The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)(45)
Beth silently cursed Charlotte, whose sentiments these no doubt were.
"Yet you must continue living, Anne," said Beth firmly. "And he has left you a most precious gift, which should be a comfort to you in this terrible time."
Anne looked at Beth, surprised.
"I am not interested in his money," she said. "I would give it all away just for the joy of one more day with him."
"I am not talking of money, Anne," said Beth. "I speak of the child you are carrying. His son or daughter."
"Oh yes," said Anne without enthusiasm. "Poor child! What it will be to be born into this world already fatherless!"
Sir Anthony almost laughed, clearly reading Beth's thoughts in her expression as she contemplated the joys of throttling her cousin. He lowered his head quickly as if pondering the truth of Anne's, or rather Charlotte's, dramatic utterance.
"It will not be born into the world at all," Beth replied, keeping the exasperation from her voice with some difficulty, "if its mother doesn't start to take care of herself."
* * *
"Do I detect another plot brewing in your devious little mind, my dear Beth?" asked Sir Anthony on the way home, much later. They had finally left Anne ensconced in her salon in front of a roaring fire, feeling if nothing else a little warmer, and had paid a flying visit to Lord Edward's, whose complaints at their lack of consideration in calling at an irregular hour as well as not informing those dear to them of their whereabouts for three months were cut short by the appearance of dinner, to which Sir Anthony and his wife declined a begrudged invitation, stating that their own meal would be upon the table at home presently.
"No. Yes," said Beth. "Well, she can't be left like that, can she? She'll die of starvation or cold, or drown in sentimentality, if I leave her to Charlotte. It's bad enough having to put up with one widow rambling on incessantly about poor dear Frederick. I have no intention of allowing Anne to go the same way. It would be unbearable."
"And in any case, you like Anne," said her husband.
"Yes," she agreed, realising it fully for the first time. "Yes, I do. She's kind and caring, and obviously had a horrible selfish family. I think there's more to her than meets the eye. She had enough strength of personality to nurse her parents, and was forceful enough to stop Lord Redburn drinking, and she obviously loved him. What she needs now is some time to realise that she is capable of living alone, that she doesn't need to lean on anyone else. She's financially independent now. With encouragement, she'll learn to be emotionally independent too."
"You must remember though, that as well as being dependent on others, she needs to feel depended on," mused Sir Anthony. "She has a lot of love to give, too. The danger in you winkling her out of her mausoleum will be that she'll be vulnerable to anyone who shows her any affection, for quite some time."
"True. But she'll be in mourning for six months at least. That should be long enough for her to find her feet, with our help," said Beth, "by which time she will have had her baby, which will be completely dependent upon her. What better focus for love than a helpless reminder of poor dear Stanley?" She smiled, and her husband shook his head in despair.
"What do you intend to do?" he said.
"I intend to prise her away from Charlotte's influence, with Caroline's help," said Beth. "I'll get her to come to Clarissa's birthday party. It will be the ideal way for her to start facing the world again, in a large company where she doesn't have to contribute too much to the evening."
"What?" said Sir Anthony. "But that's only a week away. It isna possible. It's too soon."
"Would you care to make a wager on it?" she asked sweetly.
"No, I wouldna," he replied hastily, remembering the last wager he'd lost with his wife.
"Well," she said. "You concentrate on speaking only English for two days, then. You're not doing very well at the moment. And leave the plotting to me, for once."
* * *
"I hope you don't mind us calling on you unannounced Anne," said Beth as she entered the gloomy salon accompanied by Caroline and Freddie. "Only we were just passing, and thought we would pay our respects."
They had been ‘just passing' for nearly three-quarters of an hour, Freddie thankfully remaining deeply asleep, the three of them ensconced in the carriage round the corner until Iain, acting as Beth's footman and lookout, came to tell them that Charlotte had left and the coast was clear.
There had been a slight improvement in the room since Beth's last visit. The lamp was already turned up, and there was a fire in the grate. That the shutters had not been opened was obvious from the air, or rather lack of air in the room. Caroline wrinkled her nose, but otherwise showed no reaction to the depressing atmosphere, having been forewarned as to what to expect by Beth.
Anne stood up to greet them. Another improvement.
"It's very kind of you to call," she said. "You've just missed Charlotte. She left only a few minutes ago."
"Oh what a shame," said Beth with such apparent sincerity that Caroline stared at her, shocked by her friend's effortless mendacity. "Still, it was you we came to see. We thought you would perhaps like to see how Freddie has grown. I was quite amazed by how much he changed in the time we were away. Caroline tells me you haven't seen him for some time, either."
"You are right, it was unforgivable of me," said Anne, taking Beth's words as a rebuke, although they hadn't been intended as such. She peered through the dimness at the comatose bundle of white lace in Caroline's arms. "He's beautiful. He looks like you," she said.
"Not at all," replied Caroline briskly. "He's turning into the image of his father, poor child. If we open the shutters a little, you will be able to see for yourself." Without waiting for Anne's reply, she dropped the dead weight of the child into Beth's arms and moving across the room, drew the curtains and threw open the shutters. Light streamed into the room. Beth, standing close to her hostess, repressed a gasp of shock at Anne's appearance.
She was almost skeletal, her arms mere sticks, her face pallid and sickly with grief and lack of sustenance, her eyes lifeless and deeply shadowed. She blinked in the sudden brightness, screwing up her face against the sun; and then, as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she turned her attention back to the baby.
"You are right," she said, looking at the sleeping features with rapture. "He does look like Mr Harlow, doesn't he?"
"Edwin, please. And I am Caroline. We are friends, after all," said Caroline, taking Freddie from Beth and pinching him gently and surreptitiously in the process to wake him up. The infant roused, blinked sleepily up at his mother, and yawned.
"Oh!" said Anne. "He's awake!"
"Would you like to hold him?" asked Caroline.
Anne smiled, held out her arms automatically, and then lowered them again.
"I … er … I … ," she faltered.
"Are you not accustomed to children, Anne?" said Caroline kindly. "Don't be ashamed if you're not. Beth was positively prostrate with terror the first time Freddie was dropped in her lap."
"That's true," admitted Beth, sitting down without being asked to. "I didn't have any experience of babies, being the youngest child of my family. I was frightened of breaking him. Of course he was a lot smaller then," she said.
"I don't have any younger brothers or sisters either," said Anne, also taking a seat, her eyes remaining fixed on Freddie, who was stretching in Caroline's arms and preparing for action. "But I love children. When I was young I used to make clothes in my spare time for the village children. Some of them had hardly anything to wear, poor mites, and used to run around in rags, even in the winter. I loved visiting them." A little animation came back into her face as she thought back. "There was one little girl I remember particularly. Alice. She was so beautiful, clouds of yellow hair and the sweetest little face! She was lame, some problem with her birthing, I think. But I used to play with her for hours. I made her a doll, and we used to spend a lot of time chatting together and making little clothes for it … " She stopped, realising that she'd been rambling. "I will call for tea," she said.
"Do you still keep in contact with her?" Beth asked.
"No. Father said it was not appropriate for a young lady of my breeding to be seen playing in the dirt with filthy urchins. He was right, of course," she said sadly. "It is sometimes hard to do the right thing, though. I missed her terribly."
Caroline put Freddie, now fully awake, down on the carpet, and threw his ball for him. It jingled merrily as it rolled across the room, coming to a halt at Anne's feet. She picked it up and held it out for the child, who crawled towards it. He sat up, took it from her with chubby little hands, and smiled winningly up at her. Caroline and Beth sent up a silent thank you to God for the perfect behaviour of the little boy, and watched with deep satisfaction as Anne melted before their eyes.