The Wrong Bride Page 4

  “George, please attend to the matter of the servants hanging about, then come back and close the doors.” Winnie’s mother spoke quietly, and George rose to obey her. Never had Winnie seen her father so meek and cowed. Usually he was a happy soul, and she was ashamed that he was lowered because of her mishap. Her mother waited until George had come back and closed the opening to the sitting room. “And keep your voices down.” She flicked a look at the stranger. “Are you sure you wish to have this, er, person, about while we discuss very intimate matters?”

  Coloring instantly, Winnie nodded her head, the bright blue eyes wide and worried about what was to come. “Yes, he knows all.”

  Her mother’s face, clearly realizing what alternatives Winnie had, jelled, and then softened a little. “So you are truly married in all ways, then?” Winnie nodded once more, her mortified eyes studying the floor. “Then I can only tell you that we cannot help you out of your predicament. What’s done is done and you will just have to live with it.” She shook her head. “If you are thinking to move back with us, I’m afraid it’s out of the question.”

  Winnie gulped and raised her head. “I see.” She waited, hoping that either her mother would change her mind, or her father would speak up for her. But the minutes stretched on. Finally, Winnie found voice. “Then, I must inform you that he is not wealthy, and I must ask for my dowry. Not for him, but so I might have a start in my new life.”

  Her mother smiled. “Out of the question, I’m afraid. Too late, without our permission and all that. You can see that no one would fault us in this.”

  But, Winnie wanted to argue, I didn’t choose what happened to me. Her shoulders came down slowly as she realized it made no difference to her mother. “Well, then, since it appears you are going to refuse me any assistance, I might be willing to sell the letter to Melville, assuming he is still interested in Miranda after reading it.”

  Her mother’s mouth drew a straight line. “You are prepared to punish us, your very own loving parents, and your sister as well, for your mistake? Your actions will doubtless end in trouble for all of us with the Munsters.”

  Her father broke in with a heavy sigh. “What is it you want, my dear Winnie?”

  Winnie had never imagined she couldn’t make either of them understand, but neither of them could or would, no matter what she said. “I’m sorry, Papa, but I should like the same dowry as the one you would have given Miranda.”

  Her mother was adamant. “No!”

  Winnie turned to her father, whose mouth turned down after looking at his wife’s scowling face. “I’m sorry, too, Winnie, but knowing our circumstance, Melville has asked for a pittance.”

  “How much of a pittance, Father?”

  “Er…two hundred pounds?” Winnie watched the odd, satisfied look that passed from her mother, hands folded calmly in her lap, to the quizzical one of her father.

  “Then I shall have five hundred, at least. You see, I know you’re equivocating, Father.” She couldn’t actually accuse him of lying but knew he was. Winnie’s voice was firm. “And I shall have the services of Mistress Sherman as well. She will come with me.”

  “Outrageous!” Mistress Alexander shouted.

  Shaking like the leaves of an ash tree in a brisk wind, Winnie added. “And I would have Mr. Jones escort you to your bank today…”

  “Today?” The look on her father’s face was full of pure misery. “Have a little heart, Winnie.”

  “As the two of you have? I do apologize, Father, but it appears I am no longer welcome here. There will be time if you hurry. It will give me just enough time to gather my sparse belongings and follow you, so as not to burden you further. We will be on our way as soon as it is all accomplished.”

  George Alexander sighed. “Oh, my dear, so harsh.” The ultimatum from his more compliant and dutiful daughter, even if she could be quite mischievous on occasion, was hard to bear.

  “I’m sorry, Papa, truly, but surely you don’t wish me to starve, do you? And I might, without a little help.”

  “No, dear, I do not.” He wrung his head. “I’m sorry, too. Was it so awful?” His face blanched when he realized what he asked.

  Winnie couldn’t face him and looked down to her hands clutched painfully together in her lap. “It was grave torment. We shall leave it there, I think.”

  He stood, approached his daughter, took her elbows as she looked up at him, raised her up and placed a kiss on her forehead. “So, this is how it ends, then.”

  The large, earnest blue eyes searched her father’s. “Would you like me to write you from time to time, Papa?”

  He smiled slowly, his own blue eyes warming. “I should like it very much, Winnie.”

  She reached up and patted his dear cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”

  “Well, I don’t agree,” her mother said. “It’s far too generous, and I object strenuously to her demands. There is, after all, Miranda still to think of.”

  Mr. Alexander turned to his wife. “Yes, we’ll consider that this evening, my dear. I have decided I will brook no dissent on this. It’s the only decent thing to do.”

  “But only think, George, Mistress Sherman…” She moaned. Such a good cook, the best servant of the lot, to let her go was unthinkable.

  “Only if she is willing,” Winnie broke in.” I wouldn’t take her against her wishes. It wouldn’t be right.” She looked to Barnaby. “Would you kindly ask the good woman for me?”

  Barnaby, remembering the tasty pie he’d consumed, nodded and left, a smile already stretching his mouth.

  Mistress Alexander sighed. Yes, the woman would be willing, she knew it all too well. It was too late to regret all the times she’d been short with the woman and demanding of more work from her.

  “Well, then, go pack, Winifred.” Her mouth snapped shut, and her lips pouted out and trembled.

  “All done, Mother, just I case.” This was not the outcome Winnie wanted, but she had been prepared for whatever came.

  She was startled by her father’s chuckle. “Seems we’ve been outsmarted, Mother.”

  “Oh, don’t call me that,” she wailed. “I’ve told you. I’m not your mother. Makes me feel old.”

  Winnie and her father exchanged glances and couldn’t resist the secret shared smile between them. “We are old, dear girl. And we are losing both our daughters in one fell swoop.”

  “Miranda’s getting married?” Mr. Alexander nodded. “Soon?”

  Her father shrugged. “There is still a bit of dancing to be done, a bit of haggling.”

  “I’m sorry I shall miss the wedding,” Winnie said earnestly. It would be a splendid one, with a banquet and new dresses and bride linen. She, Winnie, had missed all that. “I’ll just go collect my valises and follow you, Father.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Winnie turned to her mother. “Goodbye, Mother.”

  The woman sighed, looked at Winnie finally with some emotion other than anger or frustration, her eyes at last softening. “Goodbye, Winifred.” The room emptied and the woman was alone, sitting on the edge of her chair. Finally, she rose and went to the window just in time to see the carriages leaving. “Goodbye, Winifred,” she said softly, blinking away the tears that pricked under her eyelids. She sighed. Now there was Miranda to deal with.

  “Mr. Jones explained what was goin’ on, an’ to tell you the truth, I’m glad to be leavin’ with you,” Mistress Sherman, who had quickly gathered together her few belongings, told Winnie, who had insisted the cook sit across from her instead of riding with Barnaby. The air had a nip in it today.

  “Yes, I know how my mother could be sometimes. I shall try not burden you too heavily, but I shall need help. I’ve no idea how to run a house.”

  “Where d’you want to start?”

  “I’d like you to teach me to cook. I know,” Winnie said, brightening through the mist in her eyes. It hadn’t been as easy to leave as she’d supposed, and now tears threatened. “I shall start in the scullery, be
your helper.”

  Mistress Sherman laughed. “Never had one before.”

  “The house needs a thorough cleaning, too. And there’re piles of laundry.”

  “Hmm. I’m not too sure I’ve made the right choice. I hate doin’ laundry,” she said with a bit of hesitance, though it was in a friendly way.

  “I shall send it out to get it caught up. After that, we’ll see.”

  Mistress Sherman sounded reassured. After that, there was little to be said between the two women. After a while, Winnie turned her head to one side and closed her eyes as if in sleep. Mistress Sherman knew better from the occasional quiet tear sliding down the pale, young cheek.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “You will marry her, Mr. Jones, and that is the last thing I have to say on the matter,” Winnie insisted. “The idea, getting her with child and then thinking you may just dance away from the problem.”

  “But, I haven’t ast him to marry me,” Mistress Sherman protested, a little alarmed at the fury of indignation on Winnie’s face and in her voice, only to be rewarded with a look of exasperation from the lady of the house.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Winnie stared at Mr. Jones, daring him to say anything other than the right response to her demand. She must be living in a dream world, not seeing or understanding the frequent morning illness and excessive fatigue of their cook, had become alarmed and treated the poor, sick woman with tender care. Mistress Sherman seemed to be gaining weight, too, even with the throwing up in the early hours of the day. It had taken a month before something fell into place in Winnie’s brain. She became more suspicious when the woman declined a visit from the doctor and waved off her symptoms. Finally, with Barnaby’s constant visits and at last taking interest in the looks between the two, Winnie wondered. She wondered enough to ask as bluntly as she could manage, and Mistress Sherman confessed. She was guilty, she said, and embarrassed by the situation in which she found herself.

  “Well, I don’t mind,” Barnaby stammered at long last after standing like a scarecrow for some minutes without speaking, holding his floppy, black felt hat in hands and looking extremely sheepish. The cooking was prime, and Mistress Sherman, a widow, was not ugly, was in fact, almost pretty, if a little plain. But then, he knew himself to be no prize in the area of looks.

  “But, what of my job here? I like my wages and workin’ for you, Missus.” Winnie had long ago stopped cringing at the sound of that, but her mouth tightened anyway.

  “And, I like your work, too. God only knows what I would have done without your assistance these past five years.” She’d taken an appraising look at her new home returned to after being unable to stay at the Alexander abode. Someone had built the place with care and an eye to its lasting. The grounds, though unkempt, could be made very handsome. It already had various shrubs around the base of the house, which after a time made her feel welcome and secure. And Frances Sherman turned out to be a jewel, much more than just a cook. She’d been raised on a farm and knew all about animals and gardens. Her coming had the added effect of putting ambition in Barnaby’s lackadaisical work habits. He was constantly doing something to help spruce up the house, and he didn’t seem to mind working indoors as well as outdoors. Now Greenwood looked almost noble, almost grand, inside and out, and it suddenly came to Winnie the real reason for Barnaby’s eagerness to help.

  “What do ye say, Franny?” Barnaby asked. “Would ye be willin’ t’ be me wife?”

  A faint rose color threaded its way up from her throat and spread on her cheeks. Barnaby thought her very attractive at that moment. She laughed softly. “I thought you’d never ask, Barnaby.’

  He grinned, his mouth widening. “Well, that’s settled then.”

  “When?” Winnie demanded. “Right away, yes?”

  Barnaby irritated her by grinning, looking from ‘Franny’ to Winnie. “O’ course.” He breathed out a gust of air. “Tell the truth, I’m glad it come out the way it did. I had no idea what to say er do.”

  Winnie rolled her eyes, but since this welcomed outcome all her wrath melted like the first-fallen snow. “To be honest, I know nothing of babies and their care. Will we need a midwife?”

  Frances Sherman smiled at her husband-to-be. “Let us have a minute alone, Barnaby, eh?” He nodded and hurried out of the kitchen. She watched him go, the affection still showing when she turned back to Winnie. “I wouldn’t mind, truth to tell. I wan’t married long to Mr. Sherman to go through this afore now. But I had sisters, know a little. I wisht I’d known more, but,” she shrugged, “what’s done is done.” She sat down on a chair and faced Winnie across the table. “To say the truth, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been. Always wanted a little one, y’know? An’ I’m not gettin’ any younger, as they say. An’, with marryin’ Barnaby…” She smiled again. “He’s kind of happy, though he would try to hide it, the knowin’ we’d leave behind somethin’ when we go. And it’s the thing, idin it?”

  Winnie gave up her irritation altogether. “Yes, it’s all part of the rhythm of life, I suppose, like the seasons coming one after another, the sun rising every day, that kind of thing. Do you know when you’ll have the little one?”

  “I’ll do some figurin’.”

  “When Barnaby takes the animals to market, you might go with him, see the doctor or midwife at least, and you could stay over and get married then.”

  Frances peered at Winnie, an odd expression on her face. “If I may ask, you don’t miss yer husband? I am so fond of Barnaby, and, since I’d been married oncet, I can’t imagine livin’ without a man.” Her hazel eyes gleamed with what Winnie could only describe as warmth and happiness.

  Looking away from that light in Frances’ eyes, remembering the terror of her marriage night, Winnie fought the urge to shudder. But she wanted to bless Barnaby at the same time. Winnie had shared her story with no one other than him about her disastrous marriage, and he’d kept it secret. “We didn’t have long enough to get to know each other, really,” she equivocated finally after too long a pause. “I suspect he’s gone, though on those occasions I’ve had to check the lists I haven’t seen his name.”

  A sympathetic nod came from the other woman. “When Barnaby an’ I go to town, we’ll check fer you.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Winnie managed a smile. “So, you’ll be Mistress Jones soon. I’m glad you’ve decided to stay on as cook. I should hate to have to find another woman to help. I confess I’ve grown used to you.” Winnie had another thought. “Then you’ll be moving into Barnaby’s little cottage.”

  “To tell the truth, I can’t wait to have my own place. It, the cottage is, a sore sight now, so we’ll just have time to settle in and make do until the snow flies.” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I…I wonder if it would be alright if I stayed overnight with Barnaby and came to work next morning early. Oncet we’re married, that is.” She looked at Winnie hopefully. “I ‘spect there’d be an adjustment in wages.”

  “I haven’t had time to give any consideration to it. Why don’t we see how things go, and, of course, I would expect you to want to stay with Barnaby, being married and all.”

  Mistress Sherman beamed and stood. “I do appreciate it, Missus. Well, I shall go out and tell Barnaby what you decided.”

  “When you go to market, why not stay over to enjoy the fairs?”

  “Oh, could we? I should enjoy that.” She smiled again. “But, you’re not goin’?” At Winnie’s slow shake of the head, Mistress Sherman told Winnie it was a shame, not to enjoy the dancing and the stalls.

  “I don’t mind. It makes it complicated all the way around.”

  Frances Sherman nodded. She knew what Winnie meant. They would, she and Barnaby, bed down in the wagon she would drive into town, and the boot-boy, Jem, would help Barnaby herd the animals behind. They would stay, after the animal auction and festivities, to wait on Mr. Blocker, the butcher, to render his services to them, and the cellars would be full of meat again for winter. After a week
or so, they would return to town to collect the smoked hams and sausages. And then, they could rest. They’d worked hard this year. “Aye, been a good year,” she commented, standing, her mind following Winnie’s. There were barrels of pickles, apples, cabbages and potatoes, and small root vegetables buried in sand bins; strings of onions and garlic hung from the rafters in the cool attics along with herb bundles. The house was clean and snug, and two sheds were full of cut wood ready for the fireplaces, and the barn lofts were heavy with hay for the stock. “Barnaby is lookin’ forward to some huntin’, an’ he’ll fill up that barrel with fishies, fer sure. An’ he’ll be bringin’ up the cheeses, too. Even when I worked on the farm, I never saw such a good year.”

  “I’m most grateful for our luck.”

  “Not all luck, neither.”

  Winnie nodded at the stern look on her cook’s face. “No, we all deserve a rest, like the land.”

  “Aye. I’ll go talk with Barnaby now, with yer leave.” Winnie smiled fondly and wished Frances good luck, watched her leave after throwing a shawl around her shoulders. It was turning cold quick now.

  When they left later in the week, Winnie decided to visit Barnaby’s little cottage, maybe clean it up and brighten it with curtains. She’d been planning to do that anyway, but the coming marriage brought her plans to a head. It would take most of the day to herd the animals to town, and they’d stay on for two or three more days. Frances, Winnie had decided to call her by her Christian name in future, had made thick cheese sandwiches and taken sweet and savory pies and cider along. When Barnaby collected the money from the sale, they were each to take a bonus from it to enjoy themselves with. Winnie would have at least three days, perhaps four, to work her surprise.

  Taking the cob and small cart with a bucket and mop, broom, and cleaning cloths, Winnie set out, leading the old, sturdy horse while she walked the half-mile to the cottage. Pausing halfway, she looked around with pride at the rolling hills, the two hundred and fifty acres of field, pasture, and orchard, surrounded by three hundred more of woods. Beyond that were more woods on every side that marked the ends of other estates, a couple much larger than hers. But Winnie loved her little place, nestled in its break in all the woodland, so quiet and hidden from the rest of the world.