“I could wish you had not taken it,” Verena said, “but it does not matter now.”
Mrs Peverill dissolved into tears. “I could not sleep, Verena. I tried so hard. Indeed, indeed I did. But what was I to do? Such dreams … such horrible visions.
“Hush, Mama, hush,” Verena crooned, lifting out from an all-enveloping woollen shawl the trembling fingers that feebly clutched at her hands.
It was some time before Mrs Peverill could overcome her emotion. Verena had expected this as soon as Betsey mentionedlaudanum. The wretched stuff might help Mama to sleep, but it always rendered her tearful and maudlin. If only she could arrest Mama’s fears permanently. But how, when she felt them as acutely herself?
“You’d best let me take your pelisse, Miss Verena,” came from Betsey who had followed her into the room.
“In a moment.”
But Mrs Peverill emerged from her handkerchief, and looked enquiringly up towards the maid.
“Been out in all this snow, she has, ma’am,” said Betsey. “A miracle it is she isn’t sneezing the place down already.”
Mrs Peverill reached out anxious fingers to feel the sleeve of Verena’s coat. “Oh, you are quite damp, dearest,” she uttered in a much stronger voice. “Do, pray, get out of that at once. I dare say your boots may be wet through. Betsey, pray…”
The maid hid a grim smile of satisfaction and took the brown furred pelisse as Verena peeled it off, revealing a pearl gown of figured French lawn, waisted lower than was generally modish, with wrap-over bodice and elbow-length sleeves, and worn over a round gown of muslin with sleeves to the wrist and closed at the neck with a frilled ruff.
Verena caught a wink from Betsey and understood. Anything to divert the mistress’s mind. Bustling, the maid pulled up a footstool conveniently to hand to one side of the day-bed, and, pushing Verena down to sit on it, removed her boots and ordered her to warm her stockinged toes at the fire.
“I’ll fetch your slippers to you, Miss Verena.”
“Oh yes, do so, Betsey,” begged Mrs Peverill from her languishing pose, adding with concern, “and a shawl. I could never forgive myself if you caught cold.”
Betsey threw her a glance of scorn. “I’ll fetch a shawl to her, ma’am, but what call you have to blame yourself for Miss Verena’s gallivanting about in the snow, I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Nor anyone else,” agreed Verena, laughing. Betsey’s tactics were masterly, and it would not do to allow Mama to fall back into her vein of self-reproach. “Now, Mama, you must not scold. I have been helping the village children to build their snowman. Oh, and the little Ruishton boys came out to join us, too. Such a darling pair. I know Mrs Ruishton dotes on them, although she is hoping for a girl this time, she says.”
This turn in the conversation proved unfortunate, however, for Mrs Peverill sighed deeply. “Ah, Verena, how much I long to see you with your children about you.”
“Yes, well, I must needs be married first, and you know how I feel about that.”
There was an edge to Verena’s voice, she knew, and she wished very much that she might manage these discussions better. But she could not. The very idea of marriage sent quivers up her spine and caused her chest to feel hollow. How Mama could even expect her to contemplate tying herself up in matrimony, heaven only knew.
But Mrs Peverill’s eyes were swimming again. “It grieves me so dreadfully, dearest, that I am standing in the way of your future.”
“Mama, we have been over all that I don’t know how many times.”
“I know, and I will never cease to bring it up until you give up this foolish notion,” cried her mother, her tears brimming, over. “How can I bear to be such a burden to you?”
“But you are not a burden, Mama. Do you think I would have taken this step if I thought that?”
“Yes, I am. Oh, I know you did not think so at the outset, but I know I am making your life a misery.”
“Nonsense!”
“Do not say it is nonsense. Look at me now. Unable to support myself through a night of memories, and you have warned me time and again against the taking of that drug.”
“Hush, Mama,” begged Verena. “Heaven knows you have enough reason for a sleepless night or two.” She smiled warmly. “I never expected it would be easy to overcome the pain of all those years. But together we can do it, I am persuaded. Thanks to Grandpapa’s bequest, at least I am in a position to take you out of that life, and keep you out of it.”
“But think of your future,” begged Mrs Peverill in distress. “Already you are one and twenty. Why, you are quite on the shelf. It will not do, dearest.”
Verena laughed. “How can you talk so? Do you suppose I care that I am on the shelf? My future is with you — and always shall be.”
“No, Verena,” said her mother. “There is little future anywhere for me. I am convinced that I cannot last long, and then what will happen to you?”
Betsey’s scandalised voice, as she came back into the room, broke in before Verena could reply.
