Page 54 of Lady of Milkweed Manor

“When puerperal mania does take place, the patient swears, bellows, recites poetry, talks bawdy, and kicks up a row... . Every precaution must be taken to prevent her doing injury to herself, to the infant, or her friends.”

T he next morning, Daniel came down the stairs whistling, knowing all the while how cliché it was to do so. Still, he could barely keep the smile from his face. The day was sunny and so were their prospects for the future.

In the kitchen, he found Sally Mitchell eating a biscuit.

“You’re returned early. How is Anne?”

“She fell asleep on the way home. Already laid her down for an early nap. ’Fraid the inn was awful noisy last night. Neither of us got much sleep.”

I know how you feel . “Sorry to hear it,” Daniel said, though the cheerful tone did not match his words.

“The missus really has turned the corner, then?”

“Yes, it seems she has, thank God. Though we must still monitor her progress.”

“That is good news, sir. Your friend said as much, but I was afraid to believe it.”

“I understand.”

“I told Charlotte as well. She was most relieved, I can tell you.”

“Charlotte?”

“Yes, she stopped by the inn this morning.”

“Oh? She did not return to Crawley?”

“Nay. She’s staying on in Shoreham for a time.”

“Is she?”

She nodded. “Something to do with your Dr. Kendall, but I didn’t hear the particulars. Place was too loud to hear much of anything.”

Daniel swallowed. “I see.”

Taking a deep breath, he changed the topic. “Mrs. Taylor is still asleep. Peacefully at last. Do your best to keep Anne quiet so as not to disturb her. I am just going to ride into town and send a message to my father. I shan’t be long.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Daniel returned an hour later, he opened the door gingerly and was relieved at the peace and quiet that greeted him.

He laid aside his hat and went in search of his wife.

No one was in the parlor or dining room.

She wasn’t still sleeping, surely—although they had lain awake together until the early morning hours.

Upstairs, he found their bedroom empty, the bed neatly made.

Peeking into the third-floor nursery, he saw it, too, was empty.

Stepping down the passage, he tapped lightly on Sally’s door, thinking to check on Anne.

Sally answered the door, sleep etched plainly on her features, her mouth stretched wide in a yawn. “Must have fallen asleep,” she said.

“Is Anne awake?”

“I believe so.”

“She isn’t here with you?”

“Mrs. Taylor wanted to have her to herself. Poor dear said it felt like a month of Sundays since she’d held her little girl.”

Daniel smiled. Had Lizette’s maternal feeling been restored, along with her affection—and desire—for her husband? Nearly as quickly, his smile faded.

“Where are they? I saw no one downstairs.”

“Off to get some fresh air, I believe she said. Oh dear, have I done wrong?” Sally’s expression grew pained. “She told me to go on and have a rest. And after last night, I was happy to oblige.”

“I’m sure all is well,” Daniel muttered, already heading for the stairs. But he wasn’t sure at all.

“Should I start packing, sir?” Sally called after him.

“Packing? Why?” He paused midway down the staircase.

“Mrs. Taylor said something about going home.”

He froze. “Home?” But he had assured her he would not yet take her back to the Manor.

“Aye. Are we returning to London soon?”

“I ... I don’t know,” he called over his shoulder as he rushed down the stairs.

He found Mrs. Beebe in the kitchen.

“Have you seen Mrs. Taylor?”

“Yes, sir. She went outside with the little one.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, about a quarter of an hour ago.”

“Where were they headed?”

“Toward the sea, I suspect. And a lovely day for a stroll it is.”

The sea? Panic gripped him. Oh, dear God ...

Daniel ran outside, across the wide lawn, down the rocky decline and onto the pebbled shore. He looked wildly about, up and down the coast. Then, out on the channel, he glimpsed a lone, dark-haired figure swimming with clumsy strokes, then disappear below the surface.

“Lizette!” he cried. God, help me!

He ran across the rocks and splashed into the water, pausing only long enough to haul off his boots and throw them back on shore, then he swam out after her. He tried to gauge where he’d seen her go under. At least he thought—feared—it was her.

When he reached the spot, he dove down. He searched frantically through the cold, dark water. When his lungs forced him, he lurched up and sucked in air. He searched the surface, desperate to see her.

Hearing a shout, he spun around. There were Thomas and Kendall on the shore.

Remembering Kendall had never learned to swim, Daniel dove back down, scarcely giving thought to the men.

He swam deeper, deeper, his long arms stretching, his fingers combing the water.

There! He caught a handful of fabric. He held on and kicked closer, wrapping one arm around the figure and trying to drag her to the surface.

At first he could hardly lift her, but then she began to rise.

He kicked and pawed at the water with all his might.

He felt her moving, kicking beside him, and rejoiced. She was alive!

He broke through the surface and filled his burning lungs with air. Only then did he realize that Thomas was there, had swum out and helped him pull up Lizette. His gratitude was quickly suffocated by the realization that it had been Thomas’s movements, not his wife’s, he had felt beside him.

The long, full gown Lizette wore, sodden with water, had become a weighted anchor dragging all three of them back down.

Slowly and painfully, the two men kicked, paddled, and pulled themselves back to land.

Together they hauled Lizette carefully toward shore.

Richard Kendall waded into the surf to help them, and together they laid her carefully down onto the pebbled beach.

Richard leaned close, listening for breath. He turned her on her side and began compressing her abdomen, releasing a stream of water from her mouth.

“I’ve got to find Anne!” Daniel ran over the surf and dove back into the water. Thomas followed after him.

Back and forth they swam, pawing the dark water, coming up with only handfuls of shale and debris. After seemingly endless, exhausting dives, Daniel fell back on shore, panting. Thomas crawled out after him.

“She’s gone,” Richard said.

“I know. We could not find her.”

“I mean your wife. She’s gone. I could not revive her.”

Daniel fisted his hands and pressed them to his forehead and down into his eye sockets. Then he forced himself onto his hands and knees and crawled over the wet pebbles to the prone body of his wife.

He laid his head on her chest, then looked up at her face and stroked her damp cheek.

“I am sorry, Daniel,” Kendall said quietly.

“She was going home. To France. She was trying to swim there.” Daniel’s voice broke.

Richard laid a hand on his shoulder.

Daniel moaned and sat down, pulling Lizette onto his lap, into his arms. “I could not find Anne. I know you did not mean to lose her. I tried, I did ...”

Kendall sent Thomas to the cottage to fetch some blankets.

One to warm him, Daniel supposed. Another to cover his wife’s body.

His own body was wracked with shivering, his muscles tight and convulsing.

The waters of the channel were cold, even this time of year.

Had the cold stolen her consciousness, even before she drowned?

For a moment, he was struck with the desire to walk back into the sea that had claimed his wife, daughter, and unborn child. Let it claim him too. Anything to stop this crushing pain.

But even as he entertained the thought, his own words to Lizette echoed in his mind, “You are not God.”

“Oh, God ...” He moaned and began sobbing. How could he go on? It was all his fault. How could he ever forgive himself?

“Daniel,” a voice spoke softly behind him. Or maybe he had imagined it.

“Merciful heavens!” Kendall exclaimed beside him. “Is that Anne?”

Daniel turned. There was Charlotte, the sun at her back, casting a golden glow around her. He winced. His mind must be numb, or hallucinatory.

“Yes,” the Charlotte-image said. “I found her asleep up the shore. Surrounded by rocks and driftwood.”

“Thank God,” Kendall said. “Daniel! Anne’s all right. She’s alive. Do you hear me?”

Daniel sat mutely as Charlotte walked toward him, tears streaming down her face as her eyes darted to, then away from Lizette’s still form.

She knelt beside him and gently handed Anne to him. Then she rose and stepped back.

Daniel stared down at Anne, who was awake now and seemed pleased to see him. She wriggled and babbled, her little fists moving from her mouth to clasp his nose.

“Yes ... I seem to have lost my spectacles. Do you still recognize me?”

The little girl opened her mouth in a toothless grin.

“Your maman is gone. I am so sorry, dear one. She loved you—never think she didn’t. She just ... could not stay. I tried to help her, but I could not... .”

Thomas and Sally returned with blankets, and Kendall wrapped one around Daniel’s shoulders. Then he laid the other one carefully over Lizette. Sally took Anne and headed back toward the cottage.

“Come, my friend,” Kendall urged gently. “Let’s get you into the house and out of those wet clothes.”

Daniel looked over at his wife’s shrouded form. “I cannot leave her.”

“I shall see to her,” Kendall assured.

Together Charlotte and Thomas helped Daniel up and into the cottage.

The day after the funeral, Charlotte found Daniel sitting on the bench, staring out at the sea. Wordlessly, she sat down as well, careful to leave a proper amount of space between them. He acknowledged her presence with the slightest nod before returning his gaze to the sea.

“You never really knew her, Miss Lamb. Not really. Not the woman she once was.”

She asked softly, “How did the two of you meet?”