The Silent Love

by Diane Davis White

  Closing the distance between them, young Jess came to a halt next to the carriage. The mare, sides heaving with her effort, stood docile as her rider slid off her back.

  "Sir... 'tis your father. He has sent for you to come straight away to the manor. The young mistress has begun again to labor... " the young man flushed red at the nature of his subject, "... and his wish is for your presence to comfort... "

  Not waiting for the groom to finish, David completed the downward slap of the reins and was off at a gallop, the small carriage swaying precariously, bouncing behind the speed of the cattle, the packages sliding about in the small boot, forgotten by the harried man as he drove madly down the lane.

  The dust of the road swept over him and his hair flew about in the wind he created, but David was oblivious, concentrating on controlling his cattle, maneuvering them around the larger ruts in his path, his heart heavy with dread. Thinking what would happen, were he too late, he whipped the horses harder.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  "David... David!" Her voice a horse whisper, Hannah could barely make enough sound to be heard, but Mary, seated next to the bed, watching the girl struggle, leaned forward to hear her better. "Please... where are you? God will punish us... the babe does not come... 'twas a most grievous sin... "

  Twisting against the pain, she drew her legs up and turned to her side, for it lessened when she lay thus. "On your back mistress, lay on your back. The child cannot move into the birth canal from that position."

  Mary, grown weary these past hours from watching Hannah suffer, gently prodded her charge, moving her once more onto her back. "There child, all will be well, the time grows near... " she crooned in her soft voice, "... even now I feel him coming close to birth."

  Her hands moved gently over the girl's belly, eyes peering at the birth area, looking for signs of her grandchild's entry into the world. The birth canal was dilated wide, and the blood flow had changed, for the placenta was beginning to break up. But the babe was positioned wrong; sideways against the opening.

  Going to the door, she called the sleeping doctor, her voice gentle for once. Having gotten her way with him in the matter of the leaches, she was willing to be generous. She needed the doctor's help and knew it well.

  The doctor gathered his black bag and followed Mary back into the chamber where Hannah lay suffering. He went straight to the bed, all business as he focused on the patient.

  "Mary, hold her hands, and keep her still." Doctor Huckaby, looking worried—their argument forgotten in the urgency of his patient's need—fixed Mary with a serious gaze. "Mayhap we should get Elspeth here. You will need her help. When I turn the babe the pain will surely make her thrash about."

  "I will help. There is no need to call another." David came into the room, his face sweat-streaked and dirty from his wild ride across the countryside, his cravat hanging loose around his muscular neck. His voice was firm as he raised a hand to stay her, seeing his mother's irritated look. "Nay, do not tell me to get gone, mother. I will not leave."

  The doctor, seeing Mary capitulate, did not dare to argue, for mother and son were much alike. Though he did wonder at the young master's appearance here. Most unusual, indeed.

  David went quickly to the basin of water in the corner, splashing his face and scrubbing at his hands. Tossing the loose cravat from his neck, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and came to stand beside the bed. "What shall you have me do?"

  "Stand to the other side of the bed, David." His mother, resigned as she heard the implacable note in her son's voice, grasped his hand, squeezing it in affection. "You will hold her arms thus," she demonstrated by pulling Hannah's limp arms to her sides and pressing them down, "and you will not get in the way. Use your strength to hold her still, and do not concern yourself about bruising her arms, for that is a lesser injury than she will have if the babe is not turned properly."

  David placed his large hands over Hannah's forearms, gripping gently. The girl's eyes flew open, and she stared at him, her expression going from gladness to horror and back again as her troubled spirit warred within her. Her silent lover looked upon her and lifted one hand, gently brushing her hair back from her temple.

  Hannah turned her face into his touch for a moment but the pain came again, harder than ever before and she bit her lips to stifle a scream, twisting in agony once more.

  "Hold her arms, not her face. Demit man, pay attention!" The good doctor, reaching into the birth canal, pulled his hands away abruptly as she moved. "Get a grip on her thighs, just here," he commanded, motioning with one bloodied hand. "Mary, you hold her arms."

  Both mother and son moved to do his bidding, and David gripped Hannah about her slender thighs, pressing her into the mattress, holding her body still with a firm grasp as the doctor probed her womb. The doctor's face dripped with sweat and his eyes narrowed in concentration, his breathing coming hard with his exertions and he wheezed as he murmured to the unborn child. "Well, little fellow, easy goes you now... just turn a bit more... "

  Hannah struggled to free herself from the torment of the doctor, and the hands gripping her body, screaming as the agony became unbearable. "'Tis God's punishment David! David! 'Tis God's punishment!"

  Her body went limp as the babe turned and his head crowned, for she was insensible and exhausted.

  "Quickly now, David. Help me thus." His mother began to massage the girl's belly, pushing on the babe to bring him through as the doctor, on his end, tugged at the tiny slippery body. "She has fainted and cannot push, we must do this for her."

  David, replicating his mother's movements, placed his hands just above Mary's upon Hannah's flesh, and began to urge his child into the world, feeling the life beneath his fingers as the kicking, struggling babe surged toward the exit, and something in David's heart swelled and burst with joy. His son...

  The Sixteenth Marquis of Darlington slid into the doctor's hands at quarter past six 'clock of the morning. Many hours had passed since his journey to life had begun. His mother, coming from her faint at the sound of his loud squalling, whispered, "The babe is mine and none shall take him from me. God will punish me... adultery... David... " then she closed her eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  David stiffened at her words, his eyes flying to those of his mother who looked back at him, her expression unreadable. He stood away from the bed and looked down at the tortured woman upon the bloodstained mattress, his heart splintering as that word echoed in his mind.

  He then turned to the doctor who seemed not to have heard her whisper, for he held the babe, who screamed lustily, and his hearing was not as good as it could have been.

  Relieved that the doctor knew not what Hannah had said, he was also devastated by her accusation. He must leave this place, for if that is what Hannah believed, then all was lost, and he knew she would not—could not—ever come to love him.

  Chapter Ten

  ~~

  Hannah lay near death for three more days, her babe suckled by a lusty maid from the village who had given birth to twins several days before and had mother's milk to spare in her ponderous breasts. The heir was brought to his mother each day and placed in the crook of her unresponsive arm, as Mary prayed that the child close to her would bring Hannah from her self-imposed coma.

  She tucked her grandson against his mother's side, pulling the coverlet over them both, tucking it firmly into the side of the mattress to prevent the child falling away. Then she sat again in the chair beside the bed, her hands busy with her sewing as she set careful stitches in a new blanket for the child.

  The tiny forms she created with silk thread matched the elves on the wall of the nursery and would complement them nicely. She didn't look up as her son came into the room, but recognizing his footfall, spoke quietly.

  "How fares your father this day David?" The old Marquis had taken to his bed with a fever just after the child had birthed. He had been unwell for some time but would allow no one to
press him to rest; for he awaited the birth with every ounce of life left to his tired and crippled body. Her voice harsh, she added, "Does he yet live?"

  "He has rallied some. Cook prepared a nourishing broth, using your recipe, and he seems to hold it down. He is pleased, of course, with the child, and that has helped his recovery, I am certain."

  David waited a moment, and she looked up, seeing the uncertainty in his dark eyes. She smiled encouragement and waited for him to have his say. Finally, he said, "Mother... I would speak with you about my father."

  "Have your say, then," she said, leery of her son's tone.

  Instead of answering right away, David wandered to the bed and looked down upon the sleeping mother and child, a smile of tender love transforming the hardness of his features. He reached out to touch her, as he was wont to do on any pretext. His mother stayed his hand with a touch.

  He then moved his fingertips to the child, instead, and brushed the downy soft fuzz atop the babe's pate, the rich black color so like his own. "Did you know that father regrets his treatment of you?"

  "Enough!" Mary Strongbow wanted naught to do with the Marquis, and she hissed at David in a most vehement manner. Her voice awoke the child and the tiny face scrunched into a grimace, his lips pursing, mouth open and seeking the tit.

  David, unable to resist, gently pushed back the coverlet and lifted his son, cradling the fretting babe awkwardly as he looked at his mother in surprise while she continued to speak. "That vile master of intrigue and deceit will soon be carrion for the worms, and I await eagerly his passing from this earth."

  "You cannot mean it. Surely you can find some forgiveness for him if as you say, you have done with blame upon yourself... " David allowed his voice to trail away as the babe began to squall in very loud manner. "I... I shall just take him along the hall to Mistress Gunner."

  He quit the room, holding his squirming bundle gingerly, feeling the wet nappy sagging against his hand with much distaste, for the odor that emitted there from was more that piss and he, like most men, was not up to the challenge of such things.

  Placing the child in his cradle, he left him in the charge of his wet nurse, returned to Hannah's room and went to wash his hands in the corner basin, grimacing. "Demned little termagant messed upon me."

  "You speak so of my son?" The voice, though weak and whispery was a deal angry, and came from the bed where Hannah, eyes alight with a spark of indignation, glared at him. "Get out of my room... you, you... "

  David turned in surprise, for he had been so intent upon washing his hands he had not noticed Hannah awake in her bed. "I... meant nothing by it. The child is dear to me, I assure you Milady."

  "David, leave us now... go and fetch the doctor, and tell your father as well, that Hannah has awakened."

  She gently pushed him from the room, but, as he moved to the door, he turned his head and gave Hannah a most pleading look, swallowing hard the lump of pain in his throat. Her eyes upon him were cold and distant, and her face, sallow and drawn from her illness, was set unremittingly against him.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  Hannah rested against her pillows, watching the man plead with his eyes for her regard, just as he had pled with her in the darkened room with his movements and touches. She wavered for a moment, the old feeling of tenderness surfacing, but she pressed it back, for she knew that he had done a terrible thing and she had been drawn into the sin.

  Adultery, she reminded herself, and kept her eyes steady and cold upon him, refusing his silent request. 'Twas the worst kind of sin, no matter her motives. That he had drawn her into such deceit, and further maligned her with his lies, and those of his father, she could not forgive. She was damned, her soul lost. How could she not hate this man?

  She knew he had not maligned his child with his words; she had heard the gentle teasing of his voice. Yet she used that as an excuse to be rid of him, for she could not bear to be near him.

  Though she could not bear to be apart from him as well, for she ached with longing to feel his hand upon her brow. Feel the touch of his fingers trailing along her throat, followed by his warm lips.

  Mary Strongbow came back to the bed, and Hannah watched the woman busy herself once more with her sewing, eyes not meeting her own. Hannah took this for rejection.

  "You are angry with me Mistress Strongbow?"

  "Nay, child... only sad for... for you both."

  "I cannot help this. I am wed to the Marquis... 'tis his grandchild I have borne. They lied to me most terribly... I have committed more than adultery. He is my stepson... "

  "Rubbish!" Mary's voice was derisive and she decided in that instant that the girl must be lied to, if only a little bit, in order to bring her from her self abuse. "Grievous sin you said last night. How can you think so? David is no blood of yours... he is not even a cousin. He is technically not your stepson as well, for his father was not wed to his mother. Under the law—"

  "The law? Whose law? That of man or that of God?" Hannah's voice grew weaker, for she was still not well and this conversation was taxing her small reserve of strength mightily.

  "Man's law first, you foolish girl." Mary said. "Under man's law, you are not related to David in any way. Under God's law, in this case, there is no Grievous sin. If there were—which there is not—you would be forgiven your involvement, being ignorant of the facts."

  "And what of adultery?" The girl argued, her voice even fainter as dizziness assailed her while she struggled to sit up then fell back once more, weakened from her loss of blood. "What of that?"

  "On that issue I have no answer, for 'tis true you have willingly committed this sin, but again, you were compelled by circumstances, and your motive was not lust. Am I correct?"

  Blushing, the younger woman nodded, and her hands went to her now nearly flat stomach. Uncertain that her motive was so pure—for she thought she might have lusted for him, after all—her change of subject was abrupt and final. "Where then is my son? And when can I see him?"

  "You will see him when he awakens. I have watched over you these three days since his birth, fearing you would not come back from that far place where you had gone. I am glad to see that you have enough spirit to argue with me and more glad that you want your babe."

  "How has he been fed these days I have lain here senseless? Who has cared for him? Is he well? He was early, I know... will he survive?"

  Her questions, one after another, assaulted Mary, and she put up a hand, laughing gently.

  "Milady, one question at a time. He is fed and asleep in the next room. He is thriving and healthy, and quite large for a premature babe. Mistress Gunner, a cousin of mine who comes well recommended, is his wet nurse."

  "I would have his cradle here. Keep him with me... " Hannah's voice drifted off as sleep overcame her.

  Mary went to pull the coverlet over her, tucking it under her chin. "Poor urchin... she is nearly alone as I was, though 'tis true I bore no burden upon my conscience as she does."

  Mary went back to her sewing, singing softly all the while, those old lullabies she had learned at her own mother's knee. The music appeared to soothe the sleeping girl, and, soothe the singer as well. Her hands smoothly plying the needle, the shapes began to take form round the edges of the fine woolen blanket.

  Mary's spirit lifted as she thought of her small grandson, hoping she would have some contact with the child once she was done here. Perhaps Hannah would bring him to the village on occasion, that he might know his grandmother, and his great-grandfather, Gillian Strongbow, as well.

  Turning her thoughts to David, she reflected that she must find time to speak with him alone... away from the sickroom, and she resolved to get Elspeth to sit with her mistress for a while so she might seek him out.

  First though, she would stay awhile to be sure the girl rested well. Her nightmares had nearly ceased, and she seldom muttered in her sleep now; but it would be as well to be certain.

  .

&nb
sp; * * * * *

  .

  David paced his father's study, a glass of port half-drank and forgotten on the table nearby. He was a man at war with himself, for he was bound to leave this place, and yet he could not leave his ailing father. He had pledged his word, just this morning, to stay and fulfill his bargain. Running his hands through the thick mane of his hair, he worried the situation till his head fairly spun, for no solution that could satisfy both his needs—and those of his parent—was readily available.

  Remembering how Hannah had looked at him, his spirit fell low, and his hand reached for the glass as he passed by, draining the ruby liquid in a few gulps. Thinking to get blotted and forget the whole thing he went to the drinks tray and lifted the bottle, measuring a brimming glass. A glass that he then set on the desk and promptly forgot about as footfalls sounded in the hall. Turning, David saw his mother enter the room and close the door softly behind her.

  "I thought I might find you here. Pour me a glass as well, my son, for I am weary to death and like to fall upon my face soon." Mary's drawn features reflected her words well, and she sat behind the desk in the chair of the Marquis as though she belonged there. Folding her hands upon the blotter, she gazed at David as he came to her with the wine, accepting it with a shaky hand.

  Noticing the tremor, David queried her, "When do you last sleep, mother?"

  "I have rested here and there, for Elspeth has been very helpful, though the girl has a bad habit of gossip I am afraid. Quick, too, that one. She has put you and Milady in the same bed, in her mind only, of course... but the gossip has begun, well and truly."

  "What? I shall box her ears!" Though Elspeth was his second cousin, once removed, he never thought of the servant as 'family', for David was a Larkspur through and through, despite his strong resemblance to the Strongbow family. "Impertinent, scheming... " He waved a hand, seeking an expletive to match his ire, then let his hand drop and finished on a grim note, "I will have her fired. Indeed I will."

  "Too late for that, and she is no better nor worse than any other. She has not named the babe as yours, and I believe that everyone truly believes he is the offspring of the Marquis."