“Why don’t you see more of him?” asked Beth. “He seems more Sir Anthony’s type than the Elector is.”
“Because I dinna want to alienate myself from Geordie. I’m friendly wi’ the Hanovers to collect information, that’s all. Frederick isna privy to the latest developments. I like him, but that’s no’ important. I canna be seen to be a regular visitor there. But I canna refuse him all the time, either.”
“And also it’s harder to spy on people you like,” said Beth.
“Aye, that too,” admitted Alex. “We’ll wait till we’re personally invited before we go again. It’s better that way.”
Beth agreed. She had liked Prince Frederick and Lady Philippa. But if she never saw the others again, she would not be sorry. In general though, life was reasonably pleasant for Beth at the moment. She no longer had to visit St. James’s and endure the attentions of Cumberland, Anne and Richard seemed really happy together, Maggie and Iain were slowly recovering from the loss of the baby, and Duncan seemed to have found a friend in Sarah. Things could not be better, unless the Stuarts were on the throne and the MacGregors back in Scotland, where they belonged. But there seemed to be no sign of that happening in the foreseeable future. In the meantime she was content with what she had.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
March 1745
Captain Cunningham and his wife of just over a month were whiling away a pleasant hour after dinner in their newly redecorated blue and cream salon. Blue was not what Anne would personally have chosen for the decor; she thought it a somewhat cold colour. But with the lamps lit and a roaring fire blazing in the hearth it looked cosy enough, and she would have agreed to Richard painting the room black if that was what he wanted.
She was taking great pleasure in indulging her new husband’s every whim without a murmur. He was young, fit and healthy; he could eat, drink and do anything he wished without his wife feeling the need to point out that cream would possibly aggravate his gout, and perhaps just one small glass of port would be wise, rather than a whole bottle? It was wonderful to be, for the first time in her life, cared for rather than being a carer. They had been to several functions since they had been married, and at all of them he had shown her the utmost consideration. If he seemed somewhat more indifferent when they were alone together, well, that was only to be expected; war was looming, and he had important things to think about. Anne, accustomed to taking last place in people’s minds, was honoured to take only second place in Richard’s.
She carefully cut the thread on the waistcoat she was embroidering for him, then laid it down on the table at her side. She looked across to where he was seated on the other side of the fire, one muscular leather-booted leg crossed over the other, deeply engrossed in the latest copy of The Gentleman’s Magazine. He looked very fine in his new uniform with its gleaming brass buttons and silver lace trim denoting his new rank.
“What are you reading?” she asked, not because she was really interested in hearing the latest episode of the political satire set in the senate of Lilliput, but just for the joy of hearing his rich mellow voice. She had never known what it was to be truly in love before, and it was marvellous.
“I’m reading an article as to what measures Britons ought to pursue in foreign wars,” the object of her devotion replied. “But there is not much in here that would be of interest to you. The poetry perhaps.”
“Oh, is there an interesting poem? Do read one to me, Richard!”
“Not now, Anne,” he replied. “I really want to finish this before I go to the club.”
She fell silent, and returned to her embroidery. She needed a new colour for the wings of the butterflies that were fluttering around the buttonholes. She heaved herself out of her chair, her body heavy and awkward in her last months of pregnancy, and moved across to the table where she kept her box of embroidery silks, opening it and surveying the range of colours inside. Brown, they had to be a shade of brown. He wouldn’t wear it if it was garish. She lifted out a beige shade, considered it for a moment, then put it back. It was too light, and would not make a strong enough contrast with the cream of the silk.
Richard finished his article and turned the page.
“I have been thinking, my love, about what name we should give the baby when it is born,” she ventured.
He did not reply, but he did not ask her to be quiet either, which she took as permission to continue.
“I thought to call it Arabella if it is a girl. If you have no objection, of course.”
She took out a skein of chocolate brown silk.
“Yes, if you want,” her husband replied indifferently, his nose still buried in the periodical.
“It is such a wonderful coincidence that Arabella was the name of your mother as well as of Stanley’s,” she said happily. “And if it is a boy, I thought perhaps…”
“It will not be a boy,” he interrupted. He closed the paper and placed it on the small table next to him.
“Well, I am sure I am hoping for a girl, if that is what you would prefer, Richard. But really, we cannot be certain it will be.” She held the silk up to the lamp.
“Are you arguing with me, Anne?” he asked quietly.
“No of course not, darling,” she said. The silk was a warm, rich shade of brown, and would match his eyes perfectly. She smiled. “But it is not for us, but for God to choose the gender of a child. I thought it best to be prepared in case…”
She was lying on the floor, one arm instinctively curled around her swollen stomach, surrounded by a rainbow array of silks and with no clear recollection of how she had got there. She looked up dizzily, trying to focus on the splash of red and black looming above her. Then it bent down and became Richard. He put his hands under her arms and lifted her to her feet. She clung to him while he half-carried her back to her chair and settled her into it.
“Really, Anne,” he said. “You see what happens when you overexcite yourself? You must be more careful now you are so close to your time. Arabella is an excellent name for the child. You need think no further than that. I will ask the maid to bring you a hot drink.” He took a cushion and placed it carefully behind her. “Now,” he said, “I really must go to the club. It will not do to keep the colonel waiting, when I am hoping to apply for membership tonight. I may be late home, so don’t wait up for me.”
He took his hat, settled it onto his head and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Anne sat back and waited until the white sparkles dancing across her vision diminished. The maid did not appear.
After a time, when she was sure the dizziness had passed, she stood and walked shakily over to the looking glass. The left side of her face was on fire, and as she examined herself in the mirror she could clearly see a dark bruise forming along her cheekbone. She gazed intently at her reflection, as though this other Anne could provide an explanation as to what had happened. She could not remember having gone dizzy before she fell. She had certainly suffered from giddy spells and nausea early in her pregnancy, but had had no problems at all since the fourth month. She stood there, trying to piece together what had happened.
She had been speaking to Richard about the baby, and then something had hit her in the face, hard, and she had fallen. No, that could not be right. She looked round at the silks scattered across the floor. She had gone dizzy, and had caught the table with her face as she fell, knocking the box to the floor. That would explain the bruise. And Richard, concerned, had leapt up immediately to assist her. Yes, that was the only logical explanation. He was right. She would have to be more careful.
She knelt down with difficulty and began to gather the embroidery silks together, replacing them in the box, pausing only to wipe her tears away from time to time. Then she went to bed and lay awake for a long time.
Richard did not return home until the following morning.
* * *
“Your sister-in-law was in here yesterday,” Sarah said indistinctly, her mouth full of hairpins. She bent over Caroline,
expertly winding a strand of shining brown hair into a curl and pinning it in place on top of her head.
“Anne?” asked Beth, as though she had a whole tribe of sisters-in-law rather than just the one.
“Mmm,” came the reply. She pushed a few more pins into Caroline’s hair and then stood back to admire the effect. “There,” she said. “It’s nice, but it would look a lot less severe if you let me pull a few strands out and curl them to frame your face.”
“No,” said Caroline. “I want to look severe tonight. It won’t help me to be taken seriously by a houseful of politicians if I look like the romantic heroine from one of those silly novels everyone’s reading these days.”
“I’m not reading them, my dear, I do assure you,” said Sir Anthony from the corner of the shop, where he was poking about in various jars and boxes.
“You have done though,” Caroline pointed out. “I distinctly remember you discussing Pamela once.”
Sir Anthony looked up and smiled.
“Ah, yes,” he replied. “But that was a long time ago and I did have an ulterior motive for doing so. I wished to engage the affections of my wife. I succeeded. I have not read a romantic novel since.”
“You fraud,” said Caroline good-naturedly. “Marrying a woman under false pretences. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I am, deeply,” he said with complete insincerity, and went back to his perusal of Sarah’s goods.
“How is Anne?” said Beth to Sarah.
“She said she was fine,” Sarah replied. Sir Anthony looked up for a moment, then went back to his rummaging.
“I really must get round to visiting her,” said Beth. “I’ve been hoping to see her at one of Isabella’s evenings, but I suppose I’ll have to bite the bullet and go and see her at home.”
“I thought you liked her,” said Caroline.
“I do. It’s the thought of having to be civil to Richard without his company being diluted by lots of others that puts me off.”
“She hasn’t been out for three weeks,” Sarah commented, casually. “She’s been having dizzy spells, or so she says, and has decided to stay at home as much as possible until after the baby’s born.”
“Has she seen a physician?” asked Caroline. “She needs to take extra care of herself now. The baby could come at any time.”
“I don’t think she’s seen one, no,” said Sarah, gazing intently at Beth. “She was going to some regimental dinner of Richard’s last night. It seems all the wives were expected to go and Richard was most adamant she attend. She came in to ask for something subtle to cover up a bruise over her eye.”
“Did she?” said Beth, a strange tone in her voice.
“Yes. She said she’d had a dizzy spell and caught her face on the corner of the mantelpiece as she fell.”
“Oh! How divine!” cried Sir Anthony rapturously from the corner.
“I managed to restyle her hair so that it covered the bruise,” Sarah continued without paying the baronet the least attention. “With luck no one would have noticed it, especially in candlelight.” She paused. “And I showed her how to apply rouge to cover up the other bruise on her cheek. It was a lot older than the one over her eye, because it had faded to yellow.” The two women exchanged a private look of understanding, and then Sarah started to tidy away her pins and combs.
“Where on earth did you get these, my dear? I simply must have some!” Sir Anthony called insistently. The three women looked round to where he was sitting, a small box open on his knee. He held up his hand; in the centre of his pale blue doveskin palm was a tiny black silk carriage, pulled by a minute horse. “Isn’t it exquisite?” he said breathlessly.
“They’re very expensive,” said Sarah, abandoning all her expert sales techniques in the presence of friends. “They’re all cut out by hand.”
“By some poor half-starved woman going blind in a cellar and earning a penny for ten, I expect,” said Beth, exasperated. “Anthony, did you hear…”
“Well, yes, maybe, but nevertheless they are incomparable! Look at that!” He held up a tiny cat, complete with whiskers. “What do you think of that?”
“I think that you’ll look even more ridiculous than you already do if you’re seen in public with a cat stuck on your face,” his wife replied, looking at the silk patch with disgust.
“Au contraire, my love. I will be the envy of society.” He rummaged through the pot. “I will have one of each, Sarah,” he said, closing the box and getting to his feet.
“There are twenty different patches, Sir Anthony,” warned Sarah. “It will cost…”
“Oh, what matters cost, where fashion is concerned?” he cried.
“Anthony,” Beth said. “Did you hear what Sarah just said about Anne?”
“Of course I did, my dear, I am not deaf,” he replied pleasantly, taking Caroline’s cloak and helping her on with it. “Anne is having dizzy spells. Did you suffer from such an affliction with Freddie, my dear?”
“No,” said Caroline. “But of course it is possible, I suppose.”
“Quite. Well, we must go. You do not wish to be late for the Cabinet, Caroline. We will take you home immediately.”
“She is not having dizzy spells!” exploded Beth the moment they were in the carriage.
“How can you be sure?” Sir Anthony replied calmly, looking out of the window.
“Oh come on, Anthony!” she cried. “Caroline, you said yourself you didn’t have them with Freddie! It’s Richard, not the corner of the fireplace that’s hit her.”
“I didn’t have them,” Caroline agreed doubtfully. “But every woman’s different, Beth. She could be having dizzy spells, but if she is, she should see a physician.”
“Exactly!” said Beth triumphantly. “And if she hasn’t, it’s because he’ll know that the only thing wrong with her is the swine she’s married to!”
“Perhaps we should go and see her,” said Caroline, “and try to persuade her to see a doctor.”
“Yes, we should. And that’s exactly what I intend to do, the moment we’ve dropped you off.”
“No,” said Sir Anthony, his eyes warning her not to pursue this while they had company. He glanced out of the window again.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” cried Beth. “I can’t just do nothing! I’m going to go round to the house and talk to her, that’s all. Find out what really happened.”
“And what will you do if Richard’s there?” he said. “You said yourself you don’t want to be in his undiluted company.”
“I don’t,” she replied hotly. “But that’s not because I’m afraid of him. If he’s there I’ll tell him exactly what I think of him and what I’ll do if he hits her again.”
“Very well,” he said, his eyes angry, his tone calm. “Let us assume for the moment that Richard is, as you assert, beating Anne. Do you think it will help matters for you to enrage him by ordering him how to behave towards his own wife?”
Beth glared at him.
“I’ll be tactful,” she said through gritted teeth.
“No, you won’t,” he said. “You are incapable of tact where your brother is concerned, Beth. You’re not going.”
Caroline shifted uncomfortably in her seat, clearly wishing she was somewhere else.
“You are making Caroline feel awkward,” Sir Anthony said warningly.
“I’m sorry, Caroline,” Beth replied, before turning straight back to her husband. “But I am going to Anne’s, now. If Richard is there, I’ll leave, immediately. Does that satisfy you?”
“No, it doesn’t,” he replied coldly. “You’re not going, Beth, and that’s final. Ah! Slow the coach a moment, Murdo. I spy an old friend.”
The coach slowed and Sir Anthony leaned out of the window.
“William!” he cried. “You are just the man I was hoping to see. May I beg the pleasure of a word or two?”
The coach came to a halt, and the horseman bent in the saddle to smile at the two ladies inside.
“Lady Elizabeth, Mrs Harlow, delighted to see you,” the Earl of Highbury said politely, paying no attention to Beth’s furious expression. “Of course, Anthony. What do you wish to discuss?”
“A private matter. If it is convenient, I will descend for a few moments.”
He got down from the coach and the two men moved out of earshot.
“To hell with him,” said Beth. “I’m going to find out what’s going on.”
“He has a point though, Beth,” said Caroline hesitantly, somewhat stunned by Sir Anthony’s uncharacteristic authoritarian attitude.
“What! You agree that we should do nothing?”
“No,” Caroline replied hurriedly. “But I don’t think you should go round there without thinking it through first. I know you mean well, but Anthony’s right. You’re more likely to make things worse if you go dashing to rescue Anne.”
Before Beth could reply, Sir Anthony leaned in through the coach window.
“William has kindly invited me to dine with him, my dear,” he said. “And then I think I may accompany him to his club this evening. There will be several important people there.” He smiled winningly.
“How can you think of…?” Beth began.
“Beth,” he said firmly, casting Caroline an apologetic glance. “I will deal with this situation. William’s club is frequented by many military men. You will go home. I will see you later. Murdo,” he continued, pulling his head out of the carriage, and looking up at Duncan, who was driving, “you will take Mrs Harlow to her house, and then will take Lady Elizabeth home, where she will remain until I return this evening. Is that clear?”
It was clear. Not daring to make a scene, and knowing it would be futile and undignified anyway if she did, Beth went home, where she alternated between worrying about what Richard might be doing at that very moment to Anne and fuming that she had married a man whose servants were also his family and his clansmen, and that they could not be bribed or persuaded to disobey orders under any circumstances.
The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) Page 37
