For now, it was enough that both infants were safely arrived; they were here, whole and healthy, a largesse she could never have anticipated. It might not have any basis in science, but a deep conviction took hold of her: that both her husband and her lover had become fathers that day. She would love, protect and cherish their offspring; it would be a way of honouring one man – loving him at a distance – and making reparations to the other. The last remnants of guilt and anxiety fell away from her; lulled by exhaustion and deep satisfaction, she cradled both babies more closely, turned her head on the pillow, and fell asleep.

1839

EPILOGUE

IN THE GRAVEYARD, CHARLOTTE SANK down on a raised bank, after first spreading her shawl to protect against chill and damp. Plagued as she was by rheumatism, today she was grateful that Sarah was undertaking the loving labour of tending that small piece of earth where Tom’s bones rested.

While nibbling sheep and the sexton together kept the turf around the grave neat, it was time for prepare for the following spring. Charlotte watched as her daughter took a digger and knife out of the pocket of her apron, and worked her way around the small rectangle, nipping back any unruly grass blades and pulling out weeds. Then she dug a dozen holes in the earth, and reached into a basket for the papery bulbs that would in time explode into colour and scent. Each was tucked in, their tips just cresting the soil.

Next, Sarah made a trip to the trough in the corner of the field alongside, using a beaker to scoop water. Lithe as she was, it was still clearly a tricky business negotiating the stile while carrying the container, and it took her several journeys and some spilling, but at last each bulb swam in a little pool of mud with creamy scum on top.

Charlotte smiled in approbation, and closed her eyes to say a prayer not only for her son, but all the other children buried in this tranquil spot, within sight of the spire of the church where her late husband had once presided in the pulpit and before the altar.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to see Sarah sinking down, setting her feet wide apart, and spreading her skirt and shift around her before she urinated into the soft soil. Charlotte called out in reprimand, but her daughter was unperturbed: ‘You know our own water is good for plants, Mama. I am merely nourishing these bulbs.’ She gave her hips a brisk shake as she rose to her feet. ‘Ha! Another reason I am glad I have not succumbed to this modern fad of drawers.’