together at one time. Only his pa decides to go and set up on his own, and then things went wrong for him, and he got himself into debt. Blew his brains out, he did, and him upstairs were taken into t’workhouse.’
Marianne’s heart clenched with pity and fellow feeling.
‘Poor woman, she must have regretted the day she stood up in church alongside Heywood Denshaw. She’d be turning in her grave, she would, if she knew what he did after she’d gone. Drove her son, what was the rightful heir to Bellfield Mill, away. And Amelia, that niece of hers, as well—the master’s ward, what the young master were sweet on. Ran off together, they did. And there’s some folk that say as they’ll never come back, on account of a foul dark deed being done by a certain person, that they’re lying in their graves now…’
Marianne’s hands shook, and seeing them the nurse said, ‘You do well to look fearful, lass. A terrible man the Master of Bellfield is. If I was you I’d get that babby swaddled nice and tight, so that it lies quiet instead of moving about like that.’ She changed the subject to look disapprovingly at the baby in the basket. ‘A bit of laudanum in its milk at night and you’ll not hear a sound from it. That’s what I tell all them I nurse, and I’ve never yet had a mother complain to me that she can’t get no sleep, nor a husband complain that he ain’t getting his nuptials neither.’
Her words caused Marianne to go over to the baby and place a protective hand over him. She had seen babies in the workhouse tightly swaddled and fed laudanum to keep them quiet, their little bodies so still that it had been hard sometimes to tell whether they lived or died. She would never allow little Miles to be treated like that.
‘Some say that his sister should have given him a home, but I can’t see that there’s any sense in going blaming a Christian woman like Mrs Knowles for not wanting to take on a bad lot like him. Always in trouble, he was. Ran away from the poor house once and had to be brought back. Anyways, Mrs Knowles and her husband was living away then, on account of Mr Knowles’ health. Always delicate, he were, and it’s no wonder he went and left her a widow. Luckily for her she’s got a good son to do his duty by her. Like I said, she’s a true Christian woman is Mrs Knowles. Recommends me to all her friends, she does, when they want any nursing done.’
Marianne tried not to show her astonishment. From what little she had seen of the nurse, she was not only a gossip and partial to a drink, she was also dirty—and, Marianne suspected, all too likely to neglect her patients.
‘Does Mrs Knowles live locally? I am sure she would wish to be informed of her brother’s accident. It may be that she will also wish to oversee his convalescence,’ Marianne suggested.
‘Well, as to that, after the way he treated her the last time she tried to help ’im, I’d be surprised if she wanted to set foot inside this house again, brother or no brother. Told ’er he put the blame for his wife dying and taking the babby with her on her shoulders, when everyone knew that it were ’is fault. Even came over herself when she’d heard his missus had gone into labour, and sent for Dr Hollingshead as well. See, her and the missus were close friends, and she told her that she blamed herself for introducing her to ’er brother. No, there’s no call to go sending any message to Mount Vernon to tell Mrs Knowles what’s happened. ’Cos even if she was to be Christian enough to come and see him, she ain’t there. She spends the winters down in Torquay, on account of her Jeffrey’s chest. Won’t be back until the spring starts, and by that time…Well, owt could happen.’
It was plain to Marianne what the nurse would like to see happen, and it shocked her that someone who was supposed to care for the sick should show such relish at the prospect of death.
Marianne could see the nurse surreptitiously removing a flask from her pocket and tipping some of its contents into her tea, and her concern deepened.
By the time Marianne was opening the back door to the tall, thin man who introduced himself as, ‘Archie Gledhill, t’mill manager,’ the nurse was asleep and snoring, and smelling strongly of drink.
‘Yes, do come in Mr Gledhill.’ Marianne smiled politely at him. ‘I am Mr Denshaw’s new housekeeper, Mrs Brown.’
‘Yes, I ’eard as to how you was ’ere. And lucky for t’master that you are an’ all,’ he told her, glancing approvingly round the pin-neat kitchen. His approval turned to a frown, though, when he saw the nurse. ‘You’ll not be letting ’er anywhere near t’master?’ he asked Marianne sharply.
‘Dr Hollingshead sent her up,’ Marianne told him.
‘T’master won’t want her ’ere. Not after what happened to his missus and babby. If you’ll take my advice you’ll send her about her business.’
‘If you think I should.’
‘I do,’ he assured her grimly.
Marianne nodded her head. His words had only confirmed her own fears about the nurse’s suitability for her work.
‘I’ll go and inform Mr Denshaw that you’re here. If you would like a cup of tea…?’
‘That’s right kind of you, missus, but I’d best see the master first.’
‘If you would like to wait here, I’ll go up and tell him now,’ Marianne told him.
She had closed the door to the master bedroom when she had last left it, but now it was slightly ajar. She rapped briefly on it, and when there was no reply she opened it.
A tumble of clothes lay on the floor: the shirt the Master of Bellfield had been wearing, along with some undergarments. The room smelled of carbolic soap, and there were splashes of water leading from the bathroom.
It amazed Marianne that a man in as much pain as Mr Denshaw had felt it necessary to get out of bed, remove his clothes and wash himself. And whilst ordinarily she would have admired a person’s desire for cleanliness, on this occasion she was more concerned about the effect his actions might have had on his wound.
Without stopping to think, she bustled over to the bed, scolding him worriedly. ‘You should have called for me if you wanted to get out of bed.’
Immediately a naked hair-roughened male arm shot out from beneath the covers and a hard male hand grasped her arm.
‘And you would have washed me like a baby? I’m a man, Mrs Brown, and that ring on your finger and the marriage lines you claim go with it don’t entitle you to make free with my body as though it were a child’s.’
Marianne could feel her face burning with embarrassment.
‘Mr Gledhill is here,’ she told him in a stilted voice. ‘Shall I bring him up?’
‘Aye.’
‘I have spoken with Charlie Postlethwaite about the laundry. I have not had time to check the linen closet properly as yet, but I shall do my best to ensure that your nightshirts are…’
To her dismay it was a struggle for her not to look at his naked torso as she spoke of the item of clothing he should surely have been wearing.
‘Nightshirts?’ He laughed and told her mockingly, ‘I am a mill master, Mrs Brown, not a gentleman, and I sleep in the garment that nature provided me with—my own skin. That is the best covering within the marital bed, for both a man and a woman.’
Marianne whisked
