Free Lady in the Veil by Leah Fleming Page A

bairn’ll bring new life to the place and cure yer wife’s ailments once and for all.’
    Matt stopped at every tavern to toast his new child and came back ‘market fresh’. He could not wait to see his son. His wife was such a mystery to him. How could this feeble woman
who scorned him by day, devour him by night within the darkness of the bed curtains. He had crept in and she caressed him in the darkness. Only her hands puzzled him: by day they stitched like the
furies, white and soft as silk, sewing her poor mind into those samplers; by night her hands were rough hewn and coarsened by passion. Once she was recovered he would insist they share the bed
every night. This misunderstanding must not happen again.
    He arrived at Lawton to see her sitting, plumped up with cushions, holding the infant to him proudly, ‘Your son, as I promised,’ she smiled so sweetly, turning to the maid who was
sitting in her usual spot, silent in the shadows. ‘Is he not a true Stockdale? He has your fair hair.’
    He had to admit he had the look of Matt’s own father, looking like a little old man in his arms. How proud he would have been. He bent down to kiss her forehead in acceptance of this
surprise gift but she turned her cheek.
    ‘I’m so weary after all this travail but fetch my sewing box and I’ll stitch his name onto his sheets and linen; the first of many,’ she smiled.
    He turned to Bella and ordered her to bring wine to celebrate but his wife shook her head.
    ‘Later, the poor girl is as tired as I am for she had sat with me and helped deliver me safely. We both need to rest. Take your son and show him where you must,’ she ordered and he
was thrilled to see her so alive. ‘Close the door and admit only Papa when he arrives back from his business. I want no visitors but the Parson who can baptise him here if you wish’
    For a few days Matt’s hopes of a miracle cure for his wife rose. She was brought back to life by this bairn. Then to his utter disappointment, on her return home she fell back to her old
ways, sitting by the windows of light, rocking the cradle with her calfskin boot, sewing, sewing, always sewing. He never saw her feeding him but the boy seemed to be thriving. He insisted that the
boy be properly baptised in St Peter’s church before the congregation, which upset his chapel-going mother.
    Mirabel did not make the church service for she was in one of her feverish moods. The baby was held by the maid as usual, who rocked him back and forth until he slept and the christening went
ahead with the Squire bursting with pride at the sight of his grandson. His daughter had done her duty and produced an heir and he seemed mighty relieved that everyone was satisfied with her good
work.
    Soon life at Yewbank was back to the old way. The baby roared, screaming for its feed, upsetting Matt’s mother with his untended cries.
    ‘That girl’s got not enough milk. She scarce lifts her eyes from her sewing to see to him. I’ve taken to putting him in the kitchen with me. It’s not right, Matt. His
cries wake us all in the night but all that Dacre girl does is sew and sew: such fine gowns, I must admit, embroidered caps, capes. Her fingers are raw. Only Bella gets up to him in the night and
shushes him up. There is nothing William lacks, poor lad, but a mother with a bit of sense. I cannot be doing with his cries. They tear my heart out. You’ve got to say something, son, or I
will.’
    One morning Matt himself could hear the baby screaming out with hunger, so wondering when someone would lift the bairn and see to his comforts he came indoors to have words. Bella was scurrying
across the top of the upper floor and in her haste she dropped some napkins. He picked them up still warm from the flat iron, smelling of lavender, and followed her into Mirabel’s chamber to
return them. For once the door was not locked.
    Through the open door to his horror he glimpsed the maid’s pock-marked breasts as