The Braeswood Tapestry

by Robyn Carr

  In the many long days of waiting, Trent became increasingly more tense from lack of solid rest and the stress of staying constantly alert. In the meantime, Jocelyn, who was feeling energized with the clear spring air and the tiny sprouts of green popping out on tree limbs and through the ground, was growing immense in her pregnancy. Trent found he could barely concentrate when he watched her waddle around the house and grounds. Each time he looked her way, she was at the stairs or on a stool and he nearly crippled himself jumping to aid her. His eyes were constantly narrowing in suspicion and there was a worried frown forever on his brow.

  “I am certain you’ve misjudged your time. At any moment you will burst before my very eyes.”

  “I have heard it said that the father often suffers more greatly in the last days than the mother. I think I understand that now. In any case, I’m in no hurry. The child born under the sign of the twins is more to my liking than the bull.”

  “Madam, for God’s sake give up these country superstitions. I don’t give a damn when it’s born, as long as it’s soon. I can’t take much more of this.”

  In the second week of May, Trent heard from one of his men that there had been trouble in one of the small hamlets that fell under the Kerrs’ jurisdiction. The local bailiff had claimed a family had not paid rents in an overlong period of time, and a fierce uprising among the farming tenants had ensued. The Dearborn guard was more powerful than these humble folk, and when the man who owed the debt did not pay and was aided against capture by his neighbors, the result was the firing of his house. Two people were killed in a blaze that was hard to control once started.

  Trent approached Jocelyn warily. He found her seated in the drawing room with one of his shirts in her lap. She wasn’t working on mending, but her sewing articles were scattered about the floor at her feet and he assumed that was her task. When seeing her thus, he gave a relieved sigh that she was not galloping about with her cumbersome burden.

  “Jocelyn, there has been some small bit of trouble in Gambol Burgh. It was the doing of Stephen Kerr.”

  She looked up at him with interest, waiting for him to say more.

  “It had to do with rents, but his hand is quick and cruel and there was death as a result. I think it trouble typical of his fashion and can’t abide the wait for his father to roust him from our parts. I am going to have someone fetch your family from Bowens Ash and bring them here at once.”

  A pained look of fear came into her eyes. “You fear for their safety, Trent?” she asked hesitantly. Her hand went to her stomach as she attempted to soothe herself.

  “It would come as no surprise if Stephen Kerr, in anger at his father’s wishes, takes some form of vengeance in Bowens Ash. If he is listening to the talk, he knows you are my wife now.”

  She was somewhat distracted, as if only half paying attention to him. He cocked his head slightly to look at her. He expected her to become upset and react to his intention with some excitement.

  “It is more likely,” he said, “that Kerr will attack me personally. But we know that he favors the abuse of simple people without the means to defend themselves. I think it is in the best interest of your brothers and sister that they wait out this time under my guard. Do I have your leave to insist on your behalf?”

  “Yes,” she said softly, still looking down into her lap. “Yes, of course. Trent?” she questioned, haltingly. “Please, will you go for them yourself?”

  “I have good men who can—”

  “I would feel more assured if it were you,” she said.

  “Jocelyn, are you unwell?” he asked, concern for her unusual behavior beginning to alarm him.

  “I’m fine,” she promised. “But it will be the last time I force such a huge breakfast—as if I think I can bear more weight.”

  “You’re certain it is not—”

  “I’m certain.” She smiled. “Please, will you fetch Peter and the children yourself? I would be most grateful to know they travel under your watchful eye.”

  “All right. I shall be gone but a few hours.” He bent to give her a light kiss, and when his cheek touched hers, she winced slightly, a movement she meant to keep from him.

  He made to leave her and she stopped him at the door. “If you see Enid, will you ask her if I might have tea? I labor even to rise from this seat, I am so fat and awkward.”

  “Of course, sweet.” He smiled. “Stay seated and rest.”

  When the door closed, she dropped the shirt from her lap and clutched at the arm of the settee. A low moan escaped her and she let her head fall back in an effort to manage the pain. Several hours had passed since the first twinges of labor grew into powerful, tightening spasms across her lower pelvis and back. She sat quietly controlling each increasingly difficult contraction and finally felt a piercing stab following by a burst of fluid.

  Knowing she had already passed the early stages of labor and was well on her way to birthing, she stayed calm and remained in her place, her gown and the settee absorbing the evidence. She was about to brave standing to call for Enid when Trent had come in. At the moment, she did not consider that he would be aggravated at being sent from the manor on some errand. She was frankly relieved that by the time he returned, there would be little need for him to pace and fuss. Truly, he handled the prospect of birth with more anxiety than she.

  And she would not be distracted by his tense and fretting presence.

  Enid opened the sitting room doors, took one look at her mistress’s drawn features and the sewing articles littering the floor, and walked quickly toward her. “Tea, is it? Ah, you’ve come to your time.”

  Jocelyn grasped the woman’s wrist as she would lay a hand on the swelling abdomen to judge the strength of the tightening. “Has Trent gone?

  “Aye, he’s out of the house.”

  Jocelyn seemed to relax instantly at that news, and with the relief of not feeling she had to control each spasm, she felt another painful tightening. “Enid,” she said, her voice rough with the strain of trying to remain brave in the face of this discomfort. “Please call someone. I cannot make the stairs.”

  “Why didn’t you call me sooner?” the woman scolded. “You should know better than to dare this much time.”

  “Until moments ago I was doing quite well. Please, I think now there is cause to hurry.”

  Enid delayed no longer with arguments but fled and returned within moments to be at Jocelyn’s side. In a short time William came on the run and Glynnis was quick behind him. He made to snatch at Jocelyn, but Enid stopped him. “Hold, lad. Let this one pass before you hoist her up. There now, ready?”

  To Jocelyn’s weak nod, William scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the stairs. Before he could reach the bedchamber, she was wrenched with pain again and she cried out even though her wish was to be bravely silent. Enid grumbled furiously behind them. “That’ll be the last time I leave her to her own ends when she nears her time. When the next child comes, I’ll strap myself to her day and night and see for myself when the labor starts. Humph. Can’t trust some a’tall.”

  Jocelyn barely noticed the work that had been swiftly accomplished immediately upon Enid’s alert. The bed was prepared, linens were stacked, a pan of warm water sat ready, and the curtains were drawn. Without even waiting for William to depart, Enid and Glynnis were hurriedly getting her out of her heavy gown and into a lightweight nightdress that was pulled up over her belly, the sheet drawn up to her garment. She was completely at their mercy and let them work, for the pains were now beginning to blend swiftly one into the next.

  “Good Lord,” Enid gasped. “It’s a wonder the child wasn’t born on the drawing room floor. Jocelyn, listen to me: squeeze Glynnis’s hand for the pains and raise your knees. We’ll waste no time getting this lad born.”

  Jocelyn had expected pain and indeed had watched women labor. She had wondered at the intensity as she saw them pale and their brows bead with sweat, but it in no way prepared her for the force of the child co
ming from within that she felt now. She was soon straining off the pillows to push the child from her. Every few moments she was anguished anew, and her body was consumed by a will of its own to eject its temporary guest.

  “Don’t be polite and quiet, sweetheart,” Glynnis prodded. “Scream if you must, there’s aught but us to hear you.”

  She feared she would be too exhausted even to scream, so tortured was she with the efforts of expelling this child from her womb. But the scream did come of its own, and then there was merciful numbness through her pelvis. “Ah, the head is come,” Enid sighed with relief. “Once more, love, and we’ll let you rest.”

  Jocelyn, dizzy with fatigue, gave her midwife a final courtesy and bore down with effort. When she felt the urge subside, she fell back into the pillows with huge relief and, oddly, a complete absence of pain. She was barely conscious of what was happening. Enid’s voice sounded distant and muffled as she spoke. “Come lad, let your mother know you’ve arrived.” Jocelyn thought the seconds were hours, and finally a fierce and angry baby’s cry broke the silence. Slowly, with time taking tender steps forward, the dizzying cloud of confusion seemed to clear and Jocelyn felt herself again a part of reality.

  “A son,” she murmured.

  “Aye, and none too small at that. The mercy you are well, dear heart. I think we need be wary of the next.”

  “Oh, please,” she begged, to the joyful laughter of the women. In a short time she was cleaned, the linens refreshed, and she lay with her new son in her arms. He had taken prodding to begin his lusty bellowing, but no encouragement was necessary for him to continue it. It seemed a long while before he was comforted and slept. When Enid would take him from her arms, Jocelyn protested. “Oh, please, I just had him a moment.”

  “Aye, mum, but he needs to be swaddled and in his cradle. Your husband has come home.”

  Jocelyn felt herself smile in victorious relief. She lay back in the bed most comfortably now, secure and at peace. Sleep threatened her, but with her husband mounting the stairs and her son healthy and at rest in the cradle beside her, life held a joy and contentment such as she had never before known. All fears were gone and life was too beautiful to bear. She turned her head and looked at the tapestry created by Lady Anne. The figures were easier to define at a distance than when studied closely. The dark-haired beauty in the scene occupied a stool, her gown flowed on the green grass of the brae, and her husband stood behind her with a possessive hand on her shoulder. Her head was bent toward a young boy and her hand reached toward his. Beyond them were other, older boys, three of them, fishing and playing on the grassy knoll above the river.

  For the first time in all the months she had shared a room with the tapestry, she realized that if the woman was Lady Anne, the child must be Trent. And her hand reached toward his as if it stretched beyond time and space. Perhaps beyond death.

  “If you saved him for me, dear lady, I thank you kindly,” she whispered to the tapestry. “And lest you ever doubt, I will strive to be as good a mother as you.”

  When Trent arrived, he took great joy in what had transpired in his absence. He affirmed that the Cutler children were safely arrived and being seen to by the women in the kitchen. But the lines of worry did not quickly disappear from his face. It was after he held his son and sat awhile with his wife that he told her the cause. “Jocelyn, Julian Kerr has returned to Dearborn. I pray he gives us a few peaceful days of rest before the rioting begins.”

  “Perhaps Stephen will go quietly,” she whispered, much too tired to think about riots and battles.

  “Perhaps,” Trent replied. “In any case, I have offered Lord Kerr my support in exchange for allowing me consideration in the choice of Adrienne’s spouse. My land and the safety of my home depend on this. And if he calls for aid from me, he shall get it.”

  Jocelyn smiled in a newfound peace. He had come such a long way from the bitter and hostile man who returned home with a thirst only Julian Kerr’s blood could quench. Had he truly put that fierce anger aside in deference to a peaceful existence and will for the future? She touched his hand in quiet communication. “You will do what is right,” she said with serious resolution. “And you will be safe.”

  When Julian Kerr had first departed from his London abode, Adrienne’s initial feeling was relief. He had stayed in the city longer than he first intended. He dreaded facing his son, which was more than understandable. And he had enjoyed the parade of suitors who called on his niece.

  Adrienne was unmoved by each of them, though she had to grudgingly admit that Trent Wescott had done better for her than Julian had. At least these callers were youthful enough to be around in another ten years and handsome enough to produce decent-looking offspring. She even thought that before the year was out she might choose one of them and settle herself to the idea of a reasonable marriage.

  Still, her sleep was troubled by the recurring dreams in which she was wooed and caressed by a sandy-haired lover. She would wake in a panic, for each dream was more real than the one before, and she half-expected to find Troy slumbering beside her.

  She had not seen him since the day he came bursting in on her with recriminations for her search for a husband, but his behavior on that day brought to light many ideas that were new to her. Troy drew himself the fancy gallant untouched by love and with no need for commitment. But the man who loved her was no mincing courtier; his words and phrases were as sure as his hands, and there was no disguise for his profound pleasure. If he claimed to feel that with every woman he had, Adrienne would not believe it. And he described himself as a self-serving and less-than-honest rogue, but hadn’t he loved her generously, with a care for her well-being, and then told her the truth when he could have kept silent and still refused marriage? He handled her brokenhearted pleading with a worldly air, but perhaps he was accustomed to wailing virgins. He certainly was not accustomed to being refused; the shock showed all over his face.

  She did not have hope for his return, but would not wed another too swiftly. There was still a chance that he would find some newly born feeling that would lend him to a more honorable life; one they might even share.

  So in the first days of Julian’s absence, she relished the quiet. She did not trouble herself with suitors, for she found them droll or uninteresting. And she did not go out. The security of the house gave her a feeling of peace. She occupied herself quietly and dreamed of the day she would return to the country and Dearborn would be her home. She had not known how joyous a feeling that could bring her.

  Then the days stretched out and she began to grow restless. No word arrived from the country and she imagined Stephen’s knock at her door every time she heard a sound. She began to envision the drama of a brutal attack, and she waited nervously for a missive from her uncle telling her the estate was settled on her behalf.

  When more than a week had passed, she could stand the tension no longer and paced up and down in her room with the jitters taking over her body. Finally it occurred to her that, her promise be damned, she would read the document Julian had written. As she fled toward his study, she wondered why she hadn’t done so sooner. She need not use it before it became necessary, but there was no reason she should not see it.

  Every cabinet in his desk failed to produce the thing. There were many papers, keepsakes, ledgers, and supplies, but no special paper witnessed by Julian’s physician. She finally called to her maid. “Mary, fetch Rex and bring him here with some tools.” The maid gave her a curious look but did her bidding.

  Rex was left in charge of the household in Julian’s absence. He was a strapping young man of solid muscle and commanded two other men in both the protection of the house and the keeping of the horses and coach. There were only seven members of this household staff, but three of them were strong men, making Julian feel rather safe in leaving her there.

  Adrienne instructed Rex to help her turn over the desk. “There must be a compartment somewhere here; my uncle told me there is a paper I’m to
use to ensure my future if anything should happen to him.”

  “What do you mean to do, mum?” he asked stupidly.

  “I mean to tear the bloody desk apart,” she snapped, impatient with any further delay.

  Rex required help from the two women to shift the heavy piece of furniture, even with the legs removed and the large drawers pulled out. He used a hammer and chisel expertly, easing the wood apart at its seams. On the underside of the center desk drawer, there was indeed a compartment that contained several pages of writing in her uncle’s script. She snatched them selfishly to her bosom and tried to give the servants a cool command.

  “I’ll call you to help me repair this shortly. Leave me to read my uncle’s message.”

  The looks on their faces, perhaps inspired by the wild look in her eyes, said they thought she was quite mad. But they left her and she settled on the littered floor to read. Less than two pages later, she was flushed and muttering, “Jesus, Mother Mary …”

  Julian wove a tale of his son’s earliest mischief, when he attempted to sell one of his mother’s valuable jewels to a local merchant. Yet another act meant as a cruel joke cost a young farmer’s son his life, and Julian felt compelled to buy the family’s silence on the incident. The problems increased and came to a stunning climax during the war, when Julian hid the Wescott men and Stephen rode out to fetch Roundheads to betray their hiding. Julian had a choice between losing his life and taking his son’s side—indeed, taking credit for the treason.

  In a description of recent years, Julian sighted acts of cruel and heartless behavior that ranged from the severe punishment of subjects to crimes in which he believed Stephen could have actually murdered local residents. He finally stated that he was withdrawing the property from Stephen’s inheritance and that he feared for his life. In Julian’s own words: “I maintain that my son has no conscience, and if he could profit in any way by my death, he would not hesitate to murder even his sadly tolerant father. In the instance of my untimely death, from whatever cause, I seek protection for my niece and property. In that order.”