Yorkshire was still one of the safer spots in England, although that could change at any time. And they had had their share of bombings too, though less severe ones than London.
The nurse had to leave them in September, when her mother got sick in Manchester, after their home was bombed and she had a stroke. Anne Louise was four months old, and Lucy was quick to volunteer to take care of her. The countess was impressed by how loving and efficient she was for one so young. Lucy adored the baby, and every time she held her, she thought of Henry, her one true love. He had been indifferent to her in his lifetime, but now she could lavish all her love for him on his child. She was tireless in what she did for the baby, and never let her out of her sight. Wherever Lucy went, the baby went too, and the countess was grateful to her. Lucy slept in the nursery with her at night.
The countess hadn’t been well since Charlotte died. She had had too many shocks in a short time. Three deaths in the space of four months. Everyone she loved had died, except for her granddaughter, who was the only bright spot in her life.
The countess had been melancholy for months, and when winter set in, despite her injured leg from her previous accident, she began riding again for the first time in years. She said it gave her time to think, and in truth, she no longer cared about the dangers. Sometimes she went for long walks on the grounds, and stopped in the cemetery on the way back, to tend to her husband’s grave or Charlotte’s. They had put up a marker for Henry, although his remains weren’t there and had never been sent home. George’s parents were there as well, and ancestors for several generations. It brought her comfort to visit them. She seemed particularly pensive one afternoon when she came home, stopped in at the nursery, and saw the baby fast asleep in Lucy’s arms. Both Lucy and the baby looked entirely at ease with each other. She left the nursery without disturbing them, and was grateful again that Lucy had made herself so useful. There was a reason now to let her stay after the war, which was a relief for Lucy and the countess. She could be Anne Louise’s nurse, unless the queen wanted other arrangements, and decided to bring her home to the palace, once she knew about her. The countess was anxious for that time. The fate of the child was a heavy burden for her alone, and was meant to be shared. She was eager to do so with them, if they were willing and welcomed the baby.
A few days before Christmas, one of the maids went to wake her ladyship, as she always did, and bring her her breakfast. She threw back the curtains on a bleak December day. There was snow on the ground, and most of the house was bitter cold. The maid made a comment about it, as she turned to smile at her employer, and saw her lying peaceful and gray in her bed. She had died during the night of a heart attack that killed her in her sleep. The past year had been too much for her. The vicar and funeral home were called, and after some consternation, the housekeeper called Peter Babcock, the Hemmingses’ attorney in York. She remembered his name from when the earl was alive. It was a dilemma knowing what to do next, since no one knew of any living relatives, but they assumed that the attorney would know who was the heir to the Ainsleigh estate. Henry had been when he was alive, but he was their only child. Neither the earl nor the countess had siblings, so presumably it would fall into the hands of distant cousins now, as often happened with old estates. They often passed on to relatives they’d never even met.
The attorney came to see who was staying at the house, and found two maids and a housekeeper, and a young girl from London living there, and an infant he assumed was her child. No one had told him otherwise. They weren’t sure what to say, since Charlotte was dead, and no one had ever confirmed to them for certain who the father was, although they could guess, but they weren’t sure and it had never been openly said.
So the attorney attributed the infant to Lucy. No one told him that the baby was the countess’s grandchild, since she had taken none of them into her confidence. They had no idea who would take responsibility for the child now. It appeared no one would. The whispers were that Charlotte’s family knew nothing about the baby, or didn’t approve, since none of them showed up when the baby was born, or even when she died.
There were two men in the stables, one old, and one barely more than a boy. The tenant farms were well occupied. The countess had enough money left to pay their wages for quite some time. She’d been running the estate on a pittance, without extravagance. Once the lawyer knew that all was in good order, he agreed to pay the wages from the estate account, until the lawful heir could be found, which could take time.