Chapter 20 #2
She shook off her dismal thoughts and pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to prevent the tears she could feel welling.
Her feelings nearly swamped her and without a thought for her destination, she stepped out and made her way to the steward’s office.
He was seated behind his desk when she entered, and he looked up in surprise as she closed the door.
“Mrs. Bingley?” he asked rising slowly to his feet as she gasped for breath.
The kindness so inherent in his voice broke her reserve and she burst into tears. Mr. Yates immediately rounded the desk and assisted her to a seat, turning the second seat to face her as handed over his handkerchief to mop her tears.
Her voice shook as she explained what she had had to do and how difficult it had been. She also described her guilt over the family’s worries for their mother.
“So, what do you wish to do about it?” he asked.
“What can I do? She must learn from her mistakes. It would be wrong for me to prevent her from doing so.”
“Yes, Millie ought to, but her mother has done nothing wrong.”
Jane’s face slowly bloomed into a hopeful smile as she contemplated his words. “That is true! Would you come with me to visit the family? I am not acquainted with them, but I wish to confirm her tale before we go any further.”
“I have only met Mr. Greene in passing as his farm abuts the Whitney’s across the estate boundary, but I will gladly ask for an introduction to his wife for the both of us.”
They left as soon as Jane had gathered a basket of general supplies for illness, taking the phaeton and ponies to drive out to the neighboring estate where the Greene’s farm was located.
The farm appeared well run, and the house looked snug and recently whitewashed, Jane observed as they pulled to a stop.
Mr. Yates knocked at the door before stepping to the side to allow Jane to step up beside him.
The door was opened by Mr. Greene, who was just finishing his lunch and was holding a sandwich of cold ham in his hand.
“Mr. Yates.” He greeted, obviously confused by his appearance.
“Good day, Mr. Greene. Mrs. Bingley wished to pay a visit to your wife as she had recently learned that she is unwell.” Mr. Yates informed him, “Is she well enough to receive visitors?”
Mr. Jones greeted her with a nod and stepped back to allow them entry. “She is ailing, but she is awake.”
He led them into the small parlor where a pale woman sat, covered in blankets as she sewed up a hole in one of her husband’s shirts with painful slowness. “Martha, Mrs. Bingley from Ivy Well wished to visit with you.”
The woman attempted to rise but Jane urged her to stay as she hurried forward with her basket in her arms. “It is obvious that your health is affected. Please, stay under your coverings! I do not wish to overstep, but have you seen the doctor?”
Mrs. Jones invited her to sit and nodded as the gentlemen stepped into the kitchen. “There is not much to be done.”
“Millie was under the impression that there was something—” Jane remarked softly, reaching for the woman’s cold hand.
“That girl,” she sighed. “Dr. Porter mentioned that there had been some man or other in London what specializes in such things and has had some success with a series of medicines but the cost weighed against the chance of success did not seem worth it to Mr. Greene and I, and…” her eyes narrowed. “Did Millie ask for money?”
Jane’s fortitude quailed but she knew that her daughter would arrive soon enough and they would know all. “Mrs. Greene, in her hopes to assist you to regain your health, Millie made some unfortunate decisions. She was caught with several items which she had secreted away to sell.”
The woman nearly fainted back into her chair and began to wail, bringing her husband and Mr. Yates dashing in. “What has happened?” Mr. Greene demanded dropping to his knees beside his wife looking for harm.
“Millie is lost!” she wailed, rocking back in forth over her folded arms, as if attempting to hold her heart in her chest.
Mr. Jones looked up in horror and Jane rushed to assure them. “No! She is well! I swear it,” she promised earnestly. “She has lost her position, but we did not call for Mr. Walters. She will not lose her life for an adolescent mistake made out of love and hope. I could not bear the thought.”
“Lose her life?” the man choked, rubbing his wife’s shoulders as she fought to breathe, her hoarse coughs causing wracking pains. “She was theavin’?”
“She was determined to save her mother,” Jane insisted, shaking her head. “There had to be some consequence to return her to the proper path and prevent this from becoming habit—”
Mr. Greene nodded in agreement. “I am right disappointed in her.”
“Do not judge her too harshly, sir,” Jane urged.
“She will need your support when she arrives. We cannot, in good conscience, offer her a character, but I will not blast her prospects in the district. She is a good worker and I am confident, should she learn from this experience, she will do well in the future.”
“God Bless you, Mrs. Bingley,” Mrs. Greene shuddered, gripping her hand with desperate gratitude. “I do not think I could survive the death of my baby.”
Jane urged them once more to show some understanding for their child and she and Mr. Yates left them to their day. As he turned the horses back toward Ivy Well, Jane had a thought. “Could you drive us to Dr. Porter’s home?”
“What are you thinking,” he asked, as they started toward Cheadle.
“Mrs. Jones did not seem optimistic that his ideas might work and did not wish to waste the money on a perhaps,” Jane explained. “I would like to hear what he has to say on the matter.”
Mr. Porter had much to say, as it turned out. He was optimistic enough for ten people that the treatments would work and railed against the idea that the cost would prevent him from saving his patient. Jane pulled out a purse and held it out to him.
“This is ￡100, Mr. Porter,” she explained. “I am certain there are more than just the Greenes who forgo treatment for the same reason. I shall be giving you a similar amount each year to better allow you to adjust your fees as you feel the need.”
“Mrs. Bingley!” he cried, weighing the purse in his hand. “That is extremely generous! I do not know how to thank you!”
“You may thank me by not informing anyone who made the donation. I do not need public adulations, and I would not want to trample anyone’s pride if I can help it.”
“It shall be as you wish,” Mr. Porter beamed in admiration. “And I promise to take excellent care of Mrs. Greene.”
Jane thanked him and followed Mr. Yates back to the carriage. He once again turned them toward Ivy Well. When they were private once more, he addressed her, “Most men of my acquaintance would not think that a tenant farmer had the same pride as they.”
“Every man, and woman, deserves to have their dignity respected,” Jane replied quietly, inwardly contemplating her own situation and the constant lack of respect she received in her marriage.
Mr. Yates seemed to understand her unspoken words, and he allowed their usual comfortable silence to envelope them.
When they arrived at the estate, Jane stopped him with a light touch to his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Yates, for always listening and supporting and encouraging me. I truly do not know what I would do without your patient guidance and unflinching strength.”
A slow smile graced his features as he looked down at her. “It is an honor, I assure you.”
Jane found herself blushing, though she could not understand why, and went to find Mary.