For a week, Cate lay in bed despairing how she was to foil Miss Skinner's plan. It was true her cough lingered, but she suspected that her frailty was compounded by being forced to keep to her bed and eat a diet of gruel and plain toast. It was hard to look after Luke like this too. He wanted to crawl and explore and play. When Miss Skinner wasn't around, Cate got out of bed and crawled around on the floor with him, amusing him by making a tent out of a bedsheet or a rattle out of buttons in an empty powder case. It would have been much more fun for them both if she could go into the gallery, or even the sitting room, but Miss Skinner insisted she keep to her bedroom.
There seemed to be no way to persuade Miss Skinner to back down from her plan. Cate tried, but Miss Skinner was implacable. She could not believe that Cate did not want to leave Wales, would not countenance the idea of staying until the scandal was forgotten, and could not be convinced that Demery did not plan to abandon them both. His leaving for London without Cate was proof of his want of affection for her. Cate did not think it wise to point out that he had no reason to be affectionate to her. That only gave weight to Miss Skinner's conspiracies.
One path lay open to Cate, though she was afraid to take it. She could write a letter to Demery, explaining Miss Skinner's plot, and ask a servant to send it in secret. But that would expose Miss Skinner, and Cate was afraid to do so. Miss Skinner was not always her friend, but she was her only ally. If Cate told on her, she would never forgive her. Besides, that would only give her motivation to tell Sir William the truth about Luke's father. Cate would rather die than let her father know the true extent of her humiliation.
A week into her enforced bedrest, Laurie visited. When the maid announced her arrival, Miss Skinner leapt into action, making Cate lie back against the pillows and dusting some powder over her cheeks to dull their colour. Cate did not know whether to hope Laurie saw through the deception or not. If she did not believe Cate was very ill, perhaps Miss Skinner's plan would not work.
Laurie entered looking the height of health, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, with her glossy dark hair lying in fat curls across her brow.
"Mother said you were ill," she announced. "You do not look so bad."
Miss Skinner, keeping vigil in a chair by the bed, cleared her throat. "Catherine hides her suffering."
"Pish," Laurie said. "I can see her right here."
As though bored of the topic of Cate, she wandered aimlessly about the room, sampling the perfume on the dressing table and feeling the softness of the curtains.
"It's rather a nice bedroom though," she said. "If I had one like this, I would stay in it too. Where's the boy?"
"He's in his cot," Cate said. "Having his afternoon nap."
Laurie crossed to the door to Luke's room, opened it, and went through. "Oh, sweetheart." Her voice came clearly through the open door. "You're drooling." A short silence then a soft laugh. "I wonder what you dream of."
There had been a few occasions now when Laurie had displayed interest in Luke, when coming to tea with her mother or during church when they all sat in the same family pew. It unnerved Cate because she knew very well that Laurie disliked her. More unnervingly still, an angry frown appeared on Mrs Demery's face whenever Laurie cuddled or played with Luke. But there was nothing but innocent joy, or perhaps a little wistful sadness, in Laurie's manner towards him, and Cate could not find it in her to refuse Luke a friend.
A moment later, Laurie came back into the room, her cold dark eyes a little warmer than before. "I didn't wake him," she said. "Poor cherub. I hope he doesn't catch your cold."
"I think he is safe from danger now," Cate said. "I am... I am much better."
"The cough lingers," Miss Skinner said. "It's quite terrible at night. I hear her all the way from my room."
"Oh, that could be the rats," Laurie said. "They live in the roof and sometimes they make the oddest sounds."
Miss Skinner shuddered. "Surely we do not have rats!"
"Perhaps they are bats then," Laurie suggested. "I often see swarms of bats flying overhead on warm nights."
"I've never seen a single bat or rat," Cate said. She knew Miss Skinner could not handle the thought of vermin in the house, which was probably why Laurie had brought it up. "I am sure we do not have them. And if we do, they do not cough."
"Oh, well," Laurie said with a shrug. "It could always be a coughing ghost."
But Miss Skinner did not believe in ghosts and was unconcerned. She merely folded her hands in her lap and looked squarely at Laurie. "Catherine coughs at night. It keeps me awake. I am sure it disturbs the baby's sleep too."
"Then Catherine must learn not to cough. How disgustingly selfish of you, Catherine, to cough when your baby sleeps next door."
There was humour in Laurie's voice, but Cate knew she was laughing at her as much as at Miss Skinner and could not like it. "I have not slept a full night through since he was born," she said. "I think he will forgive me if I, once in a night or two, wake him."
"Perhaps that explains the shadows under your eyes," Laurie said.
She wandered about the room again, stopping by the window and looking out over the sea in the distance, then coming back and idly straightening the bottles and cases on Cate's dressing table. Cate's heart skipped a beat when she touched the jar of powder that Miss Skinner had used to make her look pale. Did her fingers linger on it? Did Cate want her to understand or not?
"I won't keep you up," Laurie said, turning away from the table. "I just came to see that you weren't dying. There is gossip in the village that you are. I shall have to set them straight."
That did not suit Miss Skinner at all. "It is better not to remark upon gossip," she said. "To counter it only feeds it."
Laurie waved the matter away. "It would not do to raise the undertaker's hopes unduly. I must let him know where the matter stands."
On that note, she departed. Miss Skinner stared vexedly after her.
"That woman might ruin it," she said. "What a thoroughly unsympathetic creature! You should have coughed, Catherine. You should have looked ill."
"But I'm not ill," she said. "I can't lie so easily."
"You have before," Miss Skinner said. "You lied so easily about Luke's father. You quite took everyone in."
"And I wish... I wish I had refused to tell them anything. I wish I had never told you." She blinked back the tears that came to her eyes. "I trusted you."
Though she hadn't, really. It had simply been that there was no one else to tell and she had to tell someone. It was at the beginning of her labour, when her body seemed like it was splitting in two. The manservant had been sent to fetch the local midwife and the maid was in the kitchen boiling water and fetching rags. Miss Skinner had remained in the room, hushing Cate's screams and offering her useless platitudes. Cate had been terrified. She thought she was going to die. It seemed just punishment for her sins. And if she was going to die, then she wanted someone to know who Luke's father really was, so that he would have, at least, one friend in the world. She had told Miss Skinner and begged her to find him if she died. Later, when Luke had been born, she had realised how stupid she had been. Luke's father had already abandoned him. He would never be a friend. And now Miss Skinner knew his name, though she never uttered it in Cate's presence.
"If you trust me, then trust my judgement," Miss Skinner said.
"Please reconsider this," Cate said. "I will ask Demery to send us somewhere when he returns from London. But to trick him into sending us away is cruel."
"Hah! He will never send us to Bath just because you ask. He cares nothing for you. I sent him a letter a week ago saying you were ill. He has not replied. What say you of that?"
"You sent him a letter already?" Cate's heart leapt unpleasantly. "Then he thinks— What did you say?"
"Nothing that was not untrue. That you are in bed. Have a cough which lingers. That there is neither danger nor cause for alarm."
"But you know exactly what he will take of that!"
"But he has taken very little from it, if he has not even bothered to send a letter. I think in a week or two I will send him another, mentioning that your cough has not improved and that you are still in bed."
"I can't stay in bed for another two weeks. I really will end up ill if I do."
"Then you may soothe your conscience," Miss Skinner said. "For then you will not be lying."
Cate found her hands were shaking. She clasped them together to stop it. "But we are lying, Miss Skinner. It is a cruel, selfish lie. I cannot go any further with this. I— You must write to Demery and tell him I am getting better. We can stop it here."
"And end up mouldering in Wales the rest of our lives?" Miss Skinner was scornful. "If that is what you wish, Catherine, then I will follow your bidding, of course, but I must insist upon equal treatment for your father and your husband. If you are honest with one, you must be honest with the other. If I write to Demery, I write to your father as well."
Cate pressed her face against her knees and clutched at her hair. Both options were impossible.
"Well?" Miss Skinner said. "Which is it to be? Tell me, Catherine. I will do only as you bid."
There was a hard, heavy lump in Cate's throat. "Don't tell my father," she said into her knees. "Just don't tell him."
"As you wish," Miss Skinner said. "Now put your chin up, Catherine. So melodramatic! Once we are out of Wales, you will remember what it is to be happy. I am quite convinced that no one could be happy in this over-rusticated nowhere."
Slowly, Cate raised her face. The blood seemed to freeze in her veins. Miss Skinner was standing in front of the doorway, facing Cate, a triumphant smile on her face. Behind her, a hat tucked under his arm, stood Demery. By the cold look on his face, there was no doubt he had been listening for some time. Miss Skinner frowned at Cate's expression, then turned. When she saw Demery, she put a hand to her heart.
"Captain Demery! You... How do you do?"
"If you are unhappy here, Miss Skinner," Demery said, ignoring her pathetic attempt to smooth things over, "then you may leave any time you like. In fact, you may leave right now." He pulled a watch from his pocket and glanced at it. "It is a quarter past four. If you hurry, you will be able to catch the five o'clock mail from the village."
"Captain Demery." Miss Skinner tried to smile. "I think you are having a jest on us."
Demery looked down at his watch again, as if he had not heard her. "If you do not catch the five o'clock mail, Miss Skinner, you will find yourself walking to London."
"Sir, I do not know what you imply, but—"
"Then I must be clear. You will leave my house by five o'clock this evening and you will never return. Your position as my wife's companion is finished. You are forthwith dismissed, your presence unwelcome, your conduct despised, your opinions irrelevant. Now, get out!"
At the very last, he raised his voice. It interrupted Miss Skinner as she had been about to make a protest. Her hand fluttered about her breast. She cast one pleading look at Cate, who could think of nothing to say, floating uneasily between relief and terror. Relief, because Miss Skinner's plans were thwarted, and terror because of the look on Demery's face.
"Catherine," Miss Skinner bleated. "You must—"
"Out, Miss Skinner!" Demery roared. "Out of my house!"
Cate had never realised that Demery could shout like that. It was so loud it seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. Miss Skinner scurried from the room. Demery stood watching the doorway until her footfall faded away, then he turned to Cate. She shrank back into the pillows as he came closer. He looked down at her, his expression icy. She whimpered. His expression tightened.
"You said you were no longer afraid of me," he said, his voice quiet again.
She knew of nothing to say that would not anger him further, and so said nothing.
"I will not give you reasons to fear me," he continued softly. "I will not shout at you. I will not strike you."
She nodded silently.
"Have I given you any such so far?" He waited. "Catherine?"
"No. You have not." She clung to that fact and breathed out a shaking breath. "You have been very..." Gentle was not the word; his expression was far from it. "...dispassionate."
"Only in manner, I assure you. My feelings right now are—" his mouth tensed then released "—hurt. Justifiably, I think."
"I'm sorry."
They were useless words, which was perhaps why he ignored them. He leaned against Cate's chest of drawers and regarded her sullenly. At the receiving end of his scowl, something very strange happened to Cate. It was as though a shiver of electricity ran through her body. She looked quickly down at her knees and tried to suppress the feeling. It felt indecent, forbidden.
"God," Demery said in disgust. "You can't even look at me. Am I so monstrous, so terrifying that you cannot even look me in the eyes? I'm trying not to be, but I can't understand why you are terrified of me to begin with."
"I'm not terrified." Her heart raced for quite a different reason. "I'm not afraid of you anymore."
"Then at least do me the grace of looking me in the eyes."
She forced herself to look up and meet his dark eyes. The hurt was clear in their expression. It made her feel so guilty. But she could not explain to him why she found it so hard to meet his eyes. She barely understood it herself, but she was quite sure it would disgust him. He hated her, after all.
The force of his gaze made the brief silence feel oppressive.
"Call me Cate," she blurted. "I never liked Catherine."
He looked surprised. "I beg your pardon?"
"I don't like it when people call me Catherine. My friends—" she choked into silence and tried again. "Anyway, I prefer Cate."
"Cate." The charred timbre of his voice made her name sound very different on his lips. "I can call you Cate, but I cannot call you my friend. You are my wife, no less and no more."
"No. I understand that. I am not asking for more."
He was still gazing levelly at her. "Of my wife, I ask honesty and honourable dealings. Not manipulations. Not pretence and lies."
"I'm sorry."
"Then change." His voice was suddenly brutal. "This is the second time you've played games rather than tell me how you felt or what you needed. Make it the last."
Apparently, he thought the conversation was at an end, because he swivelled on his foot and left the room. Cate waited, thinking she would hear a door slam, but he left nothing in his wake but silence. She slumped down into the pillows, one hand on her racing heart.
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2023-01-29: This is an unedited chapter. I'm posting it unedited because I won't have time to edit it til next weekend. I think the argument between Cate and Demery needs some attention. I know it does, actually. Any suggestions or comments on it are welcome.