Wedgewick Woman

by Patricia Strefling

  “Should I?”

  “No.” She turned away again.

  Lee didn’t know what to say. His heart had been so bitter that he had hardly a care; but he could not let this dejected creature, his own wife, lay there in such a condition and not do something. She was under his care. Instinctively he knew his mother would have offered kindness instead of retribution for wrongs committed.

  So he sat beside her and took her hand which was nothing more than thin white skin stretched over blue veins and fragile bones.

  “Tell me all.” His voice gentled.

  She looked away and he saw the tears begin to slide down her thin cheeks and felt the ogre. “Speak to me. I will not hold anything against you.”

  She turned her tear-filled blue eyes to him and announced. “I am a failure.” And broke into a fit of sobs so that he enclosed her slender body into his arms and holding her to his chest, tried to comfort her. When she would not be comforted, he pulled her onto his lap and held her thus for many minutes until her sobs quieted.

  “Oh Lee I have been a fool. My life has been ruined. I have lost all that I love.” She cried.

  Before the night was over he had spent it with his wife in a renewed commitment of his own heart to be a better husband to her.

  Within a fortnight she had left him again. He heard through the London gossips that her lover had jilted her and she had run home ashamed that she had suffered such a vulgar humility in front of the ton.

  When word arrived that her lover wished to see her again she had gone off and for Lee that had been the end of it. He would sever himself and his heart from her once for all.

  “Mrs. Calvert,” see that the servants pack Lady Carmichael’s things.” He had announced the next day. “And there is not to be one item left in this castle that belongs to her. Is that understood?”

  When Mrs. Calvert learned of Lady Carmichael’s recent goings-on in London, she said, “Lord Carmichael, I shall see to the task myself. I shall leave nothing behind.” She promised. She nodded her white head, plunked her thick fists at her hips, and gave him a look he could not discern. But her walk said it all for she stomped up the stairs and he did not see her for the rest of the day.

  Within the week his entire clan knew of his unfortunate circumstances, much whispering and talking behind the hands told him it was so. Anxious to reassert his position as Laird of the Carmichael’s he made great work of adding a completely new wing to the castle and reinforcing the walls with a new idea he had designed.

  The next news he received months later concerning his wife came from Annabel Wedgewick, that his wife had passed. He returned a missive to Helen’s mother asking that arrangements be made to have his wife entombed in London; that he would not be in attendance.

  Weeks later the charges had come in; one signed by his wife’s mother for a head stone costing an outrageous amount. He paid the costs and hoped that it was the end of the entire affair.

  From then on he thought little of Helen, preferring to throw himself into his work as Laird of the Carmichaels.

  Chapter 18

  Nervously Annabel entered the upstairs office of Dr. Derek Kane in London. Only recently he had taken Dr. Newell’s position after the elderly physician retired. Annabel wondered if she might be disappointed since Dr. Newell was so experienced and knew of Eleanor’s condition.

  Being slight of build herself and Eleanor now a hefty little chunk of humanity, she found herself breathless, partly from the climb up the stairs and partly, she admitted, from fear.

  The door creaked as she opened it and noted immediately that the tiny wait room was empty. Perhaps she had come on the wrong day? She was about to turn when behind her a gentle voice called, “Mrs. Wedgewick?”

  “Yes.” She turned and met the eyes of a comely young man, dark of hair and skin and possessing the grayest eyes she had ever set hers upon. Mesmerized, she started when Eleanor said, “Mummy?”

  “Yes, dear.” She came to herself, holding the child closer.

  “I’m Annabel Wedgewick.” And disentangled her hand from Eleanor’s bottom and offered it to the already outstretched hand of the young doctor.

  “Your face tells me that you think me young and inexperienced.” He smiled.

  Blushing, for he had read her mind completely, she decided to be truthful, no matter what the cost, for she hoped to work with …and for… the good doctor.

  “Yes.” she admitted. “But if you’ll forgive me…”

  He interrupted. “No need. ‘Tis the word around London.” His eyes actually seemed to twinkle.

  Shaking her wayward thoughts free and disengaging her eyes from the doctor’s handsome face, she said, “Shall we?”

  “Of course, bring the child into my examining room and we will have a look. Dr. Newell has told me about the child, and I have read her entire report. Dr. Newell, said to expect that a surgery be done as soon as…”

  “Financially possible.” She finished for him lamely and looked at Eleanor.

  “That is the truth of it I daresay.” He admired her frankness.

  The doctor motioned Annabel to come forward and place Eleanor on the table. She herself removed the child’s slipper and long white stockings, whereupon the doctor, after teasing Eleanor and proclaiming she had lovely green eyes, leaned down and with gentle hands began turning her foot this way and that for a few long minutes, saying nothing.

  The longer he lingered the more anxious Annabel became.

  “Think you there’s no hope?” She whispered.

  “Oh, no,” he looked up and straight into her worried eyes. “On the contrary, I think we may be able to fix Eleanor’s foot with a new surgery.”

  “Oh.” Annabel’s hand went to her heart. “Thank you.” Tears came unbidden.

  “This is not to say it will be easy, Mrs. Wedgewick. In fact it may take two surgeries to repair the twisted foot.” He warned.

  She did not correct him, thinking it best he not ask too many questions as to her unmarried state. There would be time enough later to explain, she reasoned.

  “Oh, that means a larger commitment.” she whispered.

  The doctor ignored her words and spoke again.

  “At St. George’s here in London I have been fortunate enough to study under William Hey, author of a book on Surgery with several chapters dedicated to Orthopaedics. He is well-known surgeon who is the founder of surgery at Leeds and has handled worse cases of deformities than this.” He talked excitedly. “We can take the bone, restructure it and it will grow with the child. She may have a slight limp, but she will walk…if the surgery is successful.” He added quickly as he watched Annabel put on Eleanor’s sock and slipper.

  “Doctor, I am so relieved at the news. I feared we had waited too long.”

  “ ‘Tis imperative we begin posthaste…we cannot wait. We must do the first surgery within a month’s time. If the first is successful then we will repeat the process in one year if we find it necessary. She is a little older than the patients we have worked on…” he surmised.

  “We are not too late?” Her brown eyes, large.

  “No, I do not think so. Bring the child to see Doctor Hey at St. George’s. I will make the arrangements.”

  “But…the finances. I am certain I could not afford the distinguished doctor’s fees.”

  “We will speak of that later. Now I must be on my way. Eleanor was my last patient for the day and I have a few visits to make around the city.” He said kindly.

  “Of course, I have kept you over long.” She hastened to the door.

  “Not at all Mrs. Wedgewick. I shall be hearing from you on your return then?”

  “Yes.” She averted her face at the fact he assumed she was married.

  “I will secure the appointment and send you a note by currier. What is your number please.”

  Annabel gave him the address of the cottage and for a moment saw his surprised look. Perhaps he thought she lived among the gentry in London. Her district was not i
nferior by any means, but it was certainly not among London’s elite.

  “Until later then.”

  “Thank you, Doctor Kane.”

  Annabel hummed as she carried the child on her arm and raised her hand for a carriage. It was the one conveyance that they could rare afford, but it had been necessary, for Eleanor was too heavy to carry to make the five mile journey into London and back again.

  Settling the child on her lap, she felt her go limp almost immediately and taking her from her shoulder, lay her back upon her arm and looked into her angelic face. The cap she wore hugged her cheeks and encircled the face of a sweet and gentle child. She thought again of Laird Carmichael and as the shadows then the sun passed through the carriage windows it was his face she saw on the little one in her arms.

  Guilt found its way to her thoughts. Was James correct in suggesting to her that she tell the Laird he had a daughter? After a time, she took a deep breath and decided it would be against her better judgment to do so, for he hated Helen and after meeting him…no it would not be wise. Eleanor was better off with her. She had made a vow to her dying sister and would keep it.

  Her finger traced the tiny nose and Annabel realized, as an incredible pain shot through her heart, that she loved this child and Eleanor was hers, not Laird Carmichael’s. Besides, she thought, he would only find her a nuisance. And…she reminded herself, Eleanor was a Wedgewick as he had so recently referred to her.

  “Phoebe, Phoebe, we’re home and the news is very good.” She came through the door, her feet tired from the walk down the long pathway from the main road. “And Eleanor is hungry.”

  “Have we guests?” she called, seeing two horses down the lane grazing under an ancient apple tree.

  Phoebe came to her and took the child. “I’ll feed the little one. You have two gentleman in the library.” She whispered, a worrisome look on her face.

  Annabel sensed something was wrong. She pulled off her dusty bonnet and hung it on the peg and checked herself in the oval mirror on the wall. Tucking strands of hair into her bun, she patted the dust from her best gown, folded her hands at her waist, said a quick prayer to God, forced a smile upon her face and entered the room.

  Two large men sat, uncomfortably it seemed, on her worn rose satin chairs. They both stood immediately. She recognized Ewan and the Carmichael plaid. Their swords jangled at their sides. He was one of The Four. Why had Laird Carmichael sent them? Two of his closest men.

  “May I be of assistance?” she cleared her throat.

  “Ewan McTavish Carmichael.” He introduced himself but did not offer for her hand, only bowed slightly. “And this is Conan Macleod Carmichael.”

  “Miss Wedgewick.” Each bowed politely repeating her name.

  “We have instructions to deliver these packages to you personally.”

  “Packages?” she inquired.

  Ewan turned and pointed to two large brown paper wrapped bundles that lay across the settee.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed and poked at the packages…”Whatever could it be?”

  “We will leave you to your bundles, Miss Wedgewick, and be off. Our best.” Both men bowed and made their polite departure.

  Why would the Laird send anything to me, especially now since he must know I lied about my sister’s headstone? Her heart pounded heavily in her chest.

  With trembling fingers Annabel tore the paper off of one bundle to find…what? Two silk gowns? For whom had he sent them? She wondered. One, was of a light shade of shimmering blue-green, one a soft yellow the color of buttercups. Gasping, she lifted the blue-green one out gently and held it up. Surely it was meant to fit her small frame for the dress fell to the exact point atop her small booted feet. Feeling the fabric…for it was silk…pure silk…instantly she remembered the Laird’s angry outbursts. The expensive silks that Helen had purchased. Why would he have dresses made for her and who…who told him her size…surely he didn’t know of such things? Had he caught her in her lie and wished to shame her? And where would she wear these elegant gowns?

  “Phoebe, Phoebe, come quickly.” She raised her voice.

  When her housekeeper hurried around the corner, she saw Annabel standing there with lustrous blue-green silk held in front of her.

  “Oh, ma’am.” Phoebe’s hands went to her mouth. “Such finery.”

  “Come near and feel the material.” Annabel offered.

  “I have never…” she started to speak and began to look intently at the fine stitching. “Oh, ma’am these come from a London shop.” She exclaimed, looking at the under-skirting and examining the bodice design. “If I know my seamstresses, from one of the best shoppes in London. Mlle. Marcel’s.” Phoebe whispered, never taking her eyes from the beautiful dresses.

  “Mlle. Marcel? Oh dear. Look, Phoebe, there’s another. She lay the blue-green aside gently and lifted the soft yellow dress. Its scoop neck and gently gathered waist was decorated with a four-inch wide matching grosgrain ribbon.

  “The ruffle must be a good twelve inches deep.” Phoebe sighed. “And such filmy covering over the entire dress. And the sleeves…”

  In a moment’s time there were more gasps and gestures and hands-over-hearts as two more dresses were revealed in the second bundle.

  “Who are they from?” Phoebe said, never taking her eyes from the busy hands now revealing more fine material.

  “Why Laird Carmichael, I presume. I know no one else who would own such fine silks…” then Annabel gasped. “And it was his men who brought them…” her voice trailed off nervously. “But why?”

  “Look, velvets for winter.” Phoebe whispered as Annabel lifted the gowns, heavier by half, and held them under her chin. “Such a dark green…almost like a Christmas pine.” She murmured. “And the burgundy…oh it is by far the most beautiful.”

  Realization hit Annabel. “I must not keep these, Phoebe. It would be a declaration that I deserve them…which I don’t.” she stated firmly wondering how she was ever going to afford the post to wrap them up to send back.

  “Oh, but you must keep them, ma’am.” Phoebe said excitedly. “They were made for you.”

  “Don’t you see. It would seem as though I am like my sister. Lord Carmichael hated Helen’s frivolities, telling me that she ordered so much silk materials from China that he owed a very large debt that had yet to be paid. He was most angry indeed.” She began the difficult process of folding the dresses back into the wrappings.

  “And…” she continued…shamefaced. ”He must surely know by this time that I have lied to him about Helen’s stone.” Her voice a near whisper.

  “What say you?” Phoebe could hardly draw her eyes away from the silks. “What did you do, Miss Annabel?”

  “Oh, I am too ashamed to speak of it…I’m afraid I’ve made a foolish error.”

  “Could not be that bad…else he wouldn’t have sent these.” She waved her hand about the room.

  “Oh, it is bad, Phoebe. I went to him and told him that I needed 100 lira to repair Helen’s damaged headstone.”

  “It was damaged then?” She plunked her hands on her hips.

  Annabel paused. “No…I told him that so I could get the money for Eleanor’s surgery.” She admitted.

  Phoebe’s hand went to her mouth. “You didn’t?” She pulled in a breath and covered a smile. “You did that Annabel?”

  “Aye. Out of desperation, you see.” She lowered her eyes.

  “Now heavens above don’t look like that. ‘Twas a good try.” Phoebe tried to hide the smile that kept creeping to her face. “Do you think he really knows?” she peered at her employer, fingers on her lips.

  “Aye. He knows. For see how he sets me up?” Annabel’s face was a contortion of emotions.

  “Perhaps he wanted to make sure the silk was not wasted. Do you think he knows of Eleanor?” Phoebe’s dark eyes grew large at the thought.

  “Oh no.” Annabel turned, crossing herself. “Don’t be silly. James and I and Helen…and now you…are the only on
es who know…and who need to know.” She stated firmly. The birth papers show her to be a Wedgewick woman not a Carmichael.” She found herself repeating that term…as Laird Carmichael had said.

  “Wedgewick Woman?” Phoebe shook her head not understanding.

  “Oh, tis just a term.” Annabel lay the two remaining dresses carefully across the settee and said, “Let’s have luncheon Phoebe, I’m famished. We’ll worry about the gowns tomorrow.”

  Phoebe followed her into the small kitchen and they sat eating from their plates of bread and cheese, sipping tea, each with their own thoughts; Annabel wondering where she would get such large slices of brown paper and what the cost might be to curry them back to the owner. Phoebe dreamed of all the balls and parties Miss Annabel Wedgewick could now appear at, if only she would keep them.

  “Oh my dear!” Annabel exclaimed and jumped up.

  “What is it?” Phoebe demanded.

  “Did the gentlemen see Eleanor?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am, mind you, I took her from your arms to feed her and carried her straight into the kitchen away from their eyes.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” She sat down heavily. “I did not think upon the matter until just this moment.”

  “They were ensconced in the library…unless they were standing at the windows gawking they could not possibly have seen the child.”

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “Aye. Quite sure.”

  “Oh thank you Phoebe, my heart shall settle now.” She whispered.

  “The men, no doubt would not have noticed such a small detail, unless they were on the outlook…which they are not.” Phoebe comforted her.

  “You are reasonable. I am just out of sorts. Why I haven’t even told you about the visit to Dr. Kane.” She exclaimed and began a moment-by-moment account of her and Eleanor’s visit to the new doctor, straight out from St. George’s in London. “The surgeon, Dr. Hey, is said to be the best in London.” She smiled.

  Chapter 19

  “What have you to report?” Laird Carmichael turned in his chair, fair affronted that the men had taken overlong to come to him after he knew they had arrived.