The Goldsmith's Wife (The Woulfes of Loxsbeare Book 2)

by Anita Seymour

  He lay slumped against the upholstered chaise, his head sporting a newly wound bandage which secured a poultice just visible under the cap. His pale lashes on his closed eyes lay fanned against hollowed cheeks that looked almost bruised.

  His wounds were serious, but healing, yet something darker had drained his exuberant character. Something he had yet to confide to her.

  Unwilling to disturb him, she perched on the bed, staring out of the window onto the wind-swept garden. The leaves were turning and although the air did not yet bite, the days grew shorter. It was not yet evening, but the candles were already lit.

  “I’m awake, Helena.”

  His voice made her jump and she twisted on the bed to face him. “Are you in pain still? I could ask Glover to make up a draught for you.”

  He started to nod, but halted and turned it into a wince. “Perhaps later. To help me through the night.”

  “You’re still not sleeping?”

  “No.” He clamped his jaw tight, then gave a sigh. “I still hear them, Ellie. They come to me every night to plague me.”

  “What is it that you hear?”

  “Screaming.” He looked suddenly very young and uncertain. “Inhuman, primal sounds. Sounds which might have oozed from the bowels of Hell itself.”

  Helena bit her lip, railing inwardly at her helplessness. She employed the best surgeons in London to assuage the pain of his physical wounds, but could do nothing to banish his memories.

  Aaron swallowed, the movement of his throat exaggerated by his thinness. “I cannot tell where I remember them from. Ireland or Sedgemoor.” He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled slowly. “Not that it matters. They still suffer.”

  Helena covered his thin, white fingers motionless on the coverlet with hers. “They’re not in pain any more, Aaron.”

  “No?” His eyes narrowed and he turned his hand over to grip hers so hard, she grimaced. “What of the next battle, and the one after that? It will never end, Ellie. There will always be killing, pain and death.”

  She did not attempt to contradict him. What did she know about war?

  “You may think it strange,” he went on. “But I grieve for all those poor horses who die so horribly, confused and in pain. They have no notion of what it is all for. They—”

  ”Don’t, Aaron. I cannot bear it.” She twisted her hand beneath his, loosening his grip.

  “There’s something else that won’t leave me.” His expression turned to puzzlement. “I imagined I’d dreamed it for a while, but it happened. Yet I can make no sense of it.”

  “You had a dream?”

  His head moved slightly on the pillow, but not enough for a nod. “The man who stopped my life ending on the pike of a Jacobite was Tobias Lumm.”

  “Tobias joined the army? He made no mention of—” She broke off, remembering she had not revealed their relationship to either of her brothers.

  “What can you mean? You correspond with Lumm?”

  Helena took a deep breath. Perhaps this was a good time to confess yet another of her sins. “Yes, the last time I heard from him was in June.”

  Aaron pulled himself upright, showing no sign of pain now. “Why would you do so, unless…?” His brow cleared as if several thoughts came together to form a whole. “He came to see me after the battle, Ellie. Do you know what he said?”

  Her cheeks grew warm under his scrutiny. “Yes. I do.”

  He slumped back against the chaise, his eyes closed. “Dear God. Is it true?”

  Helena felt suddenly sick. Suspicion crept into her head as to how Aaron’s encounter with Tobias had ended, but she wanted him to tell her she was wrong. “What is it? What did you do?”

  The look he gave her bristled with contempt. “I told him he was lying. I sent him away.”

  She rose to her feet slowly. “Please don’t say you sent him back into battle, rejected? Aaron, He’s your brother.”

  He narrowed his eyes and she slumped back onto the bed again, her face in her hands. “I should have told you before. I’m to blame.”

  “Then tell me now.”

  Unable to meet his angry glare, she stared at the trees beyond the window. “Tobias brought your letter to Lambtons,” she began. “The one you wrote to Mother after Sedgemoor. He sought my permission to go to Holland to find you.” She twisted her hands together in her lap. “At the time I didn’t understand why, but there was no one else, so I let him go.”

  “Go on.” Aaron’s voice remained cold.

  “He…he told me Father employed him at Loxsbeare because he was the son of Sir Jonathan Woulfe and Emily Lumm.”

  “The innkeeper’s wife?” His eyes widened.

  “She was a sixteen-year old girl at the time, Aaron.” Angry with his blatant prejudice, Helena defended the youthful Emily. “When she discovered Tobias was on the way, Grandfather Thomas put money into the inn and arranged for Jim Lumm to marry her.”

  “Whose word do you have for any of this, other than Lumm’s?” he demanded, his face openly sceptical.

  “Samuel Ffoyle knew. And Father. He left Tobias our great grandfather Julius’ house.”

  Aaron’s eyes glinted with anger, the fingers of his uninjured hand plucking rhythmically at the bandage on his arm. “The one by the East Gate?” At her weary nod, his breath caught. “That house should be mine.”

  “If Father had not signed it over to Master Ffoyle, it would belong to Lord Blanden now, along with almost everything else. Father’s property was confiscated, remember?”

  “Then Tobias wasn’t lying?” Aaron’s voice dropped a little.

  Helena shook her head. “He was going to tell you in Holland, but when you announced your intention to remain there and abandon Henry and me. It shocked Tobias and made me furious. That’s when I decided I wanted a secret too, so we wrote to one another.”

  “Abandoned you…to this?” Aaron waved his uninjured arm at the opulent room.

  “Life for us wasn’t always so good!” Her voice rose. Feelings of hurt, loss and neglect combined to ignite indignation in her chest.

  “Wasn’t the luxury of Lambtons good enough for you either?” Aaron sneered. His sarcasm cut into her, but she refused to let him get away with his casual neglect.

  “The Devereuxs cared for us, that’s true. But it should have been you, Aaron!” He flinched, but she ignored his discomfort, determined he hear her out. “If you had come home when the General Pardon was declared, I might not have had to marry—”

  “Had to marry?” Aaron blinked, stunned.

  “I don’t regret it.” She lifted her chin, defiant, though heat crept into her face. “Guy has been a wonderful husband. He has looked after Henry too.” She looked away, wondering if he saw the lie in her eyes, but in a way she felt better having spoken of it. As Henry once said, having suppressed the feelings for so long, she had forgotten they were there. And it was true; Guy had assumed both her father’s and brother’s roles without complaint. He had provided a home for her, caring for her so well, she was repaying him by carrying another man’s child.

  Bile rose in her throat and she threw herself at the window, fumbling with the catch. It opened finally and she braced her hands on the sill, her eyes closed as she fought nausea, drinking deep draughts of cool air. The sickness receded, and she fastened the window with deliberate care before resuming her seat.

  “I’m so sorry, Ellie.” Aaron looked stricken. “I had no idea you felt that way.” His fingers crept across the coverlet and awkwardly patted her hand. “Do you feel better?”

  She snatched her hand away, refusing to soften her expression into the childish grin she knew he expected. “If you mean the sickness that comes with breeding, yes. But the other pain, no, Aaron, that is not better.” She looked away and fiddled with a ribbon on her dress Aaron wasn’t to know the extent of her shame. She hoped he never would. “What about Tobias?”

  He did not answer at first and stared off. Then he seemed to reach a decision. “I’ll ask Hendrick
to send a dispatch to Luttrell’s regiment. See if he still serves with them.” He raised his chiselled chin, eyes flashing with familiar pride. “But don’t expect me to welcome him into the family, Ellie. He may be a blood relative, but he’s not a Woulfe.”

  Yes he is. “He saved your life.”

  “I know, and I’ll try to make reparation. Perhaps I could obtain a promotion for him?”

  “That’s not what Tobias wants.” Her jaw ached from tension.

  “Well, what does he want?” Aaron seemed genuinely mystified.

  Helena rose to her feet, seething. How could she begin to make him understand how Tobias felt about their father? About her? “Does your arm still hurt?”

  “Like the devil.”

  “Good.” She turned and swept out of the room, slamming the door for good measure.

  * * *

  November 1690, Palmer House, London – Helena

  Helena woke from her doze to the sound of Alyce’s voice in the hallway outside her chamber. Evidently, the footman was trying to delay her on the stairs. The idea of an imperious servant gaining an advantage over Mistress Devereux made Helena smile.

  Alyce sailed into the room, but before closing the door on the glowering face of the footman, instructed, “and bring some tea for Mistress Palmer and myself.”

  Her peacock blue gown sported gold embroidery on the bodice, with a surprisingly revealing décolletage for an afternoon call. An elaborate mantilla swayed from side to side with a life of its own. She advanced into the room, lowering herself with exaggerated care into a straight-backed chair by the bed. “You are looking well, my dear.”

  Helena fumbled herself upright, intending to rise, but Alyce held up a hand. “Do not disturb yourself. I wish to have a talk with you.”

  Her brittle tone set warning bells ringing in Helena’s head, but she had no idea why she should be uncomfortable with Alyce; a woman she regarded as a second mother.

  Alyce removed her white kid gloves slowly, easing them down her fingers with fierce concentration, her face averted.

  She is nervous. “Mistress Devereux, what is it? You know you can say anything to me.” Helena used a tone intended to put her guest at ease.

  “Of course I can. It is this, my dear. Until your child is born, you must not see William again.”

  Helena opened her mouth, but no words came out, though one look at the older woman’s face told her it would be a waste of time denying it.

  “Until Guy acknowledges the child,” Alyce went on, “there must be no gossip attached to either of you.”

  “How did you—?”

  “William is my beloved son.” Alyce’s face softened. “There is nothing I don’t know about him. I also flatter myself I understand you as well.”

  “I see.” Helena slumped back on the pillows. A hard lump formed in her chest and stayed there. She chewed her lip, fighting an impulse to surrender to uncontrollable tears.

  The maid arrived with the tea tray and Alyce busied herself fussing over cups, giving Helena time to compose herself until they were alone again. Holding out a delicate porcelain dish, Alyce arched a brow in enquiry. “Did you think I would be angry? I, of all people, know how you feel. But for your sake, your husband’s pride, and the sake of the child you carry, you must not see William.”

  Helena accepted the tea in silence, grateful for its steaming fragrance, her vision blurring through unshed tears.

  In contrast, Alyce’s expression held no condemnation, merely sympathy and a little sadness.

  A tiny, planted seed prompted her to ask, “What did you mean, ‘You of all people’?”

  A winsome smile appeared, giving Alyce the look of a much younger woman. “I married Robert when I was barely sixteen. I understood nothing, and he was so kind to me. He was more like an elder brother really.” Her face softened with affection. “I shan’t bother you with the details, but suffice it to say I was taken to a ball, where I met a man. A dazzling, charming man, who taught me what passion really was. I fell in love and found myself in just your situation.”

  “With William?” Helena’s voice rose in horrified amazement.

  “Lord no, child.” Alyce laughed throatily. “William is Robert’s son to his very finger tips, though to look at the dear man you might never imagine—” she broke off as a flood of colour highlighted her cheeks. “No, not William. Phebe.”

  “Phebe?” Helena’s teacup slipped, splashing liquid onto her skirt.

  Alyce swept her hand across the papery skin of her exposed neck. “Actually, my Phebe has royal blood. Which is why I found it so difficult to accept her marriage to that… Oh, well, no matter.”

  “Phebe loves Hendrick, and he loves her. It’s a good marriage,” Helena reminded her.

  Shrugging, Alyce indicated she accepted this fact, but was not necessarily reconciled to it.

  “Does…does Master Devereux know?”

  Alyce frowned. “About Phebe? Of course not. Why should he? I took all the steps I recommend to you, to ensure he would not. It would have broken his heart. He adores her.” Her expression altered to amusement. “Helena, did you imagine your situation was unique?”

  Helena’s thoughts were indeed running along those lines, which must have showed on her face.

  Alyce began to shake her head, but her precariously balanced headdress apparently changed her mind and she steadied it with a hand.

  “My dear, it would not be an exaggeration to say, that of all the men of my acquaintance, one in five of them did not father one of their children. Why, some cannot own to two.”

  Helena clamped her lips together to prevent a laugh escaping. Then the bubbling in her chest switched to despair and hot tears trickled down her cheeks.

  Alyce abandoned her uncomfortable chair and hoisted herself onto the bed, gathering Helena into her arms. “I know, my dear. I know.” She stroked Helena’s hair away from her face. “Believe me, you can overcome this if you harden your emotions a little. Don’t give in to your guilt. To confess will only lead to heartbreak for you all. Let Guy be the child’s father, and in time, you will see him that way too.”

  “What about William?” Helena hiccoughed between sobs. She scrabbled for a lace kerchief and applied it to her wet cheeks, her self-control returning. How could she have imagined handling this situation in any other way?

  Alyce rose slowly, gathering her muff and gloves together. “Robert has suggested sending William to Europe in order to buy stocks for the workshop. An ideal time for an extended journey, don’t you feel?”

  Not see William? A cruel blow, but one which would have to be endured.

  Helena did not respond, her chest hurt and besides, what could she say?

  Alyce patted her hand as she turned to go. “I’ll speak to William.”

  The implication that Helena must not, hung in the air between them as the door closed behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  March 1691, Palmer House, London – Helena

  Helena awoke in the early hours of the morning to a familiar dull, pulling sensation, which changed rapidly into rhythmic cramps. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend what was happening to her body was in her imagination. She wasn’t ready.

  Through the open curtain of her casement window, the light changed from a chill grey dawn into silvery daylight. The wind howled around the house, rattling the window frames and the candleholders, the pulling in her belly growing steadily stronger.

  When the servant arrived with her hot chocolate, Helena brushed the tray aside. “Fetch Chloe, would you?”

  The wide-eyed girl hesitated, then in a display of initiative asked, “Shall I send a messenger to fetch Master Palmer?”

  “He is not here?” A wave of relief went through her, but the maid grew more nervous and made for the door.

  “No!” Helena called her back, making her jump. “Just fetch Chloe.”

  The girl scampered away and when Chloe burst through the door, Helena was on her feet, clutchi
ng the bed rail with both hands, bracing herself against the dragging agony.

  “Why did you not call me sooner, Mistress?”

  Helena glared at her.

  “You must be well along by now,” Chloe fussed, concern darkening her features. “Can you move yourself up to the confinement room without help?” Helena gritted her teeth, accepting Chloe’s support, though their progress along the corridor was slow and Helena stumbled at one point, pausing for a particularly fierce pain to subside. The room prepared for Helena’s lying in was smaller than her bedchamber, the atmosphere musty from disuse.

  “For goodness sakes, Chloe, open a window, or I shall faint from lack of air.”

  The maid obeyed, turning back to scold her. “You’ve left it too late for your gossips to attend you.”

  “I know, just help me onto the bed.”

  Alyce had offered to send over the birthing chair purchased for Celia, but Helena had procrastinated. The idea of having it squatting in a corner of the room was too stark a reminder of what was to come. Now it was too late. The bed would have to do.

  A tightening in Helena’s back expanded into her abdomen so her legs almost gave way. She groped for Chloe’s hand and hung on.

  “Lord, Mistress, it’s happening so fast.” Chloe bit her lip, and when a housemaid put her head round the door, she turned on her. “Get a footman to send a messenger for Mistress Celia —”

  ”No!” Helena yelled, halting them both. “Only Mistress Devereux and the midwife.” She clamped her hand down hard on Chloe’s arm. “The midwife first.”

  Jemima Rand, the midwife, arrived and took immediate command, scattering nervous servants. After a brief examination of her patient, she concurred with Chloe’s assessment that Helena was indeed far along.

  “Bank the fire up higher,” she ordered, before casting a smouldering look at the open window.

  Helena glared threateningly at her between groans of exertion, so the woman left well alone.

  By the time Alyce arrived, Helena was in considerable distress. She clamped a hand on her silk-clad arm. “I’m so glad you’re here.”