Burden of Innocence: Shaleslip Manor Book 3

Derbyshire, England 1802

Gregory Royse was reclining in a leather lounger, reading Delphine and sipping a tumbler of tawny port, when his wife hastened through the door.

“Gregory! Gregory!” Marjorie’s eyes sparkled as she waved a slip of parchment in her hand. “Mrs Baxter has safely delivered a healthy girl,” she said, weaving around the furniture to his side. “I am going to see the babe and offer my congratulations.”

“You are going today?”

“This very moment. Mr Hartley is bringing round the phaeton as we speak. Will you join me?”

“No, my dear, you go dote on the babe without me. Mrs Baxter will not be equal to entertaining her landlord during her lying-in. I will congratulate Mr Baxter when I next see him. When should I expect your return?”

“Not for a few hours, at least. I plan to hold the baby for as long as Mrs Baxter allows.” The urge to run straight to the Baxter cottage without waiting for the phaeton struck Marjorie, and it was with some difficulty that she forced herself to remain still and rein in her excitement.

Gregory smiled at his fidgeting wife, guessing her thoughts. The expected arrival of the first child born at Shaleslip Manor since she became mistress had consumed Marjorie’s attention for weeks, nay months! Her high colour and flushed cheeks revealed her state of exhilaration, a condition Gregory thought heightened her loveliness. “Take your time and do not forget to be attentive to the new mother as well.”

“I will not forget,” Marjorie promised. She pecked Gregory on the cheek before turning on her heel and hastening towards the door with a lively skip in her step.
“Marjorie, what must a man do to earn a proper kiss?” Gregory chided, with an air of suffering.

Marjorie stopped and turned a critical eye on him. His sorrowful frown did not fool her. She recognised the merriment in his dark eyes and chortled when his left eye twitched. “Gregory, you are shameless. I will indulge you this once, but do not expect me to make a habit of it.” Marjorie returned to his side, sat on his lap, and wrapped her arms around him. Then she brought her lips to his neck and kissed him in her favourite spot beneath his earlobe, just above his cravat. The sensitivity of his skin there made him shudder with pleasure. “Is that better?” she whispered.

“Indeed,” he said in the deep, husky voice she loved above anything else.

Gregory held her tight, encouraging her to continue, but Marjorie refused to fall into his amorous trap. Instead, she laughed and wiggled off his lap and danced out of his reach, evading his grasping hands.

When she reached the door, she turned back and looked at him. That twinkle of merriment in his eyes vanished, replaced by an intense gaze which held a promise to love her with all of his heart forever. She blew him a kiss before exiting.

Gregory leaned back against his chair and allowed the sweet sound of Marjorie’s laughter to swirl and dissipate around him. She was everything he had ever dreamt of in a wife. Unable to help himself, Gregory laughed. He laughed at himself and his past foolishness. He laughed at the thought of laughing to himself in an otherwise empty room. Most of all, he laughed at the sheer joy he had in his beautiful and amazing wife. He would love Marjorie until the day he died. Perhaps even longer.

***

“Come in, Mrs Royse,” Louise said when she opened the door and let Marjorie into the Baxters’ home. Louise was a downstairs maid from Shaleslip Manor, on loan to Mrs Baxter during her confinement and lying-in. Her arms were full of blankets, but she rushed to the corner and set them on a chair so she could help Marjorie with the armful of gifts she carried.

Marjorie stood just inside the door while Louise dispensed with the parcels and hung up her coat. She watched with interest as the midwife scrubbed the birthing stool, a wooden contraption which she imagined would be most uncomfortable.

“Mrs Royse, is that you?” a tired voice called from behind the curtains, screening the bed.

“Yes, Mrs Baxter, it is me. Please forgive my intrusion, but I had to come when I heard your joyful news. I hope my visit is not unwelcome.”

“You are always welcome here. I am glad you came. Mr Baxter and I want you to be the first to know what we named our little angel.”

Marjorie moved nearer to the bed and wiped her brow with a delicate handkerchief. The tightly drawn curtains allowed no access to Mrs Baxter or her new baby and made the stifling cottage feel almost claustrophobic. Marjorie longed to throw open a window, but she feared for the baby’s lungs.

Marjorie jumped when the curtain drew back with a horrible clatter. Once recovered from her start, she saw a somewhat pale but otherwise healthy Mrs Baxter and her rosy-faced daughter swaddled in a blanket in her arms. The midwife hissed in disapproval, and Mrs Baxter rolled her eyes.

“Never mind the curtains, Agnes. I never believed in coddling a woman after she gives birth. The air is just the same on one side as it is on the other. Come here, Mrs Royse, and talk with me.” Mrs Baxter patted the bed beside her.

Agnes, the midwife, sent a withering scowl their way as Marjorie accepted the invitation and sat gingerly on the edge of the straw mattress.

“If you disregard the curtains, I must insist you add another blanket,” Agnes grumbled. “I have birthed over a hundred babies. I know what I am doing, closing you off from the fresh air. If you take a chill and suffer, you had better not blame me.”

The midwife bustled around the bed, tucking the blanket so tightly Mrs Baxter could not move her legs. Marjorie smiled as she watched an irritated Mrs Baxter wait with an air of longsuffering for the woman to finish.

“She is a beautiful child,” Marjorie said as she peered at the small bundle.

“She is at that. Do you want to hold her?”

“I thought you would never ask.” Marjorie reached for the babe. Her stomach fluttered with excitement as she nestled the infant in her arms.

“We named her Marjanne in honour of you and Mr Royse’s mother. We owe much to the Royse family, especially you.”

“Mrs Baxter, I am truly touched! I am sure Mr Royse will also be when he hears how you honour our family.” Marjorie studied the babe’s perfection with almost motherly pride. “Hello, little Marjanne. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Holding her comes naturally to you. I am sure when your time comes, you will be a wonderful mother,” Mrs Baxter said.

“I hope so. I long to be a mother someday. A child, particularly an heir, would please Mr Royse.” Marjorie’s stomach fluttered again.

“A child at Shaleslip Manor would please not only Mr Royse but the whole of Shalebury. The village owes much of its prosperity to Shaleslip Manor. Yes, a Royse heir would give everyone much to celebrate.”

Marjorie spent her visit pleasantly conversing with Mrs Baxter while rocking the sleeping babe in her arms. She could have stayed thus for hours, but knew she must leave when she caught her friend yawning.

“I am afraid I have overstayed my welcome. You need rest.” Marjorie gazed a last time at Marjanne’s tiny face and then reluctantly returned her to her mother. “I promise to visit again when you have recovered.”

“Thank you, Mrs Royse. I look forward to it. Oh, before you go, I must ask you a favour.”

“Of course, anything you need.”

“May I loan Louise to my neighbour, Mr Goss? He is so poorly now he cannot leave his bed, and young Daisy is beside herself.”

Marjorie felt as if she had swallowed a bucket of eels. Mr Goss was another of Shaleslip Manor’s tenants, a carpenter by trade. He could not work of late because of his poor health, and he had no wife to help look after himself and his daughter. Marjorie had known all of this and meant to call on Mr Goss, but in her excitement over Mrs Baxter’s baby, it had completely slipped her mind. “Daisy is blind, is she not?”

“She is, and only ten years old. Mr Goss has been sick for years, even before his wife took ill and died, but no one knows exactly what ails him. As soon as Dr Davies gets one set of symptoms under control, another crops up. They have no family who could come and help. Daisy has been keeping house as best she can, but … well, she has her limits, as you might imagine.”

Guilt seemed to crawl up Marjorie’s throat in a solid mass. She swallowed with difficulty. “You mustn’t part with Louise just yet. Do not worry about Mr Goss and Daisy. I will call on my way home and see what I can do for them.”

“Thank you, Mrs Royse. It is very good of you.”

Marjorie cringed inwardly at the undeserved praise and clasped hands with Mrs Baxter. She walked the short distance to the Goss residence, berating herself for her thoughtlessness with every step. She had thought herself quite the magnanimous lady of the manor when she took to visiting the tenants, dispensing largess with a generous hand. Her pride had turned her once charitable endeavour into a selfish pursuit, and she was heartily ashamed of herself.

Her heart sank further when she reached the Gosses’ humble cottage. Though it had looked well-kept and cheery when she had first seen it in the early days of winter, it now had a gloomy, unkempt air about it. The grass was uncut, the hedge in need of trimming, and the flowerbeds overrun with weeds. There was peeling paint and dirty windows, and one shutter on the upper storey hung at an angle.

Marjorie was near tears as she grasped the knocker and gave the door three timid taps. She nearly came undone when she heard Daisy’s cautious, shuffling steps in the hall.

“Hello, who is there?” the blind girl said as she opened the door.

“It is Mrs Royse, Daisy. I have come to see how you and your father are doing. May I come in?”

“Of course,” Daisy said, opening the door wider for Marjorie to enter.

Marjorie stepped inside and Daisy closed the door behind her. She cast her eyes around the cottage’s sparse furnishings, noting the almost empty cupboards and the moulding heel of bread lying on the table. She cursed herself for not having the foresight to go to Shaleslip Manor for a food basket before coming.

“Papa is very ill and cannot come down to see you, but I am sure he will be better in a few days. He often has weak spells.”

“How long has your father been ill this time?”

“Five days.”

“Has Dr Davies been to see him?”

“No, Papa says he is tired of Dr Davies poking and prodding him without results.”

“I understand how frustrated your father must be, but if he is so ill that he is confined to his bed, I really must insist you let me call for the doctor.”

Daisy’s carefree façade, unconvincing to start with, crumbled. “I wish you would, Mrs Royse. Papa forbade me to do it, and I am ever so worried about him. He sounds as though he is having trouble breathing.”

“If that be the case, I should not delay. I will go to Shaleslip Manor and send for the doctor, and then I will return and stay with you until he arrives.”

“Thank you, Mrs Royse. You are very kind to my Papa and me.”

Marjorie felt another twinge of guilt, but she wasted no time in returning to her phaeton and setting the ponies towards home at a smart clip. Soon, she was pulling them up in front of the stables and calling out to the nearest groom.

“Charlie, take a horse and ride into Shalebury. Tell Dr Davies to meet me at the Goss residence. Make haste, for Mr Goss is quite unwell.”

As soon as Charlie turned to do her bidding, Marjorie drove the phaeton around to the front of the house.

“Will you require the phaeton further, Mrs Royse?” asked the footman, who handed her down.

“Yes, take it around to the servants’ entrance by the kitchens.”

Marjorie strode through the door, waving off the maid who sought to divest her of her spencer, gloves, and bonnet, and sought the butler. “Mr Jones, where is Mr Royse?”

“There’s been some trouble in the fields, and he was called out. It will be a few hours before he returns.”

Marjorie thanked him for the information and hastened to the kitchen, collecting the housekeeper, Mrs Jones, along the way. Downstairs, they found Mr Belfast and the kitchen staff busy at work.

“I have just come from the Goss cottage. Mr Goss is very ill, and Daisy is left to tend everything alone. Mr Belfast, I know you are terribly busy preparing for the May Day celebration, but can you spare one of the kitchen hands? I would like someone to stay at the Gosses’ and help with the cooking and cleaning. A child of ten should not take on so much responsibility.”

“Send Marie. The girl is trustworthy and makes a fine bread and soup,” Mr Belfast said, nodding to a young woman who immediately left off kneading a lump of dough and curtseyed to Marjorie.

“Marie, please go to your room and gather what you need. I am unsure how long your services will be required at the Gosses’, but it could be a week or more.”

Marie asked another girl to take over kneading the bread and scurried to her room to pack.

“Mrs Jones, could you spare Sally to nurse Mr Goss?” Mrs Jones agreed and went in search of Sally, while Marjorie returned to Mr Belfast. “Mr Goss’s cupboards are bare. Marie will need some goods to work with.”

Marjorie followed Mr Belfast to the enormous pantry and supervised as he selected sacks of flour, sugar, beans, and a bounty of other foodstuffs to send to the cottage. Baskets and buckets were brought in to carry the goods to the phaeton.

When Marjorie, Marie, and Sally arrived at the Goss residence, Daisy met them at the door.

“What is that I smell?” Daisy asked as she sniffed at one basket Marie had set on the table.

“Fruit from Shaleslip Manor’s hothouse,” Sally said as she set a bucket on the floor beneath the table. “You’ll not find finer strawberries in all of Derbyshire.”

“I love strawberries.” Daisy felt inside the basket and gently picked up a strawberry and smelled it. “They are my favourite.” She put the fruit back in the basket and continued feeling the contents. “Peaches, too! These will taste wonderful with cream and sugar. Oh, well … that is, if we had cream and sugar,” Daisy mumbled the last, hoping no one heard her.

Marjorie went to her and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. “We have brought cream and sugar as well. We thought we had better, you know, to make up for all the vegetables you’ll have to eat before dessert.”

Daisy’s face lit up in a radiant smile, and she hugged Marjorie. “Thank you, Mrs Royse. You are a blessing from God.”

Marjorie’s own smile faltered. She was no divine messenger, but she would strive to do better. To be better. She owed it to all of her husband’s tenants, and especially to Daisy.