“Where are you going?” Belle called out, setting her basket down and squinting against the sun as Crecy turned and waved at her.
“Just a walk into the village,” she called back, moving away before Belle could ask about the parcel tucked under her arm. No doubt something for a friend she’d met in London. Belle watched her go, a jaunty feather dancing in her bonnet as she disappeared along the lane that led to the village. Enjoying the feel of the spring sunshine on her face, Belle picked up her basket once more and carried on in the opposite direction to complete her own errand.
She had been dismayed but unsurprised by Crecy’s heartfelt plea to return to Longwold. She had gone to London under Lady Russell’s watchful eye in January, and had submitted to almost three weeks of shopping and preparation until Lady Russell was satisfied she was ready. She had caused a sensation, as Belle had known she would. According to Violette’s letters, Lady Russell had an ever-increasing queue of young men at her door, bearing flowers and gifts and, God help them, poetry. A little over three months later, Belle had received an imploring and tear stained letter from her sister, who was utterly wretched and begging to be allowed to come home.
What could Belle do but agree? She hated the idea of Crecy languishing alone at Longwold where no one could see how extraordinary she was, and not just simply for her beauty. But she could not bear the idea of Crecy being so dreadfully miserable, and knew her sister well enough to know that if she didn’t comply, Crecy would simply do something so outrageous that they would be forced to take her from the limelight.
So, Crecy was home again, and seemed to be restored to high spirits, but Belle still worried for her.
Her thoughts were stalled, however, by her own affairs as a wave of nausea overcame her and she had to sit on the stone wall until it passed. Mary, who had seven younger siblings, one just a few weeks old, had simply given her a smile and a knowing look, and had dashed off the first time it had happened. She’d returned with mint tea and dry toast to find Belle retching into the wash basin. It hadn’t been so bad since, though she often felt as limp as a damp wash cloth before noon.
Belle took a breath and covered her perfectly flat stomach with a slight frown between her eyes. Spring had come, and the world was fecund and lush. Fat buds burst forth, and the hills were an emerald green, dotted with lambs and swathes of daffodils, bobbing their joyfully sunny faces in the still, chill breeze. It was time for birth and new life, and yet Belle still found it hard to believe that anything of that nature was happening to her. She stared down at her stomach, concentrating on trying to feel or sense anything. What if she were wrong, and it wasn’t a child? What if she were sick?
She looked up and hauled in a deep breath, feeling better now that the nausea had passed. It was a child, of course it was a child. Stop being so bird-witted, you silly creature. Yet it was too enormous, too wonderful and terrifying, all at the same time. She had never felt so powerful and yet so terribly fragile, so filled with joy and weighed down with terror. Mary had clucked at her and told her not to fret so when she’d admitted as much.
“My mam said she lost her marbles in the first three months with her first babe, frettin’ bout this, that, and Lawd knows what else. It’ll pass, m’lady,” she said, with the knowing air of a country girl who had lived in close confines with a very large family for all of her life. She’d helped birth her last three siblings, by all accounts, so Belle took her advice and believed her.
She’d told no one else yet, partly because she was still having trouble believing it and didn’t want to be thought a fraud when she was wrong, and partly because she had no idea how Edward would react.
Edward.
She sighed, a stupid smile creeping over her mouth. He hadn’t changed overnight, by any means. He still wasn’t enamoured of company but he seemed to rather enjoy small family gatherings, when the mood took him.
The boxing club was a great success.
Once Edward had decided to continue with it, he had thrown himself into it with gusto. He’d declared the old barn unfit for the purpose, and was in the process of having plans drawn up for a new building. It would be closer to the village, and so easier for the young men to get to. Equipment had been ordered from London, and a correspondence with Mr Jackson himself had garnered a promise from the great man to visit early next year. By that time, they hoped the new building would be well established, and some of Edward’s protégé’s ready to show their colours. The news had brought a sense of excitement to the young men that had even infected her husband, and when speaking of his plans for them, he could become almost loquacious.
The nightmares persisted, though Belle thought perhaps they were less frequent than they had been. But now, she resisted the urge to shake him awake, simply speaking to him, keeping her voice even and calm, telling him where he was, that he was safe, that she was there. Sometimes he woke, sometimes the nightmare faded and he slept again.
Belle got to her feet again and carried on her way. She was visiting an elderly neighbour, a Mrs Thompson, who was widowed and rather poorly. Puddy had made up a basket of all manner of temptations for the invalid, and Belle hoped that she could coax the proud old lady into accepting it.
After a pleasant couple of hours spent enjoying the old lady’s gossip, especially as it pertained to the marquess, who had been quite a terror as a boy, by all accounts, she set off for home. Walking back, however, she paused as she strolled past Mr and Mrs Abram’s farm, as she heard plaintiff crying coming from one of the barns.
Calling out, she got no reply, but the crying persisted, so she set down her empty basket and went to investigate.
The barn was huge and cavernous with a vast, high ceiling. It was dark, too, after the bright sunlight of the spring day, and Belle squinted. The crying had dropped to a whimpering sound, and Belle looked up to see a pair of large brown eyes staring down at her from the hayloft.
“Hello,” she called up as a dirty, tear-streaked face appeared around the eyes, which blinked in an owlish fashion. “Are you alright?”
The little boy, as that was what it was, wiped his nose on his sleeve and shook his head. “Stuck,” he said, rather succinctly.
“Oh, dear.” Belle bit her lip and eyed the spindly ladder and the height of the loft with misgiving. “Shall I go and get help?”
The boy shook his head again looking panicked. “I ain’t supposed to be up here. Da works for Mr Abram and I been tol’ I mustn’t come again. Ma will tan me hide, anyways, now, since I missed breakfast,” he added with a tragic expression.
“How long have you been up there?” Belle demanded.
“Dunno. Long time. Me guts is rumblin’,” he added.