Chapter 49
The widows are a nuisance, and I begrudge them the slices of pound cake that I pass among them. I thought I’d done enough with my petitions for the bodies, but still they expect more from me. It was no surprise the authorities declined my requests. They buried the bodies on the evening of the execution, mere feet away from where they drew their last breaths. I assume the graves were filled with lime because I was told they could not return the remains under any circumstances. There’s probably nothing left.
Today, we each signed a bill of indictment against George Edwards. I don’t expect it to achieve much. I hope not, for I’ve no wish to see these other women again. They mean well, but we’ve discussed the betrayal of our husbands umpteen times and I’m eager to move on.
Mrs Davidson is the last to step outside. As she walks away, the tension leaves my muscles and I let out a lengthy sigh. I’m about to close the front door when Anna comes into view with George skipping along beside her. My mood lifts and I welcome them home.
George doesn’t wait for an invitation to take a slice of cake. Eyes wide with anticipation, he takes a large bite and closes his eyes, savouring every crumb. A lusty four-year-old, he has a vigour for life that needs feeding at least four times a day. It’s a joy to have Anna and George as my new family.
‘How was his visit?’
Anna settles in the armchair that used to be Arthur’s. ‘Successful. In fact, Beckey said George played so well with her grandson, she’ll have him every day.’
‘No doubt she made a big fuss of him.’
‘She did. And asked him to call her “Aunt”, so he feels like a member of the family.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ George rests sticky hands on my skirt. I smile and ruffle his hair. ‘Darling boy, I’d love for you to consider me as your aunt, too.’
After a bitter winter, we endure a wet summer. Anna and I hurry home, arm in arm, giggling like children. As we dodge deep puddles, she teases me about the evening ahead. Mrs Westcott is to host a special family dinner and invited me to join them. At Leicester Square, we come upon noisy groups of early evening revellers, and it takes all our concentration to avoid stepping into the path of a carriage. It’s a relief to turn into a street where the pavements are quieter. A short distance ahead, a scruffy young boy snatches a lady’s reticule and runs towards us, clutching it to his chest. Not looking where he’s going, he collides with me and Anna pulls his jacket, forcing him to stop.
‘Return the reticule at once,’ says Anna.
The boy refuses and wriggles from our clutches. In one deft movement, Anna pulls the reticule from the boy’s hand. She steps away to return it to its rightful owner, but the boy’s face turns crimson and he pummels at Anna’s arm. From the corner of my eye, I see a man rushing to our aid, but he’s not fast enough. The boy charges at Anna. I grasp his collar and try to pull him away, but he lifts both legs and thrusts his feet at her, shoving her towards the road. Her foot slips off the edge of the kerb and she sprawls sideways, striking her head on cobbles.
Someone bellows a warning, but it comes too late. A carriage approaches at speed and the horse tramples over Anna’s legs, followed by the wheels. The distraught coachman pulls the horse to a halt and hurries back to join us, his gentleman passenger in close pursuit. A scream rings in my ears, piercing and persistent. I realise I am the source and clamp my hands to my mouth. The boy runs away with his bounty.
I rush to Anna’s side and join the gentleman kneeling in the filth. The gentleman places his ear above her mouth, then presses the side of her neck. His expression is grave. He removes his jacket and spreads it across Anna’s upper body.
‘No!’
The gentleman stops me from pulling the jacket away. ‘She’s alive,’ he says. ‘But we must act fast.’
I nod, shedding tears in big drops which merge with damp cobbles.
‘My friend is a gifted surgeon. I’ll take her to him.’
‘Thank you,’ I say between gulping sobs. ‘She has a son.’ After that, I can say no more.
‘I’ll pay the surgeon’s fees,’ he says. ‘It’s the least I can do. A tragic accident. I’m so very sorry.’
He helps his coachman lift Anna’s limp body into the carriage, and I follow them inside. It’s opulent, but I pay little attention. All I can think about is Anna.
After a ten-minute journey, we come to a halt. The gentleman pats my hand. The gesture is kind, reassuring, but sets tears flowing again.
‘Is there someone who can comfort you? You shouldn’t be alone after an incident like this.’
I mumble Beckey’s address and reach for Anna’s cold, limp hand. After pleading with God to save her, I sit back and wait for two orderlies to lift her onto a stretcher and carry her towards the hospital entrance. The gentleman instructs the coachman to take me to Beckey’s, then hurries after the orderlies. There’s a large pool of blood in the carriage, and I wonder if Anna has enough left to survive.
George sits curled on my lap, his thumb in his mouth. He doesn’t understand what has happened to Anna because twice he asked when his maman will come downstairs. Both times I explained that she’s not at home, and both times we sobbed together. Now we sit in silence and I stroke his forehead hoping he’ll fall asleep.
His head is drifting when a loud knock returns him to full wakefulness. ‘Maman?’ he asks with a smile.
‘Not this time,’ I say.
We hurry along the corridor, hand in hand, to see who is disturbing us at this late hour.
I open the door to find William standing on the doorstep.
Tears prick at my eyes. ‘William, forgive me, the dinner slipped my mind.’
His brow furrows. ‘Susan, has something happened?’ He looks from me to George then back to me again.
I nod and beckon him to enter. We return to the parlour and I settle in my chair with George snuggled against me. William sits opposite and waits for me to speak.
George slumps in his sleep, and I tell William in brief whispers about Anna’s dreadful injuries. He listens attentively, then takes George from my lap, instructing me not to move while he puts George to bed. When he returns, he pulls his chair near to mine and we sit facing one another, holding hands.
‘What am I to do?’ I exclaim between sobs.
‘Concentrate on the boy for now. Anna’s strong. She’ll pull through.’
‘But she’ll never walk again. She can’t come home because of the steps to the front door and kitchen. She’d be a prisoner here, stuck in one room.’
William gives an encouraging smile. ‘I have an idea. It’ll take time to organise but should be ready before Anna leaves hospital.’
‘This changes everything, doesn’t it? For us, I mean.’
William wrinkles his brow. ‘How so?’
‘Anna will need someone to care for her. She won’t be capable of work.’
‘Will she be able to embroider and sew?’
I know Anna well. She has a determined nature and will want to earn a wage if she can. ‘I suppose so. But she’ll need help to wash and dress and prepare her meals, and I won’t abandon her.’
‘I should hope not,’ says William, a sad smile settling on his lips.
‘Go home,’ I say. ‘Send my apologies to your mother. She’ll be wondering what has happened.’
‘She’ll understand.’
William kisses me lightly on the cheek before saying goodbye. When he turns his back towards me and walks away, I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.
Chapter 50
George looks adorable in sky-blue trousers and matching jacket. He stands on a chair, peering through the window.
‘Is the coach here?’
He shakes his head and clambers down from the chair. ‘Maman’s not here either.’
I move across to him and scoop him up in my arms. ‘No, George. Maman isn’t here. Maman is still in hospital, but she’s getting better and should be home soon.’
We hear the dista
nt clatter of wheels. George wriggles from my arms and runs to the window.
‘It’s here,’ he cries. He rushes back to me and grasps my hand. ‘Aunt Susan, hurry!’
I scurry to the door as eagerly as George. Ten weeks have passed since I last saw William, so it was a surprise to receive an invitation to join Mrs Westcott for the afternoon. I’m apprehensive about seeing William again, but I’m resolved to my change of fate and enjoying caring for George until Anna resumes mothering him again.
It’s the first time George has visited Mrs Westcott’s home and his eyes confirm he’s overwhelmed by the attention. Jane makes a particular fuss of him, and I suspect it’s because of the child growing in her swollen belly. Once upon a time I might have envied her. Not any more, with George in my life.
‘Time for the surprise,’ says Mrs Westcott, clapping her hands and beaming.
William sidles from the parlour and an expectant hush settles while we wait for his return. When he re-enters, he’s pushing a large wheeled contraption covered with a thin sheet. He parks it in the centre of the room, then removes the sheet with a flourish. There is Anna, resplendent in a new blue dress, sitting in an invalid chair. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s smiling.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing. My gaze switches from her to William. William smiles.
George rushes to his mother’s side, and Anna tousles his hair.
‘Soon you’ll be able to sit on my lap and ride around with me,’ she says with a chuckle.
George grins and nestles against her arm.
My smile fades.
‘What is it, my love?’ says William, perching on the arm of my chair.
‘What you did for Anna is remarkable, and I’m sure she’s grateful, but our home is too small for the chair. We can move furniture to make space for her to move about, but I fear the novelty of being trapped in one room will soon wear off and she’ll feel like a prisoner in her own home.’
William fidgets beside me. After a brief pause he says, ‘Susan, may we speak in private?’
I have been dreading this. His letters at Paternoster Row became less frequent, and although the dust has settled since Arthur’s departure, William has made many excuses for being unable to spend time with me. I drag myself to my feet and catch Mrs Westcott looking at me as we are about to leave the room. She averts her gaze and beckons to George.
William and I cross the hallway and step into a room I’ve not seen before. It’s a large study and I’m struck by the masculinity of it. The striped curtains are crimson and cream, the desk a rich mahogany polished to a high sheen. Bookcases line the walls with four long shelves devoted to matters of law. A stack of papers sits on the desktop next to a quill and half-full bottle of ink. This room is well-used.
‘Is this your office?’ I ask, wondering if William lives in his mother’s house. I’d assumed we met here for the sake of propriety.
He nods. ‘I’m not ashamed to say that, although in my thirties, I still live with my mother. As a bachelor, it was more convenient than living on my own.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘No, I don’t think you do. There’s something I wish to tell you.’
I take a deep breath and chew my top lip, bracing myself for disappointing news. Whatever he says, I must stay strong for Anna’s sake.
‘I resigned from Bow Street to pursue a career in law. I’ve been studying texts for over two years now and recently secured a junior position within a law firm.’
‘When do you start?’
‘Next month. It will involve long working days and I must study in the evenings and during days off.’
‘You sound determined.’
‘I am.’
He’s letting me down gently and I appreciate that.
‘There’s something else.’
I brace myself for confirmation of our parting.
‘The position’s not in London.’
I stare at the opposite wall, trying to focus on the geometric pattern of the paper. The lines soften and swirl as my vision blurs. ‘So you’ll not have many opportunities to visit?’
‘I’m afraid not. Susan, I have money and plenty of it, thanks to my father’s sound investments before he died, so I’ve bought a house. It’s not a large property, but it’s attractive with plenty of rooms for family and visitors.’
‘I’m thrilled for you.’
William places a finger beneath my chin. His eyes are sparkling, his lips parted in a smile. ‘You haven’t heard the best of it yet.’
I force myself to meet his gaze but say nothing.
‘The house comes with two smaller buildings in its grounds. One would make an ideal venue for workrooms and a small shop. It’s close enough to the town to attract customers, but far enough away to provide plenty of outdoor space for George.’
‘Why do you mention George?’ His words float around me, making no sense.
‘The other building is a single storey. I’ve had workmen convert it to a home. It’s modest but will accommodate Anna’s new chair. Anna is a dear friend to you, and I believe she will make an excellent business partner.’
‘I don’t understand.’ I’m confused by talk of workrooms, Anna and George.
‘Ask where the house is,’ he teases.
‘Where is it?’
‘Lincoln,’ he says, grinning.
‘Why there? You have no association with Lincoln.’
‘Ah, but dearest Susan, I do. It’s near Horncastle, and I made it my business to make your father’s acquaintance. We got along well, and he both approved and blessed my proposals.’
‘William, what are you saying?’
‘My love, I want you to move with me. I promise to always love and respect you, and I will never hurt you. Susan, I want you to become my wife.’
I don’t know what to say. I replay his words over and over in my mind, and each time they mean the same. ‘You’re asking me to marry you?’
‘I am. Will you?’
I was Arthur’s second Mrs Thistlewood. If I accept, I will become William’s first Mrs Westcott and the thought fills me with joy.
‘There’s nothing I would love more than to spend the rest of my life with you, William. I accept.’
We seal the arrangement with a tight embrace before William draws himself away. ‘I nearly forgot.’ He opens the top drawer of the desk. ‘I have a gift for you.’
He gives me a cream-coloured package secured with a shimmering golden bow. I place it on the desk and untie the ribbon before removing the paper. Inside is an exquisite box, the size of my palm. The lid is smooth with vibrant yellow daffodils painted on enamel and a plain gold trim around the edge.
‘It’s wonderful. Thank you.’
‘Open it,’ he says, grinning.
I lift the lid and gasp. A delicate brooch twinkles at me with tiny topaz bluebells catching the light. Stems are fashioned from tiny emeralds and the delicate posy is surrounded with a silver metal ribbon embossed with diamonds. William removes the brooch and fastens it to the bodice of my dress. I study the remaining contents of the box, and I know this man truly loves me.
Sugar plums.
Afterword
Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed the story, please help other readers discover it by leaving an honest review on Amazon, Goodreads, or your favourite bookstore’s website.
You might also enjoy my debut novel, Running With The Wind, a tale of courage, love and survival aboard the Mayflower voyage of 1620.
Have you joined the Allium Books Readers Club?
Members receive a monthly newsletter, advance notification of my new releases, and a FREE downloadable short story about Desire Minter, one of the Mayflower passengers. If you’d like to know more about this club, visit my website at www.dionnehaynes.com.
Select Bibliography
If you’d like to read about the Georgian and Regency eras or the Cato Street Conspiracy, these are the books I particularly enjoyed while researching this nove
l:
* * *
Behind Closed Doors, At Home In Georgian England – Amanda Vickery
* * *
Eavesdropping On Jane Austen’s England – Roy & Lesley Adkins
* * *
Georgian London, Into The Streets – Lucy Inglis
* * *
Fashion In The Time Of Jane Austen – Sarah Jane Downing
* * *
The Georgians In 100 Facts – Mike Rendell
* * *
Enemies Of The State, The Cato Street Conspiracy – M. J. Trow
* * *
An Authentic History Of The Cato Street Conspiracy; With The Trials At Large Of The Conspirators – George Theodore Wilkinson, Esq.
Acknowledgments
I’m grateful to my husband, Paul, for encouraging my love of writing, for listening to my ramblings about characters and scenes, for reading early drafts (even though there are no Romans featured in any of my plots) and for putting the sunshine into every day.
Charlie, my son, is a constant source of moral support. I couldn’t ask for a better motivator when days are less productive than I’d like them to be. Thank goodness for mobile phones and FaceTime.
Next, huge gratitude to my mum. Not only does she read and reread early drafts, but she copes with lengthy conversations about my writing progress and acts as a sounding board when I’m wrestling with a plot. My mum was critically ill while I was writing the first draft of this novel, but her bravery and confidence were inspiring during that difficult time. Thankfully, she enjoys good health again now, and I hope I’ve learned to face uncertainty with similar fierce determination!
The Second Mrs Thistlewood Page 22
