Reckless Angel (12 page)

Things did not improve over the next days. Daniel remained preoccupied as he wrestled with his bailiff over ways of raising the money to pay an indemnity of
four thousand pounds, if he could not get it reduced. The indemnity had been fixed at such a great sum because of the degree of his Malignancy and the value of his estate as presented to the commissioners in Maidstone when he had compounded. He would have to sell off much of his productive land to meet that sum, including Barton Copse. Barton Copse was a major source of revenue, providing as it did sufficient firewood to supply the neighboring towns, as well as wood to supply all the needs of his own farm and household. Without that revenue, he would be hard-pressed to meet other expenses without selling off yet more land, and every piece he sold reduced his ability to maintain his own self-sufficiency. If they were not self-sufficient, they would need to buy from others. And so it went on—the economic facts of life. And one of the facts of his life was the price he had paid for his bride.

Henrietta, while recognizing that her husband's preoccupation was not intended to be hurtful, felt excluded nevertheless. Even the girls were affected and the dinner table was a gloomy and silent place, no longer vibrant with their cheerful prattle. Mistress Kierston sat with pursed lips; the bailiff looked like one who recognized Doomsday; Daniel seemed not to notice what he ate and drank. Henrietta tried to start conversations, but all such attempts sank like stones to the bottom of a lake and she gave up, just as she gave up her attempts to get Daniel to confide in her. He would answer her questions briefly but would enter no discussion, whether it was at the supper table or in the privacy of their bedchamber.

This preoccupation did mean that he noticed little of what went on around him. He did not question how his wife spent her days so long as everything continued smoothly, and since a series of violent November storms kept Henrietta and the children within doors, Mistress Kierston had no complaints about unladylike activities.

Henrietta continued with her self-teaching, and the entire household seemed to enter the conspiracy. Dan
iel assumed that his wife had taken over the reins of domestic management and no one enlightened him as to the true state of affairs. Henrietta was to be found in the dairy, the brew house, the stillroom, the washhouse, the pantry—all perfectly reasonable places for the lady of the house to be. But she could not maintain the deception forever.

Odd little things intruded on his absorption. She did not always know the answers to basic domestic questions, such as whether the October ale brew was being tunned in the sweet-wine barrel, or when the young chickens would be fat enough for eating. Suffering from a severe headache one afternoon, he had asked her to prepare him a camomile draught. It had taken her such an inordinately long time he had gone in search, finding her closeted in the stillroom, head-to-head with the stillroom maid. He had assumed they were concocting something more elaborate than the simple draught he had requested—there could be no other reason why the two of them should be involved—and had been quite taken aback when Henrietta at last brought him only the camomile.

One chilly morning in late November he was crossing the yard behind the house when sounds of commotion arose abruptly from the dairy. Pushing open the door, he stepped into the chilly shed, which was empty of all but Henrietta kicking the butter churn and swearing vigorously. “What the devil goes on here?”

“A pox upon the slubberdegullion! Oh, I will never understand this!” she exclaimed, stamping her feet on the damp cobbled floor. Despite the cold, the hood of her cloak was thrown back, revealing her flushed face and brown eyes glittering with frustration. “'Tis the second time the milk has turned to cheese when it is supposed to be butter! I do not seem to be able to catch it at the right moment. And it is such hard work!” She kicked the butter churn again.

“Whatever do you mean?” He came toward her, and Henrietta suddenly realized what she had revealed. She fell silent and stood waiting.

Daniel stroked his chin thoughtfully as the pieces began to fall into place. The picture they formed made no sense, yet he had the horrible conviction that for some extraordinary reason it was the true picture.

“I think perhaps a few explanations are in order,” he said finally. “Let us go into the house. 'Tis cold as charity in here.”

Henrietta followed him into his study, where she stood by the door still saying nothing, watching Daniel as he bent to warm his hands at the fire. The silence lengthened, then slowly he straightened up and turned to face her.

“Am I to understand that your inability to manage the butter churn is not limited to something in this morning's air?”

There was no point pretending any longer. Besides, the strain of the deception was becoming unbearable. She met his grave regard. “Aye, you are to understand that. Just as you should understand that I know nothing of brewing, of cooking, of herbs, simples and physicking. I have no idea how to cast household accounts or—”

“Enough!” he interrupted brusquely. “I have grasped the point. But how should this be, Henrietta? Why were you not taught these things?”

She nibbled her bottom lip. “'Twas not a lack of teaching but a lack of learning.”

His frown deepened. “What mean you?”

“Why, 'tis quite simple,” she said bitterly. “There is little point learning when one is as like to be beaten for doing something well as for doing it awry. I was safer out of the house, so preferred to absent myself.”

Daniel nodded slowly, then he crooked a finger at her. “Come here, elf.” She approached somewhat cautiously, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her seriously. “Why have ye kept this such a secret?”

The slim shoulders beneath his hands lifted in a tiny shrug. “I did not know how to tell you. You seemed so certain that I would know these things, and of
course I should know them…and I was to teach Lizzie—” She broke off with another helpless shrug. “I have been trying to learn, but there is so much. 'Twill take a lifetime.”

“Now, that is a great piece of nonsense,” Daniel said, a note of severity sounding for the first time. “I would have you learn, and you will do so quickly enough if you apply yourself. Now that you need not pretend, it is bound to be easier, and I will help you as and when I may.”

“But you have so much on your mind at present.” She looked up into his face, searching his expression. “I would help you there, if you would share a little of your trouble with me.”

He sighed, releasing her shoulders, turning aside to the fire, kicking at a slipping log. “Until I hear from my brother-in-law, who has gone to London to speak to his kin for me, I can make no proper decisions. 'Tis the uncertainty that troubles me. Once I know the worst, then mayhap 'twill be easier. I can at least come to some decisions.”

She put a hand on his arm, feeling the muscles ripple beneath the slashed sleeve of his doublet. He turned and smiled down at her, interpreting the gesture for the offer of comfort that it was.

“This time will pass, elf,” he said, bending to kiss the corner of her mouth. “'Tis as true of bad times as of good.”

“Aye, I know it. Why d'ye not sit beside the fire for a while and I will bring you buttered ale.” An imp of mischief danced in her eyes. “That is something I have learned how to prepare. If I had my guitar, I would play for you. My skill there is tolerable, and I am said to have a pleasing voice.”

“Why would you learn that and nothing else?” he asked, sitting by the fire, his eyes teasing her.

“Because I enjoyed it,” she replied frankly. “And dancing also.”

“There'll be little opportunity for such amusements
now,” Daniel said, the moment of relaxation vanishing. “Parliament has voted to bring the king to trial.”

Henrietta shivered. “On what charge?”

“Of raising an army against Parliament, and abusing the limited power invested in him,” Daniel told her heavily. “They cannot help but find him guilty. We must wait to see if they are so securely in the clutches of evil that they will sign the death warrant.” He stood up, sighing. “I must ride to Longford field and oversee the hedging. Do you get back to your lessons, Harry. I will teach you how to cast your accounts after supper.”

He went out into the cold, reflecting on the revelation just made to him. It fitted with what he knew of Henrietta and he supposed he should have realized that he could expect nothing ordinary from her. But she was quick-witted and would learn readily. For some reason, he found rather moving the idea of her struggling in secret to meet his expectations, although he thought it would say more for the openness of their marriage had she felt able to confess her lack of skills at the outset. He must try to spend more time with her, he resolved, as he rode over stubble fields through the raw November air. The girls would benefit from more paternal attention too. It was high time he came out of his self-absorption. It was not achieving anything at present.

Daniel's resolutions served well and the household returned in some measure to its previous cheerfulness, until disaster struck.

The foul weather that had kept Henrietta and the children within doors for so long at last lifted, bringing bright sunshine, blue skies, and crisp cold air in its place. The three of them resumed their afternoon rides and rambles, returning to the house at dusk, rosy and weary, and in great accord. Mistress Kierston pursed her lips and looked sourly at the muddied petticoats, the missing buttons, the tumbled hair. She could not punish the children, however, since their stepmother had been their escort, and was frequently as untidy as
they. Unfortunately, Sir Daniel had gone on a visit to Ellicot Park and could not be told of this resumption of undesirable activities, so she was obliged to bide her time.

Daniel returned on a Saturday afternoon. His visit to the Ellicots had brought no cheerful news. James had pled his brother-in-law's case in London, but no decision was as yet forthcoming, and when he reached home he found waiting for him a demand from Sir Reginald Trant for repayment of the debt and interest thereon accumulated over the last ten years that he had assumed on behalf of Sir Gerald Ashby. The demand was couched in no polite terms, and Daniel whitened with anger, crumpling the parchment and hurling it into the fire.

He had assumed he would be able to repay the debt in installments, although it would be a heavy drain on his resources once he had sold off the goods and land necessary to pay the indemnity. He would be obliged to reduce drastically the number of people he employed around the house, gardens, and estate, and the thought of the hardship that reduction would cause those he must dismiss brought him to a white heat as he raged at the insolence of Trant's letter and the blatant manipulation of the brutish Ashby.

It was at this inauspicious moment that Mistress Kierston chose to bring certain matters to his attention. She had hastened down the stairs as soon as she heard of his return, anxious to speak with him while his wife and daughters were away from the house. He heard her out in silence. His daughters were become saucy and unmanageable; the governess could not be held responsible when her authority was usurped; digging in fox holes, climbing trees, fishing the streams, had always been forbidden activities until…Here she pursed her lips and fell silent. It was not necessary to continue the sentence and she would not stand accused of openly criticizing Lady Drummond.

“They remain forbidden,” Daniel said curtly, “You may leave this matter with me, Mistress Kierston.”

He marched out of the house into the December afternoon. The sun was low in the sky and there was an icy bite in the wind. He pulled his cloak more tightly around him, wondering where to begin his search. The stables produced the information that they had not taken horses, which meant they would not be too far afield.

He heard Nan's excited shriek coming from the orchard. “Can ye catch him, Harry? Oh, poor little thing…I hope he won't fall!”

“Cats do not fall, silly,” came Lizzie's scornful tones, sounding somewhat muffled. “Anyway, Harry has him.”

The explanation for the muffled tones was apparent as soon as he entered the orchard. Lizzie was crouching in the crotch of an ancient conifer at the edge of the orchard, peering upward to where Daniel could make out a smudge of blue in the higher branches. It was the blue of Henrietta's skirt. Nan, too small for tree climbing and for the moment unaware of her good fortune, was jumping around the tree trunk, piping shrilly.

“Elizabeth!”

At the sound of her father's voice, Lizzie nearly fell off her perch. Nan ceased her piping and, as was usual in moments of tension, her thumb went into her mouth.

Daniel removed the thumb. “Y'are grown too big for such babyishness. Go at once to Mistress Kierston.”

The child scuttled away without a word, and her sister dropped out of the tree. She stood, hands behind her back, staring at some spot beyond her father's shoulder.

She had pieces of fir in her hair, grass stains on her skirt, a smear of mud upon her cheek. Daniel thought of the child's mother, such a neat, fastidious person Nan had been. So graceful and womanly, so well-versed in the duties and responsibilities of womanhood.

“You have been forbidden to climb trees, have you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go to your room. I will come to you shortly.”

Lizzie went with dragging step. Henrietta, who had made her own descent discreetly on the far side of the tree, moved out of the shadow. She held a tiny, ginger-striped kitten in her arms.

“I do not think it would be just for you to punish Lizzie,” she said, slowly and clearly. “I expect she thought it was not forbidden since I was doing it.”

“An error which it is now my disagreeable duty to correct,” Daniel said harshly. All his pent-up rage and frustration rushed to the fore as he looked upon this wife and thought of the other. Here was a wife who could teach daughters none of the arts of housekeeping, none of the gentle skills of womanhood, since she knew them not herself. She knew only hoydenish tricks and the spirit of rebellion, and she had brought him nothing but the weightiest addition to a load of trouble that alone threatened to crush him.