Before there was any hope of this she must discharge her errand.
“Aunt - “ she said. “I have drugs for my Uncle Winthrop, sent by Father, and wish to inquire how he does today.”
“Better, it seems,” said Lucy. “You may go up to the chamber.”
“And come down soon,” cried Emmanuel, “that we may drink to you! . . . Poor brother John, he’s had no wine in weeks, he even eschews tobacco, though there is naught so good for the health.”
Elizabeth mounted the graceful flight of stairs, went down a passage past several shut rooms, then tapped at the door of a chamber that overlooked the garden,
A gentle voice bade her come in and as she opened the door Margaret Winthrop held her finger to her lips and pointed towards the great curtained bed at the other end of the room.
Elizabeth curtseyed, and tiptoed towards her aunt who sat by the fire hemming one of her husband’s nightshirts. “Asleep?” whispered the girl, hoping it were so, for always she found converse with John Winthrop an ordeal.
“I think so. Sit down, dear. I’m glad of company. I must stay by him, since he’ll let nobody else nurse him.” Margaret smiled proudly, her soft eyes examining the girl.
Elizabeth seated herself on the cushioned bench near her aunt, savouring the kindly warmth that seemed to flow from the placid face, and the plump little body - far plumper now than when Elizabeth had first seen her on the night of King James’s birthday celebration at Gorton Manor eleven years ago. Since then Margaret had borne four living children and, despite her husband’s obduracies, found affectionate contentment in her marriage.
“How you’ve changed of late, Bessie,” she said with her sweet smile, “become a woman.”
“Jack said that. . . last time I saw him . . . before he left for the Levant,” Elizabeth blurted out, stabbed by painful memory, and knowing that with Margaret one need not be on guard.
Her aunt studied her quietly. “You’ve become a most fair woman, Bess. Did Jack also say that?”
The girl nodded, the rose on her cheekbones deepened. She looked away and said quickly, “Auntie, I am today betrothed to Edward Howes. Jack said that too, that I’d do well to marry Edward.”
Margaret sighed with relief, “Ah, yes, I believe you’ll do very well to marry him, dear,” She was not accounted a clever woman, she read nothing except her Geneva Bible when John reminded her to, she knew no Latin, her household accounts were always muddled, but she had an intelligent heart. She grasped from the girl’s manner a nearly exact view of the situation, and was sorry for Elizabeth, but very glad of the outcome. She knew her John, and how bitter a blow it would have been to him, had his son entangled himself with his little cousin, though she doubted that John had sensed the danger. He neither expected nor received any disquiet from his eldest. It was always Harry whose behaviour gave him concern.
Elizabeth turned sadly away. Had she really been so foolish as to expect that Margaret would give her sympathy; or that she might even, from her knowledge of the beloved stepson she had raised, hint at some hope?
The girl fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and brought out the flask of medicine. “Father sent this for my uncle,” she said.
As Margaret took it there was” a stirring behind the bed curtains, and a muffled voice called, “Who’s there, wife?”
Margaret hurried across the room and drawing the curtains said cheerfully, “Why, it’s your niece, dearest - Bess Fones, come to inquire for you.”
John Winthrop was not wholly awake, and his comprehension was dimmed by recent worries as well as by the weeks of fever. His fretful answer was quite audible to Elizabeth. “What has that wretched girl been doing now to plague her father? Some new disobedience, no doubt.”
Elizabeth gasped, while Margaret said, “No, no John! Bess is right here, and has done nothing but obey her father’s wishes and
“Aunt - “ she said. “I have drugs for my Uncle Winthrop, sent by Father, and wish to inquire how he does today.”
“Better, it seems,” said Lucy. “You may go up to the chamber.”
“And come down soon,” cried Emmanuel, “that we may drink to you! . . . Poor brother John, he’s had no wine in weeks, he even eschews tobacco, though there is naught so good for the health.”
Elizabeth mounted the graceful flight of stairs, went down a passage past several shut rooms, then tapped at the door of a chamber that overlooked the garden,
A gentle voice bade her come in and as she opened the door Margaret Winthrop held her finger to her lips and pointed towards the great curtained bed at the other end of the room.
Elizabeth curtseyed, and tiptoed towards her aunt who sat by the fire hemming one of her husband’s nightshirts. “Asleep?” whispered the girl, hoping it were so, for always she found converse with John Winthrop an ordeal.
“I think so. Sit down, dear. I’m glad of company. I must stay by him, since he’ll let nobody else nurse him.” Margaret smiled proudly, her soft eyes examining the girl.
Elizabeth seated herself on the cushioned bench near her aunt, savouring the kindly warmth that seemed to flow from the placid face, and the plump little body - far plumper now than when Elizabeth had first seen her on the night of King James’s birthday celebration at Gorton Manor eleven years ago. Since then Margaret had borne four living children and, despite her husband’s obduracies, found affectionate contentment in her marriage.
“How you’ve changed of late, Bessie,” she said with her sweet smile, “become a woman.”
“Jack said that. . . last time I saw him . . . before he left for the Levant,” Elizabeth blurted out, stabbed by painful memory, and knowing that with Margaret one need not be on guard.
Her aunt studied her quietly. “You’ve become a most fair woman, Bess. Did Jack also say that?”
The girl nodded, the rose on her cheekbones deepened. She looked away and said quickly, “Auntie, I am today betrothed to Edward Howes. Jack said that too, that I’d do well to marry Edward.”
Margaret sighed with relief, “Ah, yes, I believe you’ll do very well to marry him, dear,” She was not accounted a clever woman, she read nothing except her Geneva Bible when John reminded her to, she knew no Latin, her household accounts were always muddled, but she had an intelligent heart. She grasped from the girl’s manner a nearly exact view of the situation, and was sorry for Elizabeth, but very glad of the outcome. She knew her John, and how bitter a blow it would have been to him, had his son entangled himself with his little cousin, though she doubted that John had sensed the danger. He neither expected nor received any disquiet from his eldest. It was always Harry whose behaviour gave him concern.
Elizabeth turned sadly away. Had she really been so foolish as to expect that Margaret would give her sympathy; or that she might even, from her knowledge of the beloved stepson she had raised, hint at some hope?
The girl fumbled in the pocket of her skirt and brought out the flask of medicine. “Father sent this for my uncle,” she said.
As Margaret took it there was” a stirring behind the bed curtains, and a muffled voice called, “Who’s there, wife?”
Margaret hurried across the room and drawing the curtains said cheerfully, “Why, it’s your niece, dearest - Bess Fones, come to inquire for you.”
John Winthrop was not wholly awake, and his comprehension was dimmed by recent worries as well as by the weeks of fever. His fretful answer was quite audible to Elizabeth. “What has that wretched girl been doing now to plague her father? Some new disobedience, no doubt.”
Elizabeth gasped, while Margaret said, “No, no John! Bess is right here, and has done nothing but obey her father’s wishes and
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