The Redemption of Lady Georgiana

by Lisa M. Prysock

  Chapter 2. Surely He Hath Born Our Grief

  County Essex, England

  Spring of 1811

  Molly Cuddleton dragged the bucket to the next row of stone tiles some distance from where she knelt on the floor, dipping her scrub brush into the sudsy, hot water as she did so. She allowed a trail of water to splash on the next section to be washed and began scrubbing vigorously. Martha Briggs, the housekeeper, wanted Wellbrook Hall’s main entrance to look spotless before Lady Juliana Barrington arrived for dinner with her father, Lord Barrington, a Viscount and the owner of a neighboring property to Bridesgate Park Estate. It didn’t seem fair she had to scrub floors whenever Laura Doddmire, the parlor maid, fell behind in her duties. Couldn’t one of the footmen or the scullery maid take on this task? Her uniform was soaked and she would have to change into a clean and dry one before she could arrange hair for Lady Selina and help her dress for tonight’s dinner.

  She didn’t mind helping Laura and aye, to be sure, Briggs was always fair, but it seemed to her Laura usually fell behind in the chores which required the most physical effort. She made a mental note to herself to have a word with Briggs privately. Couldn’t they afford another parlor maid to help Laura a few days a week? She continued scrubbing the stone tiles until she thought her arm would fall off.

  “Pardon me,” Bradley, the butler, had stepped into the foyer from the front door. Spying Molly and the wet floor, he tiptoed to the key table near the center of the front hall with the day’s mail in hand. Molly stopped scrubbing long enough to eye the stack of letters he was arranging on the silver tray for the Earl and his family. It was the perfect moment to catch her breath and rest her sore arm. “I didn’t mean to walk on your clean floor.”

  It’s no trouble… everyone else has. Instead she said, her face lighting up with hope, “Any letters fer me?”

  Bradley leafed through the mail that remained in his hand looking for a letter addressed to Miss Molly Cuddleton. “Nay, I’m sorry, nothing today Molly.”

  She tried not to show her disappointment and immediately looked down and shoved her scrub brush back into the water. Bradley shook his head despairingly for her. He wished there was a way for letters from the front to make it back to England faster. He was sure Walter had written to Molly. He didn’t think she could hold up much longer without a letter from the young footman who’d so bravely enlisted a year ago into the British regiments. He cleared his throat and tucked the rest of the mail for the staff inside the pocket of his dark suit coat.

  He pretended not to notice the tears Molly swiped away from the corner of her eye as he successfully navigated around the staircase and the bucket of soapy water. He made a mental note to say something to Briggs about having one of the footmen scrub the main hall and first floor instead of Molly or Laura. It was really too much for the female staff, especially these days when it seemed they were so shorthanded. He headed down the main hall and turned right just before the conservatory to continue down another hall. That hall led to a side door not far from the dining room. He opened the door and stepped outside onto a brick path leading to the kitchen house to deliver the rest of the mail to the household staff and the invoices to Briggs so she could pay the vendors in a timely fashion. At least there would be little on the books for the butcher this month as another hog had been butchered and filled the smokehouse nicely. In addition to that, the Earl had experienced several fine shoots that spring and had produced fresh venison and several turkeys to add to the inventory of fine meats at Bridesgate Park Estate.

  Molly continued scrubbing until her back ached and she wondered how she would even lift her arm to arrange young Lady Selina’s hair for the dinner this evening. Maybe if she complained about her arm they would stop asking her to crawl around on her hands and knees scrubbing the floors… especially if Lady Selina had to complain about not having a proper ladies’ maid. She changed her mind about complaining and dragged herself to the third floor after tossing the bucket of water outside and leaning it up against the kitchen house to dry out. She needed to go to her room in the servant’s quarters and have a good cry, get out of her wet apron and peel the wet sleeves of her black dress off of her arms. Oh Walter! Don’t ye know you are breaking my heart? Four letters in these many months! Why haven’t ye written more often Walter? Or have ye? Are your letters delayed by the ravages of war? Dear Lord, thank ye for keeping him safe, wherever he be.

  Lake Annecy, the French Alps- Spring of 1811

  “Une lettre …from the Earl? Très bien! Let’s have our tea now. Come and sit outside avec moi on the balcony and read me la lettre, ma petite fille!”¹ Lady Margaret was beside herself with joy, speaking in half French and half English; so much so that Georgiana could visibly see her hands tremble.

  “I will carry the tray,” Georgiana agreed, whisking up the serving tray with the china teapot and matching cups and saucers. She followed her mother-in-law who walked carefully out of the kitchen to the staircase from the ground floor entry way of the chateau. The kitchen was tidy and a large wooden table welcomed many a guest to sit beside the hearth and warm themselves by the great stone fireplace. They climbed the staircase of to the second floor of the chateau and past the sitting room where another large stone fireplace heated the second floor during the colder months. They followed the main hall outside through a set of double Dutch doors onto the balcony situated far above the main entrance of the chateau. Tea was exactly what she needed after climbing back up the mountain from the village. Letters and packages were not delivered this high up in the clouds; one had to make the trek to the village for all correspondence unless a neighbor brought it. Neighbors were few and far between in these rugged French Alps.

  She placed the tea tray onto the table and plopped anxiously into a cushioned chair, pulling her sage green shawl close about her elbows. They were shielded by the roof from the balcony of the third floor where Papa Duncan had painted many of his masterpieces. The

  ¹une lettre = a letter;

  très bien = very good;

  avec moi = with me;

  la lettre, ma petite fille = the letter, my little daughter/girl

  balcony offered them a glorious view of Annecy far below. She could see a few steepled churches amongst the red and brown tiled rooftops below and the bell tower to the cathedral where Papa Duncan had also fulfilled a commission to honor the house of the Lord with more of his artistry. She fished the letter out of the hidden pocket of her petticoat folds beneath the rose print skirt of her simple but attractive day dress and set it aside until they could catch their breath from the climb.

  It wasn’t easy without the servants they were accustomed to, but frankly, they could no longer afford them. She dare not complain about carrying the tea tray up from the kitchen or any of the other daily tasks she had been helping with since the loss of the cook, gardener and two house maids. Her mother-in-law had spent the morning scrubbing their clothing in a large wash tub and hanging them on lines to dry in the afternoon breezes. Most likely, while Georgiana had made the trek to the village, Lady Margaret had taken a nap and then attempted to water the plants and hoe weeds out of the vegetable garden in the afternoon. Her face was the telling sign as she had a smudge of dirt on one cheek and several tendrils of hair escaping her usually perfectly coiffed hair. How she managed to do anything at all with a cane in one hand was a testament of her spirit and courage. At times, she seemed to get by without it quite amiably, and other times, not so much.

  When they were settled and had taken in another glimpse of the stunning view of the village and Lake Annecy far below, resting from the climb up the staircase, Lady Margaret poured and Georgiana read each word carefully, trying to pronounce each English word perfectly so no details would be missed. “Dear Lady Margaret… his penmanship is beautiful I might add,” Georgiana paused to briefly show her the letter from across the little round table.

  “Indeed.
All Englishmen write well,” her mother-in-law insisted.

  Georgiana continued until the last line of the letter had been read, only pausing to sip her tea twice. She set it down and picked up her teacup and took a longer sip, waiting for Lady Margaret’s reaction. Lady Margaret looked far away, her eyes lit up with excitement and her head slightly bowed in prayer. She had a slight smile on her lips and for the first in a long time, Georgiana thought she saw hope in Lady Margaret’s eyes.

  “What are your thoughts, ma petite fille?”¹ Her mother-in-law finally asked.

  Georgiana, accustomed to being called ‘her little daughter’ in those endearing French words, chose her response carefully. She set her teacup back on the saucer and looked at her mother-in-law with a contemplative tilt to her head. “Je pense,¹ I think… I think it would be good for us to go to England.”

  Lady Margaret listened and refused to allow herself to interrupt. She had to know all of her daughter-in-law’s thoughts on the matter. It was an important and life changing decision.

  “There is nothing here but memories now, both good and bad. Some of the memories are très mal¹ … very bad. Much sorrow here.” She placed her hand over her heart, unable to speak but with scattered phrases as she spoke at times. “In order to heal, to move on, to go forward, we need a change. I will never forget the love ici¹, the happiness we had here, the many years of joy God allowed us to share with our beloveds.” She drew in her breath sharply and there was a long pause as her lungs filled with air and she could breathe again. “Mais, c’est¹ … time to go now.” Lady Georgiana relaxed and breathed

  ¹ma petite fille = my little daughter/girl; je pense = I think; très mal = very bad; ici = here; mais, c’est … = but, it’s …

  again more regularly as she pulled her sage green shawl up around the shoulders of her empire waisted day dress and clasped her hands to it as if it would stop her mouth from forming anymore words and protect her heart from further pain.

  Margaret sensed that she must help her daughter feel comfortable and released to move on without feeling as though she was abandoning her by doing so. “I would not blame you if you do not want to go to England to be with me. Perhaps you wish to relocate to be near someone in your biological family as Esther did. You have my full blessing if you do not want to make this journey with me. I will have some relations near me where I am going and they will care for me.”

  “Since my parents have passed on to heaven I have felt my home is here with you, ma mère.¹ I do not wish to return to live with my sister’s family. She still lives happily in Yorkshire with her husband and five children-- as you know. All boys except one girl... A most dreadful situation! I would forever be asking one of them to give me back a glove or a bonnet and stop running through the halls-- wildly trampling upon everything in their paths of destruction! How my niece survives or ma soeur ¹ has a moment of peace—je ne comprends pas!” ¹ Georgiana smiled as she thought of them and so did Lady Margaret who knew Georgiana’s family well.

  “The boys are… well, boys! Rambunctious and energetic…” Lady Margaret chuckled.

  “And as much as I love my nephews…”

  “You can’t see yourself living with the daily torture…”

  ¹ma mère = my mother; ma soeur = my sister; je ne comprends pas = I do not understand

  Lady Georgiana stifled a giggle and continued, breathless with a little excitement at the idea of returning to England even though she could not imagine finding a moment of solace under the roof of her sister. Her sister had written to implore her to reside with them for years, but especially since the passing of her beloved Benjamin, numerous times. In years past the letters pleaded with her to escape the unsettling reports of war and revolution, especially each time England’s navy had been drawn into the battle or reports of more wounded from among the English or French regiments reached her ears.

  Georgiana continued: “Those boys-- they have the run of the place you know. Her husband doesn’t discipline them very well. I fear she shall have to send each and every last one of them off to a military boarding school --and then the halls will be empty except for her little girl --and she shall be in a great lament for missing the antics of those boys! She shall have to choose between woes for she shall have an even far greater lament if she doesn’t ship them off to a strict school or find a very strict school master and hire him at once.”

  Lord Barrington’s coach, on a country road in County Essex

  “It’s a shame Cole isn’t here to enjoy the soothing effects of a country dinner at the Earl’s table this evening,” Juliana commented as the coach jostled them along. She had a light blue, satin frock on with matching blue slippers. The short sleeves of the dress had a fashionably shirred and bunched look, complementing her long white dinner gloves. She wore a straw poke bonnet with a large blue satiny bow tied to the right of her chin. Her long, blond locks spilled out on her shoulders and the simple strand of pearls she wore seemed the perfect choice for her gown.

  The Viscount eyed his daughter thoughtfully. How she reminded him of his wife in earlier years, Lady Amber Barrington, at home for the evening with a headache. His daughter looked as though she had a hundred thoughts rolling around in that pretty head of hers. “You don’t think he’s getting into any quandaries, do you?”

  “Nay Father, I’m just missing his company is all,” she said, avoiding eye contact with him as she turned her eyes to look out the window at the rolling fields they were passing.

  “The Season is almost over. Almost everyone I know has left for the countryside or the ocean. Your brother will soon weary of London and join us here in Essex in time for a fine summer.”

  “I hope so. I’m sure he is in need of your excellent advice, our cook’s excellent cooking and the most excellent fresh air in all of England.”

  “All true!” Lord Barrington said as he checked his watch to be certain they were neither too early nor too late as the coach turned into the gated entrance to Wellbrook Hall. He snapped the watch shut and tucked it back into his vest pocket beneath his outer dinner coat as two of the Earl’s footmen in livery opened the gates, granting the coach entrance.

  Lady Juliana grasped the basket on the seat beside her filled with a brown paper package of scones and several jars each of jams, jellies, currants and relish from their own cook’s kitchen at Rosewood Manor. Frances and Mama would be cross with her if she forgot to give the Earl the gift.

  “Don’t be forgetting to give the Earl this ‘ere basket, m’ lady! Neighbors must be neighborly!” The cook had said to her firmly as she’d proudly handed her the basket just before she had climbed into the coach assisted by one of the footmen.

  “Thank you Frances,” she had responded. “I will and I’m sure it will be appreciated.”

  With her other hand she clutched her reticule and a small linen sewing satchel with several yards of ribbon from London for the Earl’s daughters and an embroidery hoop in case her hands felt restless after dinner. She wished she’d found something for Edmund but what? Looking nervously about her in the coach, she had a sudden urge to ask Father to relinquish his cravat so she could gift it to Edmund and then thought the better of it. She’d simply have to give the girls the ribbon and hand Edmund the scones from the basket. It wouldn’t do to have Father stripped of his cravat simply because she hadn’t the good foresight to think of the Earl’s son ahead of time. How silly of her to even think of such a thing! She would explain about the scones to Frances tomorrow; for ‘t’would probably be late when they returned to Rosewood Manor and surely the dependable cook would have retired to the servant’s quarters by then.

  Chateau de Fleurs, Lake Annecy, The French Alps

  Lady Margaret laughed and shook her head trying to imagine it all as Georgiana relayed her firm convictions. Her replies came out softly to the devoted daughter-in-law before her as she listened carefully. Knowing Georgiana had obv
iously thought this through, all she could muster was a meager final attempt to persuade her to find a bright side in the idea of returning to her biological family. “You would be not more than about a day or two by coach from London… and at least you would not be in want of entertainment. You could be at leisure as opposed to taking on the role of a governess for a distant relation of mine.”

  Georgiana was amused just thinking of the antics four boys could get into in just one hour. “I am so accustomed to our quiet, easy days here in the mountains among peaceful chalets. Only the occasional bells of the sheep, the cows and mountain goats that feed here in these hills and cliffs disturb us. I wouldn’t last more than a fortnight among such conditions avec ma soeur,¹ though I know it is no longer safe to remain here when our provisions are running so low and little work for ladies of our background is found among a village with so little extra work --and constant war and upheaval threatening to destroy our economy and come to our very doorsteps. I like the idea of living in England again, but I cannot fathom going to Yorkshire when we could be together in Essex. I have very little reason to subject myself to life with four rambunctious sons, mainly the eldest two-- whose daily objective it is to play pranks on their relations and the hands that feed and clothe them. The younger two were trying to follow in the footsteps of the elder. Sir Hadley has ruined them—spoiling them because of the grief they have experienced-- though I have hopes that my dear sister will rise to the occasion before it is too late and do the right thing in directing those vivacious boys to a life of discipline and duty—for the good of all mankind, not just myself. Remember how that journey turned out when Benjamin and I last visited Elizabeth for merely a few days of our wedding trip?”

  “Tell me again… that story always makes me laugh!”

  “We barely escaped with our lives. They destroyed a perfectly new bonnet, lost one of my gloves, broke the sculpture my husband had made for them, ruined Benjamin’s clothing when they coerced him into a steeplechase through the woods and unfamiliar ravines …and

  ¹avec ma soeur = with my sister

  nearly broke his neck. Not to mention the frog they placed in my teacup! Thank goodness I heard it croaking just as I was about to…” Lady Georgiana’s voice trailed off as she momentarily picked up her cup by the saucer and peered deeply into her teacup. This made her mother-in-law chuckle and soon they were both laughing. When she had recovered she continued her story. “We took our departure from my sister’s English home with great joy and relief, completely determined never to return until those four boys grow up a little. Of course, the youngest sons were just babies… but the older boys were of no help to my sister. No, ‘twouldn’t be safe. Nor do I think we are safe here in these mountains which seem like a refuge compared with the streets of Paris and my sister’s home. The Revolution is stirring more and more with every strategy of Napoleon. The people of France are hungry and weary. They are tired of losing their sons to war, heavy taxation and hunger. Hunger and fear makes outraged thieves, murderers and bandits of them. ”

  Lady Margaret nodded as she listened with great understanding and compassion to the animated expressions of her daughter. Her eyes even sparkled a little. “Yes, I certainly do remember how relieved you were to leave your sister’s home! And yes indeed, it is a time of great turbulence in this country of ‘kings all named Louis.’ My dearly departed husband was not fond of Napoleon …and neither am I.” She shifted in her chair and looked down the mountain from her spot on the balcony tea table, wanting to delve a little deeper into her daughter-in-law’s thoughts. Without looking at her she asked calmly in a softer voice. “What of your Uncle Henri in Bordeaux? Have you considered what it might be like to reside under the shelter of a man of his prestige? As a widower with so much time on his hands, could he not spend a great deal of time with you and introduce you perhaps, when you are ready, to other worthy gentlemen in Bordeaux? Would he not welcome you with open arms and enjoy your company… and you his? I know how much you miss him at times. How your parents loved him! His chalet reminds me of times gone by… how kind it was of him to bring you and Lady Elizabeth to the mountains after their passing and bring you girls up. None of us expected them not to recover. He seemed so helpless with two orphan girls and yet so happy to do his duty as your mother’s brother. How my Benjamin and Samuel loved to roam the countryside with you and your sister and explore the meadows of the mountains and the village—that is during the summertime when we were able to holiday here.”

  “Elizabeth never got over the fact he left us with a housekeeper while he went on all those business trips to Bordeaux. It was so hard for us to understand at the time how demanding the management of that much farm land and an overseer and tenants can be. I knew the moment Beth was presented at English court she would find love in England and remain there. It took me a number of years to recover from that feeling of abandonment as well. My mother and father would have been pleased that she was presented at court and made a lovely match with Sir Richard Hadley. It’s just that when we were younger, we needed my uncle to simply be with us… and though I know he did his best, it was hard to stabilize from losing our parents to the smallpox and thrive in a boarding school environment, though I am indeed thankful for a fine education. Such a dreadful disease—the smallpox!” Lady Georgiana shook her head, looking down but seeing nothing really.

  She stirred her tea absently but placed her spoon down in the saucer and just stared at the warm liquid inside the cup. Sometimes she could barely remember her mother’s face and it alarmed her. She turned her head to the side and looked down the mountain as if changing her viewpoint would also change the thoughts that sometimes needed to be pushed aside for the sake of her own mental health and clarity. Looking at the village far below them from the tea table on the balcony did help her focus again. She continued, drawing in a deep breath as she did so. “Besides the fact I am not very close with Uncle Henri since my marriage to Benjamin, frankly, I believe he

  has recently attached himself to this Girondist Party.¹ The last I heard, he is becoming a strong voice in this miserable Revolution that seems to have no end.”

  Lady Margaret had heard quite a bit about the Girondist Party from reading the papers. “He is taking great risks with his land and all that he owns to place his attention on politics. I do not think it would be safe for you to remain in Bordeaux under his roof if things are as you say and he is so distracted again. He must spend a great deal of his time in Paris then…”

  “You’ve heard correctly. He’s been on numerous long journeys to Paris and back again to Bordeaux. The coastal region near Bordeaux is volatile as well. It’s not as peaceful as ‘twas when we visited there with Papa, Benjamin and Samuel --or when Beth and I were young. The press reports the English have a blockade on all of the French ships. Being a shipping area… I don’t think it is safe for me to consider. Some fear the United States will declare war on Britain, because of the blockade. I was able to gather some information from a few of our acquaintances in the village and reading les journaux² and a little from Uncle Henri’s letters. He has let out the chalet here in the Alps-- and I don’t think he will be returning to visit us anytime soon now that he is so distracted with politics. I do love my uncle and sister... but I don’t think I should make a new life with either of them. We will visit each other from time to time. I do enjoy corresponding with them. I definitely don’t want to make my habitation with them.”

  “I see,” Lady Margaret said as she placed her teacup back in the saucer and placed folded hands in her lap. She smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in her simple day dress. “Mais oui!² Yes, you are right. You

  ¹Girondist Party = a new political party in France

  ²les journaux = the newspapers; Mais oui! = Certainly! But, of course!

  have convinced me. It is far too dangerous to send you to your uncle. I hadn’t considered these things as well as
you have. My husband didn’t discuss politics with me because he knew I dreaded it so, but these are desperate times and I need to keep myself educated-- though it is considered terribly unladylike to speak of such things. I am as curious as you are with all of the changes happening in our world and in so many nations around us. It is very disturbing and I fear further war, inevitable. Napoleon’s appetite to conquer the world as we know it seems insatiable. These are most dangerous times --and especially here. As I have thought for many years, I feel that writing the Earl and returning to England is truly best for us. I could never convince Duncan that we needed to return to Essex. It is such a shame that your parents have passed away on top of everything else. I don’t know how either of us have coped with all of these losses-- but for the grace of God carrying us. I know your sister would love to have you live with her, in spite of having all of those boys on her hands.”

  “I’m sure Elizabeth would! I’d be drafted into mending their britches at once and sewing new shirts for all of them. I would like to visit them when we are settled in Essex with the Earl’s family, but I don’t wish to live with them. Very short visits would be more suitable if I am to preserve my relationship with her and my nephews. I’d like to invite my niece to visit us when we are settled at Wellbrook Hall, when she is a little older. She shall need an escape I fear!” Georgiana reached into another of her petticoat pockets and gently snapped open a small fan at that point in the conversation. She deserved a reward in being able to sit back in her chair now and fan herself-- as she truly felt she had been able to overcome Lady Margaret’s objections to their parting ways.

  Lady Margaret pulled her chair closer to the table and poured more tea into both of their cups from the teapot. She was mentally calculating how much tea was left in the kitchen as she did so. If she had calculated correctly, they had enough tea to last for another two months perhaps. “You do realize I may have to sell the chateau. We may not be able to return to France. It may become too dangerous to cross the Channel. Even then, I would only want to return to France to visit … I may not even come to this particular region of France when I do… and this place, well, it holds too many memories for me. I think I will sell it or …I may let it out …for income.”

  “I understand,” Georgiana said wistfully, wishing she did not understand so well. Unlike her mother-in-law, she had tried more than most women she knew to educate herself on everything that was happening in the political arena. Each day they remained in France grew more dangerous. Somehow, she did not think Napoleon’s forces were capable of protecting them-- though he seemed to have seized control of the government and several other nations with little effort. Had she not just read in the papers that French forces had taken Holland? Was there no end to this dictator’s madness? Would he dare to seize control of England she wondered. It was too much for her to comprehend in the midst of so much change before them on a personal front.

  “So where will you go then when I leave France? You are not seriously interested in becoming a governess for this distant relation of mine, or are you? You were born and bred to be a fine lady of the peerage, not a governess.” Lady Margaret would not be satisfied with Georgiana’s answers until she made her daughter face every last possible escape route from a life of assisting her nearly destitute, widowed, elderly mother-in-law.

  Lady Georgiana calmly and cooly kept fanning without so much as a flinch. When her reply came it was with acceptance and intrigue, even a hint of joy. “Though a titled ‘Lady’ in my own right, he- the Earl-- specifically mentions this position for me in his letter, and I am of a mind to accept the position. I think it would take my mind off of Benjamin, which is what I desperately need to do. Furthermore, it’s the nearly perfect situation. He has two daughters and one son. I would particularly enjoy living in the countryside as we do now …and being in London for the excitement of the Season. He mentions there are spare bedrooms and suites at both of his homes. I am consoled by the fact you will at least have your own sitting room to display your most treasured possessions --and I will have my own sitting room. I think, ma mère, ¹ we could have a good life together. He has a mathematics tutor and a violin instructor for the children in place now. I would teach English Literature, French, geography, history, a little science, and maybe art technique, some art history… he indicates his desire to advance his children in Bible study. Those happen to be all of my favorite subjects! In the summers and for other events, we would function as companions and chaperones for his children. We should meet a great many fascinating people and forge a whole new life together.”

  “Are you quite certain you could be happy with such a great responsibility?” Lady Margaret inquired.

  “I could not leave your side after all you have done for me and all you have taught me about the Lord, ma mère.¹ I sometimes fall into despair and doubt, but I am learning to find comfort in what our Savior endured for us. If He endured the cross, we can endure loss.”

  “If you are certain, mon cher,¹ then together we shall suffer these afflictions and trust the God of Abraham who holds our future in His most capable hands.”

  ¹ma mère = my mother; mon cher= my dear

  And our hope of you is stedfast, knowing, that as ye are partakers of the sufferings, so shall ye be also of the consolation. 2 Corinthians 1:7, Authorized King James Version