Free Rutherford Park by Elizabeth Cooke

ma’am.”
    “Well, what is it? Influenza?”
    Octavia was rather fascinated to see the shade of red that Mrs. Jocelyn blushed: her whole face became suffused. “It’s a…a woman’s matter, ma’am.”
    “A woman’s…? What on earth do you mean?”
    “The girl is expecting a child,” the housekeeper replied. “That is…she’s having a child.”
    “A child?” Octavia walked over to Mrs. Jocelyn. “Maitland?” she asked. “Wasn’t that the girl I saw yesterday morning?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “But surely not!”
    Mrs. Jocelyn looked her mistress squarely in the eye, summoning up courage. “She took herself to the river last night,” she said. “Jack Armitage and Nash and one of the stable boys pulled her out.”
    “My God…” So it
was
the girl. Octavia’s heart sank. She had seen her out there after all, and done nothing, told no one.
    “She was terribly cold, ma’am. We put her in my own room. She couldn’t be warmed, and then…” She paused. “She began with the child at two o’clock this morning.”
    Octavia stared at her. “Do you mean to tell me,” she said, “that you have had a girl in labor in this house for the past fourteen hours, and you have not informed me of the fact?”
    Mrs. Jocelyn had the grace to bite her lip. “I thought it might be over very soon,” she replied.
    Octavia regarded her levelly. “You thought she might miscarry this child, and you would tell me after the event?” she asked. “Or simply not tell me at all?”
    “I thought it best not to say.”
    “I see.” Octavia looked the housekeeper up and down. “This is disgraceful. How could you allow this to happen?”
    “She hid it well. She is only six months gone, ma’am.”
    “Six months? Then the child will surely be dead.”
    “I think so, ma’am.”
    Octavia considered. “Who has attended her? Anyone at all?”
    “Mrs. March came to see her just now.”
    “And said what?”
    “She thinks it’s breech, ma’am.”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Octavia murmured. The gardener’s wife had had seven children, but was now in her sixties—hardly a modern-day authority on the subject. She thought a second. “Does Bradfield know?”
    “Only that she’s taken ill.”
    “And that she went out to the river?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “And what explanation have you given him for that?”
    “That it was over a lad, your ladyship.”
    Octavia looked at her. “Well, there’s truth in that, at least,” she commented. Bradfield’s room was at the opposite end of the house from Mrs. Jocelyn’s; it was possible, though not probable, that the situation could be kept from him for tonight, at least. “Do we know which lad?” she asked. She saw Mrs. Jocelyn hesitate for a second, and waved her hand. “No matter,” she said. “Send word out to Evans.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “And don’t bother his lordship with this just yet.”
    “No, ma’am.” The housekeeper made for the door.
    “Oh, it really is too bad,” Octavia murmured irritatedly. “I shall find him out, Mrs. Jocelyn. You’d better let that be known. If the father belongs to the house, he shan’t be employed here another day. And neither will she. Tell Evans to come see me when he’s done.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Jocelyn began to open the door.
    “And you and I will discuss your lack of supervision in this matter at a later date,” Octavia warned.
    There was not a word of reply.
    * * *
    H e had gone out at first light, initially with no purpose at all in mind, but later up the broad slab of the moor side Harry had thought that he might go as far as Penyghent if he could find anyone with a cart going that way, and that he might at the same time see Emily’s mother.
    He had never been there, but he knew the village, and he knew that her mother’s house was by the church. She would be at home,certainly; after all, it was Christmas Day. The snow had all stopped, the sun was out, and he thought that it would not be far