Lady in the Veil (7 page)

He kept prodding Eliza’s belly with a roar. ‘When are you going to pup? About time there was something to show for all that humble pie. England expects, Mirabel. We have to admit the
farm boy’s scrubbed up well and kept the bills paid.’ He looked around at his own dusty drawing room with dismay. Pictures were sold and he coughed into his glass.

It was on the way home that Mirabel felt a wave of sickness coming over her. ‘Stop the carriage!’ she said forgetting herself for a moment.

‘What’s the matter?’ Eliza leant out of the window. ‘Urgh!! You’ve been sick.’

There had only been one other darkened lovemaking. She couldn’t recall when her own courses had last bled. It was before hay timing and that was in July and now it was September. Oh hell!
How was she going to pull that iron out of the fire?

Matt woke before dawn. The nights were drawing in fast and it would soon be time for gathering in the flock and sorting out the ewes for tupping time. So many orders to give
and fields to check but his heart was heavy as he made his rounds. His nights were lonely, for Mirabel’s door was barred against him most nights and he felt cheated. Mother tiptoed around
him, pretending all was well, heads down in the dairy and the barns, not understanding why he had burdened himself with such an expensive wife. There was no one to talk to, not even the Parson
about all this disappointment.

It was always Bella, the maid who saw to Mirabel’s meals and sometimes came down to the kitchen to read out aloud of an evening to his Mother for she had a soft clear voice and nice manner
with the other servants. He was getting used to seeing her swollen face and puckered skin but it offended his eye nonetheless. It pained him that his wife preferred her maid’s company to his
own and looked on him in disbelief when he complained to her over dinner.

‘You wanted Mirabel Dacre as your wife and here she be. You must take as you find and be grateful that my father disposed of me in your favour,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t
help that sorrow has burdened me like this.’

He felt alone in a houseful of women and he hated it. The rooms he had prepared with such anticipation were airless and silent. Sometimes when the emptiness of his new house forced him out into
the fields, he caught a glimpse of the servant girl striding out at a pace towards the waterfall and cover of Gunnerside copse. At sunrise and sunset he saw her lone figure haunting the field
walls. She avoided all contact with villagers but kept to her tasks by her Mistress’s side or wandered over the moors where no one could see her disfigurement.

Ugliness has its own beauty, he thought, as he found himself staring at her. How could she gaze at her reflection in water or catch herself in the mirror or the great parlour windows and not
shudder? He remembered that afternoon when he and Mirabel had taken the secret photographs. It was strange that when he brought out his own copy to remind her she had turned away.

‘I don’t remember. It was a long time ago. Put it away,’ she sighed. He no longer took many landscapes. The fun had gone out of it and Mirabel showed little interest in his
attempts to make an album of all the alterations to Yewbank House, as it was now called.

Matt was a man who loved beauty in objects and decoration. He loved the precision and order of his new frontage, its correct proportions. It added such graciousness to the outline of his old
house. Then there was the terrace walk and the walled garden built to his exact requirements. There were new trees planted for his heirs to enjoy, protecting the house against the cold
north-easterlies, yet Mirabel had never once crossed the threshold to admire all his handiwork but viewed it all only from the windows of light with always the same old excuse.

‘I wish I could take the air with you down in the garden but when I step through the door, Mr Stockdale, I cannot breathe and the earth rushes up to greet me. This is my prison now, my
cage, and I feel like a linnet that cannot sing. I feel safer when Bella is close by and we look out from the window seat, sewing, looking out over the valley. That world outside no longer
interests me.’

How could he not feel cheated of hope? There was no marriage or companionship in this house. He saw more of the maid than he did of his wife. Yet he couldn’t forget those wonderful nights
when she had embraced him so eagerly and fallen on him with such passion. He had woken and reached out for her but found the bed empty. Just the tinge of rose oil scented the sheets where her
silken shift had caressed his skin. Now he wondered if it was all but some fantastical drunken dream and that he was bewitched, so how could he believe it when Mirabel told him she was with
child?

‘What foolishness is this,’ he screamed. ‘In God’s truth, it must be a bastard, for I’ve fathered no child from your loins! I have scarce laid a finger on you since
we were wed . . .’

‘Hush, Matt, don’t fret, it takes but one joining together. It’s God’s will, wait and see,’ she smiled lifting her blue eyes from her stitching for once.
‘Look, I’m preparing the white linen. It is but early days but the child is yours, believe me. I asked the Lord for a miracle and he has provided one,’ she turned to her maid
skulking in the shadows in her usual corner, her head bowed. ‘Bella, tell him about the morning ailments and the sickness. See my stomach already swells in anticipation,’ she smiled
patting her stomach gently with her sewing.

‘You are deranged,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve scarce been in your bed long enough to serve you and that was months ago, so how can this be? Have I not done everything to make
your happiness as a husband, everything but that,’ he whispered, blushing to be talking in front of a servant. ‘Your father has cheated me and you have cheated me of my rightful dues.
Now you tell me I’m to be a father . . . That is a miracle, indeed. He should have told me you were not a full guinea in your head.’

Matt could scarce take in this news. If it were true, he should be bursting with pride but he felt confused.

At his words, Bella rose to comfort her Mistress, looking up at him with such wide-eyed amazement while Mirabel looked up smiling, ignoring his words as if they were some jest. ‘He does
not understand, does he? How gracious the Lord is in his mercy but it is all here in my stitching, the truth of the matter.’

‘Show me,’ he grabbed the fine cotton and flung it on the floor in disgust. ‘You make fools of me, both of you, and I will stand no more of it. All I wanted was to make you
happy and this is my reward! The Squire gives me his moon-crazed daughter. He saw me coming and fobbed you off on me,’ he said, making for the door. He didn’t care if the whole
household were bending their ears to the door. ‘You’ve made a fool of me and I’m not standing for it!’

The maid bent down and picked up the cloth without a word, looking up at him with her strange puffed lids and he saw they were sprinkled with tears.

‘Be patient, sir. I should not be present to hear such arguments. Do not shame yourself. All will be made clear and you will understand.’ She stood in the corner of the room with her
head bowed.

‘You both talk in riddles,’ he yelled, banging the door shut and storming down the stairs in a thunderous rage.

‘Did I not do it right?’ Eliza sighed when her husband had gone, seeing her sister’s tears. ‘Come sit by me and don’t upset yourself at such insults. He
doesn’t understand.’

‘Nor do I that this has happened so quickly and now we must be so careful in our scheme. The Stockdales are good people and trusting. It’s all gone too far and now there’s a
child to consider. I just wish there was another way but I’ll have to lace up tight and keep out of sight,’ her sister replied, feeling tired and sick and drained all at the same
time.

‘But I need you here,’ Eliza said.

‘You have your windows and your silks, your pictures . . . leave the rest to me,’ Mirabel answered, making for the door. She needed to be out in the fresh air to clear her head from
all the wounding words. What they were doing now was wrong but it had seemed so right in York. There was such a look of sadness on Matt’s face as he struggled to take in this extraordinary
news. Why should his wife not be with child after a few months? The more the real Mirabel lived in the household, the more she was coming to admire his kindness and generosity, his pride and
hard-working endeavour to give them every comfort at the expense of his own happiness. Now Papa would be pleased to have an heir and their contract secure.

As she strode down to her Foss hideaway, her heart leapt at the thought of bearing Matt’s child and the passion that had brought it about. She just knew it would be a son. Then the young
farmer would forget his anger and accept the child as his own but the next few months would be hard to disguise her swelling stomach. Thank goodness she had her stays to keep her growth in check
and a full apron and cloak. They would have to make some excuse to make their way back to Lawton Hall and stay there out of sight until the deception was complete. This could be done but only if
she took care of every detail.

Matt was wrong to call Eliza crazy. Her sister was fragile and delicate and needed protection. She was not to blame for any of this. Once there was a baby in the house, her sister’s place
would be secure enough. She herself must be strong for both of them, careful not to strain her body too hard and keep out of view as much as possible. Folk see what they want to see, she smiled,
and Eliza was the sun now and she must take her usual place in the shadows. Servants were invisible, seeing all and saying nothing if they were wise. She was learning so much about how everyday
villagers lived their lives. How hard work coarsened their hands and faces, bent their backs. It was another world but up here among the hills it was bearable.

‘That Bella is a right funny one,’ said Matt’s mother one morning as she inspected the laundry basket. ‘I shouldn’t be saying this to a lad, but
for a servant she wears some fancy stays and shifts. These York girls must live like ladies. I’ve never seen such whalebone or quality stitching. Makes my poor efforts look like sacking. No
drab cloth for yon young lady. I think she’s above herself for a maid. You’ll have to take her down a peg or two . . . even if she is a hard worker and doesn’t give me
back-word.’

Matt stood puzzled, staring at these female contraptions that were a mystery to him. Mother was right. He’d seen it for himself. Who was Mistress and who was maid in his household? Bella
seemed to be always giving the orders to his wife and it wasn’t right.

‘You must not stand for such insolence,’ he explained to his wife in her parlour next day. ‘Bella’s but a maid and an ugly one at that. I don’t know how you can
bear the sight of her.’

‘I don’t see it. I don’t look on it,’ his wife paused from her sewing. ‘She wasn’t always thus. She was as fair as I was once upon a time. She is not to be
dismissed, for I owe her much. She’s my arms and legs, my messenger and helpmeet. We are never to be parted and we talk of many things.’

‘I wish you would talk to me. Your head is allus bowed over that blessed needle,’ he said, aching to hold her and make her understand his loneliness in this marriage. He still
couldn’t take the news that he would be a father in the New Year.

‘I’m sewing a layette for our child,’ she replied.

Matt shook his head back, ‘Are you sure there’s a babby? Has Doctor Brindle examined you yet?’

‘No, not yet . . . I’ll have no more quacks fingering my body. Wait and be patient. It will come when the curlew returns,’ she argued, returning to her needlework with a
smile.

Matt sat down, exhausted. There was no use trying to coax her out of doors; she would only collapse in a faint. He ought to send for the Apothecary, at least, who might give her some calming
pills. Truth was, he did not want anyone else to see his dilemma, to see the poor bargain he had made with the old Squire. He did not want her sent away to some asylum if this was all some untruth.
In truth, the maid always managed to calm her nerves and keep her occupied and content in her own little world. Without such an assistant he would have no option but to hide her away.

Sometimes he came upon Bella busying herself around the farm, taking an unusual interest in their stock for a townsbred, learning to milk the cows with gentle fingers that calmed even the most
restless cows in his dairy. Beasts didn’t flinch from her face but yielded up the milk into her pail. He found her with the dairymaid making cheese and butter. She had a way with them as if
she was in charge, not they, and they didn’t seem to resent it, which he found strangely endearing. Her voice was soft and educated. All he knew was that she had come from York as
Mirabel’s maid. In truth he was growing used to her quiet ways and shadowy presence and his mother looked forward to evening readings.

‘She reads like a lady. She must’ve been a beauty. It must be hard to lose your looks like that,’ Mother sighed and smiled. ‘Still, she’s our gain, for we get the
benefit of her teaching Sadie the dairymaid her letters.’

It was not lost on Matt that the city maid was taking to country life in the way he had hoped her Mistress would. Her body, her cheeks were filling out and her curly hair and blue eyes sparkled
as Mirabel’s never would, cloistered away from fresh mountain air.

Only when his wife’s stomach swelled a little each month did he sense change was afoot. He yearned for those night dreams and passions. Was his wife hiding her secret lusts too? It made
him smile to think that his quiet mouse by day could have been such a strumpet by night, riding him roughly until he grunted with pleasure at their secret jousting. Now he must be patient, for the
door was always locked from him at night, but once the child was born, all would be well again.

As the months fled past, it was getting harder for Mirabel to disguise her condition. Without the tight lacing, her condition would have soon been discovered. Eliza could pad
up her waist and waddle but she hardly left the room. No one expected anything else from her. They had to be so careful now and it was her greatest worry that she might deliver at Yewbank under the
scrutiny of all the maids and Matt’s old mother, Lucy Stockdale, would want to be at the birthing. They must make sure they were out of sight when the confinement came and that meant a long
visit to Papa and the services of some discreet midwife from Skelsby who could be bribed into silence when the time came.