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Chapter 8, Part 2

Posted on Friday, 14 July 2000, at 4 : 19 p.m.

"Well what? Look! Mine is indisposed just now, but you give us until ... until autumn and we could take the two of you hands down!"

"Oh? I could give you and your nag you until Christmas -- next year, and you still could not take more than a quarter mile in an hour!

The hour was late, and Frederick had wanted to retire much earlier, but chose instead to give Louisa a chance to fall asleep. He was a little disgusted with himself that he was back to such craven behaviour when it came to her, but he had no idea what husbands and wives in their circumstances were expected to say to one another, and from her stricken look, when told of his intentions to stay another day ... suffice to say he expected tears.

Wiling away the evening, Frederick had plagued his brother about horses. Theirs in particular. Reading more completely through the pedigree papers of Belknapp's Beauteous Buttercup -- Knappie, for short, the Captain had taken to degrading the Rector's poor Standish in an alarming manner.

While the legal, pedigreed name of his new mount made him shudder -- he swore to call her only Belle -- she was a fine piece of horseflesh and he was determined to keep her if possible. Stabling her in Plymouth would cost him handsomely, but she was a fine animal and he hoped that she would prove worthy of the cost.

The evening had worn itself out, and as the Rector and Mrs Wentworth and the Captain mounted the stairs to bed, the dispute about horses still raged.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please," Catherine pleaded. "Why is it, when men talk horses, all civility takes a holiday? Now, Edward, we are going to bed -- and I want no more wrangling about those horses -- from either one of you. Goodnight, Captain." She opened the door to their room and went inside.

The brothers looked a bit sheepish at the rebuke and called, "Goodnight."

Frederick entered his room and as he closed the door, he noticed right off that the room was quite was warm, warmer than usual when he alone tended the fire. Looking towards the bed, he saw that his wife slept quietly. Mmmm, she seems to have done well in keeping herself cosy. The least she could have done was to leave me a little light by which to manoeuvre. From what he could see, she had only left him a single, nearly guttered candle.

Taking off his jacket, he hung it on the bedpost. After stripping off his neckcloth and adding it to the jacket, he removed his watch and a few coins in his pocket to the salver on the dresser. Looking over to the bed, he dropped the handful onto the metal tray and listened to the loud clatter as all the metal bounced around. When the final shilling piece had stopped its dancing, he watched Louisa closely, but she did not move.

Taking a seat on the blanket chest, he began removing his boots. As he tugged, he glanced back towards Louisa. She still slept peacefully. Turning his attentions back to the boot, he gave it a mighty yank and it flew off, skipping and skittering along the floor, until it stopped with a dull thud against the wardrobe.

He again looked over his shoulder, only to find that she still had not stirred. Mmmm. I never realised she was so sound a sleeper. Curious, he shucked of his other boot and gave it a healthy toss, so that it joined the first. The noise was significant. Looking her way, there was still no movement. Either she has gone deaf, or she is faking sleep, he thought.

Shaking his head, he picked up the boots and put them away. He searched the wardrobe, glad to be getting changed for the room now felt very warm to him. No wonder she's always shivering -- if this is how she would like it! Shifting things about the wardrobe, but still finding no nightshirt, he thought to look in the hamper and found it hanging on the changing screen, facing the fire. He took it down and held it for a moment. Suddenly, everything made sense! She had taken admirable care of the fire, keeping it as warm as she liked it. She had only left him light enough barely to fumble by, though low enough that she might comfortably sleep. And certainly, her keeping still through all the racket he had caused meant something too. However, leaving his nightshirt hanging over the screen had sent the loudest message -- it could not have been more clear! She wanted him out!

I suppose I should be grateful that she did not toss it in a heap in front of the door! I would have played the fool explaining that to Edward! he seethed. Heading to the door, he thought, If that's how she wants it, then to the nursery I go!

Louisa heard the door open and close again. Slowly raised her head and took a quick look about the room. Not immediately seeing Frederick, she quickly pulled the nightgown from under the blankets where she had held it. Poking her head through the neck of the nightdress, she looked about more carefully. He was indeed gone. All that told her he had truly been in the room was the thumping and bumping she had heard. And, his coat the still hung from the bedpost. Flopping back on the pillow, Louisa wasn't certain whether she was glad that he had not come to bed just then, and found her out, or disappointed for the same reason.

After the clock pinged a quarter hour, Louisa began to wonder to where he had gone off. She thought that perhaps he had forgotten something downstairs and would return momentarily. After half an hour, she began to be angry. After the three-quarter hour, she worried. After a full hour, she threw back the blankets and went to fetch a candle. She was determined to know why he had left her.

"To blazes with this cot!" Frederick muttered viciously under his breath. The whole of the past hour had been spent turning from side to side and front to back. He was cold and more tired than when he had pulled the two pieces of holland cloth over himself. The blankets and pillow had been taken out that very day and washed thoroughly, leaving nothing to lay over him but the cloths that covered the furniture, and nothing on which to rest his head but his own bunched trousers.

Acutely feeling his reduction, he had a mind to take himself back into his own room and bed, let her rant, let her cry buckets at his cruelty, but he would not be treated thus in his own ... He paused, it was not his house, but --

The hardware of the door clicked and quietly opened, he heard someone enter. He felt foolish calling out and so did not. He listened closely, hoping that whomever it might be, would make themselves known shortly.

He noted that whoever it was, held up a candle and took a survey of the room, as a shadow fell across him and his little cot. Slowly, so not to draw attention, he pulled the canvas up to his chin and waited.

Louisa crept into the room and closed the door. It was freezing. The Captain had built no fire. Holding the candle high, she found the cot and saw his form. He was obviously asleep as the light from the candle did not disturb him.

Charting a path through buckets and tools and the few pieces of furniture scattered about the room, she came to stand by him. Looking down on her husband, she contemplated what she should do.

Setting the candle on a crate, she touched his shoulder and waited. He did not start or move in the least. Taking the covers she lifted them and tucked herself behind him.

Good lord! It's Louisa. She's getting in the bed! Frederick stiffened and held firmly to the cloths. As she snugged herself ever more tightly against him, she pulled on the hollands, but the Captain held fast. Oh, I wish she'd not done that, he moaned to himself as she molded herself more closely and brought her legs to rest against his.

She realised there was no use in pulling on the covers. He's most likely laying on them, she thought. That was not good for her, as what little she had, did not cover her backside and that poor part of her was fast growing cold. Slowly, she snaked her hand under his arm and pulled herself closer yet, leaving her hand on his chest. If I should fall, I shall take him right along with me, she mused.

Just then, a loud creaking sound filled the room. Both held their breath and lay perfectly still. The creaking stopped. Is there no bed in this house that does not sound as though on the verge of collapse? Frederick wondered.

This bed is no better than the other, Louisa thought. Growing colder, she gave the cloths a weak tug, but found no give. She held tighter and closer to her husband. He still did not move.

Again there was a creaking, but a crack that sounded like a shot followed this one. Both started, but neither said anything.

Crack!

Directly after the second crack, the sound of splintering wood was the only thing that could be heard. As the leg of the bed began to break apart, the bed jerked and dropped a few inches. Without thinking, Louisa cried out. However, there was nothing to be done as the bed gave the rest of the way. It fell to the floor, jolting and bouncing them and then spilling the Captain and his wife into an unceremonious heap.

"What was that? Something outside?" the Rector hissed to Catherine.

"I don't know, but it sounded as though it was here, in the house!" she hissed back.

The Rector sat up and began getting out of bed. "It almost sounded like it came from one of the other rooms. Perhaps it was Frederick and Louisa." He stumbled in the dark and found the blanket kept at the end of the bed. Throwing it about his shoulders, he headed to the door.

Weighing her conversation with Louisa, and Edward's thought that the noise was somehow connected to them, Catherine exclaimed, "Come back to bed dear. It was most likely a stray dog outside or something like that. No need to be up and banging about."

As he opened the door, the Rector said, "This from you? I'm certain it was inside the house! Stay as you are and I shall be back in a moment." As he stepped into the hall, he closed the door and muttered, "Any other time she would be shoving me out the door, insisting I find out precisely what the matter is ... there's not a one of us in this house normal today ..."

It took a moment for tumbled couple to come to their senses. "I suppose this means that I shall be buying my brother two beds," Frederick said, dryly.

Louisa began to laugh. Quietly at first, but then building to the point that she put her hand over her mouth to keep from waking the house.

"Hush. This is not in the least bit funny," Frederick said. He too wanted to laugh, but was not certain that amusement was the proper response.

"Oh, but it is!"

"Frederick? Frederick -- where are you? Louisa -- where are you two --?" They could hear the Rector's voice calling. They could hear him opening and closing the door to their room. He was obviously coming to the nursery.

Hearing the Rector's approach, Louisa dived for the holland cloths, crying, "He cannot see me like this! Make him go away!" With that, she made herself look no different than any of the other lumpish shapes scattered about the room.

Determined to keep his brother at bay, Frederick slid himself to the door and sat with his back against it in preparation for Edward.

The Rector arrived at the door and turning the handle, pushed and found it stuck. Pushing again, he called out, "Are you both all right? What was that noise?"

Trying not to laugh, Frederick said softly, "It was nothing, Edward. Nothing at all, just go to bed."

Pushing again, the door held tight. "But the door seems to be jammed." Edward said, "And what are you doing in there? Is Louisa in there? She's not in the other room."

"Edward, go to bed. Louisa is well and tomorrow I shall take a plane to this door and make it square and flush." Tugging at a corner of the cloth, he pulled it and uncovered Louisa's hiding place. "I promise you that. Now, just go off to bed like a good brother," Frederick said, motioning for Louisa to come to him. "Just go on to bed and I will explain all this tomorrow."

"What was all of that?" Catherine asked when Edward returned to their bed.

"I have no idea -- and I am not certain I wish to know. Frederick has been peculiar all day and I think this is part of it. I think it best we forget all of this."

Catherine settled back into her blankets. "He has been off today?"

"Yes, couldn't get a decent conversation out of him the whole of the time we were out."

""Well, that is odd," she said, smiling. She hoped that maybe this strange turn was a good turn for the young couple.

Both Louisa and Frederick listened as the Rector's footsteps retreated down the hallway. Neither knew just what to say. The longer they sat, the more a kind of giddiness bubbled up in Louisa. To herself, she wondered what he might have said, if the Rector had found them heaped together on the floor!

"So," said the Captain, "what brought you in here?

She laughed harder. Considering her plan of earlier -- her grand seduction, she could do no more than laugh.

"I'm sure that we look ridiculous. What possessed you to get in that tiny cot with me?"

Louisa decided to make a confession -- of sorts. " I came in here thinking to ... 'seduce' you." She whispered the offending word.

"Well," he drawled. "That is a new sort of 'seduction'," he too whispered the word. "But it would be ridiculous to think if you break the bed, there will be any repeating of last night ... " He watched her to see her response.

"Most ridiculous, I am sure," she sputtered. Pulling one of the cloths from her shoulders, she held it out to him. "We must make this right, you know. I want to."

He took the cloth and pulled it to his chin. "So do I, but are you sure?"

She nodded. Looking around, she said, "This will be most uncomfortable, sleeping on the floor all night."

"The devil we'll sleep here!" he exclaimed. Throwing the cloth aside, he said, "As I recall, our room was as snug as one could wish for. We sleep in there." He began to search for his trousers, and then stopped. "If you want me in there. Considering that you put me out."

"Put you out?" she cried. "I did no such thing! You left of your own accord! -- took your nightshirt and left!" The single candle she had brought chose that moment to gutter out and they were left with only the moonlight.

"What else was I to think? You certainly did not need me to tend the fire, the room was warm enough to bake bread, and there were no candles lit to aid my retiring, I could barely see!" he listed. "And, I took it that hanging my nightshirt on the screen was some sort of signal flag -- 'Get out -- Sleep elsewhere!'"

"No!" she cried again. Scooting closer, she continued, "The room had to be warm, I couldn't lay there with nothing on in a cold room!" Louisa was talking so fast, desperate for him to understand, that she did not realise her blunder -- she had told him the very thing she had worked so hard to keep from him.

"I wanted the room to be nice and warm ... and the candles, I suppose I lit them too soon ... they guttered out. I hung your nightshirt towards the fire so that it would be warm ... I ... I did not wish you to leave me -- my heart sank when I heard the door close behind you! I thought you would be back directly and I waited and waited ... " She reached up and stroked his cheek.

He wasn't certain that he had heard everything she had said. Some of it sounded a bit fantastical. He decided to wait and see if she repeated some of the more interesting parts. "You were awake? I tried my best to get a rise out of you! I practically threw my boots across the room, and if I am lucky, my watch survived the slamming it took! Why didn't you say something if you were awake?"

Not wishing him to know the whole of her plan, Louisa stuttered out her explanation. "I was waiting for you to come to bed. I wanted to talk to you, to make you know how sorry I was about last night -- and today. I wanted you to be close to me, I thought that perhaps that would make it easier."

"And I wanted you to know how sorry I was." He kissed her tenderly and all the frustrations and confusion of the day disappeared. Drawing back, he looked into her eyes. "I am sorry." He decided that they were ready to try again. "Come on, a much warmer room awaits."

"No ... stop ... it did not close. Move back. There," she said, closing the door silently. She had complained of cold feet and he had carried her back to their room. With his hands rather full, Louisa had been obliged to open and close both bedroom doors. Carrying her to the bed, he set her down, intending to renew the fire. Both were cold and the room had cooled significantly.

"I best tend the fire ... unless of course you would rather do that yourself," he gave her a sly smile as he lit a candle.

"No," she replied, "I feel that a husband's place is before the hearth. I cannot do it justice."

After renewing the fire, Frederick returned to the bed. Climbing in beside Louisa, he took her in his arms and said, "Now tell me about this seduction you had planned -- and why the room had to be so warm?"

For a moment she wondered why he was asking such a particular question, and then her hurried accounting of things came to her and realised that he knew.

"You might as well tell me all of it, and not leave me wondering ... my conclusions might not be correct," he whispered.

"Well ... last night was such a disaster ... and I am so ashamed of myself. It hurt, but still -- pushing you away as I did was unfeeling, I could not blame you if you could never forgive me for that. All day I have seen how you look at me ... such disapproval. I decided that this might be my only option. Seduction, I mean."

She continued and told him the whole of her scheme and how planned to manipulate him -- and how she had decided against it. "It all sounds so indecent -- and so conceited! That somehow, at the sight of me ... you would be thrown into such a fit of passion that you would forget ... But I am very sorry about pushing you away ... you were being kind and tender and I was being ... petulant and foolish.""

"You were not petulant ... you were hurt and I was the cause. All day I have been hoping you would give me a chance to apologise, but you seemed to be rather busy with Catherine."

All his looks and the sound of his voice told her he felt nothing but empathy and tenderness, mixed with a little regret. "And as for looks ... I have seen how you looked at me ... with fear and loathing."

His words left her speechless. Great relief flooded her as she realised that he was not angry with her, but she sorrowed that he had taken her actions as reproach. And then she began to laugh. Laugh because he was clearly just as mistaken in his beliefs regarding her feelings as she had been about his! She told him that she did indeed have fears, but told him of their nature, and strongly disabused him of his notion that she felt anything but desire for him. As if to prove her point, she reached up and kissed him as passionately as she dared. Resting in his arms, he cradled her and stroked her hair.

"Oh my girl, we are a pair of cack-handed fools!" He took her hand and kissed it. "All I can say is that you should lay all such fears to rest ... it was not hard to guess what it was like for you ... I am just sorry that it is that way ... I am sorry I hurt you." Pulling her closer to him, he kissed her lips.

She drew back. "Mm-mm, but that is the way of it, is it not? We are at the mercy of nature ... you and I."

"Nonetheless, you were hurt and I was the cause of it ... I am sorry. For a man there is no pain ... nothing that diverts him. I wish it had been different for you." As he spoke, he stroked her neck and listened to the throaty responses it brought. Just the sounds were enough to distract him from any intelligible conversation.

"Mmm ... I also wish it had been different. But now, we must take our advantage ... we do not have many nights left to us ... not much time." As he caressed her neck, she came more under the spell of the passion it roused.

"No, we don't, do we?" He listened to her murmurs of pleasure. Knowing the effect they had upon one another, he lamented the extraordinary efforts he had taken to separate himself from her. As he thought, Louisa moved up, higher and closer to him. She was now resting just under his chin, cradled in his arms. The fingers of one hand aimlessly tousled his hair. The other hand toyed with the buttons of his nightshirt. Pulling the blankets snugly about her shoulders, he then brought his arms around her waist, enjoying the warmth of the moment. "While I am not in the least put off by your ... seduction, ... quite the opposite ... I am finding it immensely pleasurable ... I must ask, why are you willing to go to such great lengths ... willing to put yourself out so?"

Slowly, she raised herself and met his lips to hers. Drawing back, she began slowly, "W-e-l-l ... " She had thought out her answer carefully and wished to give it completely. "I find myself ... jealous. When you are away from me, and alone ... perhaps lonely ... I wish it to be me that you think of to comfort yourself ... " She swallowed hard. "My face ... my body," she whispered," ... me ... no one else. I love you, Frederick, and I will do whatever I must to secure my rightful place in your mind ... and your heart." He could see this was not all she wished to say, but it was all she was able to say; her voice had broken and she lowered her head, resting it on his chest.

He was quick to notice that she used his Christian name. She had tried in the past, but had only been able to bring herself to it once or twice and even then, it had been said with great hesitation. But this time, she said it with conviction, as if she were taking possession of it, that she meant to make it -- and him, her own. Hearing it spoken thus an unnameable feeling overtook Frederick. It choked him with emotion, and an overwhelming physical desire all at once. He had never experienced anything that humbled him as this simple, but bold admission by his wife. She had claimed her place and shown him how determined she was to take it. She clearly loved him and was willing to give as much of herself as he required.

Gently pulling her to him, he whispered urgently, "Oh, my Loua, make no mistake, that place is yours ... only yours."

Later, they lay together, arms and legs twined, fashioned into that bodily knot with which husbands
and wives bind themselves. Both took quiet delight in the comfort of their flourishing marriage bed. This second
night had been much different for each of them.

Frederick rested in Louisa's arms and listened to her slow, even breathing. Both indulged in this release from anxiety and disquiet. Feeling her silken gown beneath his cheek, he though how it had finally witnessed such a night as it had been created to incite. Louisa had been toying with his hair, but that had stopped some time ago. He suspected her fallen asleep. Suddenly, she said, "This is bliss."

He smiled. "So, for you, bliss is a scruffy little room, in a small house, lying in a bed that bawls like a ... "

"Bawls like a cow!" she playfully whispered, reminding him of his indelicate declaration of the night before.

"Yes, yes, like a cow -- you will never allow me to forget, I suppose?"

"Never," she kissed him. "A woman always remembers such words of love. And you must remember, this is my particular bliss. You in particular." Louisa kissed the top of his head and began to stroke his neck.

"Ah, me in particular? That is quite a compliment. I -- "

Just then, a low and protracted rumbling, like far off thunder emanated from his wife. Frederick raised his head, and looked at Louisa. "It would seem that your stomach agrees."

"I've eaten nothing today and I'm famished." She tried not to smile, but failed miserably.

"Ah, yes," he said, "Your breakfast went back to the kitchen, untasted. Dinner was three-quarters of an hour pushing food about your plate, and you bowed out of supper completely. Frederick kissed her as he rose from the bed. "Well, we will have to remedy this," he said, covering her snuggly. He rose to find his robe.

"Where are you going?" Louisa asked.

Cinching the belt tight, he said, "I am going to the pantry. There are leftovers galore and I shall find you something to eat." Leaning over her, he kissed her again and said, "I am responsible for the care and feeding of you now, I would look terribly negligent if I were to allow you to starve."

"Thank you, though I doubt I would starve, but I am so hungry." Before he stood, she took his hand and they gazed at one another for a little time.

Tucking her hand under the blankets, he whispered, "Stay warm and I will be back directly with enough to get you through the night."

Lifting the candle, Frederick looked about the kitchen. He was not very familiar with the room and so took care as he moved about. It would not do for him to be caught by Mrs Graham. He remembered how she had defended her apple tarts from a tipsy Dr Abernathy. The Captain had no doubts that she would do much worse to defend the Rectory from a nighttime intruder.

Poking around the pantry, he studied the shelves looking for likely prospects. He had been glad that Louisa's stomach had chosen that time to make itself known, as he also was hungry. His own agitations throughout the day had kept him from eating in his customary, hearty manner. However, he was finding, as he carefully inspected the contents of the pantry, nothing tempted him. Nothing until he lifted a particular cloth.

"Aha! This is it!" he exclaimed.

Entering their room, Frederick bore a platter that held their midnight picnic in one hand and a small flask in the other. With his hip, he quietly nudged the door closed and proclaimed, "The hunter returneth with food and drink fit for m'lady and her consort."

Louisa laughed as she sat up. He was quite a sight! He stood in his robe, in the midst of the candlelit room, holding a covered dish as though it were a fully dressed stag. The look upon his face was pure triumph.

"Shall I show you the feast?"

"Certainly, hunter, sir." Louisa smoothed the blankets in her lap in preparation of their midnight repast.

With a dignity that befit the dish, he came to the bed and seating himself by her, he revealed the bounty of his hunt. "Pour vous, Madam!" he proclaimed, in his poorly pronounced French, as loudly as one could so late at night. With a flick of the wrist he uncovered their feast.

Louisa gasped. Staring for a moment at the plate and then to him, she said, "We cannot! Not the pudding!"

Settling the small flask beside her, he placed the platter in her lap. Reaching into his robe pocket, and brought out two spoons. "And why not, may I ask?" As he waited for her answer, she took a spoonful and held it close to her mouth.

Looking unsure, she said, "Throughout tea he praised it and relished it so! And he said he was gratified to see that there would be enough for the next day! We cannot deprive him of that, he is so looking forward to it! If we eat all this -- " He had put the spoon with the pudding right to her lips. She could smell the currant jelly inside and she could taste a bit of sweet on her lips from the spoon brushing past. Her stomach made its wishes loudly known in the matter and without finishing her earnest appeal to restraint, she took the offered bit.

"There. Isn't that good?" He took a bite for himself.

She nodded as she chewed. Her agitation had kept her from tasting any of it when it was at it best, fresh and warm with the sauce. But even now, cold and no sauce, it was wonderful. What made it all the more wonderful, was that he had brought it to her. And brought it to her in such an open and playful, comfortable way. Swallowing, she said, "But really ... Frederick, we shouldn't have this, should we?"

He noticed there had been no hesitating in her use of his name. Scooping her another bite, off the cherished end, he said, "I must remind you my dear, Edward is a man of God. Certainly, were he to know that there was someone hungry and in need -- someone of his own family -- he would be the first to offer his beloved pudding to that one. I am sure of it." Taking a bite himself, he put the second spoon back in his pocket.

Louisa saw this and was touched. She decided that she would draw no attention to it. It was enough that it was happening. And as for his words! "I think something about you, shall I tell you what it is?"

"Oh, you think something of me?" For the first time all day, he was not afraid to know her opinion. "What might it be?"

"You say you are not well-spoken or poetic, I think that is quite untrue." She reached over and took the spoon from him. Now she would take his place in attending to the feast.

He gave her a smirk. "So, you call me a liar, Madam? After I have risked life and limb to provide you with this banquet -- I am affronted." He accepted a bite. Before she could withdraw her hand, he took it and kissed her wrist.

"Mm'mm. I'm sorry. I misspoke, I think. I meant that you are very-well spoken. Your words sometimes -- "

"Sometimes what?"

"Your words sometimes discompose me so, I cannot speak. There is nothing intelligible to reply, and so I am silent. It makes me look like a perfect idiot, I know, but -- "

"Eat! Don't talk." He took the spoon and fed her a bite. He had no desire to hear her confession of inadequacy. This night was too precious to waste and he would have none of it. Taking a bite for himself, he watched her run her finger through a little puddle of jam oozed from the middle. Putting her finger to her lips she noticed his gaze.

"What are you looking at? Are you put off by my lack of manners?"

"No. Not at all." Laying aside the spoon and the pudding, Frederick moved closer to her and saying nothing, he drew her close and kissed her forehead. Drawing back, he smiled and said quietly, "I think you are very correct -- this is bliss."

Later, the cold of the room drove Frederick reluctantly to leave the warmth of his wife and their bed. With nary a creak from their bawling bed, he made his way to the fire and lighting a branch of candles. He set about his task. After making a cheery blaze, he came and settled himself upon the blanket chest. Leaning on the bed frame, he watched Louisa sleep. As he gazed on his wife, he thought about the past few hours. Not only had there been extraordinary pleasures for them both, but how a much needed healing had been brought about as well.

For a long time, Frederick watched Louisa sleep, he listened to the fire crackle and pop, and thought. The longer he sat and listened, the closer he came to knowing his own mind and heart.

As he allowed his thoughts to become more precise in his mind, to name the feelings that were filling his heart, he knew what they were. He had felt them before. First for another and now, at last, for his wife. Not wishing to mislead the girl, he had never said the words. The words she had declared to him so forcefully in that very bed, that very night. Early in their marriage, had a declaration ever been made, it would have been from expectation. The night before, he might have thoughtlessly said the words out of flirtation. Now, when he was next given an opportunity, he could say them with meaning and honesty. Frederick had, indeed, come to love Louisa.

Not being able to help himself, he reached out and touched the closest part of her, her foot. He wanted to assure himself that she was real and solid, and that this had not all been some odd fabrication of his mind. Her foot wiggled in his grasp and she murmured a low, throaty moan. He thought she sounded pleased. Giving her foot a last rub, he stood and went to the fire. Stirring it once more, he replaced the poker, blew out the candles and went to the window. Lifting the curtains, he glanced out and wondered precisely what the time was. Gauging the moonlight, he guessed two o'clock. Just then, one forty-five struck and he smiled with satisfaction that this sojourn ashore had not ruined his innate sense of time, and that it was still fairly well intact. Dropping the curtains, he walked to the bed, but before getting in, he again studied his wife.

The room having warmed, she had pushed the coverlet from her face, where she had snuggled when he rose to tend the fire. Louisa lay on her back, one arm over her head. With her arm raised and her hair splayed over the pillow, she looked as she had the night at Uppercross when they had danced for the first time. Despite all the months of upheaval, she looked just as young and carefree. Her face was peaceful and untroubled. Now and again, her lips flashed a smile or pursed as though she carried on an amusing conversation. Taking care to keep the bed from creaking, he eased himself in beside her. As he did, she lowered her arm and moved, leaving her half curled, facing away from him. He stayed still until he was certain she was settled, then he edged closer, until they barely touched. At this, she snugged herself tightly against him and seemed to murmur an incoherent, yet pleasant greeting.

Slowly bringing his arm under the pillow on which she rested. He brought his other arm and hand to rest on her hip. Laying his head on her pillow, he kissed her silk-clad shoulder. At the same time, he felt her fingers twine with his. He was uncertain whether she was awake. He did not feel in the mood to talk, just to enjoy the silence and her warmth. If she were awake, she felt no need for words. All that could be heard, as the new day inched forward, was the couple's gentle breathing and the ticking of the clock.

Chapter 9

Posted on Tuesday, 18 July 2000

Tuesday Morning

"Frederick! Frederick! It's urgent...I need your help. Please, wake up!

At the first gentle knock, Frederick's eyes had opened and he was wide awake. The sun was not fully up, but the room was light enough to easily see. The voice calling him was Edward's. Raising his head, he said softly, "What do you need, Edward?"

At his first words, Louisa's eyes also flew open. She started, and Frederick murmured gently, "It's all right...I shall see what Edward needs." Disengaging himself from her...as they had not changed positions appreciably, he saw her covered and went quickly to the door.

From the stricken tone of his brother's voice, he knew that something was terribly wrong. Though he could not see the colouring of his brother's face, he could see the worry. "What is it?" he asked, peering through the door.

"I need your wife...something is wrong with Catherine and I must go and fetch Abernathy...Catherine wants Mrs. Callow, but I am going to take this advantage to have the doctor look after her. But I need Mrs. Wentworth to sit with her while I am gone to get him." He looked as though he were going to ramble on some more, but he suddenly closed his mouth and stood mute before the Captain.

"Surely, I shall get her up," he said. Just as Edward had turned to go back to his room, Frederick slipped out the door and called to him. "Edward, you go on and dress...I will go down and rig Standish...you come down when you are ready and help me to finish that...we will get you off and then I will saddle my horse and ride on ahead. That will save time." He finished and started back to his room.

Edward stood marveling that his brother could be awakened from sound sleep and within a moment formulate and implement a plan.

"Edward!" Frederick barked in his hushed whisper, "Stop standing there like Lot's wife and go...go!"

That roused the Rector from his stupefaction and got him hurrying back to his room.

"What is it? What is wrong?" Louisa asked as he lit a candle with a twig from the fire.

Taking his trousers from the screen, Frederick stepped into them and said, "It's the baby, I assume...Edward and I shall be going for Abernathy...Catherine will need you to sit with her." He could feel his excitement rising. Shoving his nightshirt into his trousers, he looked across to Louisa.

She had sat up and was looking a bit stricken at the prospect of caring for her sister-in-law. Taking up her wrapper, he came and sat by her on the bed. "Here," he said, holding it open so that she could put her arms in the sleeves.

Frederick went back to the wardrobe. Pulling out his boots, he brought them over to the bed. "You look worried. Why?" He sat and began putting on the boots.

Closing her wrapper, she tied it and pulled her hair free. She inched closer until she was standing by him. She said, "What will I do for her? I know nothing about babies...Surely she is not having the baby?" Her face froze at the prospect of being left alone with a labouring woman.

He glanced up at her, then looked back down and pulled on his boot, "No-o, no...he did not say that she was...I think not...he would have said something, I believe."

Watching him dress, she objected, "You're not putting on stockings..."

Smiling as he rose from the bed, "Darling, when there is not a moment to waste, stockings are the least of one's worries."

"That was silly, bothering about stockings at a time like this! Oh, Frederick," she cried, "What do I say? I have no idea what I should do...I know nothing of these things."

Frederick lightly stamped his feet, seating both boots. Taking her arms in his hands, he said gently, "I can see that you are afraid, but everything will be all right...all you must do is to keep her mind from thinking about the baby... talk about the weather, or gardening or something womanish -- except babies. We will be no longer than an hour, perhaps and hour and a quarter. I know that you are a clever girl and will find a way to do this."

Pulling her close, he held her a moment and whispered, "As soon as Edward leaves the room, go in...remember, keep her mind off the baby." Kissing her quickly, he said, "I must be off and rig the horses." He put on his coat and hurried out the door.

As Frederick was finishing with Standish's head gear, Edward flew out the back door, pulling on his great coat as he came. Pulling the reins to the gig's box, he lay them in the seat.

"That was quick." Edward said, climbing into the gig.

"No time to waste," said Frederick as he tugged all the buckles and chains for a final check. Stroking the horse's flank, he moved to the opposite side and began to do the same as he continued, "Go quickly, but don't get in too much a hurry. I shall be close behind...and when I get to Abernathy's, I'll get him up and dressed, and waiting to be put in with you. Be careful, Edward." The brothers looked at one another for a short moment. "She'll be all right, Edward, I know it."

Edward clucked, along with a touch of the whip. "On, Standish." The Rector wished he could be as positive as his brother. "I hope your confidence is well placed. Thank you, brother." He called as he rounded the corner.

Louisa had stood at the door of her room and waited for the Rector to leave. As he had come down the hallway, he had stopped and thanked her. He had also told her that Catherine was not in any kind of pain, but that she was frightened, though she said nothing about it. Thanking her again, he trotted down the rest of the hall and took the stairs two at a time.

"The Rector is leaving now," Louisa told Catherine as she watched from the window. Mrs. Wentworth had thought she heard something and had asked Louisa to look out and see what might be happening. Catherine took a deep breath and looked relieved. "Come, sit by me, Please."

Louisa returned to the chair that the Rector had occupied just moments earlier. Hoping that she didn't spill the water, she poured more into the glass that stood by the bed. She nervously ordered the bedside table. Finding nothing else to busy herself with, she folded her hands and sat, waiting for Mrs. Wentworth to say something.

Catherine lay quietly. The sound of horses' hooves pounding by the house distracted them both. "That was the Captain, I expect," she said, looking in the direction of the window.

Louisa craned her neck, knowing that full well that she would see nothing. "Yes, I expect it was," she murmured softly, returning to her silence.

"He was going to ride ahead so that he might have the Doctor ready as soon as the Rector arrived." I wish I could ride off and fetch the doctor, it would be better than being trapped here...not knowing, she thought. The inactivity was the worst of it, but she knew enough to keep still. Her body was easily subdued, it was her mind that refused to rest. She unwilling lay back into the pillows. A deep sigh escaped her.

The sigh made Louisa feel guilty. She was to help Mrs. Wentworth, not sit like a stone, leaving the woman alone in her torment. "Mrs. Wentworth?" she finally ventured.

The girl's voice startled her. Catherine had nearly forgotten Louisa's presence. "Yes, what is it?"

Louisa shifted in her seat. She hitched forward in the chair and tried to sound easy, like nothing was wrong. "May I read to you? I could find something entertaining...something humourous perhaps." As the words came from her, she realised how ridiculous they were. A woman in such a state would not want funny stories. Glancing away, she caught sight of a prayer book sitting on the Rector's bedside table. "No, not that, but perhaps I could read some prayers ... or perhaps the Bible...the Psalms are always a comfort." Her voice was animated. Louisa wished to lift Catherine's spirits in whatever manner possible.

Catherine pitied Louisa. The young woman looked as though she wanted to run. No different than me really. The poor thing had been left to watch over a woman she most likely thinks is going to expire before her very eyes!

Reaching out and taking Louisa's hand, Catherine said, "No, I do not wish you to read to me. My mind is too full just now...too occupied. Everything is strange...almost like when I found out that I was to have the baby."

Louisa blanched. Catherine had mentioned the baby and the Captain had told her to keep her mind away from that subject! She thought and tried to think of a way to move the conversation in another direction. She could think of nothing.

"I thought in November that I might be with child," Catherine began. "But at my age...well, I thought it just had be something else. Then I went to London with my mother and father. It was the first time I was gone from Edward. I was shocked how I had grown to depend upon him...I missed him so..."

Louisa had no choice but to listen as Catherine talked about nothing but her husband -- and the baby.

"Doctor! Doctor Abernathy! Frederick made no pretense of quiet as he pounded on Abernathy's door.

He was about to have another go at it when the door flew open. "What is it, Captain." It was the doctor himself, dressed and wiping his mouth with a linen napkin.

Frederick had expected a servant and for a moment was confused, but came quickly to himself. "It is Mrs. Wentworth..."

"Louisa! Good G-d, what is it?"

"No, no! Mrs. Edward Wentworth! There is something to do with the baby. You need to come immediately. The Rector should be here quite soon and will take you back to the Rectory."

"Come," was all the doctor said as he turned and walked into the house. As they entered the study, the doctor asked, "You rode Knappie?" The Captain blanched, yet nodded. "Take her to the side and give her a short drink. By then, I shall have my bag and be ready."

Frederick smoked his meaning directly. "Will she carry us both?"

Abernathy grinned, "You may be tall, but you're not a bit fat and I am quite lean. . .she'll take us both. Go on!"

Before he left the room, Frederick said, "Michael...I don't know why you try so to hide it, but there is a quick mind in that head of yours!"

"Yea, well," the doctor began, "Some day we shall have it out. Go on, water Knappie, but just a bit ... she can be greedy. Mrs. Dalton! I need my bag!" he called and began to run up the stairs."

"Dr Abernathy." Mrs. Graham let the doctor into her mistress's room. She was not happy to have him in the Rectory, but it was not her place to question the Rector. She grudgingly gave over that he seemed sober and quite intent upon his business.

"Mrs. Wentworth," he nodded to Catherine. "Mrs. Wentworth," to Louisa with a cheerful, but controlled tone. "I hope we all do not become confused. The Rector and the Captain will be coming right along," he looked again to Louisa. "I rode ahead and left them to enjoy a leisurely ride home. Now, are you in any pain?"

He came to the end of the bed and opened his bag. Mrs. Wentworth said she had no pain, but that when she had awakened, she discovered herself soaking with the waters. "Ah, I see. We shall have a look." The Doctor raised the blankets and arranged things as he needed them. He chattered away about everything and nothing as he worked. By his voice, neither Catherine nor Louisa could discern what he might be thinking.

After a while, he said quietly, "Now, Mrs. Wentworth, I am going to have to touch you and it may hurt. I want you to take Loua's hand and squeeze tight if that is the case." To Louisa, he said, "Are you ready?"

Both women nodded and he began. "You know Mrs. Wentworth, I have always wanted to tell you of our connection."

Catherine was discomposed at the Doctor's touch, but his declaration of a connection between he and she was a surprise that took her mind off everything else. "You and I? A connection? How so?"

Abernathy smiled briefly at her and then looked back to his work. "My father -- "

"Owww!" Catherine cried, clutching Louisa's hand.

Looking up, the Doctor said, "That hurt, eh?"

"Yes," she panted, "It hurt very much."

"Good! That's very good. Anywise, my father was the doctor in Glencoe for about three years. And your father was very kind to invite him weekly for cards and supper. Every Wednesday, I believe Father said. Louisa, might you bring me a basin of water? That's a good girl. He arrived one evening to find your father very distracted. It seems you mother was labouring with you at the time."

Louisa brought the basin, placed it on the blanket chest and returned to her place beside Catherine. Washing and drying his hands, he continued, "When it was apparent you were not going to cooperate with the midwife, your father had no scruple in asking my father to see what he might do." Replacing the blankets, he began to repack his bag.

"To shorten the story by quite a lot, you were born early in the morning and your father was so grateful, he named you after my mother -- Catherine. So, you are almost like a sister to me."

Catherine was shocked. Her mother had always been adamant about men being excluded from anything involving childbirth, and here was the son of her literal deliverer, claiming that had not always been the case. But far more pressing was her need to know about her baby.

"Doctor, I do not mean to be uninterested in your story, but -- how is ... the baby?" She took comfort in Louisa's firm grip as she asked the question.

Snapping his bag shut, the Doctor came around took Catherine's hand. "You and the baby are very well. The pain during the examination was actually a good sign. It means that the muscles are taut and in their proper place. Though, I would imagine that you should begin your lying-in very soon."

"No, not for well over a month."

"You're sure? You have not underestimated?"

"No. I am positive."

Abernathy did not wish to upset her further. The morning had already been filled with more agitation than he cared to see for a woman of Mrs. Wentworth's condition. "Well, you would know best on that. Anywise, you are quite well. Nothing to worry over."

"But, Doctor, what about the waters and the...blo...?"

"Ah, yes. Well, the waters are mere extraneous fluids in the body...very common for them to be expelled. Nothing to worry on. As for the other, have you been doing anything vigourous lately? Other than that lovely dinner Sunday?"

He could not help but notice the look exchanged between the Mrs. Wentworths. "I see you may know the cause. Do not tell me what you have been doing, just stop doing it. Nothing heavier than a full teacup for the rest of your time, do you understand me?"

"Yes. I understand." Catherine smoothed the blankets and avoided the Doctor's gaze.

"As for you, Loua," he said, "No laying about like the indolent wife of a rich man! You pull your weight here, do you hear me?"

The girl smiled, "I understand, Cousin Michael. I shall do everything I can."

"Good. Now, I think I heard the gig drive up, and I am certain that the Rector would like the good news. I think you should stay in bed the rest of the day, but you can be up and about after that."

"I feel a bit foolish, Doctor. Calling you out for no good reason."

"Mrs. Wentworth, you and the Rector did exactly the right thing, and if this happens again, call me again. I will come gladly. Louisa may I speak with you?"

Out in the hallway, Michael said, "Now, I don't know what the two of you were up to, but do not do it again. Mrs. Wentworth is far enough along that anything jolting is too much. Her body is older than most and therefore not as able to withstand punishment."

"I promise, Michael. I shall watch her."

"Good. Now I am certain that the Rector will be wild to know what has happened." He turned back from heading to the stairs, "Loua, I must say, you did a wonderful job, keeping her calm and all. That is a real gift."

"Thank you, Michael," she said as she watched him descend the stairs.

As Michael Abernathy rode home, he had a lot of things to think about. He took great pleasure in giving the Wentworths the good news that the crisis of the morning had been nothing more than overworked muscles and the cruelty of nature.

Edward Wentworth had been particularly relieved when the doctor had spoken with him. The Rector was a worrier by nature and by practice. His wife's condition, though quite natural, had been a concern for him from the beginning. The fear of the morning had drained quite nicely as the Doctor had explained as much as he thought necessary. There had been no need to elaborate on the extraneous fluids and what exactly they were.

I have never understood why, at such a traumatic time of a woman's life, her body seems bent on playing terrible tricks. Even her ordinary functions won't come off as usual. Men should thank God daily that they are not called upon to endure such mortification! he thought as he trotted along home.

As he drew closer to the road cutting off to his home, Abernathy took great joy in the fact that spring was quickly coming along. It would be a welcome change from the dour winter that had just passed. Looking ahead, he could make out the form of Joshua Junkins, mowing grass along the lane leading to his cottage. The Doctor had some concerns about Junkins and reminded himself that a trip to Shrewsbury and his uncle's library was in order. "Ho! Junkins! Good to see you!" he called.

"Doctor, you are looking well this morning." Joshua called back as the Doctor approached.

Looking around, the doctor said, "I believe it to be afternoon, Junkins. And you look well, also. You look to have rested well since the dinner at the Rectory. I was concerned, you looked a bit pallid by the time the festivities were over."

"Yes, I was very tired. And then Mary peppered us with questions until bedtime. But I slept well that night and the last. A good nights sleep is the best answer to most things," he said, leaning against his scythe.

Putting aside his suspicions, Abernathy said, "Yes, that is true. To be honest, the body does most of its own healing, I merely give a little aid when things are not functioning as they should."

Joshua frowned. "Doctor, I am glad that you have happened by, I wish to ask you something -- if you have the time to spare me."

"Certainly, Junkins, what may I help you with?" After about a half an hour of medical talk, the conversation turned to horses.

"I have always admired your horse. She is truly a thing of beauty," Joshua said.

Rubbing Knappie's neck, the Doctor replied, "Yes she is! I have always said so, and that was the first thing that Captain Wentworth said when he came to me yesterday and offered to...buy...her." His voice trailed away. "Good lord, Junkins! I've stolen the Captain's horse! I have to get her back right away, before I am hung for a thief!" he cried. "I was over there for Mrs. Wentworth this morning and when I took my leave, it went clear out of my mind that I'd sold her! I just got on and she knows no better than to take me home!"

Abernathy began to move down the lane to the main road. "I really don't mean to be rude, but I had best get her back! Good day, Junkins," he called, coaxing the mare to a trot.

Later, when Mrs. Junkins asked how the Doctor was fairing and what they had spoken about, Joshua avoided her question with the news that Mrs. Wentworth had needed doctoring. When she asked why her husband had not brought the doctor to the house for dinner, Junkins amused her with the story of the Doctor's unintended thievery.

As he headed back to the Rectory, the Doctor worried first about the Captain being angry, but dismissed this as Wentworth was fairly even-tempered and would understand such a foolish mistake -- he hoped. Then he took note of the sun and the emptiness of his belly and wondered if he might be extended an invitation by the Rector to dine. After all, he was returning as a repentant thief and one of the chief marks of Christian love was to welcome home the penitent. He fancied himself a latter-day Prodigal and perhaps, short of the fatted calf being slaughtered for him, he would be welcomed to the dinner table.

As he rounded the bend, Dr Abernathy could see that his theological theorising would very soon be put to the test. The two gentlemen in question were standing together, obviously waiting, in the side yard of the Rectory.

"Well, I am gratified to see you alive! My mind ran wild and I expected to see you laid out in your wedding dress, pale and quiet, so beautiful in death," clucked the flurry of dark brown silk entering Catherine's sick room.

"Mother! When did you come? I asked Edward not to -- " Catherine choked as she straightened her posture and her bedclothes.

"...Not to tell. I'm sure. Graham's sister came to visit Old Weida and so the news made the rounds of the kitchen and in a trice was up the stairs to the dining room and to my ears before my dinner sweet was taken." Mrs. Keye sat next to her daughter and rested her hands on what she guessed to be her knee. "And now, here I am."

"I'm sorry, Mother. I thought we would come for a visit next week and I would tell you then. I should have known that with Mrs. Graham's ten sisters spread all over the county, one was bound to tell another and word would get from here to Glencoe, but I had my hopes of sparing you and Father."

Scooting closer, Mrs. Keye gathered her daughter to her bosom and whispered, "God made mothers' hearts of India rubber, sweet. You needn't spare me, nothing will smash to pieces."

The Keye family were extraordinarily affectionate and physical with one another, and so an embrace from her mother was not unusual, but this particular embrace had a quality that Catherine found comforting and she clung to her mother for a few moments. When the women parted, both had tears in their eyes, but neither made mention of them. Both found handkerchiefs, tidied their faces and continued the conversation.

Putting her handkerchief back in her reticule, she snapped it shut and looked at Catherine. "So, what did Callow say? "She gently grasped her daughter's chin, and took a survey of her face. "You look very well indeed, did she give you a dose of something?"

Mrs. Wentworth had dreaded ever having to tell her mother the news of her defection, even to the point of practicing particular phrases that would avoid mention of who had done her doctoring. But the moment had come and there was no escaping her mother's questioning.

"Uh, no, Mother." She took her mother's hand as she spoke, "Mrs. Callow did not come. But Dr Abernathy was available, and so -- "

"Abernathy! Michael Abernathy? The man is barely familiar with a razour if I am not mistaken!"

"Mother, he is not so young! He is my age. He is old enough to know quite a lot about his father's practice when he was in Glencoe Parish years ago." The women looked intently at one another.

Mrs. Keye knew that there was no sense in obfuscation. Her daughter was too clever by half and would never fall for tricks. "So, the boy told you. I suppose he also told you that you are named for his mother?"

"Yes. He took some delight in it, said that we were almost like family because of it."

"While it is true that Dr Abernathy -- Paul Abernathy attended your birth, it is still hotly contested betwixt your father and I as to whether you are named after the doctor's wife. I say no that you are named after my cousin in Winkleigh. Your father on the other hand has the idea that it was a fitting tribute to the man who saved you from stillbirth."

"Is this why you have always been so insistent that men not be allowed in the birthing room -- because of some dispute between you and Father?"

"Somewhat. Men generally have no business being with women at all, but with a labouring woman, they are worse than useless -- and downright mortifying! But, I must admit, Abernathy did save you, and for that I will always be most grateful. Now, tell me about this Louisa person I met downstairs. And what is all this nonsense that she is to live here? I saw the Captain, so he has not put her out, why does she not live with him?"

"Mama, he is returning to sea, and she is to live with us."

"What is your husband thinking, imposing this silly young creature on you? You will be much too busy once the baby is born to be raising the Captain's wife!"

"Mother! Louisa is not so young! She is nearly twenty!"

"Ah!" she arched her brows. "My point exactly! Her age, perhaps, explains the ill manners."

"What ill manners?"

"As soon as the Rector finished the introductions, she was off like a rabbit and out of the room before I was able to say three words to her."

"That is not like Louisa. I have not known her to be rude."

"Oh, she said something about tea," said Mrs. Keye as she fussed with Catherine's nightdress.

"And did she bring it?"

"Bring what, dear?"

"The tea!"

"Well, heavens, I have no idea -- I came to see you, not have tea." Settling herself back on the bed, Mrs. Keye leaned in close and said softly, "Do not worry, dear. I will have a talk with Edward and make him see that you cannot have the Captain's wife staying here. I understand he loves his brother," she said, straightening, "But he cannot expect you to take care of her...has she no family to take her in? I thought he was well-off, let him hire a companion and install her nearby if she really needs to be watched."

"Mother! She does not need to be watched! It was my idea to have her stay. Edward and I both wish it! And don't be discouraging to her, she is trying to be helpful about the house. Dr Abernathy specifically told her to be helpful."

"Oh, we are back to Abernathy, are we?"

Catherine sighed. "Mother, you make me tired. How is Papa?"

"He is quite well. He would have come too, except I..."

"Except what?"

"I was in such a hurry that I left him. He said he wished to finish his dinner and I was much too concerned about you and so I told Kramer to leave without him."

"Mother!"

"I know, I know. It was abominable of me, and I shall spend the rest of the week apologising for it, but...I was just so worried about what I would find! Graham's sister is not a very good gossip."

Catherine laughed out loud. "A good gossip? What, may I ask, is a good gossip?"

"A good gossip has all the correct information and tells it. I think Mrs. Sharp used her imagination to fill in the parts of which she had no direct knowledge." Suddenly, Mrs. Keye, again took her daughter in her arms. "Catherine, I was frightened to death of what I would find when I arrived -- I -- "

Just then the door opened and Louisa appeared. Mrs. Keye released her daughter and ignored the girl as she rummaged in her reticule for her handkerchief.

"I am sorry to disturb you, but there is tea prepared. Should I bring it up?" Louisa asked. Seeing Mrs. Keye occupied, she looked to Catherine.

"Thank you , dear. Yes, bring it up and bring a cup for yourself. Join us."

Louisa brightened. "Thank you, Mrs. Wentworth. I shall bring it right away." She hurried out of the room and down the hallway.

Mrs. Keye stood. "I must be getting back to your father. My desertion has most likely angered him greatly and I think the sooner I begin the apologies, the sooner I shall be forgiven." She leaned over the bed and hugged her daughter one last time.

"But Mother, Louisa is bringing the tea! Please stay. Just for a cup, she will think you do not like her." Catherine was not certain her mother's opinion of Louisa, but there was something odd and she wished to know what it might be.

Finishing with her gloves, Mrs. Keye said, "I am not yet certain I do like her. Only time will tell. Oh! I forgot to tell you, Nurse Clareborn is free. I have sent word to her that we would like to engage her for the baby."

Seeing her mother's exultant expression, she was reluctant say anything.

Well, that is news. I shall speak with Edward about her. We have made no decisions about a nurse."

"What is there to discuss? Clareborn is an excellent nurse and a woman of wholesome character, you will be fortunate to have her. She only works for very good families. And her being Graham's sister would make things so easy for you!"

Catherine had no idea how the eldest Postlethwaite sister being in her home could be to her advantage. All she could foresee was mischief. Though she was the mistress of the Rectory, there were times that she felt as though she were nothing more than a guest. Seeing that her mother desired some sort of positive declaration, she stammered, "A-as I said, Edward and I have made no decisions, but I will tell him of your kindness."

"What kindness might that be dear?"

both woman looked to see the Rector enter the room. "Good, you have come, now I will not feel guilty leaving my poor daughter all alone up here. Edward, take care of her and if anything happens again, call Mrs. Callow. Catherine wishes Mrs. Callow to care for her."

Edward gave his wife a sharp look and she returned it with one of her own. "Mother Keye, I will take excellent care of my wife. Let me take you down since you were leaving anyway."

"No, you stay with Catherine," she said as she bussed the Rector's cheek. "I thought you had cut that dreadful beard! I know the way out. Oh!" she cried, as she turned to the door.

"Mrs. Keye, I am so sorry! Please pardon me," Louisa replied. She had been occupied with the tea laden tray, and the two women had nearly collided as the younger entered the room.

"Yes, well...I trust we shall be meeting again -- Mrs. Wentworth, seeing as how you are to stay with the Rector and my daughter. Edward, Catherine." She nodded to each and was gone.

Catherine was mortified by her mother's abominable behaviour. Edward glanced her way. She shook her head to say she did not understand.

Edward came forward and relieved Louisa of the tray. "Come, Louisa. Take the chair by Catherine and we will have tea together."

Biting her lip, Louisa looked from Catherine to Edward and said quietly, "No, thank you. I think I shall find the Captain. Please call me when you are finished and I will take the tray back to the kitchen." With that, she also was gone.

As Edward handed Catherine her tea, she moaned, "That was wretched of Mother! It was all over Louisa's face that she is hurt. Go and fetch her back, that I might apologise."

He poured himself a cup and settled himself facing her. "I think it would be best if she were to cry on her husband's shoulder first. Besides, your mother was upset about you. Let us make allowances. She looked horrid when she arrived. I think she had been crying."

Catherine lowered her cup. "Still, that is no excuse...she had no...bus ... " she began to sob.

Setting the cups aside, he gathered her in his arms. "Sh-h-h," he soothed. He had never seen his wife so emotional and was not certain the cause. "Sh-h-h, Louisa will understand about your mother. I doubt that she will be angry with you."

"No...not that! Oh, Edward, what if we had los...the baby..."

Stroking her hair, Edward thought the same. "Had the baby been lost, you and I would survive -- together." He raised her face and searched it. There was a melancholy setting in and he could not allow it. Catherine was prone to lowness, and he knew he must guard her from herself.

"First, we dry these," he said, taking a corner of the sheet and wiping her eyes. After, he took her face in his hands and said, "We will accept the Mercy and Grace we have been given. You and the child are well -- Abernathy said as much. I shall not have you looking over your shoulder to worry over what could have happened. You take your ease and soon, you shall be holding our baby." He pulled her to him and buried his face in her. He prayed fervently that he would be proven right.

"Now, you indolent thing, move over, come along...there," he prodded, as he took a place beside her on the bed. Placing a pillow in his lap, he gently pressed her down. Twining his fingers in hers, he began, "Let me tell you about the amazing day I have had!"

Chapter 10, Part 1

Posted on Thursday, 20 July 2000

The soft knock which sounded at the service door did not take Mrs. Yee by surprise; indeed, she had been expecting it for some time. A peek out the curtain showed her neighbor, smiling an apology. After instructing her daughter-in-law to prepare the tea, she opened the door to admit the whirlwind of gray cambric and cheerful chatter which characterised Winnie Owen.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Yee!" Miss Owen gasped, before she was fully in the door. "I had such trouble getting away this morning! The Doctor had unexpected visitors, and then I had to prepare his medicinals, for his house calls, you know! And Cousin John needed a button for his shirt, it had to be that particular shirt, naturally! And Cousin Henry was in a dither about a missing cufflink, he misplaces everything! But here I am at last, ready and willing, and very much at your service." The tall, smiling young woman paused for a moment, to catch her breath. "I am ever so excited, to be able to help Gloria with her training. Please don't think it is a bother. Oh." She snatched her straw hat from her head, revealing her light brown hair, which hung down her back in a long braid. "I shan't be needing this anymore, shall I?"

"Do not worry about time, Miss Owen," Mrs. Yee said kindly, as she took the young woman's hat and shawl. "Problems in house-hold, this we know very well. We are thanking you, for helping us. Now, please come with me and we begin, with no waste of time for you." She led the way through the spacious kitchen to a work area near the windows.

"I have washed my hair, Mrs. Yee, last night." Winnie spoke hesitantly now, as she stumbled after. "But...once you see my hair...and begin working with it...I won't mind...you must be honest with me if, well..." She awkwardly sat in the chair Mrs. Yee indicated and turned her light green eyes on the housekeeper in earnest appeal. "What I mean to say is that perhaps it is not the best for a student. I mean, I never have been able to make it mind me! It is unruly and uncooperative...it never stays in place...ever! I didn't think to tell you when you asked for my help, but the truth is, it is the most wretched sort of hair in the world!"

"Every woman say that," Mrs. Yee smiled.

"Yes, but with mine, it's true! And its such a dreary colour..."

Mrs. Yee's eyes twinkled. "Not so bad as Mrs. Greene's."

"Well, no," Winnie admitted with a grin, as she pictured their eccentric neighbour. "But, with Mrs. Greene, well, if you don't like the colour this week, it will be different the next!" She accepted a cup of tea from Gloria with a smile of thanks. "With me, it is always the same, isn't it?"

"Remember this, Gloria. Henna is no good, not reliable -- especially on gray hair. Madam refused to use it. Now, unbind and brush Miss Owen's hair." She repeated the request in Chinese, and Gloria began.

Winnie eyed the assortment of combs and hair pins on the table beside her in wonder. "Are these Mrs. Wrenwyth's? They are...beautiful." She bit her lip, reminding herself to speak clearly and distinctly for Gloria's sake, something she always forgot. "I...I've never had my hair styled by someone else, well, not since I was a little girl. Even my mother despaired of it, eventually."

"We do not despair. Your hair is curling, which many women wish for. Gloria must work with hair of Englishwoman, which is why we need you. It is better if difficult, for she learn more." Mrs. Yee took the brush from Gloria and continued her instruction. "Remove hair from brush and save in basket..." she then lapsed into soft Chinese.

Winnie twisted around. "Save it? Whatever for?"

"To make a .." Mrs. Yee frowned. "I know not English word. A 'mat' of hair? For support. Here, I show you." She gave Winnie a hand mirror and pulled her hair up onto her head. "Without support, the hair lie flat against the head, like this," she explained. "But with, er, 'mat' underneath," Mrs. Yee slid her hand under the hair, "the hair appear soft and piled high...so elegant, yes?"

"Oh," Winnie breathed. "How clever. I've never thought of that."

"Now, I show what else to use hair from brush for." She gave Winnie's hair into Gloria's hands, with instructions to continue the brushing, and left the room. When she returned, she was carrying a heavy plait of long black hair. "This is my hair, from younger days. For many years I save. When I am old, I will use braid here, on top of the head." Mrs. Yee smiled at the two young women. "I will not dye hair like Mrs. Greene; I have prepare another way. I teach Gloria many secret of beautiful hair, for being lady's maid. I teach you, too, Winnie, so you catch eye of good man for husband."

Winnie returned the smile. "And yet, I wonder if I should worry so much about becoming beautiful -- as if I could be! I have never been pretty, not ever!"

Gloria raised her head shyly. "I...I think you..." She paused, to order her English. "You beautiful...in...heart. In smile and eyes...I see goodness. I think you are pretty." She then busied herself with the brush.

Winnie blushed at this heartfelt tribute, but only for a moment, for Mrs. Yee began applying a solution to her hair. But when Winnie asked what it was made of, the answer caused her to sit bolt upright.

"Beer! You are putting beer on my hair! How...revolting!"

"Hush, Winnie. It helps to set the curl. Turn this way, please."

"But...beer! Mrs. Yee, beautiful or not, I shall smell like an intoxicated, drunken --" Winnie's eyes narrowed and she twisted around to face her two friends with a grin. "Mrs. Yee, you're not thinking of setting me up as wife to...Mr. Udy?"

At the mention of that name, the three women burst into giggles. Of all men, the shambling, slovenly, oft-inebriated deliveryman was the last sort of man any woman would wish for. "Not only do I loathe and abominate wine-bibbers," Winnie declared, "but I refuse to marry a man simply to be his...his groomer and laundress! Which Mr. Udy needs...badly!"

As their laughter died away, Gloria spoke again. "Not Mr. Udy...but another I am thinking," she confided. "He is very good man...and handsome. I think you will like."

"Hush, Gloria." Mrs. Yee interposed, with a tiny smile. "It is better not to speak of that. Time will tell. Yes."

At the Elliot residence on Camden Place, Penelope Clay stood peering anxiously into the large mirror in the entry hall. Though her cold was much improved, it had not been kind to her appearance. She examined her profile carefully, turning her head this way and that. Was her nose red? She had heard Sir Walter level that particular criticism at his youngest daughter more than once and she had no intention of appearing repulsive in his sight, ever. With a sigh, Mrs. Clay turned away. Not only was her nose a little swollen, but her eyelids were, too. There was no mistaking it, she still appeared to be ill. There would be no Poetry Reading for her this afternoon.

As she began to mount the stairs, she found that Anne was coming down, with Elizabeth hard at her heels. Mrs. Clay moved quickly to one side, as Miss Elliot did not sound at all pleased with her sister.

"Anne, you have not answered my question. Are going out?"

"Yes, I am, to visit Mary," Anne replied, pausing only long enough to speak. "It must be dreary for her to be alone at that inn, without any of the Musgroves to bear her company. She mentioned that she wanted to look in at the Pump Room this morning, to see if..."

"And you are walking...alone?" Elizabeth interrupted. "Never say you are going see Mary alone!" She turned to Mrs. Clay, who was watching the exchange with interest. "Would you please excuse us, Penelope?" And as Anne doggedly continued to descend the stairs, Elizabeth followed, with growing irritation. "Just a minute, Anne...Anne!"

At last she grabbed her sister's arm and pulled her against the banister rail. "Now, look! I have had quite enough of this...this hoydenish behaviour!" Elizabeth whispered roughly. "It is all very well for you to traipse about Kellynch in this spinsterish way, but you shall not do so here!"

"Elizabeth, no one here knows me well enough to think the least..."

"You are known to be my sister, dearest! My younger sister! And if you think I am so stupid as to let you drag my name into..." Elizabeth caught the look in Anne's eye and glanced over her shoulder at the man standing below them in the entry hall. "Thank you, Burton, there is nothing that we require," she said loftily. After the butler left the room, Elizabeth turned back to Anne.

"You did say that Father's fortune has dwindled alarmingly. Well, it appears that you were right. Now, that being the case, I have no intention of wasting my time here in Bath, as Father wasted all of those Seasons in London. I shall not be known as an old maid, nor shall you. Neither of us look it, well, you would not, if you were to take some thought to your appearance! And now ..." Elizabeth released her hold on Anne and looked around her. "Bah! Were is that Burton when I need him? Burton!"

The butler appeared right away, and Elizabeth requested a particular hat from Elise, and her cloak. In answer to Anne's look of dismay, she replied sweetly, "Yes, Sister-dear, I am going with you this morning. Isn't that nice? So you might as well wipe that sour expression from your face. I have no intention of allowing you to make a spectacle of me anymore. So, to the Pump Room we shall go, with...Mary." She could barely suppress a groan. "Oh lord, how delightful. With my one sister, a dowd and the other, a complete rustic from the wealds of Somerset! Let us hope we do not see anyone I know!"

"...And the singing, Sir Robin! You have never heard the like! Hundreds of Welsh voices, singing hymn after glorious hymn, without accompaniment of any kind! We sang until the rafters were ringing!" Miss Owen's eyes shone at the memory. All at once she recollected; the old gentleman needed caring for. "Um, perhaps you would like to have another bite, sir, before I tell the rest. Please, let me help you." She gently lifted a spoonful of soup to his lips.

Winnie Owen, Gloria, and Sir Robin were sitting together in the morning room, enjoying the last of a light luncheon together. This was one of Sir Robin's good days, when he was able to be up and about, and as Miss Owen was one of his very favourite visitors, and Gloria, his favourite caregiver, the luncheon had been a merry one. He was now listening intently to her account of a meeting she had attended when she had last been in Lleyn.

"And then, Mr. Christmas Evans began to speak, and oh, Sir Robin! It was as if the very glory of Heaven poured forth, as he taught us from the scriptures!" Winnie was so engrossed in her tale that she did not hear the footfalls in the hallway or see the gentleman who looked in.

Sir Robin chanced to glance up and smiled widely in greeting. "Alan-a-Dale! Come in, my dear! Come sit with us," he said, in a weak but cheerful voice.

"Miss Owen and the Sheriff's wife are here with me," he explained. "Are you acquainted with Friar Tuck's cousin, Miss Owen? She keeps house for him and helps him in his medical work." Robin blinked his mild blue eyes and frowned slightly. "Which is curious, but I suppose all friars do not live in the monastery."

"No, I suppose not," 'Alan' answered gravely, as he came fully into the room.

"And I cannot recall when the good friar became a doctor, but so he has."

"Which is a very good thing for you, sir, is it not? To have an excellent physician so close at hand?"

Wide-eyed, Miss Owen listened as the dark-haired naval officer conversed gently with her elderly neighbour. She took in his magnificent uniform and shining silver dress sword; he was so splendid she could hardly breathe. Feeling foolish and frumpy by comparison, she stumbled through an introduction of herself. She was often at Chauntecleer, by the invitation of the Yees, or on business for Dr Minthorne, nevertheless, it was a little daunting to have to explain her unexpected presence to the new owner.

Captain Benwick was quick to correct her. "No, no, Miss Owen, this house does not belong to me. I am merely a guest, here on business."

Winnie paled and then reddened. "I...I do apologise, sir. I was certain that Mrs. Wrenwyth had told me...but I suppose I was mistaken." As usual, she had got it all wrong. Mrs. Wrenwyth had been adamant about leaving Chauntecleer to a relative named 'James,' but obviously this was not the James she had meant.

"I see you are armed for battle, Alan," Robin spoke up, but his voice showed that he was tiring. "Such a worry to me, so many evils lurking in Nottingham and Sherwood these days. I have not so many men as before..."

"Then I beg you will not concern yourself with the defense of the, er, 'hide-out?' or 'encampment?' while I am here, sir." He gave his cousin a lopsided grin. " I may be dressed to take tea with 'the swells' today, but I do remember how to use this," he said, indicating the weapon at his side. "Take your ease, dear sir, for the next watch or two. I'll make sure the Sheriff keeps to his fortress."

"Ah. Bless you, Alan," Robin closed his eyes with a sigh. "Bless you. I shall hold myself in readiness, even while I sleep," he murmured.

"As a fellow subject in loyal service to the King, I salute you. And I shall not hesitate to call if you are needed." Captain Benwick answered kindly.

"I'll have a word with 'the Sheriff' on my way out," he murmured to Gloria and Winnie, "to be certain he keeps out of sight for rest of the day. Good afternoon, ladies." He bowed and left the room.

Gloria tucked a blanket around Sir Robin and turned to her friend with a conspiratorial smile. "So," she whispered. "What I say? You like?"

"Do I like...what?" Winnie answered.

"Not what, who. The Captain." Gloria's eyes were bright with romantic imaginings. She was much less shy about speaking English with Winnie, especially when they were alone like this, for Winnie was never critical of mistakes. Gloria struggled to find the words for her many thoughts. "My husband tell me about him, everything. They are friends, as boys. He is educated man. Kind, not proud. Not bad temper."

"Gloria..." Winnie attempted to stop the whispered confidence, but to no avail.

"He is good man for husband, yes? He was to marry, very much he love a woman. But she die. Now he is alone...and sad. You can make happy, I know." Gloria's eyes strayed to the doorway. "He is good man," she repeated. "He does not treat us like...like Chinese scum."

"Chinese scum!" Winnie was incensed; she recollected the sleeping Sir Robin and lowered her voice. "Gloria, you are not Chinese scum!"

"You not know...how it is," Gloria whispered. "How some treat us."

Winnie studied her young friend's face quietly for a moment. "Yes, I do know, unfortunately. My horrid cousins. Oh, not the Doctor," she hastened to say, "but our other cousins, John and Henry, who now make their home with us. To them I am nothing more than wretched Welsh scum, fit only to keep the house and grovel in their presence! But they are wrong, Gloria, about both of us. We serve, but we are not scum! Not in the eyes of God!"

Gloria's face radiated hope. "If the Captain think you beautiful, then you marry and leave that house! Like I marry Mr. Jonathan and leave my hateful uncle! "

"I rather doubt that, a fine man like him becoming in love with me! But you never know," Winnie grinned. "If the Captain loves his beer, I have a fighting chance." She pulled at a curling tendril of her hair and raised an eyebrow. "After all, for all we know, the scent of beer may be the cause of true love!"

"Merciful Heavens!" Winnie's cheerful smile fled as another thought occurred to her. "I'd best stay clear of Mr. Udy, in that case! For your mother's hair solution would put him into a frenzied passion!" And the giggling brought on by the thought of that occurrence nearly woke their elderly charge.

My one sister, a dowd... Elizabeth's hurtful words, flung so carelessly during the conversation on the stairs, sounded in Anne's ears again and again as she sat by herself in Lady Dalrymple's opulent drawing room. This was the worst time to let them flay her, but Anne was powerless to stop their sting. In her heart she knew her sister was right; she was a dowd.

With a sigh, her eyes travelled to where Elizabeth stood, in smiling conversation amongst a knot of elegantly attired ladies and gentlemen at the far side of the room. Elizabeth delighted in such an occasion, for she surely was not wasting her time -- and she certainly looked nothing like a dowd!

Anne smoothed the skirts of her pale blue gown and considered what she could do to improve her lot. Was it possible to follow Elizabeth's suggestion, to 'make the most of the opportunity' before her? Yet she was amongst a set of persons who evaluated solely on the basis of rank, wealth, and appearance -- and she hadn't the wherewithal to improve herself in any of these areas. Of course she could do nothing; it was too ridiculous!

Anne glanced up just then, in time to see her sister Mary parade by. She was wearing her cerulean gown, the one Anne had worked so hard to finish for Louisa's wedding. Mary was in excellent spirits today, a welcome occurrence on an otherwise wearing afternoon. The three Elliot sisters had gone together to the Pump Room earlier, at Mary's insistence. And to her delight, they had chanced to meet Miss Carteret and an invitation to the Poetry Reading had been graciously extended. Naturally, Mary could not rest until she had procured her own copy of Mr. Turner's book, which had taken the remainder of the morning. Anne didn't think Mary had bothered to read any of it, but she saw that her sister clutched it tightly now, in eager anticipation of the Reading.

Mr. Turner had also been at the Pump Room that morning, a companion to Miss Carteret. He had come to take the waters as an aid in 'calming the cacophony of his churning consciousness.' Anne's lips twitched into a smile at the memory of that introduction; Tino Turner was truly an original. She had not yet seen him at Laura Place; the poor man was probably still struggling with his inner 'cacophony' in a back room somewhere.

"Two things you must tell me, Miss Anne, and then I shall leave you to your musings," a baritone voice said, quite nearby. "One, is this chair spoken for, and two, whatever has caused you to smile in that singularly diabolical fashion?"

"Diabol -- ? " Anne bit back the smile; she was coming to know that voice fairly well by now. She could also guess at the expression on the face of the speaker; he was always so innocent when saying the most outrageous things! Well, she would show him that two could play this game! Without looking up she answered serenely, "I am 'calming the cacophony of my churning consciousness,' sir, and no, there is no one occupying this seat, so you may have it."

"How's that again?" James Benwick grinned as he settled himself in the chair.

"I believe it is here, on page...um, let me see...page twenty-two." Anne found the place and primly held out the green volume. "Do you see? Mr. Turner used that expression when we met this morning, to refer to the condition of his, er, inner self." Above the book, Anne's eyes met Benwick's, bright with laughter. "You may be pleased to know that I have been reading Mr. Turner's work, in preparation for this afternoon. You are quite right, his themes and word combinations are most, er, interesting."

"You are all politeness, Miss Anne, as usual," he murmured. "I was not half so charitable in my own evaluation."

"As you sent the poor book on an untimely sea bathing expedition, I would have to agree."

"Now, now. I have procured another, in honour of today's event, so perhaps we'd best forget the journey of the first?"

Anne merely smiled. "You are very fine today, sir," she said, unable to resist another gentle jab at her friend. "Forgive me if I inquire whether you are 'Puffing off your Consequence' amongst us?"

Her allusion to the remark he had made at the Wentworth's wedding, about only wearing his dress sword on first-rate occasions, was not lost on him. "I suppose I deserved that," he chuckled. "But your smile was diabolical, you know."

"A woman's smile is said to be 'mysterious,' sir, not...devilish."

"Then you must take care not to think 'devilish' thoughts about the guest of honour, madam," he countered, with a grin. "And since I was introduced to the fellow as I came in just now, to do otherwise is practically impossible! I could not have resisted the temptation!"

Anne opened her mouth to reply she knew not what, but Captain Benwick spoke first.

"You must forgive me, Miss Anne. I am quite rag-mannered, I know, to be provoking you like this. It comes of being a pitiful, brutish, particularly stupid sailor. Might I redeem myself by being of service? I believe I noticed lemonade being served at that table over there. May I procure a glass for you?"

"Yes...thank you." Anne couldn't help but smile at his tactics. Besides, she was rather thirsty and the lemonade sounded perfect.

She watched as Captain Benwick made his way across the room, then she lowered her eyes to study the chair he had been occupying. On its seat he had left the copy of the book to mark the seat as his. Anne found herself to be smiling at the thought that he would be back, that he had chosen the pleasure of her company above the others in the room. And what a comfort it was, to know that one other person had found Mr. Turner's poetry to be incomprehensible idiocy!

But whatever is the matter with me, to be saying such outrageous things to him? However, although she silently berated herself as she waited, Anne could not bring herself to feel truly sorry for anything she had said. On the contrary, she found herself thinking of other ways in which she might teaze Captain Benwick when he returned ...

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