‘Come into the house, Uncle. A nuncheon should be ready by now, and no doubt you are hungry after your journey. Will ham and fruit be enough for you, or should I order some mutton chops to be cooked?’
‘How do you get fruit at this time of year? Spending your money forcing it, or buying it at outrageous prices from Bristol, no doubt.’
‘We still have apples, they store well, and yes, I do buy oranges. Papa’s partner brings some on the wine ships.’
He snorted. ‘I’ll have a couple of chops.’
‘See to it, please, Staines. This way Uncle.’
He glared at the house.
‘Far too big for you now you’re widowed.’
‘Not yet ready to have guests, the bedrooms need decorating,’ Catarina said hurriedly. It would be disastrous if he expected to remain the night.
He waved aside her remarks.
‘Bad organization. But I have to be back in Bristol tonight, however late it is. That wasn’t what I came about. How dare you take your sister to Portugal without my leave? She’s under age, and I’m her guardian. And now I have this impertinent letter from some knave of a foreigner saying he’s married her and wants her fortune. Well, he can whistle for it. She married without my consent, so not a penny will she have until she’s of age!’
Catarina reined in her temper. She led him into the drawing room, where Staines was ready with the decanter of madeira, and excused herself, saying she needed to wash her hands and tidy herself after being in the garden. Hastening up to the nursery she warned Clarice not to bring Maria downstairs until the visitor had gone.
‘But the weather, is good, and fresh air good.’
‘I know, but I don’t want this particular gentleman to know about Maria, not yet.’
Clarice smiled and nodded. ‘He not like children?’
That was the easiest explanation, so Catarina nodded, and on her way back to the drawing room slipped into the kitchen to warn Liza and Staines also not to mention the baby.
‘He — will not approve of my adopting her,’ she said, and surprised a sceptical look in Liza’s eyes. Did Liza not believe the story?
Dismissing the idea, she went back to Sir Ivor, and managed to keep her temper during the meal. She explained to him that Eduardo was very rich, had large estates in Brazil, and a connection with the Portuguese Royal family, but none of it placated her uncle.
‘How long had she known the wretch?’ he demanded. ‘Was that why you stayed there for so long, when you told me you were going to visit your mother’s family? No such visit ought to last for months.’
‘We have many cousins there,’ Catarina explained. She did not need to tell him that they had in fact visited only her mother’s sister, and she did not want to admit how short a time Joanna had known Eduardo, or that she had gone with him on the ship without telling Catarina. She would, she decided, let people believe Joanna had known him for a long time, or even that she had left Portugal much earlier. It would also be better if they thought she had gone before Maria was born.
To her relief, having vented his fury on her, eaten some very good mutton chops, and drunk a considerable amount of wine, he soon afterwards took his leave, saying he must be back in Bristol before it was too late. Feeling weak she waved him off, and almost staggered back into the drawing room. When Staines appeared at her elbow with a glass of wine she laughed.
‘This is the good wine, my lady, not what I served at table.’
‘You had better have one yourself, Staines. I am so sorry he was so rude.’
‘I have had occasion to meet Sir Ivor before, my lady, so I knew what to expect.’
‘I’m ashamed to be related to him!’ she burst out.
‘Most of us have relations we might prefer not to know. Cook is preparing your favourite syllabub for dinner, and I have fetched up another bottle of the best wine.’
How fortunate she was with her servants. They took good care of her, were enchanted with the baby, and clearly capable of keeping their mouths closed when necessary.
So far very few people knew of Maria’s existence. But she could not keep the baby hidden, and had no desire to do so. The next time Mrs Eade called she must tell her the story she had told the servants, that Maria was a dead cousin’s child. Then the entire neighbourhood would know within days.
* * * *
It was two weeks before Nicholas returned to Marshington Grange. Catarina saw a carriage sporting the Earl’s crest sweep past the Dower House late one afternoon, but it did not stop. She knew it was Nicholas, and the following morning dressed in one of her best gowns and her most fetching cap, trimmed with more lace than the ones she normally wore about the house.
If he meant to make her an offer it would not do for her to be wearing mourning black, or even half mourning, so she pulled out a silk morning dress in deep cream which she had bought just before Walter’s death, and never had an opportunity to wear. The sleeves were close-fitting, they and the bodice were trimmed with coqulicot embroidery, and a coqulicot rouleau edged the skirt. It suited her colouring, and with a shawl of the same colour round her shoulders, a pearl necklace and pearl drops in her ears, she told herself she was looking her best.
It was the middle of the morning before Nicholas came. It was another fine day, after several when it had rained almost continuously, and Clarice had taken Maria outside to sit on a bench under one of the apple trees, where the baby could watch the changing patterns of the branches against the sky.
Staines, beaming, showed Nicholas in.
‘His lordship, my lady,’ he said, and Catarina, nervous, thought his tone was almost paternal. Did her servants suspect the same as she did?
‘How are Jeremy and Olivia, my lord?’
‘They are both in town. Olivia makes her comeout this Season, under the auspices of a cousin of our mama. Jeremy is there too, and I believe has for the moment given up trying to convince the villagers of the advantages of his proposed changes.’
‘Olivia is looking forward to the Season?’
‘With some trepidation, but Lady Mortimer is the sort of woman who can give her confidence.’
‘Will you have some madeira, my lord?’ Catarina asked, suddenly aware of the decanters she had asked Staines to bring in earlier, so that she would have something ready to offer Nicholas, if he came.
‘No, thank you. Catarina. For once it’s a fine day, can we not walk in the garden for a short while? I did not have an opportunity to see it the last time I was here.’
Catarina led the way through the doors at the back of the drawing room which opened onto the terrace, and they trod down the steps at the end onto one of the gravelled paths. Nicholas took her arm and they made stilted conversation as they walked through the flower garden and into the small walled garden where the new glasshouses were being built.
‘You plan to grow more grapes?’ Nicholas asked.
‘Amongst other things. The weather has been so bad this year we are going to try some of the early vegetables under glass, but I’m not sure the new glass houses will be ready in time.’
They went on towards the small orchard at one side of the garden. As they reached the gate leading into it Nicholas stopped, put his hand on it to stop her opening it, and turned towards Catarina.
‘My dear Catarina, I think you must know how I feel about you. I was so worried when you were away for so long, without anyone here having any news of you.’
He reached out towards her, and just at that moment Maria began to wail. Nicholas gave a start and turned round to see Clarice coming towards them, Maria cradled in her arms.
‘I take her in, she hungry,’ Clarice said, and as she walked towards the gate Nicholas hurriedly stepped back. He watched, silent, as Clarice came through the gate and held Maria out for him to see. ‘See baby, pretty, no?’
‘Whose baby is that?’ Nicholas asked, his voice hoarse. ‘Is it yours?’
‘Yes. No. That is, yes, she is in a way. I have adopted her. She is a cousin’s baby, the cousin died,’ Catarina stammered.
He was looking at her so accusingly she was almost incapable of speaking. He watched Clarice go towards the house, then took a deep breath.
‘I will speak to you another time. Goodbye, my lady.’
Catarina looked down at the letter in her hands. It was the round, unformed calligraphy of a schoolgirl, and Olivia had crossed the lines so much she had difficulty reading it. Besides, she was finding it hard to concentrate after Nicholas’s abrupt departure the previous day. He had suddenly become cold, when he had seen the baby. Did the notion of her having adopted a child make him change his mind? She had been so certain he was about to make her an offer. Was the thought of having to accept a baby as well as herself such a frightening one he had decided he did not after all want her as his wife?
She forced herself to concentrate on the letter. Olivia sounded happy. The dreaded Lady Keith had gone to Paris, so she was making her comeout under the auspices of a cousin of her mama’s. Already she had met a few other girls, and it wasn’t nearly so terrifying as she’d expected. Lady Mortimer, her cousin, would be arranging a ball for her soon, and she did so hope dear Catarina would come up to town for it.
Catarina shook her head slightly. The town house was let, and she would not stay in an hotel. She had no friends she could visit, and if Nicholas remained cold she had no desire to meet him again, as she would be bound to do at Olivia’s ball. Her thoughts swung back to the previous day and the unanswered question. Why had the sight of Maria changed him?
This dwelling on the matter was pointless. She stood up decisively. She would go for a ride. So far she had not been able to ride round the entire estate since she had returned to England, it had either been raining or she had too much else to do. Even though she was no longer the owner, she would like to see some of the tenants. They had been her friends, many of them nearer to her in age than Walter and his cronies.
She sent to have her mare saddled, then rang for her new maid, Blodwen. She was a Welsh girl from Swansea, who had come to live with an aunt in Bristol when her former mistress died, to find another position. The registry had sent her and another cook, and so far Catarina had been satisfied with both of them. Blodwen spoke with a strong Welsh lilt, which confused poor Clarice even more than the local accent. Catarina herself, and Staines, were the only people in the house Clarice could understand properly.
Soon Catarina was cantering along the edge of the common. What ought to be hay in a few weeks did not look promising, the constant rain had flattened the grass. If there was not a good crop the villagers would have little with which to feed their animals during the winter. She turned towards the marsh, wanting to see what Jeremy had done with the drainage. The way lay alongside the woods, and she dropped to a walk, since the storms had blown dead and fallen branches across the path, and brought down a few trees. Ought she to suggest they be cleared, or would that be presumption? Then she recalled that although Jeremy was not here Nicholas was. But she would not inform him of the problem. She did not wish to have to meet him again. She had to stop thinking about him.
One particularly large oak had fallen right across the path. She was trying to find a way round it when someone rose up in front of her and caught the mare’s reins. Catarina’s heart gave a leap of fright. Perhaps she ought to have brought the groom, she thought in sudden panic, but she had always ridden alone, expecting to be safe on Walter’s land.
It was a man, dressed in what looked like rags, his hair wild and tangled, his face and hands streaked with dirt. The mare, startled, tried to rear, but he held her firmly, and began stroking her neck, crooning softly so that she soon quietened.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded, thankful to find her voice calm and steady. Then she looked closer at him. ‘It’s Dan, isn’t it? You used to work for Mr Lewis.’
‘Aye, used to, Missus. My lady, that is. I didn’t mean ter frighten the mare. I’m sorry. But I ‘as ter speak wi’ someone. An’ Mr Jeremy ain’t ‘ere.’
‘I’m so sorry about your wife, Dan, and that you’ve lost your cottage. Where are you living? Have you another job?’
Looking as he did, he would have problems finding anything, she thought. She had heard that some of the people from villages nearby had left and gone to Bristol to find work, since there was not enough on the farms for everybody. Was that because of the enclosures everyone was talking about?
Dan was shaking his head. ‘It were me own doin’s, I were daft, an’ my poor Annie ‘ad ter suffer fer it. I could a’ killed meself after what she done, but that there Ellen, enough ter drive a man mad, she were. And Annie, she dain’t want me no more. Said as ‘ow six childer were enough, an’ on’y one livin’, so I weren’t ter go near ‘er. It were more than flesh and blood could stand, so it were, lyin’ in same bed an’ ‘er so cold. We’d bin wed sixteen year.’
Catarina pushed away the thoughts of Dan and his wife in bed, together, but forced to be celibate. At least she and Walter had always occupied separate rooms.
‘You had a boy, I think. What’s happened to him?’
‘Annie’s sister took ‘im. ‘E’s got a good job now, errand boy fer a shop in Bristol.’
‘So where are you living?’
‘Shack. In woods. I’ve got fellers bring me bread. I’m not poachin’ Mr Jeremy’s conies.’
Fleetingly Catarina thought that a pity. If he were convicted he would be sent out to New South Wales and might be reunited with Annie. He seemed fond enough of her, deep down. But she could hardly suggest such a course.
‘What do you want?’ she repeated.
‘Could yer ‘av a word wi’ Mr Lewis? If ‘e’d gi’ me me job back, I’d work fer lowest rates. I know I don’t deserve it, but it weren’t my fault Ellen’s lad an’ ‘is friends come lookin’ fer me an’ started a fight. I’d sleep in barn, I don’t want cottage back. It ‘ld remind me too much of my Annie.’
‘I’ll speak to him,’ Catarina promised. It had, from what Staines had told her, been Dan’s fault in the first place, and Annie had been provoked. Losing her, and the guilt he felt, was punishment enough.