Her welcome to the Talbot home a few weeks later had been more than gracious. It almost rivalled the welcome she had been accustomed to expecting in that bygone era when Miss Jemma Simmons was the belle of every ball. She appreciated the fact that this welcome had been earned by more than an expensive gown displayed on a pleasing figure.
In those days she could never have found a plausible-enough excuse to have forsaken the ubiquitous queue of young men desperate to dance with her. Now, dressed in her unassuming gown, after a warm embrace the hostess led her away from the festivities and through to the darkened quiet of the nursery. Already honoured, Jemma's gratitude increased all the more when she caught a glimpse of Mr Sitwell across the crowded parlour, already having consumed enough wine for his nose to match the colour of his splendid red coat. She hoped against hope to hide herself away for the rest of the night.
Little Sidney Talbot's shock of dark hair against the pale sheets gave him the appearance of a rumbled raven. His little face, wrinkled into a disgruntled expression in sleep, was among the sweetest Jemma had seen. The proud mother stroked his tiny brow and accepted all her compliments in pleased consensus.
This had been an initially unexpected part of her role as an increasingly established presence in the parish. She not only attended the mother and child during birth and in the few weeks that followed, but Jemma often also found opportunities, if not pleading invitations, for her to return and admire the little one as it grew. Together with Dr Coulson she saw to the ongoing health and well-being of mother and child long beyond the newborn stage. This continuity of relationship gave her great satisfaction and she thought with pride of the families for whom she had been able to deliver more than one child. What a welcome she now found in those homes, and what inclusion that welcome now provided her as she moved about the community.
Given that small Sidney was steadfastly asleep, Jemma's stated hopes of hiding with him in the nursery were not going to come to fruition. Mrs Talbot was soon eager to return to her guests and kindly insistent that Jemma accompany her.
She was half-relief, half-distress to see that the rug had been rolled back, the most accomplished pianist prevailed upon, and that dancing had commenced. In the middle of the set, stepping on toes as he went, was Mr Sitwell, nattering away to some poor young lady who had not the strength to resist him. Audrey was already out on the floor, dancing with an elderly patient of Philip's and, it seemed, shouting to make herself heard.
Dr Coulson appeared at her side. "Shall you and I have a jig, Jemma?" he asked. "We cannot let Audrey show us both up."
She smiled back at him. "Yes, that would be lovely. That way I can enjoy myself for a little while before I shall have to insist to a certain gentleman that I have no further intention of dancing. You shall have to make a show of wearing me out, Philip. Do you think you are up to the task?"
"Miss Simmons!" Philip replied, intrigued. "Which of these poor young men is going to have his heart broken this evening? I shall be sure to be on hand with a tonic."
Jemma shook her head as he led her toward the set. "You shall not learn that information from me, sir. But I do hope you have that promised tonic with you. It may well be me that comes in search of it." She looked around the room as she and Philip awaited their turn and spotted an older man she had not seen before, watching her with some interest.
"Who is that gentleman?" she asked Philip quietly when the dance provided them with an opportunity to draw near to one another.
Philip seemed to know precisely whom she meant without even having to look. He sighed heavily. "He is the reason I was so eager to get out on the dance floor myself. That gentleman is Mr Robert Gonzales. A man of extreme melancholy and a highly specific line of questioning. I found myself feeling quite interrogated by him."
"I am sorry to hear it," Jemma replied laughing. "Surely he has learnt by now to leave his melancholy and his questions at home when he steps out into society. I certainly have, and I do not even approach his years and experience."
Philip chuckled. "She who packs her Pinard horn when dressing for a ball. I imagine you've asked some very specific and impertinent questions in inappropriate places in your time."
Jemma sighed and thought of Daisy on the night of the Manderston ball. "Oh, Philip. You are right, I am dreadful. There is nothing for it. You shall have to introduce me to this Mr Gonzales. It seems he and I quite deserve one another."
"Perhaps," Philip acknowledged smiling, "but for your sake, let us put it off for as long as we can."
After two dances with Philip, Jemma was forced to relinquish him into the arms of his wife. She had not stepped far from the floor when General Talbot drew near to her with two gentlemen by his side. The older man gave her a charming smile, the younger kept his face impolitely averted, seemingly distracted by the guests seated around card tables at the far end of the room.
"Miss Simmons," Talbot hailed her heartily, perhaps under the influence of an excessive amount of his wife's excellent plum wine. "Might I be allowed to introduce to you two of my colleagues in the military?"
"Of course, General Talbot," she replied. "I should be honoured to make their acquaintance."
"This is General John Garret," he said, indicating the older man. "And this," Talbot turned, grasping the elbow of the younger man to catch his wandering attention, "is Mr Grantham Ward."
Jemma quickly composed her features as the younger man turned his face towards her. "Miss Simmons and I have met," said he, bowing curtly. "I believe you are acquainted with my brother-in-law. He seems to have a good deal to say about you."
Jemma found herself colouring under Ward's scrutiny but could not manage a reply.
"Fitz?" Garrett enquired, laughing. "He has a good deal to say about everything. That book worm is all words and no action."
Ward laughed along with him. "Though occasionally he does play with his chemistry set."
Jemma felt affronted on behalf of her friend. "Perhaps in order to give his utmost to his intellectual pursuits, Mr Ward, Mr Fitz has felt it best for his attention to remain undivided."
"I'm sure you are right, Miss Simmons," Garrett replied soothingly, though the expression he directed at Ward conveyed his contempt. "What a shame it would be if anything distracted Fitz from the careful cultivation of his library."
Quite agreeing that it would be a shame for Mr Fitz to be distracted from such a noble pursuit, his novels notwithstanding, Jemma considered her options for escape. She felt quite desperate enough to trample over all societal codes to get away from such close proximity to Ward. In the corner of her eye she caught sight of Mr Gonzales, once more watching her solemnly from his corner.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," she said with a little curtsey, "I have neglected a new acquaintance of mine. Good evening, Mr Ward, Mr Garrett." The two men bowed disinterestedly.
She hurried over to where Gonzales sat moodily nursing his glass of wine. "Mr Gonzales," she declared. "I know this is very untoward, but I hoped you might allow me to introduce myself to you. My name is Jemma Simmons."
"I know of you," he replied, his voice unexpectedly gravelly. "You are the parish midwife."
"I am," she replied, thankful for the way in which his lack of social grace complimented her own. They would be the only two people in the room who would speak directly and without obfuscation.
"I had hoped to speak with you this evening," he went on. "For I think you might be able to help me piece together a story that I am pursuing."
"And are you constructing this story for pleasure?" Jemma asked politely, already expecting to be contradicted.
"No, Miss Simmons," Gonzales replied. "It cannot possibly bring me pleasure. It pertains to the loss of my beloved daughter."
"Sir," said Jemma, chastened. "I am terribly sorry to hear of it."
"Then perhaps you will not mind," said he, "if I ask you a few simple questions?"
Jemma shook her head. "I will not mind at all."
"My daughter was very beautiful, Miss Simmons," Gonzales began gruffly. "Very beautiful but very broken. She had lost her mother as a young child and, though I will never forgive myself, I must own responsibility for the fact that I entrusted her care into the hands of a woman in whose character I was very much deceived."
He paused to take a long draft of his wine.
"I believed that my daughter was in London being educated, taking advantage of the Masters and pursuing every opportunity that London society afforded her. Instead, I was to learn too late that her head was being filled with vanity and nonsense and that she was daily being placed in the way of men of ill repute."
Jemma did not speak but sympathetically laid her hand on the grieving father's arm.
"I am working to ascertain the name of the person in question but it seems that for a time she was taken into the care of a gentleman. It cannot be said that this gentleman's intentions were honourable, but the governess made no effort to protect my daughter from him or to inform me as her employer. She simply continued receiving the money I sent for my daughter's care and, so far as I can tell, kept it for herself."
"Mr Gonzales," Jemma whispered. "I cannot begin to imagine what you have suffered."
"I am desperate to learn the events of the last days of her life," said he. "All I have of her is a simple unmarked gravestone and the rumour of a child."
"A child?" Jemma enquired, her interest further piqued.
"Yes, Miss Simmons. The minister of the little church in whose graveyard she lies seems to think my daughter died giving birth to a daughter of her own. And so far as I can ascertain, the little girl survived."
The peace of the room and the orderly precision of the dancers was suddenly interrupted by a scuffle at the door which Jemma could only hope distracted the grieving man from the way her eyes involuntarily flew to where Grantham Ward stood, hulking behind his mentor.
"Miss Simmons!"
Jemma stood to see who it was that cried her name in such desperation. Dr Coulson and Mr Sitwell seemed to have flown from their opposite corners of the room to be by her side.
Under the ornate archway between parlour and hall, hat in hand but eyes wild, stood Mr Thomas Nash, the older husband of a simple girl who had already birthed him nine babies. Jemma herself had delivered the latest two arrivals.
"It's my Sally, Miss!" the poor man cried. "We'd only just realised she was once more with child but the pains are upon her already!"
The society ladies hid their shocked faces behind fluttering fans as if to shield themselves from such earthy reality.
"Never fear, Miss Simmons," declared Mr Sitwell boldly. "I offer myself as your escort."
Jemma shot a pleading look at Philip who immediately made the necessary connection with the gallant gentleman and their earlier conversation.
"Thank you but that won't be necessary, sir," Coulson replied. "Miss Simmons and I will follow Mr Nash in our carriage. Come, Audrey."
But his wife required no summons. She was already at his elbow ready to depart.
Miss Simmons cast a last glance at Gonzales who stared back at her in patent suspicion. "I am sorry to leave you, Mr Gonzales. I hope we shall meet again."
The shattered man got slowly to his feet and bowed in farewell.
Mr Sitwell stood to one side, looking distinctly put out as the Coulsons and Jemma quickly took leave of their hosts and followed the desperate man out of the house.
The property was not far from the Talbot's home and in almost no time, Philip was ascertaining the health of the mother while Jemma did the same for the child.
"Sally!" Jemma asked after a cursory examination. "How far along do you suspect yourself to be?"
Sally looked back at her wild-eyed. "I'm still feeding Nathanael! It never occurred to me that I could be with child so soon."
"But don't you remember this exact thing happening with Silas' birth?"
A look of recognition dawned over Sally's broad face. "Oh, yes!" But the recognition was soon replaced by the blank-faced concentration she required to ride through her building contractions.
Philip sat back on his haunches for a whispered consultation with his colleague. "Sally seems healthy in herself, but she is most certainly in the throes of labour. How premature is the arrival of the child?"
"That's just the thing," Jemma whispered back. "The first of Sally's births that I attended started exactly like this. Never have I met a woman less in tune with her own body. There's no concern about the size of the child. She's carried it to full-term without even realising. Silas was the same."
"So we're about to welcome the tenth Nash of this generation into the world," Philip observed dryly. "Let us hope that they all have a little more sense than their parents."
"Indeed," Jemma nodded. "But I have no reason to suspect that this will be a complicated birth. She may not have the faintest idea about how to read her body during pregnancy but if the last two occasions are anything to go by, she is a highly efficient birther. Take Audrey home. I'll more than likely be here until dawn anyway."
"You're certain?" Philip asked.
"I'll send Nash for you if I feel there's any need," she replied.
Coulson got to his feet and went to assist Audrey who was settling the eldest of the other nine children into their beds.
"Alright, Mrs Nash," said Jemma, positioning herself more comfortably at the lady's side. "Let's see if God has a daughter in mind for you at last."
…
Fitz had developed a cunning strategy of drawing out breakfast for as long as he could. Triplett might have been satisfied with a mere tankard of ale but his friend was an entirely different beast. Aided and abetted by the kitchen staff, Fitz would consume, in leisurely fashion, as many plates of eggs, smoked bacon, toasted bread and any other delicacies of the chef's devising as he could possibly manage before allowing himself to be harangued into the great outdoors.
Triplett was simultaneously exasperated and reluctantly impressed. "If I attempted to put away as much food as you, my dear fellow," he cried, "I'd be off to London every month to be fitted for a new pair of breeches!"
Raina shook her head with a little smile that made Fitz quite uncomfortable. "Now, Antoine," she soothed, allowing her eyes to travel appraisingly over their guest's physique, "we cannot all expect to maintain such an excellent figure as Mr Fitz now, can we?"
Fitz nearly choked on a flake of pastry while Antoine begrudgingly agreed with her.
But beyond the significant advantages of early-morning feasting and the opportunity for prolonging the inevitable traipsing out into the mud, Fitz had found a third incentive to linger longer over the first meal of the day. As at Manderston, Triplett's butler would have a footman appear with any letters, bearing them solemnly to their addressee on shiny little silver platters. And seeing as Fitz existed day-by-day on the hope of just such a delivery, extending the breakfast period enabled him to fully experience and appreciate the delicious agony of another day passing with no word from Miss Simmons, which surely brought the day on which he would hear from her ever closer.
At last, a pimply footman, carefully balancing a disappointingly anaemic-looking envelope on his little silver salver, was making his way directly across the dining room towards Fitz. Before the boy had crossed even half of the room, the gentleman's heart was in his throat and his fingers were trembling with the anticipation of tearing into a fresh parcel of her presence, a paper-bound magic spell conjured in her looping hand – an enchantment that could invoke her for him though she was so many miles away.
But when at last he held the longed-for letter in his hand, he took one glance at the hastily scrawled direction and immediately the spell was broken. This was not the work of Miss Simmons' steady hand. This was from Daisy, and he could tell by a mere glance at the uncharacteristically trembling lettering, that this was Daisy in distress.
He tore open the envelope and found his hunch confirmed by the splash and smudge of tear-stains across the page.
.
My dearest Leo,
I have deferred interrupting your time with the Tripletts but I am afraid I can postpone the inevitable no longer. Here is just one of the truths I have hidden from you, brother: Grantham is a gambler. From almost the very day of our marriage, he has worked like a man possessed to wager our fortune on any and every card game he could join.
He is away from home, which is nothing unusual, but this time, when I say he has left me in alone in an empty house, I mean it perfectly literally. The staff have had to be dismissed because we cannot pay them their wages, the furniture has been claimed and carried off by those to whom he is in debt, and I am utterly on my own with no one and nothing but a shell of a house and only that because of Father. I have not been able to bring myself to write to our parents and tell them the truth. I am so ashamed.
Thankfully, I have one remaining ally. You may recall that knowing our parents would be in Bath and that you would be in Shropshire for some months, faithful Mack offered his services to me in London as my squire. I am so thankful to him for he has kept the carriage and horses as far from the name of Ward as he has been able and consequently he is here to drive me home. We leave for Berwickshire tomorrow.
I do not wish to break up your party but I do not think I could stand to stay at Manderston all on my own. Is it too much to ask for you to come home with me, my brother? There is more news that you do not yet know but trust me when I tell you that at this stage no words from me will be required for you to learn it all.
I am so sorry again, Leo, for the inconvenience and disappointment this must cause you, but I do so yearn to seeing a friendly face.
God bless you,
Daisy
.
Fitz had not even finished reading the letter before he was on his feet, shouting orders for his horse to be made ready. He hastily instructed his man to pack his things, bid a rapid and apologetic farewell to Antoine and Raina and galloped off into the mist.
I cannot believe I gave myself so much extra time and am still posting at 11:58pm on Monday night...
Aaaaanyway, next chapter we'll have our beloveds back in the same parish! Woot woo!
