by Louise Allen
Henrietta looked at her flushed face. ‘I'm certain he did not expect you to carry food to him over a good mile, and all uphill, on a day as hot as this.’
‘I do not like to think of him going hungry. And you know what he's like with Sir Matthew. They become so engrossed in their plans and schemes for the estate.’
Henrietta's heart missed a beat. She moved the basket from one arm to another to cover her reaction. ‘Oh, my husband is with him, then?’ It was Robert he spent all his time with, it was Robert who heard of his plans for the estate, Robert who shared his thoughts and dreams for the future of Winterbourne.
It was only right he trusted his steward to that extent, but it did not salve the hurt that he could not even bring himself to discuss his day with her in the evening.
‘Does Robert talk to you much of his doings when the day is ended?’ The track had begun to narrow between high hedges and Henrietta brushed away the dancing flies that bothered them.
‘Indeed yes. And he is so happy now, it is like the days when your father was alive. There is so much to do, so much to plan. Everyone is so happy with the new master.’ She sensed Henrietta's restraint and quickly added, ‘I did not mean you were not a good mistress to us, but a man is different.’
Henrietta inwardly acknowledged the truth of this, knowing how whole-heartedly Matthew had thrown his energies into the running of Winterbourne. She had never been brought up to understand the running of the great estate, although she had done her best when the task had been thrust upon her.
No, Matthew with his legal mind and wide experience was far better fitted to the task, although by his own confession he was no countryman. And this way, of course, he didn't have to spend time with his new wife while he made Winterbourne the perfect place for his son to inherit.
They reached a gap in the hedge and stopped, seeing their men standing together across the field. They were deep in conversation, their horses' reins looped over a sheep hurdle. Even at that distance they were easily distinguishable, each from the other, Matthew lean and dark, half a head taller than his sandy-haired steward.
‘What are they doing?’ Henrietta demanded, opening the gate.
‘Do you not know? That book on husbandry young Dick brought back from Oxford has new ideas for sheep pens. Robert has spoken of little else these five days past, his mind is so full of the new ways of farming. Last night I told him if he could talk only of sheep he could go do it in the barn!’
There was so much amused affection in her voice that Henrietta was in no doubt Robert could have talked of sheep in his sleep before his fond wife would have complained. She envied their happiness, the easy friendship between them built on so much mutual love and trust, the pride in Robert's eyes when he looked at his wife.
The two men were still unaware of their approach, ‘I confess I am surprised Matthew and Robert work so well together,’ Henrietta confided. ‘I was concerned their beliefs would make a barrier between them, especially since Robert was so badly hurt in battle.’
‘I too. I asked him about it and he said Sir Matthew had told him he did not seek to command his conscience, only his loyalty, that when all's said and done each was working toward the same end – a safe future for their children and the country. Robert says you do not need to share a man's political beliefs to respect and like him.’
Alice struggled to explain a difficult abstraction. ‘Robert thinks he sees Winterbourne as a symbol for the whole country. If we can work together despite our different beliefs, be honest with each other, all the scars will be healed. Sir Matthew fears the extremists of both sides, I think.’
It was the same compromise Matthew had offered Henrietta on their betrothal. But her refusal to be honest with him had shattered that peace, and she could see no way back. Alice's tripping on a tussock broke into her bitter thoughts. ‘Take care,’ she scolded, putting out her free hand to steady her friend.
The sharp note of worry in her voice carried on the still air. The two men turned together and walked to meet them. Matthew took the heavy basket from Henrietta and dumped it on the ground. Her broad-brimmed straw hat had fallen off and was hanging down her back by its ribbons. With surprising gentleness he placed it on her head and tightened the ribbons under her chin.
‘You should not be walking in this heat with your head uncovered. We have had one man in a fever already today from a surfeit of the sun.’
The concern in his face was genuine, a fleeting glimpse of the tenderness she hungered for so much. The unexpectedness of it made her clumsy. ‘It is Alice, not I, who is with child.’
Henrietta could have bitten off her tongue the moment the words were out. She turned from him and walked over to the pile of wattle hurdles, away from Robert who was settling his wife in the shade of an oak tree and pouring her a cooling drink.
The next thing she knew Matthew's hands were on her shoulders, compelling her to face him. ‘You are disappointed again?’
‘We are both disappointed, husband. It seems our disappointment is the only thing on which we agree.’
‘There is much on which we agree.’ He looked into her eyes, doubtless reading the hurt and the anger in them, and seemed to reach a decision. ‘This coldness between us cannot continue, wife.’
‘It is not I who am cold,’ she began bitterly.
‘No, it is I. I admit it. Perhaps I was asking too much of you, punishing you for keeping something of yourself back from me.’
‘A drink, Sir Matthew? Mistress?' Robert held out a horn cup.
Henrietta accepted quickly, grateful for the interruption. She was so used to Matthew's coldness, his disregard of her, that the warmth in his eyes, his voice, threw her into complete confusion. She wanted a reconciliation more than anything, the sort of marriage Alice and Robert had. Yet he had still not spoken of love.
The four sat in the shade sharing the simple meal. Henrietta had no appetite but she forced herself to eat a little bread and cheese and swallow some ale. Robert and Alice sat close, laughing softly together, unconscious of the unsettled mood of the other couple.
‘Your son kicks, Robert, feel.’ Alice took his broad hand, placing it gently on her swollen stomach.
‘It might not be a son.’ Robert's face creased in a delighted grin at the child's vigour. ‘It might be a daughter as beautiful as her mother.’
Henrietta stood up abruptly, pierced by a sudden jealousy of Alice's pregnancy. ‘I must get back to the house.’ Perhaps Matthew would come with her. Yet she could not find the words to ask him.
‘I too.’ Robert jumped to his feet. ‘I must not dally here, my love. Now walk back slowly. Leave the basket and Sim can fetch it later.’
‘Put Alice up on your horse,’ Matthew suggested. ‘You can lead her down, it's a long walk back.’
‘Thank you both,’ Alice said briskly, ‘but I am quite recovered. You have much to do, Robert, and I would not hinder you. Lady Sheridan and I will walk back to the house together.’
Henrietta smiled reassurance at Robert. ‘I will make sure she walks slowly, see she comes to no harm.’
Robert took some convincing, but finally he and Matthew rode off to oversee the watering of the cattle in the few pools left now the Bourne was scarcely flowing.
The two women walked in silence for a while down the chalky track. The tall grass was dusty and dry, but a few flowers remained for the Chalk Blue butterflies that danced like jewels in the air before them.
‘Have you spoken with the wisewoman?’ Alice asked out of nowhere.
‘Why would I wish to talk to Mistress Perrott?’ Henrietta queried cautiously.
‘Because you are worrying that you are not yet with child.’ How well Alice knew her.
‘My aunt says it is early days yet.’ Henrietta tried to convince both Alice and herself.
‘But then, Mistress Clifford never fell for a child.’
‘I am sure she knows what she is talking about, Alice,’ Henrietta chided. She did not want Alice to sna
tch away the comfort her aunt's words gave her.
‘The master does… I mean you do…’ Alice shuffled her feet in the dust, suddenly at a loss for words.
‘Yes, Alice. I have nothing to complain of in his attention to me.’
That embarrassing question out of the way, Alice turned back to her original advice with more confidence. ‘I doubt anything is seriously amiss. Perhaps Mistress Perrott could suggest some herbal draught for you.’
‘I hope she suggests nothing for my husband, I doubt he would take it. He has little trust in our country potions.’
‘He has no need of any,’ Alice remarked thoughtlessly. ‘After all, he has fathered a son. God rest his soul.’
So it is all my fault, Henrietta thought bleakly. Even her beloved friend thought so. Was that another reason Matthew had been so cold?
*
‘So you believe I am worrying unduly?’ Henrietta asked.
Widow Perrott touched her hand reassuringly with her own work-worn fingers. ‘Yes, Mistress. You are young, strong and healthy. You have a lusty bridegroom.’ She ignored Henrietta's telling blush. ‘You have not been married long. Do not be impatient and nature will take its course. Worry less, anxiety will hinder conception.’
‘That is well to say, but difficult advice to follow.’ None the less she was relieved by the wisewoman's reassurance.
‘You have lost your rosy glow, child.’ The older woman peered at her closely in the dim light filtering through the oiled parchment covering the few windows. ‘Do you sleep well in this heat? No? Well, I have a remedy for that at least.’
Henrietta sat back on the long settle by the hearth and watched Widow Perrott sort through the array of wooden boxes on a long shelf, muttering to herself as she did so.
‘Grated valerian root… not too much of that, for it is a powerful sleeping draught, dried mint, camomile. Now where did I put that lavender?’ She found a bundle and rubbed a handful of the flowers off the stems on to the other herbs on a linen cloth. She put the tied bundle on Henrietta's lap. ‘Now, infuse this mixture with boiling water for the usual time and take a small glassful an hour before you want to sleep.’
‘Does it taste bitter?’ Henrietta hated taking medicines.
‘The taste is not a pleasant one, but you could add honey. It will soothe your nerves, help you to relax. Now tell me, how is Mistress Weldon going along?’
‘Well, but tired in this heat. And she tries to do too much, despite all her husband and I advise.’
‘That will be a large child.’ The wisewoman shook her head. ‘You must persuade her to rest more, and I will walk up tomorrow to see her. Meanwhile, do not concern yourself for her. I will be with her in November when she comes to term. Here, you could take her this.’ She lifted a small phial from the shelf. ‘It will strengthen both her and the child.’
‘What is it?’ Henrietta regarded the oily yellow liquid doubtfully.
‘Raspberry leaves, yarrow and lady's mantle. She knows to add honey for taste.’
‘I must go, the household will be wondering where I have got to.’ Henrietta rose, stooping under the low lintel, and pressed a coin into the woman's palm.
‘And your fond husband too, I'll be bound.’
Henrietta smiled uncertainly. ‘Yes, he too, of course.’ If only he meant what he'd said that afternoon, if only they could regain the companionship they had begun to build.
She latched the wicket gate in the fence around Mistress Perrott's small, crowded garden to keep out any wandering livestock and stepped out on to the roadway to Winterbourne. Seconds later she collided with a man; the figure was immediately familiar.
‘Your pardon, Mistress.’ Nathaniel Cobham bowed stiffly and stepped back from her.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Oh! Cobham… it was my fault; I was not attending to where I was going.’ Henrietta forced herself to speak amiably, determined not to let the clerk see her distaste for him.
‘You mind was on other matters, no doubt.’ His eyes flicked to the low thatched cottage behind them, then to the bundle in her hand. ‘May I carry that for you?’
He put out a hand and Henrietta drew back instinctively. ‘Thank you, you are kind, but it is not heavy, a few herbs only to replenish our stillroom.’ She was doing it again, falling into the trap of justifying her actions to this man who was nothing to her, however loyal a servant to Matthew. ‘You are a long way from the house, Master Cobham.’
If she had hoped to disconcert him she had failed. ‘Yes,’ he agreed calmly.
‘Your master has sent you on some errand perhaps?’ she persisted with a touch of hauteur.
‘Sir Matthew gives me wide discretion in the exercise of my duties.’ He stood, apparently respectful, but allowing for the first time his dislike of her to colour his tone.
‘And just what might those duties be, Cobham?’ she asked, nettled.
‘I do not discuss my master's business with anyone, madam.’ He ignored the angry spots of colour staining Henrietta's cheeks. ‘Allow me to escort you home, Lady Sheridan.’ He made it quite clear he considered her part of his business and not for the first time Henrietta was convinced he was spying on her.
Stiff-backed, Henrietta stalked up the road. ‘Very well. I believe we are both going in the same direction.’
‘Mistress Perrott has some small reputation for her healing… powers.’ He managed to make the suggestion sound sinister.
‘Most countrywomen have a familiarity with herbal remedies,’ Henrietta said as casually as she could. ‘We are far from the nearest surgeon – not that the common people could afford his ministrations. We are in the country here and even apothecaries are not two a penny as they are in London Town.’
‘It is a dangerous power none the less.’
‘There are many families in the village who have cause to be grateful for Mistress Perrott's skills,’ Henrietta reproved him sharply. ‘She has delivered most of the babies hereabouts, myself and my brothers included.’
‘So she is a midwife too.’ He turned his sharp black eyes on her face for the first time since they had begun to walk. ‘Women have cause to thank the midwife for more than safe deliveries. Children are not always welcome.’
Henrietta knew what he was implying. ‘How dare you suggest such a thing? She is the God-fearing widow of an honest tenant of ours, a respected member of our congregation. If her sons were to hear your words you would live to regret them.’
‘It is not her sons I would fear, but her arts, madam,’ the clerk said softly.
Suddenly Henrietta was afraid, her anger banished. He had not spoken the word witch but it was on the tip of his tongue. His religious views were extreme enough for him to make the accusation, and once made it was a charge rarely disproved.
That witches existed she had not doubt, along with other instruments of the Devil. Did not Mr Halsey, and before him Mr Hale, warn against them from the pulpit? But they did not lurk in Winterbourne or its village.
Yet Henrietta knew enough of human nature and its envies and spites to know that if the cry of, ‘Witch!’ was raised someone would take it up, remember a hard word or black look or a cow sickening inexplicably.
She walked on in shaken silence until they reached the front door. Cobham bowed, wished her a punctilious farewell, and took himself off round the side of the house.
‘Good riddance!’ Henrietta shivered, trying to convince herself that her fears were fanciful. Matthew was master here and he would permit no unjust witch-hunt.
Even as she thought of it her husband came out of the front door and stood on the steps looking down at her. ‘You are troubled? Do you wish to speak of it?’
The doubt in his voice stung her, but she nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, Matthew, if you please. I am worried, but what I have to say may anger you.’
His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he came down the steps and offered her his arm. ‘Let us walk in the herb garden.’
In the scented peace of the garden
she sat on a bench and handed him the bundle she carried. ‘Your clerk believes these are potions obtained from a witch.’ If she had hoped to gain his attention she had succeeded. Matthew flicked open the cloth and sniffed the contents. ‘But these are simple herbs. A sleeping remedy if I am not mistaken.’
‘Perhaps you will tell Cobham that before he has Mistress Perrott, that good woman, burnt as a witch.’
‘Nonsense. He would never do such a thing.’
‘Matthew, the man is extreme. He dislikes and distrusts me, indeed I do believe all women are damned in his eyes. He truly believes Mistress Perrott to be an agent of the Devil. You must silence him, counsel him in moderation.’
‘The old fool.’ Matthew sounded both weary and angry. ‘I am so used to him I have failed to see how extreme he has grown. I knew he did not like you as he did Sarah, but he had known her as a child. But believe me, Henrietta, I would not tolerate him showing you disrespect. I will deal with the man. There will be no more talk of witchcraft at Winterbourne.’
‘Send him away, Matthew,’ she pleaded. ‘He has a malign influence on the household.’
‘Your dislike of him leads you to exaggerate. I will speak with him, but not harshly. He served my father well, and has been a good servant to me. His life has seen much tragedy; I will not turn him out because he has grown crabbed with age.’
‘Thank you.’ With that she must be content. At least Matthew was speaking to her now.
He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come, Lady Sheridan, show me round your domain. The gardens are looking very well despite this dry weather.’
*
The fine, hot weather persisted into the opening days of September. Consulting the farm log, Robert predicted a record harvest and the village looked forward to a fine autumn and a comfortable winter.
Henrietta set every maidservant who could be spared to harvesting the hedgerows for blackberries, elderberries, sloes and hips. The stillroom was alive with activity as cordials were distilled, jellies and syrups boiled and strained. Work in the cool room was envied by the kitchen staff, who still had to swelter in front of the spits and fires, and by the girls boiling coppers in the laundry.
