The Huntingfield Paintress by Pamela Holmes

Author:Pamela Holmes [Holmes, Pamela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books

Mildred helped Mary to wash her dead daughter before they wrapped the body in cloth for burial. She insisted the family must wash themselves with soap and hot water and the big pot was set to boil the sheets. This would reduce the risk of infection being passed between the family members, she explained. Few village people believed, as Mildred did, in Chadwick’s theory of infection. That was fancy London-talk for the rich who had plenty of money for fuel. Village folk believed the fever was due to vapours of ‘bad air’, miasmas from rotting manure and soil, which caused illness. But Mary was too miserable and exhausted to resist, and did as she was bid.

Mildred walked home. She craved the physical movement, the setting of one foot in front of the other, the ground firm beneath her feet; inside she felt she was falling. Usually she might have gathered bluebells for the table, unable to resist the heavy-scented blooms, but today she could only think of home. The cold bit into her shoulders but she pressed on through the wood, her heart hammering with the effort, and dragged herself up the stairs to her studio.

‘William!’ The stove was lit and she saw her husband standing in the low warm room, flicking through the drawings laid out along the table. His face was puffy with sleeplessness.

‘I’ve heard the news, my darling wife. It’s terrible, poor little Martha is dead. Mary has lost her little girl.’

‘It was scarlatina fever, at least I think so,’ Mildred sat down wearily.

‘Really? Why did you stay, my love, to …’

‘What choice had I? The child was burning away in front of my eyes.’ She perched on the sofa, ran her fingers over the soft material. ‘Now I fear for the rest of the family, that they might catch the fever. The cottage has been cleaned, the place aired. The father’s away, I gather, labouring elsewhere and a message has been sent telling him not to return yet. I sent for the undertaker to remove the body as quickly as possible. The children are terrified of their sister’s body lying dead in the corner.’

‘They must be. Oh, you’ve been so brave, Millie. Come lie down here.’ William gently coaxed her on to the floor where he’d spread a blanket. He gathered cushions for her head and lay down beside her, wrapped his arms around her.

‘I didn’t want to do it again, William. Why did the Lord ask it of me?’

‘No, never again,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘My darling girl, rest now after all you’ve done, and for all that you do …’

She lingered in the peace of his embrace, felt his warm, dry hand stroke her face, smelt the familiar scent of clean linen on his flesh. He kissed her eyelids, pressing away the dark images of that night and gradually her breathing steadied. She felt safe, touching and touched by things that loved her. And as the horror of the night faded, a surge

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