to Annabel and made her and James promise that I’d never find out.” 

“Ohhhh…dearie me.”  She whispered.  “And where is the little lass now?”

“She is abovestairs.”

Mrs. Calvert shot him a glance.  “Above stairs even now? Does she look like you?”  Mrs. Calvert gave him a sideways glance.

“Yes.  She is mine.” He answered her unasked question.  “What am I to do with this little lass and her without a mother?  I lost my own mother when I was but eight years …this little one will never know hers.”

She continued patting the Laird’s hand, the tears falling from her own eyes.  She collected herself and went on.

“And the child has come to live with you?”

“Ye know I would not leave my bairn alone in the world.”  He stated firmly, squaring his shoulders and giving Mrs. Calvert a look.

“Aye.  You would not.”  She said emphatically. “And the lass your heir.”

“How do I tell the clan?  It is a shame to me to find that I, the Laird of this great clan, has a child…and that I did not know.  It is not a sign of integrity nor an example to my people.” 

“Now there.  It is done.  You must stand firm on those stout legs, be about the truth and have it done with.” She said firmly, standing to pace the small area in front of the fireplace.  “Send your missive throughout the clan…on the morrow. And stop the gossip.”

“Aye.  Tis right of you to say so.  I shall do it.”

“It is wise to put the word out strong and clear; else you will find all sorts of fairy stories echoing through the green hills and dales of Scotland…as you well know.”

“Aye…that is why I came to you.  Ye are like a mother to me.”

She turned her face to the fire, picked up her apron and dabbed at her eyes. 

“And ye a son to me.” She could barely get the words out, so choked in her throat was she.

“Now I would see the lass with me own eyes.” 

“Come.”  He took her thick hand in his and pulled her up the stairs and into the private chamber of the lass.

He noticed the women left a small light burning by the child’s bed and both he and Mrs. Calvert stood hand in hand looked in upon the tiny one asleep.

Tears fell freely from her elderly face as she loosened hold on the Laird’s hand and reached to touch the tiny face.

“She is indeed your daughter.  Look at her hair…and she has Helen’s mouth.” She whispered and began to cry softly, her hand pressed over her lips.

“There now, see here.” he comforted.  “We shall do what’s best for the lass.  She has recently had surgery…”

“Surgery?”  She whispered, frightened eyes meeting his.

“Her foot.”  He lifted the covers and Mrs. Calvert leaned closer. 

“Will she walk?”

“She will walk.”

“Aye…then all is well?”

“Aye.”  He led Mrs. Calvert away.

* * *

As to Annabel…her next waking thought was that someone was in the room with her.  She opened her eyes to find Mrs. Donaldson standing in front of her, with her hands on her hips, her long pale nightdress looking ghostly in the dim lights of the unfamiliar room.

“The child needs to be put to bed.” She stated, taking Eleanor from her arms.

“She woke sobbing during the night. I must have fallen asleep as I rocked her.” She stood to her feet, weariness making her head spin.

The next morn Annabel woke to Mrs. Donaldson’s directive.  “Perhaps you should see to yourself.  I will see to Eleanor’s bath and change of dressing.”

Dismissed, Annabel opened the door to the next room and found two servants straightening the rumpled beds.  “Shall you be wantin’ a bath m’lady?”  One asked.

“If you would be so kind.”  Annabel sighed.

The one ran to do her bidding and before long she was bathed.  She spent the entire day settling into the new room and tried not to be a nuisance.

“Have you seen Phoebe…my maid?” she asked one of the servants the next morning as they finished their duties about the bedchamber.

“Aye.  She is below.  Insisted on working in the kitchen to do her part, she did.  If’n it was me, I’da taken me duties above stairs.” She whispered and then stepped back shocked at her own words.

“Do not worry.  I shall not be about bearing tales.”  Annabel laughed.  “I shall find her myself.”

Annabel slipped through the room so that Eleanor would not see her.  She did not wish to offend Mrs. Donaldson.  In the large hallway she looked left and right.  There were half a dozen doors on either side with the main stairs going down directly in front of the doorway she now stood in.  The nursery had been placed at the top of the stairs, most likely so that servants could attend the child.  She was pleased.

The castle was so large that it was nearly impossible to find the kitchen in the new wing without first asking a bustling servant.  Annabel found her way around for the next two days, catching not a sight of the Laird, for which she was thankful.  Perhaps this would work after all.

By the end of the first week, she and Mrs. Donaldson were on slightly more friendly terms.  Mornings, after the dressing was changed Annabel was allowed to take Eleanor on short walks and read to her before she took her naps.  Afternoons Mrs. Donaldson performed all sorts of strange games and movements with the foot to bring it back to working order.  At night when the child was more fearful, Annabel rocked her as she sang English ballads, said prayers with her then tucked her into bed.

Phoebe was hardly in her presence, except when Annabel called for her.  She had been put to work in the kitchens and seemed to enjoy that duty.

Eleanor was napping now and the nurse was with her; Annabel headed for the kitchen anxious to speak with Phoebe.  She opened the door slowly and looked around.  There were at least a dozen women and two men carrying in vegetables and cleaning birds. Several younger girls were rolling dough.

“Phoebe?” she called out and at once her maid appeared, wiping her hands on her apron and pushing hair out of her face. 

“I am here.” She said softly.

“Are you being overworked?”  Annabel whispered, concern in her face.

“No…no…I much prefer…well…I have met someone.” She whispered back looking over her shoulder.

“Someone?”

“Yes, a Scot.” She looked left and right.  “He is outside the door, waiting for me.  Would you like to lay eyes upon him?” 

Annabel nodded at the joy she saw in Phoebe’s eyes and followed her through the pantry and out a back door, hardly large enough for a child to step through.  Annabel bent down and followed her maid out of doors.

She raised herself back up and looked around.  They were in the garden.  Vegetables of all sorts grew in the well-tended dirt.  And flowers.  The late fall flowers were blooming in purples, whites, yellows, and oranges.  “Oh my.” She whispered and then felt the tug at her arm.

“Come…he awaits me by the trellis.” She pulled Annabel along.

Suddenly they were face to face with a huge man.  The blond haired giant had a red beard and tender blue eyes.  He stood far and away above Phoebe’s small shoulders and Annabel almost laughed at the sight of them.

Phoebe took the big meaty hand in her own and Annabel saw the color rise to the face of the giant as he changed from one big foot to the other.  “Fergus, this is my employer, Miss Annabel Wedgewick.”  She said, smiling.

“Aye.  You were but a child when you were here with Helen.” He said shyly. 

“You remember me, then?”  Annabel colored too…for she had been a young girl under foot she was sure.

“Aye, you were but a runt.” He gazed into Phoebe’s eyes again.  “Not much bigger than her.” He tipped his head toward the woman standing beside him.

“Tis the truth.  I do not remember you Fergus.” She admitted.

“Aye…you were a child playing games and dolls and I was just learning to ride.”

Then he seemed to remember his manners.  “I am sorry about your sister, Helen.” He said politely.

“Yes.”  Annabel looked away.  “Twas a difficult time for her and the Laird.”

“Aye.” He agreed and Annabel sensed he knew much more but did not speak it.

“Fergus is one of the Laird’s Four!”  Phoebe said.

“Aye…and proud to serve Laird Carmichael.” He said.  “Tis my hour off.” He explained, “But I have to be about my business.” He stated and turned to leave, casting a glance at Phoebe one last time before he lumbered away.

“Tis no wonder I have not seen you about.”  Annabel teased.

“Oh Annabel,” Phoebe said dreamily, “He is just the nicest, most polite…and…biggest man I have ever seen.”

“He is at that.”  She agreed.  “We have been here twelve days and already I see lights in your eyes, Phoebe.”

“On day two I knew.” She whispered and then remembered her duties.  “I shall have to get back inside, lest they find a Scot talking to an English lass.”

Annabel laughed as Phoebe hurried inside. She decided to take another path through the gardens and found herself in the outer greens of the castle, still within the walls, but away from the busy courtyard.  She looked out and saw nothing but shades of yellows and layers of green.  Gazing out over the landscape Annabel noticed small fields of white daisies growing wild around large white rocks that were dispersed among the lush grasses.

Small children played in a far corner of the huge rocked wall that protected the castle.  Some day Eleanor would play in that same area with other children.  Her heart turned over, for if Eleanor was with her, there would be no place to play out of doors either at the London house or at the small cottage.  She hated the realization that came over her…that perhaps Eleanor would be happier here.

Suddenly a shovelful of dirt landed at her feet and then another.  She moved slightly.  There was a short wood fence hiding the offender.  She stepped around it to find a small boy digging in the gardens.

“Good day.” She smiled, noting his big brown eyes as he looked up.  The sun in his face, he stood up.

“Aye, ‘tis a good day.” He agreed and bowed slightly.

“Quite the gentleman.”

“Aye, me mother taught me manners.” He slipped his hat off his head to reveal very dark hair.  He tried to smooth it but it was useless.

“And what are you about this fine day?” she inquired.

“Planting me garden.  See those strings there?  That is me space.  The Laird ordered it.”

Annabel smiled at his proud look. “And what have you planted?”

“There’d be carrots, potatoes, leeks and even a daisy or two.  Me mother loved her daisies.” He said proudly.

“Cork!”

“That would be the Laird.” He pulled his hat on, dropped the shovel in the dirt and ran toward the loud voice.  Just as he intended to round the corner, he ran straight into the Laird and landed on his back.

Instinctively, Annabel ran to him.  “Are you hurt?” She dusted him off as he rose to his feet.

She noticed that he stepped away from her. He did not want to be thought a child in front of the Laird. 

Without a word, she slipped away, not wishing to interfere.  She could hear the Laird giving the boy instructions in a rather gruff voice. And with the look he gave her, he was in no mood to be interrupted.

Annabel slipped behind the bushes and made her way around the north end of the grassy area.  She could hear pigs squealing, sheep baaing, and the smells of leather and wool in the air.

She had come to the entrance of the courtyard.  Stopping to look inside each hut, she watched as workers handled the spindles making yarn, the candle-makers, and the cobbler.  Smiling as she went along, she spoke a word or two.  Some, who noticed her English accent chose not to speak and others were friendly.

Annabel knew that word got along that the Laird had a child.  She wondered if she stood accused as the kidnapper.  Perhaps she’d best stay inside away from the people.  The Laird might become angry if she stirred up trouble and send her away.

She took the same way back out into the grassy courtyard and saw that the children had been called inside, so decided to walk the perimeter of the huge wall.  She would bring Eleanor to play before the cold winds started, if Mrs. Donaldson did not have any objections.

She was bending over to smell a lovely strange looking prickly purple flower when she heard her name.