by Jocelyn Kirk
“We had to take the arm off,” he said. “The poor devil’s elbow was shattered.”
“How horrible,” I whispered. “Will he survive?”
“I hope so. But we had very little laudanum available to kill his pain. We had to tie him down during the surgery, and his screams were too much for Mrs. Loch. She fainted.”
“John, how could you have exposed Lila to such a scene? I am appalled!”
“Yes, it was my fault entirely. I should not have subjected her to an amputation. It is a circumstance that can make strong men faint, but your staunch sister soon regained her feet and again administered to the patient.”
“How amazing! Lila, I salute you!”
Lila’s pale visage turned to mine. “I must thank you for the compliment so that John will not scold me for bad manners. But in truth, I was quite disappointed in myself.”
John reached around me and patted Lila’s shoulder. “You are a brave, brave lady.” He continued, “Without Lila’s assistance, Cassie, Damien Pitt would be in much worse condition than he is now. His wound is clean and well stitched, but thanks to her suggestion, his stump will swell less.”
“What do you mean?”
Lila explained. “Old Dr. Bailey, who took care of us at North Commons before you were born, Cassandra, told me that if a wound is left a bit open, fluid will drain out of it, and the patient will not swell up and have as much pain.”
John nodded in agreement. “It makes perfect sense, and I am ashamed that I never realized this myself. My mother will be interested to know this, also.”
“Have you spoken with your mother?” I asked. “How is the other poor woman in labor?”
“She sent a note while I was still with Damien Pitt. The mother and child survived, but it will be a long recovery for both. In such cases, there is a fear of infection in the mother.”
“Where is your mother now?”
“I believe she and Caitlin are at home. In her note, she said a farmer who had brought in a delivery of vegetables offered to drive her to the cottage on his way back.”
“I hope I can call on them tomorrow.”
“Why not today? I’ll wait while you and Lila change your clothing, and you can dine with us. Caitlin is a fine cook, and I know she’ll have something prepared. Miss Tenley is welcome too, of course.”
I exchanged a glance with my sister, and we read each other’s minds. We were covered in blood and any dinner item that resembled blood or involved rare meat would send us to the necessary house to lose our gorge!
“You are very kind,” I replied. “I certainly would like to join you, but I’m quite sure I’m not capable of eating anything more than the lightest fare.”
John laughed. “Fresh-baked breads with jam, some cheeses, and a great deal of wine would no doubt suit us all after such a day!”
John Carter’s mother and sister stayed in Wales another week and were pleasant additions to my little social group. Even Lady Lovell left the independence of her isolated estate to have tea. Mrs. Carter was a serious person, who had little appreciation of a joke or bon mot, but Caitlin was more like her brother, warm and forthright. Although our lives had been very different, we formed a comfortable friendship. When Caitlin and her mother were about to board ship for the journey home, they pressed my sisters and me to visit them at any time.
Chapter Nine
Lady Lovell had chosen October 2 to begin her journey to Bath. Lila had very little liking for my scheme of accompanying her, but she had Aleta for companionship so could not complain of loneliness. She said nothing worse than, “Do behave with decorum, Cassandra.” I promised I would do so, while hiding a smile. Lila was not aware that in Lady Lovell’s world, I might perhaps be the only person behaving with decorum!
I was all a-flutter on the morning of our departure. Lady Lovell called for me promptly at nine, and before she could knock on the door of Caemre Cottage, I had swung the door open and greeted her with a wide smile. I kissed Lila and Aleta goodbye and ran out the door before either could attempt to stop me from leaving. Georgina’s driver strapped my trunk to the back of the carriage, and we were off.
Lady Lovell traveled with her own carriage and horses. The only servants accompanying us were her trusted coachman, Hiram Dodge, and her personal maid, Lucinda. The maid sat up front with the driver, leaving the interior of the carriage to only the two of us.
Georgina’s carriage was a landau, and when we left home on that brisk morning, the top was up and we were wrapped snugly in sheepskin rugs. As soon as we were underway, Georgina unceremoniously drew off her boots and propped her feet up on the opposing seat. She pulled a loaf of bread and some apples out of a small valise, leaned back in her seat, and began to eat.
Having been taught to sit upright on every occasion, I was amused and a little shocked. After a few bites of food, Georgina turned to me. “Do get comfortable, Cassandra. We will be on the road for three very long days.”
Being her guest, I did as I was told. How pleasant it was to sit at my ease with no one to admonish me for leaning back or laughing too loudly or wiggling my bare toes. We ate and chatted and discussed freely whatever subject occurred to us. Georgina teased me about Dr. John Carter, but instead of blushing, I admitted forthrightly that I liked him very much and might well be in love with him.
“This would be a fine thing for John,” Georgina replied. “He has grieved long enough.”
“It rather surprises me,” I ventured to say, “that you and he…never…”
“Never became lovers? We rarely see each other, as you have probably noticed. When I see John, my thoughts fly to that moment three years ago when he told me he could not save my child.”
I nodded, my heart breaking for her.
She continued, “And when John looks at me, no doubt he is remembering that terrible scene when his wife and newborn child died. I was there with him trying to help…perhaps you did not know that.”
“No, I did not.”
“The child never drew breath. But all our attention was soon taken from the poor little corpse when Abigail began to hemorrhage.”
“How terrible!”
“Indeed. When she began to bleed copiously and John realized what was happening, he screamed at us—the midwife and me—to bring more linen cloths and give Abigail a great dose of laudanum. He ripped Abigail’s nightdress completely off her. I did not know what he was going to do, so I glanced at the midwife and saw that she was looking in horror at John.
“ ‘What is happening?’ I demanded.
“John’s face displayed the visage of a madman as he turned to me. ‘I am going to cut her open. I can save her if I can remove her uterus.’
“The midwife clutched John’s arm. ‘Dr. Carter,’ she said, ‘you can’t save her! Let her die in peace!’
“John pushed the midwife away, seized a vial of laudanum, and attempted to force it into Abigail’s mouth. But she could not swallow. Her eyes rolled up toward his face as he bent over her. Her lips moved as she tried to whisper, but no sound came out. By then the blood pouring from her had soaked the bed. She made a little hiccup noise and died.”
After finishing her story, Georgina turned away and looked out at the passing countryside. I said nothing, wanting to give her time to recover her emotions. I thought of John going through such a terrible ordeal. I closed my eyes and conjured his handsome face, his robust body. I shivered at the memory of his lips on mine, however brief the kiss.
For the rest of the day we traveled in a near silence, both of us reading or napping. But on the second day of our journey, past sad scenes were put aside. Georgina talked of her friends in Bath and the amusement of late nights in cafes, with everyone arguing about literature, politics, religion, and any other topic that came to hand.
“On some occasions,” continued Georgina, “someone will play a fiddle or guitar, and we will all sing drinking songs.”
“What are drinking songs?”
Georgina laughed. “Sil
ly songs that seem to go with late nights, too much wine, and endless discussions of insoluble issues.”
“Can you teach me one of those songs?”
“Of course. I’ll teach you several, but try not to be shocked. We will begin with ‘The Blacksmith’s Daughter.’ ”
Georgina began to sing:
The blacksmith’s daughter went to town
All done up in a yellow gown
The village lord was all aflame
And asked to know the maiden’s name
Said he, I’ll ne’er desert you, dear
Be kind to me and never fear
The blacksmith’s daughter took him then
Behind the butcher’s piglet pen
His lordship tore the yellow gown
Along with the poor girl’s maiden crown
The lord, he then did quickly hie
And left the girl to rue and cry
The moral be, no honest word
Will e’er pass the lips of an English lord
By the time we reached Bath, I had learned three drinking songs. Georgina and I rocked along in the carriage with our feet on the opposing seat, singing at the top of our lungs. My father would no doubt have expired of shock at such a scene!
In the afternoon of the third day of travel, we arrived at Bath. I had never been there, although my father had often spent time in Bath for business reasons. However, he would never agree to his wife and children accompanying him.
I was all agog as we passed through the crowded streets, alive with carts and carriages of every description. The Lovell townhouse was a handsome three-story structure, with Georgina’s touches in gaily painted yellow shutters and a blue door. The house stood on Camden Place among an array of similar houses gracing well-tended gardens.
We happily jumped from the carriage and were greeted at the door by an old woman dressed in a man’s nankeen shooting jacket and a velvet skirt.
“So ye’ve come!” cried the crone. “I’ve chased ’em all away, but they’ll be back!”
Georgina embraced the old lady. “Mrs. Cacker, dear, how wonderful to see you. Say hello to Mrs. Stanfield.”
I curtsied, but Mrs. Cacker simply stared at me. “Aye, m’lady,” said she to Georgina, “ye’ve brought a fine fair midden with ye. She ’as the look of a seducer, m’lady, so ye’d best watch your pretty boy!”
I could not stifle a laugh. “Mrs. Cacker, I promise you I will not seduce Lady Lovell’s pretty boy. But tell me, who did you chase away?”
Mrs. Cacker stepped up to me and peered into my face. “The ghosts, missus. When the house be empty, they come out all bold and such.”
By then we had entered the house and assembled in the vestibule. Georgina told Dodge where to take my trunk and led me into the parlor. Lucinda went to fetch tea, followed by Mrs. Cacker.
“Goodness. Mrs. Cacker is a bit…”
“Crazy?”
I smiled. “Perhaps, but seemingly harmless.”
“Yes,” agreed Georgina, “she is quite harmless. She has been in this house since she was a girl, and she takes a surprising amount of care of it when I am not here. I cannot send her away. Where would she go?”
“Has she no family?”
“None whatsoever. When she becomes unable to care for herself, I will take her to the country with me and keep her there until she dies.”
“You have a generous heart, my friend.”
At that moment, Mrs. Cacker stumbled into the parlor brandishing a broom. “There ’tis! There ’tis!” she cried. She rushed into a corner of the room and began beating the wall. “Be gone, spirit!”
I looked at Georgina and she looked at me, and we nearly choked trying not to laugh. If I had had any doubts before, I was now sure that my visit to Bath would be an experience I would never forget.
The next day was a storm of visitors and activities. Georgina’s friends were not the least put off by Mrs. Cacker, and the evening found most of them assembled in the drawing room, arguing about politics, with occasional forays into art and drama.
Several interesting gentlemen were of the party. One was Mr. Grant Medlow, who, I gathered from the general conversation, was the younger son of the Earl of Kenwick but was independently wealthy through a bequest from an uncle. He sat next to me and made himself highly agreeable. When he mentioned having spent the summer in Kent visiting a friend, I inquired whether he was acquainted with either of my brothers.
He started to ask their names, but just then Mrs. Cacker loomed over us with her broom. “I see you!” she screeched and began to beat the back of the sofa on which we were sitting. When the ghosts had been dispatched, Mr. Medlow made his inquiry.
“Pray, what are your brothers’ names?”
“My elder is Winslow John Tenley, heir to Sir Winslow Tenley of North Commons Abbey. The cadet is Frederick.”
Mrs. Cacker shrieked and dropped her broom. The room became silent, and every head swiveled toward her.
“Dear Mrs. Cacker,” called Georgina. “what is the matter?”
“Sir Winslow Tenley is the devil himself!” shouted the old lady. “This midden be the spawn of the devil!”
A bit of laughter followed that outburst, but I was struck dumb by it. Georgina left her seat and took Mrs. Cacker’s arm.
“Mrs. Cacker, dear, why would you call Sir Winslow Tenley the devil?”
Mrs. Cacker glared at me and turned to Georgina. “He spawned two brats with old Biddy’s daughter and left ’em to shift for theirselves in the Dirty Corner.”
Utter silence prevailed for a moment or two, and then everyone began talking at once. Georgina sat down next to me and took my hand. “Cassie,” she whispered, “do not be distressed. We will speak with Mrs. Cacker later to comprehend the meaning of this outburst.”
I tried to recover my spirits and continue my gay conversation with Mr. Medlow, but I could not shake off a feeling of anxiety. For the first time since I had arrived in Bath, I was not enjoying myself and I prayed the evening would soon end.
When the last of Georgina’s friends disappeared into the foggy October night, she signaled me to follow her to the kitchen. Mrs. Cacker was dozing by the stove. Georgina gently awakened her and sat her at the servants’ table with us.
“Now, Mrs. Cacker, I must insist on hearing an explanation of your outburst concerning Sir Winslow Tenley.”
“Who, m’lady?”
“Mrs. Stanfield’s father, Sir Winslow Tenley. You said he ‘spawned two brats with old Biddy’s daughter.’ ”
“Aye, so he did. But if ye know the story, why are ye asking me to tell it?”
“Mrs. Cacker,” I said, “we don’t know the story, so we would like very much to hear it from you.”
The old woman stared at me. “Not much t’ tell. Sir Winslow Tenley come to Bath on business, and some o’ his business was monkey business.”
“Mrs. Cacker,” said Georgina, “can you be a bit clearer? What exactly did Sir Winslow do?”
Mrs. Cacker smiled, showing toothless gums. “Why, m’lady, every servant on the street knew what ’e done! Old Biddy’s daughter was a comely lass ’bout ten year ago.”
“So Old Biddy lives on this street?” I asked.
“Aye, last house. She be the head maid, and as luck would have it, she bore a girl when she was near past that business. She ’ad no ’usband, so folk said the master was the father of the brat. To be sure, ’e didna toss Old Biddy out but let ’er keep the babe.”
“Ah!” cried Georgina. “I know now who you mean. Old Biddy’s name is Elizabeth, is it not? And her daughter is Isabella. Elizabeth is head maid for Colonel Bradshaw and his wife.”
“Aye, that be the place. Isabella was as pretty a lass as ever walked God’s earth. The tale goes Sir Winslow Tenley came to dinner and got a glimpse o’ Bella as she brought in tea or whatever. ’E wouldn’t rest til ’is manhood found a home in ’er little nest, if you know what I mean, missus.”
“I do indeed,” said Georgina, hiding a
smile. “And so Sir Winslow seduced Isabella?”
“Aye, ’e did. Promised ’er this and that. Came back every year ’til the two babes were born, and then ’e never came again.”
“Two babes?” I asked.
“Aye, two at once, a lass and a boy. By then, Bella was living in the Dirty Corner.”
“What is the Dirty Corner?”
Georgina explained. “It is a part of the city where the poor live and prostitutes roam freely and a pickpocket is on every corner.”
“If this story is true,” I said, “these children are my half brother and sister. I must find them.”
“Cassie,” said Georgina, “if this story is true, your father is the greatest hypocrite the world has ever seen.”
“Indeed. And I’ve a good mind to throw it in his face.”
The next day, Georgina sent notes to put off her various engagements and we took the carriage to the home of Old Biddy. Mrs. Cacker accompanied us and giggled all the way at her position inside the carriage.
“Aye, ’tis a right fair comfortable thing, the innards of a carriage!”
We tried to keep Mrs. Cacker’s mind on the errand at hand, for it would be her task to glean from Old Biddy the whereabouts of Isabella and the children. But we needn’t have worried. We parked the carriage a few doors down from the Bradshaw residence, and Mrs. Cacker, spry as a grasshopper, jumped from the carriage and ran around the house to the servants’ entrance. We waited impatiently in the carriage for ten minutes, and just as we were about to go seek her, she trotted down the curved gravel drive and swung herself into the landau.
“Did you get the information?” asked Georgina.
“Aye, and sad it was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Old Biddy was wearin’ black ribands, so I ast her who did the croak. She said ’er own Bella did the croak a few months ago.”
“Good heavens! What happened to her?”
“Old Biddy cried hard and didn’t want to say. But I told ’er ’ere’s Lady Lovell’s friend wanting to help care for the babes, so speak up! What become of Bella and where are the two bastards…beg your pardon, m’lady.”
