The fellow who had been talking to the vicar had disappeared and Peter had headed towards the tavern to meet her beneath the shelter of the porch. He was a dark-haired man of medium height and build who, despite being her stepson-in-law, was her senior by five years.
‘Mrs Fenton...’ Peter removed his hat, securing it beneath his arm. ‘This is a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you until this evening, at the vicarage.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you yet either.’ She paused, sensing that his attitude was false and that this premature meeting was as unwelcome for him as it was for her. ‘Have you business in the area, sir?’
‘A clerical meeting...nothing too important. Now, I insist that I take you the rest of the way to Wivenhoe in my gig.’
Dawn hesitated in replying. Oddly, she knew she’d sooner make the rest of the journey squashed in the coach with the Broomes than have his company. But how to refuse without giving offence?
‘My luggage is stowed on the coach. It will be a bit of a commotion to swap vehicles and only a few more hours of travel. It would be as well to carry on as I am...’
‘I insist, ma’am. My wife will be glad of your company as soon as may be and happy to let you occupy the child so she might rest.’ He patted her arm to quieten her. ‘I shall speak to the coachman, never fear. Everything will soon be arranged.’
‘Very well...’ Dawn dipped her head in agreement, forcing a smile. She raised a hand to acknowledge her friends in the taproom. Mrs Broome was indicating with sign language that her crumpets had been placed on the table.
‘I ordered something to eat...’
‘Oh...go to it, ma’am,’ the vicar urged solicitously. ‘I will speak to your coach driver and have your bags transferred. I need no refreshment myself, but will wait for you.’
‘Oh, Eleanor! Why did you not write and let me know you have been poorly? I would have come far sooner to care for you.’ Dawn felt a pang of guilt, wishing she had responded to her stepdaughter’s letter promptly. But she had preferred to spend time with her friends in Mayfair than take up her invitation to visit her stepfamily in Essex.
Eleanor made a feeble gesture from the bed upon which she was resting. ‘You have your own life to live in town, Mama. It is nothing too bad...just a little breathlessness making me feel giddy. The babe is probably lying in the wrong position, but will surely soon move and give me some relief.’
Dawn wasn’t convinced about that. Her stepdaughter didn’t look as though she were merely suffering discomfort, but a proper illness. Eleanor’s complexion was greyish, yet spots of scarlet were on her cheekbones and a film of perspiration beaded her hairline.
Dawn wished she had some experience of childbirth to draw on. She hadn’t been present at Lily’s birth. After being advised of the happy news she had travelled to Essex a week later to see the new arrival. On that occasion Eleanor had looked quite perky, telling her that a midwife had attended her and all had gone as well as was to be expected. ‘Have you been like this for a while? Might it be the baby coming early, do you think, my dear?’ Dawn picked up a hanky from the nightstand and dipped it in the water jug, then cooled her stepdaughter’s brow with it.
‘I felt more myself last week. I doubt it is the baby.’ Eleanor frowned. ‘It is over a month too soon and the pain seems different.’
From the moment Dawn had entered the house and been advised by the vicar that his wife and child were napping and shouldn’t be disturbed, Dawn had sensed something wasn’t quite right. Peter had carried on to say, in a way that seemed to brook no refusal, that Dawn should also rest after her journey. He had ushered her up the stairs and carried her bags for her to deposit in the guest room. But she sensed he was being dictatorial rather than solicitous. Once she’d spotted him from her window, striding along the cinder path in the direction of the church, she had hurried to find her stepdaughter.
A first glimpse of Eleanor’s ashen face and dishevelled appearance had made Dawn’s heartbeat accelerate in alarm. Her stepdaughter might not be a beauty, but she was pretty enough and had always taken pains with her appearance. But it wasn’t just her lack of grooming—the young woman had a look of sadness and defeat about her, too.
‘Has Peter sent for the physician to attend you?’
‘He says there is no need for the doctor to be summoned and that it is a natural ailment to be expected close to a woman’s confinement. I don’t recall feeling so feverish last time, though, Mama.’
Dawn picked up her granddaughter as she tried to climb on to the bed to lay beside her mother. She jigged Lily in her arms to quieten her as she grew fretful. ‘I have some presents for you, young lady. But first you must promise to be good. Will you be?’
Lily solemnly nodded her head, becoming still. She was bright as a button and had remembered that her grandma brought her nice things from London when she visited.
‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t up to greet you,’ Eleanor wiped a tear from the corner of an eye. ‘What a feeble sort of woman I am turning into.’
‘Don’t say that! Of course you are not.’ Dawn guessed that her stepdaughter was repeating criticism. It sounded like the sort of snappish remark Peter Mansfield might make.
He had been impatient with her earlier. At the Cockerel he had not waited outside while she finished her meal as he’d said he would. He had come to find her and made it clear he was ready to set on the road immediately now her luggage had been transferred to his gig. His bullying had been polite, but Dawn had felt under pressure nevertheless to say an immediate farewell to the Broomes and go with him.
Thereafter he had driven at reckless speed, bouncing over ruts on the road to Wivenhoe, with little conversation passing between them. That had suited Dawn. She found little to say to him at the best of times. Yet on that journey of almost an hour he hadn’t once mentioned his wife other than to give a throwaway answer to Dawn’s question of how her stepdaughter was. Eleanor at times felt a little under the weather, he’d said.
‘I should get up now,’ Eleanor said, struggling to rise on her elbows.
Dawn gently pressed her back down. ‘You must rest. And, whatever Peter says, I think the physician should attend you,’ she added firmly. ‘Sometimes women have more of an intuition about these things than men do.’ She gave Eleanor a smile of encouragement. Her stepdaughter was loyal to her husband, but he needed to be overruled on this. ‘A professional opinion is needed. If Peter is right and I am wrong, then I shall feel so much better for having worried over nothing.’ Dawn approached the door of the bedchamber with her granddaughter still in her arms. ‘I saw Peter go out some time ago, but he might have returned. If he has, I shall speak to him about fetching the doctor. Would you like some tea...or something to eat, Eleanor?’
‘I’m thirsty...some lemonade would be nice.’ Eleanor put out her hand for her daughter. ‘You can leave Lily with me. She will be good now she knows you have some treats for her.’ She gave her little daughter a fond smile.
Dawn went quickly downstairs, hoping Peter had returned because she was determined to make the daft man see sense and immediately go in his gig to fetch the doctor. Or she would go herself into the village and find the fellow.
‘Do you know if the vicar is due to return soon, Mrs Grove?’ Dawn had looked into the downstairs rooms, and knocked on the door of Peter’s study, but found no sign of him. She had headed to the kitchen in the hope of discovering his likely whereabouts from the cook. They had met before when Dawn had made previous visits, and Dawn had always thought her a pleasant woman.
‘He’ll probably be up at the church, Mrs Fenton, or he could have gone into Wivenhoe.’