The following was inspired by characters in the 2007 BBC miniseries Cranford, which was based on Elizabeth Gaskell's Cranford, Mr. Harrison's Confessions, and My Lady Ludlow. My story, however, has no connection whatsoever to the BBC's 2009 sequel.
Many thanks to everyone who is faithfully following this saga, especially everyone posting reviews, offering encouragement, and signing up for alerts. I want to give a particular shout-out to smc0235 and an anonymous person, both of whom have recently begun submitting comments.
This chapter of "A Conspiracy of Concern" has been brought to you by the Blizzard of 2010, keeping people on the East Coast of the United States cooped up in their homes since...2010.
Chapter 39: New Dreams
Laurie was fairly breathless from running, and from laughing. He clasped her hand in his as they both hastened down the lawn at Hanbury towards the little stone bridge. The ground was soft beneath their feet, the grass the rich deep green of summer, and the sun just bright enough to provide them warmth.
They arrived at the bridge and he was astonished to see that a garden lay just on the other side. How, when he knew every inch of the estate, might he have overlooked such a thing?
He turned to Laurie and saw her looking up at him from beneath the brim of an ordinary straw bonnet. Today was their wedding day, he remembered, and yet Laurie was dressed as he'd seen her a hundred times, in a familiar brown dress and boots.
He put an arm about her waist and drew her along beside him. That was familiar too -- the curve of her slender yet sturdy body, the suggestion of delicate softness. He left his hand resting upon her hip as they crossed over the bridge.
"No one will disturb us here," he said when they reached the garden.
Laurie looked up at him again, and this time she blushed, but she smiled too, and the expression in her eyes offered every proof that she understood his meaning, that she consented to his unspoken wish. Almost shyly she pressed her hand against his lapel, nearly over his heart, and he saw she was holding a rosebud in her fingers, but then there were roses all about them too, nothing but roses...
She started awake, her heart pounding, as she had done many times since she was a girl. It was always as though she had been out walking, and had tripped and fallen to the ground.
This time, though, she was not alone, and as she opened her eyes she found Edward asleep beside her. Evidently her sudden movement had not woken him, and he remained safely within the embrace of his dreams.
She shifted herself slightly, bringing her arm lightly across his chest, resting her hand upon his heart, as she once more shut her eyes against the darkness.
Dada didn't take Harry's hand or put an arm round his shoulder as they made their way up the path to the great house. But the two of them walked so closely side by side, and step by step, they might have been one man, even though Dada was taller -- but not so much taller as he had been.
Mr. Carter was of course already waiting for them in the hall. He was standing beneath one of the windows with Reverend Hutton, who smiled at Harry. Dada, having remembered to take off his hat, nodded back at the rector.
The four of them had not been standing together long when her ladyship appeared, her step light and quick, for all that she used a walking stick, tapping it on the black and white floor as she went along.
"Good day to you, Rector," she said, almost smiling.
"My lady." The rector bowed, and so did Mr. Carter.
"Mr. Carter." Her ladyship gave a little nod of her head to him, then turned to Dada. "Job Gregson, I see that you have brought your son, and at the appointed time."
"Yes, my lady."
"I take it, then, that as the boy's father, you have given your wholehearted consent to this proceeding."
Harry looked up at Dada.
"I have, madam."
"Very well," said her ladyship. She turned her eyes upon Harry. "Harry Gregson, from this day forward you no longer serve the Hanbury estate, but rather owe your duty to the parish. For your sake, and Mr. Carter's, and the rector's, I have consented to this plan. Indeed it is only through the efforts of such powerful advocates that you have won your present opportunity. I trust you will not use it ill."
"No, my lady," said Harry firmly, though he wanted to ask Mr. Carter, or perhaps Reverend Hutton, what "advocates" meant.
"From henceforth you shall receive a modest stipend for the tasks you perform in the service of the parish library and, once it is established, the school. Moreover you shall be expected to devote a portion of each day to study, in which Reverend Hutton has most generously offered to assist you.
"This arrangement is intended not only to discharge your obligation to your family, but to provide for your moral and spiritual welfare. You must guard against temptation, Harry," she went on, never taking her eyes from his face. "Attend to your prayers, and use whatever you learn in service of the good. I trust Mr. Carter has already taught you as much."
"Yes, my lady," answered Harry solemnly, glancing over at Mr. Carter as he spoke.
"Now," said Lady Ludlow, "there are one or two matters upon which I should like to have your counsel, Rector, if you will be so good as to accompany me to the library."
"Of course, my lady."
"And you, Mr. Carter," said her ladyship, turning to the estate manager, "have some business to discuss with Mr. Gregson, I believe."
"Indeed, my lady."
"I shall not keep you, then." With that she turned back to Harry. "You are a good boy," she said softly, "and, if you remain diligent and obedient, will surely become a good man.
"Now, Rector--"
And in a moment she had gone, taking Reverend Hutton with her.
"Good news, Dada?" asked Harry when his father returned from speaking to Mr. Carter.
"Never you mind!" But Dada smiled, almost chuckled, and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Come on, lad. Let's be off."
Laurentia had counted it no privilege to be kept at home for many days, to be waited upon and looked after. Truly one did not hold the most ordinary pleasures dear until they were snatched away, and she resolved hereafter to be grateful for every opportunity to walk freely over the fields, into the woods, and through the village, without ever asking Dr. Harrison's leave.
She could as well again think of the home Edward had made for her as a refuge, and not a prison, though perhaps, if she were scrupulously honest, she should confess it was her own body that had become the prison. Reverend Hutton might perhaps tell her as much, if she sought his opinion, and indeed it would be wise, after the despair of the past weeks, to spend a few moments receiving the counsel of that good man.
Yet Laurentia did not on this day feel equal to laying her thoughts and fears, let alone faults, before the rector. Her concerns were at present more temporal than spiritual, she decided, as she made her way towards Dr. Morgan's surgery.
The name "Mrs. Carter" did not come easily to his lips, for all that he'd had a little time to accustom himself to her new station. She had for so many years been Miss Galindo, Miss Laurentia Galindo, and had come to him with any concerns regarding her family's health, or indeed her own.
That had been before her marriage, however, and before her recent sorrow, and before Mr. Goddard's man had fetched Frank to attend her. Since then the younger physician had had charge of Mrs. Carter's care, and evidently impressed Mr. Carter sufficiently that there had been no need for Dr. Morgan's services.
And yet Mrs. Carter had come to him. After all her trouble, she had come to him.
"I must confess myself a bit astonished by your request to see me," began Dr. Morgan. "Are you not well contented with Dr. Harrison's treatment?"
"It is no slight against his abilities, I assure you, that I have come to speak with you today," said Mrs. Carter. "My husband has nothing but the highest praise for Dr. Harrison's efforts."
"And do you?" he asked gently.
"Dr. Harrison is extremely knowledgeable," said Mrs. Carter carefully. "And he is a most considerate young man.
"But for all that he has the finest medical training," she continued, raising her eyebrows and looking up at Dr. Morgan, "and only the best intentions, he is hardly your equal in experience, and perhaps cannot provide the counsel I seek."
"What counsel is that, Mrs. Carter?"
At that Mrs. Carter appeared to lose her accustomed ease, and struggled to find the words to continue. "I would surmise that over the years of your practice," she said quietly, "you have often served as father-confessor, and that many a patient has revealed his or her secrets, perhaps even sins."
"My dear Mrs. Carter, every physician has a sacred obligation to his patients," said Dr. Morgan. "But we are none of us without sins of our own," he added with a sigh. "You must not mistake us for better men than we are.
"You may nevertheless tell me whatever you wish, and I shall do my best to answer your questions, and keep your counsel."
"Pray do not misunderstand me. I have no wicked revelations to make. Yet there is something I must ask you regarding -- that is -- forgive me, Dr. Morgan. I am no longer certain I can form the words."
"Mrs. Carter, I promise you that I shall endeavor to help in any fashion I might, and moreover shall not utter a single word of reproach. Now then," he said gently. "Let us begin again."
Again it seemed to cost Mrs. Carter a considerable effort to speak. "You can surely guess the nature of my question, or nearly."
"I think I can," said Dr. Morgan quietly, simply.
"There is a scarcely a living soul to whom I might speak of it," she continued, bowing her head. "Everyone has been very kind, but dares not utter a word of what has happened. Even my husband -- he is all gentleness, Dr. Morgan, but so grieved I cannot bear it, not when I have disappointed him in such a fashion."
"Disappointed him?"
"By losing our child." She said it softly, so softly Dr. Morgan could barely hear her words. He took her hands in his, and held them during a long, painful silence.
When next she spoke, it was through tears. "I have a thousand times pondered how I spent the last weeks. I knew the signs, Dr. Morgan. I had been careful to learn what I might expect, yet I did not speak a word of my suspicions to my husband. I thought possibly I might be mistaken, and truth to tell, I was a bit frightened."
"That was only natural, Mrs. Carter," said Dr. Morgan warmly. "You must not be so severe with yourself."
At that she looked up, her eyes so vulnerable, and wet with tears, that he saw again the girl Laurentia he had known.
"I dare say I thought myself very incautious," she said, sniffing awkwardly. "That is, I believed myself responsible for --"
She did not finish the thought, and Dr. Morgan held both her hands within his own until she composed herself enough to continue.
"Dr. Harrison said such a thing is unfortunate but not uncommon, and certainly was not owing to my own behavior. Yet I fear that I shall never bear a child, and --"
"Mrs. Carter," said Dr. Morgan, with deliberate firmness, "I assure you that need not be so."
"Then other women have --"
"They have indeed, and I have very often seen a woman give birth to a healthy child after an earlier disappointment."
At that Mrs. Carter let out a sigh. "Dr. Harrison said as much, but it comforts me greatly to hear the same from you. Of course that is not intended as any manner of affront to Dr. Harrison."
"Of course not," said Dr. Morgan reassuringly.
Mrs. Carter gave expression to her relief in another little sigh, and in a smile. But the smile was followed by a delicate blush as she began to speak again.
"There is another matter I scarcely know how to address, but I shall endeavor to try. When might I -- that is, when might my husband -- when might we -- "
She paused, either for want of the proper expression, or from embarrassment, or perhaps in the expectation that he knew precisely what she meant.
"Ah. You mean when might you live together as heretofore. Within another month, I should think, Mrs. Carter."
"Another month," she repeated. "And then he need have no compunction about --"
"By no means, Mrs. Carter, not once you have regained your former health and vigor."
She smiled again, a little shyly. "I do feel a good deal more energetic."
"Good. Your sleep is untroubled?"
Once more she blushed. "I confess I have of late suffered from nightmares."
"Oh, that will not do. I would counsel against taking late suppers and of course subjecting yourself to any vexation in the evenings. And though I doubt very much that you read anything that is not edifying, take special care that you choose things that are light and diverting. No ponderous essays, if you please, Mrs. Carter," he added, with a little smile.
"I should think not, Dr. Morgan," said Mrs. Carter with mock severity. "It is rest I crave, not boredom."
Dr. Morgan chuckled appreciatively before continuing. "Above all else, you are not to worry, Mrs. Carter," he said emphatically. "That is my prescription. Do not make undue demands upon yourself. Why, you might even ask your husband to take you away on a holiday."
"A holiday?" Mrs. Carter's eye widened again. "Oh, surely not, Dr. Morgan. It is nearing harvest time, and my husband has a great many responsibilities."
And what of his responsibility to you? But Dr. Morgan did not speak the thought aloud, and said only, "Perhaps later, then, after the harvest."
"But there is the school to think of as well, Dr. Morgan," said Mrs. Carter in haste. "I suspect we shall both of us be very busy indeed in the coming months."
"Mrs. Carter, I am not proposing that either of you neglect your duties, only that you pay due attention to your health and spirits."
At that Mrs. Carter colored again, and lowered her gaze. "Indeed, Dr. Morgan," she said softly, "my husband has shown me only the tenderest consideration these past weeks."
The troubled expression in her eyes suggested there was as yet something upon her heart, and Dr. Morgan gave her a moment to contemplate sharing this additional confidence.
"It is only that I wish for things to be as they were."
"You must exercise a little patience with yourself, Mrs. Carter," said Dr. Morgan. "And with your husband. Look after your own health, and his, allow him to comfort you, and I have no doubt that things will proceed as they ought."
"You think we ought to take a holiday." It was a statement and a question.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I should think visiting a new place ought to refresh the both of you."
"It is strange, Dr. Morgan," sighed Mrs. Carter. "But one also finds comfort in familiar surroundings, and in familiar, indeed ordinary things."
"Indeed one does," said Dr. Morgan warmly. "That is a wise observation. But one may also dream of a good deal more."
His Mary had never taken up drawing, and perhaps that was a pity. She'd a gift for observation -- her letters proved as much -- and Jack knew she'd an eye to see the charm and loveliness in the most ordinary things, let alone the grandest. There would come a day when he'd show her the sea, and thereafter Ireland, and sometimes at night before he fell asleep he traced every step of their prospective journey, and imagined the look in Mary's eyes when she saw Ireland in all its harsh and delicate beauty, its ghostly greys and rich greens.
But just now, of course, he could show her London, only it hadn't turned out quite that way, for all that Jack knew and liked the city, and had a fond memory or two of his time at Guy's. No, it was Mary's aunt who was guiding both of them, and a good thing it was, too, for it gave him the chance of an hour or two of Mary's company, and in places that were a vast improvement over the libraries and hospitals and rented rooms where he had spent much of his time these past months.
The National Gallery, for one. Mary's aunt had been duly shocked to learn that Jack had never set foot in the place, and almost as soon as he had called that first time, she had set about planning an excursion for the three of them.
And it was grand to walk through such a place with Mary, to see everything for himself, and the look on her own face as well as she admired a painting or a statue, or giggled at one of Jack's whispered comments.
They had stopped before a curious old painting of a glum-looking fellow, dressed in a fur-trimmed cloak and a queer black hat, and holding a lady by the hand. The woman was in a gown of the deepest green and had with her other hand gathered up her skirts at the front, and Jack thought she looked just as though she were about to have a child, perhaps even that very day, for all that this was supposed to be her wedding picture! Of course he didn't speak a word of that to anyone, not even Mary. But still he smiled broadly at the painting, until Mary had to ask him what he found so funny.
Miss Pole ought to have made an excellent bird of prey; she'd a sharp and practiced gaze, and it was a rare creature who could escape her notice.
That meant, however, that friendship with her held its advantages, and on this particular day she detected the presence of a most interesting personage, and was crying out, "Mr. Carter! Mr. Carter!" before Mrs. Forrester had glimpsed the gentleman herself.
Thereafter it should require both energy and resolve to keep pace with Miss Pole's brisk step, but Mrs. Forrester was more than equal to the task. Besides, it would have been most unseemly to allow her friend to reach dear Mr. Carter's side unaccompanied.
"Miss Pole. Mrs. Forrester." He nodded, his hand on his hat brim, as both ladies reached his proximity.
"Mr. Carter!" Mrs. Forrester, almost breathless, offered the gentleman a suitable reverence, then spoke again before Miss Pole might reclaim the conversational ground. "How is your dear wife?"
Poor man! He looked rather sober at the question, though he recovered admirably, and replied, in that fine manly voice, "She is quite well, Mrs. Forrester, and has now resumed her accustomed walks to the village. No doubt she will have the pleasure of calling upon you soon."
"That is delightful news," cooed Mrs. Forrester, but before she could say anything more Miss Pole interjected, "Upon my word, Mrs. Forrester, did I not tell you that I caught sight of the lady myself in Princess Street fully two days ago and, though I could not overtake her, thought she looked as well as ever she did? Not that I quarrel with your right to make report of Mrs. Carter's restored health yourself, Mr. Carter," she said, turning to that gentleman. "But there is other news of import to discuss." Lowering her voice conspiratorially, she said, "I have this day heard the most astonishing report concerning young Harry Gregson. Is it true, Mr. Carter? Is he indeed to be trained up as librarian to the parish, or perhaps schoolmaster?"
At that Mr. Carter actually smiled. "Harry will be assisting the rector with the parish library, it is true," he said. "But he must also of necessity spend a good deal of time in study, as a boy of his age ought to do. Once the school opens, he will make himself useful there as well."
"Then it is a sort of apprenticeship, Mr. Carter."
"It is indeed, Miss Pole -- "
"A sweet boy, that Gregson lad," said Mrs. Forrester warmly. "I suspected he should in time prove his worth to us all."
"The boy does indeed possess talent, Mrs. Forrester," agreed Mr. Carter. "It should have been very wrong to waste it. But every man -- every child -- is born with intelligence, and must learn to use it."
"In making such a pronouncement," said Miss Pole coolly, "I hope it was not your intention to exclude the female sex."
"No indeed, Miss Pole! Mrs. Carter should thank you for correcting me, but I dare say you know her opinions yourself."
"I am well acquainted with her views, Mr. Carter," said Miss Pole, nodding her head, "and have drawn inspiration from them."
"Inspiration? What manner of inspiration?"
"Miss Pole has proposed the formation of a literary society," said Mrs. Forrester happily.
At that Miss Pole's face went very pink, and the expression in her eyes suggested at the least wounded feelings, and at the most anger. Yet she could uncharacteristically produce no words to give voice to either emotion before Mr. Carter said, "A literary society? That the ladies might pen their own verse and prose?"
"Indeed not, Mr. Carter," said Mrs. Forrester, chuckling. "For I know of no one among us who possesses such ambition!"
"I would propose, Mrs. Forrester, " said Miss Pole crisply, "that you make no such pronouncement before divining the wishes of each member of the community. Indeed there might perhaps be the equal of Miss Austen or Miss Barrett among our number."
She turned back to Mr. Carter. "But it was not my intention, Mr. Carter, to discuss concealed talents or ambitions. I should only observe that there is not a lady among us but takes sincere pleasure in reading. I know not whether the same can be said of the gentlemen, though I have often seen Captain Brown going about with one work or other by Mr. Dickens, and laughing most immoderately during his perusal of the same.
"But of course one cannot always be acquiring a new novel from the bookseller," continued Miss Pole. "We are all of us prudent in our expenditures, and on occasion there must needs be a dearth of new things to read. The newspaper, of course, has it its uses, but is wholly insufficient as a source of diversion, to say nothing of edification."
"So we would enhance our modest resources," put in Mrs. Forrester, "by sharing them with each other. Should you not like, Mr. Carter, to read before us all on an evening in autumn, or perhaps in winter? Oh, it should be uncommonly pleasant to hear literature read aloud in a strong masculine voice," she added, shivering with pleasure.
"I am greatly flattered, Mrs. Forrester --"
"Of course dear Mrs. Carter must play her part in such an entertainment as well," added Mrs. Forrester hastily. "She is known for a great reader, and we should not think to form a literary society without her."
"We have as yet formed nothing, Mrs. Forrester," said Miss Pole tartly. "Though, when we do, Mrs. Carter's counsel would be most welcome," she added, turning back to Mr. Carter. "And if the Gregson boy is now to be our parish librarian, why, then perhaps we shall want his opinion as well!"
"Ah, Mr. Carter. It is well I found you before you made your way home."
"Dr. Morgan." Edward nodded in greeting. There was scarcely anyone he had had less expectation of meeting as he made ready to leave his office. Her ladyship was in tolerably good health, and he knew of no illness or injury among the staff.
"I shall not keep you, of course, when your wife is awaiting your return," said Dr. Morgan pleasantly. "But might I have leave to accompany you part of the way? There is a matter I wish to discuss with you."
"Of course," said Edward."Does it concern the school?"
"The school?" said Dr. Morgan, turning to look at his companion while keeping in pace with him. "Oh, no, bless me, it does not."
"No? But I should like to have your opinion, and perhaps your assistance, on one or two matters," said Edward.
"I am greatly flattered, Mr. Carter! Perhaps we ought to arrange a time to speak of them. But I have come on another matter, something I have been turning over in my mind."
"I hope I can be of help."
"I had occasion to speak with your wife the other day," began Dr. Morgan.
"Indeed." Edward frowned. Dr. Harrison had attended Laurie from the first, and surely there was no need of another physician.
"Yes. She was out and about, and looked very well. It did my heart good to see her, after she had been kept so many days in-doors. I dare say that was unavoidable, but she cannot have cared for it much."
"No." Despite himself Edward smiled. "Indeed it was only with reluctance that she submitted to Dr. Harrison's orders."
"I can well imagine," answered Dr. Morgan, chuckling. "I often think, Mr. Carter, that it is a wonder any medical man can build a practice here, when the women show such decided spirit and resilience. Not a malingerer among them, that I can see.
"Still, Frank was very right to insist that Mrs. Carter have some respite from her duties, that she might make a full recovery."
"Yes." But Edward frowned, despite his automatic and wholly justified expression of agreement. What need had Dr. Harrison of a senior physician's approval? The young man had more than proven his worth, many times over.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Carter," Dr. Morgan was saying now. "I think perhaps you did not hear what I have just said to you."
"What? No -- I am sorry. I was deep in thought. Do continue."
"I only wanted to say, Mr. Carter," said Dr. Morgan evenly, "that perhaps your wife might enjoy a holiday while the weather is still pleasant -- to the seaside, perhaps."
At that Edward stopped walking and turned to his companion. "You propose that I send her away?"
"'Send her away'? Mr. Carter, I am not suggesting anything so cold-hearted! No, I meant that you might take her yourself."
"Forgive me, Dr. Morgan," said Edward crisply. "I am not certain that is possible at present."
"Come now, Mr. Carter. Surely Lady Ludlow will grant you leave to accompany your wife, indeed approve such a plan wholeheartedly. Aside from your good self, there is no one, save perhaps my own wife, who feels such tender concern for Mrs. Carter as does her ladyship."
Edward had no immediate reply to that but merely slowed his gait as he considered Dr. Morgan's suggestion. "I am not certain that Laurie -- that Mrs. Carter would consent to such a thing," he said finally. "She has no desire to be treated as a convalescent."
"That is very understandable, Mr. Carter, in a woman possessed of such an independent spirit."
"And work is a tonic. I am certain you understand what I mean."
"I do not dispute the curative powers of work, Mr. Carter, and of course Mrs. Carter is your helpmeet in every regard. That is most natural. But pray do not exhaust yourselves at a time when both grief and disappointment are weighing upon her, and perhaps yourself."
Edward could make no reply to that, and Dr. Morgan, perhaps out of embarrassment, hastened to continue. "Forgive me, Mr. Carter, for taking the liberty of addressing what must of necessity be a painful subject. But I must tell you that at such a time, when a woman feels her loss most keenly, and indeed believes she might have prevented it, she endures not only grief but self-reproach."
"Self-reproach?"
"I mean, Mr. Carter," continued Dr. Morgan, "that a lady might hold herself responsible for her husband's pain as well as her own."
Edward remembering holding Laurie in his arms as she wept. I am sorry, Edward. I am sorry.
"It is cruel, Mr. Carter, most extraordinarily cruel, that a woman must bear such a double burden, especially when she could do nothing, when nature itself might not have permitted her a happy conclusion to the weeks and months of waiting."
What was it Dr. Harrison had said? Surely it would not have proceeded as it ought, no matter how much care your wife took.
"Allow me to set your mind at rest, then, Dr. Morgan. Dr. Harrison was careful to tell me it could not have ended well."
"Come now, Mr. Carter! Do not take offense. It is by no means my intention to interfere with Frank's treatment of your wife, or amend his instructions.
"I have merely offered such reassurances to Mrs. Carter as were mine to give, and bade her look after her own health. It should be very wrong of me to do more than that. Still, she does not need medicines, or even much advice," he said, sighing deeply. "She needs time, as well as your comfort and guidance. Of course I need hardly remind you of such a thing."
"No. No, of course not."
"Indeed I do not think there is anything quite so beneficial to her as your society right now. Let her have her tears; they are to be expected. But do not hold yourself aloof. At such a time she deserves your tenderest attentions --"
"Dr. Morgan, I do not require any tutelage from you to learn what my wife 'deserves.'"
"I am sorry. I had no wish to offend you."
"Yes. Well -- "
"But I must tell you that your wife sought my advice; I did not impose it upon her."
"Laurie sought you out?" said Edward sharply.
"I hope she will forgive me for breaking a confidence. But yes, Mr. Carter, she did. I think she only wanted some reassurance -- "
"Reassurance?"
"That she was not at fault. That she might have hope of giving you a child someday."
Edward froze, then resumed walking as briskly as he might.
"Mr. Carter?" Dr. Morgan quickened his step to keep pace with Edward. "Mr. Carter, I beg of you -- "
Edward paused in mid-stride, and turned back to the physician.
"Forgive me, Dr. Morgan," he said, in a chastened tone. "But I do not think I can continue this discussion at present, and it should be unfair to detain you any longer.
"Good day to you, Dr. Morgan. I -- I thank you."
The days were shorter now, for all that it was still summer, and the light didn't last. Yet Laurie would take out her mending of an evening, and he almost wished she would not attempt it and so tax her eyes.
For reasons he could not explain, it pained his very heart to see her sitting there with one of his shirts in her hands, and that expression of concentration upon her face. He found himself watching her fingers gliding deftly over the cream linen. It seemed an age since he had touched her hands himself, though he felt as though he could remember every time they had rested against his chest, or passed gently over his forehead as Laurie brushed a lock of his hair back into place, or --
"Edward?"
"Hm?" He had been quite lost in thought.
"I was just saying it does amuse me that Miss Pole wishes my opinion regarding the literary society," said Laurie, smiling to herself.
"Yes. But of course you are a great reader, as Mrs. Forrester observed."
"Oh, surely not! Though if I am, perhaps it is of necessity," she said, drawing the thread once again through the linen.
"Hm?"
"During these past weeks, I mean."
"Laurie, I've no doubt that Mrs. Forrester and, for that matter, Miss Pole were sincere in paying you the compliment. You have had a superior education to theirs. Indeed I think only Reverend Hutton could boast of a better, but he is a clergyman."
"And Dr. Harrison."
"Dr. Harrison?"
"His education is superior to mine."
"Well, he is a physician, a man of science."
"Yes." She kept silent for a moment, all the while smoothing the the shirt that lay upon her knee. "Edward, I think -- "
"Hm?"
She stood up abruptly. "That is, I do not -- Edward, when I was in the village the other day, I called upon Dr. Morgan."
With that Edward laid down the letter he had in his hand, and turned his eyes towards his wife.
"I know. Just this evening he spoke of it to me."
The blush across Laurie's face was evident even by candlelight. "Perhaps you think I ought to have spoken of it sooner."
"I think no such thing," said Edward. "It is only that I had believed you shared my good opinion of Dr. Harrison. Has he disappointed you in any regard?"
"Edward, he is an amiable young man, tactful and forthright at once, and I have no doubt that he is an excellent physician, or at least a very good one," said Laurie. "But that is not all to me, not at present."
"No?" he said. "What is it you lack?"
"I should like to feel at ease confiding in my physician."
"And you do not believe you can do so with Dr. Harrison?"
"No. No, I do not."
"Then why did you not tell me as much?" said Edward, trying to avoid the suggestion of reproach. "Do you think me so hard-hearted?"
"Hard-hearted? No." She bowed her head. "I see your grief, and I cannot but think on my own part in it." Her voice lowered to a rough whisper. "I feared I should only cause you greater pain."
"Laurie." He stood up and went to her, gathered her into his arms, and she neither recoiled nor stiffened her body at his touch, but rested against him, and quietly wept.
"I had hoped it should be enough to go on as we were before," sighed Edward when Laurie had shed her tears, and regained a measure of peace.
She tilted her face upwards. "But we are not as we were before, not truly."
"No."
For a moment they stood in silence, as Laurie absently smoothed away nonexistent wrinkles in his coat. "I even thought to ask Dr. Morgan when you -- when we might live together as husband and wife, as before. He showed commendable presence of mind, though he was blushing, and I suspect I was as well.
"He said we must continue as we are for another month."
"You are not to worry, and I assure you I would never -- "
"Everyone bids me have patience, and no worries," she said. "Or else they dare not speak of it at all. Or they have been kept ignorant by my silence.
"But I am impatient, and worried. Each night I close my eyes and find no rest, only unsettling dreams, and each morning I wake to find emptiness, and guilt."
"Guilt?" said Edward, brushing his fingers tenderly against her cheek. "But you have done nothing wrong. Indeed Dr. Harrison said -- "
"Please, Edward."
"I am sorry."
"No, you need not apologize. It is only that I cannot speak of it quite as Dr. Harrison does."
Jessie was well pleased that the Carters had decided to keep their engagement for this evening; she should have been very sorry not to have had the opportunity to entertain them once again before leaving for Scotland. Preparations for their departure had consumed a great deal of her time, and of course she did not as yet feel equal to leaving Flora in anyone else's care, and so all summer long she had been unable to call upon Mrs. Carter herself. It had been left to Miss Matty to give report of Mrs. Carter's recent illness, and subsequent recovery.
Of course now Mrs. Carter appeared to be very well indeed, if a little subdued. Indeed Jessie felt rather sorrowful herself, and grieved that their friendship should henceforth be conducted only by the post, and through infrequent visits to Cranford. For all that she was going to a very fine home of her own -- something she had not ever dreamed possible -- it distressed her to leave her kind neighbors in Cranford, and of course Father.
Still, at least she might take pleasure in the knowledge that Father had found such good friends in the Carters. He should not be so very alone, once she, Robert, and the baby were in Scotland.
Of course this evening Father made a valiant effort to conceal his melancholy, and was every inch the jovial host while still proving attentive to his granddaughter. It was poignant, yet also amusing, to see that he would employ any pretense to take the baby in his arms -- a rare quality in a man.
And though it was a very quiet party, Flora had not been able to remain asleep, and Father therefore took turns with Jessie at soothing and comforting the child. At length he turned to Mrs. Carter and said, "Should you not like to hold my granddaughter for but a moment? I dare say she is in a better temper just now, and we must not squander such an opportunity."
At that Jessie saw the expression in Mrs. Carter's eyes change, from apparent melancholy to something more akin to alarm, but she quickly recovered, and offered Father a dimpled smile.
"I should like to, very much."
With that Father, with discernible pride, gently placed the infant in Mrs. Carter's arms.
"She does indeed look very like her papa," said Mrs. Carter, absently smoothing the little blanket wrapped round Flora.
"But she has her mother's eyes," said the major fondly. "Can you not see it?"
Mrs. Carter, perhaps wishing to avoid an argument, simply smiled in response, though Jessie was certain she was very near to tears. She managed to keep her composure until Jessie thought of some pretense to return her daughter to the cradle. Upon returning to the sitting-room, she found Father happily regaling the company with his account of some novel or other by Mr. Dickens. Mrs. Carter, seated beside her husband upon the sofa, listened with evident interest, and smiled in all the appropriate places. But Jessie saw that she had taken Mr. Carter's hand and was clasping it tightly.
"But you understand why I needed to go?" said Laurie, unpinning her brooch and placing it on her bureau.
"I think I do." Edward drew off his coat. "I am not certain the price wasn't too high."
"It should have been easier to remain at home," said Laurie, sighing. "But then I should also have been grieved not to see the Gordons, bittersweet though the evening must prove.
"And Mrs. Gordon has been so kind to us, as has Captain Brown. I fear his evenings will be very lonely, to say nothing of dull, when the Gordons are gone to Scotland."
"Yes."
"Edward, can we not ask him to dine with us when they depart? Perhaps not that first evening, but shortly thereafter."
"If you'd like."
"I do not think there are novels enough by Mr. Dickens to comfort him in the absence of his daughter and granddaughter," said Laurie, unpinning her hair.
"I suspect you are right, and I suspect Captain Brown will never admit it."
"No," said Laurie, turning her back to Edward, that he might undo the buttons on her dress. "He will no doubt devote his energies to the railway, while thinking of nothing but the arrival of the post each day, and perhaps closing his eyes at night -- that is, if his dreams are a comfort and not a torment."
At that Edward said nothing as he slowly, deliberately unfastened each button.
"Laurie --"
"Yes?"
"I have often dreamed of our wedding day."
She turned round. "Have you?"
"Yes. There are always a great many roses."
"Roses." She sighed. "I should like to have such a dream."
"Perhaps you will tonight."
"I cannot promise you that, though I will entertain pleasant thoughts as I fall asleep. That much I can say."
"Promise me something else."
"And what is that?"
"Wake me if you have a nightmare."
"You'll be cross in the morning. You'll be a bear," she said affectionately.
"Perhaps. But I will try to comfort you. You are not alone. You are not to be lonely."
Of course Septimus would keep them waiting. He always kept them waiting.
She and Charles exchanged awkward smiles, and cast a wary glance or two at the heavens. The sky had gone grey, and surely the rain was not far off.
Still, it was a pleasant enough day. The lawns of Hanbury were lush and green, and the lake beyond them still and calm, and she was certain she saw a pair of swans gliding into view. An idyllic scene.
But no Septimus. Definitely no Septimus.
He had promised they should ride the new horse he had acquired, though she had no idea how they should ever proceed. She had not sat a horse since she was but a girl, and moreover she was at present hardly dressed for riding. Perhaps she would let Charles have his turn, then --
"Miss Galindo!"
Captain Brown was striding up the lawn, and evidently having some trouble at it, given the softness of the earth.
"Miss Galindo, I've had word from Dr. Harrison that he has need of your assistance," he said, offering his arm. "It is a rather delicate matter, I must confess. Come now. He is waiting."
With that they set off for the village, and presently arrived at Dr. Harrison's rooms, which looked a good deal drearier than any self-respecting physician ought to keep. But there was Dr. Harrison -- in his shirtsleeves! -- at the door to greet them.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Carter," he said as she and Captain Brown approached him. "He has proven a most difficult patient. However," he added, smiling most charmingly, "I have done my best, and I trust you will approve." He nodded in the direction of the consulting-room and, as though bidden, Edward appeared. He looked very much as he always did -- gleaming top boots, brown coat, hat of the same color. Indeed, if anything, he had taken more care with his attire than usual.
His expression was utterly familiar as well -- pale eyes glinting, lips pressed firmly together.
"Where the devil have you been?" he demanded, immediately taking her arm and guiding her out of the surgery.
"Edward, I was summoned to Hanbury and have only just returned. I trust you have not been waiting long?"
"Long?" He stopped and turned to look at her. "I have been waiting for you these forty years!"
Laurie rolled over, opening her eyes hesitantly against the light. There was Edward, hair rumpled, already sitting up in bed., one hand absently rubbing his eyes. He saw that she was awake and murmured something -- perhaps "Good morning," perhaps something she did not understand. But she heard his next words very clearly.
"Why are you smiling?"
To be continued...
Note: If you haven't guessed which painting Jack and Mary saw at the National Gallery, just put the name "Arnolfini" into Google and feast your eyes on the results. Clicking "images"is optional.