Lady of Hay

  ***

  “Jo!” Nick reached her first. “Jo! It’s all right. Jo, please, Jo…” He gathered her limp form into his arms, cradling her head against his chest.

  “Leave her, please.” Bennet knelt beside them. “Let me see her. Jo!” He snapped his fingers in her face. “Listen to me, Joanna. You are going to wake up now. Do you hear me. Now!”

  There was a moment of total silence. Outside the sound of a police siren wailing in the Marylebone Road brought the twentieth century back into the room.

  Jo stirred. She opened her eyes and lay looking up at Nick. The strain and anguish were slowly clearing from her face as she eased herself upright.

  “Jo? Are you all right?” Nick’s voice was gentle. He still had his arm around her shoulders.

  She frowned, staring around the room, looking first at Bennet and then at Sarah who was standing, whitefaced, by the desk. Then her gaze came back to Nick. She smiled weakly.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she said shakily.

  “Jo, love—” Nick pulled her close, his face in her hair. “None of it happened. Nobody died—”

  She stared at him. “Don’t lie to me.” Her voice was very weary. “I want to know the truth.” Her gaze traveled past Nick suddenly. “Archdeacon?” The room in Devonshire Place faded slightly as she peered toward the end of the bed. She was once again lying beneath the covers but now they were cleansed. Darkness had come outside and the room was lighted with a dozen torches. Gerald held a crucifix in his hand and he was praying quietly, his eyes occasionally flitting up to her passive face.

  “The child is dead.” She heard her voice as a hollow whisper in the silence of the castle. Somewhere in the distance the police car still wailed. Her lips and tongue were dry as dust.

  Gerald kissed the crucifix calmly and tucked it back into his girdle. Then he came to the side of her bed and put his cool hand on her brow. “Not at all,” he said cheerfully. “The child is squalling manfully. I’ve seen it. A fine healthy boy, my lady, to set all your fears at rest.” His grave eyes surveyed her carefully, taking in the disarrayed tangled hair all over the pillow, the pallid, damp skin, the quick, shallow breathing. “You have a touch of fever. Enough to cause some wandering of the mind in your overwrought condition, but there is nothing to fear, for the child or for yourself. I have ordered sleep-wort and poppy for you to take. A good night’s rest will set you right.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but sternly he put his fingers to his lips and pronounced a blessing over her. Then he stood by and watched as Margaret, looking pale and shaken, brought her the sleeping draught, after which she lay back, exhausted. Too tired to think, she let her mind go blessedly blank and drifted slowly into the welcome forgetfulness of sleep.

  ***

  “Who was she talking to?” Nick found himself glancing over his shoulder as Jo settled once more into his arms, her eyes closed. His skin prickled uncomfortably.

  Bennet shook his head. “She was still seeing her archdeacon,” he said slowly. “He must have spoken to her, reassured her. Look at the flush on her cheeks almost as if she were asleep—” Gently he picked up Jo’s wrist and felt her pulse.

  Sarah covered her with a blanket and for a moment they all stood looking at her. Bennet took off his glasses. His hands were shaking. “The brandy, Sarah, if you please.”

  “I hope you’re satisfied!” Nick rounded on him. “Didn’t you realize after last time how vulnerable she is? Didn’t it dawn on you it might be dangerous to play with this…this asinine previous time with Jo? She nearly died under hypnosis before in Edinburgh. Didn’t my brother tell you? She stopped breathing then! Christ!” He struck his fist onto his open palm. “You’re supposed to be a reputable practitioner! If Jo hasn’t got the sense to stay away from you, then surely to God you can say no to her yourself!”

  “Nick?” Jo’s voice from the sofa was still very weak. “Nick. Don’t shout. Please.”

  He swung around to look at her. Jo was struggling to sit up. “Please, don’t be angry. It’s not Carl’s fault. Everything went fine before. It was just that…that having a baby…” Tears began to trickle down her face.

  Sarah tiptoed forward. She crouched beside Jo. “Here, have some of this. It will steady you.” She closed Jo’s fingers around the glass and helped guide it to her lips.

  “My baby really is all right, isn’t he?” Jo asked after a moment as she pushed the glass away.

  Nick and Bennet looked at each other.

  “Jo.” Bennet waved Sarah away and sat down on the sofa next to her. He took her hands in his.

  “What’s happened?” She glanced wildly from him to the others and back. “What’s wrong? It was some sort of hallucination, wasn’t it? That way he changed in my arms. That wasn’t real. Why don’t you tell me? My baby is all right?”

  Bennet swallowed. He was still firmly holding her wrists. “Jo, my dear. There is no baby. That was all in the past. Another world. Another age. Another you. There is no baby here.” His face was full of compassion.

  “But I gave birth to him! I held him…” Jo was crying openly now. She stared around, bewildered. “He was here…in my arms.”

  Bennet held out his hand to Sarah for the glass. “Drink a little more of this, Jo. It will help to clear your mind. The experience was so real for you it is hard to imagine it did not happen, but you must try to put things in perspective.”

  Behind him Nick and Sarah exchanged glances. Without a word she poured two more measures of brandy. Taking one for herself, she handed the other to Nick. He sat down heavily on the edge of the desk, his hand shaking as he raised it to his lips.

  Bennet beckoned Sarah over. He stood up. “Sit here with her for a minute,” he said softly.

  As Sarah took his place and put a comforting hand on Jo’s arm, he spoke to Nick in an undertone.

  “Is there someone at home to look after her?”

  Nick nodded grimly. “I’ll be there.”

  “Then I suggest the best thing is for you to take her back and put her to bed. All she needs is a good night’s sleep. I’ll prescribe something.” He reached into his desk for his prescription pad. “You mentioned that she nearly died under hypnosis before. Do you know the circumstances? You must believe me, she did not tell me, and neither did your brother.”

  “She doesn’t know.” Nick glanced at Jo. He lowered his voice still further. “I think you should speak to Sam. He was there.”

  “Dr. Franklyn did try to contact me.” Bennet frowned. “But Joanna said I was not to confer with him. I must confess I did intend to speak to him. I suspected something must have occurred before, in spite of her protestations, but nothing like this!” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Nothing.”

  Nick scowled. “It is obviously time you and Sam got together, whatever Jo says. I’ll tell him to get in touch with you again. Meanwhile, can you be sure she is all right?”

  Bennet glanced at Jo. “I’ll give you my home number. If anything happens over the weekend to worry you, call me. On Monday I have to fly to Chicago for ten days. It can’t be avoided—but I can give you the name of a colleague—”

  “Don’t bother.” Nick stood up. “She won’t need to see anyone else. I’ll take care of her.”

  It was another hour before Jo was well enough to stand. Helped by Sarah, Nick half carried her out to the waiting taxi. Thankfully he climbed in beside her and sat back, putting his arm around her shoulders.

  “Feeling okay now?”

  She drew away slightly. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I made a fool of myself in there.”

  “It was hardly your fault.” He stared out of the window. “I’ve asked the driver to stop off at a late-opening drugstore.”

  “Why?”

  “Bennet’s prescribed something to help you sleep tonight.” He felt in his pocket for the prescription.

  Jo snatched it out of his hand. “You know what I think of sleeping pills, Nick. Tell the driver to go straight to Cornwall Ga
rdens.” She tore the paper into tiny pieces.

  “You can drop me off and then go on back to Judy.”

  “Jo.” Nick was reproachful.

  “Well, that is where you were, presumably? She’s the only person who knew what I was doing this afternoon. I don’t know why I told her really.” She closed her eyes wearily, letting the scraps of the prescription flutter unnoticed onto the floor of the cab.

  “You told her because you wanted me with you,” Nick said gently.

  Jo did not reply.

  Once they were back at her apartment, Nick guided Jo to the sofa and she collapsed onto it with a sigh. He frowned. “Shall I call Sam, Jo? He ought to come to look at you.”

  “No!” With an effort she sat upright again. “I’ll be fine, Nick. I’m going to have a bath, then I’ll go to bed. There is no need for you to stay. Really.” She glanced at him. At Bennet’s and in the taxi she had been glad he was there, been reassured by his touch, but something had happened as he put his arm around her to help her up the stairs. She had been consumed with panic. It had obliterated every other feeling in her for a moment, even making her forget the baby. She had felt herself go rigid, her breath caught in a spasm of fear. Then, as swiftly as it had come, the feeling had disappeared, leaving her shaking like a leaf. She swallowed hard. “Please, Nick. I’d like to be alone.”

  Nick frowned. “At least let me wait until you’re in bed,” he said at last. “I shan’t come near you, if that’s what is worrying you. But I ought to stay. Supposing you fainted in the bath or something?”

  Jo hesitated. She had been on the point of protesting that she had never fainted in her life.

  “Okay,” she said at last unwillingly. “Thank you.”

  “Let me stay next door on the sofa.” He tried once more when she was at last in bed.

  “No, Nick. Thanks, but no.” She took his hand.

  “You won’t play the tape of what happened?”

  “No. I’m going to sleep. Don’t worry about me, Nick.”

  Nick looked at her for a moment, then he shrugged. “Right. I’ll be at my apartment. Promise you’ll call if you need me?”

  “I promise. Now, please go.”

  She sat unmoving until she finally heard the door bang behind him. Then at last she lay back on the pillows and allowed the tears to fall. How could she tell him how much she wanted him to stay? Or how much she was suddenly afraid of him?

  She fell asleep at last with the bedside lamp on, unable to bring herself to face total darkness. Outside her window the night was hot and stuffy. Slowly the pubs in Gloucester Road emptied and the sound of talk and laughter echoed up from the mews as people strolled home, enjoying the heady magic of a London night. Restlessly she turned on her pillow, trying to find a cool spot for her head, half hearing the noise as she drifted further into sleep. Outside the street quietened. A stray breeze, carrying the scent of heliotrope from among the pleached limes of the sunken garden beside Kensington Palace, stirred the curtains, and somewhere a cat yowled and knocked over an empty milk bottle, which rolled down a flight of steps into the gutter.

  Jo did not move. She was lying on her side, her hair loose across her face, her arms around the pillow.

  It was just beginning to grow light when she woke suddenly. For a moment she did not know what had awakened her, as she stared around the shadowy room. The lamp was still on by her bed, but outside, between the curtains, she could see the pale light of dawn above the rooftops. Then she heard it again. The hungry cry of her baby. Sitting up, yawning, she flung back her hair and reached slowly toward the cradle on the far side of the bed.

  15

  It wasn’t there. The room was silent. And empty. For a moment she sat quite still, completely bewildered, then, slowly, she remembered and with a sigh she flung herself back on the pillows. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Her arms felt empty, desolate; she ached with loneliness. It was as if part of her had been removed. The baby, with his downy hair, his tiny fringed eyelids, the fragments of caul still clinging behind his ears, the pale-blue swaddling bands that had imprisoned his little fists as he lay in her arms, staring up at her with so much love and trust. “Oh, God!” She turned over and buried her face in the pillows. “It was a dream. A stupid, bloody dream!” She groped on the bedside table for a box of tissues, then she pulled her clock to face her. It was half-past four.

  She had begun to shiver violently. For a moment she lay back, huddled beneath the covers, trying to get warm, then, miserable, she sat up again. It was no good. She would not sleep again and she was getting colder by the minute. She wished fervently she had allowed Nick to stay now. She wanted someone to talk to. Her head was splitting and her breasts ached. She crossed her arms, trying to ease the discomfort, and suddenly felt a cold wetness on the front of her nightgown. She stared down at herself in horror, then she shot out of bed. After running into the bathroom, she turned on the light and slipped down the ribbon straps, letting the thin cotton slip to the floor, leaving her standing naked in front of the mirror. Her breasts were full and tight, laced with blue veins, and even as she stared in fascinated horror at her reflection she saw a drop of watery blue liquid forming on her left nipple.

  Her heart was pounding violently. Desperately she tried to control her tears as she reached for her bathrobe from the back of the door and folded it around her. Knotting the belt, she groped her way into the living room and reached for the phone.

  Her hand was shaking so much she could scarcely dial, but at last she could hear the tone. It was several seconds before the receiver was lifted.

  “Nick. Oh, Nick, please come. Please.” She struggled to keep her voice steady.

  “Jo? Is that you?” The voice at the other end was so quiet it was almost a whisper. It was Sam. “What’s wrong?”

  Jo took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I’m sorry to wake you, Sam. Can I speak to Nick, please?”

  There was a slight pause, then his voice, very gentle, came again. “He’s not here, Jo. Is something wrong?”

  “Not there?” she echoed bleakly.

  “I’m afraid not. What is it? You sound frightened. Has something happened? Tell me, Jo.”

  Jo swallowed hard. For a moment she could not speak, then she managed to whisper, “Sam, can you come over?”

  He asked no more questions. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he said at once, then he hung up.

  After she had rung off, Jo didn’t move. Slowly the milk was soaking into her robe. Her teeth were chattering in spite of the warmth of the room and she huddled on the edge of her chair, rocking herself gently back and forth, only dragging herself upright at last when she heard the sound of a taxi in the quiet street outside. She reached the intercom at the same moment that it buzzed.

  Sam came up the stairs two at a time.

  “What is it, Jo? Are you ill?” He closed the door behind him and stood staring at her. She saw with a quick pang of misery that he was wearing one of Nick’s jackets over his dark turtleneck shirt.

  She was looking, he thought irrelevantly, more beautiful than he had ever seen her, her long disheveled hair dark against the stark white of her robe, her face pale, her huge eyes accentuated by the shadows beneath them.

  “Nick said he’d go back to the apartment,” she stammered. “He said I could phone.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Sam steered her into the living room and toward a chair. “Now, tell me about it slowly.”

  Hesitatingly she told him about her latest visit to Bennet. She glanced at his face, expecting an outburst of anger, but he said nothing and she forced herself to go on. “Perhaps he knew what would happen. He prescribed sleeping pills for me before I came home, but I never take them. Nick wanted to stay, but I wouldn’t let him, so I suppose he went back to Judy after all.” She glanced down at her hands.

  Sam said nothing. He was watching her face closely.

  “I woke up,” she went on with a heavy sigh. “The baby woke me with his crying—
William, he was to be called, like his father and his father’s father—but he wasn’t there.” Her voice shook. “And then I found—” She stopped. “I found that I’m…” She hesitated again, suddenly embarrassed. Mutely her hands went to her breasts.

  Sam had seated himself near her on the arm of another chair. “I am a doctor, Jo,” he said softly. “You’re producing a bit of milk, right?”

  She nodded, blushing. He smiled. He got up to kneel before her. “May I see?” Softly he pulled her robe open and looked at her breasts. He touched one lightly. Then he closed the robe again. He smiled. “It’s nothing to worry about, Jo. Spontaneous lactation is unusual but not unheard of. It’ll be a bit uncomfortable for a day or two but it will ease off. Stick some tissues in your bra.” He crossed over to the table and picked up the whisky bottle. “I’ll get some glasses, shall I?”

  She followed him into the kitchen, pulling the knot of her belt tighter. “But how is it possible?” she asked huskily. “Is this another of your physiological reactions, like my hands?” She took the glass from him and sipped the neat whisky.

  “I suppose so, in a way. You obviously went through all the emotional trauma of childbirth yesterday and in some women that would be enough to stimulate the glands. The breast is far more of a machine than people realize. It doesn’t necessarily always need a pregnancy and a birth to start it working. Adoptive mothers have been known to produce milk for their babies, you know. Anyway, you mustn’t worry about it. It’s perfectly natural. Just leave things well alone and it will calm down on its own in a day or two.” He leaned forward and tipped some more whisky into her glass. His hand was shaking slightly.

  “Our dog had a phantom pregnancy once, when I was a child. Is that what I’ve had?” She managed a grin.

  He laughed. “Something like that. But I don’t expect you to produce any puppies.”

  “You are sure Nick wasn’t there?” Her smile had vanished already as she turned away from him. “You checked in his room?” She paced up the small kitchen and then back, her arms wrapped around herself to stop herself shaking, the glass still clutched in one hand. “I still love him, Sam. That’s the stupid thing. I love the bastard.” She stopped in front of the sink, staring at the pink geranium in its pot on the draining board. Absently she leaned forward to pick off a dead leaf and so she did not see Sam’s face. The cords in his neck stood out violently as he stared at Jo’s back.