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‘Oh... I’m sorry...’ Although still in turmoil Dawn issued an automatic condolence. Her fear for Eleanor and her unborn child had put a throb in her temples to beat in time with the erratic thump beneath her ribs. ‘I am also searching for the vicar. He is married to my stepdaughter and she is very unwell. The doctor must be brought to her without further delay. She is with child and close to her time.’
‘Do you want me to fetch the doctor?’ Jack offered with a concerned frown. ‘Wilson is not far away; he recorded the death at the Grange just a short time ago.’
‘I would be most grateful, sir, if you would find him and bring him urgently to the vicarage.’
Jack extended a hand to her. ‘Would you like a ride home?’
‘No...thank you... I can easily walk. Please be quick, sir, I beg of you. I am very worried about Eleanor.’
Jack dipped his head, then strode to his horse, swinging up lithely into the saddle. He wheeled the stallion about and, with a raise of his hand in farewell, spurred the magnificent beast into a furious gallop. Dawn stared after the blur of horse and rider, entranced by a maelstrom of emotions. Gladness and overwhelming relief at having his help, astonishment at seeing him again were all jumbled together, but overriding it all was still her fears for her stepdaughter. With her skirts in her fists she raced back the way she had come.
* * *
‘I think you were right, Mama... I think the babe might be coming,’ was the panted greeting Dawn received when she burst into the sitting room. Her stepdaughter was bent double over her aching abdomen. ‘But something is not right.’ Eleanor raised her frightened eyes, peering at Dawn through lank strands of fair hair that had loosened to drape her forehead.
‘Hush...the doctor is on his way,’ Dawn soothed, kneeling by the side of Eleanor’s chair. She took her trembling hands, chafing them. ‘I could not find your husband, but I was fortunate enough to bump into a gentleman I know from town. Mr Valance told me he lives close by. He has ridden straight away to fetch Dr Wilson.’
‘You should have waited and asked Peter to go, Mama.’ Eleanor sounded anxious.
‘I should have done no such thing,’ Dawn said quietly. ‘The doctor’s visit is long overdue.’
‘I don’t know the name Valance,’ Eleanor gasped.
‘Never mind...it doesn’t matter,’ Dawn soothed. ‘Are you able to get upstairs, do you think? Or would you rather wait here for the doctor to examine you?’
‘I must get to my bed and lie down. Peter won’t like the doctor looking at me here. It is not seemly... He will be cross.’
‘So am I cross.’ Dawn struggled to control the volume of her voice. ‘Your husband’s negligence is unforgivable.’ She got to her feet and with an effort gently assisted a groaning Eleanor to stand up. ‘If you feel it will be too much for you to manage the stairs, then you must stay here.’ She muttered to herself, ‘And etiquette be damned.’
Eleanor made no more than a few steps towards the door before whimpering.
Dawn gently helped Eleanor reseat herself. It was a great pity that Mrs Grove had just left. The woman might be getting on in years, but she would have been another helpful pair of hands. ‘Would you like a drink? Some lemonade?’
‘No...don’t leave me...’ Eleanor gasped, tightening her clasp on Dawn’s fingers.
‘I won’t... I swear...’ To prove it Dawn gave her stepdaughter her other hand to hold as well. ‘It will all be fine...you’ll see, my dear,’ she croaked out in reassurance, but turned her head to shield the anguish in her eyes.
* * *
After what seemed like a wait of an hour but was probably less than half that time, there was the sound of rapid footsteps in the hallway. Dawn sighed in utter relief. Gently easing her hands from her stepdaughter’s cold grip, she hurried to open the door, hoping it was the doctor and not the vicar returning.
‘Please, come in here, sir.’ A tubby gentleman was heading down the hall, bag in hand. She’d guessed he was Dr Wilson a moment before the fellow barked that name, doffed his hat, then carried on into the sitting room. Jack Valance had entered the house, too, but was tactfully loitering a distance away.
‘Might I be of any assistance?’ He took a few steps closer to Dawn.
She knew that they might need him. The middle-aged doctor would have no better success than would she in getting her stepdaughter safely up the stairs to her bedchamber. Yet it would be more practical and less embarrassing for Eleanor if the doctor attended to her there.
‘You have already been a great boon to us, sir, but if you would just wait a moment, there might be something else.’
‘Anything. Just name it.’
Dawn gave him a grateful smile, then quickly went back to the sitting room. Having closed the door, she turned about. She needed no spoken verdict, she could read the bad news in the doctor’s grim features.
‘She has lost the child.’ He had ushered Dawn closer to the wall to keep their conversation from his patient’s hearing.
‘But...surely it is just coming early?’ Dawn’s argument emerged in a desperate murmur.
‘I fear the baby is dead, ma’am, and has been for a while. An infection has set in and made Mrs Mansfield very ill.’
Dawn felt frozen in shock, yet far back in her mind she realised she had known that a tragedy was about to happen. And so had her stepdaughter. Swiftly Dawn blinked away the tears that had started to her eyes. Eleanor’s gaze was on her, watching for a sign of reassurance, and she would give it, false though it was. This was no time for bald truths that might make the poor girl hysterical. She forced her lips into a fiercely encouraging smile for Eleanor.
‘It would be better if she were upstairs on her bed so I can examine the lass properly and then do whatever is necessary.’
‘I agree, sir.’ Dawn gulped.
‘Is her husband not yet home? Where is the man?’ he hissed. ‘How has it come to this? His wife must have shown signs of distress for many days. Are you a relative, madam?’ The doctor rattled off his whispered questions.
‘Mrs Mansfield is my stepdaughter. I arrived from London just today on a visit. As for the vicar, I’ve looked in vain for him at the church, hoping to bring him back,’ Dawn informed him.
‘If her husband’s help isn’t to be had, Mr Valance must assist us, if he will. Is that gentleman still waiting outside?’
Her brief nod prompted the doctor to go into the hall to speak to Jack. Dawn approached Eleanor and said lightly, ‘Mr Valance will help you upstairs, my dear. It is not a task either I or the doctor can do for you, I’m afraid.’
Eleanor was past caring about etiquette; she was in too much pain to be bothered at the prospect of being manhandled by a stranger.
Jack swiftly entered the room and took Eleanor’s arm, gently and efficiently easing her to her feet. He half-carried her to the foot of the stairs, then, with a murmured warning of what he had to do, lifted her up with great care and delicacy before ascending with her cradled in his arms. Dawn followed close behind, giving directions to the bedchamber.
‘Would you fetch some hot water, m’m? As much as you can manage?’ Dr Wilson was taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.
Dawn nodded. ‘Of course... I’ll do it now.’
Once Jack had laid Eleanor on the bed, he withdrew. Dawn undressed Eleanor to her underclothes, then pulled the sheet up. Dr Wilson accompanied Dawn to the door to instruct quietly, ‘When you go below please ask Mr Valance if he would be of assistance once more and fetch home the confounded vicar. He should be here with his wife.’ He shook his head. ‘I would have Mansfield’s explanation for his inaction when it is quite obvious that this woman is gravely ill.’
‘I’ve no idea why the vicar delayed fetching you.’ Dawn could guess, though. The moment she’d started to disrobe Eleanor and seen the fading bruises on her stepdaughter’s arms, she knew. Soon Dr Wilson would also see them.
The doctor issued a grunt that mingled his sadness and anger. ‘The moment he turns up send him directly to me. I shall be here some while, I think,’ he added bleakly.
Dawn managed to give her stepdaughter a reassuring smile before she exited the room and stumbled, blinded by tears, down the stairs. She knew she mustn’t crumble; she had a job to do and she would do it. She found Jack Valance pacing up and down the hallway and he wheeled about, immediately striding towards her on hearing her footsteps.
‘How is she? Can I do more to help? Tell me if there is any small task that might be done.’
‘She is gravely ill,’ Dawn murmured through lips that quivered. ‘Thank you for your offer to help. The doctor asked if you would search for the vicar and make him come home. But there is something else you could do first, if you don’t mind.’ Dawn concentrated on practicalities to prevent herself howling. ‘Would you fetch some buckets of water in from outside?’ Having received his immediate nod she carried on quickly towards the kitchen, knowing he would follow. When there, she busied herself checking the heat of the range. She threw a log into the fire to stoke it up. But her shoulders had started to shake, betraying her silent sobs.
Jack drew her into his arms. ‘I’ll assist you with anything at all...but you mustn’t give up hope, not yet.’
He also knew, then. Dawn nodded fiercely, knuckling wetness from her eyes. She broke free of his embrace though it had felt wonderfully warm and tender.
They both worked silently, he bringing the buckets and she decanting the water into pots to heat up. When he had brought her a dozen filled pails she murmured her thanks and told him that she had enough for now and he must go quickly to find the vicar.
As she’d continued to toil at the stove he had put his hands on her shoulders, moving them in a caress of encouragement before leaving. How she had longed to lean into him for his strength and comfort. But she hadn’t turned around, even when she heard the back door click shut. She had remained dry-eyed and concentrated on her task. With a steaming jug in either hand she had made the trip upstairs half-a-dozen times, knocking, then leaving the water outside the closed door. Finally crushed by it all, Dawn had sunk to the floor and stuffed her fists to her lips to silence her own scream. She’d known Eleanor was fighting for her life now it was too late to save her child. Then when it had become quiet she’d sprung up, berating herself for her weakness. She’d stumbled again down the stairs to renew her efforts with kettle and pan.
* * *
The commotion at the back door as Mansfield finally burst in wasn’t enough to stop her furious industry. She carried on, not trusting herself to look at him. But she said stiltedly, ‘The doctor is upstairs with Eleanor. He said you should go to her immediately.’
‘How dare you go against my wishes?’ Peter snapped. His face was livid with indignation and he jerked on Dawn’s arm to turn her about.
‘Go to your wife, sir, without further delay.’ Jack had entered the kitchen behind the vicar and in a single stride had soon positioned himself between Dawn and her enraged stepson-in-law.
‘My thanks for bringing me here, sir, but I don’t believe I invited you into my house,’ Peter spat. ‘The name Jack Valance means nothing to me. Now what in damnation is going on? What havoc has been wreaked in my absence, Mrs Fenton?’
Jack uttered in a voice that dripped ice, ‘Not that it matters much, but I am your new neighbour. What does matter is that you should go to your wife, sir, before it is too late.’
‘It is too late...if you wish to see her, or your son alive.’ Dr Wilson had entered the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He looked exhausted and immensely sorrowful. ‘I did all I could for her...but I was summoned here far too late.’
Peter Mansfield gawped at the doctor, oblivious to Dawn sinking slowly to her haunches, covering her face with her hands, her whole body shaking with silent sobs.
‘What? What are you saying?’ Peter roared. ‘Never tell me that I had a son at last and you’ve let him die, sirrah.’
‘No... I have not done that. The child has been dead for some time. And your wife has perished because of carrying his corpse within her for too long. You have let your wife die, sir. Had I been summoned at the first sign of her fever Mrs Mansfield might have been saved.’ The doctor was a-quiver with suppressed fury.
Dawn was aware of a heated conversation going on between the vicar and the doctor, but she understood none of it. Part of her wanted to spring up and dash up the stairs and see for herself that the awful news was true, but she felt enervated by grief, unable to move a muscle.
She felt a pair of gentle hands lifting her up, taking her away from the arguing men and into the living room. Jack eased her into a chair. A moment later she had risen, determined to tend to Eleanor in some small way. Jack urged her to sit, then squatted down close to her.
‘I know you want to go to her. But first you must take a few sips of this to steady yourself.’ He held out a brandy flask, got from his coat. When she simply stared at it, he held it to her lips. Like a child she drank, wincing as the liquor burned her throat. She allowed him to make her swallow another mouthful before she shook her head, declining to have any more. She wiped the back of an unsteady hand over her burning lips.
Jack straightened up, allowing her to rise from the chair before enclosing her in an embrace.
‘I thank God that her little daughter is asleep and knows nothing of what’s gone on,’ Dawn finally said hoarsely, burrowing against his shoulder.
‘Amen to that,’ Jack murmured. ‘Would you like me to stay? I’ll remain just outside on the lane. It would be as well to leave the house. The vicar is distraught and better not to provoke him with my unwanted presence.’
Dawn blinked up at him with bloodshot eyes.
‘I’ll always be close by, Mrs Fenton, if you need me. Remember that.’ Jack brought her fingers to his lips. ‘Remember that,’ he repeated in a velvety voice before letting her go.
Chapter Five (#u9593a350-3558-553c-a3c1-7abe38055eaf)
The bishop had come from Colchester to conduct the service, allowing the newly widowed vicar to join the mourners on the dull March day that Eleanor Mansfield, aged twenty-one, was interred in the Wivenhoe churchyard with her infant son resting in her everlasting embrace.
The funeral had been speedily arranged on the wishes of her husband, then carried out a few days after Eleanor died. Though the time elapsed was short, by then Dawn was able to contain her grief for Lily’s sake. For the same reason the fury and disgust she felt for the Reverend Peter Mansfield also went undisplayed, yet simmered, unabated, within. He had taken no responsibility for the tragedy, maintaining that he had bowed to his wife’s wishes in not summoning the doctor to fuss over her. When Dr Wilson had returned the following day to record the death, he had quizzed Peter over the marks on his wife’s arms. Those had been explained away as injuries received at times when Eleanor had collapsed. Florid in the face, Peter had made it clear that he deeply resented the implications being made. A distraught Mrs Grove had confirmed that indeed her mistress had keeled over on occasions and she had been the one to find Mrs Mansfield on the floor.
The only person who knew the truth could no longer tell it. So Dawn had no option but to give the vicar the benefit of the doubt. The physician’s face had betrayed his scepticism over what he’d heard. The only meagre comfort Dawn had was from knowing she would never again think of, or refer to, Peter Mansfield as her family. He was nobody to her. Yet she must continue to tolerate him because she couldn’t bear to lose touch with her beloved granddaughter.
She glanced at Lily, playing with her toys on the parlour rug, quite oblivious to the fact her mother was gone for ever. Of course the child had asked for her, but had seemed satisfied to know that her mama was with the angels in heaven. Yet every time Dawn answered her granddaughter’s sweetly innocent question she was sure Lily would be affected by her distress, though she did her utmost not to show it.
Presently the child danced the little doll on her lap, singing to the gift her grandma had brought her. Dawn smiled wistfully. It seemed such a long, long time ago that she had happily browsed the Regent Street shops for presents for Lily. Yet just a week had passed. And almost every minute of every hour of those days had been filled with heartache.
‘A gentleman caller, m’m.’
Mrs Grove had quietly entered the sitting room, stirring Dawn from a sightless contemplation of the greensward beyond the window pane. The woman was still haggard from constant weeping. The cook had had to be revived with smelling salts after learning of her mistress’s passing.
‘A Mr Valance asks to see you, but says he understands if you would like him to go away.’
‘No... I should like to see him, Mrs Grove.’ Had she really felt a little thrill? For days past Dawn had been numbed by grief and sure she’d never know any other emotion.
She stood up, brushing down her creased skirts. She had no deepest mourning clothes with her, but had sewn a black armband on the sleeve of her lavender gown. She imagined she looked a wreck from weeping so used her hanky on her tear-smudged cheeks, then attempted to neaten wisps of chestnut hair, tucking them into their pins. She was still conscious of Jack Valance’s appeal, she wryly realised, or wouldn’t bother readying herself to receive him.
The door opened and he came in, his grey eyes immediately locking with her dark green stare, shadowed by pain.
‘I will not stay long. I understand you might not want visitors. But I had to come to say...’ He hesitated as though unsure how to proceed. ‘I am just so sorry for your loss.’
Dawn smiled. ‘I know you are, sir. Thank you, not only for your condolences, but for all the help you gave to us.’
‘Would that I could have done more,’ Jack said vehemently. He approached and gently took her hands in his.
She allowed him to hold them, liking the feel of his warm palms wrapped around her cold fingers. ‘I was expecting you might come to the funeral.’
‘I was not invited and doubted that Peter Mansfield would wish to have me just turn up.’ He paused. ‘I wanted to come back sooner to see you. I didn’t in case I was being intrusive. I’ve not stopped thinking of you, though, for a single minute.’
Dawn hadn’t stopped thinking of him either, despite the horror of losing her stepdaughter. Dawn had wished Jack had come to the funeral, but understood his reasons for staying away. The vicar had made it clear he wanted a small, discreet affair when his wife was laid to rest. He’d intimated it was from respect for her, but Dawn suspected it was to shield himself from disapproving looks. News might have circulated about the circumstances of Mrs Mansfield’s demise.
In all, the mourners had numbered just a dozen and most of those had comprised Peter’s ecclesiastical colleagues. A few neighbours and Dr Wilson had come to the wake at the vicarage which had lasted less than an hour.
‘What will you do now? Will you return to London?’ Jack enquired.
‘Yes... I must. I cannot stand to stay here with him. Neither, I think, does he want me to. At times I feel so angry that I cannot hold my tongue so am a constant reminder of his terrible neglect of Eleanor.’ Dawn frowned, remembering the vicar’s curt good morning to her when they had passed earlier in the hall. For her part she would sooner ignore him and keep her distance. When in his orbit she felt a compulsion to leap towards him and pummel him for what he’d done. ‘Peter still blames me for interfering, even though the doctor severely rebuked him for failing to get his wife the help she so desperately needed.’ She glanced at Lily. ‘Yet... I cannot bear leaving the poor little mite behind when I return home. I wish I could take her with me and care for her.’ Her voice broke and she shielded her distress behind unsteady fingers.
Jack gently drew her into his arms. ‘Come... You have endured a tragedy, but are coping admirably with it and I know you will continue to do so.’ He paused, brushing rogue chestnut curls away from her spiky wet lashes so he might gaze into a pair of bright green eyes. ‘The most sensible thing would be for the vicar to put his daughter into your care in London, at least until he sorts out a good nursemaid to take charge of his daughter.’
‘I have already suggested to him all of that, but because he knows how much that arrangement would please me, he has dismissed it out of hand.’ She knuckled fresh tears from her eyes. ‘The child is his responsibility, he says, and must stay with him. Yet he pays Lily no heed whatsoever. He doesn’t deserve to have the dear little thing.’
‘Am I right in thinking it is not just this calamity that has coloured your opinion of Peter Mansfield?’
‘I’ve never liked him. Now I loathe him,’ Dawn admitted with unsuppressed vehemence. She clamped together her lips; she had confided too much. She hardly knew Jack Valance, yet was telling him very personal things. She had felt that immediate connection to him years ago, almost from the day they’d met. But he obviously hadn’t felt the same way about her to so easily forget her and go abroad without a word. She had allowed him liberties then...and was doing so now, standing quietly within his embrace as though it were her natural place to be. But it wasn’t; if what she’d heard was true he had a fiancée. Though she knew he was simply comforting her, she stepped away from him. Just in time, as it transpired.
‘Ah... Valance. How are you, my good fellow? My servant said you had arrived.’ Peter Mansfield strode into the room and extended his hand. His attitude was completely different to that on the day he had first met Jack. Then he had treated him as an interloper instead of a guest.
‘My condolences on your loss, sir.’ Jack shook hands.
Peter huffed a sigh. ‘Thank you. I wanted a son more than anything.’ A silence followed, but the bereaved husband made no mention of missing anybody else as he plunged his hands on his hips. ‘I have heard talk in the village that you have taken up residence at Croxley Grange, Mr Valance.’
‘It is a temporary stay. My preference is to reside most of the year in London.’
‘We had heard that a viscount had taken over the whole estate.’ Peter clucked his tongue. ‘The gossips concoct such fantastical tales.’
‘On this occasion they are correct.’
