“Don't talk like that, please, Rob.”
But as December dawned, Bess acknowledged to herself that this time Robert's condition was serious. When she next visited her family and they invited her and Robert for the Christmas festivities, she told them she was extremely worried about her young husband's health and that perhaps they should stay quietly at home.
Christmas week was a busy, festive time in the country, with much visiting and socializing. When snow began to fall the day before Christmas Eve, the children were overjoyed. Robert's younger brothers and sisters dragged out the cutter from the barn and went off on a sleigh ride. With Robert's arms encircling Bess, they watched from their upstairs windows, vicariously enjoying the fun the young Barlows were having.
On Christmas Eve it was traditional for everyone in the nearby villages to congregate at the church for a communal supper, then at midnight the Reverend Rufus held a joyous carol service. In the early evening Mistress Barlow bid Robert and Bess a happy Christmas, then climbed into the cutter with her other children and headed to the Edensor church.
After they left, Bess found the big house unusually quiet. She gazed through the window at the thickening snowflakes and pushed away a sense of loneliness.
“You are pensive tonight, Bess,” Robert said quietly.
“No, no, of course I'm not,” Bess vigorously denied, poking at the fire until it blazed cheerfully.
“I'm sorry you have to miss all the fun, sweetheart.”
“Nonsense! We'll make our own fun. We can exchange our Christmas presents, and I have some malmsey I've been keeping for a special occasion.”
They retrieved the gifts they had hidden for each other, then Bess poured them wine. Robert opened his first. It was a book cover she had embroidered in brilliant Spanish silks with his name on it. In the bottom corner their initials were entwined.
“It is beautiful, like you, Bess. Everything you do is beautiful.”
She gave him a radiant smile and opened the gift he handed her. It was a silver letter opener wrought with a stag's head. “Oh, wherever did you get it, Rob?”
“It was my grandfather's. He left it to me.”
“But you must treasure it. Why are you giving it to me?”
He squeezed her hand. “Soon I won't need it; I want you to have it.”
“Don't talk like that, Rob. You're always worse in the wintertime. When spring comes we'll ride out again—”
His long fingers brushed her lips to silence her. “Bess, I need to speak of these things. You always stop me, thinking you are being kind, but, sweetheart, let me talk. I hold it inside and I have to let it out.”
She sat still and waited apprehensively. Robert indicated the tapestry of the fairy-tale castle hanging on the wall.
“I'll never ride over the hill with you again to look at Chatsworth, but, Bess, you must go. Never let your dreams die.”
Bess swallowed past the lump in her throat. Tonight he didn't sound like a boy, he sounded old and wise beyond his years.
“You made my life so very happy, Bess; please have no remorse that I will die. My only regret is that I couldn't give you a child. You will make a wonderful mother, Bess.”
Her throat ached so much she couldn't speak, but she shook her head in denial.
“ Yes! You will go on without me! You have such a passion for life, you must marry again and have the children we didn't. Promise me!”
“Rob—” It came out on a sob.
“You have to live for both of us. It's all right, Bess. I feel quite euphoric most of the time. I don't suffer over-much.”
Bess didn't know what euphoric meant—she didn't read as much as Robert—but she put her arms about him and held him tightly. “Let me help you to bed,” she insisted, doubly determined to nurse him back to better health.
Robert reached into the drawer of the bedside table. “I have made a will, Bess. No, listen to me, this is very important. Poor Godfrey Boswell, your sister Jane's husband who bought my wardship, will lose all his investment of one hundred marks when I die, because my younger brother, George, is next in line.” Robert paused, gasping to catch his breath, and Bess tenderly stroked his back.
“At least the Court of Wards cannot touch your marriage portion. Darling Bess, it is so little reward for all you have given me. But the court will seize the other two thirds because George is a minor. In my will I have named Godfrey Boswell as trustee so George's wardship cannot be resold.”
“I understand, Rob.” Bess took the paper and kissed his brow. She watched him drink his malmsey and then drift off to sleep. Bess took her glass to the window and looked with unseeing eyes at the silent, snow-blanketed landscape. She had to face the truth. In her heart she knew that Robert would not live many more months, no matter how devotedly she nursed him. Pity for her young husband welled up inside her and threatened to overwhelm her. She felt wretchedly guilty also. How many times had she stood at this window feeling trapped like a wild bird, madly beating its wings against its cage?
She didn't know how long she stood at the window, but eventually she began to shiver and went to build up the fire. It began to smoke, and she opened the flue in the chimney so the smoke wouldn't fill the room.
In the bed behind her, Robert awoke and began to cough. Blaming herself for causing his discomfort, she said, “I'm so sorry, I made the fire smoke. I'll get you a drink.”
The water made him choke, and the coughing spasm deepened. Bess knew what to expect, it had happened before. She ran for a clean linen towel and held it ready for the bloody sputum. But all of a sudden the towel she was holding became drenched in bright red blood, and to Bess's horror she realized that Robert was hemorrhaging.
Panic rose up in her. For a moment it seemed to stop, and Robert lay back, exhausted. She squeezed his hand and felt him squeeze back, but then the blood poured out again, and this time there was no stopping it.
Bess sat stunned, still holding Robert's hand. The bed looked like a slaughterhouse where the thin, pale body of her husband lay lifeless.