The Highwayman's Lady (11 page)

“You have a fine collection, Sir Phillip. You are a keen reader, I assume.”

He glances about him as though seeing the volumes for the first time. “Not especially. It was my father’s passion and my brother too was something of a bookworm in his youth. I find the room comfortable and warm though. Please, won’t you take a seat?”

I sink into one of two winged chairs situated on either side of a fireplace in which roars a cheerful blaze. I stretch out my hands toward the flames and summon a grateful smile for my host. “This is most kind of you, sir. I do sincerely apologise for having arrived at an inopportune moment. I really should have sent a note beforehand.”

“Yes, that had occurred to me. I wonder, why did you not?”

“I have met with some not inconsiderable challenges in recent days, sir, which have resulted in my having to journey to Scotland with some haste and throw myself upon your hospitality. It is ill-mannered, I know, but I am sure once I am able to speak with the countess—”

“My wife is indisposed and likely to remain so for several days at least.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. If there is anything I might do to help…”

“My wife gave birth to our son earlier today. It has not been an easy time for any of us, least of all Beatrice. The physician is still attending her but I am certain she will not be ready to receive visitors for at least the rest of the week.”

“Oh!” Now this I had not expected. I understand Beatrice to be of a similar age to my mother, somewhat past her child-bearing years.

The earl smiles, interpreting my surprise correctly. “Ah, yes, today’s events came as something of a shock to me too, but there you have it. I am a proud father once more and my wife has survived the ordeal, though there was a time not many hours ago when I would not have wished to place a wager on that outcome.”

“I see, I think. But, she is all right now? And the babe?”

“A lusty boy, to go with the other three we have already and our two daughters. He is fine and I am cautiously optimistic that Beatrice will be, also, in time. I am sure my wife will be only too happy to explain the details in due course, when she is rested and feeling more herself. For now though and since I really should be returning to her side before much longer, perhaps you might be so good as to leave any message you may wish to convey with me. I will see she gets it and that you are informed when she is up and about once more.”

“Er… yes, of course.” I ponder for a moment. Should I share my story with the earl or merely seek his hospitality until the morning, to return when the household is restored to normal?

He leans forward in his chair. “Miss Bennett, you have come a long way and I can see that you are tired. Hungry too, no doubt. I regret that we are not better able to welcome you to Kirkleven this evening, but we are somewhat chaotic given—everything. If you could manage to condense your story into just a few minutes, I am willing to hear it and will ensure it reaches my wife.” His smile is gentler now, if somewhat wan. I decide to throw myself on his mercy.

“Sir, I am here in the hope that I might claim the protection of my family.”

“But, your mother…?”

“My mother died, sir. Last week. Her funeral took place the day before yesterday.”

“I see. My condolences, Miss Bennett. I am sure Beatrice will be saddened too, to learn of your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“You have no other relatives, I presume?”

“No, sir. I mean… yes, I have a stepbrother. And that, my lord, is the reason I am here.” I spend the next few minutes outlining the main events since my mother’s death, managing to omit any mention of lusty highwaymen and of a night spent at an inn somewhere within two hours of Harrogate. It is perhaps fortunate that Sir Phillip is keen to return to Lady Beatrice or I am sure he would have pressed me more closely for the details. As it is, he listens, interrupting just once or twice to clarify some point or other or to direct Masterson to set the tray of food and drink down on a low table between us. When I have finished, I sit, my hands folded in my lap and I wait.

His gaze is level, assessing. “So you wish to remain with us here at Kirkleven until such time as you come of age and may claim your inheritance? Is that the sum of it?”

“It is, sir. My request is an imposition, I know, especially as my mother and Lady Beatrice lost touch some years ago. But I was hoping—”

“This is a matter for my wife to determine and as I have explained, she is not to be troubled just now. From your account of your situation I am to understand you have nowhere else to go at this precise moment?”

I can but nod.

“I see.” He stands and strides to the door, opens it and calls for his servant to return. “Ah, Masterson. Miss Bennett will be remaining with us for the next few days, at least. Please, would you show her to a suitable chamber and see to her comfort.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, my lord. The blue chamber will be suitable enough, I ken.”

“Very suitable. I will leave that with you then.” He turns to face me again. “I must return to Beatrice now and when she is a little more rested, I shall acquaint her with your story. I am quite convinced she will wish to meet you and I am happy to leave the longer term arrangements for my wife to agree. Now, if you would excuse me…?” He executes a brisk bow and exits the room, to leave me to the tender mercies of Masterson.

“This way, miss.” The servant beams at me. I cannot claim credit for having won him over, so must assume that any visitor welcomed by Sir Phillip is acceptable to his loyal liegeman. Now that I am apprised of the facts, I can even sympathise with his protective attitude toward the countess.

I thank Masterson and follow him upstairs, much encouraged that perhaps my life is showing distinct signs of getting back on an even keel after all.

* * *

My optimism has turned out to be justified. After three days of creeping around this gloomy house while the servants eye me with curiosity and Sir Phillip hardly emerges from the master bedchamber, all is suddenly well again. I descend to the main hall this morning in search of something to break my fast, expecting to eat in the usual solitude. Instead, I find the earl seated at the high table, his not inconsiderable clan of children gathered noisily around him.

It is only now, when I see him freshly shaved, his hair neatly caught back in a sleek queue, his austere features softened in merriment, that I fully appreciate how utterly ashen he was when I first appeared on his doorstep. I have pieced together something of the events of that day from listening to the servants and asking the occasional question. I have gathered that no one had any inkling that Lady Beatrice was expecting a baby, her youngest child being almost eight years of age. Sir Phillip was awakened in the middle of the night to find his wife haemorrhaging beside him. Mercifully he realised quickly what was happening and roused the household before galloping to Stirling on his fastest mount. He dragged the finest physician this side of Edinburgh from his bed in the dead of night and convinced the man that his best interests might be served by agreeing to accompany the earl back to Kirkleven to attend the countess.

The birth was going badly and neither Lady Beatrice nor her child were expected to survive. The doctor performed surgery, the details of which I have not been able to ascertain, but he was able to extract the infant alive from her womb. As though that miracle were not enough, he went on to somehow stem the bleeding that was seeping Lady Beatrice’s life from her, though her survival hung in the balance for several more hours.

It was into this commotion that I blundered that night, hammering on the door and demanding to see her ladyship. I am better able now to sympathise with Masterson’s lack of an enthusiastic welcome and I am doubly grateful for Sir Phillip’s generosity to me in his own time of desperate anxiety.

This morning though, all is very different. Sir Phillip is every inch the imposing Scottish lord in his fine dress coat and leggings and seeking to assert his authority over the horde of children who surround him. He even balances a tiny infant upon his lap, mercifully sleeping as far as I am able to tell.

I have caught occasional glimpses of the younger members of the household, but no one has been in the mood to entertain a visitor who is a stranger to them. Everyone at Kirkleven has been subdued, even the children, the house in near silence as events unfolded in the master bedchamber. It is silent no longer. As I enter the hall I encounter a babble of competing voices, demanding their father’s attention.

“Papa, I have learnt to play a new tune on the harpsichord.”

“So have I, papa. And I have finished my sampler. May I take it to show mama?”

“Is this really our brother? Shall we be keeping him?”

“When shall we go to the fair? You promised.”

“Juno has had puppies. They are in the barn. May I take one? Please, papa. I will keep him out of your library this time, I swear it.”

Sir Phillip glances up at me, his expression harried but oddly content. He silences the clamour around the table with one authoritative upraised hand.

“Ah, Miss Bennett. I was hoping I might encounter you this morning. Beatrice has requested that you visit her in her chamber, at your convenience, obviously.”

“She is better, then? Thank heaven for that.” I reach for the back of a spare chair, my relief almost as palpable as I know Sir Phillip’s must be.

“Indeed she is, much better now and anxious to make your acquaintance.” He casts a mock stern look at his assembled brood. “I gather that there is something of a queue forming though, so perhaps you might allow these eager little ruffians to visit their mother first.”

“Yes, of course. I expect it has been an anxious time for them all. Beatrice will be eager to see them.”

The earl’s lips curl in a wry grimace. “I am not certain that eager best describes her mood, but she is keen to know that all is well with her children and will not be satisfied until she sees them with her own eyes. Please, will you not join us?” He gestures to me to sit. “I will endeavour to introduce you, if I can recall everyone’s name.” He gives me a teasing wink.

“Papa, you know our names. You do!” This from a girl of perhaps ten years old, her gleeful gaze trained on her father. The other younger children giggle.

“Aye, I daresay I will manage. Shall we start with you, Lucy?”

Sir Phillip goes around the table, introducing each of the children to me. I learn that they are Phillip, the eldest, a lad of fourteen. Next comes Beatrice, aged twelve and already showing promise of stunning beauty. Edward is next, at eleven years old, then Lucy, who I learn is just nine. The baby of the family, at least until this week, is eight-year-old Charles. I greet each one in turn and am treated to a polite handshake from each under their father’s stern but fond eye. Charles is the one to break with tradition by throwing his arms around me and bursting into tears, clearly overcome by the stress of recent events.

I enfold him in my arms and pat his narrow back ineffectually, whilst looking to Sir Phillip for guidance. He stands and walks around the table to us.

“Would you take this one, Miss Bennett?” He holds the baby out to me and I accept the tiny burden. As I behold the minuscule perfection that is this latest addition to the Kirkleven brood, Sir Phillip crouches beside his weeping son. “Come here, lad.”

Charles turns to his father and tries to stem his tears. Sir Phillip beckons him closer, then wraps his arms around the small figure. “I know you are a brave little man, never more than over the last few days and I am proud of you. Of all of you. It is good to be courageous and strong, but it
is
all right to cry sometimes too, especially here, at home with our family. We will not tell, shall we?” He looks from one to the other of his children, who all shake their heads dutifully. I suspect Charles will not be the only one to shed a few tears now that the crisis seems to have passed.

Sir Phillip appears satisfied. “Good. Now we have that settled, shall we see what cook has set out for us? After we have all broken our fast, I shall permit you to go up to see your mama, no more than two at a time and you must not stay too long. She still needs her rest.”

The next thirty minutes pass in a blur of domestic babble as the children help themselves from the array of fare left on the sideboard by servants who continue to replenish the plates. Sir Phillip and I pass the baby between us in order that we are each able to share in the meal.

“Does this little one have a name yet?” I enquire.

“I believe we shall call him Francis. That is Beatrice’s wish, at any rate and she usually has her way in such matters.”

I smile at the angelic little face nestled in the crook of my arm. “Ah, that is a good name. It suits him.”

“Are we to name him after Uncle Francis then, papa?” This from Beatrice, as she brushes crumbs of bread from her fingers.

“Your mother wishes to do so and the name is not presently in use so perhaps she shall prevail.”

“Is Uncle Francis not coming back, papa? Not ever?” Beatrice is persistent as well as lovely. I have no doubt she will grow up to be a formidable woman in due course.

Sir Phillip frowns at her and I form the distinct impression this is not a subject he chooses to discuss if he can avoid it. “We have spoken of this and my opinion this morning is as it was when last you asked. No, sweetheart, I do not believe he will. Not after all this time. So, are you ready to go upstairs now?”

The first cohort is to be Beatrice and her sister, Lucy. They take their leave and head off, chattering about harpsichords, samplers, and which of them is to be allowed to sit on their mother’s bed first. The boys also amble off when their tutor comes to collect them, destined to spend the rest of the morning grappling with algebra and the mysteries of natural history.

“You have a wonderful family,” I observe when at last the room is quiet.

“I do and I adore all of my children. I might even warm to this one, eventually, when the trauma of his arrival into the world has subsided somewhat.” He grimaces at the baby, now restored to his care and showing signs of waking. “I wonder where that wet nurse has got to.”