Page 54 of The Secret Word
“If not for me,” said Father, “you’d still be a glorified clerk keeping books for a criminal.”
“If I’d not met my wife, you mean,” Chris said. “Yes, probably. I am not going to fight with you, Wright. Not in my wife’s chamber, anyway. Not in front of her and my children. Clem put her life at risk yesterday and needs to rest. If your only intent here is to insult me, then let us leave her and the children in peace. You can do so more comfortably downstairs, over breakfast.”
Father let out a snarl of frustration, and turned to Clem. “Daughter, please would you allow my doctor to examine my grandson.”
Well, and after all, what could it matter? “Mr. Corgumbe can view the child—both children if he wishes—in this room, with Chris and me present,” she said. “Go and have breakfast, Father, and I shall send for you and Mr. Corgumbe when William needs to have his clout changed. By the way, our daughter is to be named Christobel.”
“William?” Father growled. “Why William?”
“This way to breakfast,” Chris said, firmly, and escorted Father out of the room.
Mr. Corgumbe was not as difficult as Clem had expected, probably because Chris had pressed him to accept the excessive sum of fifty pounds as a token of their appreciation for him coming all this way, and standing by ready to intervene if needed.
Since Father must have already paid him, the vast sum would be a very nice bonus. He had also been joined at breakfast by Lady Fernvale and Mrs. Greene and, according to Chris, he and Mrs. Greene had exchanged various gruesome stories that had scared Chris, retrospectively, quite out of his mind and put the pair of them vastly in charity with one another.
He was in a good mood when he examined little William, saying repeatedly, “Very nice, yes, very good,” as he moved William’s legs to test the baby’s hip joints, listened to his chest, and performed other actions that had William protesting loudly.
When William’s nursemaid took him into the connected room to dress him again, Mr. Corgumbe said, “You have a wonderfully healthy little boy, Mr. Satterthwaite. While I am here, would you like me to examine the little girl?”
Father growled, “I am not paying for any little girl,” but in a low mutter that everyone else in the room decided to ignore. Chris raised his eyebrows in question and Clem nodded. Why not?
“Yes, thank you,” said Chris, and he asked the nursemaid to undress Christabel, who had inherited her father’s easy nature, for she merely hiccupped a little and tolerated the examination. Soon, she, too, was being whisked away to the adjoining room. Chris had had beds set up for the nursemaids so that they were within easy call, cupboards, and shelves to hold the children’s clothes and anything else they might require, and a surface at an easy height for washing and changing the babies.
Not the cradles, which would remain in this room, at least for the present. Clem wanted the children under her eye.
“Another fine child,” said Mr. Corgumbe, approvingly. “My congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Satterthwaite. Mr. Wright, I shall take my leave, sir, and return to London. I called for my carriage before coming above stairs, and it should be waiting for me. Mrs. Greene, a pleasure to meet you. Lady Fernvale, your servant, ma’am.”
And he went on his way.
If only Father would do likewise. “I have work to do,” he said. Then stopped in the doorway and added, “Well done, Clementine.”
That was a surprise. She could not think of an occasion on which she had pleased him, and she had long ago given up trying.
“For once,” said her husband, “I agree with the old goat. Well done, Clem my love, and thank you for our two beautiful babies.”
*
The following daysaw two deputations from the school. Mrs. Westbridge came first, bringing two beautifully knitted shawls and a variety of other baby garments made by the female staff, plus a rattle that Mr. Partridge and the assistant teacher had selected at the village shops.
After class hours, Tom Fuller led a little delegation bringing congratulations and presents from the boys. They had, Tom explained, been stuck on what to get, for everyone wanted to contribute, and only a few of them had any money.
When they applied to the vicar’s wife—“For we did not want any of the adults at the school to know what we were doing”—she had suggested they each knit a square. She had taught them to knit, had loaned them the needles, and had begged spare wool from everyone in the village.
The resulting blanket was a glorious mix of colors and textures. Five rows of three squares each, “And the vicar’s wife sewed it together for us, Mrs. S. Is it… Do you like it?”
With tears in her eyes, Clem assured the boys that she loved it.
Later that week, Wright returned to London, promising to see them again in two weeks. By his next visit, Mrs. Greene had gone, since the two babies were gaining weight and Clem was in good health.
Lady Fernvale waited until Father’s two-day visit was at an end, and also returned to London. “I shall be back for the christenings,” she promised.
That would be in a little over three weeks. Meanwhile, Chris hadn’t been into London for over a month, and Wright had been rather pointed about certain necessary meetings. “If you need to go, go,” Clem said. “We will miss you, but we understand.”
“I could do the trip there and back in one day,” Chris suggested, but Clem disagreed.
“That would mean six hours on the road, Chris. Stay overnight. After all, we have the townhouse. Go, do your meetings, and come home to us.”
But when Chris wrote a list of all the people he should meet and the places he should visit, they agreed that he’d be better to stay two nights. “Otherwise, you will need to go again in just a couple of weeks,” Clem pointed out. “Which will mean another six hours traveling.”
