Miss Hurstman grinned.“That’s right, dear.My back’s broad.”
Thus did Eleanor find herself bullied back into life, and eventually she couldn’t help liking her new companion.Miss Hurstman was an arbitrary and self-willed lady, but she was also intelligent and witty and could discuss all sorts of subjects.She was totally unlike any woman Eleanor had ever met.
“I’m a black sheep,” Miss Hurstman said one day.“I never would be a proper lady.At least by now everyone accepts it.I go where I want, do as I please.I embarrass my family, but they’re a kind lot and don’t exactly shun me.Sometimes, like now, they find me useful.Though I must say Francis has always been the best of them.I put it down to the influence of that extraordinary husband of yours.If he’d been born a girl, he’d be like me.I like to think if I’d been born a boy, I’d have been like him.Look at each situation for what it is, not look to see what the others are doing, or for precedents.”
“Is that what you think he does?”Eleanor asked.She was always willing to talk about Nicholas.
“Don’t know,” said Miss Hurstman curtly, who never encouraged her in this.“I was talking of myself.”
After two weeks Eleanor was restored to vigor, but there was no further news.September was upon them and most members of the Company of Rogues had been compelled to go to country estates or to attend to other business.Before he left for the Priory, Francis stopped by.He was resolutely cheerful and utterly unconvincing.
Eleanor, however, refused to take any steps that would imply that Nicholas was dead.She had not even communicated with Lord Stainbridge.There was sufficient cash in the safe to handle expenses for some time, and her generous allowance continued to be paid directly into her account at Forbes Bank.There was no need yet to take steps to gain access to her husband’s other money.
There was also, she had to admit, little point in staying in town.In early October the two ladies moved to the Somerset estate.
Three days after they had left London, Eleanor’s post chaise swung into a short drive and up to the charming Queen Anne manor house called Redoaks.Eleanor gave a sigh of satisfaction and smiled at Arabella Hurstman.This, she instinctively felt, was home.Even if Nicholas never came back, she would cherish this place for his child.
She set about making it home.Jenny and Thomas had accompanied them, and there was a skeleton staff at the house.Local people were easily hired to fill out the staff.Though Nicholas had only recently acquired the estate, it was well cared for and the house was in good repair.There was a home farm that would supply most of their food.
Eleanor was touched to find her husband had sent orders shortly after their marriage that the caretakers be prepared for their arrival in the summer, and had made enquiries about the competence of the local midwife.
There was plenty of work to be done, however, for the house had been purchased in its entirety upon the death of an old gentleman and had been without the care of a mistress for some years.Eleanor was glad of this, for work deadened thought.
She and Miss Hurstman checked generations of linens, discarding some and gathering quite a pile of mending for the evenings.They investigated stocks of china and bric-a-brac and mentally separated furniture into sheep and goats.There was no hurry, and not much money, but in time some would be discarded to make way for better.
There was household management to be taken care of, too.They organized jam making and the setting up of preserves and supervised the safe storage of winter vegetables.The large old fireplaces were designed for logs, and so a supply had to be ordered from nearby Yeovil.
They felt no need of a butler, and so Eleanor investigated the cellars of Redoaks herself.The collection was extensive and looked excellent.It said a great deal for the honesty of the staff that it appeared intact.
She was made a little teary when she came across a half-dozen of a pale, dry port such as Nicholas had favored.She found herself standing and cradling a dusty bottle and put it down with disgust—disgust at such mooning, and at having disturbed the bottle, which would doubtless now take months to settle.
But then, she wondered sadly as she climbed the stairs, who would be wanting it, for months or even years?She returned to managerial tasks.Hard work was safer.
When she was not feeling industrious, Eleanor would sometimes sit in the autumn sun or take long walks along the country lanes, watching other’s industry, be it the local people laying down hay and cider or industrious squirrels with their mouths always full of nuts.She felt in tune with the simple cycle of survival.
Working hard and eating well, she was growing large with pregnancy.Her skin was touched with gold by the sun, and she had a dusting of freckles on her nose, which concerned her not one whit.She wore loose, comfortable gowns that would have horrified Madame Augustine and kept her hair in a simple knot.
She did not look too closely into her mind, but she knew there was a lie there—the lie that Nicholas was away for some perfectly good reason and would, one day, come home.
The midwife came to visit.Mrs.Stongelly was a pleasant, wise-eyed woman with a jolly smile and a fund of stories about the local folk.She asked a great many questions and examined Eleanor briefly.
“You’ll do,” she said.“Everything as it should be.Now you’re not to worry, me dear.I’ve delivered more babies than I care to think, and as long as a woman is healthy and doesn’t take any potions supposed to help but never do, it works out.Now after, I give no guarantees.God seems sometimes to want a good many little angels in His heaven.That is in His hands.”
She bustled around advising on arrangements for the baby.“Where’s that man of yours, my dear?I saw him two years gone.A goodly lad.”
“He has had to travel.Government business.I hope he will back in time for the confinement.”
It came out so easily.Eleanor found it more comforting every time she said it—to the parson’s wife, the squire’s wife, and to Lady Morgrove, the local lion.Sometimes she began to believe it and found herself expecting her husband to drive up at any moment.And whenever Thomas came back from the receiving office with the post she looked for a letter with his distinctive writing.
At the same time, with each passing week Eleanor had to acknowledge to herself that it became more likely Nicholas was dead.He would not, could not, leave her in this abyss of uncertainty if there was any way to send word.
A letter from Lord Stainbridge snapped her out of this bittersweet fantasy.He was furious that no one had told him of his brother’s disappearance.He complained about her leaving town without informing him.He reproached her for not going to Grattingley and commanded her to return to town for the confinement, where he would engage the most eminent accoucheur.
She smiled at his familiar rantings even as she felt guilty at having never given his feelings a thought.The poor man had every right to his primary grievance.Then she was struck by an idea.
“Arabella,” she said, for she and her companion were now on first name terms.“Is there any truth in the idea that twins have a special closeness, that they each know if harm comes to the other?”
Miss Hurstman looked up sharply, catching her meaning immediately.“I believe it is so in many cases.That’s from Lord Stainbridge?”
