And she needed energy to make her lips curve, to disguise the deadness inside, but supporting her usual sunny disposition was more than she could do. Unfortunately, being the lady of the vale, she couldn't even invent a fictitious malady to account for her state-she was never ill, not in the general way.
Pushing aside the ledgers she'd been studying-the breeding records for the past three years-she sighed. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes. How was she going to cope?
She lay in the chair in the darkened room and opened her senses. But no help came-no suggestion of how she might manage popped into her tired mind.
When she finally opened her eyes and sat up, the one thing she did feel sure of was that the situation was going to get worse.
Dragging herself to her feet, feeling as if the child she carried was seven months older than it was, she straightened, stacked the ledgers neatly, then, setting her shoulders back, lifting her head high, she headed for the door.
While washing and changing for dinner, she grasped the opportunity to lie down-just for a minute.
One minute turned into thirty; by the time she reached the table, it was late. Out of breath, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into her bed, she smiled serenely about the hall and helped herself to lamb collops.
Then pushed them around and around on her plate.
She felt like slumping; only by maintaining a continuous inner lecture did she manage to preserve her facade. But she couldn't eat-she'd lost her appetite. In an effort to conceal her disinterest in the food, she caught Henderson's eye. "What have the children been up to today?" In spite of his dour demeanor, Henderson had a soft spot for the manor's brats.
"Seems like the master'd been teaching some of them to ride, so I took them out to the barn." He grimaced, a depressing sight. "I'm no great horseman, though. I'm thinking they'll have to wait on his return to polish up their skills."
"Hmm." Not wanting to dwell on how long the children might have to wait, Catriona looked along the table at Mrs. Broom and gestured to the steaming apple pie just placed before her, the fruity, spicy aroma much more to her liking than the cold collops a maid had whisked away. "I congratulate you on your new receipe-the spices add a pleasing tang."
Mrs. Broom beamed. "Twas the master suggested it-seems they cook it that way in London town, but it was easy enough to do. Pity he isn't here to enjoy it-he said it was one of his favorites. But we've apples aplenty in the store-I'll make it again when he gets back."
The smile on her face felt tight; Catriona inclined her head gracefully and turned to McArdle "Has Melchett-"
"Mistress!"
"Mister Henderson!"
"Come quickly!"
With those and other cries, the manor children burst into the hall. They were led, as always, by Tom, Cook's red-headed son. He rushed straight to the main table, his gaze locked on Catriona's face. "It's the blacksmith's house, mistress. It's burning!"
"Burning?" Rising, Catriona stared down at Tom. "But…" She frowned. "It can't be."
Tom bobbed his head urgently. "It is, mistress! Flames leaping into the sky, an' all."
Everyone rushed to see. Wide-eyed, Catriona halted on the back step and saw that Tom hadn't lied. The blacksmith's small house, wedged between the forge and the granary, was alight. Angry red flames licked over the wood and stone building, engulfing it from the rear. Beyond, out of sight behind the house, lay open pigpens, presently empty.
As they watched, the flames caught better hold and roared throwing red sparks high.
Within seconds, the stable yard was a scene of confusion. Pandemonium reigned. People ran this way, then that, bumping into each other and cursing, some running to fetch pails others had already grabbed.
Dragging in a breath, Catriona lifted her head. "Henderson-you and the stablelads to the pump. Huggins, check the stable. Irons, where are you?"
The big blacksmith, a dripping pail in his hand, raised his arm. "Here, ma'am."
"You and all the men start dousing the fire."
"Aye, ma'am."
"All the women-into the kitchens. Grab whatever will hold most water."
They streamed past her, she heard the clatter as the huge pots and pans were collected. They all helped, even Algaria-a deep jam pot gripped tightly, she flung water onto the burning building.
Down on the cobbles, her face lit by the garish glow. Catriona monitored their frantic efforts. Huggins came puffing up. "The horses and animals are well enough-I've left two lads with them."
Her eyes on the flames rising above the cottage, then fanning over to embrace it from behind, Catriona grabbed his arm; she had to scream for him to hear. "Take halt the men and start throwing water onto the back. That's where the source is."