The Fall of a Saint. Christine MerrillЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter One

      ‘I am Mrs Samuel Hastings, but you may call me Evelyn.’

      Maddie Cranston looked at the woman in front of her with suspicion. Mrs Hastings was smiling in a sympathetic, comforting way. But it had been her husband who had come to Maddie on that night in Dover with apologies and lame excuses, as though any amount of money could make up for what had happened. It was possible that Evelyn Hastings was just another toady to the Duke of St Aldric and therefore not to be trusted.

      The duke had said she was a midwife. It would be a relief to speak to a woman on the subject, especially one familiar with the complaints of pregnancy. Sometimes Maddie felt so wretched that she feared what was happening to her body could not quite be normal. If anyone deserved punishment for that night, it was St Aldric. But if that was true, why did God leave her to do the suffering?

      This stranger insisting on familiarity of address did not look at all the way one expected a midwife would. She was not particularly old and was far too lovely to have a job of any kind, looking instead like the sort of pampered lady who would hire nurses and governess to care for her offspring, rather than seeing to them herself. What could she know of the birthing and raising of children?

      When one was surrounded by enemies, it was better to appear aloof rather than terrified. Life had proven that weakness was easily exploited. She would not show it now. She would not be lulled to security by a soothing voice and a pretty face. ‘How do you do, Mrs Hastings. I am Miss Madeline Cranston.’ Maddie offered a hand to the supposed midwife, but did not return her smile.

      Mrs Hastings ignored her coldness, responding with even more warmth and, if possible, a softer and more comforting tone. ‘I assume, since St Aldric sent for me, that you are with child?’

      Maddie nodded, suddenly unable to trust her own voice when faced with the enormity of what she had done in coming here. She was having a bastard. There could be no comfort in that, only a finding of the best solution. She had been a fool to confront a duke, especially considering their last meeting. Suppose he had been angry enough to solve the problem with violence and not money? While she did not wish to believe that a peer would be so despicable, neither had she seen any reason to think otherwise of this one.

      ‘And you are experiencing nausea?’ the other woman asked, glancing at the water carafe on the table.

      Maddie nodded again.

      ‘I will ring for some tea with ginger. It will settle your stomach.’ She summoned a servant, relayed the instructions and returned to her questioning. ‘Tenderness of the breasts? No courses for the past month?’

      Maddie nodded and whispered, ‘Two months.’ She had known from the first what must have happened but had not wanted to admit it, not even to herself.

      ‘And you are unmarried.’ Mrs Hastings stared into her face, as though it could be read like tea leaves. ‘You did not attempt to put an end to this, when you realised what was happening?’

      That was a possibility, even now. What future was there for her or the child if St Aldric turned her away? She would be a bastard with a bastard.

      She stiffened her spine and ignored the doubts. If her own mother had taken the trouble to have her, she owed nothing less to her own child. The woman who bore her was conspicuously absent, now that wise counsel was needed. She did not wish to leave her baby without friend or family, to be raised by strangers as she had been. But what choice did she have? Her own presence in the child’s life would make things more difficult, for it could not be easy to have a mother who was little better than a whore in the eyes of society.

      An unmarried but powerful father was another matter entirely. St Aldric had created this problem. Now he would be made to face the consequences of his actions. She returned her attentions to the midwife. ‘No. I made no attempt to rid myself of the baby.’

      ‘I see.’ Mrs Hastings coloured slightly and changed the subject. ‘And you are experiencing changes in mood, as though your mind and body are no longer your own?’

      Now this was a question that could not be answered with a shake of the head, for it struck at the heart of her fears. She stared up at Mrs Hastings for a moment, then surrendered her courage and whispered the truth. ‘I cannot seem to keep my temper from one minute to the next. First laughter, then tears. I have vivid dreams when I sleep. And waking I have the most outlandish ideas.’ This trip was but an example. ‘Sometimes I fear that I am going mad.’

      The midwife smiled and relaxed into her chair as though pleased that they had found a topic she fully understood. ‘That is all quite normal. It is nothing more than the upset of humours involved in the growing of a new life. You are not headed for the madhouse, my dear. You are simply having a baby.’ As if there was anything simple about this, even from the first. The tea arrived, along with some flavourless biscuits. Maddie sipped and nibbled hesitantly, but was surprised to find she felt marginally better for the nourishment.

      ‘It is a wonder that anyone does it at all,’ Maddie declared, taking another sip of tea. ‘Much less allowing it to happen more than once.’

      Mrs Hastings seemed to think this was amusing, for she made no effort to hide her laugh. ‘You have nothing to fear from this point on. I will be here to take care of you.’

      The woman could not possibly know what she was offering. But everything about her, from her soft-spoken words to the no-nonsense set of her body, was an assurance. Maddie risked relaxing into the cushions of the divan, if only for a moment. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Before the onset of these symptoms, you had sexual congress with a man,’ Mrs Hastings reminded her gently. ‘Surely you understood what the ramifications of this behaviour might be?’

      ‘It was not of my choice,’ Maddie said, keeping her voice calm and level.

      Mrs Hastings gave a small gasp of shock, but her smile remained as comforting as ever. ‘Do you know the identity of the man who is responsible?’

      This woman was different from her husband. Perhaps she could actually help with something more than ginger tea and kindness. Maddie decided to risk the truth. ‘It was the Duke of St Aldric.’ There. She had said it out loud. Even to admit it to one other person made the burden of the knowledge lighter. ‘I was in an inn in Dover. In the night, he came into my room without invitation, and...’ She was past crying about it. But to tell the story aloud to a complete stranger had not been part of her plan.

      Evelyn Hastings’s eyes opened wide again and her gentle smile turned incredulous. ‘The Saint forced his way into your room and...’

      ‘St Aldric,’ Maddie corrected. ‘He was inebriated. Afterwards, he claimed to have wandered into