“What is the meaning of this immoderate noise? How dare you disrupt…”
Her face paled and her words trailed off as she saw Edmund, and she staggered a little, clutching a hall table for support. A groom stepped forward, twisting his cap between his hands in anguish, glancing between Maria and the Dowager, as if unsure who to address. In the end he lowered his eyes, and stared at the floor as he spoke.
“My Lady, it were terrible. The fox crossed the Stonefort River, jumping across the stones. The horses couldn’t cross there, so’s we went around to the old stone bridge, agoing as fast as you like, so’s he didn’t get away, so’s we didn’t lose the hounds. The bridge was slippery with ice from last night’s snow, and the horses were slidin’ about. Then, all of a sudden, his Lordship’s horse twisted and bucked like I’s never seen him do before, and his Lordship was flung from the saddle. He clipped his head right hard on the stone of the bridge, and dropped, all limp like, into the river. We pulled him out right quick, m’Lady, but that water’s icy at this time o’ year…”
Thompson, who had arrived in response to the commotion, stood next to the footman who had opened the door.
“Shall I send for the physician, my Lady?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
Maria and the Dowager spoke in the same instant, and stopped, glaring at each other. Maria would not back down – she would have a say in the care of her husband - she only hoped that the Dowager would not choose to argue. But it seemed that, for now, they were in accord. Maria dared to give an order.
“Carry him to his rooms, at once, and summon Potter immediately – we must get him out of those wet clothes, and keep him warm.”
When the Dowager said nothing, the footman set off to find Potter, Edmund’s valet, and the men lifted the hurdle and started, carefully, up the stairs. The Dowager watched them go, her face still grey with shock. Maria ignored her and followed the men up the stairs.
~~~~~
The physician stepped into the parlour, where Maria and the Dowager waited, ignoring each other steadfastly.
“He’s sleeping now, and I’ve left a draught with his valet to help with pain if he needs it. The cut will heal, but I can’t know if the knock to his head has done more damage, inside. For now, the biggest concern is that he will take a chill to the lungs, and they’ll fester. If that happens, it could turn to consumption. Keep him warm, and pray. If it does turn for the worse, I may need to bleed him, to draw out the bad humours from the river water.”
Maria simply nodded, but inside she vowed that she would not allow the doctor to bleed Edmund, no matter what happened.
Everything she’d learned from her old nurse suggested that bleeding a patient simply hastened death.
The Dowager was still pale, and had taken the unprecedented step of asking for a brandy. The glass shook in her hand as she lowered it to the table beside her.
“Thank you. I will send for you if his condition worsens.”
The physician bowed.
“Good day my Lady.”
He barely nodded in Maria’s direction, even though he had given the Dowager a full bow. Maria sighed – this was, it seemed, her life from now on – to be disregarded, and barely tolerated. She would not allow it to overwhelm her. Now, at least, she had purpose – she needed to keep Edmund alive. The thought of her life, if he died, was simply unbearable – for she was certain that the Dowager would find a way to blame her.
~~~~~
“It’s done. He won’t be a worryin’ us for the rest of winter, I’d say, after that. He’ll likely be laid up in bed.”
“True, but… are ye sure that was wise? I know, as we needed t’ stop him from a’comin’ here, but… are ye sure he’ll live?”
“A’course he’ll live. Those toffs can afford the best physicians an all. Now stop fussin’ and let’s get all this stuff moved into the old house afore someone sees the cart.”
~~~~~
Three weeks later, Christmas had come and gone, with Maria hardly noticing. Edmund had taken an infection in the lungs, despite all of their efforts to prevent it, and weakened by the day. Maria had tried to help with some of her simples, sending Annie to retrieve things from the cottage, but, whilst they eased his breathing for a while, nothing seemed to truly help.
She sat in the chair by his bed, listening to his laboured breathing, and fear filled her. She did not love him, that was true, but she had cared about him, as a person, even through the pain of realising that he would never defend her against his mother. She did not want him to die, but she was terribly afraid that he was going to.
The cut on his head was not truly healed either, although it was better, the infection there finally gone, but his lungs… that was a different matter. He rarely woke to true awareness, tossing and turning, struggling to breath, alternately searing hot and feeling like ice to the touch. The physician had insisted on bleeding him, and despite her objections, had done so, with the Dowager’s support. It had been obvious, immediately, how much the bleeding had weakened him.
All she could do was keep trying, keep caring for him, so she did.
Another week passed, twelfth night was gone, and still he grew weaker. Exhausted after a long day, trying to fix what, it seemed, could not be fixed, Maria took herself to her bed. Potter would sit with him through the night. When she cried herself to sleep, this time, the tears were as much for Edmund as herself – even, in a way, for the Dowager, who was so distraught at her son’s condition.
It felt as if barely a minute had passed when Annie shook her awake again.
“My Lady, I’m so sorry to wake you, but… it’s his Lordship – he’s gone! Potter says he just simply stopped breathing, a few minutes ago.”
Maria shook the fog of sleep from her brain, slowly taking in what Annie had said.
“Gone? I… I had so hoped that we might save him… I…”
Tears came then, tears of grief for a life snuffed out before its time, and for everything that this would mean, to her, and to those around her. She allowed herself only a few moments before she wiped her eyes and pushed those feelings aside. There would be much to be done. Annie helped her dress, and she stepped out into the hallway, moving to Edmund’s door.
In the room, Potter stood, his face showing his uncertainty. The Dowager stood there also, staring down at her unbreathing son. She looked, in that moment, smaller, older, weaker, than ever before. Then she heard the sound of Maria’s steps, and spun towards her. The Dowager’s face flushed, and contorted in grief fuelled anger.
“You! It is all your fault! I wish he had never set eyes on you! And your potions… I am sure that they made him worse, no doubt with intent. You never respected him, never behaved as you should. Well, I’ll make sure you have nothing from this, nothing, do you hear me?”
Maria gaped at her for a moment, reeling from the force of the attack. What could she possibly say? She cared nothing for what she might inherit, would never have cared about that.
The accusations, after the last few weeks where she had put everything she had into trying to save Edmund, cut deep. Tears rose in her eyes.
“He was my husband! I care nothing for inheritance – I wanted him to live, I did my best….”
“I do not believe you! You’re a faithless interfering strumpet. I’ll make you regret the day you stepped foot in this house. Get out of my sight, leave me to farewell my son in private!”
Maria looked towards the still form on the bed, and said her goodbyes silently, then turned, with as much dignity as possible, and left the room.
Chapter Nine
The vicar’s voice droned on, as he spoke the final words of Edmund’s funeral rites. Maria felt dazed, still struggling to believe that Edmund was gone. She had not thought past this moment, and life beyond now seemed undefined, impossible to imagine.
At least she had family around her. Her parents, her brother, Nerissa and Hunter, and Charles… they all sat close to her on the worn pews o
f the old stone church. The Dowager, heavily veiled in the deepest stark black, had chosen to sit on the other side of the church, and was accompanied by an old woman that Maria had once seen before – in the hallway of Myniard House, just before that terrible conversation in which she had been confined to the house. Who was she? Maria considered it, vaguely, before her thoughts circled back to the fact that Edmund was gone, and that life, somehow, had to go on.
When the service was done, the coffin was carried out to be interred in the family crypt, and all of the mourners filed out of the church after it, to stand, blinking, in the winter sun.
The light reflected blindingly off the snow, but there was no warmth in it. Lady Chester slipped an arm around her daughter’s waist, and led her gently to one side. Maria went, uncertain of what to do next. The Dowager stood for a moment, watching the coffin carried away, then a wail escaped her, the sound of the grief that she had held sternly in check in the days since Edmund’s death, days in which she had locked herself away from the world.
Then, in a sudden flurry of movement, she spun, and rushed to stand before Maria. Through the black gauzy cloth of her veil, Maria saw her face contorted, her eyes glittering with irrational rage.
“You! This is your fault, you faithless strumpet. You poisoned him, I know it, poisoned him with those ‘herbal remedies’ of yours. You probably caused his fall in the first place somehow! I wouldn’t put it past you. No doubt so that you could run off with your common lover! Lewis, isn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been consorting with those terrible highwaymen too, putting all of our lives at risk! To think that my son, an Earl, should die, so that you might cavort with the gatekeeper’s son! May you burn in the fires of hell for your actions!”
Silence surrounded them. Everyone stared, shocked by the Dowager’s grief-stricken outburst. And in many eyes, doubt began to grow. Maria could see it – the moment when they all began to wonder if the Dowager’s words held truth. She glanced around, a sense of panic growing in her – this could not be happening! She could not be so accused, at her husband’s funeral, and in front of the entire district! Then, as the whispers began, the woman who had sat beside the Dowager stepped forward, wailing herself.
“I knew it, knew it! from the first moment I set eyes on her. She’s a witch, a witch, mixing evil potions. A witch.” The woman’s voice rose to a shrill pitch, and the hovering townspeople moved closer, soaking in the drama of the moment. The old woman was still ranting, wailing, and her voice rose again over the whispers that now surrounded them. “A witch, I tell you, and the good Lord said ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’ – we should not tolerate her presence, for she has brought Lord Granville his death!”
The villagers gasped, and Maria swayed on her feet, the world going grey around her. Then a hand touched her shoulder, and a man stepped past her. Charles’ voice was hard as he spoke, in a cold, measured tone.
“Ladies, these are very serious allegations that you have laid upon Lady Granville. Surely, if you are willing to state such a grievous charge, you are also able to bring forth reasonable evidence to support it? If you cannot, then all sensible people must reach the conclusion that this is malicious and vexatious behaviour, with no basis in reality.” Hearing Charles’ warm voice speak so passionately in her defence brought tears of gratitude to Maria’s eyes. She drew herself up, leaning into her mother’s steadying arm, and waited to see what would happen next.
After a moment of utter silence, everyone around them spoke at once. The Dowager and the old woman shouting further accusations, the townspeople debating amongst themselves, some supporting Maria, others not, the servants from Myniard House whispering amongst themselves nervously. For what was supposed to be a quiet, respectful, and sacred ceremony of farewell to a soul departing the earth, this had become a verbal brawl worthy of the lowest tavern.
After a few moments, another voice rose above them all.
“Silence!!! This is disgraceful behaviour from everyone.”
“Who’re you, to tell us what to do?”
The coarse voice came from the back of the crowd. Maria watched as Hunter drew himself up to his most impressive, and turned to glare at the speaker.
“I am the Duke of Melton. I might have expected such behaviour from the ignorant, or from drunkards in a tavern, but I do not expect such behaviour from Ladies of rank, nor from the good, respectable people of this town. I command you all to silence. The Earl of Granville is even now being laid in the family crypt – he deserves your respect. Go home, and do not speculate on these false accusations against his widow any further. Allow that the Dowager Countess is overwrought with her grief, and needs your kindness. Now go.”
The townspeople fell silent, then a few whispers drifted amongst them, before they each bowed or curtseyed towards the Dowager and left. Once the churchyard was empty of all but Maria and her family, and the Dowager and her companion, the silence stretched. The Dowager stared at Maria, ignoring those around her, then spoke, her voice full of hatred.
“You’ve not heard the last of this. I will make sure that your vile acts are revealed, if it’s the last thing I do. Come, Mrs Morton, please accompany me – I need at least one friendly face in my home at this difficult time.”
She took the old woman’s arm, and they turned their backs on everyone, and went to the Dowager’s carriage. In silence, Maria stood, and watched until the carriage was out of sight.
~~~~~
Back at Myniard House, Maria was glad to discover that the Dowager had retired to her rooms, accompanied by Mrs Morton – a woman who had, it seemed, been Edmund’s nurse when he was a small child, and had retained some influence with the family since. Thompson showed them all into the parlour, looking enquiringly at Maria.
“Please have some tea and biscuits sent up, Thompson, and I believe that the gentlemen may feel the need of a brandy at this point.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
They settled onto chairs, and nothing was said until the refreshments had been delivered, and the staff had left the room. Maria looked at those around her, and found strength in the warmth in Charles’ eyes. He had, so long ago it seemed now, offered to help her. Well, she needed help now. She found the courage to speak.
“What can I do? I only ever tried to help Edmund live! And as to the other accusations… well, I have met Lewis twice, just twice, when I walked down the lane near the gatekeeper’s cottage to pick herbs. He introduced himself, and was polite, if a little overfriendly, but I simply spoke the least I could, and left his presence immediately. But… if the townsfolk believe this of me, what might they do?”
“We will defend you, do not fear – and how can they pursue these accusations, when there is no evidence whatsoever that you ever did anything wrong?”
Hunter spoke with assurance, but Maria was not so easily convinced.
“I am afraid… but I refuse to be bested by the Dowager. She has made my life a misery for too long.”
“But Maria darling, surely you don’t mean to stay here, now that your husband is buried? Surely you will come home to live with us, at least until your mourning year is over?” Lady Chester clasped her daughter’s hand, where she sat beside her on the couch, her face a picture of concern. Maria scanned the faces of those gathered around her, then met her mother’s eyes.
“But I must stay here, no matter how much I might wish to be elsewhere. For if I leave, those who half believe the Dowager’s words will be convinced of my guilt – they will say that I have run from here to avoid the truth being revealed! And I will not suffer my reputation to be besmirched by two old women’s malicious accusations. I will go only when I feel able to do so without the appearance of having run away. After all, if people think on it, it will become obvious that I could not have planned to kill Edmund, for it was an accident, the fall from his horse, which led to him near drowning in the river, then catching the lung infection that was the death of him in the end!” For a moment, everyone sat in sil
ence, considering her words. Then Charles moved to crouch before her, taking the hand that her mother was not holding in his, for a moment.
“My Lady, I believe that you are right, that you should stay, and defy their expectations. But, will you tell us what you know of the accident? I would have us prepared to answer any wild accusations they may bring, if you are to weather this storm well.”
The warmth in his eyes made Maria feel warm all over, and she tightened her fingers on his. His eyes widened, and his fingers gently returned the pressure. If only, she thought, Edmund had ever looked at her like that.
“I… I was not present, obviously, so I can only tell you what the groom told me. The fox and hounds had managed to cross the river at a point not suitable for the horses. They rode fast to the bridge, and the horses were slipping on the icy stones, then, on the bridge, for no reason that the groom could see, Edmund’s horse bucked and reared, slipping on the ice as it did so, and Edmund fell. He hit his head hard on the stone coping of the bridge, then tumbled over and fell into the icy waters of the river below. By the time they pulled him out, he was half drowned, and shaking as if with an ague. They carried him home on a makeshift hurdle.”
“Can you tell us anything else? What did the physician say, when he saw Edmund? I am assuming that the physician was called immediately?”
“Yes, he was called. He cleaned the cut on Edmund’s head, and said that he could not tell if there was internal damage, if his mind might not be affected. And he told us to keep him warm, and pray that he did not take an infection to the lungs, lest it become consumption. But it seems that was exactly what happened, despite our efforts.” Charles nodded, and, as he thought, Hunter spoke quietly.
“It seems strange to me that Edmund’s horse behaved as the groom described – for surely he would not have been riding a horse prone to wild fits of bucking and rearing? And slippery ground is not enough for a normally well-behaved horse to suddenly become wild – no other rider’s horse did so, did they?”
Rescuing the Countess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 13) Page 7
