Free No Enemy but Time by Evelyn Anthony

more time for dogs and horses than for children. She’d call on them one day, he was confident of that. When there were grandchildren, she’d reconcile herself completely. She was old and a snob. He didn’t blame her; he didn’t really care enough to be hurt.
    He missed his father, though. They had been friends when he was grown up. They hunted and fished and went racing together, and there was a gap when his father died. He would have warmed to Eileen had he lived long enough to get to know her.
    He did want her to settle down and find her place now that they were married. He couldn’t instil enough confidence into her, that was the trouble. On the surface he’d helped her to adjust, and a woman less sensitive and intelligent wouldn’t have accepted him correcting her speech and table manners. But in his heart he sensed that she was lonely and ill at ease. The servants weren’t a problem any more. It wasn’t just fear of him that made them change. They respected Eileen. And in spite of themselves they were proud of her. She had dignity, and natural grace. Like tonight, faced with the ordeal of going to a grand dinner party with people who all knew each other and were far removed from her experience, she had acquitted herself proudly and well. If war broke out he’d have to join his father’s regiment, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. He wasn’t going to let anything worry or unsettle her. What she wanted was a baby. He could leave her if there was a child; and he knew, as all his friends agreed that night, that if England went to war with Germany, Ireland might remain neutral, but they could not. He woke her gently, and as the mists sank back into the river in the sunlight, they made love.
    But it was two long years of disappointment before she conceived.
    She felt so sick that it was lunchtime before she could drag herself out of bed and come downstairs. Doctor Baron reassured Philip.
    â€˜Sure she’s fine,’ he insisted, dismissing the silly man’s fears. ‘She’s a fine healthy girl and all she is is a bit queasy of a morning. That’ll pass when the baby turns. Nothing to worry about at all.’ If she hadn’t been Mrs Arbuthnot, he’d have told anyone else to stop spoiling her and give her work to do around the house. That’d keep her mind off herself quick enough. He’d no patience with women putting on airs and moaning about the most natural thing in the world. He’d seen women give birth on their cabin floors and get up and cook their man a meal when he came in …
    He had little sympathy with Eileen, although he was polite and briskly reassuring. He despised her for betraying her family and her faith. She was a rich lady now; let her take comfort in that. No mother to fuss over her, no aunties and cousins to come visiting and swapping stories about the terrible births they’d had. No old school friends to call and help her pass the time. There were visitors, of course. Lady Hamilton from the Half House and one or two others of her sort. He’d heard their shrill voices when he made a routine call and seen Eileen Ryan sitting up in her big bed looking strained and miserable. He still thought of her as Eileen Ryan, old Jack’s daughter. He wondered whether they knew about the baby. They’d have heard it from Mary Donovan. She’d have been up there on her Sunday off, bursting with the news. He saw Mrs Ryan one evening in his surgery. She had a nasty burn on her forearm. Spitting fat, she explained to him. It looked like there might be pus in it. He agreed, and gave her some ointment. He didn’t mention her daughter or the daughter’s pregnancy. He didn’t want to embarrass the poor woman.
    Eileen didn’t improve much after the three months. She felt weak and seedy and if she went for a walk her ankles puffed up. Mary made her special brews to take the swelling down. Lily brought