Salting the Wound (19 page)

By then her stomach would be as round as a suet pudding, Marianne thought. The matrons would be counting on their fingers and giving each other knowing looks, and Charlotte would have disowned her.

The fact that Nick had been right about Lucian was cold comfort to her. Not that it mattered now. ‘Well, it was expected. She’s an heiress and Lucian has always felt the need to accumulate wealth. Do you remember when we were young and he had expectations? He always talked about how he was going to possess a fortune when he grew up. He thought he’d inherit his grandfather’s estate because he was the first boy to be born into his mother’s family for fifty years. But the estate was shared between his mother and his aunts.’

‘There was a time when I thought you and Lucian . . . well, I know you were fond of each other. I thought you might be upset, since it was strongly rumoured that he held you in great affection. You would have made a perfect match.’

‘No we wouldn’t have. He’s too set in his ways and I would have had to behave perfectly. You know I love to be free. Isabelle Martin will be perfect for him.’ She laughed, for truly Nick had replaced Lucian in more ways than one.

‘You’ve changed somehow, Marianne. We should invite people here, try and find you a husband.’

‘Oh, I have . . . decided not to marry,’ she said, catching herself just in time.

‘Marianne! Of course you must wed, if you can. It’s expected.’

‘There was a time when it was expected of you and Nick . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I was surprised when you humiliated him like that. He hasn’t been here since, so it didn’t take you long to forget him.’

‘At least he asked me for my hand,’ Charlotte snapped. ‘Several times, in fact.’

Thank goodness her sister had refused him. ‘You were horrid to him, you know. I did feel for him.’

‘I was piqued with him, I admit. Seth tells me I went too far. They’ve formed a friendship, and he wants to invite Nick to dinner the next time he’s home.’

Marianne’s eyes widened. Perhaps they could announce their marital status then, though she doubted if her state would remain undetected. ‘Nick didn’t tell me that. And will you?’

‘Goodness, there’s no reason why he should have told you, is there? It’s not as though you’ve seen him since you left the ship. To be honest, I don’t know whether I want him here. I miss him sometimes. Sometimes I think that I might still have feelings for him.’

Marianne’s heart slammed against her chest as she stared at her sister. If Charlotte turned on the charm and won Nick back she’d die of a broken heart. ‘Surely not. You seem so happy with Seth.’

‘I am. But he hasn’t got Nick’s charm. Goodness, the man was always larger than life. But he was like a dog with a bone, one he’d never let go. He wanted to own me, and I doubt if he’ll ever grow out of that.’

Marianne tested the water with a light laugh. ‘Perhaps he’ll marry me instead if I ask him. Then we’d both be out of your way.’

‘Don’t be silly. Nick’s always regarded you as a child, and a nuisance who tagged around after us. That’s why he used to bring Lucian with him. To keep you occupied. He must have fumed when he discovered you on his ship. If you think you’ve got a claim there, forget it. He’s always loved me, and he’s too old to transfer his affections to another. Besides, even if he offered for you, I wouldn’t allow such a match.’

Charlotte had no say in the matter now, Marianne thought with some satisfaction. Her sister was right about one thing though. Nick had buckets of charm, and didn’t Marianne know it! He’d charmed her right into his bed . . . and not even his bed, but a bed that had been used to satisfy the carnal appetites in ways she couldn’t even dream about – yet! She tried not to grin. If Charlotte knew they were wed she’d take it personally, and she’d never speak to either of them again.

Marianne chewed over further worries she had. She suspected that she was carrying Nick’s child inside her. Although the thought filled her with an indescribable delight, if she did prove to be with child she wondered how long she’d be able to hide her condition from everyone. It would be at least five months before he returned. Sometimes she felt sick when she woke, and she couldn’t remember when she’d last experienced her menses. Just before she’d sailed away to Boston with Nick, she thought, though they’d always been erratic. If she was that way, then the infant would be born in either July or August, and by April her condition would be apparent.

Halfway through December Marianne’s suspicions had become a certainty in her mind.

She heaved a sigh of relief. By now
Samarand
should be sailing into Melbourne Harbour. Marianne had become adept at concealing her sickness from her sister. Now she’d have to try and conceal her changing body shape as well for the next three months.

The weather was bitter, but not cold enough for snow, and the clouds allowed the sun through, so the pools and streams glittered with overhanging icicles.

That morning she’d taken John out on the heath. ‘Always be careful of the pools, John, especially the stagnant ones, since they’re full of rotting animals and leaves, and are poisonous. Best to keep away from them altogether, and from the flooded quarry pits, as well. Drink from the chalk streams if you’re thirsty.’

They’d cut armfuls of holly, the berries a startling red cluster against the dark prickly leaves. And they’d gone up to the pine copse to pick up some cones to burn for the fragrance. Piled on a sack, they dragged it back to the house along with some fallen branches to burn.

Seth helped them take it indoors, and they decorated the stairs and the hall.

There was a small fir tree on the table decorated with metal trumpets, wooden soldiers and silver drums. On the top Charlotte had placed a star covered in sparkling beads, and there were quilted snowflakes. Marianne could have sworn that some of them were made from scraps of the silk Nick had given her. Taking one from the tree she held its softness against her cheek.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ Charlotte said from the doorway.

‘It’s so soft and pretty. I should have liked to have helped make them.’

‘You can make the paper baskets if you like, and John can put almonds in them.’ Advancing, Charlotte took the snowflake from her and placed it back on the tree in exactly the same position as Marianne had taken it from. ‘It took me ages to get it looking just right. Stop fiddling with things.’

‘Nick will be spending Christmas thousands of miles away from his family,’ she thought to say, and Charlotte gave her a sharp look.

‘Why do you keep going on about Nick? I doubt if he’ll care about Christmas. He was an orphan, and he isn’t very family-minded. Besides, he’s a sailor. He probably has a woman waiting for him at every port.’

Jealousy squeezed a hand at Marianne’s innards. Had she just become one of them?

A demanding cry came from upstairs and Charlotte smiled wryly. Her life revolved about her children now. ‘I must go and feed him before they both start. Could you find some dry linen cloths and bring them up, please.’

Charlotte was feeding the children unaided now. The routine of looking after two babies was time-consuming. Marianne helped as much as she could with the washing, ironing and mending, and Seth had hired another maid, the fourteen-year-old daughter of one of his labourers. She was as thin as a bean pole and came in on a daily basis with her father, her raggy clothing covered in an equally raggy shawl. Later, he called in for her on the way home. Marianne felt sorry for her, and had already decided to give her a gift of a warm shawl for Christmas.

The laundry room had a copper boiler with a grate in the supporting bricks to set a fire. There was a wooden mangle, and racks that could be hoisted to the ceiling. The place was full of steam.

‘Don’t forget to rinse them properly before you put them through the mangle,’ Alice was telling the girl.

Picking up the folded linens, Marianne gave the young maid a sympathetic smile and went upstairs to the nursery, where Charlotte had Major Mitchell against her breast.

Jessica was kicking up a fuss from her crib, her legs and feet kicking at the air vigorously. When Marianne picked her up she quieted and gave her a gummy smile before turning her head towards her breast and nuzzling for a teat. A tender emotion rose in Marianne at the gesture and she smiled. ‘Sorry, my love, you’ll have to stay hungry for a little while longer. I’ll sing you a song, instead.’ She brought the child up to her shoulder and gently rocked her back and forth, singing a little lullaby. This time next year she’d have her own sweet infant to care for.

‘You’ll be a wonderful mother when the time comes,’ Charlotte said softly.

Startled, Marianne gazed at her, thinking for a moment that Charlotte had guessed. But no, Charlotte would not be either this relaxed or loving, or kind. Her babies had softened her, but not to the extent that she’d let Marianne get away with such a betrayal.

Marianne changed the subject. ‘I went to our mother’s grave yesterday to let her know we were both well. I talked to the Reverend Phipps, and he looked in the records for me.’

A watchful look came her way. ‘For what reason?’

‘To see if there was any record of an infant being buried with her.’

‘And . . . was there?’

‘No. He said that if the child had been stillborn she might have been unnamed and—’

‘There you are then. Why are you raking this up?’

‘Hearing Jessica cry a couple of days ago jogged my memory. I remembered hearing the baby cry on that night she was born, so she couldn’t have been stillborn.’

‘I expect she died shortly afterwards. How can you remember any of the details accurately after all these years? You were young and scared, we both were. I think you remember it because you want to believe she’s still alive. You always had a vivid imagination.’

‘What if she hadn’t died, though? What if we have a sister? Our aunt, Constance Jarvis, founded an orphanage and left most of her fortune to maintain it. What if the baby had been sent there?’

‘Then it’s the best place for her. I wouldn’t want anything to do with a child fathered by Erasmus Thornton, especially one who’d killed our mother.’

‘It’s not the child’s fault. Aren’t you curious?’

‘No, and it would be better if you weren’t. There’s enough scandal around us at the moment without you stirring up the past.’ She grimaced as she pulled Major Mitchell from her breast with a sucking sound. He flopped in her arms as relaxed as a jellyfish, then passed wind. It woke him up, so he jumped and looked at his mother with astonished eyes before he lapsed into sleep again.

The sisters looked at each other and laughed.

‘You can tell he’s a male,’ Charlotte said softly. ‘You’re a greedy little tyke Major Mitchell. I hope you’ve left something for your sister. Here, perhaps you wouldn’t mind changing his linen while I see to Jessica.’

‘As long as he doesn’t repeat that performance.’

Instead, Major Mitchell belched a bubble of milk from his mouth. She caught it with a flannel when it rolled down his cheek towards his ear. When she gently ran her finger along the underside of his foot his little pink toes curled under in reflex.

He had left something for his sister. Jessica’s appetite wasn’t as voracious as Mitchell’s, and she was soon satisfied and back in her crib, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide and her golden eyelashes fanning her cheeks as she began to drift into sleep.

‘They’re so beautiful,’ Marianne whispered, so not to wake them.

‘I’m so lucky to have them.’

Her own child would be dark-eyed like Nick, she thought, and its hair would curl darkly. She wanted to give him a son in his image. That would bind him to her. She would ask the gypsy to read her palm when she next saw her, and perhaps she’d buy a love charm.

The gypsies usually came in spring, and set up camp in the copse. The women would sell their pegs and tell fortunes on fair days in Wareham, which was the other side of the heath, or in Dorchester. The tinker would go round the streets of the towns to sharpen knives and scissors and repair pots and pans. He wore a battered stovepipe hat that he doffed at the ladies.

The gypsies didn’t all come and go at once. Some came early, some stayed on to work on various farms in teams, helping to bring in the harvest. After that, they went off to Somerset, Cornwall and Wiltshire to take advantage of the county fairs there.

When Marianne had been a child Jessica had woven her tales of lands across an ocean, a place where the ground looked like cream, the sea like lapis lazuli and the sun beat so hotly against your skin that it toasted it brown like the skin of the gypsies.

She and Charlotte had always been told to wear bonnets when they were out in the sun, otherwise their skin would no longer look white and delicate and they would age quickly.

As they stood together, arms around each other’s waists and gazing down at the babies, Marianne felt close to her sister. There had never been secrets between them before. She should tell Charlotte about her marriage to Nick, and the coming baby. But she needed to get one thing straight first.

‘Charlotte?’

‘What is it, Marianne?’

‘You said you still have feelings for Nick. You don’t still love him, do you?’

‘Of course not.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. I wasn’t talking about love. I was talking about . . . forbidden feelings. The ones you get when you look at men sometimes and wonder what it would be like with them.’

How dare Charlotte admit to having those sort of feelings for Nick when she was married to Seth? The moment of togetherness was lost when Marianne stated, because she couldn’t stop herself, ‘Like the feelings our mother had towards Erasmus Thornton, you mean?’

‘It’s not the same.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, I see. When you have them it’s divine, I suppose. When others have them it’s sinful.’

‘The difference is, I’d control mine and not allow Nick to take advantage of them. And I’d be much obliged if you’d stop bringing Nick Thornton into the conversation every five minutes. Anyone would think you were married to him.’

Marianne began to seethe, and decided that confessing all to Charlotte might not be a good thing to do at the moment. ‘Oh, do shut up, Charlotte. I’m going before we have an argument. I promised John we’d look at the stars through the telescope his grandfather sent him on the first clear night, and I want to draw a chart up.’