“Must you go straight in, Harry? Can you walk with me for a bit?”
“Oh, of course,” Charity said readily. “Is your carriage coming, or…?” She trailed off.
“I only live on the next road, so I walk.” Nan shrugged. “Perhaps I ought to bring a maid, but at my age, I don’t think—”
“At your age? Nan, are you in your fifties or your twenties?”
Nan gave her an ironic glance. “As well one or the other, as far as the gentlemen are concerned. Anyone over twenty-two or –three is past their best. Not,” she added, “that they showed much interest in me even then.”
“Nor you in them,” Charity retorted. “Come, let me ask Wilbur to drive us to the park, and we can talk to our hearts’ content.” She sobered quickly as she assisted her friend into the carriage. “Just tell me one thing, Nan. Is there any hope?”
“There’s hope,” Nan said gravely, as Charity scrambled in beside her. “But it is just that: hope.”
“Tell me more whilst we walk.”
The girls fell silent as Wilbur drove them to the park at the deliberate pace he felt appropriate to the young ladies’ status. Shorn of the privacy Charity and Nan needed to speak of that which concerned them most, no other subject came to mind; and it was a sombre journey indeed. Finally, the vehicle drew to a halt, and Nan and Charity stepped down.
“There.” Nan pointed to a pretty path edged by flowers. There was a convenient bench placed for the purpose of viewing the riot of red-yellow-orange petals—and perhaps intended also for the sharing of secrets.
“Tell me,” Charity urged as they sat, the beautiful flowers meaning nothing to her in her present state of mind. “Tell me everything. Have you seen her? Have—oh, just tell me, Nan!”
“I haven’t seen Isobelle herself,” Nan said. “I spent a couple of hours with Lady Greenaway, though. As you know, she’s severely unwell herself, and Isobelle is everything to her. I was concerned to see how she was managing.”
“But Isobelle,” Charity insisted. “What of her?”
Nan poked around in the gravel with one neatly shod foot. “They do not know. They do not know how much damage was done when she hit her head. You know the details of the fall?”
“That it was a carriage accident—yes.”
“That is all that matters, really,” Nan said. “She has broken a bone in her wrist, and a couple of her ribs, they believe. But those, however serious, are not the cause of the concern. It is the head injury which worries them. She is in and out of consciousness, as I understand it, and they are having trouble when she awakens making her rest. She seems agitated and is running a bit of a fever.”
“I see.” Charity blinked back the tears which were smudging the flowers into blurs in front of her eyes. “What needs to be done?”
Nan took a deep breath. “She needs constant nursing, and Lady Greenaway cannot do so herself. At the same time, she hates the thought of only a stranger being with Isobelle.” She sighed. “I am no sick nurse, so I couldn’t begin to take on the duties—”
“But I am,” Charity interrupted. “No, truly, it is one of the few skills I possess.”
Nan raised half a smile at that. “You have many talents, Harry. But…”
“But what?”
Nan hesitated. “You are a family friend. ‘Just’ a family friend in the eyes of the polite world. You and I and Isobelle might know differently, even Lady Greenaway, but I do not know what the ton would say to your nursing her.”
“But you said you might have done it, had you the skills,” argued Charity.
“Oh.” Nan looked surprised. “But I am related to them, you know.” She saw the expression on Charity’s face. “Clearly you did not know. It is not a close relationship. My mother and Mr Greenaway were first cousins. I am not quite sure what relation that makes us to each other, but enough to make it easily understandable if I am present in the house.”
“I see.” Charity was silent, mulling over this new piece of information.
“I can see,” Nan said apologetically, “that it would not be immediately obvious that Isobelle and I are related. She is”—Nan waved a hand upwards—“and I am…well, I am not.”
“Don’t say that,” Charity said, unreasonably annoyed.
In truth, she was not certain with whom she was cross—with Nan, for her bluntness; with Isobelle, for the foolhardiness that had almost certainly led to her accident; or with herself for the strength of her surprise at their being related. In many ways, Isobelle was indeed everything Nan was not, but Charity discovered that she was not at all sure that Nan was the worse for that. The ladies sat and looked at the flowers in silence for a few moments, and then Nan roused herself again.
“You truly are a good sick nurse?” she asked.
Charity blushed, unwilling to sound boastful, but nonetheless knowing that she was indeed talented in that direction.
“My mother said so, anyway, and she was not apt to praise me.”
“And I know Lady Greenaway is desperately wishing for Isobelle to have not just the best care, which is something which can easily be paid for, but from someone who knows Isobelle, knows and loves her.” A little crease appeared between Nan’s eyebrows. “Medical knowledge may not be all which is needed to prevent Isobelle fretting herself into fever. You know what she is like. What she needs is someone who can be with her, look after her. Someone like you.”
“But I see your point,” Charity sighed. “How can a mere ‘friend’ be given such access to a rich and beautiful lady like Isobelle? The Sisterhood is not widely known, I know, but any breath of scandal might do more damage, both to Isobelle and to the Sisterhood as a whole, than any help my nursing might give. She might keep her health but lose her reputation.”
“Something which would be much better than the other way around,” Nan pointed out sensibly. “But I think we can do better than that. There must be some way to keep everything above suspicion.” She gave Charity a frank, appraising look and then said calmly, “I think you must also be related to Isobelle.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It would explain such a lot, you see,” Nan explained. “Why someone who—please excuse my bluntness—from a noticeably lower stratum of society than Isobelle has been taken up so fervently not only by her, but also by Lady Caroline. Cara might be a known eccentric, but her antecedents are impeccable: more, even, than Isobelle’s. Yet you have managed to find your way into her circle where many others of higher birth have not. You cannot be surprised that some jealous society belles have wondered why.”
“Oh.” It had not once occurred to Charity that there might be ladies envious of her. “I didn’t realise.”
Nan gave her trademark shrug. “Nothing much has been said, nothing at all that matters. But anyway, your being related to Isobelle would go a long way to explaining everything. It might very well be a good thing all around.”
“Except that I am not related to Isobelle.”
“You probably are, if we look back far enough,” Nan said matter-of-factly. “Most people in the ton are. But that is not a problem. I feel sure we can invent a background convincing enough for the majority. And if Lady Greenaway and Cara confirm the story, no one else will dare to challenge it. Now…what can that relationship be? It had best not be on my side of the family. That would add another layer of confusion which we could do without. However, Lady Greenaway’s past is writ large enough for people to know a certain amount about it. So…” She sat silent for a moment, thinking. “Mr Greenaway’s father was my mother’s uncle. But his mother…yes, I think she came from the North, as do you, I think?”
“The Midlands,” Charity said, her head spinning a little.
Nan smiled. “To most people in London, everywhere north of Leicestershire is ‘the North’. I do not think we need quibble over the details. But it will make it quite convincing that you are a country cousin, as it were. Far from causing scandal, it may very well put to rest even the minor issues I�
��ve heard spoken.”
“About…”
“About Isobelle’s championing of you.” Nan nodded. “Relations have a recognised standing; the ton all understand that. There may be some curiosity about how or why she paid you no attention until after your sister’s marriage, but, forgive me for being so blunt, your mother’s reputation might explain that. Lady Greenaway and Isobelle might well be prepared to sponsor a reserved country cousin where a lady, forgive me again, who is seen as grasping and, well, selfish might not be so welcome. And, of course,” she added drily, “the fact that your brother-in-law is rich probably does not hurt your situation. Though no one could accuse Lady Greenaway or Isobelle of chasing money; nor even needing it!”
“Hardly!” Charity agreed. “But Nan…” A frown furrowed her brow. “Are you certain that it would be believed? When there has been no previous mention of any relationship?”
“Why should there have been?”
Charity kicked at the grass with a toe. “You said…there had been whispers. Why would this explanation not have been given before?”
“Because—oh, Charity, do stop doing that with your foot, you are making the most awful scuffs on your shoe! Because—”
“Sorry,” Charity apologised.
“No need to apologise to me. But anyway, why should they have been told? What business of theirs was it?”
“But…” Charity could not think of the words to explain what she meant.
Nan looked at her seriously, steepling her gloved fingers. “It’s very difficult to combat rumour when they are never officially said aloud. A case of ‘the lady doth protest too much’, you know.”
“Yes, I see.”
“Whereas, if you are nursing Isobelle—you are sure you can do this, that your sister won’t object, by the way? Anyway, if you are sitting with her, someone will probably come out and say aloud how peculiar it is. At which point, it is very simple to disperse the explanation without an issue.”
“But what if they don’t believe it?”
Nan chuckled. “Can you imagine anyone telling Cara that she is a liar? It would be a brave lady, or an even braver gentleman, to do so.” Charity laughed too, imagining the scene. “And if both Cara and Lady Greenaway are saying you are kin to Isobelle? Well, I do not think there will be too many doubters.”
“I suppose not.” Charity sat thoughtfully for a moment. “But as to that, will Lady Greenaway allow me to be with Isobelle? She knows me well enough, but it’s a large leap from that to nursing Isobelle.”
“If you are a good sick nurse,” Nan said sombrely, “she will do whatever she can for you. Isobelle is her only daughter, her only child. Lady Greenaway would do anything and everything for her. She already lost one child before Isobelle’s birth, as you know, and she clings to Isobelle the more because of it. I dare swear that if Isobelle had wanted the moon, Lady Greenaway would have done all she could to draw it down.” Her eyes met Charity’s. “It explains a lot about Isobelle, you know,” she said. “She is like a gay butterfly, flittering where she wants, never understanding that other people have thoughts and feelings and can be hurt. She never means to hurt anyone, but she doesn’t understand. How can she, when she has been so treasured and petted all her life?”
“I know.”
They sat in silence, Nan looking at the blooming flowers with an almost dogged determination, Charity looking at her feet, absently noticing the scuff marks Nan had warned her about. Never mind: they were not expensive shoes. And if she were going to be sitting in a sick room half of the time, she would have no need for pristine footwear, after all. Her thoughts were ended when Nan got to her feet.
“Right,” she said, “we should go. I must go back and speak to Lady Greenaway again. I will try and get to her before she has her nap, both for my own sake and for hers. May I visit to tell you what she thinks? Or would a note be better?”
“Come yourself, if you can,” Charity said. “I will want to ask you all sorts of things, I know. If Lady Greenaway has any doubts, tell her that I would happily sit beside Isobelle with a nurse present also. If she is not sure whether I would be a suitable carer, I know she would nevertheless like to think that Isobelle has someone she knows beside her, even if it’s only me.”
“That’s kind.”
Charity got to her feet and smiled at Nan. “It’s practical, anyway. Come, let me drop you back at the house. I won’t visit now. You and Lady Greenaway need to have privacy to discuss my virtues and failings in depth. But come to me later, will you? No matter when. I will tell the footman to admit you at whatever hour you arrive. And I must talk to Rebecca, also. Thankfully, Fotheringay is out of the country and we need not concern ourselves with his opinion. Remember, I will be waiting for you to call.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nan’s call, when it came, was necessarily brief. Charity could see the weariness in her friend’s face. It must have been a long and difficult day for her. Charity had already explained the situation to Rebecca and gained her sister’s permission to continue with her plan, if Lady Greenaway were prepared to agree. Rebecca could not like it, but would not counter it. And with the excuse of a fabricated relationship to explain Charity’s interest, there were no pressing arguments to counter against her. When Nan was shown into the room, Charity motioned for her sister to stay seated.
“Lady Greenaway agrees,” Nan said, coming to the point with her usual briskness. “Indeed, she wishes me to state her overwhelming gratitude for your kindness, Harry.”
“Oh, but—” Charity began, but Nan cut her off.
“I think she knows something of what happened between you and Isobelle,” she said, looking questioningly at Rebecca, as if to check whether it was acceptable to speak of it. Rebecca gave the smallest of nods. “Oh, not all of it, but it has been clear to everyone that you are less often with Isobelle than previously. Lady Greenaway is all the more grateful for your offer, in the circumstances.”
“I could hardly do otherwise,” Charity retorted. “Isobelle, no matter…that business, has done a lot for me. I do not forget that. It would be despicable indeed to take what I wanted and then refuse to give back when I saw the need.”
“Many people would,” Nan said. “But I will speak no more of it. Harry, Lady Greenaway has a nurse in. She may have two. But she says that if you really will spend a few hours by Isobelle’s bedside each day, so that Isobelle can have someone who cares for her personally, that would be the kindest deed.”
“And you?”
Nan nodded. “We may pass, like ships in the night. I hope to spend a great deal of a time with Lady Greenaway. It is a pity that it coincides with my brother’s furlough, but it cannot be helped.”
“No. You must give help where you see it is needed,” Charity said meaningfully. Then she rose to her feet. “But I am unkind to lecture you. Nan, you’re tired. You’re exhausted. Go home and rest. If not for yourself, then so that you can be fitter to help Lady Greenaway.”
“I will.” Nan looked at Rebecca again. “Forgive this fleeting visit, Mrs Fotheringay—Rebecca,” she corrected herself as Rebecca opened her mouth to protest. “But Harry is right. If I’m to be well enough to be of practical help, I must rest now. I suggest you make sure Harry does the same. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Nan,” the girls replied; and their friend was gone.
Charity soon got into the routine that Isobelle’s care required. She would visit mid-morning, spending a couple of hours by Isobelle’s side, before coming home. If she had no other commitments—and occasionally when she did—she would visit again in the afternoon and stay as long as she could. Sometimes she would meet Nan afterwards, as they both left, and they would drive together, or return to one or the other’s houses to drink tea and chat politely with the family.
“Is it bad to say that this is my favourite part of the day?” Charity asked Nan, sitting down with relief and a cup of tea one afternoon at Nan’s house. “Knowing that I have a few minutes’ peac
e before beginning to worry about tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m hardly going to be offended that you enjoy my company,” Nan said, laughing. “Or is it my parents and brother whom you love to visit?”
Nan’s parents were as delightful as their children. Her father had the same gentle sense of humour as Nan and her mother the tendency to make everyone feel at home within seconds of entering the house. Mrs Musgrove was sitting with them today, smiling fondly at the pair of them and allowing them to talk without too much in the way of interruption.
“Oh, your family, of course,” Charity said seriously. “That is why I enjoy it when we drive together as well, you understand.” She smiled at Mrs Musgrove. “I am truly grateful, ma’am, that you allow me to visit so often, though. And without much in the way of warning sometimes, I fear.”
“My dear girl, you are a delight to have around,” Mrs Musgrove assured her, with such clear sincerity that even Charity could not doubt it. “Both my children like you very much, and they have impeccable taste, you know.”
“Mother!” Nan protested.
“Save for myself, I would have to agree with your mother,” Charity told her firmly. “But goodness, isn’t it nice to sit down and not to worry about what anyone else is thinking? I am so glad to be able to be with Isobelle, but although the nurse is there with me, I can’t help feeling responsible when I’m beside her.”
“Lady Greenaway is being marvellous, but it is understandable that she, too, frets,” Nan agreed.
And Nan did look tired, Charity thought. Reassuring a lady who had already lost one child and who was herself in a parlous state of health could be no sinecure, though Nan made no complaint.
“When I think how I felt when your brother was in hospital…” Mrs Musgrove added. She said no more, and Charity could only imagine how it must have been, knowing that her son was so badly injured.
The Sisterhood Page 26
