I am at present in Paris, undertaking the arduous duties that remain to the victors. I will return as soon as I am able. Take care of yourself and the precious life within you.
William Heatherington.
He’d used the seal of the Earl of Rustead, but at least he had not assumed the title.
Cassandra read over the lines several times before she truly absorbed their import. She was a widow. Her only hope remained inside her, the child she had conceived with a man not her husband.
Her maid discovered her, the letter loosely in her hand, tears rolling down her face.
* * * * *
Cassandra felt a gentle melancholy at her husband’s passing, and genuine regret that they had not had an opportunity for their second chance. She ordered her blacks, but decided not to wear them except when in public. It seemed hypocritical, when she was bearing another man’s child. That thought weighed on her, too heavily, and with no one she could share her worries with, the concern got worse.
No Vernon, no Edward. Perhaps that was her punishment. To be deprived of them both.
After a week of mooning around the house, feeling deeply sorry for herself, Cassandra managed to pull herself together. Vernon hadn’t contacted her at all, and she hadn’t felt his presence, or the presence of anyone else, for that matter. Perhaps his brother, the shadowy Nathaniel had tried, but she hadn’t noticed anything. She’d spent hours in the Long Gallery, staring at Nathaniel’s portrait, the companion to Vernon’s, in the hope that she could reach him, but there had been nothing.
Now she came to study them closer, the resemblance between the brothers was obvious. Not just hair and eye color, but the way they proudly stood, and the fearless way they stared out of their respective paintings. She wondered if they were ever painted together. Children often were. And Vernon had said he had a sister. What had happened to her?
The estate office contained many old volumes. Fired by a new thought, Cassandra turned away from the Gallery and headed downstairs, to the office.
One of her first innovations had been to get rid of the useless steward and engaged a new one, the son of a local man of law, who had known the estate intimately all his life, her man of law now. Oldmeadow was ambitious, intelligent and loyal. The previous steward had darkly threatened legal action, but the elder Oldmeadow had seen him off with little trouble.
Now the young man looked up and smiled at her entrance. He hastily got to his feet, but she waved him back down and took the seat opposite him, so he would not feel obliged to stand again. “It is a hot day, is it not?”
“It is, my lady. Should I ring for some lemonade?”
She shook her head. “No, although in my state I do get even hotter. I became interested in something while taking my daily airing.”
She saw the wariness enter his expression, and knew exactly what he was thinking, because she would have thought the same. Was she about to interfere and countermand his orders? She considered that an asset in her new estate manager. Any man who took pride on his work would feel the same.
“I looked at all the portraits in the Gallery and realized I know little about the previous Earls of Rustead. Only general matters. I wondered if you would help me discover old letters, journals, family papers that I might read while I am confined.”
“You mean to enter confinement?” It was old fashioned, but many women still went into seclusion just before and after childbirth, only to be seen by their closest attendants. Sometimes even the father to be was denied his wife’s presence.
She smiled. “Not strictly. I do not think it is good for the baby. I will continue with my daily airings, but I won’t be able to go far, and I need more rest these days. To be frank, Mr. Oldmeadow, the constant rests and pauses are tedious. I think this would occupy me well in the time before the birth. Could you help me locate the papers?”
“It would be a pleasure, Lady Rustead.”
Instead of Vernon’s presence, she might be able to find letters he’d written, and discover more about him. That would help. Surely that would help?
Chapter Nine
The baby came on the first Sunday in August. Cassandra had given up attending church in the village, when her bulk became too large, but had received a pastoral visit from the vicar every week, usually on a Wednesday. Therefore, most of the household was at church when she became sure that the regular pains weren’t cramps or kicks, but the actual birth.
Excited at the thought of seeing her baby and relieved that the long wait was finally over, she made some of the preparations herself, pausing when a contraction hit her. By the time her maid returned from church, Cassandra lay on her bed, freshly made with thick blankets and old sheets, dressed in a fresh night-rail, a pile of garments stacked on the chest of drawers. Her flushed face told the whole story to the perceptive woman, and she sent immediately for the doctor, who replied that he was on his way, but had a number of visits to make before he arrived. He had previously sat down with Cassandra and told her what to expect in great detail. An unusual move, but she was husbandless, and had only herself to rely on.
Two hours in and Cassandra was straining. No doctor. Her pains were increasing, and try as she might she could not stifle her groans. By then her personal maid, Smith, and two housemaids were in attendance. One put a hot steaming cup of tea by the side of the bed when she leaned over to place her hand gently on Cassandra’s taut belly. “My sister birthed her third in two hours last year, my lady, but I fear you’ll have to wait a little longer.
Cassandra strained, and waited until the pain passed before she replied. “Why do you say that, Dorcas?”
“You need to be open before the baby can pass through the birth passage, and you are about half open.”
Cassandra had long passed the stage of embarrassment, becoming used to gentle fingers examining her every half hour or so. Dorcas was an asset. Although she was single, she came from a large family and had assisted at five births before this one. Indeed, Cassandra felt safe in her care, and almost wished the doctor would arrive too late.
She sat up against the stack of pillows at her back and took a long drink of the fragrant brew. “Tea never tasted so good.”
“It will taste even better when your travail is over, my lady.” Her maid, bustling in with a pile of fresh sheets, smiled reassuringly. “The doctor has sent his journey details in case we need him, but I think everything is as it should be. It is your first, my lady, so it is likely to be some time yet.”
In fact, it was another two hours. Suddenly her pains increased and became more urgent. Cassandra wasn’t aware of gripping Dorcas’s hand when she strained, but saw the deep half moon nail marks afterwards, and tried to apologize.
“If that is all I have in my life, I would thank the good Lord for it. Come, my lady, another push if you please.”
One girl held her shoulders, giving her something to push against, and Dorcas stayed below, calling out encouragement and praise. Cassandra realized how basically animal this was, and strangely, took comfort in it. She was doing what animals in the field did every day, and they survived, even went on to birth more. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed.
It might be. The pain racked her body, driving it to exertions she wasn’t sure she would survive. When she did, she was briefly thankful, before another pain wrenched her muscles into pushing, pushing.
The doctor finally arrived. Striding into the bedroom he paused to strip off his coat and roll his sleeves up, only pausing when Dorcas shrieked. “Doctor, go and wash! You have come in from your daily visits. You do not touch my lady until you have washed most thoroughly. There is hot water in the can by the door!”
Smiling sheepishly at his error, the doctor obeyed, and returned to the bed a few minutes later bringing a pleasant odor of lavender with him, from Cassandra’s best soap, which he must have found in her dressing room. A brief look, and he lifted his head, his round face wreathed in smiles. “You are doing splendidly, my lady. You don’t really need me at all.�
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While she could, after one contraction and while another was building, Cassandra gasped, “If it is a boy, please announce that there are twins.”
The three maids and Dr. Waters exchanged puzzled looks. Cassandra gathered her strength. “I believe my brother in law has designs on the title. I have thought of a plan.”
She gasped the outline of her plan, knowing everyone in the room would carry it out, or hear from her.
Half an hour later, her baby was put into her arms. Her firstborn, her love.
Her son.
* * * * *
William Heatherington strode through the door of Rustead Abbey, noting absently how quietly the great front door swung back on its hinges. The interior seemed better maintained than he remembered, as well. Not prosperous, but certainly cleaner, and the staff moved with a purpose he hadn’t noticed before. With regret, he noted that most of the maids he saw were dressed modestly and neatly. He enjoyed a little slovenliness in a maid.
He stopped to offer his arm to his wife, and she smiled graciously and accepted his support, handing her pelisse to a maid. Autumn had arrived, after a rainy summer, and a chill had begun to invade the days. William turned to the butler. “Where is her ladyship?”
The man glanced at the tall clock that stood by the door. “At this hour, sir, she will be feeding the baby. I will inform her that you have arrived.”
Without being invited, William walked through the hall to the great oak staircase. “Kindly have refreshments served in the Gold Saloon.”
“Sir, I regret the Gold Saloon is presently not available. Her ladyship ordered a thorough cleansing, and the State Apartments are under Holland covers. If it pleases you, the Green Drawing Room is ready.”
The Green Drawing Room was a comfortable room on the first floor, the scene of many a long, debauched evening in Edward’s day, when William ran tame in the Abbey, helping himself to its treasures to finance his expensive pleasures. He sighed heavily. Those were the days.
Deborah was an asset, but hardly a cozy armful in bed. She couldn’t wait for him to finish, not the behavior he expected of his bedfellow, and not one he was used to. Soon after his wedding, he’d taken up with his old acquaintances. More discreetly, it was true, out of respect for Deborah, but he suspected she didn’t care very much whose bed he went to, as long as it wasn’t hers.
He remembered where the nursery was from his childhood, when his mother had been a poor relation here. Now she had remarried, she was at least out of his aegis and under the protection of her husband. But although the Rusteads had been very kind to them both, William had always felt his status keenly. His resentment had been instrumental in his subsequent behavior, so that dragging Edward down to the worst hells, the most iniquitous brothels, was always deeply satisfactory to his bruised spirit.
Strangely, now he’d gone, William still felt resentful. The damned baby. Once that was gone, he was sure he would feel much better. He didn’t want to be here. When he was the earl, he would live somewhere else. The apparition he’d seen at his last visit was some kind of warning, he was sure.
As they stepped through the doorway, they were met with a sight straight out of the Sunday sermon. A blooming Cassandra, her bodice still a little askew, affording him a glimpse of her deliciously deep cleavage, was in the process of handing a softly wrapped bundle to a nursemaid. She made sure the child was safely ensconced in the nurse’s embrace before she turned.
The natural, sweet smile froze on her face. “William!” She swept forward, the skirts of her black gown sweeping the polished boards. “And Deborah, how nice!”
“Indeed, sister-in-law.” William forced a jovial smile. “And this is the new Lord Rustead!”
“Yes, this is he.” She fixed him with a look that was suddenly firmer, her pointed chin firming, the expression in her soft eyes hardening. “Say good day to your nemesis.”
“Why, Cassandra, how can you say that, even in jest?” William kept his smile in place, and peered into the crumpled face of the new earl when the maid brought him over. Destined not to achieve his first birthday, poor little mite.
Deborah cooed over the baby. “So sweet! But you have to go through hell to get this far!”
“Especially when it’s twins.”
Slowly, William turned to face Cassandra. “No,” he said flatly.
* * * * *
“Oh yes.” Triumph curled through her whole body. This was what she had planned for, this moment. It would keep her baby alive. “I had two boys, William. The other is with a wet-nurse.”
He looked around. “Here? This nursery only seems to have one cradle.”
“I sent him away. He will be returned to me in time, but I hadn’t the milk for two and the wet nurse the doctor found for me could not live in.” She added a smile. “It happens from time to time, and the woman was a good, clean nurse. Sadly she had to follow her husband.”
“Where?”
“The Americas.” Gleefully she watched the horror William could no longer hold back. “The lady is the wife of a sea captain, and she sadly lost her own child. I agreed to let her care for—” she paused, realizing she had left one part of her plan vacant― “Peter—” she extemporized “―until their return.”
“When do they plan to return?”
She saw the skepticism, and invented a little more. “When I tell them they may. The lady is a distant relation of mine. They have a small business in Boston and they may wait a few months before they return. But that should be of no interest to you.” Just to inform you that should you attack my baby, there is another one waiting to take over.
William studied the child, then turned his attention to her. “I find one baby more than enough.” She smiled at Deborah, who gave her a sympathetic smile in return. So that was the way the wind blew.
She had successfully diverted attention from her baby. Now, with William’s baleful eyes upon her, she realized she had to look out for herself. There was no one else. All her attempts to contact Vernon and Nathaniel had ended in failure, and she could only presume that their gifts had been removed from them. Perhaps they had moved on. She should feel glad for them, but she could not. There was still a great void in the center of her being that would never be filled this side of the grave. Until she could join him, having discharged her duties here on earth. To their son.
* * * * *
Since the world of spirits was closed to her, Cassandra had been forced back on her own resources, in the world of men. Her faith in the doctor and her man of business had not been unfounded, and when she had confided her fears to them they had not treated her as a weak, imaginative woman, but as a sensible person. Mr. Oldmeadow Senior had laid a false paper trail, indicating the mythical baby’s travels, and the doctor had provided the necessary corroboration that was necessary for their plan to succeed. When the danger was over, if it was ever over, the mythical child would succumb to a disease. A necessary conspiracy, aimed at making safe the current holder of the Earldom of Rustead.
Cassandra was determined William should not benefit from his sins, but was dismayed to discover, on the reading of her late husband’s will, that William was named as trustee. It was a blow. So was William’s determination, despite the protestations of his wife, to remain at the Abbey for the foreseeable future. “While you are attending to the earl, my dear,” he said, unbearably unctuous, “I will see to his lands.”
She smiled and lowered her lids over her eyes, which she was sure were blazing in a telltale manner. “You are very kind, cousin. I am so glad Edward left you a token of his regard. Should you not be seeing to your own estate, rather than caring for Vernon’s?” She had called her baby after his father. After all, Vernon was a family name. While it hurt for her to voice it, it was also a delight, to see his beauty in living flesh. His eyes had matured to a deep blue, exactly like his father’s, and his mouth had a certain pout she remembered from that memorable night.
As September matured, Cassandra found herself an
ticipating Halloween, hoping against all reason that he would keep his promise and come to her again. He swore he would come. If he could, he would. She knew it.
With the threat removed from her son, William tried to punish her, his wife proving an eager accessory to his taunts and insults. Edward had made William his trustee, along with his man of business, and he had already given orders to halt the improvements she’d ordered to the Home Farm. Edward’s signature giving her power of attorney was no longer valid, now he was dead.
When she tried to protest William waved an airy hand. “Tailors have to be paid sometime, my dear, or they won’t give you more credit. Not being a peer, like my esteemed nephew, I risk being thrown in debtor’s prison if I don’t give them something.”
“I don’t think that would be considered as a proper use of estate funds,” she commented.
“Neither is re-thatching that old barn. It’s falling to pieces in any case.”
“Very little work will bring it back.” She lifted her head from her stitchery, regarding him closer. “You’ve ridden around the estate?” She would bet her next quarter’s pin money that he hadn’t been welcomed.
William shrugged. “There is little else to do here.”
“Then why do you not return to London and let us be?”
There, she had said it. If he returned, she could resume her previous duties as head of the house and estate. The profits she could make from increasing the farm production would help to pay for any expenses, even if William refused to allow any extra. And she would prevent his further depredations on her son’s fortune, such as it was. The sad fact was that there was little left. Just enough to form the basis for rebuilding the fortune, but not if William and Deborah continued to spend money like water.
“As soon as we can afford it, we will return,” William sneered at her, his mouth curling unpleasantly. “I have the right to stay here now, to oversee my nephew’s upbringing, and I will report any wrongdoing I see. Since we’re alone, there should be no harm in my telling you that the minute you remarry, you’ll be out of my nephew’s life, and the minute you spend a penny above your quarterly allowance on your own fripperies, I will protest. I intend to make your life a living hell for what you did.”
Hosts to Ghosts Box Set Page 8
