‘Terrible accident. She was away and her house burned down. She lost the little ’uns.’
Dorothea gasped.
‘Their father was burned trying to save them. His injuries healed, but he was never the same after. Couldn’t see a way out in the end. She found him in the barn one day after she’d been away overnight. He was almost frozen when they cut him down.’
Dorothea’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Good heavens, Stan. How dreadful!’ She glanced at the pram, then at the murky depths of the lake. She considered the baby’s fragile lungs, the slope and the gently rippling water, which now seemed to morph into something darker. How had Mrs Wilson kept going? ‘I can’t believe I didn’t know. I mean, we’ve worked together for more than two years. I just thought she was devoted to this place, and single by choice. I should … I should have been kinder.’
‘Folks say she drove her husband to his death, blaming him. But you couldn’t help wanting to blame, could you?’
‘Oh gosh. I don’t know. It would be impossible to recover.’
‘She’s recovered a bit I expect. Found a home for her affections.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She has a soft spot for Francis. Haven’t you noticed? Hates it when his Lordship has a go at the boy.’
‘I …’ Dorothea thought about this. Edith Wilson was frequently hovering just as Edward lost his temper with Francis. Was she running interference? She often brought the boy treats too, but never made a fuss about it, leaving a plate of his favourite biscuits in the schoolroom when they were outside. Dorothea simply hadn’t taken much notice of the woman and now felt ashamed.
A cry sprang from the pram and her heart spiked. Being in this place was too much. Being around Edward, fearing every day. Each cry, each hesitant mewl had her on edge; like the tip of a sword pressing at the watery caul of her sanity. She wondered if one day it might break; if the terrible images that ran through her head in her most sleep-deprived, fretful hours might leak out, and Mad Thea might be let loose. She stared at Louis in the pram.
She must have had a strange expression on her face, because Stan was peering quizzically at her. She tried to loosen her jaw, her cheeks. She tried to breathe.
‘You’re all right, Dorothea.’ Stan gave a hesitant smile. ‘You’re doing a good job.’ He looked at her a fraction too long, then walked back to the hedge and began clipping.
Louis began to make cooing sounds. She reached into the pram and scooped him up. She regarded the birthmark on his arm, the curve of his sweet mouth. She wondered why she was still here in this evil place; wondered how it was possible to love this baby when he was part of Edward. She thought of Adeline Fitzhenry. Her marriage to Edward must have been awful. All those times in the bookshop when she’d been sad;those months they’d spent hidden away together in the cottage in Clovelly enjoying the cobbled hillside streets, the donkeys pulling sleds of groceries past their little front window up the hill. They had watched the lace-makers working as they sat in front of their cottage. She pictured the finger-mark bruises on Adeline’s arm when she returned from Bleddesley that first week, the pregnancy prosthetics hidden in her luggage. She looked at Francis—Adeline’s only true love—as he lay on the grass. He was Dorothea’s responsibility now.
She held on to the cold metal handle of the pram with both hands. How could she have let so much of her essential self be stolen by this place? How could she get away? She stared down at her hands and wondered exactly what they were capable of.
28
DOROTHEA
1965, CAMBRIDGESHIRE, ENGLAND
‘You look so well, Dorothea.’ Adeline Fitzhenry smiled, placing her shopping bag at the base of the bookshop counter. ‘Much better than last time I was in.’
Dorothea turned from the collection she had just been cataloguing. The animated face of Adeline was a welcome distraction from theTaxonomy of Fungus Spores.
‘I feel much better too,’ she said.
The Sisters Stubbs were hovering at the nearest bookshelf in the second room. A titter of excitement had passed between them when the village celebrity had entered.
‘How are you, Lady Fitzhenry?’ asked Dorothea, careful to use her proper title, when interested ears were about. Gossip had a way at taking hold in the village.
Adeline gave her a wry smile and glanced across the room.She raised her hand in greeting. ‘Hello, May. Hello, Elsie. How are you both?’
‘Oh very well, thank you, m’lady. How could we be anything else with this weather we’ve been having?’
‘How true. The sun is glorious!’ Adeline asked after their ageing mother, once employed as cook at the big house, then she turned back to Dorothea, eyes sparkling. ‘Any treasures today?’
‘Nothing, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, well. Edward will be happy. I’m under orders not to buy another thing.’ She leaned in and whispered, ‘I’m reduced to hiding my parcels in the cloakroom cupboard if he’s around. And I’m quick to check the post before he sees it!’
Dorothea wondered if Edward’s displeasure was about finances or something else? A need to control her purchases, or the woman herself? Adeline had recounted some tales from the house that included Edward Fitzhenry, and it had made Dorothea wonder about him.
May and Elsie Stubbs shuffled towards the door. ‘Thank you, Dorothea. Nothing today. Goodbye, Lady Fitzhenry. We’ve got to catch the next bus. We’re off to the cinema to see that new film with Audrey Hepburn.’
