Echoes of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  Elunid stage-whispered, “She thinks she’s too good for him, because of what he does. Yet she would be a midwife, dealing in women’s muck.”

  “Well enough, Elunid.” In truth, she’d never thought of it that way. No man she knew would get anywhere near the mess and smell of birthing a baby. When she’d helped Maggie deliver her sister Polly’s twins, she’d been so busy helping she hadn’t noticed the mess, until after. Elunid did have a point. Not that it was any of her business.

  “The Wandering Wastrels are back in town.”

  “Ach, silly Charlotte. She’s so demanding, you’d think she was royalty.” Lena smiled, showing the dimple in one plump cheek. “But Reginald, he makes me laugh. And his voice…”

  How good to see Lena smile. If he could bring her friend joy, he must not be as bad as Henry seemed to think. Mayhap he was just jealous. Jealous? But why would he be jealous over her, a gawk of a girl? Mother reminded her how masculine and clumsy she was often enough. But she didn’t feel so when he’d held her in his arms. Never mind.

  “How long will they be in town? They do liven up the place.” Lena put the babe on her shoulder to burp him.

  “Seems they may be here for a while.”

  “Wandering Wastrels,” Elunid murmured. “W. Double U. I don’t much care for the letter ‘W.’ Wandering Wastrels. The letter ‘W’ consternates me. It lacks logic, and if you say it over and over…” Her brows creased in indignation.

  “Please don’t. I haven’t thought about the letter ‘W’ since I learned it. Other things on my mind.”

  “Don’t I know it. But double U.”

  Lena shook her head. “Liebchen.”

  “Good Lord, Sister. Let’s change the subject to getting food into you. You’re skin and bones.”

  “I have no appetite.”

  “Force yourself. I’ll get you some more cinnamon buns if you eat the rest of the soup.”

  “You lie.”

  “No, sweeting. I promise I’ll fetch some for you. Three.”

  Her eyes lit up and Bethan swallowed the bittersweet lump in her throat, for the memories of what life used to be.

  Elunid took a spoonful and scowled.

  “You don’t like my soup?” Lena eyed her.

  “No indeed.”

  “Elunid!” Bethan poked her.

  “It’s gone cold, is all.”

  “Well, whose fault is that?” Lena huffed.

  Elunid shrugged. “Mine.” She picked up her spoon, finished her soup, and said not another word.

  ****

  Later that evening, Bethan leaned against the counter and regarded the crowded room. Good thing Henry and George were there, for the inn was jam-packed with hungry customers. Lord Toff and his merry band of macaronis had deigned to join the revelry. He had the look of Davyd about him, the white blond hair, the way he surveyed the room like his personal kingdom. Set her teeth on edge. She plunked a tray of ale on the table.

  Lord Toff eyed the mug with suspicion. “Is this drinkable?”

  “You’ll not find better ale anywhere.”

  “We’ll see.” He eyed her with speculation, the arrogant bastard.

  “Will you be eating, sir?”

  “Depends on what’s edible.” He licked his lips, eliciting laughs all round.

  “All the food is good.”

  “Bring me your best victuals,” his companion said.

  She turned without comment, and relaxed her clenched fists.

  She soon returned from the kitchen in time to see Reginald and Charlotte sing a duet for small coins, a raucous one she’d not heard before.

  “Love those Roman fingers,

  Love your wicked grin

  Love the things you do to me

  Be it out or in.”

  The two bowed amidst catcalls and whooping, and Reggie motioned to Lena. “My lovely, a flagon of mead, if you please.”

  Lena giggled like a girl. “My pleasure, Reginald.”

  Interesting.

  The inn’s door opened, letting in a well-needed rush of cool air. Maggie Pierce waddled into the inn with Ian behind her in his travelling chair. A crowd gathered around them.

  “What in hell?” Widow Jenkins hobbled over, one hand behind her bent back.

  “This travelling chair is serving me well, though I’ve shaken my melon from the trip over the cobblestones.”

  “Mayhap ’twill do you good,” Widow Jenkins yelled.

  Ian grinned. “Mayhap.” He took Maggie’s hand, and Bethan caught the warm and private look they gave each other.

  She swallowed the envy rising in her throat like bile. No time to dwell on what she’d never have, for with the arrival of the apothecary, the din had gotten even louder, and it seemed he’d brought the thirst out in everyone. Being limited to the wheelchair in no way lessened his vitality. He’d grown massive in the shoulders and chest, and his green eyes glittered with mischief as he searched the crowd.

  He kissed Maggie’s hand. “Come, my ripe beauty. I’ll buy you a mug of summer ale.”

  “No need to play the swain with me, husband.”

  “I will always be your humble servant, for you saved me from the brink of death.” He placed his hands upon her ample stomach. “And you are giving me a child.”

  “Can you not save your sentiment for when we’re alone?”

  He boomed, “Why should I not shout my love to the world? You are my joy, my savior.”

  At this point, the room had gone quiet, waiting, as Bethan was, to see what the man would do next. It was almost as much fun watching Maggie’s discomfiture as watching Ian.

  Widow Jenkins gasped. “Savior! How sacrilegious! You’ll go to hell, young man.”

  “No doubt. And I’ll gladly go to hell as long as she’s there, warming my bed.”

  “There’s no cavorting in hell, fool! And none in heaven either.”

  “More’s the pity. Are you entirely sure, Mistress Jenkins?”

  Maggie looked at the ceiling, snatching her hands away.” Give me patience, Lord.”

  Bethan eyed the midwife’s stomach carefully. It seemed to have dropped lower, so when Maggie walked over to a corner table, Ian behind her, she could barely walk.

  “I’m sorry, sweeting.” Ian managed to pull the chair out for her. “I was so busy bedeviling you, I left you on your feet too long. You look like you’re going to topple over.”

  She gave him the gimlet eye as she plopped down. “Thank you.”

  Bethan happened to catch Reggie’s eye. What ailed the man? For he wore a wistful look upon his face as he gazed at Maggie and Ian.

  Charlotte stood with her arms folded, no doubt miffed at the crowd’s fickle attention span. She stalked past Lord Toff’s table.

  “Madame, your voice is heaven sent,” he announced.

  She stopped and preened. “I thank you.”

  “Have we not seen you in London?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Have you been to the palace?”

  “Yes, a time or two.”

  “What are you doing in this godforsaken little place?”

  “I’ll ask you the same thing.”

  Bethan turned away. Shallow. Selfish.

  Ed the butcher ran his hands over the arms of Ian’s chair. “Who made this contraption?”

  “My good friend Henry. Skilled, is he not?” Ian said.

  “Like a work of art, it is.”

  “Yes, and very useful for things like this.” Ian leaned over and kissed Maggie’s cheek.

  She smiled and patted his cheek. “Feed me.”

  Bethan hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a bowl of oyster stew and a large slice of brown bread.

  Maggie thanked her and dug in.

  “How did Henry manage to build this?” Ed asked.

  “I drew him a picture, but I had no idea he planned to make one. I’d seen a few on the continent in my travels.”

  Reggie put a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Aye, and now you’ll be seeing t
hem everywhere in Britain.”

  “So, you’ve returned like a bad ha’penny.”

  “To torment you, old friend.”

  Ian and Reggie had sung together and travelled the world for many years together as the Wandering Wastrels.

  “Ah, there’s the artist himself.” Ian clapped his hands.

  Henry appeared carrying a giant tray of mussels and oysters and nodded briskly to Ian as he set the tray on a nearby table. Bethan smiled her thanks as she took the plates to be distributed among the crowd.

  “Come on, Henry. Take a bow for your artistry.”

  Bethan held one last plate and leaned against the wall to catch her breath.

  Henry wiped the sweat off his forehead. “I don’t have time for lollygagging now, Ian. Can’t you see there’s work to be done?”

  He turned to face her, and suddenly he stood before her, water dripping off his naked body, steam rising from his broad chest. He stood so close she could breathe him in—pine, soap, man. Black curls covered him from chest to taut stomach. She wanted to run away—and toward—the wild heat of him, his member standing straight against a thicket of black. Her center burned, surged through her body, rising to the tips of her fingers, willing her to answer the call of his skin.

  Hands upon her arm. “Liebchen, are you well? You’re standing here with your eyes closed.”

  She’d dropped the plate, all eyes on her, murmurs of concern and amusement buzzing like wasps.

  “Are both sisters touched, then?”

  Mayhap she was losing her mind. No.

  “Don’t worry, Lena. I’m fine. I just got dizzy for a moment.” Yes, dizzy with lust. She couldn’t deny it now.

  “You need to sit down for a minute. You’re overtired, I think.” Lena led her toward the private quarters.

  “Mistress Bethan, are you ill?”

  Henry’s gaze upon her face made her pulse race again, his fully clothed body solid and strong as a fortress. Could he guess she’d conjured up his naked body?

  “No need to fuss over me,” she mumbled.

  “I say, mistress. Can I trouble you for another mug of…?”

  “One moment,” she barked. “Demanding, privileged bastards.”

  Lena gave her a warning glance. “Bethan!”

  Henry pulled her into the kitchen. “What is it? You’re distraught. Do you know this man?”

  Why should she resist the pleasure of being close to him? She leaned her forehead against his broad shoulder and breathed in the comforting warmth of him, the homey scent of baked bread and ale.

  “I knew someone like him, long ago.”

  “He was not good to you?”

  Lena rushed in and filled a pitcher with ale. “You must rest, Bethan. Go out to the courtyard and get some air.”

  Bethan let Henry lead her outside.

  He brushed off the stone bench. “Sit down. Talk to me, Bethan.”

  Why not tell him? “I grew up with a boy named Davyd. He was one of the local gentry. We played together on the beach, before Mother became too afraid to let us out. We were the merry three.”

  He listened as if his life depended on it and put his hand over hers.

  “Davyd went away to school and returned every summer. He witnessed Elunid’s worsening condition, vowed his love for me, told me he would help me save her. I believed him. A few years passed, and my mother gave me an ultimatum. I was to see to Elunid, or she’d send her away.”

  “You were young to have such a burden on your shoulders.”

  “He promised. He said he would find a place for her. He said he loved me and would take care of us both, and like a fool I believed him. I so wanted to have someone take care of me.”

  “You were young.”

  “And desperate.” She shrugged. “When he returned, we made a plan for the three of us to slip away one night. He would marry me, take care of Elunid.”

  She held tighter to his hand. “We waited on the beach that night, hour after hour. It was cold, and Elunid pointed to her visions in the sea, and the sun rose on my despair. I never heard from him again. Breeding overcame love, as it always does with the aristocracy.”

  “I’m sorry, Bethan.”

  She nodded. “My mother arranged to have Elunid sent to a distant relative who was ‘not afraid of a young girl’s moods.’ Elunid changed their tune in no time. A month later, they dropped her at our door. It’s when we went to Polly’s.”

  “I see.”

  “So the sight of an arrogant toff setting himself above all others rankles me.”

  “I wish I could take your pain away.”

  Bethan wiped her eyes, lifted her chin. “So now you know.” She walked into the inn without another word.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the end of the evening, a few of the faithful still gathered at the inn. Vicar Andrews slid into a seat by the window. Bethan hurried toward him, a mug of summer ale at the ready.

  “Ah, good evening, Mistress Bethan.” He smiled.

  She resisted the urge to adjust his wig just a tad. “You’re looking very cheerful this evening.”

  “Ah. I finished Sunday’s sermon, and may I just say I was inspired?” His hazel eyes searched her face. “Will you be attending?”

  She put her weight on one foot. “I’ll try.”

  He nodded and glanced about the room. “Is Mistress Sabine well? Ah, there she is.” Two spots of color appeared on his cheeks as he clearly watched Sabine, Lena’s adopted daughter, lean against the corner table, her one-year-old daughter on her slender hip. Sabine came from the Orient, and had been taken in by Lena and Josef the year before.

  Everyone in town knew Vicar pined after Sabine. She took pity on him and joined her, feeling like a giantess next to her petite form. She reached for the baby.

  Sabine smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve been tallying up how much Maggie’s eaten.” Bethan tipped her head in the midwife’s direction. “Three bowls of oyster stew, three plates of mussels, an entire loaf of bread, and some haddock.”

  Sabine giggled, and despite her fatigue, Bethan couldn’t help but join in.

  “Would you mind getting Vicar Andrew’s order?”

  Sabine grew very still upon seeing him. He smiled, set his mug down too hard, and splashed ale on his face.

  She giggled again and nodded. “Vicar,” she enunciated.

  “Yes, well done!” Bethan smiled. Sometimes life could be as simple as two people drawn to each other.

  Emma Spark’s brother burst through the door.

  “She’s having the babe, Mistress Maggie! They sent me to fetch you. I didn’t know my sister knew all those curse words.”

  “Like what, Ethan?” Ian beckoned him over.

  He leaned down and whispered into Ian’s ear. “She said, and…”

  Ian roared with laughter. “Creative.”

  “That’s quite enough.” Maggie stood, holding the table for support. “Fine for you to laugh at the pain of a birthing mother. Try having a baby sometime. See if you make sport of it then, pip.”

  Ethan backed away as she approached him. “Sorry, Mistress Maggie.”

  She huffed and gave Ian a dirty look. “Let’s go, then.”

  “Woman, you’re not delivering a baby tonight. Look at you, you can barely walk.”

  “I can still do my job.”

  “I’ll fetch your sister.”

  She leaned toward Ian. “You know my sister is not…able.”

  He nodded.

  Bethan rushed forward. “I’ll go with you.” She glanced at Lena. “Is it okay?”

  “We’ll finish up, George and I.” Henry settled Bethan’s cloak around her shoulders. “There’s a wind blowing in from the Channel.”

  Ian wheeled the chair around.

  “Stay here, husband. It’s late for you to be using your chair in the streets.”

  He scowled. “I’ll not have you walking about town without me at this hour. And if you think I can’t protect you
just because I’m in a wheelchair, you are mistaken, my love.”

  She sighed. “Come on, then.”

  “Tell the lass we’ll pray for her delivery,” Widow Jenkins called. “E’en though the honeymoon came before the wedding.” She cackled, amidst a round of laughter.

  “And that’s never happened before in this town,” Maggie said.

  The cool air carried the scent of the sea and the promise of a late summer storm. At least it doused the warmth of her shoulders where Henry had touched her when he’d put on her cloak.

  They gingerly made their way over the cobbles. Ian picked up the rear.

  “Maggie, there’s no need to rush.”

  “Well, there may be.”

  “It’s not worth you exhausting yourself. You’ve the babe to think of.”

  “Dare I say he’s right?” Bethan added.

  “There’s no way of telling how long a first birth may take. More than likely it will take hours, but there are exceptions.” She stopped. “Have you the endurance for it, Bethan?”

  “Without a doubt, Mistress Maggie.” She had the endurance to withstand her sister’s affliction, why not for her birthing women?

  “I’m a bit concerned about young Emma.” Maggie stopped to catch her breath. “She’s only fifteen and has been the spoiled darling of both her mother and father. Her hips are narrow, and we can only pray the child’s not overly large.”

  Bethan nodded. “I will help however I can.”

  When they reached Emma’s cottage, her young husband answered the door. “Come in. She’s cursing at me, and I can’t get her to stop.”

  “Yes, Tom.” Maggie put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s what delivering mothers do. Don’t worry, it won’t last.”

  His chubby face brightened. “Come in. Her mum’s got the room ready for ye.” He stared at Maggie’s belly, eyes round as a full moon. “Mistress, are you able…”

  “Of course I am,” she snapped.

  He looked behind her. “Oh hallo,” he said to Bethan.

  “This is my assistant, Bethan.”

  “I don’t know anything about this business but won’t she have to bend over a long way, to catch the baby?” He addressed Bethan, then glanced at Maggie apologetically. “It’s just…you’ll have to stand so far away, how can you reach?”

  Maggie’s eyebrows rose. “No wonder your wife calls you names.” Without another word, she walked regally over the threshold.