The Country House Courtship (27 page)

“Where's O'Brien?” Mr. Mornay asked.

“We left him about half a mile back, I should think,” said Mr. Barton.

Mr. Mornay leveled his gaze at Beatrice, who felt suddenly like a naughty child caught doing something mischievous. “Is all well?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“No one hurt or anything?”

She paused. “No. Nothing of moment.” He caught a note of hesitation in her voice, and eyed her for a moment, but looking back to Barton, said, “Obliged, Barton. Take her to the house. I'll check on O'Brien.”

He nudged his horse forward, already rehearsing in his mind a few choice words for that young man. Was he
always
trouble? Everywhere he went? Or was it only to plague Mr. Mornay that his appearance always seemed to coincide with some sort of ill happenstance? At any case, he wanted to give him a good combing for it. A gentleman should have known better than to worry half the household, not to mention going off alone for hours with a young woman of quality.

He moved on, ready to deliver himself of such thoughts to the man.

M
rs. Forsythe and Ariana came apart from praying together for Beatrice and Mr. O'Brien—which they did just in case there was some danger afoot, though Ariana could not imagine what it could be, other than exposure to the cold.

“They may have got lost,” the older woman mused, as they went on. “You have such a large property, and there are paths and woods, are there not?”

“Yes; I suppose they might have lost their way.” Then Ariana had a thought. “Mama, do you think they would have attempted the maze?”

Mrs. Forsythe's response was assured. “No. Your sister has a dread of mazes! She said so just the other day.”

They walked on, and Ariana said, “Let us go toward the cottages. Perhaps they wanted to see them. They may have been invited inside by someone. We have the loveliest tenants, Mama! Not a one of them is trouble to us.”

“My dear,” Mrs. Forsythe did not like to think badly of anyone, but doubts were assailing her, as they tended to do whenever circumstances lacked an explanation, temporarily. “You know Mr. O'Brien best, I daresay. Is he an honourable man?”

Ariana said, breezily, “But of course! Very honourable, indeed!” And as soon as the words left her lips she remembered the matter of his persistence and refusal to accept Ariana's rejection of his suit, years ago. And what about the time when he had lost his head completely, and plucked her into his arms for an unexpected—and unwelcome—kiss?

Her mother was well sastisfied with her response, however, so she said nothing more, but now Ariana had her own worries and doubts. Finally, she said, “There is no doubt that he would never harm Beatrice; or abuse her. He has, in the past, been persistent in his addresses to me, is all.”

Her mother eyed her with fresh worry: “I did consider him a polite, gentlemanlike man; and of a strong religious sensibility. Am I to regret giving them leave to go out walking unchaperoned?”

Ariana fell into thought, but said, “I cannot believe that he would do anything at all amiss! We must trust his character! He is…a good man.”

Mrs. Forsythe nodded. Then she added, “Beatrice is young, but she is exceedingly sensible.” She sounded more wishful than certain.

“Yes, I am sure you are right.” Ariana stopped walking, and touched her mother's arm.

“We have prayed for them, have we not? We have put them into God's hands! Let us not waste another thought fretting about them!”

“You are right, indeed, my dear!”

“Yes, I'm certain I am,” she said, moving on. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were rosy from the cold, and she blinked from the wind bringing tears to her eyes. They had reached a small rise in the landscape, and a neat row of cottages could be seen, still far in the distance, but in sight.

“There,” said Ariana. “These are the first of our cottages. They are all newly roofed or thatched!”

From inside her cottage, Mrs. Taller was staring mindlessly out of the single window facing west; she saw the figures of the women—yes, it had to be women, for they looked to be wearing gowns—and suddenly a forlorn hope rose quickly in her breast.

That had to be the mistress! Mrs. Mornay was kind and good. Everyone knew it. People put their names on a waiting list to rent a house on the Mornay property. Not only did the Master do his utmost to see that all of his tenants remained gainfully employed, but Mrs. Mornay was more than generous, and sent things to her tenants numerous times throughout the year.

One year she had spearheaded an effort to make sure all the children had coats and shoe. Another time, the Mornays paid for a new young pig for each and every family. What good eating that winter! There was only one weakness in their goodness, which had arisen since the arrival of the two children in the household, which was that, if anyone fell ill, they were supposed to notify Mr. Horton at once. The measure was implemented after a terrible incident in a nearby house of the gentry where the heir, a little boy only six years old, had been playing with a tenant's child, who no one knew was sick. Symptoms didn't arise until the next day, when it became obvious the lad was ill. The son of the household also fell sick a day or two later. Only, when the first recovered, the little heir had not.

This sent a wave of fright around the countryside, so that many families began to treat their tenants like outcasts; others, like the Mornays (whose children were still too young to play much with other children, anyway) implemented precautions. This was why Giles had not wanted MaryAnn's sickness known. The other side of the precaution was that if a man had any sickness in his house, he should not report to work on the property; he could take a situation elsewhere if he could find one; but until all question of contagious illness was past, he was to stay clear of the other hands on the property, and, of course, the family in the big house.

Mr. Horton himself had adopted such rules, having learned from another steward of a nearby property that they had done so. Mr. Mornay thought it reasonable, and let it remain in effect.

Ariana knew nothing about it, simply because her husband had never thought to inform her. He saw no reason to, as, to his knowledge, only once had a man needed to lay off work for reason of sickness. There were actually numerous incidents of such occurring, but only Mr. Horton needed to be aware of them, and he did not bother his employer for every little development.

In any case, when Mrs. Taller saw the two women, she suddenly knew she must act. The apothecary's medicine had done naught for the girl. MaryAnn, she felt, was near the end of her suffering. She hadn't been conscious for two days now, and her skin was still hot to the touch. She needed to beg Mrs. Mornay to send their family physician—the Tallers could not afford a physician, and usually relied upon the apothecary. But it hadn't done; his herbs hadn't worked. His poultices were of no effect. Mrs. Taller was at her wit's end.

She had no way of knowing that Mr. Horton, the steward, was making a sweep of the cottages at that very moment; or that, knowing of her daughter's condition, he would send a physician. But it suddenly seemed absurdly obvious that Mrs. Mornay should be applied to for help. Of course! Why had she not thought of it sooner?

Giles was on his way home. He had got word of the sweep going on by Mr. Horton and knew that his game was up. He had been preparing to come clean in any case, as he belatedly accepted that his daughter might die. She was the sickest of the lot. He couldn't very well have just showed up for work one day and announced her passing. Mr. Horton would look into the matter. No, Giles had to admit the situation now, while he could. He was going to stop at the cottage and then go look for the steward; either that or he'd just wait for the man to come to them. It was only a matter of time.

Mistress Taller saw her opportunity. Surely that was Mrs. Mornay up there on that hill! This could be her only chance. Once again, she had to leave the children alone while she went out. But she hoped that this time, her mission would result in the visit of a real physician.

Just then, she heard a strange noise coming from the vicinity of her daughter's sickbed. She rushed over, felt the wet cloth she had left on the girl's brow, and dipped it in fresh water. After wringing it out sufficiently, she replaced it across the hot brow. Another sound came from the girl's throat, though she appeared to still be sleeping. Mrs. Taller bent her head to try and hear.

“MaryAnn! Are you speaking, child?” When there was no answer, she put her face right up to her child's face, willing her to talk, willing her to regain consciousness. But only the same shallow, labored breathing was to be heard. She hurried back to peer out the window and saw that the two ladies were moving in her direction.
Mercy!

She quickly pulled a shawl from a peg and hurried out the door. She was going to break a rule by speaking directly to Mrs. Mornay when her daughter was ill, but what could she do? She had to risk it.

Mr. O'Brien was running and never heard the sound of the hooves approaching. All he knew was that suddenly there was a monstrous horse rearing up in his face, and he shielded his head with his arms, expecting the worst. But nothing happened. The horse was whinnying and Mr. Mornay shouted to regain control over the beast, but no great heavy legs came down upon him. Soon, he stood and watched while the animal circled, as Mr. Mornay slowly quieted his animal, and then clopped over to Mr. O'Brien. The curate had thought it was Barton again, but instead found his host looking at him quizzically from atop the huge mount. His look was not benign.

“Do you need assistance?” he asked.

“No, sir. I am making my way back.”

“What happened?”

“We walked too far, I am afraid. Miss Forsythe began to suffer frostbite on her feet; we had just come out at the parsonage—”

At this, Mr. Mornay scowled. “You mean to say, the two of you walked as far as that? All the way to Glendover?”

Mr. O'Brien hesitated. “Well, yes; it did not seem so very far.”

Mr. Mornay took an exasperated breath. “It hardly seems possible!” He looked back at the cleric. “Well?”

“We found the door unlocked, and went in to start a fire—”

“To the house? It was indeed open?”

“Yes!” He paused, watching the other man with some surprise. “I made a fire, and did what I could to safeguard Miss Forsythe from incurring permanent damage. I have had experience with such things, in St. Pancras, you know.”