Carla Kelly (21 page)

The bailiff was silent so long that she reached for her handkerchief again, stopping her hand only when he put his cheek against hers. “Your relatives would probably say I have few virtues, Suzie my love,” he said finally, “but I am constant and I know my mind.” He stood up and tugged her to her feet after him, then smiled at her. “And haven’t we just assured Colonel March and Lady Bushnell how dependable we are?”

She nodded, suddenly shy, thinking of tomorrow.

“Then depend upon me, Susan.”

Chapter Seventeen

She spent a perfectly sleepless night, moving from the bed to the chair, to the window seat, and back to the chair again. She had never been in love before, but knew she loved the bailiff. She knew she would never be comfortable until she was married to him, but the initial effort of making love to a man gave her room for thought and some misgivings.

Mrs. Steinman had taken away her traveling dress to give it a good brushing and pressing, and she had indulged herself with a good soak in the tin tub, contemplating her bare knees and wishing that everyone in the world would go away except the bailiff. As the water turned cold, she decided that while she was not precisely frightened by the prospect of acquiring a husband, she wished there had been better sources of information than Professor Fowler’s profoundly silly book and Aunt Louisa’s admonitions. There has to be considerable pleasure in the married state, or people wouldn’t have been indulging in the practice since Adam and Eve, she decided as she dried off, got in her nightgown, and waited for sleep to come.

That it did not came as no surprise. First she indulged in a hearty round of castigating her relatives and wishing them all to hell or Australia—whichever was worse—and followed that with a few more tears and a fervent desire to remember the Hamptons no more. She devoted the remainder of the night to the bailiff. She considered all his virtues, and found herself quite unable to recall any defects, beyond a certain single-mindedness regarding wheat and a regrettable tendency to forget about washing when he got really busy.

She knew she could deal promptly with the latter, so it was not an issue. I will even volunteer to scrub his back, she thought, then quickly put the idea from her mind as she felt herself growing uncomfortably warm for March. As for the wheat, she found it almost as fascinating as he did, so it could not be a defect. I have lived much of my life around idle fritterers, which David is not, she told herself. If he likes to spend his spare time rearranging the characteristics of grain, at least I will always know where I can find him. Grain—at least in this form—does not drive men to distraction, or ruin them, or spend their money, or make their wives and children weep and mourn. She smiled to herself and thought of Lady Bushnell. I will devote myself to my employer and become proficient at the piano if it kills me. I intend to be a very good Wiggins, even if it is a borrowed name from an English village. If it was good enough for the King and his shillings, it will do for me.

After midnight, she heard David and Joel come up the stairs, laughing and then shushing each other outside her door until she had to cover her mouth to keep from betraying her own amusement. David’s room was next to hers, and the walls were thin enough for her to hear him whistling. The ropes creaked, so she knew when he got into bed. To her additional amusement and frustration, she heard him begin to snore. The sleep of the innocent or the thoroughly experienced? she asked herself, while I toss and writhe about and contemplate what mysteries tomorrow night will uncover.

She was dressed and downstairs for breakfast before the men. Mrs. Steinman worked in the kitchen with her scullery maid, and Susan joined her, happy to finish the recipe for plum cake while the other woman prepared eggs for baking.

“You couldn’t sleep?” Mrs. Steinman asked.

Susan shook her head and peered closer at the recipe, hoping to hide what she knew was a red face.

Mrs. Steinman sat at the table, her eyes focused on distant scenes, the eggs forgotten. “I remember my wedding day. I had never laid eyes on my husband before.”

“Never?” Susan asked, stopping the dough in midstroke.

“It was not our custom, little one,” she replied. “And when I first saw him, it was through a thick veil.” She turned her attention to the eggs again. “I didn’t get a really good look at him until after the ceremony.” She chuckled. “And then a much better look.”

Susan brought the bowl to the table and sat down. “You must have been terrified,” she said as she continued stirring.

“Why?” Mrs. Steinman asked, surprised. She touched Susan’s hand. “You see, my dear, I trusted that my father would arrange well for me, and he did.”

How fortunate you are, Susan thought. My father’s ideas of arrangement generally involve telling stories only he can believe and smiling big enough to cover the worst shortcomings. She looked down at the bowl, sighed, and redoubled her efforts.

“My dear, it is plum cake, not whipping cream,” Mrs. Steinman said, her voice gentle. “Perhaps your father will come to the wedding and make amends.”

I do not think there are words enough in this entire universe to apologize for last night’s display of family love, she thought, even as she smiled and nodded. “Perhaps he will. Here, Mrs. Steinman, is the oven ready?”

She thought that breakfast would taste like ashes and bonemeal, but she surprised herself by consuming the largest share of baked eggs and looking around for more, to the bailiff’s amusement. Perhaps it is not so surprising, she thought as she went to the sideboard for warm plum cake. I didn’t have the heart for dinner last night.

The bailiff joined her there. “I don’t know, Susan,” he began, shaking his head. “I don’t remember your eating so much before for breakfast.” He winked at Steinman. “Joel, didn’t you assure me that two can live as cheaply as one, but only half as long?”

They ate quickly, with an eye on the clock. “I suppose we will not see you after the ceremony?” Joel asked as he pushed himself away from the table.

“No. We leave immediately for Quilling,” David replied. He glanced at Susan. “We leave it to you to tell that nice widow who wants a governess that the incomparable Susan decided instead to marry a Welsh thief, poacher, veteran, and . . .”

“. . . future proprietor of Waterloo Seed Farm,” she interrupted, dabbing at her lips with the napkin. “While I do not expect us to be rich someday, we will be adequately respectable. Come on, David. Let us get married.”

***

The wedding was quickly performed at St. Andrews Church. She clutched the bailiff’s hand, whispered her responses in a terrified voice, and stopped shaking only when he clamped his hand around her wrist to hold it still and slide on the wedding band. She couldn’t remember a word the priest said; she might as well have been married in Hindustani. She stood and shook, and knelt and shook, and barely recognized her signature after she signed the registry. Mrs. Steinman cried, Joel grinned, and Colonel March looked as relieved as when General Blucher arrived in the eleventh hour on Waterloo’s field. Beyond a somewhat bemused drunk in a back pew and an old lady who talked to herself, there were no other wedding guests.

Well, I did not expect more, Susan thought as she raised her cheek for Colonel March to kiss, and followed it with the warmth of Mrs. Steinman’s embrace. “May you be as happy as I was,” the woman said, then whispered, “From my mouth to God’s ears.”

Then there was only time to say good-bye to everyone, laugh at Joel waving his empty sleeve again, and catch the mail coach at its nearest location. She sat close to her husband and admired the ring. “When did you find time to get this?” she asked as the mail coach started.

He took her hand and ran his fingers over the ring. “When I went to Chipping Norton for the cattle fair.”

She gaped at him. “David, I had turned you down only days before! You were so confident?”

“I was so confident,” he replied simply.

She slept most of the way to Oxford, her hand resting on his thigh, his arm about her shoulders. After Oxford, she stayed awake for the rest of the trip, too shy to speak but content to tuck herself close to him and watch the mile posts come and go. The bailiff didn’t seem to mind her silence. He dozed, resting his head on her shoulder and relaxing completely. When he woke, he told her his plans for the Waterloo Seed Company, and then maintained a conversation with the farmer seated on his other side. Susan listened to traded experiences of
scours, joint ill
, and whether to sow barley in the full moon or the new moon, and wondered what her former friends would make of such talk. I have much to learn, she thought, and it goes so far beyond what I will discover tonight. My genteel upbringing has prepared me for nothing.

“You have a quizzical look on your face,” the bailiff commented after the farmer left the coach at a crossroads and they started again.

She smiled at him. “I am thinking how ill-prepared I am for life with you.” It was so honest that she blushed.

The bailiff glanced around to see if the other passengers were sleeping, and kissed her quickly. “You only have to remember two things, Suzie,” he murmured, his lips close to hers.

“Just two?” she whispered, wanting him to kiss her again.

“I like my meals on time, and I’ll be putting my cold feet on your legs when I come in late at night after a lambing or a calving.” He kissed her again. “I think everything else will revolve pretty much around those two matters,” he concluded, his words teasing her. “What about you?”

She chose her words carefully. “I could tell you that I don’t ever want to be shouted at or made to feel little, but you would never do that anyway,” she said as she traced the outline of his jaw with her finger. “I know you will not beat me or use me unkindly, because it is not in your nature. No one told me; I just know.”

“Oh, Suzie,” he said, and it was more a sigh than words. “You do me honor.”

“All you have to remember is that I love you, David,” she whispered.

“Done, Mrs. Wiggins.”

***

They arrived in Quilling at the end of the long spring day, when the sun was gone, but the sky was not yet dark. While Susan waited in the public room, the bailiff paid the innkeep for stabling the horse and gig and went to claim them. Susan sat quietly, drinking tea and remembering her first visit there. You are right, sir, she thought as she watched the keep pour ale for a customer. This is a friendly village. I have found a husband in this place, and our children will likely go to school here.

David came back then and motioned to her. She rose to go when the innkeep called to the bailiff. “David, Ben Rich’s little Owen stopped in this morning. He told me to tell you to please stop at the sheepfold on your way to the manor.” He took a few swipes at the counter with his damp rag. “He appeared agitated, but acted like he didn’t want me to know, the little beggar.”

“Oh?” the bailiff said, the concern evident in his eyes.

“Told him I could send some men, if he was having trouble, but the little ragged muffin puffed up like a lord and said he was perfectly capable. Lord save us, David, but what’s in the water in Wales to make all men from there think they are kings?”

They rode in silence to the sheepfold, David alert for trouble, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. “Ben? Owen?” he called when the gig rolled to a stop in front of the stone building.

The door burst open and Owen Thrice ran out. The bailiff leaped from the gig in time for the lad to grab him around the waist. “Mr. Rich is sick,” he sobbed. “I’ve been doing the best I could.”

David knelt by the boy and wiped his face. “I’m sure you have, Owen,” he said. “Let’s go inside and you can tell me everything.” He rose and helped Susan from the gig, shrugging at her while the boy tugged him along by the hand.

The crofter’s cot looked much the same, except that Ben Rich was lying in bed, faintly snoring. Two lambs negotiated the room on the stiff legs of newborns, gradually picking up speed while a ewe paced back and forth.

“Owen Thrice, what on earth!” the bailiff exclaimed. “Watch your step, Suzie.”

Owen sat beside Ben Rich, who continued to slumber through the baaing. The air was redolent with sheep manure. Susan felt her eyes beginning to water from the fumes, and she longed to open the door, but that would only lead to the exodus of the lambs and an increase in the young boy’s misery, which was already amply evident on his face.

“Mr. Rich is sick, and I’ve been taking care of him,” Owen said.

“The sheep, lad? We have pens for them outside, last time I looked,” David said.

Owen Thrice burst into tears, adding his noise to the confusion about them. “’Twas Ben’s idea, Mr. Wiggins. He thought to help me from his bed. I tried and tried to help one of the ewes, but she died anyway, and then one of that ewe’s twins died, and I tried to get the orphan lamb to suck her, but the ewe wouldn’t let him, and now I don’t know what to do, because Ben sleeps and sleeps,” he said in one breathless sentence, the words tumbling out of him.

Without any comment, the bailiff handed Owen his handkerchief. When he had collected himself, the boy hunkered down in front of the hearth like the bailiff, looking up at him as though he knew David could solve all problems.

“Where’s the dead lamb, lad?”

Owen indicated with his head. “Beside the shearing shed. I . . . I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“Then go get it.”

Susan blinked in surprise, but didn’t say anything. She went to the bed and put her hand on Ben Rich’s forehead. He was cool now, but the stiffness of his nightshirt and the sour odor about the bed, obvious even in the ripe-smelling room, told Susan a tale of high fever and sweats. “He appears to be only sleeping, and he is not hot,” she told the bailiff, who nodded and sidestepped the lambs, who continued their rapid circumference of the room.

Owen struggled in with the lamb carcass, which he flopped down in front of the bailiff. Immediately, the ewe took an interest and came closer, nosing her dead lamb and making anxious purring sounds.

“Watch, lad, and you can do this next time,” David said as he picked up a knife from the table. Deftly he made several slits around the carcass and skinned it so fast that Susan blinked in surprise. “Catch me the orphan,” he ordered Owen, who leaped up and wrestled the lamb to a standstill. Just as quickly as he had skinned the animal, he slid the skin onto the orphan and sat back. “Watch this, lad,” he said.

The ewe nosed the orphan wearing her twin’s carcass. In another moment, the rejected lamb was nursing successfully. The ewe’s other baby soon joined the adopted orphan, and Susan laughed out loud to watch them nurse, their tails twirling ecstatically.