The Six Month Marriage (23 page)

‘It’s just like t’old days, when Her Ladyship was still
alive,’ he said to her appreciatively as she entered the cottage.

Over the summer, Madeline had learnt that Ned’s phrase
“Her Ladyship” referred to the old Countess, Philip’s mother, who had overseen
the estate during his time as head gardener.

‘How are you feeling this morning?’ asked Madeline,
putting down her leather saddlebag on the homely table beside Ned’s chair.

‘All t’better for seeing you, lass,’ he said, leaving
Sarah, his wife, spluttering at what she called his “improperness”.

Madeline, however, laughed. Over the last few months she
had grown very fond of Old Ned, and he to revere her as he had revered the old
Countess. Mixed with his worship was a sense of fun.

‘Ee, you’ll ‘ave to forgive ‘‘im,’ said Sarah, looking
at her husband reprovingly. ‘‘e’s not ‘imself today.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Madeline teasingly. ‘He seems
every bit himself to me.’

‘Aye, lass, tha’s in the right of it. If an old man like
me can’t say what he likes then, I asks you, who can?’

‘Did the ointment do any good?’ asked Madeline,
unpacking the tub of salve she had brought.

‘Well, ‘tweren’t bad,’ conceded Old Ned. ‘But o’ course,
‘tweren’t as good as a bit of fun.’

‘A bit of fun?’ asked Madeline, pausing.

‘Aye.’

‘What kind of fun?’ she asked.

‘Well, lass,’ he said, sending Sarah spluttering again, ‘the
bit o’ fun I was thinking of were in t’nature of a Christmas fête.’

‘Ee, Ned,’ said Sarah indignantly. Then, turning to
Madeline she said, ‘Take no notice, my lady. ‘E’s been drivelling on about that
all week.’

‘Proper Christmas parties for the servants and tenants
we used to ‘ave,’ said Ned with a twinkle in his eye. ‘When Her Ladyship was
alive.’

Madeline’s interest was aroused. She was always eager to
learn about the customs of the estate. It had started off as a formality, something
she had felt she ought to do in order to make her pose as Philip’s wife
convincing, but it had quickly become a pleasure, and she had found Old Ned a
fountain of knowledge. Being now eighty-two and having lived on the estate all
his life he knew more about it than almost anyone else alive, and he liked
nothing better than to pass on this knowledge.

With only a little prompting he now regaled Madeline
with a full account of the Christmas festivities that used to form an important
part of the Stonecrop year before the old Countess had died, but which had
since lain dormant.

‘And all t’lads would steer all t’lasses under t’mistletoe,’
he twinkled at Sarah. ‘And that’s how I caught me a wife.’

‘Ee, Ned, get on with you,’ said Sarah, nevertheless clearly
very pleased with the memory.

Madeline stayed in the cottage for some time, listening
to Ned’s tales of Christmas fêtes in years gone by. She found that, the more
she thought of it, the more the idea of reviving the custom appealed to her.
Ned remembered everything, from the gown the old Countess had worn at his first
Christmas fête, to the man who had played the fiddle at the last.

So interested did Madeline become that she lost all
track of time, remembering at last that she had a dozen more things to see to
before dinner and that she must be getting on.

Having made sure that Ned had everything he needed, and
having promised that she would visit him again on the following day, she donned
her pelisse and gathered up her leather bag before mounting her mare and
returning to the Manor, accompanied by the faithful Jenkins.

‘Old Ned was asking about the Christmas fête,’ she told
Philip that afternoon as, having been kept inside by the rain, she sat doing a
piece of tapestry. ‘He wanted to know if the custom was going to be revived.’

Philip looked up from his plans for the home farm. ‘The
fête,’ he said musingly. ‘I haven’t thought about the Stonecrop fête for years.
It’s a lot of hard work,’ he said meditatively, but there was an unmistakable
gleam of enthusiasm in his eyes.

‘I should be doing most of that,’ said Madeline. ‘It’s
the Countess’s duty to arrange it, or so Ned told me.’

Philip gave a wry smile. ‘Ned’s an old rascal. He’s
right, though. It was my mother, and my grandmother before her, who used to
arrange everything, down to the last detail.’

‘Well, my lord?’ asked Madeline, resting her work on her
lap and looking directly at Philip. ‘Shall we revive the custom, do you think?’

Philip threw down the plans. ‘Why not? Christmas used to
be the highlight of the Stonecrop year. It’s time we made it so once again.’

‘Who comes to the fête?’ asked Madeline.

‘Everyone. The tenants, the servants, the villagers,
they all attend. Jason will be in
York
again for Christmas,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘He remembers the
fêtes. He will want to come and he will be no doubt willing to help us with the
preparations nearer the time. But if we’re going to hold the fête we’d better
start making the preliminary arrangements at once. I’ll have a word with the
head groom - the fête is always held in the long barn, and it will need to be
cleared for use - if you will have a word with Crump. He will need to know what
we are planning.’

The rain had eased off again, and Philip went out to the
stables to make sure the head groom remembered what had to be done, whilst
Madeline consulted Crump on some of the finer points of the arrangements, Mrs
Potts not having been at the Manor the last time a fête was arranged. As she
did so, Madeline reflected on the change the autumn months had made. No longer
was she organising something on her own, or with the aid of servants, as she
had done with the ball, now she was arranging it with Philip.

They had begun by splitting their concerns down the
middle, with Madeline tending to the house and Philip the estate, but now
everything had merged into one, and whether it was plans for the home farm,
dreams for the gardens, or arrangements for the Christmas festivities, they
organised things together.

But not for much longer. Their marriage had almost run
its course. The thought of it made her feel bereft. Why was she feeling like
this? Why was she not looking forward to moving into the house in
York
? Why was she not filled with
happiness at the thought of having her own home and a generous annuity so that
she could live out the rest of her life independently, in comfort and style?

These were the thoughts that plagued Madeline in the
weeks leading up to the fête.

December
21
^st,
the date set for the Christmas fête, finally arrived.

‘Grand, lass,’ said Old Ned with a sense of wonder as he
looked around the long barn as the party got under way. ‘Ee, it’s reet grand.’

‘Aye, my lady,’ said Sarah, his wife. ‘Tha’s done us
proud.’

The barn had been cleared and swept. Chairs had been
brought in and set around the sides, so that those who did not wish to dance
could sit and watch instead. At the far end, trestle tables covered in white
damask cloths groaned under the weight of hams and cheeses, pies and bread,
whilst barrels of ale stood next to them, ready to be consumed. Holly and
mistletoe hung in garlands from the rafters, their red and white berries
glistening in the candlelight. Everywhere there was noise and chatter. Every
servant, every tenant and every villager from miles around was there and the
barn was almost bursting at the seams.

Having welcomed everyone with a friendly word Madeline
and Philip led the dancing, a fact much appreciated by their guests. There were
to be no ballroom dances tonight, no cotillions or minuets, but a fine
selection of lively and rumbustious country dances instead.

As the opening chords of
The Shrewsbury Lasses
filled the air, Madeline saw Jason’s toes tapping and noticed him looking round
for someone. To her delight she realised he was looking for Clarissa. They had
both of them enjoyed themselves enormously in the week leading up to the fête,
and had come up with a number of joint plans for the decoration of the barn,
and now it seemed right they should be dancing together. And how well Clarissa
looked tonight, thought Madeline with a warm glance at her friend. But then she
had no more time to notice anything else as she gave herself up to enjoyment.

Throughout the evening whilst some danced, others ate,
helping themselves to the wholesome fayre laid out on the trestle tables. Meat
pies, hunks of bread and whole cheeses were eagerly partaken of, all washed
down with flagons of ale.

As the evening drew on, the noise grew. It was many
years since a Christmas fête had been held at Stonecrop Manor and it had been
sorely missed. Even Jenny, Madeline’s maid, was there, and Madeline was pleased
to see that she was enjoying herself, dancing with a handsome young groom.

Her eyes wandered round the barn, alighting on Philip.
He was chatting to some of the tenant farmers and was at that moment
complimenting Mr and Mrs Taylor on their fine son. They had had no one to leave
the boy with and had decided to bring him with them, intending to stay for no
more than an hour or so before returning home. She saw Philip swing young Tommy
Taylor onto his shoulders, whereupon Tommy crowed delightedly to his father, ‘I’s
bigger than you!’

‘You’ll be having your own children before long,’ said
Clarissa, who had joined Madeline unawares and was looking adoringly at the
little boy. ‘It must be the most wonderful feeling to have a little one of your
own to play with,’ she sighed.

Madeline flushed, not out of modesty, but because she realised
at that moment that she wanted children. And not just any children. Philip’s
children.

Her mother had spoken of the perils of marriage, but
never the joys, and yet they were just as real. As Madeline watched Philip
playing with Tommy she wanted, with an intensity that surprised her, to give
him children. A child of their own to play with; a child to cherish. But it
would never happen. Because Philip was self-destined for Letitia.

And suddenly she was angry with him. Why did he want to
marry Letitia, a vain and selfish woman who would bring him no joy in life? Why
was he being so perverse? Why had he not chosen some loving young woman who would
be a companion to him? Who would love and look after his children, instead of
banishing them to the nursery as Letitia would do? A young lady who would
provide a welcoming home for his sister, and make the Manor a warm place he
would want to live in, instead of a cold and glittering showcase? Someone who
would share his hopes and dreams, and who would melt when ever he touched her?
Why was he so blind to what would make him truly happy in life? She could not
bear it. She wanted the best for him. And the best wasn’t Letitia.

But were her feelings really so selfless? she asked
herself. Was it just because she wanted the best for Philip that she didn’t
want him to marry Letitia? Or were her feelings far more personal?

She shivered, and wrapped her arms round herself. It was
better not to let her thoughts wander down those channels, but it was becoming
more and more difficult to stop them, even though she knew those channels would
only lead to heartache. Philip was to marry Letitia. It was all arranged; and
she must accept the fact, because it was not about to change.

With difficulty she turned her attention back to the
festivities. She tempted old Mrs Green to a meat and potato pie and handed Mr
Salter a flagon of ale, but quickly found herself unsettled again when Philip
strolled over to her side.

‘What is it?’ he asked her, drawing her aside, with a
perception she wished, at that moment, he did not possess.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

‘Something’s made you angry.’

His face as he looked down into hers was concerned.

‘You must be mistaken.’

‘No. I’ve been watching you. Was it something Clarissa
said?’ he asked.

‘Yes . . . I mean no,’ said Madeline.

‘Yes, you mean no?’ asked Philip with a lift of one
eyebrow.

‘I think we should return to our guests,’ said Madeline.

‘Not until you’ve told me what’s wrong,’ he said.

‘It’s nothing. It’s just that . . . ’ The words were
unwise, but they had slipped out.

‘It’s just that . . . ?’ he prompted her.

‘Nothing.’ She made to move past him but he would not
let her go.

‘If it’s nothing, you won’t object to telling me,’ he
said, with a hint of steel in his voice.

She knew she should say nothing; she should laugh it
off. But her emotions were still churning and, unwisely, she said abruptly, ‘Why
are you going to marry Letitia?’

He looked at her appraisingly. Then, seeming to sense
some of her feelings, he said, ‘We can’t talk here.’ He led her out of the
barn, across the courtyard and in at a side door of the Manor house, taking her
through into a small room where they could talk undisturbed. ‘Now,’ he said,
closing the door behind them. ‘I think you’d better tell me why you care about
my reasons for marrying Letitia.’