The Reckoning (99 page)

Rosamund had little interest to spare for these fascinating matters. It had not so far been a good summer for her. Farra
line had not come to London for his planned visit in May.
Manufacturing trade was picking up all the time, and it
seemed that things had reached just that pitch where his
presence was essential in Manchester. A letter from him – he
addressed the envelopes to Moss, who had developed quite a
reputation amongst her fellow-servants – begged her pardon,
and hoped to be able to get away later in the summer. Not
even a promise, Rosamund thought, but only a perhaps – and
no date to look forward to, to keep her from going frantic in
her gilded cage.

And there was other trouble. Her moment of weakness in
the dresing-room with Marcus must have caught her at a
vulnerable time. Three weeks later she was sure that her flux
was overdue, and after four weeks she was beginning to
experience tenderness of the breasts and slight nausea in the
mornings. With leaden spirits she went out for the long rides,
and sought the privacy of remote parts of the house for her
jumping activities. But the seed that Marcus had apparently
planted proved difficult to dislodge, and when her own
actions failed, Rosamund had to ask Moss for help. This time,
however, Moss had been difficult to persuade.

‘
Oh my lady, isn't it time you settled down?' she said
wheedlingly. And 'It does seem such a mortal shame, my lady,
when his lordship would be so happy.'

‘
Don't be sentimental,' Rosamund snapped. 'I shall decide
when it's time to settle down, as you put it – and it's certainly
not now. Are you going to help me, or do I have to look else
where?'

‘It isn't right. And it isn't good for you, my lady,' Moss said
stubbornly. 'You might damage your health in more ways
than you look for.’

The argument went on for several days, increasing Rosa
mund's anxiety all the time; but in the end, of course, Moss
did help her. Then the maid was able to scold and fret and
worry over her when the remedy proved to make her very ill
indeed. While she was suffering, Marcus was white and silent
with worry, Barbarina was stricken, and Lady Barbara was
quietly hopeful that the way might be being paved at last for
her to acquire the daughter-in-law she deserved.

Rosamund didn't help matters by refusing to have a doctor
called in, and when Marcus, in desperation, sent for Sir
William Knighton without Rosamund's permission, she
refused absolutely even to speak to him, and obliged the long-
suffering Moss to lock her bedroom door until she was
assured that the King's physician had gone away.

Moss later relayed the news, which she had learned by a roundabout servant's route, that Sir William had explained
Rosamund's behaviour to Marcus as female hysteria caused
by childlessness, and advised him to do his duty by her and
get her pregnant as soon as possible. On hearing this, Rosa
mund went off into a fit of black laughter, which eventually
changed to tears, and developed into a storm of weeping so
violent that Moss was half-inclined to believe Sir William
might have been right.

When Rosamund was out of bed again, Marcus chewed
himself maddeningly attentive. He gave up going to his clubs,
dined at home every day, and dedicated himself to driving
Rosamund out in his curricle for exercise and trying to enter
tain her in the evenings. It was fortunate, she reflected ironi
cally, that the fact of her recent illness made him tender
about forcing himself on her, or he would have been in a fair
way to fulfilling Sir William's orders before midsummer. As it was, she was able to go on quite successfully looking pale and
weary at bedtime, enough to ensure she retired to her
chamber alone.

It could not go on for ever, though, she knew; and already
Marcus was shewing signs of restiveness. When she finally
rebelled against the boredom of being driven round and
round Rotten Row in his curricle and took herself off, alone
except for Parslow, for a gallop in Richmond Park, he was so
upset that he dared to remonstrate with her.

‘
You're still looking very pale and thin, my darling. I don't
think you're well enough for such violent exercise.'

‘
Oh fiddle!' Rosamund snapped. ‘If you must know, I'm pale through being shut indoors all those weeks, that's all.
Don't fuss over me, Marcus. You know I hate it.'

‘
But Ros –' He bit his lip, evidently building up to some
difficult exposition. 'Don't you ever wonder –? I mean, we've
been married four years now, and you've never even –’

Rosamund's brows drew down sharply. 'Never even what?'
she asked forbiddingly.

‘
Well, I mean, there's never been any sign of a child, has
there? I can't help wondering if – well, if all this riding hasn't
something to do with it? Mama says –'

‘
Oh yes – and what has your mother been so obliging as to
say this time?’

He plunged on into danger. 'Well, she says that sometimes
women who do a great deal of riding have difficulty in
conceiving. She says if you would only give it up, you'd
probably be with child within a few months.’

Rosamund felt an unwelcome pity for him, for if she knew
Lady Barbara, that was not all she had said by a long chalk.
Probably Marcus had been berated also for not insisting on
his marital rights, and for not being firmer with his wife.
Rosamund had no doubt at all that Lady Barbara had
perfected some system of knowing exactly how often Marcus
visited his wife's bedroom. The thought of that old witch
lying there at night listening for the footfalls in the corridor
made her hot and cold with anger.

‘
You may thank your mother from me, and tell her that
when I want her opinion, I'll ask for it,' she said. 'And that if
she doesn't restrain her impertinent curiosity about my
private life, I shall be forced to take some action she won't at
all enjoy!'

‘
Oh Ros, darling, don't be angry! She means it in the
kindest possible way. She's only trying to help us. Don't you
want us to have a child?' Marcus said anxiously.

‘
She isn't trying to help, she's trying to interfere,' Rosa
mund said, ignoring the rest of the sentence. 'She doesn't like
to ride, so she thinks no-one else should. Well it happens that
I do like to ride, and I shall go on doing it, when and where I
please, and with or without your mother's precious permis
sion.’

The summer was hot, and the great families were soon
going out of Town, seeking the refreshment of their country
seats. Lady Barbara revived the agitation for Marcus to
purchase an estate, and suggested that they all four went on a
protracted tour of the nearest counties to look for one. Rosa
mund refused, but said she was happy for Marcus and Bab to
go with their mother, an invitation Lady Barbara would have
accepted with alacrity. But Marcus said no, and said it firmly
enough for his mother not to argue with him for once.

Rosamund was not happy about this. She had to stay in
London until she had word from Farraline, and if he were to
come down for a visit, it would be far better if the rest of the
family were out of Town. Fortunately, as the sultry weather continued, Barbarina began to suffer from it and look really
ill, and when Rosamund suggested impatiently that Lady
Barbara should take her to Wolvercote, the dowager agreed.

That only left Marcus, who in spite of his new and
maddening attentiveness towards her, was much easier to
circumnavigate. Then just when London was beginning to be
quite uncomfortable, making it difficult to justify remaining
there, a spell of rain at the end of July cleared the air and
brought in a period of cooler, more refreshing weather; and a
letter came from Farraline to say he would be in London in
the first week of August.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

 
Rosamund sat up in. bed, her arms clasped around her knees,
her hair falling like a cloak all around her. Jesmond lay on
one elbow watching her, waiting for her to tell him what was
wrong. They had made love as hungrily as always, but he had
felt how different it was — that she had devoured him, like a
starving man, in the knowledge that it would not be enough.

At last she said, Did you see Sophie before you left?'

‘
Yes, I dined with them on Thursday. She was looking well;
and of course they're wildly happy. I suppose she will have
told you about her Expectations?’

Rosamund looked up. 'Expectations?'

‘
They aren't making it public yet, but as I'm such a close friend, they let me in on the secret. I'm surprised she hasn't
told you.’

Rosamund spoke absently, as though out of a dream. 'She
writes regularly, once a week. Her letter isn't due until
tomorrow.'

‘
Ah, that would account for it. I imagine it has only just
been confirmed — the baby isn't due until March.' He saw the
glitter of a tear on her thin cheek and sat up hastily. ‘Ros —
darling! What is it?’

She shook her head, swallowing hard, unwilling to cry even
before him. He put his arms round her rigid shoulders and
drew her against him. She pressed her mouth against his neck
to stop it quivering, and he felt her drag in uneven breaths,
where any other woman would have sobbed.

‘
My own love, tell me what's wrong,' he said gently. 'It's
pointless to keep it from me. What's making you so unhappy?'

‘
Oh Jes!' she said, and made a shapeless sort of sound,
swallowing tears. Then she said. 'It's just that — when I think
of Sophie —'

‘Yes, love?'

‘We came out together. And our lives are so different.’

There was nothing he could say about that. He stroked her
shaking shoulders. She went on, 'Now she's going to have a
baby, and she's happy about it. It's like – like a practical joke
on me by God.’

He could sense that it was going to come out now. He eased
them both into a more comfortable position, and said, 'Tell
me, darling.’