nt. She leaned over the parapet to see Alice's broad-brimmed straw hat as her friend turned out of the gate and took the road towards the downland. Mistress Weldon carried a laden basket on one arm, its contents concealed by a white napkin.
‘Alice, wait for me!’ Henrietta clattered down the staircase, careless of the dust and cobwebs, her own straw hat swinging by its ribbons from her fingers.
‘Mistress.’ Alice took in the dust marks on Henrietta's plain green linen gown, and her bare head. ‘You should not hurry so in this heat.’
‘And you, Mistress Weldon, should not be carrying that heavy basket in your condition.’ Alice, nearly seven months with child, looked flushed and tired despite the coolness of the loose robe she was wearing.
‘Give me that basket,’ Henrietta ordered, wresting it from Alice's grip. ‘Where are you taking it?’
‘Mistress,’ Alice protested, ‘it is not fitting for you to carry it.’
‘Alice, you are not my maidservant now, nor have you been this six weeks past. You are Mistress Weldon, Robert's wife as well as my friend, as you have always been. Could you not now bring yourself to call me Henrietta?’
‘Very well, Henrietta,’ Alice agreed gravely, very much the dignified matron.
Henrietta concealed a smile behind her hand. Alice had taken to the role of steward's wife like a duck to water. As Mr Halsey the vicar was unmarried Alice's social standing was high in the village, second only to the ladies of the big house. The learning and graces she had acquired as Henrietta's companion from childhood stood her in good stead now and the child she was carrying could one day marry into good yeoman stock.
‘Where are you taking this basket?’ Henrietta lifted the edge of the napkin and the smell of fresh bread and the tang of cheese rose into the dusty air. A stone bottle nestled in one corner.
‘To my husband. He is overseeing the new sheep pens in Lammas Mead and told me not to expect him home for dinner. I worry he will not stop to eat.’
Henrietta looked at her flushed face. ‘I'm certain he did not expect you to carry food to him over a good mile, and all uphill, on a day as hot as this.’
‘I do not like to think of him going hungry. And you know what he's like with Sir Matthew. They become so engrossed in their plans and schemes for the estate.’
Henrietta's heart missed a beat. She moved the basket from one arm to another to cover her reaction. ‘Oh, my husband is with him, then?’ It was Robert he spent all his time with, it was Robert who heard of his plans for the estate, Robert who shared his thoughts and dreams for the future of Winterbourne.
It was only right he trusted his steward to that extent, but it did not salve the hurt that he could not even bring himself to discuss his day with her in the evening.
‘Does Robert talk to you much of his doings when the day is ended?’ The track had begun to narrow between high hedges and Henrietta brushed away the dancing flies that bothered them.
‘Indeed yes. And he is so happy now, it is like the days when your father was alive. There is so much to do, so much to plan. Everyone is so happy with the new master.’ She sensed Henrietta's restraint and quickly added, ‘I did not mean you were not a good mistress to us, but a man is different.’
Henrietta inwardly acknowledged the truth of this, knowing how whole-heartedly Matthew had thrown his energies into the running of Winterbourne. She had never been brought up to understand the running of the great estate, although she had done her best when the task had been thrust upon her.
No, Matthew with his legal mind and wide experience was far better fitted to the task, although by his own confession he was no countryman. And this way, of course, he didn't have to spend time with his new wife while he made Winterbourne the perfect place for his son to inherit.
They reached a gap in the hedge and stopped, seeing their men standing together across the field. They were deep in conversation, their horses' reins looped over a sheep hurdle. Even at that distance they were easily distinguishable, each from the other, Matthew lean and dark, half a head taller than his sandy-haired steward.
‘What are they doing?’ Henrietta demanded, opening the gate.
‘Do you not know? That book on husbandry young Dick brought back from Oxford has new ideas for sheep pens. Robert has spoken of little else these five days past, his mind is so full of the new ways of farming. Last night I told him if he could talk only of sheep he could go do it in the barn!’
There was so much amused affection in her voice that Henrietta was in no doubt Robert could have talked of sheep in his sleep before his fond wife would have complained. She envied their happiness, the easy friendship between them built on so much mutual love and trust, the pride in Robert's eyes when he looked at his wife.
The two men were still unaware of their approach, ‘I confess I am surprised Matthew and Robert work so well together,’ Henrietta confided. ‘I was concerned their beliefs would make a barrier between them, especially since Robert was so badly hurt in battle.’
‘I too. I asked him about it and he said Sir Matthew had told him he did not seek to command his conscience, only his loyalty, that when all's said and done each was working toward the same end – a safe future for their children and the country. Robert says you do not need to share a man's political beliefs to respect and like him.’
Alice struggled to explain a difficult abstraction. ‘Robert thinks he sees Winterbourne as a symbol for the whole country. If we can work together despite our different beliefs, be honest with each other, all the scars will be healed. Sir Matthew fears the extremists of both sides, I think.’
It was the same compromise Matthew had offered Henrietta on their betrothal. But her refusal to be honest with him had shattered that peace, and she could see no way back. Alice's tripping on a tussock broke into her bitter thoughts. ‘Take care,’ she scolded, putting out her free hand to steady her friend.
The sharp note of worry in her voice carried on the still air. The two men turned together and walked to meet them. Matthew took the heavy basket from Henrietta and dumped it on the ground. Her broad-brimmed straw hat had fallen off and was hanging down her back by its ribbons. With surprising gentleness he placed it on her head and tightened the ribbons under her chin.
‘You should not be walking in this heat with your head uncovered. We have had one man in a fever already today from a surfeit of the sun.’
The concern in his face was genuine, a fleeting glimpse of the tenderness she hungered for so much. The unexpectedness of it made her clumsy. ‘It is Alice, not I, who is with child.’