Sewing always brought me such tranquility. There was something about taking a plain piece of cloth and seeing what it could become, cutting and stitching until it was something new. Sometimes Mildred Farthingstone, the vicar's eldest daughter would wander down from the village and we would sit together doing fancy work, but often I was alone. My industriousness amused Fred, who would sometimes sit and watch me sew, endeavouring to distract me from my work.
"What a busy worker bee you are today," he said.
"I want to finish these before the baby arrives," I said.
"How many Ladies of the Manor work so hard to make baby clothes for their tenants?"
"I feel sorry for Mrs White," I said, finishing a hem. "I think that tenant farming is hard work and her husband is a drunk."
"Oh White isn't a really a drunk," he said. "Only on market day."
"She's so young and seems lonely," I said, folding the baby gown and picking up the bonnet. "All her family live in the North of England."
"Well, she is lucky she has you to make her all these baby clothes," he said. "Although I wish you were making them for a different baby."
I looked at him with surprise and he smiled sheepishly.
"Don't you think it is about time?" he asked. "It could add to our joy."
I smoothed the baby gown on my lap, admiring the tiny pleats. In my heart, I wanted my own child, to love and nurture. A child that Fred and I could raise, with our virtues and our flaws.
But my flaws were deep. What if I carried the same darkness as my mother? What if our child was tainted with madness.
"What are you afraid of?" Fred said, reaching out for me. "Tell me and I will make it better."
"I am afraid I will not be the mother I want to be," I said.
Fred grinned and kissed my cheek, easy in his ignorance of my heritage.
"You will be the best of mothers."
"What if I am not? What if I am like..."
I could not finish my sentence, I could not speak of Her. My mother, the madwoman. The shame I felt, the fear I felt.
"Like what, Mary?" Fred watched me keenly, waiting to spill my secrets.
Not this one. I would rather die in the dark, cold water than tell this secret.
"It doesn't matter," I said, turning my face away. "This is not something I want to talk about."
Fred watched me in silence, two fingers on his lips and a slight frown on his brow.
"Is this to do with the Mordaunts?"
"No."
"You never told me why Harriet visited last week."
"I didn't trust you," I said. "After what you did to Mr Mordaunt, I can't trust you with any secret."
"Don't do this again, Mary."
"Do what?"
"If you think that you can close yourself off from me again, you can think again."
His voice was not angry, but firm and determined. Fred moved closer, pulled me to my feet and kissed me hard.
"Remember, we love each other," he said. "That's all that matters in this world."
Softly, he stroked my cheek.
"Our past doesn't matter, just the present and just the future."
I went to look away but he tilted my chin up so I met his gaze.
"Our past doesn't matter," he repeated. "I promise you, nothing in your past will make me love you less."
That was not a promise he could make. The truth was far worse than what Daniel had done to me. The way Daniel had treated me in the end had just confirmed what I'd always feared; I did not deserve love and happiness. The whispers that nagged my dreams. How could anyone love me when my own mother could not?
"Once I am back from buying this hunting lodge, let's go to Vienna," Fred said unexpectedly. "If I buy it at all, I'm already doubtful I want it."
"What?"
"You love to dance and you've never waltzed in Vienna, have you?"
I shook my head, wondering if Fred was attempting to distract me from my unhappiness.
"Then I shall take you to Wien and we will dance in the gilt-covered palaces," he said, taking me by the waist. "And a tall Prussian Prince will dance with you, declaring you to be the most beautiful woman he has seen."
He pulled me closer and kissed me lightly.
"And this Prussian Prince will fall madly in love with you, but I won't care."
"Oh really?" I said, raising an eyebrow.
The kisses moved down my neck, as he eased me towards the sofa. Hastily I began to pull off his jacket, as eager to be distracted as he was.
"I won't care because I know that however much you flirt," he nuzzled me. "Whatever coquettish blushes you blush in the ballroom... however many princes and archdukes fall at your feet..."
Our kisses overtook the conversation. He worked his way up the layers of petticoats, slowly and with purpose. I let myself fall into a haze of desire.
"I know the only man who'll be in your bed is me," he said.
He knelt before me, taking his kisses lower and lower.
"You have great faith in my love you you, if you think a prince will not turn my head," I teased.
There was no reply as he worked my body expertly. A familiar ache of pleasure started to build, I clasped my hands over my mouth to mask my moans. I felt the heat in my cheeks.
"I have great faith in my ability to satisfy you," he said, once I was shaking and finished.
"You are a wicked man, Fred Wilkes."
"And that is exactly what you love about me, Mary Wilkes."
I gathered my wits and my petticoats around me.
"Honestly, what must the servants think of us?"
"They will probably be scandalised," he said with mock seriousness. "It's the hours of cinq à sept, you should be receiving your lover and I should be tupping my mistress, but instead we are together. A married couple so strangely and wholly devoted to one another."
Fred gave one of his wicked grins and left the room with a wink. I sat on the sofa and looked at the baby clothes, wondering if I could ever risk having my own child that I could make bonnets and booties for.
There was one person who could tell me. So with a heavy heart, I wrote the letter and waited for the reply.I was relieved when Fred left the next day, so I did not need to hide my agitation.
The servant's ball at Loseley was a tradition going back centuries. The dance rooms at the The Black Horse were hired, the orchestra arrived from London and two gleaming charabancs were ready to sweep the servants off for a night of fun.
I had successfully declined all invitations from well-meaning hostesses and was looking forward to a night of quiet contemplation. The letter I had dreaded had arrived and I carried it with me, unopened for the whole morning. Desperate for a distraction, I bundled up the baby clothes and went for a walk in the crisp, winter sunshine.
Mrs White's belly has swollen to what seemed an impossible fullness. As she pinned her washing out, she huffed and puffed. She let out a little cry as she saw me, quickly checking her hair with her hands and blushing profusely.
"Oh Mrs Wilkes," she said. "Begging your pardon, but I was not expecting company."
"Please, Mrs White, don't fret," I said. "I just came here to give you some things for the baby that I made."
The young woman turned even redder.
"You brought them yourself? Personally? Oh Madam, I don't know what I've done to deserve such kindness. Mr White won't believe it when he comes back from market. "
I smiled awkwardly, wondering if my act caused her more distress than pleasure but she hastily showed me into her front parlour.
"Please don't worry about tea," I said, but she was having none of it.
I waited awkwardly looking around her best room, with its cheap prints and rustic charm. My awkwardness increased as I saw her struggling in with a laden tray.
"No, Madam," she said. "I can manage perfectly well."
The poor woman's hands were trembling as she went to pour the tea.
"Now, Mrs White, do let me pour," I said. "You can take a look at the clothes while I do. How much sugar do you take?"
"Three, ma'am," she said, taking the parcel onto her bump. "Unless you think that is too much?"
"No. I will have three myself," I said cheerfully, despite the fact I never had sugar in my tea.
It seemed to put her more at ease and she smiled shyly as she opened the parcel. She held each piece to the light in the window, chattering her delight.
"You made this lace yourself?" Mrs White asked.
"Yes," I said. "My governess was Belgian, she'd been taught by nuns and she taught me."
"Gracious!" Mrs White said. "It's like it was woven by a fairy."
The young farmer's wife obviously had a love of fairy tales, I realised. The prints from books I had read as a child, they told of sleeping princesses and fairy queens.
"When are you expecting the baby?" I asked.
"Any day now," she said, biting her lip. "Can I tell you something in confidence, ma'am?"
"Yes, of course."
"I'm terrified."
I nodded and took her hand.
"I hate market days now, because Thomas is away and I am scared I'd have to do it all by myself."
"Could someone not stay with you? Not your mother or your sisters?"
"They couldn't spare the time," she said. "Ma practically runs Pa's farm and Hetty has three bairns of her own."
"Then I will speak to Reverend Farthingstone and see if he can spare Mildred on market days," I said. "She's a good, sensible girl."
"Oh ma'am, I wasn't asking for help," she said. "I don't know why I said it really. I am just fretting being my myself today, I feel so restless and my stomach has not been right all day."
"It will really be no bother," I said. "I need to speak to the Vicar about the parish fête anyway."
With the tea finished, I was determined not to let the mother-to-be carry such a heavy tray. Despite her protests, I followed her to the kitchen carrying the tray as if I was the parlourmaid. When we got to the kitchen, she let out a loud groan and gripped the table.
"Mrs White?" I said. "Are you quite well?"
My query was answered by a splash on the kitchen floor. There was no doubt about it, the White's baby was about to make her appearance. The young farmer's wife grabbed my hand wildly.
"Please don't leave me," she begged. "Please."
"I won't," I said, reaching up to stroke her hair out her eyes. "I promise."
I opened the window and called out to the farm hand to fetch the doctor immediately.
"I don't know if we should get Doctor Harley," she said. "His fees are so high."
"Then I shall tell him to put it on my bill," I said. "Not charity, just a gift."
She went to protest but was overcome with another groan of pain. I rubbed her back and told her all would be well, praying silently that she would be delivered safely.
It looked like my evening of solitude was not to be and even as I soothed my new friend, I thought of the letter in my pocket, telling me whether I should become a mother or not.
As well as my prayers for Mrs White, I prayed for myself. Despite the pain of childbirth I was witnessing with my own eyes, I knew at that moment I wanted to become a mother too.