The Misbegotten by Katherine Webb Page A

course of Starling’s life, the rain had stopped.
    ‘Shall we go out for a while, before we dine? We could walk into Bathampton, or just to the bridge,’ said Alice, as the two men rose from their seats.
    ‘Alas, we cannot stop to eat with you today. We have other business to attend to. Besides, your dress and shoes would be ruined, my dear! The ground is like hasty pudding between here and the lane,’ said Lord Faukes. Jonathan looked from his grandfather to Alice with an air of slight desperation.
    ‘A ride, perhaps? We could ride along the river a ways?’ he said.
    ‘Oh, yes! Let’s,’ Alice agreed at once. ‘It’s always so long between your visits. Must we cut this one short so soon?’
    ‘There simply isn’t the time, child.’ Alice and Jonathan were visibly crestfallen at this news. ‘Come, Jonathan, we must be back to Box for suppertime.’
    ‘But, at least I might show you our new sow? I will not spoil my shoes – I can borrow Bridget’s pattens. Come and see her – she is the fattest creature you ever laid eyes upon!’ Alice urged.
    ‘Come and see the sow? Why on earth—’
    ‘I should like to see her,’ Jonathan interrupted his grandfather. His eyes were on Alice, and they shone. ‘Very much. I mean, if she truly is as fat as you say,’ he added, lamely.
    ‘Oh, very well.’ Lord Faukes sighed. ‘Alice, please take my grandson to see the pig. I hope her corpulence does not detain you both for very long. I shall stay here, in the warm, and have another piece of Bridget’s excellent shortbread.’ The old man shook his head and sat back down again, lacing his hands across his middle.
    Bridget handed the plate of shortbread to Starling to take through to Lord Faukes, but Starling wasn’t paying attention. She was watching as Jonathan helped Alice into her cloak; watching how Alice steadied herself with a hand placed lightly on his shoulder as she slid her feet into the pattens, even though Starling had seen her perform the same action without aid a dozen times or more. They did not look at her, or ask her to come with them to the pigsty. They went out into the yard side by side, deep in conversation, walking so close together that from time to time their sleeves brushed. There seemed to be a circle around them, a wall that nothing else might scale or penetrate; and outside that circle the world suddenly felt a little colder.
    ‘Like a pair of moonstruck calves,’ Bridget muttered, puckering her lips as she closed the door behind them. ‘Run along with that plate, child. Don’t keep Lord Faukes waiting. He is your master, now.’ Starling did as she was told, then ran to the upstairs window from which the pigsty was visible, behind the house. There stood Jonathan and Alice, paying no heed to the saddleback sow which had come to the rail to see if there was food. All of their attention was on each other. Starling watched them steadily, never blinking, trying to decide if she would love or hate this Jonathan Alleyn for the way he held Alice spellbound.

1821
    After their argument over Duncan Weekes, Rachel felt strange and constrained around her husband. She had begun to understand just how much bad blood lay between them, but if Duncan Weekes had been responsible for Richard’s mother’s death, surely he would have been punished by law? She pictured the old man, with his fumbling steps and almost desperately kind compliments, and the fathomless sadness in his eyes. Could it possibly be true? She longed to know. Here was something she and her husband shared, after all – the loss of a beloved mother. She knew very well how that pain could linger. She wanted him to know that she understood his suffering, that sharing it might ease it. That he should lose his father at the same time seemed too hard, but had she any right to attempt to reconcile them, if blame truly lay with the old man?
    So Rachel could almost understand why Richard had been so angry with her for talking to Duncan