to something that wasn’t an issue in the first place. But when he saw how quickly the flames of gossip flickered around the town, he lost patience with the matter.
He was sitting in the courtyard between the inn and the livery when it happened, giving his horse some water before riding towards the Somerville estate to see his father. His back was turned to the gossipers – a man and two women sitting on a bench near at hand – but he heard every word.
“She was in town yesterday,” the elder of the two women was saying in a high voice. “Just walked right in here and ordered at the bakery as though it was nobody’s business. I’ve never seen her in there before – I’m certain their cook usually orders the food, or one of the maids – but she made a point of coming. I think she wants to throw it in our faces.”
“It’s Molly Smith’s child, I’m sure of it,” the younger woman countered. “Or at least, I was sure of it, but then what would induce a woman of her standing to take an illegitimate child under her wing? She must have known what it would do to her reputation. The only thing that explains her continued stubbornness on the subject must be some sort of motherly attachment to the child. She clings to the little thing as though it were her own.”
“What we must ask ourselves,” the man interjected quietly, “is why Lady Margaret was held back from her introduction to society all those years – we have wondered what the reason might be, and her father’s explanations about the war seem thin at best. No, I begin to suspect that Lady Margaret had her own reasons for avoiding the public eye, and the timing of that child’s birth seems to coincide strangely with her own absence from London.”
Nigel could stand it no longer. He wheeled around, leaving his horse by the watering trough, and walked over to the three.
“Pardon me,” he said, forcing himself to speak in an even tone. “I could not help overhearing the subject of your conversation. May I offer some insight?” He knew that they would recognise him as the gamekeeper’s son, Guy Bateson’s boy who was now a commissioned officer in the King’s Royal Navy. It would give him credence in the case that he knew he did not deserve but was willing to exploit nonetheless.
The older woman spoke first, smiling graciously. “Yes, Captain Bateson? Have you some intelligence regarding our disgraced Lady Margaret?”
“On the contrary,” he said stiffly. “I have something to share with you about the war. As it is my particular area of influence, I hope that you will allow me to wax eloquent on it for a moment or two.”
All three nodded indulgently.
“It is just this,” he said. “When I went away to fight I was but a young lad. You may even remember the mischief I used to get into here in town, and how very green in so many areas of life.” He lowered his voice, catching the gaze of each person as he looked from one to the other. “I was really rather frightened about all that I would face overseas, and in my first battle I was taken offguard by how terrifying it all was.”
He knew from the looks on their faces that they were growing uncomfortable. It was not proper for a soldier to speak about his experiences in war – even here among common villagers it was considered to be in poor taste, too vulgar for daily conversation.
“Do you know what I clung to when I was fighting?” he continued. “Do you know what kept me hopeful? I thought always that I was fighting for England. Grand and proud England. But more specifically I thought about my own village back home. I thought about these streets and these people that I love. I thought about the lands where I had grown up and the kindness and forgiveness I saw here.” He lowered his voice, his eyes locked on the eyes of each man and woman in turn.
“Then I return, and imagine my disappointment when I discover that the village I was fighting for is not full of such open and kind hearts as I had suspected. Imagine how it feels to return and discover that the men and women here are doing nothing to preserve their own peace and dignity – they are scoffing at women who require our