The Damaged Bride

Chapter 15

In the week following Douglass’ intrusion into his home, Marcus saw almost nothing of Bridgette. It wasn’t as if he was trying to avoid her, but due to her injuries and his efforts to repair the damage left by his father’s neglect, he barely had time to eat and sleep let alone visit his invalid wife.

He did manage to stop in at least once a day to check on her recovery, but beyond that he trusted her to the care of his staff.

Moira and Christine kept constant vigil over her, at least one of them at her side day and night. They set about making her dresses fit for the mistress of O’Connor Hall from the fabrics Marcus provided. Before long Bridgette’s trunk contained several new dresses, kirtles, and nightdresses. They also made her aprons for working and soft linen caps to replace the rough spun on she usually wore.

After two days of recuperating Bridgette was able to sit up and eat bread soaked in milk, because chewing was still difficult for her. That evening she was given a hearty barley soup that had been mashed into a gruel.

When Marcus came in for his nightly visit he stood at the side of her bed and examined her bruising.

“You look to be healing nicely,” Marcus commented.

“Thank you,” Bridgette replied, trying to avoid his gaze.

“Is there anything you need?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “Moira and Christine have been very solicitous. They’ve even begun making me the most beautiful dresses.

“And I understand that I must thank you for that,” she continued, her voice and spirits lightening.

“Well,” Marcus replied, uncomfortably. “Moira told me that the belongings in your trunk were woefully unfit for your needs.”

“Grandfather never worried himself about such things,” Bridgette said, looking into Marcus’ eyes. “I usually had to make my clothes from whatever fabric I could find. Most of it was cloth the milliner couldn’t sell and was happy to give me for half pence just to get rid of it.”

“I see,” Marcus said, trying to hide his sadness. The beatings, the depervaious, everything this young woman had gone through had taught her only anguish.

“Well,” he said, standing up abruptly. “I should let you rest. Good evening.”

“Good night sir,” Bridgette said, saddened by his departure.

Moira, who had been waiting in the hall, returned and began to settle in for her evening watch over Bridgette. As she picked up her sewing, she began to hum a lullaby from her long forgotten childhood.

“My mother used to sing that to me,” Bridgette said sleepily, a small smile on her lips.

“I remember your mother, when she was a child,” Moira sighed, setting her work down. “You look very much like her. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No,” Bridgette replied, waking up slightly. “What was she like?”

“She was always full of smiles,” Moira responded. “This was before your grandmother died, you see. Before her death, your grandfather was a reasonable, sane man. A good landlord, an honest businessman, but after her death, everything changed. He became the man you know now. He blamed everyone and everything around him for his sadness.”

“I never knew,” Bridgette sighed, blinking back tears.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Moira said, reaching out and stroking Bridgette’s cheek as if she were a child. “He’s done so much evil to so many people that no one even remembers the good he used to do. Now, go to sleep, child.”

Ever the one to do as she was told, Bridgette snuggled down into her blankets and fell quickly asleep. When she woke, Moira was gone and Christine was arranging her breakfast tray on the table.

Christine sat with her all day, sewing her new clothes and talking to her all the while.