Matilda has no idea
Oswald lifted the whining baby to his shoulder and whined louder than he. “I don’t think he likes me, Mouse.”
“I think he simply doesn’t like men,” Mouse said. “He cries for Papa too, and oh did he ever cry when he got a look at Sir Egelric!”
“He only likes Mouse,” Ethelwyn added.
“He likes Matilda too.” Mouse sent a perky smile over her shoulder at Matilda.
Matilda smiled back at her, though she had not managed a perky anything in months.
But Ethelwyn let his curly head fall against Mouse’s knee, making Matilda wish she had not been mentioned at all. She wished she were anywhere else – even at home, where at least she felt she belonged.
She had nearly cried tears of frustration when trying to decide what to wear downstairs: whether to wear one of her everyday dresses, all of which only seemed to exaggerate her growing belly, or her fine, dark blue gown.
Her pregnancy was less obvious in her best dress, but was it not pretentious for a nursemaid to wear her fine gown before a young gentleman such as Oswald, as if she were a little lady herself, worthy of his notice? And yet, was it not an insult to appear before a young gentleman in one’s everyday gown, as if he were only a common man?
Mouse had decided for her, but now she wished she had decided otherwise. Of course, she would have felt the same way if she had.
She wished she could go to bed.
“There now!” Mouse said brightly to her brother once the baby had settled into muffled whimpering. “You’ve found the trick.”
“I’m not smothering him or anything, am I?” Oswald asked warily.
“Certainly not! What a looby!”
But Ethelwyn lifted his head to look up and be certain.
“You’re a natural baby-hugger, Uncle Os,” Mouse announced. “So… when are you meaning to have one of your own?”
“Oh, not you too, now!” Oswald groaned. “Every time I see Wynnie she asks me the same thing.”
“That is because we new mothers are so happy, we can’t see how anyone can be happy without a baby of his own.”
Matilda shifted uncomfortably on the bench. Mouse promised her she would feel nothing but love for her baby once it came, but for now it was only a weight in her belly – a weight that sometimes squirmed and stretched its limbs, making embarrassing ripples across the front of her dress. She thought she would cry if the baby moved now, in front of Oswald.
Mouse pretended to cough politely into her hand. “How is Osgyth, anyway?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Oswald sighed.
“Is he all right up there?” Ethelwyn asked anxiously.
“Oh, Wyn!” Mouse groaned. “I think I know why he always cries for you: you make him cry constantly to make certain he’s still alive.”
“I do not! Perhaps he does it to be certain I am.”
“You had better take him, then,” Oswald said, for the baby had begun to fuss again. “I think he wants to know.”
Matilda stared forlornly at Mouse’s smile as she watched her husband cuddling their baby.
It reminded her of what she would never have, it was true, but she knew from her own family that even with a husband one was not necessarily as happy as Mouse. In fact, she was not certain she wanted a husband at all. They were such demanding, selfish, volatile creatures.
What she would have liked more than anything was to live alone with Mouse. Then they could love one another’s babies, and no one would ever look askance at Matilda’s belly, and everything would be lovely.
Mouse pretended to cough again. “So what’s this about Osgyth?” she giggled.
“Oh, good Lord,” Oswald groaned and laid himself down on the couch, ponderously, like a man.
“You two fight again, Ossie? You always make up.”
“No more! Didn’t you hear?”
Mouse glanced over at Matilda.
Matilda hurriedly looked away. She did not want to seem interested in this conversation.
“What happened?” Mouse asked.
“Some lucky man is soon to be the father of a red-headed little baby, and I’m not the man!”
“She – she didn’t!” Mouse gasped.
“I always knew she was trouble!” Ethelwyn crowed, with a man’s delight in being proven right.
“Oh, you knew nothing,” Mouse scoffed.
“Any girl who flirts with her sweetheart’s brother-in-law is trouble.”
“She was not flirting with you, you curly-headed gander! He is so vain!” she giggled and looked to Matilda for confirmation.
“I know flirting,” Ethelwyn grumbled, and then he ostentatiously turned his attention to his son. “Don’t we, my young man? That’s why we don’t cry for the ladies!”
Mouse ignored him and turned back to her brother. “Did she truly…?”
Oswald sighed as if he would rather talk about anything else. “I thought she was being unusually… affectionate with me a month or so ago,” he said bitterly. “Now I think she was trying to trick me.”
“Oh, Os! My poor boy! It’s not the first time it’s happened to you, either.”
“That’s what comes from being so good,” he grumbled.
“What comes from being bad,” Ethelwyn reminded him, “is a wife who doesn’t deserve you and a child who isn’t yours.”
“Wyn!” Mouse scolded softly.
They both turned to look at Matilda, and both quickly turned away again as if they had felt their gazes collide.
“It’s true,” Oswald sighed. “If I had fallen for it, I would have been fool enough to marry her.”
“You would have had to, as an honorable man,” Ethelwyn said. “She, at least, is a gentlewoman,” he said pointedly.
“Wyn!” Mouse sighed. “Better a nice, honest, simple girl than a wicked, scheming gentlewoman.”
“If you know any nice, honest, simple girls, then you should introduce them to your brother.”
“I shall.”
Their gazes met briefly again at Matilda’s face, but this time like crossed swords.
Matilda squeezed great handfuls of her gown in her sweaty palms. She had no idea why she was an object of such keen interest this evening. She was saying nothing! She was doing nothing! Oh, it had been wrong to wear the dress!
Fortunately Oswald only stared at the fire. “I wish you wouldn’t,” he grumbled. “I’m sick of girls. What I get from being good is betrayed. Girls don’t like good men.”
“Good girls do,” Mouse said.
Oswald snorted. “Are there any?”
“Their fathers keep them locked up to keep them out of trouble,” Ethelwyn said.
“Wyn!” Mouse cried. “One can’t lock a girl up like a… a…”
“Like a treasure? Yes, one can, and so shall I do if we have a daughter, God willing.”
“Oh!” Mouse scoffed.
“But for now, all we have is this little man,” he cooed, “and this little man is ready for bed.”
“Oh…” Mouse sighed.
“Matilda,” Ethelwyn said stiffly. “Please take Cynemaer up to his bed and stay with him until his mother comes.”
“Of course,” Matilda murmured. She tried to rise quickly, but she had forgotten the weight of her baby, and she nearly fell back onto the bench.
Ethelwyn frowned.
“Already?” Mouse asked plaintively. “Os just got here…”
“I think Os has seen all there is to be seen in a two-day-old baby, as far as a seventeen-year-old boy is concerned.”
“He is a cute one, Mousie,” Oswald smiled. He lifted an arm and waved. “Good night, baby!”
Ethelwyn took the baby’s arm between his fingers and delicately waved it. “Good night, Uncle Ossie!” he squeaked in a voice that better befit a ninety-year-old lady than a two-day-old baby boy.
Mouse snorted.
“Good night, Mama! Good night all creatures here below!”
“What a looby!” Mouse and Oswald said together.
“He’s a happy looby,” Ethelwyn said, but his face when he handed the baby to Matilda did not look happy.
“Make certain he is clean and dry, Matilda,” he instructed her. “And call for us if anything happens.”
“Oh, Wyn!” Mouse sighed. “She knows more about caring for babies than you and I put together!”
“That is just as well,” he said coldly, “as that is her station.”
