Reckless Angel

by Jane Feather

  Nan was all but asleep when Henrietta went into their room, but Lizzie was in the mood for talk and Henrietta sat on the end of the bed for near twenty minutes, regaling the child with the story of how she had put frogs into her stepbrothers’ bed.

  “When you have a child, ’twill be our half brother or sister, will it not?” Lizzie slipped down the bed, yawning.

  “Aye,” Henrietta agreed, tucking the cover under Lizzie’s chin. “And you will be far too grown up to tease. I was but five years old, ye must remember.”

  “’Tis past time this candle was snuffed.” Daniel came in, the frown still in his eyes. He bent to kiss his daughters, brushing a fingertip over a long scratch on Nan’s cheek. “How did that happen?”

  “Oh, ’twas from a thorn tree when we were following fox tracks.” Lizzie answered for her sister, who was far gone in sleep. “Harry can tell the difference between a fox and a badger track. She knows all sorts of things like that.”

  “Does she?” Daniel sounded less than admiring. “I have told ye, Lizzie, that you’ll accord your stepmother her proper name.”

  Henrietta opened her mouth to put in her own word on this, but some streak of wisdom kept her quiet. Lizzie, however, seemed to see no injustice in the reproof since it referred to matters of obedience, and such issues were always clearly defined with no extenuating circumstances.

  Henrietta left them, going downstairs to the small wainscoted parlor behind the dining room where she had been told Daniel preferred to take his supper. The table before the fire was set for the meal, a bottle of good burgundy on the side table. She could see nothing amiss, but wondered gloomily if she would notice anyway.

  Daniel came in, closing the door behind him and going to stand before the fire, hands thrust deep into the pocket of his britches.

  “Something has vexed you,” Henrietta said hesitantly.

  Daniel frowned, considering. He was loath to chide her on someone else’s word. Mistress Kierston had been greatly upset by the antics of her charges, although she had been careful not to lay precise blame at their stepmother’s door. He had seen for himself how grubby and disreputable they had looked that afternoon, but he had also seen how happy and at ease they were with Henrietta. No, he would wait and see for himself before interfering in the progress and conduct of this burgeoning friendship.

  “Do not permit the children to call you Harry,” was all he said, moving to the sideboard to pour wine. “Have you had time to examine the cellars yet? Hacket will be able to show you how the various wines are stored, so you will be able to lay hands on them when they are needed.”

  Wine as well! She had not thought she must find time to follow the steward around also. There seemed no end to it. Henrietta mumbled something about having been very busy, said that she would fetch the cheese pudding, and disappeared to the kitchen.

  The pudding unmolded quite well. She stuck on a corner that had stayed behind in the basin, and nodded with a degree of well-deserved pride. With the same pride, she placed the dish upon the table in the parlor.

  “See, I have made you a cheese pudding, Daniel. I hope ’tis good.”

  He smiled, putting his despondency behind him. She was looking so eager, those big brown eyes searching his face for reaction. “I am sure ’tis good.” He held her chair for her, then sat opposite.

  Henrietta served him generously before helping herself. She watched him covertly as he took the first mouthful. A look of astonishment crossed his face. Hastily she tasted hers, then choked, dropping her spoon onto her platter. Daniel had replaced his own spoon and was looking at her with the same astounded expression.

  “What ever is in it, Harry?”

  “’Tis not very nice, is it?” she said in rueful understatement.

  Daniel shook his head. “I do not think I have ever tasted anything quite like it.”

  “D’ye think perchance it is the sweet marjoram? Mayhap I used too much.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” Delicately, Daniel removed a piece of eggshell from the tip of his tongue and took a deep draught of wine. “But I do know that I am hungry.”

  “Aye, I will see what else there is.” She gathered up the dishes and the pudding, tears pricking her eyes. But in the kitchen she placed the pudding before the cook “Pray taste this and tell me what I have done wrong.”

  He took a mouthful and much the same look of astonishment crossed his face as had crossed Daniel’s. Then he said slowly, “A plentiful want of salt, unnecessary nutmeg, and a great excess of sweet marjoram. ’Tis but a pinch that’s needed.”

  “My thanks.” She emptied the pudding into the pig bin by the door and went into the pantry. “What can I serve Sir Daniel instead?”

  Susan Yates bustled over, ever kindly and helpful. “There’s a meat pasty, m’lady, and a wheel of cheese. Meg shall bring it to the parlor. The master will be quite satisfied.”

  Not as much as he would have been with a cheese pudding, Henrietta thought, wishing she did not have to return to the parlor. How could she explain such an abysmal failure?

  Daniel was still sitting at the table, thoughtfully twisting his pewter goblet between his hands, when she came in. “I daresay you have never prepared cheese pudding before.”

  “Nay, I have not,” Henrietta declared with absolute truth. “Meg is bringing a meat pasty and some cheese. Will that do?”

  “Amply.” He lapsed into silence. The fire spurted and Henrietta sipped her wine, trying to think of something to say. Meg’s arrival with supper was a welcome diversion.

  “Is your indemnity very large, Daniel?” she asked, summoning up the courage at last.

  “Aye, ’tis like to cripple me, if I cannot find a friend in London to speak for me to Parliament.” He cut savagely into the loaf of barley bread. If he could find no one willing to intercede for him, he would be lucky to be left with more than the house and the home farm. And he was still encumbered with the debt upon staple-statute to Sir Reginald Trant.

  “D’ye have a friend who might do so?” she asked.

  “My brother-in-law has kin who have been strong for Parliament. They have spoken for him. ’Tis possible they will do the same for me.” He pushed back his chair abruptly. “Do you go to bed when you are ready, Henrietta. I have some letters I must write.”

  He left the parlor for his study, and Henrietta sat staring into the fire for long minutes. She would help him if she could. But how could one help someone who did not wish to talk about what was troubling him? Anyway, how could she help anyone? She, who could not even prepare a cheese pudding, and had not thought to ask the question that would have elicited the information that the second Tuesday in the month was the day for closing down the washhouse?

  Things did not improve over the next days. Daniel remained preoccupied as he wrestled with his bailiff over ways of raising the money to pay an indemnity of four thousand pounds, if he could not get it reduced. The indemnity had been fixed at such a great sum because of the degree of his Malignancy and the value of his estate as presented to the commissioners in Maidstone when he had compounded. He would have to sell off much of his productive land to meet that sum, including Barton Copse. Barton Copse was a major source of revenue, providing as it did sufficient firewood to supply the neighboring towns, as well as wood to supply all the needs of his own farm and household. Without that revenue, he would be hard-pressed to meet other expenses without selling off yet more land, and every piece he sold reduced his ability to maintain his own self-sufficiency. If they were not self-sufficient, they would need to buy from others. And so it went on—the economic facts of life. And one of the facts of his life was the price he had paid for his bride.

  Henrietta, while recognizing that her husband’s preoccupation was not intended to be hurtful, felt excluded nevertheless. Even the girls were affected and the dinner table was a gloomy and silent place, no longer vibrant with their cheerful prattle. Mistress Kierston sat with pursed lips; the bailiff looked like one who recognized Doomsday
; Daniel seemed not to notice what he ate and drank. Henrietta tried to start conversations, but all such attempts sank like stones to the bottom of a lake and she gave up, just as she gave up her attempts to get Daniel to confide in her. He would answer her questions briefly but would enter no discussion, whether it was at the supper table or in the privacy of their bedchamber.

  This preoccupation did mean that he noticed little of what went on around him. He did not question how his wife spent her days so long as everything continued smoothly, and since a series of violent November storms kept Henrietta and the children within doors, Mistress Kierston had no complaints about unladylike activities.

  Henrietta continued with her self-teaching, and the entire household seemed to enter the conspiracy. Daniel assumed that his wife had taken over the reins of domestic management and no one enlightened him as to the true state of affairs. Henrietta was to be found in the dairy, the brew house, the stillroom, the washhouse, the pantry—all perfectly reasonable places for the lady of the house to be. But she could not maintain the deception forever.

  Odd little things intruded on his absorption. She did not always know the answers to basic domestic questions, such as whether the October ale brew was being tunned in the sweet-wine barrel, or when the young chickens would be fat enough for eating. Suffering from a severe headache one afternoon, he had asked her to prepare him a camomile draught. It had taken her such an inordinately long time he had gone in search, finding her closeted in the stillroom, head-to-head with the stillroom maid. He had assumed they were concocting something more elaborate than the simple draught he had requested—there could be no other reason why the two of them should be involved—and had been quite taken aback when Henrietta at last brought him only the camomile.

  One chilly morning in late November he was crossing the yard behind the house when sounds of commotion arose abruptly from the dairy. Pushing open the door, he stepped into the chilly shed, which was empty of all but Henrietta kicking the butter churn and swearing vigorously. “What the devil goes on here?”

  “A pox upon the slubberdegullion! Oh, I will never understand this!” she exclaimed, stamping her feet on the damp cobbled floor. Despite the cold, the hood of her cloak was thrown back, revealing her flushed face and brown eyes glittering with frustration. “’Tis the second time the milk has turned to cheese when it is supposed to be butter! I do not seem to be able to catch it at the right moment. And it is such hard work!” She kicked the butter churn again.

  “Whatever do you mean?” He came toward her, and Henrietta suddenly realized what she had revealed. She fell silent and stood waiting.

  Daniel stroked his chin thoughtfully as the pieces began to fall into place. The picture they formed made no sense, yet he had the horrible conviction that for some extraordinary reason it was the true picture.

  “I think perhaps a few explanations are in order,” he said finally. “Let us go into the house. ’Tis cold as charity in here.”

  Henrietta followed him into his study, where she stood by the door still saying nothing, watching Daniel as he bent to warm his hands at the fire. The silence lengthened, then slowly he straightened up and turned to face her.

  “Am I to understand that your inability to manage the butter churn is not limited to something in this morning’s air?”

  There was no point pretending any longer. Besides, the strain of the deception was becoming unbearable. She met his grave regard. “Aye, you are to understand that. Just as you should understand that I know nothing of brewing, of cooking, of herbs, simples and physicking. I have no idea how to cast household accounts or—”

  “Enough!” he interrupted brusquely. “I have grasped the point. But how should this be, Henrietta? Why were you not taught these things?”

  She nibbled her bottom lip. “’Twas not a lack of teaching but a lack of learning.”

  His frown deepened. “What mean you?”

  “Why, ’tis quite simple,” she said bitterly. “There is little point learning when one is as like to be beaten for doing something well as for doing it awry. I was safer out of the house, so preferred to absent myself.”

  Daniel nodded slowly, then he crooked a finger at her. “Come here, elf.” She approached somewhat cautiously, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her seriously. “Why have ye kept this such a secret?”

  The slim shoulders beneath his hands lifted in a tiny shrug. “I did not know how to tell you. You seemed so certain that I would know these things, and of course I should know them…and I was to teach Lizzie—” She broke off with another helpless shrug. “I have been trying to learn, but there is so much. ’Twill take a lifetime.”

  “Now, that is a great piece of nonsense,” Daniel said, a note of severity sounding for the first time. “I would have you learn, and you will do so quickly enough if you apply yourself. Now that you need not pretend, it is bound to be easier, and I will help you as and when I may.”

  “But you have so much on your mind at present.” She looked up into his face, searching his expression. “I would help you there, if you would share a little of your trouble with me.”

  He sighed, releasing her shoulders, turning aside to the fire, kicking at a slipping log. “Until I hear from my brother-in-law, who has gone to London to speak to his kin for me, I can make no proper decisions. ’Tis the uncertainty that troubles me. Once I know the worst, then mayhap ’twill be easier. I can at least come to some decisions.”

  She put a hand on his arm, feeling the muscles ripple beneath the slashed sleeve of his doublet. He turned and smiled down at her, interpreting the gesture for the offer of comfort that it was.

  “This time will pass, elf,” he said, bending to kiss the corner of her mouth. “’Tis as true of bad times as of good.”

  “Aye, I know it. Why d’ye not sit beside the fire for a while and I will bring you buttered ale.” An imp of mischief danced in her eyes. “That is something I have learned how to prepare. If I had my guitar, I would play for you. My skill there is tolerable, and I am said to have a pleasing voice.”

  “Why would you learn that and nothing else?” he asked, sitting by the fire, his eyes teasing her.

  “Because I enjoyed it,” she replied frankly. “And dancing also.”

  “There’ll be little opportunity for such amusements now,” Daniel said, the moment of relaxation vanishing. “Parliament has voted to bring the king to trial.”

  Henrietta shivered. “On what charge?”

  “Of raising an army against Parliament, and abusing the limited power invested in him,” Daniel told her heavily. “They cannot help but find him guilty. We must wait to see if they are so securely in the clutches of evil that they will sign the death warrant.” He stood up, sighing. “I must ride to Longford field and oversee the hedging. Do you get back to your lessons, Harry. I will teach you how to cast your accounts after supper.”

  He went out into the cold, reflecting on the revelation just made to him. It fitted with what he knew of Henrietta and he supposed he should have realized that he could expect nothing ordinary from her. But she was quick-witted and would learn readily. For some reason, he found rather moving the idea of her struggling in secret to meet his expectations, although he thought it would say more for the openness of their marriage had she felt able to confess her lack of skills at the outset. He must try to spend more time with her, he resolved, as he rode over stubble fields through the raw November air. The girls would benefit from more paternal attention too. It was high time he came out of his self-absorption. It was not achieving anything at present.

  Daniel’s resolutions served well and the household returned in some measure to its previous cheerfulness, until disaster struck.

  The foul weather that had kept Henrietta and the children within doors for so long at last lifted, bringing bright sunshine, blue skies, and crisp cold air in its place. The three of them resumed their afternoon rides and rambles, returning to the house at dusk, rosy and weary, a
nd in great accord. Mistress Kierston pursed her lips and looked sourly at the muddied petticoats, the missing buttons, the tumbled hair. She could not punish the children, however, since their stepmother had been their escort, and was frequently as untidy as they. Unfortunately, Sir Daniel had gone on a visit to Ellicot Park and could not be told of this resumption of undesirable activities, so she was obliged to bide her time.

  Daniel returned on a Saturday afternoon. His visit to the Ellicots had brought no cheerful news. James had pled his brother-in-law’s case in London, but no decision was as yet forthcoming, and when he reached home he found waiting for him a demand from Sir Reginald Trant for repayment of the debt and interest thereon accumulated over the last ten years that he had assumed on behalf of Sir Gerald Ashby. The demand was couched in no polite terms, and Daniel whitened with anger, crumpling the parchment and hurling it into the fire.

  He had assumed he would be able to repay the debt in installments, although it would be a heavy drain on his resources once he had sold off the goods and land necessary to pay the indemnity. He would be obliged to reduce drastically the number of people he employed around the house, gardens, and estate, and the thought of the hardship that reduction would cause those he must dismiss brought him to a white heat as he raged at the insolence of Trant’s letter and the blatant manipulation of the brutish Ashby.

  It was at this inauspicious moment that Mistress Kierston chose to bring certain matters to his attention. She had hastened down the stairs as soon as she heard of his return, anxious to speak with him while his wife and daughters were away from the house. He heard her out in silence. His daughters were become saucy and unmanageable; the governess could not be held responsible when her authority was usurped; digging in fox holes, climbing trees, fishing the streams, had always been forbidden activities until…Here she pursed her lips and fell silent. It was not necessary to continue the sentence and she would not stand accused of openly criticizing Lady Drummond.