Page 99 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

Angus’s heart sank. Were they going to try to hurry him into a marriage – to leave him no room for manoeuvre? ‘Father,’ Angus said desperately, ‘I can’t do this. I love Rachel.’

Sir Gordon only raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry to hear you say so, but your fancy for Lady Rachel does not come into it. All this has been agreed. You will marry Diana Huntley.’

‘You can’t make me,’ Angus said. Oh, how childish it sounded! He wanted to be magnificently defiant, but beside his father’s monumental assurance he was like a baby throwing a toy in petulance.

‘As a matter of fact, I can. You are financially dependent on me. But I would prefer you complied with my wishes with a good grace. You ought to be grateful, in fact, that such a golden future is being planned for you. Now leave me, Angus, and do not speak in this foolish manner ever again. I have always thought well of you: I don’t wish to alter my opinion, especially over something so trivial.’

Trivial? Angus’s spirit rose. ‘I tell you now, Father, that much as I respect you, I cannot do as you wish. My honour and faith are given. You had better tell Sir Philip there will be no wedding.’

Sir Gordon merely waved a hand. ‘Enough, now. Go away. I won’t hear any more.’ Angus tried to speak, and his father said sharply, ‘Go!’

Trained to obedience, he went.

Kitty opened her eyes. The room was dim, blinds drawn, but sunlight pressed hard against them from outside, so it must be day. How long had passed? She felt utterly flattened, as though everything had been drained out of her, leaving only an empty sleeve of a body. She breathed slowly and lightly, the minimum necessary. She was capable of nothing more.

Giles was lying back in a chair near the bed, his elbow on the arm, his head resting in his hand, eyes shut. He looked worn. The room was silent. No-one had noticed she was back. She closed her eyes again, hoping to sink down again.

But this time consciousness would not play the game. She remained aware. There was a soft rustling sound, and then a cool hand was laid across her brow. When it was removed, she opened her eyes, and saw the white-winged face of a nurse bending over her. The face smiled. ‘I knew you had woken. I heard your breathing change. You’ve come back to us.’

And then there was a flurry, and the nurse was replaced by Giles. Her hand – her limp hand – was taken up and squeezed, and Giles was . . . Was he crying? Not exactly, but his eyes were damp. ‘Kitty!’ he said. He kissed her hand. ‘Thank God.’

She moved her lips, but no sound came out. She was tired, so tired.

‘Don’t try to speak. Arbogast says you are out of danger, but you must rest, rest. Good nursing and good food, he says, will bring you back to strength. Oh, Kitty, we thought we’d lost you!’

You did lose me, she thought, remembering how deep she had gone and how reluctant she had been to swim upwards. But why? Had there been an accident? She didn’t remember.

Giles was gently pushed away by the white wings. Capable hands lifted her head, a cup was put to her lips. She was thirsty, and drank. Warm milk – comforting. She drank some more. Her head was laid back against the pillows. A little – just a little – strength came to her. She had to remember how to speak, to arrange her tongue and throat and summon breath, but she managed at last to say, ‘What happened?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ Giles asked.

Something in his voice warned her. It was so hard to think when it was all she could do to breathe in and out. She didn’t want to think, but despite herself memory came creaking, limping back with a ghastly grin, the death’s grin of a skull. She saw a red petal on a child’s face; red petals, lots of petals, blood red on the gravel. Blood on the gravel – lots of blood. Her hands were resting outside the covers, resting on her abdomen. It was flat. She was flat and empty. The baby was gone.

Weak tears filled her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered to Giles. ‘I’m so sorry.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean? What are you sorry for?’ He looked at her in concern. ‘Please don’t cry. My dear, what is it?’

She could only shake her head, slow tears seeping.

It was the nurse who intervened. She stepped up to wipe Kitty’s face, and after a keen look said, ‘Oh, sir – my lord! No, my lady, no – the baby didn’t die.’ Kitty looked at her in bewilderment. ‘Sir, she thinks—’

Giles finally understood. ‘No, Kitty, the baby’s all right.’ He pressed her hand to fix her attention. ‘Listen to me – the baby’s all right. He’s small, but Arbogast says he’s healthy. You can see him by and by.’

She looked at him with dawning hope. ‘A boy? We had a boy?’

‘Yes, and he’s in the nursery doing very well. We have a wet-nurse for him, since you’ve been so ill. I’ll have them bring him to you.’

But she turned her head away. ‘Not now.’ She was glad she had not failed, glad the child had survived, but she was too tired to feel more than that. ‘Sleep now,’ she murmured.

‘Yes, sleep,’ Giles said quickly. ‘That’s the best thing for you.’

She drifted away, only noticing, with the weary edge of her mind, that he let go of her hand before she had quite gone. She wished he hadn’t.

* * *

‘We thought you were going to die,’ Alice said. Her face looked thinner, bleak from the emotions she had suffered. ‘You lost so much blood. But Dr Arbogast says you will make it up – you can make new blood inside you, apparently – only it takes time, so you’ll feel tired and weak for a while.’ She didn’t say that Arbogast had warned that the weakened body could fall prey to a host of other ills, and that my lady wasn’t out of the woods yet, by any means. ‘Lots of nourishing food, that’s what you need, to build you back up,’ Alice went on, and gave a small, tight smile. ‘They keep making you custards and gruel and such, but I can’t help thinking roast beef would serve you better.’