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.Wool was commanding a high price at the moment, and there was an increasing demand for cloth, and so it would be no more than a matter of time before the family's fortune was restored; but it prevented, as indeed did prudence, the rebuilding of the chapel.Father Fenelon stayed on as family tutor and confessor, though he no longer had a chapel of which to be chaplain, and the family had to go to the village church at St Nicholas for their daily masses; but the chapel-children had to be sent home.Nanette also reconsidered her future, and spoke to Paul about it one evening in the solar after supper.'Long ago Lady Latimer offered me a home with her,' she said.'She has asked me since, more than once, to live with her as her companion, and I think the time has come for me to accept her offer.'Paul was taken aback.Since he had come home, his aunt had been his mainstay, and he relied very strongly on her advice.'But Aunt, why?' he asked now.'You don't really want to leave Morland Place, do you?''I have known much happiness here,' she said, 'and also much grief.But you have troubles enough now, Paul, and I am an expensive item in your accounts.It is better that I should remove myself and relieve you of the expense of my maintenance.''You mustn't think about that, really you mustn't,' Paul said, distressed.'By rights you should be mistress here --I know that my father deprived you of your portion.You should not think of living on charity.''All the same, my dear, I will go.You will have a wife of your own one day -- one day soon, if you are wise -- and there cannot be two mistresses.''But -- you won't go yet? Please, Aunt, don't think of leaving yet.We need you.My cousin needs you: you cannot think of leaving Elizabeth?''No, indeed.I will stay until Elizabeth is safely delivered, and I myself will arrange the disposal of the child, if it survives.It is better that I should do it.But then I will go.For Elizabeth's sake, if for no other, it is better for me to go.I would bring too many unhappy things to mind for her.'Paul argued with her, but she was adamant, and she wrote the next day to Katherine Neville, who was at home at Snape Hall.The answer came, kind and glad to have her, and Nanette became eager to have the business done with and go away.She observed a growing affection between Paul and Elizabeth, and had hopes that when the unfortunate business was over, they might marry; if they did, she must not be there to remind them of the horrible thing that had made their union possible.*The baby was born at the beginning of February, and was a boy.The labour was straightforward, and Nanette had good hopes of a quick recovery for poor Elizabeth, who had borne the burden with increasing distress.Nanette was present in the birth chamber, and it was she who took away the baby even before Elizabeth had a chance to see it.It was better that way, everyone had agreed.She had made her arrangements beforehand, and so that no-one but herself should know where the bairn was taken, she rode herself, and alone, with the little creature inside her cloak, through the snow to the cottage of the peasant couple who would bring the child up.Dick the smith and his wife Mary were waiting for them.Mary had had a babe of her own two weeks before, and would feed both infants at her breast.They were gentle, quiet people, living in the small, single-storey cottage attached to the smithy, with their small holding of land behind where Mary kept a cow and a pig and a few hens and grew vegetables and white roses.As Nanette dismounted before their door it was opened by a small, towheaded, solemn child of two who stared at her in silent wonder.Dick appeared behind him and cried out, 'Come in, Mistress, come in and welcome; I guessed it was you, at this hour.You have brought the bairn? You should not have ridden alone -- it isn't proper.''How else could I be sure the secret was kept?' Nanette asked.'Here is the child -- Mary will know what to do with him, I imagine.'She ducked under the low lintel into the tiny cottage.It was dim with smoke, for it had no chimney, and the smoke from the raised hearth drifted upwards to find its way out through the thatch in its own time.What light there was came from rushes dipped in animal fat, and they gave out with their small light a great deal of stinking smoke.But the room -- the single room in which they lived and slept, Dick and Mary and their two small sons -- was scrupulously clean and neat, the pewter and wooden dishes scoured and stacked on the wooden cupboard, the hard-packed earth floor covered in clean dried rushes, which kept it warm and dry, their few clothes and belongings stored away in a stout chest which they now offered to Nanette as a seat.She accepted it, and the offer of ale from Dick, for it would not have been polite to refuse, and while she drank she looked around and wondered at the difference in the way these people lived.Yet they were not in want.There were dried meats and smoked fish hung up on the walls, and bunches of herbs, and ropes of onions, three different sorts, and in the half-attic above one end of the room she knew there would be grain stored along with the turnips and carrots and beans, and perhaps a bucket of salt fish and another of pickled eggs.On a loom at the far end of the room a new piece of cloth was being woven, strong woollen cloth to keep out the weather, and the bed in which they all slept had woollen blankets, dyed bright colours in stripes, and hop-harlots for their heads.It would be a good home for the child [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]