Naturally, I had questions of a similar nature to ask Mama, though the state of her health had patently not improved since my last visit just before Christmas. Like her energy, her voice was fading away with each passing season, and I think she knew that the ailment that devoured her lungs would not be held back for her as it had been for Linas. Living in the fresh country air had its advantages, but the raw winds that scoured the Yorkshire Wolds that winter could be mightily unkind to all but the sturdiest beings. Some patients retired to nearby Scarborough to recuperate, but no doctor ever recommended an isolated place like Foss Beck Common. Yet when I suggested that she might consider coming back with me to York, her indignation flared like the protective mother she had always been.
‘What? Leave the boys and Pierre?’ she said in her hoarse whisper. ‘I would not dream of it, love. They’re making a grand little farmstead of this place, you know, and as soon as we can afford it, we shall rebuild the other half of the house so we can spread out a bit. We may do the same to one of the cottages too. It’d make more sense if you and young Jamie were to come and live with us now. Wouldn’t it? You know how he loves the place.’
It was true that he did. As soon as he was old enough to travel, I had taken him to see them and to ask for their understanding. A bastard in the family was not something they had ever thought likely, but I need not have been concerned, for there was no criticism of the methods I had used to earn money for us all. Only Pierre was less than enthusiastic, never having made any secret of his hope that I would one day agree to be his wife. I suppose it must have irked him that others had been where he’d wanted to be first, but I had given him no promises or even the expectation of any. I looked upon him as one of my brothers, but never as a future husband.
Unpacking the goods I had brought, woollen clothes, medicines, new boots, Mrs Neape’s pies, and at least half the food sent from Abbots Mere, I told them about Linas’s will, about my plans and disappointments, my fears, and the unlikelihood of Jamie being allowed to live anywhere except York. It looked, they agreed, as if I might have to stay there too, at least for the foreseeable future.
If it was not what any of us wanted to hear, it was even less acceptable to Pierre, who took me to one side before we settled in for the night. Only an inch or so taller than me, he was yet strongly built and pleasant of face, and certainly the man my father had earmarked for me, when the time came. I cannot say that I was glad not to have my father there with us, but he would have put a very strong case for that connection, and I doubt if my unwillingness would have had much to do with it.
As a terrified twelve-year-old, Pierre had been smuggled out of Paris and across the English Channel, having lost both his aristocratic parents to the guillotine during the Revolution that put an end to France’s royal family. Though that particular danger had passed, Pierre looked upon our family as his own so much so that, after my father’s tragic end, he had taken much of the responsibility upon himself, for by that time he was a comely nineteen-year-old with a noble manner, unafraid of work or danger, assertive and enterprising. It was he who maintained the connection with the Bridlington smugglers, though he never volunteered any information about how exactly he was able to procure such large quantities of costly fabrics for me to sell in York. And I never asked him to. Yet it was due to Pierre’s involvement with contraband that I had been able to take a partnership in Prue’s thriving business on Blake Street.
Sometimes I would travel to Foss Beck to pick up whatever he had obtained for me; at other times Pierre would bring it to York on pack-ponies and leave it at Follet and Sanders. Occasionally he would call at the house on Blake Street as a distant relative from Bridlington, but never with the goods. The pack-ponies, it was assumed, were to take supplies back home from the shops and warehouses. There was never any question of him meeting Linas, and to Jamie he was ‘Uncapare’. I was, of course, very careful not to be seen handing him any money, nor did I have any doubts about Pierre’s honesty.
‘Helene,’ he said, speaking to me in French as he always did when we were together, ‘I’m so glad to see you again. But you ought never to have made the journey alone. It’s far too dangerous.’
‘I had no choice, Pierre, if I’m to keep our family a secret.’
‘Well, I shall ride with you tomorrow when you return. I can take the new goods to the shop. As it happens, I have some other business in York, so I can kill two birds with one stone.’ His teeth shone even in the gloom, startlingly white against his healthy outdoor skin and black hair, like my own. ‘Does one throw stones at birds?’
‘Not nowadays. What business?’
‘Oh, a message to pass on to friends, a contact to make, some purchases. Who is this brother-twin of Mr Monkton? The guardian. What’s he like?’
‘He’s good to Jamie. He adores him.’ I knew it was an ambiguous reply, intentionally so, for indeed it was a mutual adoration that I had done little to foster, to the frustration of them both. Jamie’s strong will, having turned more recently to noisy tantrums, was never witnessed by Winterson for whom my beloved infant was a lamb, obedient and obliging, trotting after his idol and beaming with good nature when he was allowed to ride on Uncaburl’s shoulders. To see them like that made my heart flip like a seaotter, and to ache for hours afterwards.
‘And you?’ said Pierre. ‘You adore him too?’
‘Pierre,’ I replied, wearily, ‘I have just lost the man I lived with and cared for. The father of my child. Except for Jamie, adoration has no place in my heart at the moment. I love my mother and brothers, and I am very fond of you as a brother, and I am grateful to you for your care of us. But things are not moving on for me in quite the direction I hoped for. Rather, they seem to have come to a standstill. Perhaps it’s too soon to expect them to. Let’s just see, shall we? I wish Mama would come to York where I can tend her. I’m very concerned about her.’
‘She won’t, Helene. Your father is still here, remember. She will not leave his grave. She wants to stay beside him.’
I nodded, aware that my tears, so recently shed, were by no means spent. ‘Then I had better not mention it again. But try to understand my position, Pierre. Please. I’m being torn two ways at present.’
‘My understanding matters to you?’
‘Certainly it does. You are family. It will always matter to me.’
‘Forgive me,’ he whispered, touching my arm with a tentative forefinger before withdrawing it quickly. ‘You’re right, it’s too soon for you to see ahead, and you are weary. It’s only that…’ he sighed ‘…that we meet so rarely and, when the chance arises, I must take it before you’re gone again.’
‘Then we shall talk more on the way home. Goodnight, Pierre.’
‘Goodnight, Helene.’
I turned away, but not before I had caught the ‘my love’ whispered in my wake, which I pretended not to hear, dismissing it from my mind as one more complication I could do without. Even so, I had witnessed yet again the small signs of rebellion from Finch and Greg as they deliberately ignored Pierre’s commands that ought to have been requests, and I prayed that, if only for my mother’s sake, the boys would not cause any trouble.
* * *
I had slept that night in my underclothes upon a duck-down mattress with a feather pillow and thick furs to keep me warm. Yet I awoke with limbs that hurt as if I’d run all the way from York, and a splitting headache. Whatever my ailment, I dared not delay my return home, for the thought of Jamie missing me, being upset and refusing to eat was more than I could contemplate. Heaven only knows how I clambered up into the saddle, more thankful than I expected to be that Pierre was with me to lead the pack-pony. Tearful farewells were not my style, but knowing what I did of Mama’s condition, I could not have said for certain whether she would still be there to welcome me on my next visit. And for some miles I was very poor company, wondering how and when I would be called upon to bear yet another loss.
Even with Pierre for companionship, the return
to York was no more comfortable than before, as by that time I was feeling wretchedly unwell and not at all inclined to converse. With the wind at our backs for much of the way, we made marginally better progress, but the sky was again heavy with snow, darkening by the hour, and we reached York speechless with cold and tiredness. For me, it was another nightmare of a journey, but one that could not have been put off, all the signs being that reserve food supplies at Foss Beck had run drastically low.
* * *
With the light almost gone, Pierre was anxious to unload the goods and then to conduct at least some of his business before it was too late. So although I was desperate to see my Jamie again, we went first to deliver the much-needed stocks to Prue, and I took the pony and horse back to Linas’s stable, grateful that Pierre had agreed without a quibble to leave me to myself. I was sure by then that I was coming down with something more than a cold, for my joints ached unbearably, and I was shaking like an aspen leaf. The walk back to Blake Street took all my last efforts.
Hoping for whoops of joy at my appearance, I encountered only my maid’s anxious face as she dealt with my enquiries about Jamie. ‘He’s gone, ma’am,’ she whispered, round-eyed. ‘Mrs Goode and him.’
‘Gone? What d’ye mean…gone?’
‘Let me help you with your coats, ma’am, and I’ll tell—’
‘No! Tell me now, Debbie. Where are they?’
‘At Abbots Mere, ma’am.’
‘What?’ It was one of those inane responses that only buys time to think up every dreadful reason and result, every terrible revenge and almighty row that will follow if the matter is not righted that same instant. There was to be no hope of that.
‘Lord Winterson came yesterday after you’d gone, ma’am, and there was Master Jamie—’ she pointed to the hall floor ‘—kicking his little heels and screaming and crying, and there was nurse trying to reason with him and could hardly make herself heard, ma’am. Rolling about, he was.’
My head swam; I had to sit. ‘And Lord Winterson?’
‘Strode through the door, ma’am, took one look and said, “Hoy! Enough!” And do you know, ma’am, Master Jamie just stopped and ran to him, just like that. He was sobbing his heart out, mind. Poor little soul.’
I held my head in my hands. I thought I had done the right thing, but clearly I had not. I was the worst mother in the world, at that moment. ‘Then what?’ I whispered.
‘Well, Lord Winterson picked him up and talked to him, and told Mrs Goode that she should pack things, that they would go to stay with him at Abbots Mere till you returned from Bridlington.’
Where I had not been.
‘Ma’am, you look terrible. Are you all right?’
I swayed unsteadily, holding my head before it fell off. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m going over to Abbots Mere. I shall have to go back to Stonegate first to get a horse. You stay here, Debbie, and tell Mrs Neape where I’ve gone.’
‘At this time of night, ma’am?’
‘Yes!’ I yelled. ‘At this time of night, girl. I want my son!’
She was a Leeds lass, and not easily browbeaten. ‘Then I’m coming too,’ she said. ‘Just wait till I get my coat and boots on, ma’am.’
‘Debbie, I have no time to argue. You can’t come.’
‘I can, ma’am, and I will. You’re not going on your own.’
‘There’s only one horse.’
‘Then I’ll walk it.’
I turned and went out. It had started to snow again, but Debbie caught me up before I reached Linas’s stables. She was carrying a portmanteau. ‘What’s that for?’ I asked.
‘Things, ma’am. We might have to stay.’
What a treasure she was, that girl. I was wrong about there being only one horse; there were several, most of them newly arrived. I chose two of the heaviest, ordered them to be saddled and gave the worried groom a silver shilling when he told me Lord Winterson would probably kill him. ‘He won’t,’ I said. ‘Help me up.’
* * *
It was dark and snowing fast, laying a clean white cover upon what was already there. The two black, wet, agonising miles took us almost an hour, with me clinging to the saddle to stay upright and often my beast stopping when it felt me slip or slouch. Gritting my teeth against bouts of faintness, I forged ahead with Debbie calling and encouraging me to stay on. Then, at last, we passed through the old Tudor gatehouse and headed for the lights of the house and for the fearsome battle that would be raged within minutes of my arrival.
Being no rider, Debbie fell off her horse into the snow, picked herself up and ran to the door, hammering upon it with the heavy iron ring until it opened. The crashing noise in my head stopped; I heard her yelling at someone, echoing from a long way off, then shouts. My face was in the horse’s snow-covered mane and I could not move it from the hot-cold sweat that beckoned me into its arms, to sleep. The horse tipped, throwing me sideways into a black gulf.
A deep voice rumbled against my ear. ‘What in heaven’s name possessed her to come…?’
‘She would do it, my lord. I tried to reason, but she’s unwell, and I could not let her come alone.’
‘But at this time of night, in this weather?’
How many times had I heard ‘in this weather’ recently? ‘In this weather,’ I muttered, ‘I’ve come for my son.’ The world was still moving, swinging me this way and that. ‘Jamie,’ I said. ‘I want Jamie.’
‘You want for some common sense too, woman, coming out here in a blizzard, in the dark too. And how you managed to get to Bridlington and back in two days in this lot is going to take some explaining. Did you fly?’
I was being carried, and not expected to answer. Which was just as well for, at that point, I suppose I must have passed out again.
Chapter Five
Nights and days merged into a timeless blur during which I was fed like a fledgling without knowing whose nest I was in. Shadowy figures lifted and bathed me, tucking me into warm feathery layers, soothing my aching body, cooling my fever. I dreamed, but never managed to trawl them up from the depths. I wept, they said, but could not explain why. And at last the snow-white glare from the casement seeped into my eyelids and brought me back into the room I had sworn never again to occupy, for any reason. I think I felt then that this was one of those bizarre situations that could only have been engineered by Fate itself. It was only with hindsight that I was able to see how I had made Fate a convenient scapegoat.
My infant’s delight at finding me silenced all my earlier fears that he would bear me a lifelong grudge for breaking my promise to take him to see Nana Damzell. Without a mention of that particular dilemma at Blake Street he bounced into my room, picking up the thread of his life from where he’d left it the moment before to tell me about the snowman, the ride with Uncaburl that morning, and the promise of a pony of his own. Of screaming tantrums, Mrs Goode assured me, there had been none, not even when he was opposed.
* * *
I saw nothing of my long-suffering host, however, until the fifth day of our visit when I was at last able to find the energy to walk a few steps. Winterson himself was allowed into my room to carry me downstairs, swathed in blankets, to the warm parlour where he placed me upon a long cushioned chair with eight legs and a woven rattan back. I had been in no position to appreciate the first carrying. With the second, however much I tried to hide the thrill of being helplessly buoyant, the closeness of his face and the memories it evoked must have shown in my eyes whenever he glanced down at me. Which he did several times.
Abbots Mere had once been the abbot’s own guest house for visiting dignitaries to the great minster of York. Since the dissolution of the monasteries, the house had been sold off, enlarged and altered at the convenience of each successive owner, though no Georgian styles had been allowed to interfere with the sixteenth-century interior that still showed in every part of the building. The parlour was a large low-ceilinged room, exquisitely plastered and oak panelled, with brightly painted coats-of-arms
around the plasterwork frieze. The walls were hung with lace-collared ancestors, the floor covered with mellowed pink-and-blue Persian carpets, furnished with dark oak tables, chairs with tall backs and barley-sugar legs. In the massive stone fireplace, a log fire crackled and blazed behind cast-iron firedogs, and silver oil-lamps were reflected in polished surfaces. I had been in this room many times before, but always it had been Linas who lounged on the long chair, and never had I been here alone with his brother. I had always seen to that.
He sat opposite me in a red upholstered wing-chair with his face partly shadowed so that I could not tell his expression, though he rarely allowed one to know what he was thinking at the best of times. ‘Inscrutable’ sounds like a cliché, but it suited him well. A long-case clock chimed softly, musically, and his three great hounds flopped quietly behind his chair.
‘I’ve sent for some tea,’ he said. ‘Will you join me?’
‘Thank you. I hope Jamie and I have not been an imposition. I really had no intention of…well…’ I thought he might interrupt me with a polite denial, but he did not, and when I couldn’t think of what to say, he was unhelpful.
‘No intention of what…taking a fever? Coming all this way in a blizzard to rescue your child from my clutches? Well, you can see he’s suffered very little from the experience.’
Being in no mood for an argument, not then, I sighed my annoyance and looked pointedly towards the window. ‘Has the snow stopped?’ I asked, hoping he would catch my meaning.
‘If you mean, can you escape, then I’m afraid the answer is no. You’ve missed three days of snowstorms and now all the roads are impassable, according to my information. I hear that the road to Brid has been blocked beyond Fridaythorpe since the snow started. No one’s been either in or out.’
Marrying the Mistress Page 7
