murmured, so quietly one might have missed it. "I don't think I can face her on my own, she's in agony."
As she pondered her sister in laws fate, a mirror of all their futures, tears were not evident at all in Patsy's dark eyes...instead there was hell.
Chapter Eight
As they paced their way over to the wonky house next door, Annabel became aware of a growing unease in her stomach. She was walking into the complete unknown. The further lack of control terrified her.
Following Patsy through a low wooden door, that wobbled on its handmade hinges as she opened it, Annabel found herself in a dark room with a low ceiling. The walls were made from dried mud and straw, the floor just bare earth.
Most of the room was filled by a large table with wonky legs, surrounded by a set of stools, all of it handmade. In the far right hand corner was a doorway leading to what Annabel naively assumed to be the various bedchambers. On the wall to Annabel's left was a fireplace - or rather a deep dent in the wall with a hole above it, acting as something of a chimney. A small window beside the door was the only source of light in the otherwise dim and smoky space. At the fire stooped the elder woman. Her straw-like hair was tied roughly at the nape of her neck with a worn piece of string. Annabel's heart rate increased at the very sight of her sneering, prematurely aged face. In the opposite corner Hetty was knelt on the floor, one hand still rubbing at her grotesquely out of proportion belly, her other hand deep in a rusty tub of soapy water, washing what looked like blood off of a grey dress.
"What happened?" Patsy asked, rushing to Hetty's side and taking the sodden dress out of her hand.
"Oh it's just a bit of blood, it happens sometimes when you're pregnant, it's fine," she replied, trying to sound reassuring.
"No it doesn't Hetty, you shouldn't be bleeding and you know it!"
"I've got to get these stains out before Tom sees, he can't know."
Annabel noticed that Hetty's bony hands were trembling as she worked. Feeling an out of character sense of concern Annabel rushed over as well, gently pulling at Hetty's shoulders to ease her back onto the floor.
"Get off me!" she screamed, crawling out of Annabel's grasp to the other side of the tub, her face creased in pain. "Why did you bring her here? Haven't we got enough problems?" she snapped at Patsy.
"I didn't bring her here Hetty, you know that. I'm jus' making her life better now she is."
Hetty glanced up into Annabel's face sceptically. "She ain't a stray cat you can tame Patsy. Who are you anyway?" She directed the question towards Annabel.
"Miss Annabel Hoddington, daughter of Lord Grayson and Lady Elizabeth Hoddington."
"Lord and Lady? What were they thinking? We'll all be killed in our sleep."
"I assure you, that is not my intention. I would like to leave as much as you want me gone."
"You assure me." Hetty snorted in a scornful laugh that turned into a suppressed groan halfway. "Make yourself useful. Help the old woman with dinner."
"I have never cooked before, so I think I would be better placed with you. I'd hate to ruin dinner."
"Would you now? Well, grab one of those shirts," Hetty gestured to the large pile of clothes next to her knees. "Patsy you help your mama."
Patsy did as she was told. Going over to the fire she rested a hand on her mother's shoulder and whispered in her ear. The older woman shook off her daughter's touch with a disgruntled look. Rising to her feet, she left Patsy alone to finish the meal, picking up a large woven basket on her way. Annabel watched her leave as she begun to wash the disgustingly dirty garment in her hands. Hetty continued to scrub at her dress with growing urgency, her face creased up and crimson. Her quick breath laboured occasionally over the strongest bouts of hurt. She groaned as the pain seemed to reach its peak.
Annabel had no real knowledge of pregnancy. All the women she knew had been taken away for bed rest
As she pondered her sister in laws fate, a mirror of all their futures, tears were not evident at all in Patsy's dark eyes...instead there was hell.
Chapter Eight
As they paced their way over to the wonky house next door, Annabel became aware of a growing unease in her stomach. She was walking into the complete unknown. The further lack of control terrified her.
Following Patsy through a low wooden door, that wobbled on its handmade hinges as she opened it, Annabel found herself in a dark room with a low ceiling. The walls were made from dried mud and straw, the floor just bare earth.
Most of the room was filled by a large table with wonky legs, surrounded by a set of stools, all of it handmade. In the far right hand corner was a doorway leading to what Annabel naively assumed to be the various bedchambers. On the wall to Annabel's left was a fireplace - or rather a deep dent in the wall with a hole above it, acting as something of a chimney. A small window beside the door was the only source of light in the otherwise dim and smoky space. At the fire stooped the elder woman. Her straw-like hair was tied roughly at the nape of her neck with a worn piece of string. Annabel's heart rate increased at the very sight of her sneering, prematurely aged face. In the opposite corner Hetty was knelt on the floor, one hand still rubbing at her grotesquely out of proportion belly, her other hand deep in a rusty tub of soapy water, washing what looked like blood off of a grey dress.
"What happened?" Patsy asked, rushing to Hetty's side and taking the sodden dress out of her hand.
"Oh it's just a bit of blood, it happens sometimes when you're pregnant, it's fine," she replied, trying to sound reassuring.
"No it doesn't Hetty, you shouldn't be bleeding and you know it!"
"I've got to get these stains out before Tom sees, he can't know."
Annabel noticed that Hetty's bony hands were trembling as she worked. Feeling an out of character sense of concern Annabel rushed over as well, gently pulling at Hetty's shoulders to ease her back onto the floor.
"Get off me!" she screamed, crawling out of Annabel's grasp to the other side of the tub, her face creased in pain. "Why did you bring her here? Haven't we got enough problems?" she snapped at Patsy.
"I didn't bring her here Hetty, you know that. I'm jus' making her life better now she is."
Hetty glanced up into Annabel's face sceptically. "She ain't a stray cat you can tame Patsy. Who are you anyway?" She directed the question towards Annabel.
"Miss Annabel Hoddington, daughter of Lord Grayson and Lady Elizabeth Hoddington."
"Lord and Lady? What were they thinking? We'll all be killed in our sleep."
"I assure you, that is not my intention. I would like to leave as much as you want me gone."
"You assure me." Hetty snorted in a scornful laugh that turned into a suppressed groan halfway. "Make yourself useful. Help the old woman with dinner."
"I have never cooked before, so I think I would be better placed with you. I'd hate to ruin dinner."
"Would you now? Well, grab one of those shirts," Hetty gestured to the large pile of clothes next to her knees. "Patsy you help your mama."
Patsy did as she was told. Going over to the fire she rested a hand on her mother's shoulder and whispered in her ear. The older woman shook off her daughter's touch with a disgruntled look. Rising to her feet, she left Patsy alone to finish the meal, picking up a large woven basket on her way. Annabel watched her leave as she begun to wash the disgustingly dirty garment in her hands. Hetty continued to scrub at her dress with growing urgency, her face creased up and crimson. Her quick breath laboured occasionally over the strongest bouts of hurt. She groaned as the pain seemed to reach its peak.
Annabel had no real knowledge of pregnancy. All the women she knew had been taken away for bed rest
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