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Over her shoulder she flung a resentful glance at the little doctor, who backed towards the door, smilin
g apologetically and ducking his head at her.
Nan’s contemptuous snort sent him flying from the room.
She lifted Cornelia’s head and made her sip a pungent liquid. She shook up the pillows, which were piled very high, and laid her back as gently as though she were a child again.
Cornelia closed her lids with a wretched sigh.
When next she opened her eyes, Rendel stood beside her bed. A frown made his face sombre. He was staring out of the window, his hand resting on the quilt near hers. Cornelia weakly moved her own hand to touch his fingers. He started, looking down at her, then a smile came into the grey eyes which had, until then, seemed only to reflect the grey dawn light from the sky. His hand enfolded hers gently, squeezing her fingers.
‘How is it with you today?’
The gentleness brought a prickle of tears, but she smiled. ‘I feel better this morning.’ A little pause, then she said huskily, ‘I am sorry about the child.’
‘You are sorry?’ his voice was quick and deep. ‘My dear, it is I who am sorry. My cursed folly. I was too drunk to snuff my candle. You saved my life. Had you not smelt the smoke I should have suffocated in my bed or been burnt alive.’
She shuddered. ‘Don’t. How horrible. I have always been afraid of fire. Houses burn so easily.’
She took a deep breath and moved to a less emotional subject. ‘Was much damage done? The chamber must be thoroughly cleaned before you use it again. The smell of smoke lingers so long. You must order the sewing maid to make new curtains for the bed.’ A little frown wrinkled her brow. ‘There is some brocade in the old walnut chest in the blue chamber. She can use that. It will match the window curtains.’
He looked at her broodingly. ‘Why did you not tell me you expected a child? If I had known I would never have behaved so wildly.’
She was thrown into confusion.
At the moment, she did not feel able to face the old entanglement of emotion, and yet she did not want to hurt him. Her motives had become as twisted as the strands of plaited hair.
She could no longer follow the thread of her thoughts.
Stammering, she said, ‘I was not certain ... And … I was too shy ...’
He watched her closely for a moment, then when she fell silent, smiled less tensely and lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Of course,’ he said gently. ‘I understand. You are so young. I forget that sometimes.’
She improved in health quickly. Her former strength returned once she had passed out of the first weakness and she was permitted to get up after a week, although she had to spend the day in a chair, her feet on a little velvet-covered stool, reading and sewing beside the open window.
Her parents came to visit her. Her mother patted her hand and told her about her own past miscarriages. ‘You have been unlucky this time, but it is common enough with the first child. You’re young. You will have other chances. Many women miscarry the first baby. Next time you will know how to take better care of yourself. The first four months are the most dangerous. Next time you must rest often, take little exercise and have no excitements.’ And she smiled reprovingly at Rendel. ‘No more fires in your chamber, son-in-law.’
The Alderman was restless. ‘Women’s talk, women’s talk,’ he mumbled to Rendel, and was relieved when, at this hint, he was invited to take a glass of wine in the gallery.
Rendel came into the chamber next morning, frowning, a letter in his hand.
‘I have been summoned to Stelling,’ he said abruptly.
She looked up from her sewing. ‘Is something wrong there?’
‘My bailiff thinks I should put in an appearance. I have not been down there for some time and there is trouble with some of the tenants. I think Whittle is too hard on them. They are always pleasant enough to me. He bullies them and that puts up their backs. I think I should go, my dear.’
‘Oh, yes, you must go,’ she said eagerly. ‘I am looking forward to seeing the house. When do we leave?’
He looked at her in some surprise, then shook his head in regret. ‘The journey would be too much for you, my dear. You are still very weak.’
Her face fell. ‘Oh, but if we travelled by coach it would not be so tiring.’
‘Even if we loaded the coach with cushions you would have to suffer too much jolting. The roads are badly rutted and pot-holed. It is time something was done about it. But in the meantime, I must go alone. If I travel on horseback I shall be there sooner and get back the faster.’
Her mouth drooped at the corner but she did not argue. ‘How long do you think this business will take?’
‘No longer than absolutely necessary, I promise,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I shall hurry back.’ He sighed. ‘I have too much parliamentary business to be able to stay out of London for long.’
