Chapter 10
“Why, what is this?” asked Helena, sitting up in bed and pulling back her tangled golden curls from her eyes. She felt stiff and sore, and as her stays dug into her sides, she realized that for the first time in her adult life, she had fallen asleep in her clothes.
“It’s an omelet, Mrs. Aldine,” said Polly proudly.
Helena lifted the fork from the tray and prodded the fluffy yellow delicacy. “It does not look...burnt.”
“Course not,” said Polly scornfully. “Ye ken Mr. Aldine’s not one to waste eggs.”
Helena looked up questioningly.
“He made ye one last nicht, too,” said Polly, confidentially, “but ye were sleepin’, so he told me not to fash mahself about it but to eat it up on mah own.”
“Oh, indeed.” Helena took a bite and found the well-cooked egg absolutely delightful to the taste. “First the coffee, and now this. Is Mrs. Jenkins not jealous of her kitchen?”
“Nay, it’s her kitchen no longer. Th’ master sent her packin’ last nicht.”
“Did he?” Helena’s eyes shone. She would have liked to have seen that. She had never heard Ralph raise his voice, but she could imagine just how formidable he might be in a situation that demanded it.
Polly bobbed her head. “I’m off to mah mam’s this afternoon.” She gave a quick curtsy and disappeared as Finch bustled into the room with one of Helena’s two serviceable day dresses pressed and ready to put on.
“Did you hear the news, Finch?” said Helena, almost gleefully. “Mrs. Jenkins has removed herself from the premises.”
“So I’ve gathered,” responded the lady’s maid, and although her tone was not as gleeful as her mistress’s, Helena could detect a look of smug satisfaction on her angular face. “When you are done eating, it is time to dress. Lady Compton will be here soon.”
Helena had almost forgotten that it was the day to visit Miss Neeley, the village dressmaker. Devouring her omelet more quickly than was seemly, she slipped out of the bedclothes, and stood up in her crushed, rumpled gown.
Finch pursed her lips. “I did not want to wake you last night, my lady, but...this is quite the sight.” She began to remove the few stray pins that were still left in Helena’s tresses.
Helena hung her head apologetically. “I did not mean to sleep the night away.” She gave a yawn.
It was just that she had been so tired, more tired than she had ever felt in her life.
And with the memory of that night and the look on Ralph’s face—everything had just seemed so bleak!
Strange how a night of sleep and a decent meal could make the morning a more hopeful place.
“Oh! I hear a carriage now! I must hurry or Lady Compton will think me a flibbertigibbet.”
Finch loosened the laces in the back of the gown and slipped it off.
Then, without taking the time to change Helena’s chemise or petticoat, she straightened her stays, lifted the new gown off the chair where she had laid it, and placed it over her head.
“Now sit,” she said, after giving the laces a good tug, and Helena submitted to her maid’s efficiently created coiffure at the cost of a tender scalp.
Lady Compton was not at all put out to be kept waiting a few minutes, and when Helena stepped into the carriage, she insisted that her guest sit beside her on the bench so that they could both face forward.
“Now then, we must see if Miss Neeley has the skill to make up some blacks that will flatter your figure while breeding. No need to hide it, I say. An increasing woman can still look her best.”
“How many children do you have, Lady Compton?”
“Just one child. A daughter.”
It was as Helena had suspected—Gerald could not be the Comptons’ son. Was he a grandson then? Lady Compton did not elaborate on the story of her daughter, and Helena was not presumptuous enough to ask.
The village was only a few minutes’ ride by carriage, and soon the coachman was handing them down onto the wooden platform that stood outside the dressmaker’s shop. The rain was holding back, for the present, but the ominous clouds were as black as any Helena had ever seen.
Inside the shop, Lady Compton explained Mrs. Aldine’s situation and the need for mourning gowns that she could wear as she continued increasing.
“And would you care to look at my selections in lavender?” asked Miss Neeley, anxious to sell some colored gowns as well. If she were as excellent a seamstress as she was a saleswoman, the gowns would turn out well indeed.
“No, it must be black,” said Helena with decision. After the baby came, then she could consider switching to half-mourning. But before then...no, it was not to be thought of.
“Perhaps just one lavender dress, my dear?” suggested Lady Compton. “You never know what occasion may arise.”
Helena acquiesced to Lady Compton’s better judgment, and in the end, she ordered new petticoats, stays, and chemises, as well as four black gowns and one lavender.
She stepped behind the curtain so the seamstress could take her measurements while Lady Compton examined the brightest spools of ribbon and considered a new bonnet that Miss Neeley had trimmed with coral roses.
The seamstress had just run her measuring string across Helena’s rounding waist when a blast of wintry air shook the curtain.
Lady Compton began speaking and it was clear that there was another customer in the shop.
Surreptitiously peering around the curtain, Miss Neeley quickly came back to her measuring work.
“It’s just Jenny Graham from up Coldstream way—she’ll only want a ribbon, I wager, but she can wait till I’m finished with you, Mrs. Aldine.
” Miss Neeley clearly knew on what side her bread was buttered—an order like Helena’s would keep her busy for well-nigh a month.
“In a short while, it will be time to purchase some little gowns for the baby,” remarked Miss Neeley, as she wrote down the last of Helena’s measurements.
“And do you make those as well?” asked Helena, suppressing a smile. The woman was tenacious about encouraging trade for her shop.
“I can indeed,” replied the seamstress. “Visit me again and I’ll show you some drawings of christening gowns for you to take your pick.”
She helped Helena back into her old gown, and as they emerged from the curtain, the other visitor—a middle aged woman with a homely face—bobbed a curtsy to Lady Compton and took her leave. Apparently, Mrs. Graham from Coldstream was saving her pennies and would forgo the ribbon today.
Lady Compton cast an appraising look in Helena’s direction. “Are you ready, my dear? The windows of heaven are about to open, and I don’t think we want to be caught in the midst of it.”
They left the shop without feeling any raindrops yet. “You must miss your brother terribly,” said Lady Compton with a sympathetic clucking sound, as they settled into the carriage.
“Yes, we’ve been on our own together for so long,” said Helena, before thinking much of it. “And he has quite taken care of me as best he could. My parents are both gone, you see. But he is engaged to marry this summer, so at least he will not be alone.”
“Oh, I see,” said Lady Compton, as a feeling of dreadful realization settled over Helena. Her brother was supposed to be dead! She had told Lady Compton she was in mourning for him. And it was surely too late now to invent the existence of a second brother!
“Lady Compton, I—” Helena’s face turned to ash, for she was quite sure the lady had pinpointed the incongruity between her previous and current statements.
“That was Mrs. Graham who stopped in at the shop while you were behind the curtain.” Lady Compton turned to look out the window of the carriage as she spoke. “Her husband owns the toll house at the bridge over the River Tweed.”
Helena’s heart dropped to the floor of the carriage. She had not recognized or remembered the woman who had lit the candles for the irregular ceremony spoken at the stroke of midnight. But clearly Mrs. Graham had remembered her.
“She says you visited there three weeks ago.”
“Yes,” Helena whispered.
“I had not realized your marriage was of so short a date. Three weeks is not at all a long time to have been married.” Lady Compton glanced significantly at Helena’s midsection, the reason for their visit to Miss Neeley.
“Please, Lady Compton, I can explain,” said Helena, not at all sure how she was going to follow through with that promise.
“Now, now, my dear,” said Lady Compton briskly.
“There is no need. Such things happen. And perhaps this explains the match between you and your husband, for you seem a touch above him. Sir Anthony says he is a solicitor—and you were clearly raised in higher circles. Your gowns are expensive, and your musical training is of the first water. Your brother objected to the match, I daresay? I suppose you would never have been allowed to marry him had he not seduced you first.”
Helena gasped. “Seduced me? No, Ralph would never!”
“Never?” Lady Compton looked dubious. “Clearly—”
“Never!” reiterated Helena. Before she could stop herself, the whole sordid story poured out of Will’s impetuousness, her folly, their ill-fated betrothal, Will’s demise, and Ralph’s offer to do the honorable thing so she might keep the baby.
“Oh, what must you think of me!” said Helena, taking the handkerchief that Lady Compton offered.
She realized that the coachman had come to a halt and they had been parked in front of the guest house for the last quarter of an hour.
In her effort to protect Ralph’s good name, she had unfolded the whole story they had come to the border to conceal.
“You might be surprised,” said Lady Compton, her voice more filled with candor than censure. She pursed her lips. “Are you aware that Gerald is my grandson?”
“I thought he might be.” Helena dabbed at her eyes with the cambric square.
“Yes, well, his mother is my daughter. His father is...unknown.”
Helena’s eyes widened.
“We could never govern her. She was too impulsive, too headstrong. When we brought her out in London, she fell in with a bad crowd—ill-bred rakes and unsavory society women. We took her home as soon as we realized the extent of her misbehavior, but after Gerald was born, there was no keeping her in Carham. She was off to London again the moment our backs were turned. She has not amended her ways, and so we no longer allow her to see Gerald. It is for the best, I think.”
“And Gerald...does he know about her?”
“Certainly not! He should not be forced to bear the brunt of his parents’ sins. Don’t you agree?”
“Oh, yes! I most certainly do!”
“We have taken him as our ward. The village thinks he is a foundling child whom we have adopted. He will be Sir Anthony’s heir. So, you see, my dear, with a daughter like mine, I’m not at all in the position to judge.”
“You are very kind,” said Helena, pressing the hand of her benefactress. Her eyes darted to the door of the guest house. Her neighbor’s sympathy was unexpected and undeserved, but the revelations had still been so painful that she wanted nothing more than to escape.
“And don’t be taking it into your head,” admonished Lady Compton, “that now that I know your secret, I won’t want anything to do with you. You are always welcome at Carham Hall. We don’t stand on ceremony, and you must feel free to dine with us even while you are still in blacks.”
“Thank you,” said Helena shyly. “I will remember.”
A rap on the ceiling brought the coachman around, and Helena soon found herself on the doorstep waving goodbye to the dark carriage under the dark clouds, unaware of the grim surprise awaiting her inside the house.