Fortune's Mistress (22 page)

“She will do well enough,” Maggie said confidently. “She is tired and overwrought. The best cure for that is sleep, as I am sure you will agree. I shall go below to prepare some strong beef tea with plenty of marrow for her; it is quite a restorative.”

When she left, Venables sank into the chair at Marianne
’s side. She was breathing peacefully now, and her forehead was no longer furrowed. He prayed Maggie would be right in her assessment. Prayer was all he had left.

* * * *

In her dream, Marianne walked in a field of bright flowers, and all about her, little girls danced in the sunlight, garlands in their hair. In the sky above, white clouds scattered and amassed, taking the shapes of lambs prancing on a blue field. It was a paradise of sweetness, the air alive with light. Never since childhood had Marianne enjoyed such an overpowering sense of serenity and well-being.

When her child was born, she thought with a smile, this was just such a place to bring her to play and be happy. She reached down to feel where the babe rested beneath her heart, then froze. She was not pregnant? What had become of her child?

“Welcome, my Marianne.”

The voice was near her, but at first she could not see whence it came. The brightness of the air began to gather and take shape, and in a moment she found herself confronted with a lady, both grave and smiling.

“Do I know you?” Marianne asked.

The lady nodded.
“We have met before, but I daresay you do not remember. Sit with me here, and we shall talk a moment.”

Marianne shook her head.
“But I must find my baby, you see. I cannot imagine where it has got to, for it isn’t even born yet.”

“
Look below,” the lady said.

Then it seemed as if the grass parted beneath her feet, and she looked down into her chamber at Rosewood. A dark-haired woman lay in the bed, and Dr. Venables and Old Maggie stood at her side. A baby was tucked at the woman
’s side, sleeping peacefully.

“
You see. All is well with the child. With your daughter.”

Marianne
did not understand, but she nodded. “Who is the woman?” she asked.

“
Do you not recognize her?”

The woman was pale, almost to death. The doctor put a hand to her throat for a moment,
then said something to Maggie, who nodded and left the chamber. Then it was clear.

“
She is ... that is, it is I.”

The lady nodded.

“Am I dead then?”

“
No. Just resting after a long travail.”

She watched as the doctor sat at the bedside and smoothed her hair. He did not look at her with contempt, though she remembered now what had been revealed to him. It seemed, in fact, that there was love in his eyes. She must be mistaken, though. No man a
live could hear what he had and…

“You are not mistaken,” the lady said softly. “He loves you, and you him. It is yourselves you do not love, and whom you must forgive. That is the task I
must send you back to perform. The rest does not matter.”

Below the scene began to fade, and with it the airy landscape which had surrounded her. The rest was sleep.

Marianne blinked awake. A candle flickered at the bedside table, almost spent. In its light, she could see Dr. Venables nodding in a chair, a book open in his lap. He looked no more than a tired little boy
in the soft light. It was a comfort to see him there. Outside, the storm had stilled at last, and she felt at peace. Pain was a mere memory now.

She felt a stirring at her side, and peeped be
neath the coverlet. There was her baby, curled like a rosebud in a downy blanket. She was so tiny! And so perfect! Her head was crowned with wisps of dark curls. The soft line of brows perched above her eyes. Her fingers curled into little pink fists. Her chest rose and fell like a leaf on the lapping edge of a pond.

Marianne smiled.
She is really mine,
she thought.
Mine to love. Mine to teach. Mine to share joy with.
She glanced at the doctor. His eyes were open now and he, too, was smiling, though wearily. He shut his book and set it on the table.

“
How do you fare?” he whispered.

“
Well,” she returned, and meant it. “Is she not perfection?”

He nodded.
“She is indeed a beautiful child. One would never know to look at the two of you that there was ever a moment of anxiety.” He yawned and stretched for a moment. “What will you call her?”

She did not hesitate. She had known the name in her heart for a long time.
“Felicity.”

“
It is a good choice.” He stood and looked down at them with the edge of a smile. “And this was a good night’s work.”

The gray light of morning streamed in the window.
“What is the time?” she asked.

“
Nearly ten, I should imagine. Try to go back to sleep, if you can. Or would you like me to send Annie or Maggie to you?”

She shook her head.
“Let them rest.”

Next to her little Felicity stirred and opened her eyes. They were as blue as the summer sky. She saw only herself there, not a hint of Cheswick.
“Is it all right if I hold her?”

The doctor laughed.
“I should think it very odd if it were not! Here, let me help you to sit up.”

He slipped his arm behind her shoulders and piled more pillows behind her. Then he lifted the baby into her arms. She curled into her mother
’s arms as if into a comfortable nest, closed her eyes, and slept again.

“
I shall leave the two of you alone for a bit,” he said softly.

“
Please don’t!” she begged. “What if she should wake? I shall not know what to do!”

“
You must do what comes naturally. Besides, I think she will sleep for some time yet. She has had a tiring time of it as well. Just hold her and let her grow accustomed to you. Talk to her, or sing if she awakens. You will do very well.”

For Marianne, the days that passed were full of peace, and the role of motherhood sat as easily on her shoulders as sunlight on the hillside. Felicity was a delight to her heart. Every time Marianne looked at the child, she felt as if a gift from heaven had fallen to her. Her tranquility was marred only by the notion that, though Stratford seemed to have quit the vicinity entirely, he might somehow have contrived to make good on his threat to destroy her happiness. At times, the anxiety was so overwhelming, she set about packing trunks and preparing to leave, then stopping when she realized with a sinking heart that she had no other place to go.

When the Wallers called as soon as she was equal to receiving them, however, she began to hope that Stratford had indeed departed the neighbor
hood without event. They had remarked on nothing other than the child’s beauty and expressed their concerns for her well-being.

The children came calling as well. The little girls held Felicity, singing softly to her, while the boys tried their luck at amusing the baby with such toys as they had contrived to make for her. As these were a carved soldier and a kite, they found little success in this endeavor and, often as not, amused themselves playing with the kittens instead.

Marianne often thought back to the dream she had had the night of Felicity’s birth. Unlike other dreams, it did not fade. She could remember every detail, and recalling it summoned a lifting of spirits which helped her face the unknown future. Looking at her child, she knew that self-forgiveness had been accomplished, for who could regret pain which ended in such bliss?

Though quite tiny
, Felicity seemed to thrive. She was alert and good-natured and, though Marianne recognized that untoward parental conceit must account for the notion, she was almost certain the child already recognized her own name.

The doctor had called only briefly in the
weeks which ensued, and his absence tore at Marianne’s heart. Neither he nor she had endeavored to mention the events that prefaced the night of Felicity’s birth, but she knew the encounter with Stratford and the story of her past still hung between them. At the time, her history had seemed to prompt only Venables’s sympathy, never his condemnation, yet now she wondered. Why did he suddenly have so little time for her? He was, she knew, too good a man to despise her; that was undoubtedly the reason, despite her best efforts, she had fallen in love with him.
Part
of the reason, she amended, as the image of his face rose before her.

She sat one cold afternoon just before Yule, rocking her baby before the fire. The kittens, now almost cat
s, sprawled on the hearth, occasionally stretching, but for the most part seeming to revel in sheer laziness.

“
Mrs. Glencoe?” Annie peeped in the doorway.

“
Yes, Annie? What is it?”

“
‘Tis Dr. Venables, wanting to know if you are at your leisure.”

Marianne
’s heart fluttered at the mention of his name. She had almost given up hope of seeing him again, and she felt her pulse quicken at the mere mention of his name.

“
Tell him to come in,” she said, attempting unsuccessfully to keep the excitement from her tone.

The doctor entered a moment later, bearing a basket. He smiled warmly at her and the child, and she felt an answering smile on her own lips.
His manner seemed somehow lighter than it had for some time, and reminded her of their first encounter.

“
And how fare my ladies today?” he asked brightly.

Marianne laughed.
“That depends on what is in the basket,” she said. “If you have brought me a family of orphaned hedgehogs to mother, I vow I shall send you back out into the cold.”

He uncovered the basket and set it at her side.
“Jane and Becky have sent you some greens for Yule. They are very sparse in these parts,” he went on, “not perhaps what you are used to.”

“
They are lovely,” she smiled as she breathed in their heady fragrance, “and all the more so when I think how the dears must have worked to find them.”

Venables paused for a moment, before saying,
“I bring you news as well.”

These words were spoken with a
gravity which alerted her at once. She ceased rocking and looked at him, her heart pounding with sudden trepidation.

His eyes searched her face.
“I do not know,” he said hesitantly, “whether its import will occasion relief or distress. But it is something I cannot in good conscience keep from you.”

In her arms
, Felicity stretched and yawned, oblivious to the tension which hung in the air. Marianne rose and set the baby in her cradle. “Whatever it is, I must hear it,” she said quietly. She turned to face Venables and folded her hands before her. “Rest assured, there is little to which I am now unequal.”

She seated herself once again and waited, im
ages of doom crowding her head.

“
I must tell you,” he began, “how reluctant I am to bring this matter to your attention, for it will put you in mind of events I am sure you had far rather forget.”

Marianne felt her heart grow chill. So her fears were justified. It was all over for her.

“The gentleman who lately caused you such distress— “

“
Stratford,” she whispered. “Go on.”

“
I do not know what he was to you,” Venables said wretchedly, “but you must know the worst: he is dead.”

Dead. Stratford was dead. Marianne sank back in her chair, the tension of the past weeks sud
denly drained from her. Though relieved beyond measure, she found herself speechless, and could but stare.

“
I should have known of the event sooner,” Venables went on, “but it was an odd circumstance, you see. The day after the storm, a farmer found Stratford’s horse wandering loose. Rather than reporting the incident to the magistrate, he accepted it as his good fortune, and said nothing of the matter. Stratford’s body was found only this morning, at the bottom of the cliffs by the sea. We can only conjecture that he was thrown there and died almost immediately.”

He looked to Marianne, hoping, it seemed, to detect some reaction. She felt the tears of relief form in her eyes and come spilling down her cheeks.

“My Marianne,” Venables murmured sadly, kneeling by her side. “Forgive my clumsiness. I had not thought...”

She shook her head and tried to smile.
“It is not that,” she said through her tears. “You are not to think ... It is just I am overcome to finally know…Thank God, he is gone!”

Venables reached up to touch her face.
“I wish you will say no more,” he said. “I assure you, what I have heard in this matter thus far, is entirely forgot. I wish you will put it from your mind.”