Lady Eadgith meets Peleia

Lady Eadgith stopped and chuckled to herself. A man could be heard giggling and cooing behind the nursery door. The old fool!

She had been on her way to Eadgith’s room, but it was Drage she truly wanted to see, and from the sound of it, the old fool had already stolen him away from his mother. She would just go in and mock him a little, scold him for neglecting his work, and then steal the baby for herself and laugh to see how he moaned about it.

Watching her daughter experience motherhood for the first time reminded her constantly of her own time as a new mother. Her daughter had felt the same surprise she had when she had seen that the newborn knew more about nursing then she did herself. She had been equally awed by the strength of the tiny hands, and she had had the same delight in recognizing the people she loved in the little stranger’s face.

Lady Eadgith was happier now than she had been in many, many years, for she could relive her own happiness through Eadgith and Drage.

This nostalgia was even coloring her relations with her husband. When she looked at him now, she saw him as he had been then: a tall and striking young man, and as proud and fond of baby Sigefrith as he was now of his grandson. When they were alone together with the baby, she could almost forget everything that had happened in the past twenty years, and she could almost pretend that they were that young couple and Drage their own child.

As it was, she could snap her fingers at him and call him an old fool, and he could cackle at her and call her an old biddy, and they could both agree on every compliment that either paid their grandson. For the first time since she had learned he still lived, she did not dread meeting with her husband.

She smiled as she opened the door, thinking of what she might say to him and wondering in what state of old-​​foolishness she would find him.

She found him seated on the floor with a small, dark-​​haired baby in a white dress – but this baby was far too old to be Drage. This baby looked up at her, still smiling at Leofric’s foolishness, and held out its hand to her and said, “Ah!”

It was Sigefrith. For an instant those twenty years collapsed into seven or eight months. It was her baby son’s smile, her baby son’s nose, her baby son’s gesture.

But it was not her baby son’s eyes. And her baby son was a man of twenty, and her tall, striking young husband was a middle-​​aged man with gray hairs in his beard, and now he was scooping the baby up with one arm and clutching it to his body while pushing himself to his feet with the other.

“I beg your pardon!” she gasped when the shock of seeing her baby son had passed. “I thought you were in here with Drage.”

She had not known that Leila had had another baby. Surely Hilda would have told her! Hilda liked nothing more than talking about that Leila woman and her children when she and Eadgith were alone – whenever possible prefixing her remarks with “Sigefrith said” or “Eadie said” to remind Eadgith that her children had relations with their father’s mistress and their half-​​brothers and half-​​sisters.

The baby squirmed and twisted, trying to get a look at the visitor, but Leofric held it close against him and hunched his shoulders over it as if he meant to shield it with his body.

“For heaven’s sake, Leofric!” she cried. “I shan’t hurt him!”

“Her,” he corrected.

“Her! I beg your pardon.”

She hesitated in the doorway, and Leofric stroked and soothed the baby as if she had been frightened. The little girl only giggled. It was Leofric who was frightened.

“I shan’t hurt her, Leof,” Eadgith said more gently. Did he think her such a monster? She took a deep breath and found the generosity to say, “She looks a little like Sigefrith when he was a baby, doesn’t she? For a moment I almost thought she was,” she added with a weak laugh.

His head nodded, but she could only see the back of it. He would not even look at her.

He had always been so brazen with talk of his mistress and his children. Perhaps he was different when it came to the children themselves. It was true he was a fool for his children. Many men who were kinder to their wives were worse fathers than he.

“I suppose she has Leila’s eyes,” she said. “They were pretty for the instant I was allowed to see them.” She tried to be generous, tried to be kind, tried to tease. She didn’t want them to go back to snarling at one another as they had been doing for the past five years. She didn’t want to spoil her new happiness.

He turned to her at last, and his eyes were her son’s eyes when he knew he had done wrong, and his mouth was her son’s mouth when he had been miserably unhappy.

“Is she ill?” she gasped. It was the only explanation she could find – though the baby was pink and fat, and her growing complaints evidenced healthy lungs.

“God forbid!” He squeezed her again, and now the child grew furious and howled. “Hush, hush, my dove,” he whispered and rocked her, turning his back to his wife again.

“I shall leave you in peace,” Eadgith said stiffly and opened the door.

“Wait!”

Now they faced one another, and finally Leofric allowed the girl to twist her head around and look at Eadgith. She was a pretty little girl, after all, Eadgith thought, and not brown at all.

“This is Peleia,” he said.

“Ma – ” Eadgith choked.

“Matilda’s daughter,” he supplied.

She could see how he was trying to work up a brazen stare, but the effect was ruined by his mouth, by his full lips that were so like his son’s. She knew better than anyone what it meant when those lips twisted and trembled so.

“Does Alred know?” she croaked.

“Would I be alive if he did?”

She thought she ought to be outraged by this discovery, but she was only stunned.

“Does Sigefrith know?”

“I would be dead if he didn’t. Eadie and her brother know also, and Cenwulf, and Father Brandt.”

“Everyone will know soon.”

“I know it.” He was recovering his glare.

“May I see her?”

He cringed slightly away from her.

“I shan’t hurt her, Leof. The poor darling.”

At that, he allowed her to approach, to stroke the girl’s head, and to study her face. There could be no doubt she was Leofric’s daughter, unless she were Leofric’s grandchild.

“Leila hates her,” he whimpered. “What happens to a baby when it is nursed by a woman who hates it? No one loves her but I.”

“I’m certain you do, Leof,” Eadgith said, still dazed. The girl did have Matilda’s eyes, and there was something about the shape of the face…

“Eadie won’t see her. She said – ” He gasped as if he fought down a sob. “She said she isn’t ready. She’s too happy with her own baby.” His voice was growing thin and shaky, like an old man’s. “She doesn’t want mine.” His lips trembled.

“Oh, Leof,” she sighed. “Look at her looking at you. Let me have her. You frighten her.”

He surrendered the baby, and he shuffled over to a chair, sat, and held his head in his hands. Neither Eadgith nor the girl made a sound, and neither could take her eyes from him. Eadgith soon saw that he was crying.

She had not seen him cry since Siggy had died. Before that, it had been when their own baby son had died, nearly sixteen years ago. Then, he had not stopped crying until he had starting drinking. That was when she had lost him.

“I frighten her,” he whimpered.

“Leof, I only meant you are distressing her by being so upset. Babies are supposed to cry and fathers are supposed to comfort them. What will she think if she sees you cry?”

The baby leaned as far as she could and held out her arms to him, nearly squirming out of Eadgith’s grasp.

“She will comfort me,” he sobbed and reached for his daughter. Eadgith let him take her, and he pressed her to his heart again.

The baby nestled quietly against him and stared at Eadgith out of one dark eye. Such a look on Matilda’s face would have seemed a plea for help. Her eyes were humbler than Matilda’s had ever been.

“Hush, my dove, hush, my dove,” Leofric whispered over and over, though it was he who cried.

Eadgith pressed a hand against her mouth, overcome. Her eyes filled with tears of her own. Never, she thought, had her husband looked so old.