An Improper Companion Page 11

  “Not above half!” he retorted. “Did you know I ought to be whipped!”

  “No doubt,” I agreed equably.

  His sense of humour touched at last, Leslie laughed. “You wouldn’t like all of the advice she gave me,” he warned. “No, I don’t think I shall tell you. She may be correct, in which case I shall stand in need of it.”

  It was too nice a day to argue so I simply shrugged and pretended I had no curiosity. Leslie was not deceived, for he laughed again and said, “I needn’t ask what her advice to you was.”

  I shrugged again provoking more laughter. After a moment, I laughed also. Then Leslie was pointing out the gamekeeper’s place not far ahead. Like Nanny, the man and his wife were elderly. But Leslie could not bring himself to replace Billy with a younger man. They were waiting outside and Billy held our horses as we dismounted. “Ma wife, Marget,” he said as he tethered the horses.

  “Lady Kinwell,” she said curtsying, “Sir Leslie. Won’t you please come in for tea?”

  The cottage was larger than Nanny’s, having two floors and several rooms. Marget quickly made clear what Leslie had already told me: that she had been born above her station, a vicar’s daughter, and had married Billy out of love. She did not seem to ever have regretted the step, which had isolated her from her former friends. Marget was obviously on excellent terms with Leslie. “How did your sisters take the news?” she asked him.

  “Marget!” Billy exclaimed reprovingly.

  Leslie laughed, “It’s all right. I’ve had a brief note from Eleanor and Kate. Both asking who my bride is. They congratulated me, of course, and asked to meet Heather the next time we happen to be near London or their country homes. You’d have thought one person wrote both notes, they were so alike.”

  “And Mary?”

  “She’s here. With Philip. To see Heather, of course,” he said.

  “And does she approve?” Marget asked.

  “Quite,” Leslie said casually. Marget looked surprised and Leslie added, “She has been most helpful to Heather.”

  I was curious and decided to be blunt. “Why do you seem surprised?”

  “Oh, I meant no offense, Lady Kinwell. It is simply that I cannot imagine Lady Mary approving of any woman Leslie married. Particularly a young, healthy, pretty one,” Marget explained.

  “Why not?” I persisted.

  Marget would have answered, but Leslie had at last caught her eye. She stood up abruptly and went to the kitchen for more scones. Billy seemed embarrassed. “Never ye mind Marget, Lady Kinwell. She’s a bit too fond of gossip and forgets her place sometimes.”

  “Gammon!” Marget chided him fondly, as she returned. And she paused to stroke his hair a moment before sitting and saying, “You’d best keep an eye on the girl when you take her to London, Sir Leslie.”

  The simple, loving gesture between Marget and Billy overset me. I felt a tightening at my throat and did not hear my husband’s reply. Thus I was startled to suddenly feel Leslie’s hand over mine. The others laughed and Marget teased, “Faith, Sir Leslie, she’s so much in love she spends half her time in the treetops. Ah, but I was like that too, the first few years after I married Billy.”

  “Ye still are!” her husband retorted.

  I laughed also this time and made no effort to withdraw my hand from Leslie’s. I would, I must play through this farce! Marget’s next question was no surprise. “Well, will you be making a wedding trip?”

  Leslie smiled. “Yes, but not for a while. There are matters to cope with here. Then I must show Heather London during the Season. Later we’ll spend a few months on the Continent.”

  “Can you afford it?” Marget demanded bluntly. “You’re a generous man and the castle isn’t kept cheaply.”

  Leslie answered seriously, “My great-grandfather left a trust for the upkeep of the castle. The interest is still ample to cover expenses. Nor have I touched my own capital. I shan’t outrun the constable!”

  Again Billy was shocked into reproving Marget, but Leslie was only amused. I listened with growing unease. Perhaps he was not so plump in the pocket as I thought, and I ought to be keeping a closer eye on expenses.

  We chatted awhile longer, then Leslie insisted it was time to leave, that there were further calls to pay. When we were finally riding away, I heaved a sigh of relief. “Tired?” Leslie asked with concern. I shook my head in denial and he added, “Just two more cottages to visit. I’ve other tenants, but today we’ll only visit those who couldn’t come to our reception.”

  “Leslie,” I said, timidly, “can we afford to go to the Continent?”

  “Don’t you wish to go?” he countered.

  “Of course, but not if you cannot afford it. And ... and ... you needn’t buy me so many clothes...”

  He cut me off with a laugh. “My dear Heather, I appreciate your concern, but truly we needn’t count every farthing.”

  I nodded, satisfied. “That’s as well, then. You never speak of it and Marget made me wonder.”

  “My mother would have found you incomprehensible.” Leslie laughed.

  Stung, I retorted, “It’s just as well that I don’t have to face her then!”

  I gathered myself to urge my mare faster and leave Leslie behind. He must have guessed my thoughts for at once his hand shot out and clamped onto the bridle. I glared at him and he said, angrily, “I told you not to behave so childishly when riding. You are not ready to go galloping neck-or-nothing about the countryside!”

  I loosened my grip on the reins and stared at the ground. After a moment, Leslie seemed satisfied and he released the bridle. We rode on in silence. Inwardly I seethed. By what right did he treat me as a child? That I knew the answer made me twice as angry as I might otherwise have been. I had little time, however, to dwell on my anger before we reached the next cottage. It belonged to a young man named Jim. He emerged as we rode up and held the horses as we dismounted. “Good day, Lady Kinwell,” he said politely. Then, more enthusiastically, he greeted Leslie, “Good day, sir! I must show ye that garden. I’ve some more new ideas to try.” Leslie laughed and gave me his arm as we followed Jim to his “garden.” It was more than a mere garden, however. Jim had plowed and seeded nearly two acres of land. As I watched from the border Leslie and Jim strode among the furrows and occasionally stopped to inspect some plant or other. To my surprise, Leslie seemed interested in all this. I began to fear he would stay the day in the fields. But at last he remembered my existence and spoke to Jim, who glanced over to me, then nodded. He reached me first. “Beggin’ yer pardon, me lady, ye might be more comfortable in the shade.” He guided me to a wooden bench under an old oak. “Let me fetch ye some water.”

  Then he was gone and Leslie sat down beside me, deep in thought. Indeed, he was startled when Jim returned with the water. I thanked him and was not surprised when he sat down beside Leslie and once more began to talk of matters I could not understand. By this time, I was beginning to feel short of temper. Neither man noticed as I rose and went off in search of a water closet. Or the nearest thing to one.

  When I returned, Leslie was waiting impatiently. “We ought to be leaving, Heather,” he said abruptly.

  Exasperation robbed me of words. As though it were my idea to stop so long here! Leslie did not await a reply but took my arm and we walked to the horses. Jim endeavoured to congratulate us on our marriage. Reminded of my position, I managed somehow to smile and accept Jim’s compliments graciously. Indeed, I even asked him several questions and teased him on the probability of his finding a wife. It would seem I answered too prettily, however, for as soon as we had set off, Leslie taxed me with the matter. “Must you flirt with every young man?” he asked evenly.

  I could restrain my temper no longer. “Flirt? Because I was civil to the man? ’Twas your idea to visit here! I’d not have joked with him but for your silence over the matter of our nuptials. You said we must pretend to be a normal new-wedded couple!” I retorted.

  He merely regarded me with
evident disbelief and reproof. To my chagrin, I found myself blushing. How dared he treat me in such a manner? We rode in icy silence for a time. But finally curiosity overwhelmed my anger and I asked, “Are you pleased he has cultivated so much of your land?”

  “Why not?” he asked. “If he did not it would simply lie unused. And he is an intelligent young man with some unusual ideas.”

  I was contemplating this answer when I noticed a large house across the fields. “Who lives there?” I asked.

  “My great-grandfather built it as a dower house,” Leslie explained. “I once thought Mary might wish to use it. But she did not and now my bailiff lives there.”

  Something in his response puzzled me. “Why should Mary have wished to use it?”

  Leslie frowned. “There was a time she and Gainesfield were ... quarrelling. She thought to return here. They managed, however, to avoid this measure and eventually reached a happy enough arrangement.”

  I wondered what sort of quarrel could drive mild Mary to consider leaving her husband. But I did not question Leslie further. In any event, we were approaching the next cottage.

  No one came out to greet us. Leslie frowned as we approached the door. He knocked and a voice bade us enter. At the far side of the room a young woman lay in bed. It was clear why she had not been at our reception. She was enceinte and very close to term. In the next moment I realised that she was, in fact, due now. I hurried across the floor to her side. “Jenny Bartlet? I am Heather Kinwell,” I said briskly. “Are I you in labour? Has your husband gone for the midwife?”

  Jenny shook her head, close to tears. “He’s away in town, gone te fetch some things. There be no one te send.”

  I took her hand. “Don’t worry. Sir Leslie will fetch her and I’ll stay until he does.” I turned to Leslie, “Do you know where to find her?”

  He nodded. “Of course. But first I’ll send you back to the castle. Mrs. Morgan can find someone to stay with Mrs. Bartlet.”

  Not wanting to argue beside Jenny, I took Leslie’s arm and pulled him outside the cottage. Then I faced him, hands on hips. “Listen to me, Leslie. I’ll not leave that poor girl alone. She’s no older than I am and half scared to death at the thought of giving birth!”

  “And if she should need help? Are you as qualified to help her as someone Mrs. Morgan could send?” he challenged.

  “I think I am!” I retorted. “Now please go and fetch the midwife.”

  For a moment I feared he would forcibly carry me away.

  But at last he turned and strode toward his horse. I ran after him. “Leslie, give me some silver, please,” I said.

  Startled, he paused. “Why?”

  “For the baby.”

  He laughed and handed a few coins to me. Clutching them, I ran back to the cottage. I went over to the bed. “Don’t worry, Jenny,” I said. “Sir Leslie has gone for the midwife. Look, I’ve brought you the first present for the child.”

  I showed her the coins and she smiled. Then a grimace crossed her face, and setting the coins on the table, I hurried to pour some cold water into a basin. I found a cloth and bathed Jenny’s forehead, for the day had turned very warm. When I had done that, I gave her my hand to hold, which she gripped with surprising strength each time the pains came. They were coming closer together now and Jenny was crying, though she had not yet screamed, as I had heard women were wont to do. Sometime later, she gasped, “I’m afraid, Lady Kinwell. Suppose she don’t come in time?”

  I was surprised to hear myself say briskly, “Why, then I’ll deliver the child.”

  She regarded me with awe. “Have ye ever done it before?”

  “No,” I said honestly, “but I know what must be done.” Jenny accepted this and became calmer. I prayed I would I not be called upon to cope alone with the birth. I knew, in theory, what must be done, but that was not the same as practice. I had once spent a year where I was much with the school nurse and learned all manner of useful remedies. I had I also wheedled out of her very precise information about childbirth by pretending I was greatly afraid of the event and I determined never to endure the ordeal. This shocked the poor ! woman so, that she hastened to explain the “ordeal” in detail and all the various steps that might be taken to ease a woman’s suffering. I knew Leslie believed me mad, but I truly felt Jenny deeded me and that I could be of use to her. That she was badly frightened seemed clear, and I did not wish to leave her alone even for the time necessary to return to the castle and send someone in my place. I strongly suspected, moreover, that although I had never witnessed a birth, I had better knowledge of what was to be done than a servant who had had no nurse to instruct her. Above all, Jenny most needed to be encouraged. That I was her age and calm would help steady her, I knew.

  I moved about the small cottage, tidying it and sweeping the floor. I pulled back the curtains to let in the greatest amount of sunlight and left the door standing open to coax in the breeze. After consulting Jenny’s wishes, I laid out a few things for the baby when it should come. Frequently I paused in this work to sit beside Jenny and hold her hand or bathe her forehead or just talk. And then, as the pain grew stronger, I tore my shift (for lack of other material) to provide straps for her to pull on; the other ends being tied beneath the bed. I talked with her, but of what I cannot recall. And I listened for the sound of Leslie’s horse returning. I laid aside a knife and some thread in the event the midwife should not come in time. But there was little danger of that since it was Jenny’s first and could be expected to be a long time emerging. Yet if the midwife could not be found ... ? I thrust aside the thought. If Leslie could not find the midwife surely he would summon a doctor.

  Fortunately, Jenny had ceased to be so afraid, placing her trust in me. Yet we were both relieved when the sounds of a horse finally reached us. A few minutes later, Leslie entered with Kate, the midwife. She nodded to me curtly and professionally began to examine Jenny as Leslie pulled me outside. “Now will you come home?” he demanded.

  Before I could answer, Kate called from the door, “She’s asken fer ye, Lady Kinwell.”

  I nodded and said to Leslie, “No, I will not. I’ll return when Jenny ceases to need me. Pray give my regrets to Lady Mary that I shall not be present at dinner.”

  Leslie was angry but I turned and walked back to the cottage. Behind, I could hear Leslie cursing me. Inside, I joined Kate in preparing Jenny. I smiled at her reassuringly but did not disturb Kate with needless chatter. I was oblivious to time as we worked. At some point Tom Bartlet returned, but Kate chased him out of the cottage saying he would be useless. When he rebelled, I left Jenny’s side long enough to allay his fears and suggest he fetch more cold water. Whether it was the calmness of my manner or the fact of my title, I do not know, but Tom quieted and agreed to our instructions. Inside, I teased Jenny over her husband’s concern and drew a smile from her. Kate assured me there would be no trouble with the birth and we settled down to wait. When it began to grow dark, I lighted the candles: Kate talked and we listened, Jenny and I. She talked about other births and the families in the nearby countryside. One of her first deliveries had been Leslie.

  Then it began and we, none of us, had time to chatter. Kate used the knife and thread I had set aside. Soon I was holding the child and gently bathing it with another strip of cloth torn from my shift. A lusty boy who wanted his mother. And even as I held the child I felt a wave of sadness sweep over me, that I would never hold a child of my own. As the tears obscured my sight I handed the child to its mother. Kate signalled that Jenny was almost ready and I left the cottage in search of Tom. He was just outside. “You’ve a son, Mr. Bartlet,” I said, “and Jenny is well.”

  He let out a shout of triumph and soundly kissed me before running to the cottage. Laughing, I followed. When I entered the doorway, I saw him bending over to kiss the baby. Then I found myself consenting to their shy request that I stand for the child at its christening. They had begun to discuss names when there was a knock at the door. I has
tened to open it. A maid from the castle kitchens stood there, and I realised she carried a large basket of food. “Sir Leslie said I was to bring it,” she said shyly.

  The basket contained two roast hens, bread, and some elderberry wine as well as some fresh eggs. Tom decided to broach the wine that we might all toast the new baby. I could not refuse, but after the toasts I insisted I must leave. We bade each other good night and I left with the maid, feeling warm and happy.

  Outside I discovered she had come in the pony cart. “The maister said I was on no account to let ye ride back in the dark,” she said. “We’re te tether the mare te the cart.”

  I smiled and agreed, adding that she must handle the reins as I’d no experience with carts. She, Gail, seemed pleased and more at ease then. And as we rode she asked about Mrs. Bartlet and the baby. I answered her questions as best I might and laughed at her surprise when I said I had tom my shift for straps and to bathe the child. At last, her curiosity satisfied, she sighed. “Well, but ’tis good for ye, I daresay. Ye’ll be having yer own babes soon and will know what te expect.”

  I was glad of the darkness that hid my tears from her. I chided myself silently, saying it was only the fatigue which made me unhappy. Gail chattered on, oblivious to my distress. The servants, she told me, already discussed when the first child might come and whether it would be a boy or girl. From a distance, I heard myself say that a doctor had once told me I might find it difficult to conceive. That reduced her to a shocked, sympathetic silence.

  I was grateful when we reached the castle. Gail sent me straight in, saying she would look to the horses. I stumbled up the steps and a startled footman let me in, saying the master awaited me in the library. I went there and rapped on the door. “Come in!” a harsh voice commanded.