Learning to Waltz (5 page)

Molly escorted him to the shed in the yard. This backed up to a small chicken coop, the whole overhung by a chestnut tree that threatened to topple the stone wall. Evan’s borrowed mount had been relieved of saddle and bridle, rubbed down, covered with a blanket, and ensconced with water and hay. The girl was good with livestock, at least.

“You do good work.”

Molly bobbed a curtsy. “Me granddad used to be head groom up at the inn, so I spent a lot o’ time with horses. This here’s a real nice fella.”

“His name is Lookout. Belongs to Viscount Latimer.” He watched as she laid the sheepskin pad in place. “Master Julian said your mistress had a horse and gig until recently.”

“Aye, the lad was fair tore up over that, he was. Wouldn’t hardly speak to his mum for a week.” Molly chatted easily out of the house and away from her employer’s supervision. “Afore he died, Mr. Moore kept a fine carriage and three or four horses for riding an’ hunting. But o’ course, the mistress, she had to let ’em all go. There’s no place for ’em here and no money for a groom, neither. I saw to the one carriage horse meself, but what with feed ’n all…  She sold him ’n the gig, back last spring.” Molly threw the saddle onto Lookout’s back.

“Did you work at the vicarage, then, before Mr. Moore died?” Evan asked, reaching under the horse’s belly to pass her the girth.

“Oh no, sir, I just came to Missus Moore last January when she moved here to make way for the new vicar. But o’ course I seen ’em around town. I lived with me mum at Squire’s and helped out there, ’specially when they had company and such, an’ I used to sneak out to the stables and check out all the fancy horses.”

“Were Mr. Moore’s horses—er, fancy?”

“Ooh, yes sir. I heard his coachman tell Squire’s that he paid £250 for one of his hunters! And the mistress’ mare was a pretty, lively thing too.”

“She rides herself, then? It must have been difficult to part with her horse.”

“Well, meself, I think the gig was more of a loss.” Molly eased the bit into Lookout’s mouth and looped the bridle over his ears. “A ridin’ horse just gets you someplace, where a carriage is good for carryin’ parcels and all sorts o’ reasons.”

Evan agreed and checked the girth. “I don’t suppose your mistress has much time to ride for pleasure. She helps with the housework, I think?”

“Yes, sir. I seen her scrub till her hands bled, and then there’s the chickens and the garden and meals ’n all. She spends a lot o’ time with the child too, learnin’ him his letters ’n I don’t know what besides.”

“She’s teaching you to read also, Julian tells me.”

She blushed. “Aye, but I’m not near so quick as the young master.”

Decidedly precocious in other ways, though—bright and engaging and very feminine, her talents as a groom notwithstanding.

He’d thought her a child, but already Molly was a young woman whose preoccupation with her sweetheart had led to Julian’s misadventure. At fourteen, Alberta and Elizabeth had still been learning their stitches and French verbs in the schoolroom. Yes, Molly had several years head start on the damsels of high society.

He thanked her for her help and pressed a shilling into her hand. Nothing out of the ordinary in society stables, but Molly opened her eyes wide, grinned, and curtsied, and held the stirrup for him as he mounted. Then she ran back to the house with her unexpected wealth.

Evan smiled at the irony as he rode away toward the Manor. In a conversation aimed at learning more about Mrs. Moore, he knew the maid more intimately than the mistress. Would that the paltry gift of a half crown could win
her
good will.

Deborah returned to the parlor after Mr. Haverfield left the house and watched out the side window until he rode through the gate and out of sight toward the Manor, hoping he
would
return while wishing at the same time he would not.

Why had she thought him tongue-tied? On the contrary, he was lamentably persistent. No doubt he would be leaving Whately soon—all the better for her peace of mind.

Julian awakened from his nap fretful and feverish, with heavy eyes, sore throat, and a deepening cough. He ate nothing, Deborah and Molly not much more. Deborah spent the evening coddling him, applying cool cloths to his hot face, and replacing the blankets he continually kicked off.

Finally she sent Molly off to bed in her little room off one end of the kitchen. She gave Julian a dose of laudanum, undressed for bed, and lay down with him in her own room, which boasted a fireplace. Though quieter, he continued restless, coughing and moaning, and toward dawn he grew agitated and fearfully hot. As soon as there was sufficient light for the girl to see her way, Deborah woke Molly and sent her for the doctor.

It was several hours before Doctor Overley put in an appearance. Deborah paced the floor, teeth clenched so hard her head ached.
Probably busy with his fancy toilette.
Julian was restless too, tossing and turning in the bed. She picked him up and sat down to wait in the big upholstered chair by the fire.

Finally footsteps sounded on the stairs. Molly appeared in the doorway, and the doctor oozed in behind her, stinking of musk. Julian began fidgeting again.

“My dear Mrs. Moore, I am so sorry to hear that your little fellow is ailing. I confess I was concerned after his prolonged exposure the other day that some illness might accrue from the experience. Let’s see what we have here, shall we?”

Deborah carried Julian to the bed and unwrapped the arms that clung around her neck. The doctor listened to all she had to say about the child’s symptoms and felt his forehead in a cursory fashion, listened to his breathing through an ear trumpet, and pronounced a serious inflammation of the lungs.

“I will send the apothecary a list of medications, and his man will bring them by.” He glanced at the bottle on the night table. “You’ll be needing more laudanum—’tis best to keep the patient quiet. A saline draught for the fever, and a wash for cooling the skin. For the cough, Powell’s Balsam of Aniseed. Also, he must be bled—”

“Oh, Doctor. Surely, such a small child—”

He frowned. “Well, well, we might wait until tomorrow, perhaps, and see how he goes on. But if there is no improvement, I shall have to insist. It is crucial to rid the body of toxins in this manner, as I am sure you know. If the illness does not respond to that, we shall have to consider blistering as well.

“Now, Mrs. Moore, if you would be so kind as to grant me a moment of your time…”

Deborah felt far from kind, but she left Molly with Julian and escorted the doctor downstairs. In the hall, he took one of her hands between both of his. They were thick and soft, clammy like a plucked chicken.

“I shall not pretend, Mrs. Moore, that your son’s illness is not quite serious. He will without doubt require intensive nursing from you, as well as daily visits from me, for many days. Now, my dear, I have a fair notion of your current circumstances, and I would be pleased to suggest an alternative to monetary payment.”

Deborah tried to draw her hand away, but he held it firm. She swallowed hard. “And what might that be, sir?”

He turned her hand palm up and rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. She watched with horrified fascination as his thumb moved back and forth, turning the blood in her veins to ice. His other hand held her arm above the wrist—a deceptively light grip, she discovered when she tried again to withdraw.

“Let us just say, Mrs. Moore—may I call you Deborah?—that I have admired your—ah—beauty for quite some time, and have been eagerly awaiting your emergence from mourning. Nothing, you see—”

“You mistake—”

“No, let me finish, my dear. Nothing could bring me to intrude upon that sacred and vulnerable state. But now that is past, Deborah—” he fixed his eyes on her bosom, “—I feel quite sure we could find a great deal of enjoyment in each other’s—ah—company.”

No more!
Deborah snatched her hand away and backed out of his reach. She itched to slap him but dared not. She needed him too badly.
Julian
needed him.

“You presume too much, sir. Believe me, my circumstances do not compel me to consider your proposition. Rest assured that your bill will be paid promptly, in full.” How she would accomplish that, she had no idea. And by heaven, he’d better give her no reason to doubt that he’d done his best!

“Ah, Deborah, so proud,” he murmured. “Think of all the worthwhile things you could obtain with that money. New gowns for yourself, a decent education for your son. I do hope you will reconsider, my dear.”

“The only thing I’m likely to reconsider, sir,” she responded through clenched teeth, “is my decision not to slap you.”

He laughed. Deborah trembled, furious and impotent. Oh! The effrontery of the man!

“Well, well, we shall see.” He reached for his expensive greatcoat. She made no move to help him, so he shrugged himself into it and headed toward the door. Deborah held it open for him—she could not wait to be rid of him.

As he passed her he stopped, too close, and stroked her cheek. She jerked her head away. He curled around one fat finger a tendril of hair that had escaped from her hastily-made bun. He whispered into one unwilling ear. “Ah, the touch of a lover, Deborah. I know you miss it…”

He went through the door chuckling, and she stood in shock, watching as his groom handed him into his phaeton, got up behind and took the reins. The doctor smiled upon her beatifically and tipped his hat as they drove off. All those capes, as though he were some Corinthian, yet he didn’t even drive his own horses.

Deborah slammed the door and leaned against it for support. She shut her eyes and bit her lip, willing herself to ignore his final words. They were true enough; there were nights when…  But heaven forbid she should
ever
be so desperate as to let that slimy, vainglorious
bastard
into her bed.
New gowns, he says. What mother would think of new gowns at a time like this!

She would have given much to escape into the cold and walk until her rage abated, or failing that, to sleep for three days. But those things were impossible. She went to the kitchen and splashed some cold water on her face, took several deep breaths, and returned to the sickroom.

The day seemed quite long enough without callers. Half asleep, Deborah was startled when Molly came in and announced that Mr. Haverfield was below. She almost denied herself, but his timing was fortunate as Julian slept quietly for the moment. She tidied her hair, smoothed down her old wool dress, and made her appearance in the parlor while Molly sat with the boy.

Mr. Haverfield turned from the window to greet her. His eyes widened and then puckered with concern, giving her a pretty clear idea what she must look like.

“I fear I am not at my best today, Mr. Haverfield.”

He took her hands. “Julian is no better, then?”

“No, much worse.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Molly is with him?”

“Yes. He’s sleeping, or I couldn’t leave him.”

“I shan’t keep you for long. Can you sit with me for a few minutes?”

Deborah nodded. It occurred to her that she felt no compulsion to escape from
his
grasp. He sat next to her on the sofa. “You’ve had the doctor to him?”

“Yes.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. She didn’t want to think about the doctor. “Inflammation of the lungs. He sent some medications, but I think it must be several days before…  And he talks of bleeding him, but I don’t know if I can bear that.”
…

“Why so? It’s accepted practice.”

“I know that. But he is so young. I’m afraid…” They’d bled Hartley so many times while he was ill, bled him until he had no blood left, a white wraith that shriveled and faded away.

“I’m sure it will not come to that,” he said. He was no physician; he could not possibly know that. Why should his words comfort her?

He rose to take his leave. “I’ll let you get back to your invalid. But is there any way I can be of assistance? I know Lord Latimer could spare a servant for a few days. Or perhaps Miss Reston could bear you company? I would be pleased to make the arrangements.”

“I thank you, but no. Molly can do all that’s necessary outside the sickroom. While Julian is confined, we are confined as well, and our needs will be small.”

He looked dissatisfied. But it was hardly his place to insist, and he did not. “I will stop by again tomorrow, if I may.”

“Of course, sir. I know you’ll understand if I cannot see you, that I am unable to leave Julian.”

He would not allow her, today, to call Molly to his assistance. “I’m entirely capable of saddling a horse on my own, you know.” She hardly heard him. He took her hand and kissed it as she let him out the kitchen door and hurried back to her son.

Mr. Haverfield dropped from her mind soon enough.

Yet she noticed, sometime later, that she could still feel the touch of his lips on the back of her hand.

Deborah and Molly hovered by the bed the following morning while Doctor Overley examined his patient. Deborah’s skin crawled every time he looked at her, which was far too often. He had kissed her hand when he arrived—his kiss lingered as Mr. Haverfield’s had, but it felt like he’d planted a cancer beneath her skin.

Someone pounded on the door downstairs, and Molly turned to go.
No!
Deborah did not want to be alone with him, chaperoned only by a half-conscious child. Brushing past her maid, Deborah went to answer the door herself.

Mr. Haverfield stood on the step, his back to the door, surveying the fancy high-perch phaeton that waited in the street. He turned to her and said, “Good morning.”

She all but dragged him into the hall, muttering something, she hardly knew what, as she took his hat, gloves, scarf, and riding crop, piling them all unceremoniously on the table. He made no complaint, though he hung up his own greatcoat rather than delivering it into her hands.

“Is it the doctor’s carriage outside? It seems a rather elaborate vehicle for a village physician.”