‘Miss Follet’s handiwork,’ said Winterson. ‘And no, dear sister-in-law, I shall not be replacing them. However, I shall take your place at the ball in order to accompany Miss Follet. You may sit on one in your delicate state, Cynthia. I have no objection to that.’ He took the holland cover from her and threw it aside.
‘Burl Winterson,’ she giggled, sitting down.
He must have felt my stare, for he turned suddenly to catch my expression with an equally challenging one of his own, daring me to take issue with him, there and then, in front of his brother.
The truth was that Mrs Monkton’s delicate state was a complete surprise to me, and instead of offering them my felicitations, I was once more overtaken by the yearning, now tinged with envy, and it was all I could do to keep my hands away from my flat belly to still the ache of emptiness. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t think…I still have reservations…I’m not sure.’
‘About…?’ said Winterson.
‘About whether it’s the right thing for me to do.’
‘Well, my dear,’ said his brother, ‘you must do whatever you feel is correct. But let me say this: Linas would not have wanted us all to go into months of mourning for him. For you to be seen in public at this time will not cause even the lift of an eyebrow from his family, and indeed, Burl’s decision to accompany you will prevent comments from anyone.’
‘Yes. Thank you. But I didn’t think it would be seemly to dance.’
Looking across at his wife’s nodding approval, Mr Monkton’s beaming face softened even more. ‘Wife,’ he said, ‘I don’t know why we didn’t think of that ourselves. We could go, for an hour or two, for a game of cribbage? A chat with friends? Just to be seen? How d’ye like that idea? No dancing?’
Cynthia was a farmer’s daughter with the healthy glow of a ripe apple and eyes like pips, her hair a curly mouse brown, her wide smile only one step away from laughter. ‘We’ll go and purchase tickets before we return home,’ she said, ‘and heaven only knows what I’m going to wear. I suppose it will have to be black?’
I assumed that she would want to talk of gowns, but I was mistaken. It was little Claude’s third birthday the following week, and she wanted Jamie to spend the day with them at Osbaldswick. Would I take him and Goody over there after breakfast on Tuesday? Still, I could not help feeling relieved when they eventually departed, leaving a strained silence behind them.
It was almost lunch-time and Jamie would be hungry, and I could not keep him and the women waiting while Winterson and I hammered out the dents made to my family’s façade by Pierre. Or tackled the vexed question of the ball and his sudden decision to escort me there.
‘What d’ye think of the red-carpet idea?’ he said as we returned to the dining room.
‘Not much. Deep gold, perhaps, or pale green. That is, if you really intend to keep the chair covers as they are.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of changing them. Same for the curtains?’
‘No. White brocade curtains with gold bobble-fringe, to match the gilding on the architrave.’ I’d had years to think about it.
‘White? Really?’
‘Yes, really. Echoes the ceiling and frieze. Reflects the light. Widens the narrow windows. It’s always been so dull in here. That’s why I made the floral covers in pastel shades. But why not ask Lady Slatterly’s opinion? She’ll be the one dining in here most, surely?’
‘Tch! You have got a bee in your bonnet about her, haven’t you? There’s really no need, you know.’
‘The hem of my skirt is wet,’ I returned. ‘I must get Jamie and go.’
‘I shall call round to see you later on.’
‘I shall be in the workrooms all afternoon. I have clients to see.’
‘Then I’ll call round this evening.’
‘You’re staying in York tonight?’
‘If need be. And no, the lady will not be here with me.’
A quick retort flew unbidden to my lips as if my heart felt the need to deny its caring. But the issue of beds, Linas’s and mine, was too personal to discuss in the same breath as the Slatterly woman, and I dare not trust my voice to speak without revealing the unsoundness of my feelings. ‘Perhaps tomorrow might be better,’ I said, lamely, hoping he’d insist.
‘This evening. After dinner.’ His hand rested on the doorknob as he waited for me to reach him, though I could not meet his eyes. ‘What is it?’ he said, softly, deeply. ‘Did she upset you?’
I knew he referred to his sister-in-law, yet there was no truthful answer to his query. With one hand on my forehead, I hid my eyes, shaking my head rather than give him an unconvincing no.
‘Then what? Is it too soon for me to be making changes here? Does it distress you?’
‘No, it’s not that. Earlier…when Jamie and you were…together.’ The words tumbled out, revealing what I ought to have kept to myself. It was foolish of me. It was not his problem, but mine, yet he appeared to understand without more being said.
‘Well, yes. That small point did not escape your cousin, any more than it has escaped Medworth.’
My hand moved down to my mouth. Medworth too. ‘Then Jamie must not be seen with you, my lord. You must see that,’ I whispered.
‘That’s not the answer, is it? You know it isn’t.’
‘Then what is?’
Jamie’s wail reached us through the door, and the brass knob in Winterson’s hand began to vibrate urgently. Slowly, still looking at me, Winterson opened the door just enough to allow the angry little fellow to edge through, his face red with indignation. ‘Uncaburl!’ he yelled.
‘Whoa!’ Winterson said, sternly. ‘Manners, young man, if you please.’
On the very edge of a tantrum, Jamie stopped and looked up. ‘Sorry, Uncaburl,’ he wavered. ‘Mama. I’m hungry. I’m very hungry.’
Holding out my arms, I enclosed and lifted him, feeling his warmth melt into me, and through half-closed eyes I was unable to hide the all-consuming craving for fulfilment that had been with me for days.
It had been a tiring but enjoyable afternoon spent in talk of little else but fabrics and designs, colours and styling details, the clients ranging from a dowager marchioness to the adolescent daughter of York’s wealthy gentry attending her first ball. I was back home in time to tuck Jamie into bed and tell him a story, sending him to sleep before the happily-ever-after.
Finding no good reason to dress up for Winterson’s informal visit, I changed into a loose gown of soft violet cloth with a frilled collar and wrists over which I wore a grey sleeveless waistcoat, floor-length and shadowy-patterned, my hair only just held up by a large tortoiseshell comb. He had recently called me ‘my beauty’ as if I were a horse being told to lift up its other hoof, but my disconcertingly honest mirror told me only that I had lost weight and looked rather tired. I was bound to agree.
* * *
He arrived well before I had finished picking at my cold supper on a tray, shrinking my small but pretty parlour even more, and settling himself upon my blue velvet couch that could seat three of us and only one of him. ‘Would you prefer to use the drawing room?’ I said, thinking more of the distance I could keep.
‘No, it’s cosier in here. Finish your supper, ma’am.’
Winterson had brought regular news of his ailing brother’s progress to my drawing room, but there had never been a time when we’d discussed our relationship, or Jamie’s future, or my relatives, or anything as ephemeral as a local ball. ‘You could have given me some warning,’ I said to his opening of the subject. ‘It would have given me time to—’
‘To cry off. Yes, that’s what I thought. Thank you,’ he said, receiving a glass of port and placing it on the small table. ‘But I had no intention of allowing you to go without an escort. Linas would not have approved.’
‘Shall we not bring Linas into everything?’ I said. ‘Have you given any thought to how it will look on Saturday when I arrive with you, his brother? Can you not anticipate the speculation, my lord?’
The slow blink, like an owl, then that deeply chilling note of sarcasm he was so good at. ‘From one who has suggested keeping Linas out of it, that is a singular question, Miss Follet. Have you thought how it will look for us to arrive separately on Saturday and have nothing whatever to do with each other? Jamie’s mother and guardian not on speaking terms? What will be the conclusions drawn from that, do you imagine?’
My silence answered his question while I pondered on his ability to see further ahead than me, who specialised in looking backwards.
‘Have you forgotten?’ he said, more gently.
‘No. I have not forgotten.’
The Valentine Ball at the Assembly Rooms here on Blake Street was where I had met, first him, then Linas. We had danced together, he and I, saying very little, but aware of a powerful charge between us that dear Linas had no means to rival. We had been the centre of attention that evening. Yet it was Linas who pursued me, and Linas that I chose to cleave to because he needed me most and because I was not in a position to refuse his offer. I was under no illusions, after that, about Winterson’s fleeting interest in me, which was no more nor less, I suppose, than his interest in many another. But for me, the disturbance in my heart was more profound than anything that had gone before, and so painful that I could hardly have called it love when I was obliged to see him regularly, for Linas’s sake, and to suffer his coolness. Now, he asked if I’d forgotten, as if I might as easily have forgotten my name.
‘We need not dance,’ he said, ‘unless you wish it, but it’s best for all of us, as a family, if we are seen to unite on these occasions. And it’s quite out of the question for you to go alone, yet I think you should go. So I shall call for you at eight and I shall escort you home afterwards.’
‘The Assembly Rooms are only four doors away.’
‘I know. If it’s very wet, I’ll have a chair brought for you. Now, eat your supper, and then you can tell me about your French cousin who thinks he can reach Brid in three hours over flooded roads.’
‘I think I’d rather not, thank you. There’s little I can tell you. He’s a distant cousin, and I have no idea what he was doing in a coffee house except drinking coffee and reading the newspapers.’
‘Then perhaps I may be forgiven for constructing a few facts of my own. The apothecary on Petergate where Monsieur Follet obtained your mother’s medication informs me that her name is Mrs Follethorpe and that the French gentleman calls in regularly, about once every month. Which begs the question, in my mind, whether you and the French cousin are more to each other than that.’
So, he had already made enquiries. ‘The apothecary had no right to give you that information,’ I said, angrily pushing the tray away.
‘Perhaps not. But he’s as open to persuasion as the next man.’
‘Well, then, let me put you out of your misery, my inquisitive lord. I changed my name to Follet when I came to seek work in York for no other reason than to protect my father’s name. If he’d lived, he’d probably not have objected, since he always saw Pierre and me as future partners. As it turned out, he died only a few weeks after we left Bridlington. And, yes, it’s quite obvious that my family don’t live there, for reasons which I cannot discuss with you. Pierre is no more or less to me than a devoted relative who has helped our family through difficult times.’
‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you speak of your father. Could he be, by any chance, the famed Leonard Follethorpe, one-time mayor of Bridlington? No need to look so surprised. I am a Justice of the Peace, remember, which requires me to know what’s going on in the area.’ When I made no reply, he continued. ‘So, if my knowledge is correct, and I’m reasonably sure it is, may I offer you some advice? The notice appearing in your shop window advertising French laces and other forbidden things from across the Channel may not be the good idea you believe it to be. If I were you, ma’am, I would keep quiet about that kind of merchandise when there are men walking the streets of York whose job it is to winkle out receivers of Free Trade goods. If they were to suspect that you and Mrs Sanders were involved, you would be asked to provide some very explicit answers ranging back over several years. You are an unmarried mother, don’t forget, and very vulnerable.’
‘Jamie,’ I whispered.
‘Yes, our Jamie. You cannot afford to take risks, Helene. Can you?’
‘I had already reached that conclusion.’
‘Of course. I cannot believe you would do anything so dangerous unless there was a very good reason for it.’
‘There is.’
‘Yet it occurs to me, as it will also have done to you, that if you are able to do so well from the sale of these luxury goods, your family ought to be living in some style by now. Are they?’
‘No. Far from it.’
‘Then perhaps it’s time the business was looked into and stopped.’
‘I don’t know how to stop it.’
‘Simple. You say “stop”.’
‘It’s not simple. Prue depends on it. My family depend on it. And I depend on it. How d’ye think I’ve been able to manage all these years?’
‘I had already begun to wonder.’
‘Well, now you know. I’m in deep trouble and, if I were you, I’d have no more to do with me.’
‘Too late,’ he said, quietly. ‘It’s much too late for that.’
Chapter Eight
We sat for some time without speaking although the silence was loud with sound, the crackling fire, the clock, the thud of my heart.
Reaching for his glass, he held it up to the lamplight, took a sip and replaced it on the table next to the pile of notebooks I’d still had no time to read. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘What you need, Miss Follet, is some protection. It’s not usual for a lady of your standing to live without a chaperon. When Linas was close I suppose it mattered less, but I think you should give the matter some thought.’
‘I already have. I would have liked my mother to come here so that I could care for her, but she won’t consider it.’
‘That’s not quite what I had in mind.’
‘I have Mrs Goode, and Debbie.’
‘Yet you went out alone to visit your family in atrocious conditions. You cannot continue to do that kind of thing. It’s asking for trouble.’
‘Then what am I to do? Advertise?’
Leaning forward, he extended one long arm towards me so that his forefinger just touched mine as it drooped over the arm of my chair. The shock of its tender impact caught at my mind and held it still. ‘No,’ he said, ‘not yet. Not till we’ve explored the other possibilities. Next time you visit your family, I shall go with you. We’ll take Jamie too, and show them what Monsieur Follet saw. You cannot keep that from them for ever, you know. And while we’re there, we’ll tackle the other problem too. Now don’t start your objections too soon. You need some help in this, and I’m the one to do it. None of you can keep on living off illegal gains.’
I drew my hand away from the contact, too full of contradictions to accept whatever he was offering, too determined not to be won over at the touch of one finger. ‘That’s not possible,’ I said. ‘They’ll think… well…’
‘Yes, they will think. And as Jamie gets older, everybody else is going to think too. Surely your own family should be the first to know how things are between us, Helene. Not from gossip, but from us.’
‘What d’ye mean? How what is between us? You’re not suggesting telling them what happened, are you?’
‘I’m suggesting telling them what’s going to happen. They’ll be able to see for themselves what’s happened, won’t they? Your French cousin, for instance, who has hopes of owning you, one day. Isn’t it better he should know sooner rather than later that he doesn’t stand a ghost of a chance? And your mother too? Isn’t it best that she knows, before it’s too late to tell her? It’s time we began to put things in order, lass.’
If I was confused before, I was even more confused after his attempt at clarification. ‘Pie
rre? My mother? Tell them what—that Jamie isn’t Linas’s?’
‘That you are to marry Jamie’s father and guardian. And if you don’t want to tell them, then I will. Or would you prefer Jamie to discover what it means to be illegitimate? It won’t be long now, the way he’s chattering.’
‘And that’s what you call exploring the possibilities, is it?’
‘Yes, Miss Follet, it is. So before you give me all the reasons why you can’t accept that plan, consider instead the deep trouble you just mentioned. I’m offering you a respectable way out of it. I can take on the responsibility for your family without resorting to the illegal methods that are keeping you all in danger. You’re playing with fire, and that’s no way to conduct a business. Mrs Sanders will have to understand that.’
Naturally, I had my doubts whether either Pierre or Prue would understand, but Winterson knew nothing of Pierre’s part in the smuggling, nor would I tell him. The talk of marriage, however, had taken me off guard, although I could appreciate that the offer was for Jamie’s sake more than for any romantic reason. He put me right on that, too.
‘Consider this also,’ he said. ‘If I’d chosen to go down on one knee and beg you to be my wife, you’d have stuck your neat little nose in the air and said not in a million years, wouldn’t you? Eh?’
Marrying the Mistress Page 11
