The Silent Love

by Diane Davis White

  Hannah looked at the doctor and realized that the words she needed to speak would not come forth; she had such a lump in her throat, and such agony in her heart that speech was impossible. Instead, she led the doctor into the small dark bedroom, and finally, with much effort, she told him in a whisper, "Her son has died... "

  Speaking the words, it came to her in full force that he was gone. Her silent love had gone down into the dark cold sea; his body would not be buried here, for he was truly gone.

  She sank into a small chair and buried her face in her hands, shaking with soundless sobs.

  The doctor, looking helplessly from one woman to the other, knew not which to tend to first, but finally deciding to send Hannah home, went to the porch and called for her coachman to take her away. "I'll be by to see to the family, just as soon as I've taken care of the lad's mother."

  Hannah allowed herself to be led to the coach and climbed in, Gates assisting her. Her unexpected spurt of strength had been drained of a sudden, and she lay back upon the cushion, her eyes closed. That part of her heart that belonged to David dying within her breast.

  The elderly doctor then returned to the room and began to prepare one of Mary's own herbal teas, adding a drop of laudanum for good measure and held her head still, coaxing her to drink, mumbling his condolences, knowing they fell on deaf ears, for Mary stared and saw nothing.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  "Milady, should I bring the child to you? He is that fretful... he senses the sadness, me thinks. Mayhap it would cheer you to have him near."

  "Yes, please Elspeth. I should like that." Hannah sat in the small bower where she had been content just this morning. This morning... before her world had truly and finally collapsed.

  For Hannah knew that despite all her efforts of denial, she had longed, somewhere deep inside of herself, for the man who was now lost to her forever.

  Had hoped, dreamed—even in her rejection of him—that somehow, someday, they might be together once more. She heard his small feet running along the path and braced herself to receive her child.

  "Mamma hurt self?" The little boy curled his fingers round her hand; fingers sticky with the sweet the maid had given him. "Mamma cwying?" He looked up at her with his father's eyes, though the color was amber, like her own.

  Her hand turned over and grasped his, and she managed a weak smile for this small boy who was all her world now. For soon, she would be alone, but for him. The Marquis lay dying in his chamber and there was naught she could do to comfort or aid him.

  A slow knelling of the church bells rang across the valley, calling the village to prayer for the young master who had gone down to his watery grave. They rang forever, it seemed to Hannah as she lifted the boy to her lap and began to tell him a story. "Once there was a man who was very gentle and kind... "

  "What's kind?"

  "Nice, you know... like you are." She hugged him closer.

  "My fwend?" The child looked in wonder at her tears, touching them.

  "Yes, my son, that he was... " She brushed his black curls back, revealing the widows peak, inherited from his father.

  "Like Papa?"

  "Very much so. He was Papa's son too. He was... your brother." Hannah choked on the lie. She could think of no other way to explain David to the child, however.

  Clay squirmed on her lap, for already a small ground hog diverted his attention, and he wanted to be let down. "Let go mamma! I catch that animwal... "

  Hannah released him, and he ran off into the brush, calling to the poor little ground hog, his fat baby hands outstretched as he sought to grab it. He looked rather comical with his rolling gait and his small face puckered in concentration, and Hannah laughed, despite her sorrow, and knew that this child would be her salvation. Would keep her spirit strong... give her life a meaning and she, like Mary Strongbow, would survive.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  The following Saturday, as her husband lay ill, Hannah took his place behind the big mahogany desk in the study. As it was the first Saturday of the month, and her husband's normal time for doing estate business, she wanted to make herself available to the servants, as well as all and sundry who came to the Marquis for advice and succor.

  She found the household business easy to manage; Darwin held the reigns tightly in that area, leaving her little to do but agree with the sound choices he made. Thinking herself competent, she relaxed as the day wore on and she had naught to deal with other than acting as magistrate between two quarreling hog farmers who accused each other of theft.

  It had been touch and go for a while, but she had finally managed to get the pair of them to agree to mark their livestock so they would not be in doubt as to who owned what. As for the 'stolen' pig, she confiscated it, posting half payment of the animals current worth for each man against his yearly lease.

  Pleased that she had handled the case so successfully, Hannah took her luncheon on the terrace, the returned to the desk in the study with absolute confidence.

  Her smug feeling of accomplishment tumbled like a house of cards before the day was done, however. Mister Hobbs—the estate manager— approached her to sign some receipts for payment. Thinking nothing of it, she dipped the quill in the ink well to sign the documents, yet on closer inspection, she lay the quill down and fixed the manager with a grim stare.

  "Mr. Hobbs, there is something amiss here. I do not recall needing so much seed for the gardens... they are overflowing now."

  Though she knew little of the running of such a vast manor, she had often taken over those duties for her parents—who were lost when it came to business—and her instincts told her all was not right. "And we already have ample grain in storage for the winter. Why are these bills so high?"

  "Tis just as 'as al'ays been. S'truth, Milady. Naught 'as changed." The man spoke in a surly tone, his contempt for the female before him obvious. When Hannah continued to stare him down, he shifted his feet nervously, repeating stubbornly, "Al'ays been so, ain't changed none."

  Hannah looked at him for a long moment before making her decision, then spoke quietly, but firmly, "As you say, Mr. Hobbs."

  Signing the documents with a flourish, she added, "In future, bring all purchases to my attention before making them."

  The man opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the steel in her gaze and the stubborn tilt to her chin, he doffed his cap and stepped back, adding at the last, "Ain't done it that way afore, but as you say, Milady."

  In the days that followed, Hannah began to take over the running of the estate, learning by her mistakes, and coming to understand the great burden of having so many people dependent upon her. She thrived under the challenge, however, gaining maturity, and, even a glimmering of peace in her soul.

  David would not return, but she would see to it that their child inherited the estate intact.

  Often, as she poured over the great ledgers, ignoring the estate manager's disgruntled mumbling, she would think of David, watching over her with approval. The thought warmed her as nothing else could. It was difficult to let go of him, and she realized that she never wanted to.

  Taking control proved not so easy as she had at first thought. Not only did the estate manager refuse to cooperate with her half the time, there were other men on the estate, and in the village, who did not trust her to handle their affairs as the Marquis had done.

  Finally, after one particularly grueling day of presiding over quarrels, dispatching goods to the poorer tenants, and rifling through Clayton's files for lease contracts that seemed to have disappeared, she threw up her hands in near-defeat.

  Taking Clay in the pony trap, she went to the village to get advice from Mary, who had never let her down, and encouraged her new undertaking. It would do her and the child both a world of good to get away for a day, as neither had been off the estate in near a fortnight.

  They drew up in front of the small house and Clay could hardly be restrained
from jumping down before Hannah had time to stop the vehicle. It was heartwarming to see the child run to the smithy shop, calling for his Grandpa, and seeing the old man come outside, swinging the child into his arms with apparent joy.

  The warmth and welcome in the Strongbow home always gave Hannah new strength and she was not disappointed when Mary swung the door wide, beckoning her with a broad smile. The two of them had become 'thick as thieves'—to put it in Gillian's words—and a healing time had begun for them both.

  The younger woman waited until her hostess had bustled around, preparing tea and cakes, before she revealed the reason for her visit. As she had been certain, Mary had a quick solution.

  "Hannah, I know little about the undertakings of a great estate and think you would be well served if you consult with the solicitor. He seems a fair sort, from what I've heard." Mary poured tea as she spoke, then drew her grandson onto her lap for a cuddle.

  "I don't know why I didn't think of that. Of course!" Hannah was suddenly animated and full of charged energy. "I'm sure he could advise me on the changes I want to make. I have some ideas... " Hannah blushed modestly, realizing she was bragging, "... that is, I think some of them might work."

  "Tell me then." Mary smiled encouragingly and gave the young woman her full attention. Before the afternoon was done, the two women had discussed everything from trimming the hedges around the estate to handling the tenants.

  The next morning, Gates was dispatched to London with a missive, requesting Mr. Maguire to attend her at the manor as soon as it was convenient for him to do so. Of course, Hannah knew that he would drop everything and come in all haste, but she did not want the solicitor to feel pressured. He would have enough to deal with when he arrived.

  Mary's suggestion met with wonderful results. As soon as Hannah explained her actions, and her problems to the kindly solicitor, he took immediate action.

  "I think we shall deal first with Mr. Hobbs. Never liked the fellow much. Don't trust a man who can't look you in the eye."

  Alistair Maguire was nobody's fool and he liked a fine scrap now and then. "Have him sent for this afternoon. No sense waiting." He consulted his pocket watch and looked at her for approval.

  "By all means, Mr. Maguire. You can't know how much your support means to me." Hannah fairly beamed her gratitude at the old gentleman.

  Embarrassed, though secretly pleased by her attention, he harrumphed twice, and then spoke in mock sternness. "You can't expect the local's to accept a woman at the reigns without a fight. You have a big job ahead of you, young woman."

  In the days that followed, Alistair Maguire's presence and assistance with estate matters subdued the disgruntled locals, and soothed the old estate manager—who, as it turned out, could not read a lick, and had been cheated by the nearby merchants.

  The only thing that had saved the man from disaster up to now had been his youngest son's ability to help him figure out the accounts. That son, however, had left to join the infantry.

  Hannah's solution to this problem was to offer Mr. Hobbs reading and ciphering lessons—in private, of course—thereby allowing the man to keep his position and his dignity. She had not only solved their problem, she had gained a true and loyal retainer for life. Mr. Hobbs became her champion and let no man speak ill of her in his presence, lest a drubbing be his fate.

  The Marquis rallied slowly, but surely, for the boy was brought to him each day. The child was so like David—and so much a part of the old man's dream—that his stubborn heart would not allow him to die before he had given the child his heritage. And taught him all he must know to be a peer of the realm and master of all he surveyed.

  Coming to his young wife's aid, he began to teach her in earnest those things she would need to know to keep the estate running smoothly when he was gone. He knew he could trust Maguire to help her, yet he wanted to be sure she handled things the way he had always done.

  Besides which, Maguire could not stay here forever. He also knew that Hannah was benefiting from this new responsibility and doing a fair job, to boot.

  The task of training her well would help heal his sorrow, too.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ~~

  Two full years had passed since David's death, and though the Marquis had gotten over the worst part of his grief, he was still subject to grave illness. At five and seventy years he was ready for his final rest. He had held on stubbornly as long as he could, but it was a losing battle.

  He lay gasping for breath, his sallow skin stretched across his bones, his claw like hands clutching at the coverlet. The doctor stood on one side of his bed and Mary Strongbow the other. The pair of them glared at one another over the dying man's head.

  "You will not bleed him, you witless old fool," Mary hissed in a whisper and jerked her head toward the door, leading the way into the corridor where they continued their battle of wills.

  "You have done enough here, imbecile." She shook her fist at him and planted her feet wide, fixing him with a belligerent stare. "You will allow me to tend him, and, if he dies, it will not be this day, for I can bring him round."

  "Mary Strongbow, you have no cause to name me such. I am only as good as the knowledge I have of medicine and 'twas not so long ago you were glad enough of that knowledge." He alluded to her illness and how he had nursed her through her grief.

  "Yes, and I am sorry that you have learned nothing from me. A bit of laudanum and kind words were needed for my illness, but the Marquis needs more. I have herbs to ease his breathing and broth to give him strength. What have you?"

  "Nothing, I suppose." He looked at her, defeated before her haughty stare, and turned to leave, saying, "Do your worst then, Mary." His voice was weary as he added, "I will just go to my home, and, if you have need of me... "

  Softening her stance, as Mary was wont to do once she had gotten her way, she spoke more gently to the doctor, "I shall call you back, good doctor, if you are needed."

  Turning back into the room she closed the door on the doctor, then opened it once again, holding out his satchel, which he took without a word and quit the manor, his step slow.

  Mary enlisted the aid of Dobson and Darwin to make a tent over the bed, build the fire high and boil water. She placed a boiling cauldron close to the bed and began to drop in the herbs, and as the steam arose from the mixture, the Marquis began to breathe more easily.

  She called for a cot to be placed in the room and slept there for three nights running, never leaving the room except when nature called her, her loyalty to the father of her child and her pity for the old man who lay in the bed, giving her purpose. For she knew that David would have wanted her to behave thus, and in truth, she still had some love for the man who had torn her life asunder and yet had given her David.

  The household, indeed, the entire village settled in to wait. For though he still lived and he had apparently rallied once more, his death was certain in most minds. But not in Mary's, as she battled to save him, whipping him with her scathing remarks one moment to draw life into him by rousing his anger, soothing his brow with a damp cloth the next.

  On the third morning, as she sat dozing by the bed, he grunted and turned toward her, his eyes mere slits in his face. "Been enjoying yourself Mary? I vow you have me trussed like a babe... can't move." The covers she had pulled tightly over his thrashing body the night before bound him and he strained against them.

  "Hush you. I would that you save your puny strength for getting well. Falling out of that bed would do you no good, would it now?" She reached to loosen the sheet and fixed him with a glowering look as he grabbed at her hands, his grip surprisingly strong.

  "I would not fall... you foolish old woman. I am not so addle-brained as you think me."

  "Nay, you brain has not the wit to become addled. You must have wit before you... "

  "Stop then, with your harping and get me up from here. I would not wet myself... "

  Relenting and grinning wide at his petulant tone, she pulle
d him, with strong arms, into a sitting position, and bent to fetch the pan beneath the bed. "I vow you are foolish if you think you can walk. I must help you in this... "

  "You will not! Quit the room, Mary Strongbow, for this is a private matter."

  "Ha! As though I have not seen before that which you seek to hide from me. 'Tis withered and useless, but still, I have seen it oft enough. Move your hands, now... and be done with your prattling."

  They went on in this vein for some time, and it was a startled Dobson, outside the door, who heard the Marquis laughter followed by a scolding voice from Mary.

  He dared to peek into the room and saw the woman standing over her charge, holding the pan while he relieved himself, the Marquis grinning as she jumped back to remove herself from the path of the stream.

  Dobson closed the door quietly, and allowed a small grin to touch his mouth, then hurried to tell Darwin, who hurried to tell Elspeth, who in her turn, ran to find the mistress. The Marquis had rallied once more, and would live.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  "Hannah, bring the child to me. I would see how my heir does this day." The Marquis always referred to the child as his heir. Had never once called the boy his son. He could not bring himself to so abuse the truth, and with each passing day of his recovery, he grew in his resolve to tell Hannah the truth about her and David, but could not find the words.

  He watched the girl as she went quickly across the lawn, calling to her son. The light breeze wafted over his face and he lifted his eyes to the heavens, thinking of David and hoping that God in his mercy had given the lad leave to enter the eternal garden of peace.

  Mary Strongbow sat just to his left on the bench and looked at him, her eyes taking in the renewed strength she saw there, and reading his gaze as well. "He is with our Lord, and you know that well, Clayton."

  "Yes, but oft I wonder if our earthly sins hold us bound to this place long after we have left the body... "

  "Foolishness, to be sure. Quit this prattle now, here comes the boy."