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For a few moments longer she watched the rain beat upon the night-blackened window and run down the glass, parting and joining, lashed sideways by fitful gusts of wind. Then, drawing the curtains to shut out the sight of her distorted naked reflection, she parted the cool sheets and slipped between them, gasping at the sting of freshness upon her skin, her feet seeking the places where the warming-pan hadspeaking recently been. The maid tiptoed across to the candlestick and blew out the flame, leaving her mistress to her rest.
Not for many weeks had Linas stayed overnight at her Blake Street house, nor had he invited her to stay at his, and so it was with an immediate sense of consolation that, in unthinking half-sleep, she accepted the gentle movement of the sheets behind her and the slight dip of the feather mattress as his weight tipped her against him. She had been asleep, that much she knew, for the wind had whipped itself into a howling spring gale that rattled the old casement windows, and drowsily she wondered whether it was that which had disturbed him or the sudden remembrance of her birthday. With a grunt of contentment she snuggled deeper into his warm body and took the weight of his arm upon her hip, expecting that he would straight away resume his sleep.
But the weeks of abstinence were testimony to the way her senses remembered him, for instead of the tang of friars’ balsam, laudanum or linctus, there was a fresh moorland smell of heather and larch trees after rain, and instead of the heavy limpness of his arm, this one was thick and prickly with fuzz, moving over her skin with a purpose, his fingers spread wide to cover hers.
Her breathing behaved strangely as she struggled to bring back to her sluggish mind some memory of what she’d been used to, yet even with her back to him she could not reconcile those vague familiarities with the pulsing firmness that now pressed against her. Could she be dreaming? Had her tiredness, resentment and yearnings taken her too far? Reaching backwards, she took hold of the hand to feel for the signet ring he never removed.
But the hand slipped away quickly to grasp her wrist and hold it immobile, and as she turned to him in sudden alarm, he moved faster than she could ever remember him doing without stopping to cough and regain his breath. She found herself under him, pressed softly by wide shoulders that covered her, arms that enclosed her, and a large head of thick hair that touched her face with its softness, imparting a scent of new-washed linen. His lips found hers with none of the usual tentative pecking by way of introduction that was Linas’s way, but with the assured and competant kisses of one who knew how to suspend a woman’s protests in a limbo of delight, and it was not until he had taken his fill of her lips that her terrible doubts were able to surface and demand verification.
Pushing at his shoulders, she struggled against him as her body tried to recognise the deception, her mind still trying to persuade her not to delve too closely for fear of discovering the truth. Wordlessly, so as not to shatter the dream entirely with accusations and denials, she put up a fight that was disadvantaged in every way, which he countered in silence and with ease, and ultimately with the potency of his kisses that she allowed with nothing like the opposition she ought to have offered. Once, holding his head between her hands, she traced his features with sensitive fingertips over broad forehead and brows, over closed eyelids, cheeks and nose, firm mouth and chin, wider than the one she was used to. He kissed her fingers as they passed across, and she melted at that small tenderness before exploring the depth of his hair and the deeply muscled neck that led her on over the contours of his shoulders, down and down.
It occurred to her that he might have mistaken her room for that of another, but he would surely know where his guests were being accommodated. If any other thoughts of reason or common sense sneaked into her mind that night, they stood no chance of being heard against the deeply urgent need that sedated her fears like a potent drug, a need borne of starvation and a sense of waste that had dogged the last year with her lover. Gradually closing the doors of her mind, she began again to lose herself in the lure of his closeness, in the touch of his hand exploring the full roundness of her breasts. Perversely, she joined him in the treachery, forbidding herself to think about the consequences or to seek answers to a host of questions that were sure to follow. She would take what he was offering her, on her birthday, the only gift of comfort she was likely to receive.
Whatever reasons he had for doing this, he was not inclined to share them with her, nor did she ask him to, for she knew this would never happen again. Ever. He was making use of her and she would do the same with him, just this once. She might have pretended it was against her will, but she knew it was not, her token struggles having lacked any conviction against his gentle but determined restraint.
Savouring every moment as never to be repeated, excited by his mastery, she refused to allow the lack of endearment or word of comfort such as lovers use to detract anything from the fleeting glimpses of heaven she saw that night for the first time. Her unlikely lover-of-one-night was not a man she could ever want except for this, for he hspeaking ad never done anything to court her favour, and an exchange of tender words between them would have been meaningless as well as hypocritical. It was her experience alone that told her of his pleasure in her body, his delight and satisfaction with her loving. At the same time, he was a careful lover, taking time with her as had never happened for her before, bringing her to a state of ecstasy again and again, taking pleasure from her wonderment and indicating by his lips and hands the journey they would take. Yet each time was different, his energy and eagerness phenomenal.
He stayed with her until dawn to take full advantage of her newly awakened passion, feeding from her willingness and giving generously to satisfy her hunger. And as the light crept between the curtains, he disappeared as silently as he’d come, thinking that she was asleep, and she had let him go because the time for words was past. She knew it to be one of those rare events that happened without rhyme or reason to change one’s life for ever, and that the experience was worth the heavy guilt she would have to bear as long as her relationship with Linas lasted. Although Linas was not faultless, he had never been disloyal to her in the way she had been to him. She could only hope he would never discover it. The worst part would be having to pretend that nothing had happened.
In the months that followed, that pretence was shattered when she found herself to be with child. Then, because she could not keep the information from Linas, she broke the news to him, expecting that he would put an end to their association and reclaim everything that was his, including her home. To her utter astonishment, he did not, preferring to accept the unborn child as his own along with the congratulations of his friends and family, even though he must have known it could not be. Helene had assumed that pride in his manhood was more important to him than the truth, for he asked no questions, nor would he allow her to offer any explanation and, when the child was born, Linas’s joy was as great as hers. At last, he had the heir he wanted.
The boy seemed to provide Linas with a renewed lease of life and, for the next three years he hung on as if to escort the lad through his first formative contacts with the world. But the effort could not be maintained, his hold began to slacken and, just after his son’s third birthday, Linas was taken to Abbots Mere to end his days where they had begun, with his twin.
By that time, Helene had begun to suspect how adroitly she had been used by the two brothers. Now, she was sure of it.
Chapter One
York—January 1806
It would usually have taken me only a few minutes to walk from the workrooms of Follet and Sanders on Blake Street to Linas’s house, but that day was an exception. That day, I was wearing my pretty fur-lined bootees, not designed for three inches of snow that had fallen in flakes the size of halfpennies since midmorning, and by the time I reached the corner of Blake Street and Stonegate, where Linas’s house was, the freezing wet had reached my toes and I was dizzy with slithering over a bed of snow-covered ice. I’m a tough northern lass, I reminded myself, clutching my thick woollen shawl tighter round my shoulders. I’ve been in many a snow storm before. The scolding did little to ease the situation.
The steps up to Linas’s front door were thickly packed with the stuff, the shoe-scraper at the side piled with it, which should have warned me that someone had entered quite recently. But my hood was falling wetly over my face as I went inside, sending a shower of snow on to the already puddled black-and-white chequered tiles, and it was only when I threw my furry hood back that I saw more of Mr Brierley than his serviceable boots. Mr Brierley was Linas’s lawyer who had, I suppose, as much right as me to be standing in the hall of his late client.
His greying forelock was plastered across his head, his spectacles speckled with snow, catching the light of the single lamp, and his attempted smile was cooled by the unusually low temperature. Linas had always maintained an uncomfortable warmth in all his rooms. Now, they were uncomfortably cold. But then, nothing was going to be usual for Linas any more after yesterday’s funeral and today’s thick white blanket being gently laid over him.
‘Mr Brierley,’ I said, returning his half-smile, ‘I didn’t expect to see you here so soon. Not for weeks. Well, days, anyway.’ Shaking the hem of my pelisse, I showered his toes with snowflakes and saw him step back. My glance at the hall table verified what I feared: two grey beaver hats, two pairs of gloves, one antler-topped cane and a riding whip that I recognised. Silver-mounted. It was not what I had expected, or wanted, so soon after yesterday. I ought to go, I thought, before he appears. We shall only bicker.
The lawyer must have recognised the hint of unwelcome in my greeting, which, I admit, was not as fawning as it might have been from a client’s mistress. Client’s mistresses usually have expectations. ‘No, indeed, ma’am,’ he said. ‘We lawyers are not known for speeding things up, I agree, but Lord Winterson asked me to meet him here, to—’
‘To take a look round? Yes, I quite understand, Mr Brierley. Shall I leave you to it? Is that your inventory?’ There was a black leather notebook tucked under his arm, and my accusatory tone drew it from its pigeonhole to prove itself.
‘Er…no. Not to take an inventory. It was Lord Winterson’s wish to attend to other pressing matters before the snow delays things. Perhaps that is also why you are here, Miss Follet?’
Yes, I suppose he was entitled to ask my business now. ‘The snow will make no difference to me. I come here every day, sir. The servants need direction at a time like this.’
‘Which is exactly why we’re here. To help re-settle them. I have here some contacts…’ he tapped the notebook with white fingertips ‘…and they’ll need the references Mr Monkton prepared for them.’
Ah, yes. References. Linas would have discussed the futures of all his employees with his lawyer and brother. Mine too, I hoped. What a pity he had found it so difficult to take me into his confidence at the same time, to spare me the worry of how I would manage on my own. I had made plans, as far as I was able, but it would have lightened my heart if he had shown as much concern for my future as he had for the rest of his household. My repeated promptings, gentle or insistent, had brought no response except irritability and fits of coughing, and finally I had stopped probing for any kind of assurances concerning me and Jamie.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Then I shall bid you a good afternoon.’
My feet were wet, my fingers inside my woolly gloves frozen, the hall was bare and gloomy, and I did not want to see Linas’s brother that day. Or any day. I reached back to pull up my hood, numb fingers fumbling with an edge of wet fur, icy water running up to my elbows.
‘I believe,’ said Mr Brierley, ‘Lord Winterson would like you to be present at the reading of his brother’s last will and testament tomorrow, Miss Follet.’
The shake of my head was hidden from him. ‘No, I think not,’ I mumbled. ‘That will be no place for a man’s mistress, sir. Please excuse me.’ But my fumbling had obscured the quiet entrance of the one I hoped to avoid, and suddenly he appeared in the corner of my eye through the wet points of fur.
In almost six years there had never been a time when I’d been able to control my heartbeats at the sight of him. In the last four years—almost—there had hardly been a day when some detail of that night had failed to appear, or the wounding deceit of it fail to hurt. Between them, they had used me and I intended to make him aware of my anger as I had not been able to do with Linas. I could hardly bite the hand that fed me and my child, but I could and would refuse Winterson’s attempts, such as they were, to make me see him in a better light. And who could blame me?
The day before, with so many people there, I had done my best not to look at him. Or not to be seen looking at him. Now I did, and was astonished to see the shadows of deep sadness around his eyes, the unease of his mouth and the sagging tiredness of his shoulders that leaned against the doorframe into the study. Like me, he had kept his coat on, a long buff-coloured caped affair that barely cleared the floor, hanging loose over charcoal-grey riding coat and breeches, black waistcoat with a row of gold-figured buttons and watch-chain. His neckcloth, as always, was immaculate. His hair, as always, needed cutting.
I am ashamed to say that, in my own grief at the loss of my lover, I had spared too little thought for how he must be feeling at the loss of his twin, having to watch him fade away like a candle flame, burn low and finally extinguish. I had no cause to grumble that I was excluded, for Winterson sent a carriage for me at the end so that I too could be there for Linas’s last moments when it seemed, perhaps for the first and last time, that the three of us had shared a special tenderness and compassion, putting aside the complexities of our relationship. He had even allowed me some time alone with Linas at the end, which was remarkable when his parents were waiting to do the same. I was grateful to him for that. Returning home afterwards, my life seemed to be suspended and without cause, except for little Jamie. The funeral had upset me and I had slept badly, and I suppose it must have showed in my manner.
‘Miss Follet?’ he said. ‘Could you spare me a moment of your time?’
‘I told Jamie I would not be long.’
‘Please? Just a moment?’ He moved to one side, holding his hand out as if he was sure I would comply.
I left my hood up. And I left Mr Brierley in no doubt about my reticence as I swept past them both into the green book-lined study that had been Linas’s retreat during his last, most painful year. The once cosy room, always littered with books and papers, was now unnaturally tidy and distressingly naked. Incomplete. I turned the wick up in the oil lamp on his desk before going to stand by the white marble fireplace, putting some distance between us, hitching up my woolly scarf against a sudden chill. ‘My lord?’ I said, to convince him of my impatience.
‘Miss Follet…Helene…’ he said, wearily. ‘Brierley and I had…’ he sighed and looked away as if the room was affecting him too ‘…had hoped to have the will read here at Stonegate tomorrow. But, as you see, that may be prevented by the weather. If it carries on like this, those who ought to be here will be unable to manage it, or even get home again. I think we shall have to postpone it till it clears. I don’t know how you’re fixed for funds, to put it bluntly, but since Linas’s accounts are frozen for the time being, I wondered if you might need some help until we discover what arrangements have been made for you.’
‘How kind,’ I said. ‘If I had not chanced to see you here today, you might still be wondering.’
‘It was not chance. I know you still visit daily. Such habits are hard to break. I called at your home, but you were not there, so I came here to meet Brierley and to wait for you.’
‘You called…home? You saw Jamie?’
‘Yes,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at my tone. ‘Is there some reason why I should not? He’s grown in the last few weeks.’
‘I should have been there. He’s already missing his father.’
Unthinking, I stepped straight into the bag of worms. There was a crackling silence broken by the loud ticking of the bracket clock.
‘Then this may be the best time to remind you, Miss Follet, that his father has just made contact with him, which you have so far been at pains to prevent by every means known to you. I could hardly have said so while Linas was with us, but now we must both try to accept the truth of the matter and do whatever is best for the child. You surely cannot be too surprised that Linas wished me to be Jamie’s legal guardian?’
‘That is probably the one thing that will not surprise me, my lord. It’s well known that a child’s guardian must always be male, you being the obvious choice, but that does not alter the fact that I am Jamie’s mother and, as such, it is I who will decide where he will go and what he will do. And who he’ll do it with.’
‘Which is why I want you to hear Linas’s will at first hand.’
‘So you know the details of it, do you?’
‘Yes, I know more details than you. That’s only natural. We discussed it as brothers do.’
All too eager to display my wounds while I had the chance, I could not resist putting another slant on it. ‘Oh you did, didn’t you? Four years ago you discussed it. In some detail. Linas wanted an heir. You obliged. And I fell for it like an idiot. Like a resentful birthday-gift-starved fool. I paid for it, too.’
‘You got Jamie. He was what you wanted. Don’t deny it.’
‘But one does like to have a say, nowadays, in who the father is to be. Even mistresses appreciate some warning of that event.’
‘Think about it,’ he snapped. ‘Had you been warned, as you put it, there’d have been no Jamie, would there?’
‘No, my lord. There most certainly would not.’ I had to admit defeat on that brief skirmish, and I had no stomach for a prolonged argument on the topic. I closed my eyes with a sigh, holding a gloved hand to my forehead. ‘This will not do,’ I whispered. ‘It’s too soon for recriminations. Or too late. I’m tired. It’s time I went home.’
He watched me, saying nothing as I recovered.
‘I know there will be changes,’ I said. ‘I’ve had time to prepare for them, whatever they are. And thank you for your offer of a loan, but I think we shall manage for the time being. I also owe you thanks for allowing me access to Linas at the end. That was generous too, and…and appreciated…’ My voice wavered and caught at the back of my throat, dissolving the last word. I took some deep breaths to steady it.
‘It was no more than you deserve. It was your careful nursing that kept him alive longer than his doctors had predicted.’
‘I think it’s more likely to be Jamie who did that.’
‘Yes, that too. Jamie was your other gift to him. Linas was a very fortunate man. He told me so more than once.’
‘Did he?’ I remarked, tonelessly, wistfully.
‘Did he never tell you so?’
‘No. Not even at the end. I think the pain made him forgetful. Or perhaps he thought I was the fortunate one. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter now, does it? But I mean what I say about not hearing the will read, my lord. I would be out of place. I am not family and I have few expectations, except for Jamie, having fulfilled the role I was employed to do, to everyone’s satisfaction.’
‘You were not employed in any capacity, Miss Follet. You were my brother’s partner. It was his decision not to marry when he discovered he had so few years to live, and our family agreed that for him to do so would serve no useful purpose.’
‘Rather like good farm management, I suppose. You see, I am well able to think it out for myself, Lord Winterson. Having a mistress to support for just a few years was safer than taking on a wife. Linas preferred an illegitimate heir able to legally inherit and keep his estate intact, to a widow who would remarry and siphon it off into another man’s pockets. But don’t tell me that I was not employed, for that is certainly what I was, and I shall not sit with you round a table to be told that my golden goose has gone and left me nothing except my bastard child to care for. You may be very sure I shall guard my only treasure against any attempt to siphon him off into another man’s pocket. He may be the Monkton heir, but he is also my only legacy. Mine, my lord.’
I should not have said it, not then when emotions were so raw, Linas barely out of earshot, and both of us so tired. But my resentments were begging for release, freeing up words that I should have kept tightly controlled, as I had always done. I could have blamed my outspokenness on my northern roots, but that was too easy an excuse. So I held my breath and waited for him to retaliate in the usual Winterson fashion, with a set-down meant to silence me for months. Which he had every right to do.
His reply, when it emerged, was a calm reiteration of his claim. ‘And he is mine too, Helene. Linas has made me his legal guardian and you will have to get used to the idea, like it or not.’
‘I don’t like it.’
‘But I think Jamie will. He needs an active father, now he’s growing up. He needs more to do than walks with his nurse.’
‘He’s still only a babe. He needs only me.’
‘So let’s wait till we’ve heard what provisions Linas has made for you, then we shall know better what his needs are, shan’t we? You are exhausted, and so am I. It’s time you were home. Come. I have to get back to Abbots Mere before the snow gets deeper.’
‘What about the servants?’ I said, relieved to have been let off so lightly. ‘You came here to—’
‘Brierley can stay to deal with that. He lives on Petergate. You should trust him. He’s an honest man.’
‘I’m sure he is. He’ll have your interests at heart.’
‘And Jamie’s. Is that such a bad thing?’
Still, I could not help myself. Perhaps I wanted to provoke him, to make him react, in spite of his courtesy to me. Perhaps I was a little mad that day. ‘If I was retaining him,’ I said, ‘it would not be such a bad thing. But I’m not, am I?’
We had reached the door where his hand rested upon the large brass knob but, as my stupidly caustic remark stung him into action, he turned to me with characteristic speed, taking me by the shoulders with hands that bit through all my woollen layers. Holding me back against the deeply carved doorcase, he bent his head to look inside my hood and, whatever anger he saw on my face, it could have been nothing to the fury on his.
‘Stop it, woman!’ he snarled. ‘You think you’re the only loser in this damned business? You think you’ve had the thin end of the wedge, do you? Well, do you? Forget it. He was my brother. You had him for the best part of six years. I had him for thirty. We both…you and me…did what he wanted us to do, and if you had less choice in the matter than you’d have liked, well, I had just as little. I did it for him, and you believed I did it for you, didn’t you? That’s why you’re so angry. D’ye think I make a habit of creeping into my lady guests’ beds while they’re asleep?’
Since he was being kind enough to ask my opinion on that, I’d like to have said that he must have had a fair bit of practice at it. But, no, I said nothing of the kind. Nothing at all, in fact. I simply shook my head, which made my hood fall off. I noticed two new hairline creases from his nose to his mouth. I noticed that his eyelids were puffy, as if he’d been weeping. I noticed a sprinkling of silver hairs in that luxurious dark mop, just above his ears.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I’m overwrought. We both need to rest.’
He sighed through his nose with lips compressed, and I thought he was going to say more because his eyes held mine, letting me read the sadness written there more eloquently than words. Then he released me, and I felt the tingling where his hands had been, and I stood still while he pulled up my hood and settled it round my face. I was under no illusions; he would do the same for any of his closer woman friends, I was sure. Perhaps their minds would empty too, just for those few seconds.
‘Calm down,’ he said, gruffly. ‘Go home and get warm. Come on.’
Outside on the pavement, the lamplighter clambered down his ladder into the horizontal white blizzard, having cast a halo of light dancing across the ghostly snow-covered figures below. Lord Winterson’s groom emerged from the narrow alley that led to Linas’s courtyard and stables, riding one horse and leading the mighty grey hunter that blew clouds of white into the freezing air. ‘Follow on,’ Winterson called to him, taking my arm and linking it through his.
‘I can manage,’ I said, ready to pull away. ‘Really I can.’
But he clamped my hand with his elbow and, bending his head into the snowstorm, began to escort me home, not far, but far enough for us both to struggle against the conditions. His only conversation was, ‘Mind…take care…hold on…you all right?’
Standing under the porch before the door, I thanked him.
‘Stay at home till it clears,’ he said. ‘I’ll contact you as soon as I can get through. See Brierley if you need anything. He’ll help.’
I nodded and watched his effortless leap into the saddle, wheeling away as if the snow was no more than a mild shower. Across on the other side of Blake Street, the lights in the workroom, more properly known as Follet and Sanders, Mantua-maker, Milliner and Fabric Emporium, had been extinguished earlier than usual to allow the girls to get home, though I knew that Prue Sanders would still be working at the back of the shop on the new year’s orders, the alterations on ballgowns, fur trims and muffs. The cold weather had swept in from the north-east with a vengeance that year, and I had ordered that the fire in the sewing room should be kept burning constantly to keep the place warm. It was an expensive luxury I had not budgeted for, and my recent assurances that I could manage were not nearly as certain as I’d made them sound. But not for any reason would I have accepted a penny from him. Prue and I would have to manage on what the business earned.
That evening, however, my thoughts were in turmoil, for although my contacts with Lord Winterson had always been as brief as I could make them, this was the first time he and I had spoken about what had gone before, about his claim to Jamie, or about my feelings on the matter. As long as Linas lived, the subject had been studiously avoided, and now the impromptu unveiling had shaken me, if only because I had believed until then that he and Linas were alike in refusing to discuss things they found too uncomfortable. I had been proved wrong.
Only a day after his brother’s funeral, Winterson had brought out our shameful secret for its first airing, along with the reason for it and the well-planned result of it. My Jamie. He was right: I was angry, not because I was mistaken about his motives—for those I knew by then—but because he had known how easily I would give myself to him that night, repeatedly, willingly, and with little conscience. He had known, and my pride was wounded to the quick that all our mutual antagonism had been so easily suspended in the face of a temptation like that. How shallow he must think me. How disloyal. How easy.
What he would never know, though, was that I had fed off that experience since it happened, savouring it every night through each amazing phase, knowing that it would never be mine again. And since he had been unconvinced of my dislike of him before the event, I must of necessity try harder to convince him of it afterwards. His accusation about keeping Jamie at a distance from him was a part of my strategy but, with him now as Jamie’s guardian, I would find that more difficult, thanks to Linas.
Chapter Two
Thanks also to the weather, that part of my plan held up well when all the traffic in and out of the city was stopped for more than a week until men could shovel paths through the deep drifts, allowing access to the suburbs. We heard reports of farmers losing sheep, of snow burying hedges and cottages, trapping the mail-coach miles away with all its passengers, and the drowning of some young lads who had played upon frozen ponds. Fresh falls of snow added more depth to the fields each morning and broke branches off trees, the dropping temperatures killing everything that was too old, frail or poor to keep warm. The thermometer in Linas’s hall registered thirty degrees Fahrenheit, and a few days later we had twenty degrees of frost. I had never experienced such cold.
All through the freeze, my daily visits to Stonegate continued, partly to check on the remaining servants and partly to mentally mop up what was left of the essence pervading each room. In one way I had to be thankful that his suffering had ended at last, for I had not found it easy to watch him die and know that there was no way of stopping it happening. Jamie’s birth had done more than anything to extend the reprieve, but Winterson had been right to suggest that, when his brother’s illness began to distress the little fellow, a move to Abbots Mere would be best.
So I’d had a chance, at the end, to spend more time with Jamie, to begin some small rearrangements of our life in preparation for the future, to involve myself more with the thriving dressmaking business, to make another buying trip to Manchester and to pay an extended visit to my family without having to account for our absence.
Even so, I felt the gaping hole in my life where my Linas had been for, although we had not been lovers in the true sense for years, we had shared a real need for each other that was not wholly material, but emotional and spiritual as well. We never actually spoke of it: he was not good at speaking of love, and any attempt on my part only embarrassed him. But we were aware of our need for each other, especially so since Jamie’s appearance, and I was not foolish enough to end that prematurely when I knew the end would come soon enough. Had I remained childless, I might have thought differently, but I could not take a gamble when there was the son of a noble house to care for.
The River Ouse that brings boats up to the York warehouses froze all river traffic to a standstill, offering a quicker way to cross without using the bridge or the ferry. Those who could skate had a merry time of it, and Jamie’s nurse and I took him there, astonished by his pluck and persistence.
While Linas was alive, the natural tendency had been for everyone to compare him to the one he called papa, but by three years old his sturdy little frame and bold wilful nature, dark eyes and thick curly hair indicated characteristics that I was able to identify only too easily. Fortunately, my own dark colouring disguised the truth, but then, that must also have been taken into account at the outset, I supposed. It was so clever of them.
The nine seamstresses in the sewing room were loath to return home each evening during the freeze when the conditions at work were so much more comfortable than their own. Remembering how I too had been one of them, fourteen years old with only my clothes to my name, how Prue had sheltered and fed me, I tried to do the same for them, many of whom had worked there longer than me. Oh, she had worked me harder than hard to make it worth her while, being a canny Yorkshire woman, but I had not resented it, nor did the girls appear to resent me moving up the ladder rather faster, so to speak. Now, Prue Sanders and I were partners in the business, having expanded sideways into the house next door to the Assembly Rooms. A perfect situation, if ever there was one.
My own house was placed diagonally across the road, so convenient for us both especially during those exceptionally cold weeks when the ice seemed to creep into our veins. All our stores of potatoes froze solid. Few people could reach the mill for flour, nor could the miller use his wheel, sending up the price of bread accordingly. Fish was locked under the ice and people had to delve earlier than usual into their reserves of dried and pickled foods, feeding cattle with precious hay.
I did better than most in that respect, for as soon as a narrow passage was cut through the drifts, two pack-ponies and men arrived at my kitchen door having trekked from Abbots Mere at their master’s command. Into the kitchen were carried sacks of flour, oats and barley, chickens and geese, a brace each of pheasant and grouse, rabbits and a hare, baskets of apples, pears and plums, butter and cheeses, eggs and half-frozen milk, a half-carcass of lamb, hams, and trout packed in ice, all piled on to the table while cook stood with jaw dropping. I saw this gift as an answer to my refusal to accept a loan. For all our sakes, I was bound to accept this.
Gulping down beakers of mulled ale and wedges of fruit cake, the men would give no more information than, ‘Compliments of Lord Winterson, ma’am. And ye’re to let him know when you want some more. He hunts most days.’
