Seasons of Love (27 page)

Helen woke with a start.

‘I hear you're not feeling well, ma’am.’ Becky cast a professional eye over her mistress and found her very pale.

‘I'm just - tired. And a little nauseous. The travelling and the sad events seem to have upset my stomach.’ Helen fiddled with the edge of the sheet, then confided in a rush, ‘And yesterday was a dreadful strain. A morning in bed will soon put me right. I'm rarely ill.’

‘Are you sure you're not coming down with something, ma’am? Perhaps you have a cold starting?’

‘Well, my head does ache - but I'm not at all sniffly.’

‘And you standing by the graveside yesterday in that cold wind! Asking for trouble, it was!’

‘I couldn’t let Charles go to his grave alone! None of those other people cared about him.’

Becky’s expression softened for a moment. ‘Aye, well, he was a fine boy, even if I do say so as brought him up, and he grew into a fine gentleman, too. I never thought I'd outlast him.’ She realised that this sort of talk would not cheer her mistress up and changed her tone abruptly. ‘Well, that's all over with now, isn't it? And you still have your son.’

‘Yes. I do.’ Helen wiped her eyes. ‘I'm sorry. I'm not usually so weepy. I - I despise women who cry all over everyone!’ She blew her nose vigorously, but the tears continued to flow.

Becky eyed her narrowly. These symptoms - in anyone else, she'd be wondering if - but Sir Charles had been dead long enough for Helen to know if she were carrying his child, surely? Still, it wouldn't hurt to check up. Some women were very irregular. It was best to be sure what an illness was and what it was not, if you were to nurse someone better.

‘Have you had any other symptoms, ma’am?’

‘Symptoms? Of what?’

‘Of what's wrong with you.’

‘I told you! I'm just tired and - and the journey has upset my stomach.’

‘Worse in the mornings, is it, the sickness?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact . .. ’ Helen stopped in mid-sentence and stared at Becky, then said faintly, ‘It can't be that! Charles always said he had never fathered a child and . .. ’ Her voice trailed away, then she stared again at Becky. ‘But - my courses have stopped, and I'm usually quite regular. I can't remember when - I've been so busy I didn't think about it, but . . . ’

‘How long?’

Helen did a quick calculation. ‘It must be over three months. We - made love almost till the end.’ She could not help smiling. ‘Oh - oh, I dare not hope!’

‘It should be showing a little by now, ma’am. Will you let me look at you? I've delivered half the babies in Ashdown. I'd soon know if you were carrying a child.’

Five minutes later she smiled her mistress. ‘Unless I'm very much mistaken, and I never have been before, you're expecting a child.’

Helen's white pinched face was suddenly transformed into a glow of happiness. ‘Oh, to have Charles's child! There's nothing -
nothing
I can think of in the world that would make me happier!’

Becky's wrinkled hand closed over hers and they sat quietly for a moment or two.

What a nice lass she was! the old nurse thought At that moment, she decided she would be the one to look after Helen Carnforth - and the baby, too, when it was born. It was for this the Lord had spared her, gifted her with such a long life. ‘Well, my love, you've got me to look after you and it'll make me happy, too, to see Master Charles's child born. It's terrible sad when a man leaves no one behind to carry on his line, terrible sad.’

Helen grasped her hand. ‘Thank you, Becky. I'm grateful.’

After a few minutes, the old woman stood up and said briskly, for there was no use dwelling on sad thoughts, ‘We must send a message to Mr Napperby straight away.’

‘Mr Napperby? Why? I mean, I shall tell him, of course, but there's no hurry, surely?’

‘What if it's a boy?’

It took time for the implications of that to register, then Helen gasped. ‘Dear heavens! That would mean - it would mean that . . . ’

‘That Daniel Carnforth is not the heir. So it's not just a private event, ma’am.’

‘N-no. But, we could wait a week or two, couldn't we? I'd like to keep it to myself for a while, grow used to the idea. And - I'd like to feel better before I face them.’

So weary did she look that Becky nodded. It could do no harm and the main thing was that her poor mistress keeps the child. ‘Well, you
are
very tired and in your condition, it's most important that you rest. We'll give it out that you're suffering from exhaustion until you're ready to face people, my dear - ma’am, I should say.’

‘
My dear
sounds fine to me. Oh, Becky, how wonderful it all is!'

Becky beamed at her. That was how a woman should feel about a child! She had no patience with fine ladies who moaned and complained their way through their confinements.

So it was that Harry was left more or less to his own devices for the next couple of days, for even Briggs, who normally spent quite a lot of time with him, was busy acquiring horses and vehicles for his mistress, and making inquiries in Bedderby about a cook-housekeeper.

Although Harry was allowed to go and see his mother, he found her sleepy and disinclined to talk. Becky explained that she was worn out with nursing his stepfather and then coming to England.

Harry understood that perfectly well, and tried not to be a nuisance, but he rather wished he could have consulted her about something that was worrying him.

Having had time to think it over, he had become rather ashamed of his outburst to Mr Carnforth after the funeral. He was pretty sure that neither his mother nor his step-father would have approved of his behaviour. It was not only ungentlemanly to insult a man under his own roof, it was babyish and uncivil as well. The proper thing to do, he decided eventually, was to go and apologise, and the sooner the better.

When, for the second day running, his mother kept to her bed and Briggs disappeared into Bedderby to look at a horse, Harry decided to do something about his rudeness himself. It was all pretty easy, after all. He would walk over to the Manor, which was only just along the North Drive and turn left (he had checked the route out with Susan) and he would tender a civil apology to his guardian.

He sought out Becky and told her that he was going out for a walk. ‘Towards the Manor, you know. I'd like to look at my step-father's old home again. There were too many people there before.’

Well, she thought, the boy couldn't come to much harm in their own woods, and it was a lovely day. ‘Stick to the paths, then, lovie. You don't know the woods yet.’

‘Oh, I will, Becky, I will!’

But he was tempted from the path within a couple of hundred yards by the most splendid tree he'd ever climbed. And while he was up it, he saw another, only a little way beyond it, that was even bigger. Not out of sight of the path, or not much. And after that, there was a brook. Before long Harry had his shoes and socks off and was paddling up the stream. A large elm tree was his final undoing. He got higher up it than he had ever climbed before.

Suddenly there was a creaking, wrenching sound, and the branch on which he was perched broke under him. He clutched vainly at another branch, uttered a high, frightened cry and fell with sickening rapidity to the ground. Luckily there were enough branches on the way down to break his fall and the earth was soft under the tree from the recent rains, but he was still knocked senseless.

When Master Harry didn't return for his mid-day meal, Becky began to worry, for he had a hearty appetite and was usually ready to eat before the food was. By two o'clock, with Briggs still away, she decided to send Susan over to the big house to inquire if anyone had seen Harry. Perhaps they had given him a meal there.

No one at the big house had seen him and Susan panicked. ‘He's lost, then!’ she wailed, clutching her chest dramatically. ‘He don't know them old woods, he don't, bein' a foreigner. You could wander about for
days
in there! You could starve to death!’

A voice behind her made her jump with shock and utter a little screech.

‘Which foreigner are you talking about?’ asked Daniel, who often used the kitchen entrance when he was dirty.

‘Ooh, sir! Ooh, you made me fair jump out of my skin!’

‘Which foreigner is lost?’ he repeated impatiently.

‘Master Harry, sir. He went out for a walk this mornin' an' he hasn't been seen since. Comin'

over this way, he was, to look at the big house, and he didn’t come back for his meal, so my auntie sent me to ask if anyone had seen him. And no one has. He never even got here. Likely they'll find his body one day, a-moulderin' in the woods.’

‘Don't talk such rubbish, girl! He'll have wandered off to climb a tree.’ If he had been ten years younger, or less conscious of his new dignity, Daniel would have done the same thing a few times himself. The woods at Ashdown Park had the best climbing trees he'd ever seen.

‘Well, he ent come back, my lord, and it's past three o'clock now. And that lad wouldn't miss a meal, not for anything. Eats like a young horse, he does.’

‘What does his mother say?’

‘We haven't told her. She's not well. And my Aunt Becky says she's had enough upsets, so we're to wait till we know something.’

‘She's ill?’ His voice was sharp.

‘Just suffering from exhaustion, like. Fair done up she was after the funeral, poor thing.’

‘Where's Briggs? He seems a sensible fellow. And he knows the boy. What does he think about it?’

‘Mr Briggs has gone off to the other side of Bedderby to look at a horse. Won't be back till after dark, I reckon, and it'll be too late then.’ Susan was determined to look on the black side.

Daniel sighed. He could see nothing for it but to send some men out to look for the boy. And he supposed he'd better go himself as well. He
was
the lad's guardian, after all.

An hour's search of the woods close to the North Avenue brought no results. Nor had Harry returned home. Daniel began to feel anxious. He set off back from the Dower House, his men behind him, and decided to follow his hunch about climbing trees, stopping every few paces to stare into the woods. Sure enough, at a bend in the avenue, he looked to the left and saw a magnificent beech tree, the sort to tempt any lad. He went over to examine it and found scrape marks on the trunk, as if it had been recently climbed.

‘Spread out!’ he told the men with him. ‘I'd say he made those marks.’

‘Ah, boys will allus climb trees,’ agreed one of them easily.

‘An' boys will allus hurt themselves,’ said one of his fellows, who was more pessimistic about what life could do to you. ‘That poor woman's just lost her husband. Be a downright shame if she lost the boy too. My niece Susan said she fair dotes on him. Nor she isn't like all them silly tales we heard. Real nice, she is. A pleasure to work for, our Susan says.’

Daniel told them curtly to stop gossiping and start looking around, but their words lingered in his mind. The boy had shouted at him after the funeral only because he thought Daniel had made his mother cry again, and that childish accusation had hit home. The Carnforths had treated her pretty shabbily. Though he'd not been treated well, either. But he didn’t like to think of her crying, with no one but a boy to comfort her.

Only yesterday, Napperby had admitted that even he hadn't realised quite how run down the estate was, since he'd only ever dealt with the agent on his quarterly visits, and naturally the agent had always tried to put the best face on things. The accounts might be in order, but the buildings weren’t. ‘Mrs Carnforth will be very sorry that the way Sir Charles has left things will have such a deleterious effect on the running of the estate.’

‘You're not to tell her.’

‘But perhaps she could - ’

‘I don't want anyone's help - or their pity. The estate is my responsibility now.’ Daniel had written to his old neighbour immediately after his mother had left and agreed to sell Bellborough.

‘Anyway, the sale of my old home will give me the money I need,’ he said with determined, if false cheerfulness. ‘After all, I don’t need two houses, do I?’

Mr Napperby wasn’t convinced by the tone, but when he stole a glance sideways, he saw the pain in Daniel’s eyes and made no comment. What could you say? Sometimes, necessity was a harsh master.

Frowning at the memory of that conversation, Daniel stood by the tree and looked about him.

What would have tempted a lad to go further into the woods? Another fine tree drew his attention, then the stream. Just the sort of place he had loved as a boy! Would Harry have gone upstream or down? Up, he decided. It was always more fun to wade against the current. He set off along the bank. Aha! A small branch had been broken off there not long ago, probably to poke into holes and swish in the water. He smiled reminiscently. He had done the same thing himself many a time.

He rounded a bend in the stream and came upon the most magnificent climbing tree he had ever seen in his life. An ancient elm! What tales that could tell! He walked slowly round it, then exclaimed in dismay. At its foot on the other side, half hidden by a dip in the ground, lay a small figure with shining golden hair and very muddied clothes. Daniel knelt down and ran his hands over the small body.

With relief, he found that Harry was still alive. But he had a nasty bump on his forehead and a swollen ankle. With deft hands that had set more than one broken limb on an animal, Daniel felt the ankle. No, it didn't seem to be broken. Thank goodness! But the boy was still unconscious, and that might be more serious.

There was something very vulnerable about that still figure, he found. He brushed the damp curls from the bruised forehead and discovered that it felt hot. Some nice cool water wouldn’t come amiss to bathe the wound. The boy must have been lying in the sun, for he was quite flushed.

He raised his voice to call for help, but no one came. The men must have gone the other way.

For lack of any other receptacle, Daniel sacrificed his hat and went to fill it with water at the stream. After he had bathed Harry's face with his handkerchief and then laid it on the boy’s forehead like a cold compress, he was rewarded by a sigh and signs of returning consciousness in his patient.