Lady of Lincoln (18 page)

‘Yes, yes, you are right of course,’ she answered, sitting up straight. She had just realized that she had been in the baronet’s embrace for rather a long time, and although there was nowhere else that she would rather be, she knew that it was quite improper. ‘Of course it was right that he should be with her at the last. And although I will miss her very much, he will miss her more, and that sweet little baby will never know its mother.’

‘There is a child!’ he exclaimed. Looking up at him for the first time, it seemed to Emily that he looked a little paler than usual and she wondered whether he had been ill.

‘Yes,’ she answered, puzzled. ‘I told you that Nathalie had died in childbirth.’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ he said quickly. ‘But I thought that perhaps the child had died as well.’

‘Oh no,’ Emily assured him. ‘The baby is thriving at present, but that reminds me, I must go and find a wet nurse for her. We brought one back with us from Mablethorpe, but she is anxious to return to her own family.’

‘Should you not go home and rest?’ asked the baronet.

‘No, no, I am better if I have something to do,’ Emily replied. She stood up, fumbling at the strings of her bonnet with fingers that were still not quite steady. ‘Do I look a perfect fright?’ she asked him.

He had risen when she did. Now he smiled down at her gently. ‘Allow me,’ he said. He unfastened her bonnet and handed it to her, then carefully smoothed back the strands of her hair that had come adrift. She found herself holding her breath at the occasional touch of his fingers against her skin. Then, when he had done, he took her bonnet from her again, placed it on her head, and fastened the ribbons with a bow which he tied stylishly somewhere between her ear and her chin.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

‘My only desire is to serve you,’ he responded, taking hold of her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing it, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time. She knew a sudden impulse to raise her other hand to his cheek, but she sternly repressed it. After all, he was just being kind.

She turned and hurried out of the cathedral. He stood
watching
her for a moment, then took a deep breath and followed her, walking slowly. 

T
o Emily’s great relief, the first woman that she approached was very willing to act as wet nurse to Mrs Fanshawe’s motherless baby. She was the daughter of the landlady of the White Hart, and so the work would be very convenient for her.

‘I fear that Mr Fanshawe is very distraught at the moment, and I do not know how much help he will be,’ Emily told her.

‘Oh that’s no problem, mum,’ said Mrs Pearce cheerfully. ‘I can have the baby here with me for a while if he prefers it.’

Emily was not quite sure how appropriate it would be for the baby’s formative days to be spent in an inn, but when she looked at the handsome, respectable young woman sitting in front of her, she came to the conclusion that it would probably do the child no harm at all.

Mrs Pearce looked at her curiously. ‘You look a bit peaky yourself, mum, if you don’t mind my saying so. Were she a friend of yours?’

Emily could feel the tears welling up again. ‘Yes. Yes, she was,’ she replied, her voice breaking.

‘Well then, just let me get you a glass of father’s good claret,’ said Mrs Pearce. ‘That’ll help.’

In fact, Mrs Pearce fetched not only a glass of wine, but also her own little boy, who clearly had a very sunny nature, and took to Emily immediately. The young woman very wisely
chatted
about her son’s doings whilst her visitor played with him,
and after spending half an hour in this simple and
undemanding
way, Emily began to feel able to face the world again.

‘I will go round to Mr Fanshawe immediately and tell him that you will be able to help out,’ she said, standing up. ‘Mrs Grant will be so pleased to be able to get home again.’

‘Just send me word and I’ll come round,’ answered Mrs Pearce. ‘Soon as I’ve got this one settled.’

At least that’s one thing sorted out, Emily thought to herself, as she walked back into the Minster Yard and approached the front door of Mr Fanshawe’s house. Then, just as she reached the garden gate, she hesitated. Of course it was important that Mrs Grant should be able to return home as soon as possible, but they had only arrived that day. It would hardly be fair to expect her to turn around and go back to Mablethorpe
immediately
. Furthermore, the household needed a little time to settle down after all the turmoil that they had all experienced. She would go back the next day and tell Mr Fanshawe about what she had arranged. Perhaps by then he might even be
willing
to hear it.

With no further reason for delay, she turned her footsteps reluctantly towards home. It was not that her father would be unsympathetic: it was simply that there was so much of Nathalie’s story that she could not share with anyone. What she would have liked to have done more than anything was to talk to Mrs Trimmer about the loss of her friend, but she did not want Sir Gareth to think that she was pursuing him into the house.

It was, therefore, a great relief to her when she opened the front door to have Mary come hurrying up to her and say, ‘Oh, miss, such a time as you have had! I’m that sorry! Mrs Trimmer has called to see you and is waiting in the drawing-room.’

Emily surrendered her bonnet and shawl to the maid and went straight in. As soon as she entered the room, Mrs Trimmer got to her feet and came towards her, her arms outstretched. ‘Oh my dear friend,’ she said in sympathetic tones. ‘What a
dreadful experience for you.’

Emily had been quite determined that she was not going to cry again, but in the face of Mrs Trimmer’s kindness, she could not help shedding a tear or two. ‘Yes, it was truly one of the worst experiences of my life,’ Emily agreed. ‘I have attended in homes where someone has died on many occasions since I was an adult, but never before when the person was close to me.’

‘Had you known her for very long?’ Mrs Trimmer asked.

‘Not really,’ Emily replied. ‘The Fanshawes came to live in Lincoln a few months ago, but I only really got to know Nathalie after I was asked to go with her to Mablethorpe.’ She paused. ‘It must sound silly to you, but I don’t have many friends. There were never many girls of my age growing up in the close, and those that did so, married and moved away years ago. I know it must sound very selfish but it seems so hard to make a friend only to lose her and in such a terrible way.’

‘It doesn’t sound selfish at all,’ Mrs Trimmer replied. At that moment, Mary, acting on her own initiative, came in with a tea tray, and Emily, who suddenly realized that she was quite thirsty, poured out for them.

She handed Mrs Trimmer a cup, saying, ‘I am so glad that you were here when I came in. It was such a comfort to me.’

‘You can thank Gareth for that,’ Aurelia replied. ‘He told me how distressed you had been in the church and suggested that you might be glad to see me.’

‘Oh how kind of him,’ Emily exclaimed involuntarily. ‘How truly sensitive!’

Mrs Trimmer merely smiled in response to this, and after a brief pause said, by way of change of subject, ‘The boys will be glad that you have returned. They are for ever asking when you might be able to take them up the other towers.’

‘I should be delighted to do so,’ Emily answered. ‘Pray tell them that we shall go on the next fine day.’

With all that had happened, Emily had quite forgotten to bring Miss Wayne to Aurelia’s notice. She did so now, and her
friend listened thoughtfully. ‘I do not know her well, but my impression of her has been good,’ she said. ‘I am not sure how well she would cope with two lively boys, however.’

Refraining from commenting that a woman who could cope with Mrs Hughes could surely cope with anything, Emily simply said, ‘Perhaps you could ask her to keep an eye on them one day; possibly while you are entertaining Mrs Hughes
yourself
.’

‘I have only one fault to find with that idea, which is that it will involve my spending an afternoon in Mrs Hughes’s company,’ Aurelia replied mischievously. ‘However, I will then be able to find out if the boys like Miss Wayne, which is vitally important, so perhaps it is a sacrifice worth making.’ They talked easily about Oliver and James for a little while and by the time Aurelia rose to go, Emily realized that she was feeling much better.

‘Do you think that I ought to call on Mr Fanshawe to offer him some help?’ Aurelia asked. ‘I do not want to be insensitive and, of course, Alan must be the first to call, but his
circumstances
are unusual. I do not want to deny him any assistance that I might be able to give.’

‘Leave it a day or two,’ Emily suggested. ‘He was very distraught and not fit to deal with anyone.’

‘I know that Gareth means to call upon him,’ Aurelia told her as she was leaving. ‘Apparently, he knew him slightly in London.’

‘How strange,’ Emily murmured. ‘He didn’t mention it earlier.’

Later that day, Emily went up to her grandfather’s room. There, in the silence, feeling as if she were in the privacy of the
confessional
, she told the recumbent old man Nathalie’s whole story. This time, although she did shed a tear or two, she was not distraught as before, and afterwards she felt more at peace, as if the experience had been cathartic.

‘Thank you, Grandpapa,’ she said, bending to kiss him. As she did so, she took hold of his hand and, unmistakably, but quite faintly, he returned the pressure. ‘Grandpapa?’ she said again. ‘Open your eyes, Grandpapa.’ He did not do so, but there was the merest flickering of his eyelids.

The next day, Dr Boyle called to see Dr Whittaker, and after he had come back downstairs again, Emily told him what had happened. He listened attentively. ‘Those are very good signs,’ he told her. ‘Your faithful attendance has, I feel, done him a great deal of good.’

‘Papa has also visited him every day,’ Emily pointed out.

‘Yes indeed, but a granddaughter can sometimes have a closer relationship with a grandparent than that which exists between parent and child,’ the doctor replied. He paused briefly then said, in a more urgent tone, ‘Miss Whittaker!’

‘How is Mr Fanshawe?’ she asked hastily, fearing a proposal.

It was a successful diversion. The doctor shook his head. ‘It was a tragic business, was it not? I have attended him of course, but naturally I cannot disclose anything to you about his
condition
.’

‘Naturally not,’ Emily agreed. ‘It is simply that I am
wondering
whether to go round yet and introduce the new wet nurse. I know that Mrs Grant wants to get back to Mablethorpe as soon as possible, but I did not want to intrude.’

‘I think you might go,’ the doctor answered. ‘He is naturally still distressed and will be for some time, but the child must be settled. She is thriving, I am thankful to say. How I wish that Mr Fanshawe would take some notice of her! But it is early days yet.’

To Emily’s relief, he left without proposing. His timing would have been most inappropriate even had she been inclined in his favour. Recent events, however, had shown her that she could never accept him. When he took her hand before his departure, she had felt nothing other than a mild distaste at the clamminess of his touch. The salute of Sir Gareth, however, had
seemed to cause every nerve end to tingle. How could she ever marry anyone and accept less than that?

She went upstairs intending to visit her grandfather, but as she was going, Mary appeared in the hall and said, ‘Shall I bring a glass of claret, miss?’

‘Claret?’ echoed Emily, mystified.

‘Well, when Sir Gareth comes to see the old gentleman, he has a glass and he gives him a little bit.’

‘Sir Gareth visits my grandfather?’

‘He came two or three times while you were away, miss.’

Feeling absurdly pleased, Emily said, ‘Just a small glass, then.’

‘Grandpapa, I have decided that I cannot marry Dr Boyle,’ she told her grandfather when she was in his room with the door closed. ‘I am sorry if you are disappointed, but you see I …’ She paused. ‘Grandpapa, I’m … I’m in love.’ It seemed strange to say it out loud. ‘I’m in love with Sir Gareth. You know, the gentleman who comes to see you sometimes. Oh I know that he would never look at me in that way. In fact, I am almost sure that he thinks of me as another sister, but because I feel that way about him, I cannot bear the thought of marrying anyone else, even if it means a lifetime of loneliness.’

At that point, Mary came into the room with the glass of wine on a tray, and in getting up to make sure that there was a clear surface for the glass to rest on, Emily managed to conceal the blush that had crept into her cheeks.

‘Shall I show you how Sir Gareth gives him the wine, miss?’ Mary asked.

‘Please.’

The maid took the glass to the old man, dipped her finger in the wine, and touched his lips with it. Emily watched in wonder as her grandfather’s tongue emerged to lick the droplets. ‘Let me, Mary,’ she said.

‘Of course, miss.’ Smiling, Mary handed the glass over before leaving the room.

Emily sat next to her grandfather on the bed, and went
through the same process several times before saying, ‘You are getting better and better every day. I know you are. That was good, wasn’t it?’

While she was watching, Dr Whittaker’s lips moved to frame the shape of the word ‘good’.

Emily stayed with her grandfather for a little longer. He made no further response to her presence, but she was satisfied. The death of Nathalie had been a shock, and it would take time to recover from the blow caused by the loss of a friend, albeit quite a new one. But hope could be found in other situations; in the health of the new baby, for instance; in the slow recovery of Dr Whittaker.

Knowing that the news would please her father, Emily sought him out and told him about the small signs of improvement in her grandfather’s condition. To her great astonishment, Canon Whittaker then told her that he had noticed similar incidents. ‘I did not say anything, because I did not want to raise your hopes for nothing,’ he told her. After a brief silence, he said, ‘I was sorry to hear of the death of Mrs Fanshawe. You had become very attached to her, I think.’

‘Yes … yes, I had,’ Emily admitted. She was glad that he did not say more. She had not yet reached a point where she wanted to discuss the matter.

She now felt strong enough to go to the Fanshawe household and break the news of the wet nurse that she had found. In truth, although she had suggested to Dr Boyle that she might go, she had felt very reluctant to do so. The circumstances in which she had last spoken with Mr Fanshawe had oppressed her spirits. Now, however, a new feeling of optimism buoyed her up, and resolving to make the most of it, she put on her bonnet and walked along the southern side of the cathedral.

As she passed the Trimmers’ front door, she found her
footsteps
slowing, as if to increase her chances of encountering Sir Gareth, and she remembered the conversation that she had once heard between a local girl and her infatuated friend. Don’t
be foolish, she told herself, deliberately quickening her step.

Mr Fanshawe’s housekeeper greeted Emily with pleasure. She looked markedly more cheerful than on the last occasion when Emily had seen her, and the reason for this increased
cheerfulness
soon became apparent. ‘Such a dear little mite,’ she said smiling. ‘She’s never a bit of trouble, and as for that Mrs Grant that you brought, such a pleasant person! I do declare the house will be quite dull without her, when she goes.’

‘It is about that matter that I have come to see Mr Fanshawe,’ said Emily. ‘Is he within, Mrs Dainty?’

‘He’s just stepped out, but only for a moment,’ answered Mrs Dainty, her face becoming anxious. ‘We all want to help him, so we do, Miss Whittaker, but how to do it?’

‘It isn’t easy,’ replied Emily. ‘Time is a great healer, of course. I’ll come back later, then.’

But this Mrs Dainty would by no means allow. ‘You must step upstairs and see the little one while you are here,’ she pleaded. ‘She is so much like her dear mama that it’s no wonder the master finds it hard to look at her. No doubt that resemblance will be a comfort to him in time.’