Whispers at Painswick Court

Chapter 1

Miss Anne Loveday sat in the parlour with the widower Mr. Shufflebottom—that truly was his name—while he droned on about his eight adult children, and how much they all still missed their mother, who’d died many years ago giving birth to a ninth.

He described in tedious detail his fine house filled with said adult children and several grandchildren besides.

Anne wasn’t really listening.

Instead she was somewhere more pleasant in her mind.

She was revisiting a lovely summer picnic with her parents, sister, and a few friends, celebrating her grandparents’ anniversary.

Grandpa and Grandmamma sat on a blanket beneath the entwined boughs of the wedding tree in the Painswick churchyard, the cheerful courtship song of goldcrests high in the branches.

Mamma, healthy and vibrant, bustled about passing plates of cold chicken and slices of beef and Stilton pie and refilling cups of lemonade.

All of Anne’s loved ones together and happy, the future stretching brightly before them.

She had asked her grandfather, “I love a picnic, but why under this tree? I thought yew trees were a symbol of death?”

“They are indeed, my poppet. Yet death is a part of life. A yew will grow a thousand years. See how the branches bend to the ground? They’ll take root there and new growth will begin.

That’s why the yew also symbolizes rebirth and eternal life.

The trees are useful as well, providing shelter for woodland creatures. ”

“You’re such a romantic, Tom,” Grandmamma chided teasingly. “I thought we celebrated here because this is where you asked me to marry you.”

“I was getting to that, impatient woman,” he said, a warm twinkle in his eyes as he gazed upon his wife of many decades.

“But aren’t yew trees poisonous?” Anne persisted.

“Deadly so, poppet. And never forget it. . . .”

Anne was jerked back to the present when she realized the widower was staring agog at her, a ginger biscuit halfway to his lips. “Poisonous?”

“Oh! Not those.” She chuckled weakly. “I was thinking of something else.”

“Ah, your mother mention—”

“Stepmother.”

“Yes, she mentioned your unusual predilection for herbs and medicines. Don’t worry, marriage will smooth out those undesirable qualities. You’ll be too busy managing a house and children to dwell on . . . less traditional pursuits.”

Anne rose abruptly. “Do excuse me.”

On the pretense of needing to use the privy—it was indiscreet to say the words aloud, but she did so anyway—Anne slipped from the room and tiptoed to her favorite hiding place.

With a sigh of relief, she tucked herself behind the draperies of the window seat in her father’s study and resumed reading her prized medical book, hidden from her would-be suitor, stepmother, and half siblings, and dreaming of a different life.

She’d barely finished one page when familiar footsteps strode into the study. Her father threw back the drapes, exposing Anne’s sanctuary, which he alone knew about.

“Mrs. Barker is in labor,” he began. “Her eldest just came to alert me. Remind me. Did we use the forceps or vectis last time?”

“Neither one! Time and patience were all that was required, and a little gentle encouragement.” Anne rose. “I’ll come with you. Her last delivery was difficult indeed.”

“No need. They are summoning a midwife as well this time, and you know Nancy does not want—”

“What’s this?” Her stepmother’s shrill voice rang out from behind him.

A moment later, she appeared at her husband’s elbow.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding?” Displeasure pinched Nancy’s pale face.

“Oh no, no, no. Anne will not be going with you. She is going to apologize to the gentleman caller she rudely abandoned. Besides, she is not a midwife. Nor your orderly.”

“Of course not,” her father began. “I only—”

Nancy threw up her hands. “You want a better life for her, do you not? Her own home, her own family?”

“Well, of course, in time, but—”

“But I don’t want that,” Anne interjected. “Marriage leads to unhappiness, babies, and death.” She knew she was overstating the matter, but several women had died in childbirth during the years she’d helped her father.

“Marriages are not always unhappy,” Nancy retorted.

“No?” Anne raised her brows. “What about Fanny?”

Her stepmother huffed. “You and your sister! Determined to be unhappy because life didn’t give you exactly what you wanted, all the while ignoring what might truly bring fulfillment.

No, women cannot be doctors. And yes, Mr. Dalby married someone else.

Do you really think there is only one path to happiness?

God is bigger and life is more complicated than that.

You waste so much time pining for what you can’t have that you miss—even scoff at—other excellent opportunities right in front of you. ”

Indignation flared. “Are you seriously suggesting Mr. Shufflebottom is my excellent opportunity? My path to fulfillment? Is that all I’m good for—to yoke myself to a near stranger and bear child after child, hips expanding and patience thinning with each one?”

Hands on ample hips, Nancy challenged, “Like me, I suppose you mean?”

“If the cap fits.”

“Anne Louise Loveday!” Her father scowled thunderously. “I am ashamed of you. Apologize to your stepmother this instant.”

Anne looked at her father, the betrayer, and lifted her chin.

“I will apologize for being rude, but not for speaking the truth.” Anne wasn’t usually mean-spirited, but her father’s second wife brought out the worst side of her nature.

She could not help resenting the woman, only a few years older than she, who was preventing her from carrying out her life’s ambition.

Heated silence followed as the two glared at her, tension radiating off her father and his much-younger wife.

Nancy took his arm. “I told you it was time for her to go. We need the room with another on the way, and her constant rebellion is not good for my health.”

Her father looked at Nancy and did not disagree. Instead he sighed. “Speaking of going, I had better set out for the Barkers’.”

“Without me?” Anne asked.

“Exactly,” Nancy answered for him. “I am sure he and the midwife can manage without you.”

Anne opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment a little hand took hers. She looked down and, through a red haze of anger, saw Matilda’s tear-streaked face. “Anne, I scraped my knee again. Will you help me? Before I bleed through my skirts?”

Relieved for the distraction, Anne replied, “Of course, Matty.” She eyed her young half sister with fondness and guilt. She was not to blame for any of this.

“Excuse us,” she said, leading the girl away.

Anne knew she should not begrudge her father the happiness of his second marriage and second batch of children. Nor resent the woman he had married six years ago, less than two years after her mother’s death.

She had managed, to some degree, until the new Mrs. Loveday had taken on the role of matchmaker as well as stepmother—and then started limiting Anne’s involvement in her father’s practice.

It was not Nancy’s fault women were not allowed to be physicians, surgeons, or apothecaries.

But did that truly mean her only other option was marriage to an older man she barely knew?

At seven and twenty, Anne realized she was well beyond the first blush of youth, and beyond the first pick of suitors too.

At her age, she was unlikely to marry for love, and she vowed not to marry under any other inducement.

She thought again of her sister’s unhappy marriage and of her stepmother’s exhaustion after bearing four children in the last six years, with a fifth on the way. No, thank you. Anne would forgo all that and live a single, useful life, helping others—like Miss Lotty did.

After she had cleaned and administered a sticking plaster to young Matilda’s knee, Anne once again opened the recent letter from her mother’s old friend, Charlotte Newland, with whom Anne had corresponded over the years.

A spinster in her mid-forties, Miss Lotty had invited Anne to come and stay with her in Painswick.

Initially, Anne had hesitated. Now, after the day’s events, the choice seemed clear.

Anne reread the lines, which brimmed with local news, friendly greetings, and how much the dear woman missed her, reminding Anne how long it had been since they’d seen each other.

She’d ended the letter with a rather mysterious plea.

P.S. My dear Anne, someone in Painswick could use your help, though I hesitate to name the person, for fear it will put you off coming here.

How curious.

Mystery or no, Anne wrote back to accept. Miss Lotty’s invitation seemed the perfect opportunity. It was time to leave her father’s house, and her stepmother’s matchmaking attempts, once and for all.

By the time her father returned, Anne was feeling a bit sheepish for losing her temper earlier. Tentatively she asked, “How is Mrs. Barker?”

“Perfectly well, as is her newborn son. The midwife was able to turn him, and together we delivered the child without resorting to either instrument.”

Anne sighed in relief. “That is good news. And, um, speaking of news, Miss Charlotte Newland has invited me to visit her in Painswick. I have decided to accept her offer.”

Her father hesitated, then slowly nodded. “I understand.”

Anne felt an unexpected pang at his easy acquiescence, and at the thought of parting from him. They had once worked so well together.

“I know you miss how things were when it was just you, me, and Fanny,” he said, “but—”

“No, Papa. I miss when it was the four of us. I miss Mamma. You may have forgotten her, yet I cannot.”

“What do you mean, forgotten her? I think of her every day and wish I had done things differently. I should never have left her alone in your care.”

Another stab to Anne’s heart. He no doubt wished he had been on hand to rectify Anne’s failings. If he had been there, her mother might have lived.