“My lady, it may be that you need more attention than either David or I are capable of,” Susan tried to explain. “How wonderful, really, that she cares so much.” At least she will not look at you like Aunt Louisa, measuring your worth and value and begrudging food in your mouth.
“I will be an exhibit!” the widow hissed. “I will be a national relic!” She took Susan by the ties of her nightgown and pulled her closer. “Miss Hampton, I do not think you can understandthis, but I have ridden with giants and I do not intend to be fed pabulum or turned into a shrine to be visited and tiptoed around!”
She lay back then among the pillows, exhausted by her exertion. She closed her eyes again, and spoke with the greatest effort. “My daughter-in-law will coddle me and cosset me and talk baby talk.” She seemed to sink into the pillow. “It is not a warrior’s end.” Eyes still closed, she turned her head restlessly toward the door. “Sergeant Wiggins would understand. He knows what it meant to be part of that adventure.” She slapped her hand feebly against the bedclothes. “I wish that you had gone for the doctor instead of him. He understands.”
So do I, Lady Bushnell, Susan thought. Oh, you don’t know. I feel all the cowardice of the Hamptons welling up inside me. Papa would blench and run, offering a thousand excuses with a charming smile. Aunt Louisa would bluster and gobble, and then before you know it, would have backed out of the room. But I must sit here because David told me to.
And she wanted to, Susan discovered with a shock as she went to the basin for a washcloth, squeezed out the moisture and added a drop of lavender. She wiped Lady Bushnell’s face, humming to herself something she remembered from Mama. The tune went back beyond her memory, before there were even words.
“Lullabies, Miss Hampton?” Lady Bushnell said finally, her voice more calm now.
“Is that it?” Susan asked, smiling in spite of herself. The lavender calmed her. “See now, if the sergeant were here, all you would get would be military tunes.”
To her gratification, Lady Bushnell smiled and opened her eyes. Her hand relaxed over her heart, but her eyes went to the door again. “I would like to hear his footsteps about now, wouldn’t you?” she asked. “He has a nice stride.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Lady Bushnell chuckled, then tightened her hand over her heart again. “Susan, imagine watching a whole army with that certain swing to their walk. Is it any wonder we did not so much mind riding in the rear?”
Susan laughed out loud, leaning forward to touch her forehead to Lady Bushnell’s. “Now you confess what kept you following the drum!” she teased gently.
The widow smiled back, her eyes dreamy now, the hurt and pain lessened. “Miss Hampton, do you know what it is like to be loved?”
Susan shook her head. “I wish I did,” she replied frankly, then grinned at Lady Bushnell. “Of course, there is the vicar...”
“No, not him,” the widow said almost impatiently. “He would probably think he had to ask permission to hold your hand, and then only after sitting in my parlor for a year or two.”
It was too many words at once. Susan brought the glass to her lips again for another sip. Silence followed, a silence so long that Susan thought she slept. The bailiff did not ask my permission to kiss me, she thought as she rested her hand lightly on Lady Bushnell’s arm. I think he could have done anything he wanted without a word of protest from me. “Maybe I could guess,” she ventured, her voice soft even to her own ears.
“In that case, get my letters,” ordered the widow, just the hint of command back again. “After all, if I am determined to die tonight, I want you to read them to me first. It has been so long.”
“But every day I see you with them in your lap,” Susan said. She knelt by the bed to pick up the letters closest to them, put them within Lady Bushnell’s reach, then went to the desk by the window, where she remembered others.
“Susan, let me give you some advice for when you are old.”
There was something so serious in Lady Bushnell’s voice that Susan returned to the bed and sat on the edge of it, the letters inher hand. “I like to think that I will appreciate useful advice,” she said. “No other Hampton does, so it must be a good thing.”
Lady Bushnell gathered the letters closer to her as a mother would gather her children. “When you are old, my dear, you may be surrounded by people who love you. Your children maybe there, your husband, too – and don’t look at me like that! I am certain you will find a husband.”
She held the letters close to her face for a moment, then rested them on the coverlet. “Or it may be that you will be alone, as I am, and relying on the help of paid employees.”
“Oh, but…” Susan began.
“Hush! I know David Wiggins cares about me; he always has. I am beginning to think that you do, too. But you are both in my employ, and that is not the same as family.”
“No, it is not,” Susan said simply.
“My advice is this, and perhaps it’s advice that you can use now: Don’t ever be too proud to ask for help.”
Lady Bushnell looked at her with a steady gaze as little spots of color blazed out from her cheeks, replacing her pallor. “So I am asking for your help now. If this is to be my last night, I want you to read my letters to me. They are all I have left of my loves, and it has been so long.”
Susan returned her gaze, confused at first, and then let out her breath in a sigh that came up from her bare toes as she began to understand. “I did not realize…we all thought…the letters on your lap,” she stammered, the words spilling out of her. “Oh my lady, a little trouble like this comes with age. We didn’t know it was so serious! Were you afraid that if David knew your vision was this diminished, he would tell your daughter-in-law?”
The widow nodded, averting her eyes in embarrassment. “I wanted you all to think that I was in control of things.” She reached for Susan. “The ink is too faded! I have sat with those letters for a year now, and I must hear them! I have no otherfamily around me except these ghosts…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured weakly at the letters on the bed.
Moved to tears, Susan grasped Lady Bushnell’s hands and stared down at them until she felt controlled enough to speak. “It will be my delight to read them to you.” She felt her voice grow strong. “And not only tonight, but any time you wish.”
She glanced at the letters. The ink was faded, but she knew it was not beyond her capacity. “Only let me get a shawl and bring a lamp closer to the bed. And perhaps some shoes. My feet are cold.”
