The Master of Winterbourne

‘Here is your breakfast, Mistr…my lady…’ She sidled in with the tray, placing it on the table by the window without looking at Henrietta. Eyes averted, she began to pick up Matthew's velvet breeches, doublet and linen shirt from the oak chest on which they lay.

‘What are you doing, girl?’ Henrietta demanded sharply. Surely her husband had not given orders that his things be moved to another chamber? Her cheeks burned with humiliation at what the servants must be thinking – and saying.

‘Master told me to bring his clothes to the Spanish chamber.’ Letty fumbled with the boots and pricked her finger on the spur. ‘Ouch!’

‘Take more care,’ Henrietta scolded her half-heartedly. So it was true. He was so angry with her he couldn't bear to share the same bed.

Chapter Sixteen

‘Stop sniffing, it's only a scratch,’ Henrietta snapped. ‘What did the Master say?’

‘He said he wanted to leave you in peace to break your fast while he went down to see Master Weldon. He's very kind, the master, isn't he, Miss… er…my lady?’ The maid scurried out, her cheeks burning with her boldness in talking so, and almost collided in the doorway with Aunt Clifford.

‘What consideration your dear husband shows,’ Susan commented cosily, kissing her niece's flushed cheek without apparently noting anything amiss.

‘In what way?’ enquired Henrietta with dangerous calm. Her relief that he had not left her was overwhelmed by an emotion she could hardly recognise. Anger, fear, guilt and misery churned inside her so that she could hardly think straight.

‘Why, in sparing your blushes and allowing you to make your toilette alone.’ Susan heaved a sentimental sigh. ‘Ah, so much to ponder on in tranquillity…’

‘Indeed, the opportunity would be very welcome,’ Henrietta began with uncharacteristic sarcasm, then broke off as Alice tapped on the door. ‘Oh, come in, why don't you? Everyone else is here. It's like Aylesbury Midsummer Market.’

Alice and Susan exchanged sharp glances, then the older woman sat and took Henrietta's hand in hers, patting it comfortingly. ‘Now, now, my dear. I know last night must have been a… shock for you. As indeed it would be for any innocent maiden,’ she added hastily. ‘But I am sure Matthew was considerate, and you will grow accustomed to it, might even grow to welcome your husband's nightly… visits.’

Henrietta sat meekly, letting her aunt ramble on through thinly-veiled advice and old wives' lore, all the time conscious of Alice's silent gaze. She looked up and met the look, saw her friend take in the total disorder of the bed, her discarded nightgown, her dishevelled appearance. Alice raised one quizzical brow and a knowing smile touched the corner of her mouth. Henrietta felt the blush scald its way up from breast to temple.

Her aunt saw too, but misinterpreted the cause. ‘We will talk of this no more, my love, if it distresses you. Believe me, these are but maidenly qualms born of inexperience, and as such very welcome to your husband. Your husband…’ Fortunately her words were curtailed by a loud crash from the foot of the stairs. ‘Those careless girls! If that was the best pewter I’ll – ’ She left the threat unsaid and bustled from the room, leaving Alice and Henrietta regarding each other in silence.

Automatically Alice moved to the end of the bed and began to pour warm water from the ewer into the Delftware basin. She shook out clean towels, then unlaced Henrietta's nightrobe as though she were still her maid.

Driven by habit, Henrietta washed while Alice found clean under-linen in the press. The unnatural silence stretched on while Alice helped her into her lavender-scented holland shift and smoothed down the lace trimmings. It wasn't until Henrietta was seated in front of her glass and Alice was dabbing orris root powder on her shoulders where Matthew's stubble had grazed that she found words.

‘Alice, tell me something.’ The other girl nodded enc

ouragingly. ‘Does Robert ever speak of the war, of the battles? How he was wounded? What it was like in the heat of the fighting?’

‘Never,’ Alice replied, surprised into frankness. ‘But at night he dreams. Terrible dreams. He screams and shouts and when he wakes he is drenched with sweat. And he shakes… Oh, how he shakes. But he would never speak of it to me, even when I asked direct. He grew angry with me and said I would not understand.’ She picked up the hairbrush and busied herself removing the tangles from Henrietta's curls. ‘Does the master dream?’ she asked carefully.

‘No. No matter, Alice, it was something I had meant to ask you before. Nothing you have said to me will be spoken of again.’

So, Matthew told me true, Henrietta mused. He had not been deliberately callous when I was most vulnerable to him. If Robert, stolid, dependable, easy-going Robert, has nightmares, snapped at Alice when she tried to speak of them, then that was how it must have been. She drew a determined breath. She would think no more of it now or the horror would fill her mind. She had guests and duties and a husband to find and pacify. Surely he would forgive her, they were too newly married for quarrels. Last night in his arms he must have sensed something of what she felt for him. She would find him quickly, build on those moments of tenderness and intimacy, banish the morning's misunderstandings.

Henrietta caught Alice's eye in the glass, and spoke without thinking. ‘Alice, is it proper for me to find such pleasure in my husband's arms? My aunt seems to think I would dislike it, but nothing could be further from the truth.’

‘Oh! So that is what worries you,’ Alice exclaimed. ‘It is just as it should be, and far better for the making of children.’

‘As you found out,’ Henrietta commented drily, her equilibrium almost restored to normal. ‘Remind me, when is your child due?’

‘In mid-November, according to Mistress Perrott, and I have never known the wisewoman wrong.’ She laid a hand on the swell of her belly and smiled proudly.

‘Take care! Do not use that word while Matthew's clerk is in the household. His sort see witchcraft in every country way, and wisewomen and their potions will smack of the Devil to him.’ Both glanced instinctively at the closed door, then without another word turned back to the dressing-table.

*

Gowned once more in the primrose silk, Henrietta entered the long gallery, not knowing what reception to expect. Her mind was still filled with confusions and the tension of her parting with Matthew, but her training in deportment allowed none of this to show outwardly as she stepped out of the shadows.

It was mostly the male guests who lingered in the cool room, talking of politics and county affairs to the new master of Winterbourne while their wives walked in the pleasure gardens or gossiped in Aunt Susan's parlour.

However, Lady Willoughby was, as usual, where the talk of politics was, engaged in vigorous disparagement of a newly appointed local Justice. She broke off when she saw Henrietta hesitating on the threshold. She stepped forward then, when she saw Matthew, stayed where she was.