She heard Sophie bring in the breakfast tray and set it on the table. The young maid opened the shutters, but Bridget kept her eyes squeezed shut. A few moments went by, then Bridget swung her legs over to the side of the bed and groaned. She grabbed her stomach and staggered to the chamber pot, retching into it.
“Oh dear, mistress, you are ill.” Sophie grabbed a towel and rushed to her.
Bridget leaned on the servant and then slumped into the rocker. “No, I’m not ill.” Her chin began to quiver and tears sprang to her eyes.
Sophie’s glance about the room stopped on the bed, where the sheets displayed a bloody discharge. The servant exhaled. “Oh.”
“What time is it?”
“Near seven o’clock.”
“Help me clean up and get dressed. Do away with the sheets and find clean linens somewhere. I do not want anyone else to know. I will not give Edward Moorehead the satisfaction of seeing me b–broken.” She put her hand over her mouth and suppressed the sob that had begun to rise in her throat.
I will not, I will not, I will not allow my grief to show. I will hide, as I did in the forest, until the danger goes away. Nothing can hurt me if I hide.
Sophie brought warm water for Bridget to clean herself. Bridget moaned as she washed.
“Mistress?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not so bad after the first time.”
Bridget looked at her servant and knew her suspicions were true.
“What gown does Mistress wish to wear?”
Bridget continued to regard Sophie thoughtfully, until the maid shifted nervously.
“What gown—”
“How long have you worked for the Mooreheads?” Bridget asked slowly.
Sophie paused. “Almost five years now.”
“May I ask you a question?” Bridget sat down in the heart-shaped chair.
“We must get you dressed.”
“It will only take a moment.”
The girl hesitated.
“Please.” Bridget touched Sophie’s hand. “That bruise I saw on your face awhile ago . . . You didn’t stumble into a door, did you?”
The maid touched her cheek with her fingertips, and for a moment remained perfectly still. “Mistress—”
“You are safe with me. Did Mister Edward do that to you?”
Sophie looked at her with beautiful gray eyes that reflected deep hurt. “Please.”
“You don’t have to remain with the Mooreheads. My father would give you a job where you won’t be abused or hurt. Are you married?”
Sophie lowered her eyes and shook her head.
“You have confirmed my suspicions about my fiancé. I need to ask you one more thing. Is Edward . . . does he take advantage of you?”
A tear spilled out of one of the maid’s eyes and trickled down her cheek. She brushed it away with the back of her hand, then abruptly turned away from Bridget.
Bridget put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You need say no more. I assure you once more, you are safe with me. Now would you help me dress, please?”
You are safe with me, Sophie, but am I safe with Edward? What other secrets am I going to find hidden in the closets here in this house? Poor Auntie Margo. She must know what a scoundrel Edward is. Or perhaps she doesn’t. How can I go through with this marriage?
Sophie silently busied herself with the basin and towels, and Bridget steeled herself to go out with her fiancé, to make polite conversation, to smile as if all were well.
Is this the way other people live their lives, with lies and secrets simmering beneath the surface of superficial, courteous behavior? Bridget sighed. Is this truly acceptable—for a man to have a mistress?
She didn’t like it, but she didn’t know what she was going to do. If she confronted Edward, she knew he would deny it and then take it out on Sophie. She couldn’t tell her parents. They wouldn’t believe her. She was trapped.
“What gown does Mistress wish to wear?”
If I wear the brown dress, I’ll look like a brown wren, a poor, pitiful little wren. If I wear the red Watteau, I’ll appear strong and in control.
“I’ll wear the Watteau.”
Sophie smiled shyly. “And the matching fontage—from Paris?”
“No, I think I’ll wear the beaver hat and carry the muff, since we are going to the furrier to have the cloak altered.”
Sophie assisted Bridget into her dress and coiffed her hair, setting the beaver fur hat on top of her curls. Bridget put on the cloak and looked in the mirror. “Yes, much too big, but I’ll wear it today to get an idea of what needs to be done to it.”
“Is there anything else Mistress needs?” Sophie stood at the foot of the bed. She looked so innocent. One would never guess that she was a woman who serviced a man as his mistress.
Bridget removed the cloak and sat in the rocker. A magnificent silver candelabrum on the mantel glinted in the morning sunlight. “My father was right, you know. My life will be altered forever after Edward and I are married. Would you mind if I told you something shocking?”
“Pardon, mistress?”
“I mean, I know your secret, and it is safe with me. May I tell you one of mine?”
“Mistress, ’tisn’t proper.”
The old rocking chair creaked as Bridget rocked back and forth. “I don’t care. I am weary of propriety and tradition and courtesies. It is because of those very things that I find myself in this position. My parents made what they felt was a good decision for me. They believed that Edward was a good match—wealthy, respected in the community, a good businessman.”
“Yes’m.” The domestic wiped her palms on her apron and hesitated between her new mistress and the door.
“The truth is that I do not want to marry Edward Moorehead— ever. I am in love with another, a man who has rejected me.”
The maid’s eyes grew wide, and she rested her hand on her chest.
“It’s true.” Bridget smiled a sad smile. “I declared my love to another man, and not only did he not return the feelings, he walked away from me forever.” She looked down at her hands.
“Mistress—”
“I told you that you would be shocked. Oh, I will marry Edward, because it is what my parents wish, as the man I truly love is gone. So . . . I am trapped. What’s a woman to do without a husband? We must take advantage of the proposals that come our way, mustn’t we?”
Sophie looked down. “I’m sorry, Mistress Barrington.”
“I am too.” Bridget stood and walked to the young servant and took her hand. “You probably understand my dilemma better than anybody else.”
The empty rocking chair creaked back and forth on its own, the only sound in the room. Then Bridget smiled. “Take my wool cloak downstairs with you. I’d like you to accompany us today.”
Sophie curtsied. “I’ll need to get my things.”
“Go on. I’ll be right down.”
Sophie gathered the linens and went out the door. Bridget turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look any different than she did yesterday, but her heart had been forever changed. A wall of stone had been erected around it, and she would never allow Edward Moorehead to penetrate it. She resolved to live her life behind that protective wall and never again come out.
She walked to the door and raised her head high. She opened it and descended the massive staircase. Edward stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. She looked him square in the eyes and clenched her jaw.
“Good morning, my lovely bride. You look stunning this morning.” He kissed her hand. “I trust you rested well.”
He is acting as though nothing happened last night. Was he so drunk he remembers nothing? I’ll not give him the satisfaction of reminding him.
“I slept rather fitfully, thank you very much. In fact, I woke up nauseated, but I feel much better now. Sophie’s a dear. She attended to me well.”
“I am happy to hear that.”
“Yes, I have asked her to accompany us to the shop. I could use her help with the fitting.”
“I asked Faith to accompany us.” Edward put on his hat. “In fact, she’s already in the carriage.”
“She’s most welcome to go as well. I simply would like Sophie’s company today. We are getting to know one another.”
“Of course, whatever your heart desires. Your wish is my very command.” He assisted Bridget into the heavy beaver cloak. “Shall we?” He extended his arm, and she placed her hand on it.
She turned her head to look behind her. “Coming, Sophie?”
“Yes, mistress.”
The couple exited, with the young domestic following behind.
EDWARD’S CARRIAGE PULLED UP TO THE FURRIER’S SHOP A little before nine o’clock. The shopkeeper, watching through the window for the owner, unlocked the front door as they descended from the carriage. Six large, paned windows lined the front of the shop. An ornately carved sign swung over the front door, which fronted on a corner and proclaimed Vandervoort’s Fine Furs. The business sported evergreen garlands around the door and windows. Gables atop the roof had wreaths hung in them.
Bridget looked at Edward. “Vandervoort’s?”
“My mother’s maiden name. She was Dutch.”
“Of course. Faith told me a little bit about your Dutch heritage last night.” Bridget gathered the voluminous cloak around her and stood as tall as she could to keep the garment from dragging in the slushy snow.
The shopkeeper greeted them as they moved into the shop. “Welcome, Mister Moorehead. And a Merry Christmas to you, sir.”
“Yes, Johannes. Thank you for opening up for us.” He pointed to Bridget. “May I present my fiancée, Mistress Bridget Barrington. We are to be married day after tomorrow.”
The wiry, bent-over old man peered at her over his glasses. “Yes, so I understand.”
“As you can see, the beaver cloak I had you make for her is much too big. Can it be easily remedied?”
“Let me see. Would you mind stepping up on this little stool, please?”
Bridget took Edward’s hand and steadied herself as the tailor examined the fit. He looked on the outside of the cloak, and he looked on the inside. He put it on her, and he took it off of her. He removed some stitching from the lining and examined the underside of the pelts. Faith, meanwhile, ambled around the shop looking at the hats and jackets on display. Sophie stayed close by Bridget’s side.
“I can fix it, but I am afraid the task will not be simple. It’s not only too large, which is easily dealt with, but it is too long—in which case I need to take some off at the shoulders, not from the hem. It is going to require almost remaking the whole garment.”
Edward sighed. “So I assume that it is impossible to get it before our wedding.”
“Your assumption is correct. It will take a month or more to repair.”
“Very well. Do what you need to do and let us know when it is ready.”
Bridget motioned to Sophie to bring her the woolen cloak, and Edward helped her with it.
“I shall have to get used to how very diminutive you are.” He circled his hands in front of him. “With a tiny waist about this big—that I like very much.” He gave her a slight smile.
Bridget looked up at him. He did remember. She looked away and walked out ahead of him and leaned against the carriage. Edward lingered behind, talking to the shopkeeper.
Sophie came to her side. “Can I get anything for you? Are you feeling ill again?”
Bridget’s breath had quickened, and she felt faint. “I’m just feeling a little weak. Could you find me something to drink?” She entered the carriage and sat holding her forehead in her hand, propped up on her elbow.
Faith stepped in. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“Just a little faint. Sophie went to locate something for me to drink.”
Sophie brought a goblet of water, followed by Edward. “Sophie tells me you’re not feeling well.”
“Thank you, Sophie. This will suffice.” Turning to Edward, she narrowed her eyes, ever so slightly. “I’m fine, Edward. I didn’t have much of an appetite this morning. Something nauseated me during the night.”
Faith interjected, “We’re going to be late for your appointment with the priest. Are you well enough to proceed with our plans, Bridget?”
“I am fine, really. I’m going to be just fine.”
THE GROOM BROUGHT THE CLAVELLS’ HORSES AROUND TO the front of the inn. Philippe dug into his coin bag and paid him.
“Thank ye kindly, sir, but that’s not necessary.”
“Maybe not from your standpoint, but from mine it is. We appreciate your service to our horses. We’ll be around for two or three days.”
“Yessir. Thank you, sir.” The boy stuck the coins in the pocket of his tattered jacket.
Charles led the way. They headed north, then turned down a side street. He pointed. “We need to cut across and go east for a bit. Then we’ll turn back north in a few blocks.”
Philippe nodded and tipped his hat to an old gentleman locking up his furrier shop. “Merry Christmas.”
He looked up at the young man and nodded his head in return. “And a Merry Christmas to you, my boy.” He got in his buggy and drove off as the Clavell brothers headed for the Mooreheads.’
THE FARTHER NORTH THEY RODE, THE FEWER HORSES AND buggies they encountered until they were almost the only ones on the road. The road was muddy and slippery. A carriage drove past them, splashing mud, and pulled into a driveway a way down the road.
“That’s the house,” Charles said, nodding. “That could be them.”
The carriage went through an iron gate that clanged behind them as Philippe and Charles rode by.
“That was Bridget!” Philippe said softly.
“And Edward.”
“Yes, and Edward.”
Charles kicked his horse, and they rode past the house into a stand of trees and bushy cedar on a vacant lot next to Edward’s house. They dismounted and tied their horses to a large oak tree. They could see the back door from where they stood.
“What do we do now?” Charles took a drink from a wineskin.
“I’ve got to figure out some way to get a message to Bridget without Edward finding out.”
“Any ideas?”
“No. Pray for God to show us what to do.”
A maid came out and threw scraps out the double Dutch door to chickens that huddled around the back stoop. A groomsman was unhooking the carriage from the team of horses.
“Stay here. I’m going to go closer and see if I can look in the windows.”
“What for?”
“Maybe there’s somebody here who would be sympathetic and take her a message from me. Shhh! Stay here.”
Philippe moved toward the house. The windows were too high for him to peer into. He went around to the side. Climbing onto a rain barrel, he could just barely peek into a window. The family was sitting down to dinner; he could see Bridget and Edward, another couple he did not recognize, the Osbornes, and Amos and Sarah. He slid off the barrel and ran back to Charles. “That’s the dining room, and they are eating dinner. The Osbornes are here, as well as Mister and Mistress Barrington. Maybe Ella will help us.”
“Let’s wait for them to finish dinner, then pray for a way to get a message to Bridget.”
After several minutes passed the back door opened again, and a different maid emerged. She set something in a bowl on the back porch and called, “Kitty, kitty, kitty.”
“That’s Sophie!” Charles exclaimed.
“Who?”
“Moorehead’s maid. I know her.”
Philippe looked up. “Thank you, Heavenly Father. There’s our message bearer. How well do you know her? Would she recognize you?”
“Probably so. I’ve seen her when I made deliveries.”
“Would she take a message for us?”
“I don’t know. She’s always seemed so sad and downtrodden. Maybe.”
“Good. Go to the back door and ask to see her.”
“Have you lost your senses?”
“Probably, but do it anyway. Just go ask for her. The maids and cooks won’t pay any mind.”
“Very well. What shall I tell her?”
“Simply tell her to get a message to Bridget that I’m here, and I need to see her right away. Go on.”
Charles stepped out of the stand of trees, glanced around, and walked to the back door. He shaded his eyes and peered in through the window. Philippe saw him motion to someone from inside. Sophie stepped out onto the porch as Charles removed his cap. Sophie looked in his direction, and then nodded her head. She returned to the kitchen. Charles sat on the porch steps and put his cap back on. Fortunately the sun was shining, and there was no wind today.
The door opened, and Charles jumped up. The maid talked to him for a minute, shaking her head. Charles gestured with his gloved hands, and she shook her head again. The maid closed the door and went inside. Charles walked toward his brother.
“What did she say? Did she give Bridget the message?”
“Yes, she gave her the message.”
“Well? What did she say?”
Charles shook his head and quirked his mouth.
“Come out with it. What did she say?”
“She won’t see you, Philippe. She said that she’s getting married day after tomorrow and for you to go away. She refuses to see you.”
“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe she doesn’t want to see me.” Philippe sloshed back and forth in the soft snow.
Charles threw his hands up. “All I know is what Sophie told me.”
“Go back up there and tell Sophie to tell Bridget that unless she agrees to come out here and speak to me, I’m coming in. I shall demand to see her.”