CHAPTER NINE
Louisa chose that day to go to Bath with Hetty Goodworth.
The period of her deep mourning was drawing to a close, and she wanted to cheer herself up with purchasing something other than black, even though she might not wear it until nearing the end of January.
Hetty, who had felt, without anything being said, that she had ‘failed’ her cousin by being ‘so timid in our time of peril’, would have agreed to anything that would cheer dear Cousin Louisa up, for she perceived in her a lowness of spirits following the ‘trouble’, as she most euphemistically called it.
‘For you to say you made your own gown would be … just too demeaning.’
‘But it will keep me from boredom, and look, there is the most beautiful lemon muslin from which I could make Emily a little dress.’
They returned to Elliston Court, tired after a long day, but with a pleasing number of packages, and with gowns, fitted exactly, to be sent on by carrier, and with the first snowflakes falling as the steps were let down for them to enter the house.
It snowed heavily. By morning there was a good eight inches, and they settled into a day in the knowledge that they would not be disturbed by visitors, and might draw up their patterns without interruption.
By the fourth day their isolation began to pall somewhat, since it was impossible even to reach church for the morning service.
What Louisa did not realise was that it also served to prevent the gossipmongers chattering about the burglary, or more importantly, herself and Major Barkby, and by the time a 137thaw set in five days before Christmas, it had lost a little of its spice.
What was more, nobody had the heart to discuss matters that might upset Lady Barkby, for the doctor was now in daily attendance upon her lord, and it seemed that his demise was imminent.
Louisa did not wish to intrude, and sending Christmas wishes sounded thoughtless.
Until such time as ‘it’ happened, there was nothing that she felt she could do.
She was saddened, not because she had met Lord Barkby more than the once, but she quite liked his wife, and she thought of his son, who would not be able to return to his regiment.
Lady Barkby would need him to lean upon emotionally if not physically, and he was clearly a man for whom duty meant a lot, and he would have a duty to his estate.
Quite why men found the soldiering life appealing, when it offered terrible conditions for day-to-day living, exposed them to foreign diseases and not least the risk of violent death, she did not quite comprehend.
It obviously did so, however. Perhaps it gave a sense of purpose to young men who did not possess estates to run, and did not wish for a life of idleness.
She hoped that the major would find enough to occupy him as his life changed.
She told herself very firmly that she was not the least pleased that he would hereafter be unlikely to quit the district.
Christmas was otherwise a quiet but happy affair, with garlanding of green about the very mantelshelf where Major Barkby had hit his head, and Louisa’s happiness at having her first Christmas with Emily where she was not always looking over her shoulder and expecting criticism 138or sour looks.
She felt, even after only four months in Elliston Court, that she was at home, and this would be hers and Emily’s, and the world would be kept out.
For her part, Hetty Goodworth had the relief of not worrying about making ends meet, and how much lumber and coal she was using just to keep warm. For the first time in the nearly three years since her husband died, she was sleeping dreamlessly.
A note arrived on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, in a hand she did not recognise, but from Woodend Hall.
It was short, and to the point. Lord Barkby had died peacefully before dawn.
Word would be sent when arrangements had been made.
It was subscribed in the standard form, and signed ‘Barkby’, but she noted that the second letter looked very much like a letter ‘e’ that had been overwritten.
Major Lord Barkby had begun to sign ‘Benfield Barkby’ and had to alter it.
She sat with the note on her lap for a long time, with tears on her cheeks, not for the poor man whose suffering was ended, but for the man whom she imagined had sat, no doubt at his father’s desk, in his father’s chair, and written the missive.
The funeral took place a week later, and was very well attended, though Louisa knew only half the faces gathered afterwards at Woodend Hall.
She was so used to her own blacks that they had become as a uniform, but seeing Lady Barkby garbed in black for the first time made her feel guilty.
The poor woman looked bereft and was clearly distraught, yet at her own husband’s demise Louisa had felt nothing but relief.
She was reminded how 139false those condolences had sounded that she had received after his death – people merely saying the ‘right thing’ and, if saddened, then saddened because his sudden exit from life was too sharp a reminder of their own mortality.
The ladies in this room were genuinely regretful, for the most part, although the nature of his illness had taken Lord Barkby from being part of the local social circle a considerable time ago.
When the major entered the room, followed by the men, he went straight to his mother’s chair, kissed her cheek and spoke softly to her.
The black armband and his solemn demeanour were all that there was to show his own grieving, but it was as real as his mother’s.
Louisa glanced at him several times whilst she was conversing with Lady Holdenby.
She had not seen him since he had ridden away from Elliston Court after the burglary, and she thought he looked a little thinner.
She doubted the household had been feasting over Christmastide, with the shadow of death hanging over the Hall, and although he had been in de facto charge almost since he had returned from Spain, the inevitable mantle of lordship must have felt as if it was descending upon him very heavily.
It was some time later that she managed a few words with him.
‘Thank you, for sending to me so soon after … and telling me, Maj— my lord.’ She saw him wince at the title.
‘Your writing is commendable, by the way, and indeed not at all like a schoolchild’s hand.
I … I know this has not been a surprise, but there is shock even when long anticipated.
I can see it has hit Lady Barkby very hard. ’
140‘Yes, it has. It has been so long expected, his decline so protracted, that I think the reality of what would happen at the end became just “eventually” to her. Now it has finally occurred she is finding it hard to cope.’
‘I think I understand that. But she has you to support her at this time, and that will prove a great comfort. It places an extra burden upon you, though.’
‘She is my mother, and cannot be a burden, ma’am.’ He sounded tired.
‘Even those we love can be so, sir, though perhaps the term is unfortunate. I should rather say an added weight upon your mind, when you are dealing with all the practicalities and your own bereavement.’ She paused. ‘We have not met since your hand and arm were injured. Are they healing well?’
‘The arm is healing perfectly, and the doctor is pleased with the progress of the fingers, but forbids me hitting anyone.’
‘So pugilism is no longer an option as a recreation. I doubt you will miss it, sir.’ She smiled, and although her lips showed only the smallest movement, it was there in her gaze.
‘If you have a little time, you are welcome to visit us at the Court. Emily would be delighted to see you, but you must be warned: she is now fascinated by giraffes.’
‘Giraffes?’
‘Yes. I bought her a Noah’s ark for her Christmas gift, and of all the animals the giraffes are the ones that she loves. So if you encounter her, be prepared, for she is even more talkative.’ There was a touch of pride in her voice.
‘I will, and I would like to see her again.’
141‘Then come some day in the afternoon, my lord, and I will have her “on parade”.’
That drew at last a smile from him, and Louisa withdrew to let others proffer their condolences.
Neither noticed that their conversation had attracted interested looks from several ladies present, nor that Lady Simmondley spoke very surreptitiously to Mrs Cheddleton, and that lady put her hand to her cheek and looked shocked.
The following fortnight was bitterly cold, and Louisa was not at all surprised that nobody paid a call upon Elliston Court.
When old Lady Holdenby came it was but a few days before Louisa could leave off her blacks, and her mood was bright.
The lady came wrapped in furs, and brought with her an invitation to dine.
‘You need not be foolish and say you cannot sup with me because of your mourning. I am inviting only females, and none of ’em young, though that thought might make you think twice about accepting.
And you can bring Mrs Goodsworthy with you.
’ Lady Holdenby pointed a bony finger at Hetty Goodworth.
‘What is more, you do not have to reciprocate, since I never dine from home. The food don’t settle with my digestion, and I never leave the house after six of the clock, except for evensong. ’
‘It is very kind of you—’ Louisa began, but was cut short.
‘Fiddlesticks. It is not kind at all. I just want someone with more wit than a ninny to converse with over the soup, and to hear things that are news, rather than stories going in circles. When one gets old, the memory is not so good, but even I know when I have been told nearly everything 142twice before. You will come and entertain an old woman for the evening, next Tuesday. Yes?’
Louisa could scarcely refuse.