The Misbegotten (10 page)

‘Be still, Miss Alice! Don’t excite yourself so,’ Bridget admonished her. Alice sighed, and sat back down again. But when the rattle of the gate was heard she was back at the window at once. Her eyes went wide and she clapped a hand to her mouth.

‘He is come . . . and . . . and Jonathan Alleyn is with him!’ she gasped through her fingers. Bridget was all business. She took off her apron and folded it quickly into a drawer, and tucked some stray hairs more neatly into her cap.

‘Alice, to the parlour. Pick up your sewing and do not stir until I bring them in. Starling, child, go upstairs and do not come down until I fetch you. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, Bridget,’ said Starling. Her voice was still a small thing, a piping sound so quiet it was almost lost in the roar of the rain outside.

Starling almost did as she was told, but not quite. She stopped at the top of the stairs, where the wooden rails turned, and crouched there with her skinny knees tucked under her chin. She was in shadow; nobody would see her unless they looked right up at her. It was the perfect place to eavesdrop, and to see whoever came into the hallway; she saw two gentlemen, one old and one young. They were dressed as finely as lords, though their coats were sodden and dripping from the hems, and their boots were spattered with mud. The older man was stout and florid, though not unhandsome. He had great hands the width of dinner plates, and wore a curled grey wig under his black hat. When he smiled his cheeks rode up to near swamp his eyes. He greeted Bridget very cheerfully, and far more courteously than a servant might expect, with a wide smile and a
how do you do?
But Starling saw that Bridget’s reply, and her curtsy, were stiff and reserved. The gentleman did not seem to notice or to mind.

‘And where is my young ward?’ he said, his voice startlingly loud and deep. It boomed up the stairs to where Starling hid, and she flinched. She could not have said where or when she had learnt to fear raised male voices.

‘I will take you to her, sir,’ said Bridget, and led the pair of them to the parlour.

The younger man, who Starling had yet to examine properly, seemed only just grown, perhaps even slightly younger than Alice. He glanced up as he passed the foot of the stairs, looking straight at her as if he’d known she would be there, and when their eyes met he blinked once but showed no other surprise. Starling held her breath, but he neither paused nor gave her away as he followed the older man out of sight. She was left with the impression of a tall, thin figure, angular and yet graceful; vivid brown eyes in a long, fox-like face; pronounced cheekbones and dark waves of hair. It had seemed that he’d smiled, just a little, as he looked away.

The parlour door opened and Starling heard Alice speak.

‘Lord Faukes! How wonderful to see you! How kind of you to come. And you too, Mr Alleyn . . .’ She trailed off, unable to keep her favour from sounding in her voice. ‘How do you do? Please do come and sit down. Bridget, would you be so kind as to make us some tea? Or perhaps you would prefer hot toddy after your gruelling ride in this weather?’

‘That would be most welcome, Miss Beckwith,’ said the younger man, Jonathan. Then the parlour door closed, and Bridget returned to the kitchen, and Starling heard no more. She shut her eyes, and waited to discover her fate.
Beckwith.
It was the first time she’d heard Alice’s full name, and it made her anxious and jealous at once. Two days before, she’d eavesdropped when Bridget and Alice had thought she was asleep. Bridget had warned that this man, these men, might take her away and give her to the poor house, and even though Alice had declared she would not let them, a tremor in her voice had said that they might, and that Alice would not be able to stop them.
No, no, no
, Starling silently prayed.

Her wait at the top of the stairs seemed to last for ever. Cold, slippery dread made her insides roil; her legs stiffened up from crouching. When at last Bridget came to fetch her, the older woman held out a hand to her and led her down the stairs without saying a word. Starling trembled from head to foot. At the parlour door, she fought the urge to run. A memory came to her then, of a man’s hands holding her, of pain and fear, of biting and scratching and fighting to be free. She remembered what to do, if these men tried to grab her. The three of them turned to look at her when they entered the room, but only Alice smiled.

‘Starling,’ said Alice, beckoning. Starling went to her obediently, took her hand and gripped it tightly. ‘This is Lord Faukes, my guardian and benefactor. And this is his grandson, Jonathan Alleyn. What do you say?’

‘How do you do, sirs,’ Starling whispered, and curtsied. Jonathan Alleyn smiled; it lit up a face that otherwise had a quite serious caste. His eyes were dark and yet sparkling, and they studied her with a kind of calm confidence that made Starling squirm and want to hide behind Alice’s skirt. But she didn’t. She faced them squarely, though it took every ounce of her will. ‘Please do not take me away from here,’ she added, and Alice shushed her hastily, smiling.

There was a pause, then Lord Faukes gave a sudden
har
of laughter that made her jump.

‘How old are you, child?’ he asked.

‘We think I might be seven, sir,’ Starling replied, which made the man chuckle again.

‘Poor, rootless creature. No wonder you like it here, and want to stay, if you’ve been living out of doors, and beaten, until now. The question is, have you any
right
to stay? Hmm?’ He leaned forward in his chair, and Starling was fascinated and horrified by the way his belly bulged out behind his shirt and waistcoat, and rolled down over his trousers.

‘Lord Faukes, Starling is—’ Alice began, but the old man cut her off.

‘Now, now, Alice. You have said your piece.’

‘I am learning to cook and clean, and to read and write,’ Starling piped up in desperation.

‘Is that so?’

‘The child is clearly no idiot, for all her low birth. She certainly seems bright enough to acquire the skills she might need . . .’ said Jonathan, but his grandfather waved him to silence. The young man cast an apologetic glance at Alice, whose eyes were huge. There was another pause as the old man seemed to think. His gaze never once left Starling; she did not blink, or look away. After a while, he grunted.

‘She’s bold enough, I’ll give her that. But this is not one of your orphaned chicks or broken-legged rabbits, Alice. She is a child, and will grow to be a woman. What then? Will you take responsibility for her, for all those years until she is grown? Think, before you answer.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Alice said at once, placing her hands on Starling’s shoulders. The old man gave an exasperated shake of his head.

‘And you, Bridget? You can usually be relied upon to think more with your head, and less with your heart. What say you?’ Bridget was still standing by the door, her hands clasped in front of her. All eyes turned to her, and she shifted uncomfortably.

‘Bridget?’ said Alice, quietly imploring.

‘I think . . . I think the girl could do well. If she were allowed to stay on. She’s quick to learn, and does as she’s told, for the most part.’

‘Which gives no answer one way or the other; but I can hear what you would rather say.’ Lord Faukes leaned back in the chair, and drummed his fingers on its carved wooden arms for a moment. ‘Very well, then,’ he said, with a nod. Alice gasped.

‘She can stay?’

‘She can stay. But—’ He was cut off as Alice flew across the room and threw her arms around him exuberantly.

‘Oh, thank you! Thank you, kindest and best of men! Thank you, sir!’ she cried, covering his face in kisses until he had no choice but to laugh, and pat her shoulders.

‘There, there. A little more decorum, Alice! She can stay but she is to be a servant in this house, not a sister.’ He raised a warning finger. ‘A thing that is born wild, stays wild, and can never be entirely trusted. She can be a helper to Bridget, until she is ready to go abroad and find her own position. You shall have a little more money for her upkeep, which will be all the salary she shall have. You will make no effort to turn her into a lady, for she will never be one. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Alice. She had come to rest on her knees beside him, with her head pressed to his thighs and her arms clasped around him. In the pause that followed, Lord Faukes looked down at her with an expression that was helplessly fond, and affectionate. A deeper flush of colour crept into his cheeks, and when Starling glanced at Bridget, she saw that the older woman wore a hung, guarded expression, and hovered on her toes as if fighting the urge to step forward and pull Alice away.

During the time it had taken to decide the course of Starling’s life, the rain had stopped.

‘Shall we go out for a while, before we dine? We could walk into Bathampton, or just to the bridge,’ said Alice, as the two men rose from their seats.

‘Alas, we cannot stop to eat with you today. We have other business to attend to. Besides, your dress and shoes would be ruined, my dear! The ground is like hasty pudding between here and the lane,’ said Lord Faukes. Jonathan looked from his grandfather to Alice with an air of slight desperation.

‘A ride, perhaps? We could ride along the river a ways?’ he said.

‘Oh, yes! Let’s,’ Alice agreed at once. ‘It’s always so long between your visits. Must we cut this one short so soon?’

‘There simply isn’t the time, child.’ Alice and Jonathan were visibly crestfallen at this news. ‘Come, Jonathan, we must be back to Box for suppertime.’

‘But, at least I might show you our new sow? I will not spoil my shoes – I can borrow Bridget’s pattens. Come and see her – she is the fattest creature you ever laid eyes upon!’ Alice urged.

‘Come and see the sow? Why on earth—’

‘I should like to see her,’ Jonathan interrupted his grandfather. His eyes were on Alice, and they shone. ‘Very much. I mean, if she truly is as fat as you say,’ he added, lamely.

‘Oh, very well.’ Lord Faukes sighed. ‘Alice, please take my grandson to see the pig. I hope her corpulence does not detain you both for very long. I shall stay here, in the warm, and have another piece of Bridget’s excellent shortbread.’ The old man shook his head and sat back down again, lacing his hands across his middle.

Bridget handed the plate of shortbread to Starling to take through to Lord Faukes, but Starling wasn’t paying attention. She was watching as Jonathan helped Alice into her cloak; watching how Alice steadied herself with a hand placed lightly on his shoulder as she slid her feet into the pattens, even though Starling had seen her perform the same action without aid a dozen times or more. They did not look at her, or ask her to come with them to the pigsty. They went out into the yard side by side, deep in conversation, walking so close together that from time to time their sleeves brushed. There seemed to be a circle around them, a wall that nothing else might scale or penetrate; and outside that circle the world suddenly felt a little colder.

‘Like a pair of moonstruck calves,’ Bridget muttered, puckering her lips as she closed the door behind them. ‘Run along with that plate, child. Don’t keep Lord Faukes waiting. He is your master, now.’ Starling did as she was told, then ran to the upstairs window from which the pigsty was visible, behind the house. There stood Jonathan and Alice, paying no heed to the saddleback sow which had come to the rail to see if there was food. All of their attention was on each other. Starling watched them steadily, never blinking, trying to decide if she would love or hate this Jonathan Alleyn for the way he held Alice spellbound.

After their argument over Duncan Weekes, Rachel felt strange and constrained around her husband. She had begun to understand just how much bad blood lay between them, but if Duncan Weekes had been responsible for Richard’s mother’s death, surely he would have been punished by law? She pictured the old man, with his fumbling steps and almost desperately kind compliments, and the fathomless sadness in his eyes. Could it possibly be true? She longed to know. Here was something she and her husband shared, after all – the loss of a beloved mother. She knew very well how that pain could linger. She wanted him to know that she understood his suffering, that sharing it might ease it. That he should lose his father at the same time seemed too hard, but had she any right to attempt to reconcile them, if blame truly lay with the old man?

So Rachel could almost understand why Richard had been so angry with her for talking to Duncan Weekes. Almost, but not quite, since she couldn’t have known his grievance.
He has his mother’s temper, the father said. Do such tempers not burn out as quickly as they flare?
But with his eyes snapping and his face tensed up in fury, she’d hardly recognised him; the thought of it made her bite her tongue when her instinct was to raise the subject and talk it through calmly, as husband and wife. Richard seemed to sense her thoughts, and was wary, watchful; tensed as if ready to berate her again. This as much as anything kept her silent. But then when he’d come home on Tuesday with an invitation for them both, and a delighted expression on his face, all memory of the trouble between them seemed forgotten. Rachel had felt knots of worry in her stomach relax.
You have your whole life to come to understand his grief. You need not rush him.

After their midday meal on Thursday, they made ready.

‘Do hurry, Rachel. We are to be there at four o’clock, and we dare not be late.’ Richard was agitated as he tugged his cravat into a more voluminous shape, and brushed crisply at traces of sawdust on his coat sleeves.

‘My dear, it’s not yet ten past three, and a matter of twenty minutes’ walk from here to there . . .’

‘Do you intend to gallop there? You can’t arrive glowing and gasping for breath, with your hair all loose like some blowsabella, Rachel!’

‘I have no intention of galloping, I assure you,’ she said coolly. Sensing her tone, Richard stopped correcting his outfit and came over to her. He put his hands on her arms, and squeezed gently. His expression was sweet, almost boyish. An excited flush suffused his face.