Eliza’s Daughter

by Joan Aiken

  Particularly, of course, with ladies.

  Indeed on one such occasion, when Mrs Marsonby, the wife of the Bishop of Bath and Wells, happened to sit opposite me at dinner and so far forgot herself as to lean across the table and say to me, ‘My dear, you sang the aria “Hush ye pretty warbling quire” with the most exquisite sensibility! It was all I could do to keep the tears from flowing!’ the Duke was quietly outraged, and later took the Bishop on one side to tell him that his wife had transgressed the unseen but acknowledged boundary line that existed in his establishment, and that another such trespass ‘might occasion the overthrow of our pleasant musical evenings’. The Bishop apologized for his lady and promised that such a faux pas would not occur again.

  Some may inquire, why should I remain passively in a situation of such ambivalence, not to say indignity? And the answers are manifold and complicated.

  First, I sincerely loved the Duke, and he on his side seemed deeply attached to me. He had loved my mother; and I was her replacement. He was like a relative. I never relaxed the formality of my demeanour towards him, calling him always ‘Sir’ or ‘Your Grace’ but none the less there existed a warm, teasing friendship in our relations, which were delineated by invisible frontier lines and transacted with as much grace as a minuet or passacaglia. Nobody had ever loved me before – except for Triz – how could I resist such a lure?

  – Nor, to be truthful, did I feel any great deprivation in being excluded from intercourse with persons of the ton; as I have mentioned before, I found their elaborate, cultured, structured conversation excessively tedious, and had no particular wish to take part in it. If the talk related to matters on which I was informed, books the Duke had brought me to read, music that I knew, political issues with which I was familiar – then, to be sure, I listened eagerly and drew my own conclusions as to the knowledge and wit of the speakers. And afterwards, with the Duke, I would often exchange comments and impressions. But I was never tempted into expressing opinions publicly, or wishing to play a part in such exchanges. I saw no need for that.

  Then, in all material ways, my situation was one of great comfort and self-respect. I lived in much luxury and was treated with deference – and, I may add, with affection – by all the people in the Duke’s household, who deferred to me as their mistress and brought me all the small problems that were considered too trivial for the Duke’s own ears, yet required some practical solution.

  I accompanied him on his visits to the house in Grosvenor Square and met a number of his political friends. I went with him to the picture gallery in Pall Mall and to the Royal Academy, to Covent Garden and Drury Lane where I was able to see works by Shakespeare, Sheridan and many another; even a play called Remorse – not a very good play, I thought – by my Mr Sam. The Duke and I passed some weeks in London during the notably cold winter of 1814, when the Thames froze for weeks on end and, for the duration of the period, a great Frost Fair was set up on the frozen river (christened Freezeland Street) with stalls where one could purchase oysters, cockles, gingerbread and brandy-balls. But the Duke caught a severe cold at this time, which worsened to a congestion confining him to his bed for several weeks; and though he made a good recovery, he was somewhat aged by the severity of the indisposition, thereafter spending less time in town and more at Zoyland.

  It was during this period that I met Hoby again.

  I had been pained and angered – very much so – by the encounter with Hoby at Mrs Widdence’s showroom in Bond Street. I have not alluded to these feelings in my narrative before, because they went too deep. That he who, when we were younger, had been so much my friend and ally, in his rough and carefree way, who had so often taken my part and shielded me from trouble should, when we met again after so long a period, have no kind greeting, no kind remembrances – nothing but anger and cold, critical reproof – this vexed, this chagrined me beyond measure. I had hoped that he might afterwards repent of his harshness and write some note, make some attempt to meet or some gesture towards reconciliation – but he had not done so. And my removal to Zoyland shortly afterwards had effectively nullified the hope of any future such understanding.

  It took me many, many months to digest the pain that meeting had occasioned.

  Therefore I was no little taken aback when the Duke informed me that he had invited Mr John Nash and his young assistant, a Mr Robert Hobart, to come and pass a few days at Zoyland, in order to advise him about digging a canal.

  I had long since recounted to the Duke many tales about my early days at Nether Othery – or such parts of it as I considered suitable for disclosure – and he had of course learned from other sources details regarding the subsequent histories of some of my childhood acquaintances – such as Fanny Huskisson, and the numerous progeny of Lord S——— who now, mostly grown, were leading variegated lives in the Metropolis, some received into Polite Society, others not. Hoby’s name, however, had never been mentioned between us, though I had sometimes descried it in The Times or the Morning Post when these journals carried articles relating to work on the new Regent Street or Regent Canal. And I had – I cannot deny – sighed over the social ordinances which permitted Hoby to make his way respectably in the world, but denied the same right to me.

  Now I told the Duke that I had known Hoby as a child, and I tried to express to him some of my views on society’s unfairness. He shook his head indulgently. ‘Ay, but you see it ain’t the same, my dear, it ain’t a parallel case for men and women. For a man it don’t greatly signify if he be a bastard or not. Many bastards have made great names in the world. Why! William of Normandy was one. And look at all the dukes who are descended from side-slips of Charles II! But the ladies, bless their hearts, have to mind their reputations – else where should we all be? You may think it unfair, my child, and doubtless to some degree it is; but, on the other hand, the fair sex do have compensations, in that they can expect to be provided for and looked after.’

  A flood of argument swept into my mind: that many women were not provided for but, on the contrary, lived wretched lives; and further, that many women who moved in the highest circles bore reputations that were far from unblemished – consider Lady Melbourne, for instance, who was thought to have borne several of her six children to fathers other than her husband. But I forbore to argue. The Duke tired easily these days, and I had come to recognize the gestures that denoted this fatigue: he would rub and rub at his forehead with a silk handkerchief, as if hoping to clear his brain.

  And it ill behoved me to argue with him on the latter point, since I myself was so cherished, all my slightest wishes considered. (It was only my deepest wishes that went unregarded.)

  When Hoby and Mr Nash came down to Zoyland I saw little of them at first, save at supper-time, for they were out with the Duke all day, riding over his demesnes, debating suitable sites for water-courses. But on the third day the work was concluded, and they came home early.

  I arranged for a nuncheon to be served and, at the Duke’s request, kept them company in the room he called his observatory, for it ended in a glass-walled greenhouse, and here he kept his great brass telescope with which on a fine night he would walk outside and study the planets.

  I sat somewhat apart and occupied myself with knitting a silk cravat for the Duke, when suddenly he said to me: ‘Liz, my dear, did I not hear you, some time since, express a wish for a water-garden?’

  ‘Why, yes, sir, I did – but it was of no great consequence; just an idle fancy.’

  ‘A fig for your idle fancies! Here we have a young fellow who is as skilled with a dowsing-rod as Patrick the steward with his fiddle-bow; let us walk out and find you a suitable spot while we have this expert help at command.’

  It was a fine, balmy May afternoon, so we all strolled out through the wide glass doors on to the green lawn beyond, which extended for some three hundred yards to the foot of a gentle rise, where narcissi were just giving way to bluebells a
nd orchises.

  ‘Now then, young Hobart, let Miss here have a demonstration of your virtuosity,’ said the Duke, who had plainly taken a huge fancy to Hoby. I, meanwhile, had taken (or chosen to take) an equal fancy to Mr John Nash, who had a round, creased, humorous face, a smiling mouth and two tilted eyebrows which shot up and down with great velocity. He would I suppose at this time have been about sixty – but very brisk and active. He was describing to me the huge hall that he was in course of building for the Regent behind Carlton House in which the latter was to entertain the Tsar of Russia, the King of Prussia, and other European dignitaries during the summer celebrations.—For, thank heaven, the Continental war was now as good as over.

  I told Mr Nash with sincerity that, considering all his notable public works, it was amiable of him to spare time to come down and give my guardian the benefit of his advice and experience.

  ‘My dear, it is a great treat for me to get out of London once in a way and come to so beautiful a spot. Especially just now when the city is so abominably crowded. And it is a joy to spend time in the company of the Duke, who is one of the best-natured and most intelligent men of my acquaintance.’

  ‘Come here, my dear Liz,’ called the Duke. ‘Come and try your hand at Mr Hobart’s contraption.’

  For the past three days I had been keeping as far distant from Hoby as was compatible with the requirements of hostessly politeness; I had avoided falling into talk with him, or even meeting his eye; but now it seemed there was no help for it.

  I walked across the grass and took the forked hazel twig he was extending in my direction.

  ‘You must hold it in your hands – so – with the two prongs pointing towards you and the single prong pointing ahead,’ he explained in a careful, colourless tone. ‘Turn your palms upward, and let your thumbs point back.’

  None of which was news to me, since I, with Hoby, Will and Jonathan, had on several occasions watched old Gathercole dowsing for a well when the village source had dried up.

  But the unexpected sensation of Hoby’s hands on mine – the live, rough, active warmth as he laid firm hold of my wrists and, with professional care, adjusted my fingers on the hazel wand – that was very startling indeed and, in a flash, swept me back to a distant time that I had believed was long buried and gone out of mind.

  Also I could see – from his startled look of recollection – that Hoby had, in the interim, forgotten about my elf-hand. It formed, for him, a reminder of the same kind. His own hands shook as he relinquished the rod to me.

  ‘Come then, Liz, my dear!’ called the Duke cheerfully. ‘Let us see if you can strike water from the rock, like Moses with the waters of Meribah!’

  ‘You must pace backwards and forwards over the grass,’ Hoby instructed me, still in the same level, dispassionate tone. ‘Don’t try to move the fork at all; only hold it steady. And try to empty your mind of thought or expectation; let the stick do the work for you.’

  So I walked.

  ‘Don’t look at the stick!’ called Hoby again.

  So I kept my eyes up, looking at the gentle green hill, or the old, rose-red house with its trees around it, or the three men who stood smiling in the sunshine as they watched me. At least Mr Nash and the Duke were smiling; Hoby’s face remained very grave. He had fewer freckles now, I noticed, though still a fair sprinkling over his nose and cheekbones; he was dressed with great neatness and propriety in a well-cut riding jacket and buckskins; he was uncommonly pale. I wondered what kind of a life he led in London these days; did he have a wife? Children? A house? A mistress? Was he ambitious? Did his manner of life satisfy him? It seemed very singular indeed to me that, in one way, I knew him so very well – I could have made a map of all the scars on his thighs and stomach where he had fallen down the rock face of Growly Head and gashed himself so badly – yet, on the other hand, I had no clue, no clue at all, as to what was passing through his head.

  The hazel twig suddenly sprang violently downwards, thrusting itself away from me so that, taken completely by surprise, I dropped it on the ground.

  ‘Rabbit me! Look at that! I believe she’s got it!’ exclaimed the Duke, utterly astonished.

  ‘Why – I do believe she has!’ cried Mr Nash, equally startled.

  ‘Try it again,’ said Hoby quietly. And he picked up the fork and handed it back, settling my hands on the two prongs, as before.

  I do not know if his hands were trembling this time. Mine certainly were.

  ‘Go back to where you were before, and walk from that spot.’

  So I walked the same track again, and the stick behaved in the same way, violently wriggling, twisting itself out of my grasp.

  ‘Well, well!’ cried Mr Nash. ‘It seems as if Miss has the gift, Your Grace. Bless me! You need never trouble to hire us professionals again, you have the talent residing here in your own household! – Now you make an essay, Robert; see if the rod agrees in your hands with what Miss has told us.’

  I was trembling, almost sobbing.

  ‘Why, my dear, sure you are not cold?’ said the Duke. He patted my shoulder, wiped my eyes solicitously with his own kerchief. ‘There, there! It was just the surprise! Who would have dreamed that you have such a talent? Though indeed, my love, you possess such a multiplicity of parts, I am sure it is not to be wondered at.’

  While he thus soothed me, he kept his gaze on Hoby who, walking over the same course that I had taken, secured the same result; the stick sprang from his hands and bounced on the turf.

  ‘So! So! Now Miss can have her water-garden as wet as she pleases,’ said Mr Nash. ‘That is, of course, if your Grace don’t mind carving up your bowling-green!’

  ‘Miss knows she can have whatever she wants,’ said the Duke. ‘Lilies and kingcups and dab-chicks all over the grass, if that is the way her fancy takes her.’

  ‘Th-thank you, sir,’ said I, half laughing, half crying. ‘You are by far too good to me. I must go into the house, I believe – I believe that stick has given me the head-ache!’

  ‘It was the shock to her,’ I heard the Duke saying, as I ran away from them, feeling Hoby’s grave eyes still on me. ‘Normally, Lizzie never has the head-ache!’

  ***

  That evening, their last, the Duke invited a few neighbours to dinner to meet Mr Nash and his assistant. The Bishop and his wife were of the number, also Lord Giles Trevelyan, the Lord Lieutenant, and his lady. Pleading my head-ache, I asked if I might be excused from the meal.

  The Duke, of course, excused me – he was never exigent; but later a message was sent, asking if I felt recovered enough to sing to the company. I did not wish to be churlish, so put on an evening gown, went down to the music room and entertained the guests with airs by Handel, Arne and Bononcini. The Duke bustled about, fondly and kindly, supplying me with wine and asking if I were entirely recovered. I answered yes; (in fact the head-ache had been nothing but a diplomatic evasion).

  Afterwards – as the air was exceedingly balmy and the moon shone bright – the guests all wandered out on to the terrace.

  ‘Ay, Mr Hobart, that’s right, you take Miss out for a breath of air,’ said the Duke, who was obliged to escort the Bishop’s lady. ‘It will be sure to do her good.’

  So Hoby took me out. We went farther afield than the other guests, into the cherry orchard, which was shedding a snowfall of white blossoms.

  ‘How can you bear it?’ said Hoby violently. ‘How can you bear your position here? A plaything – a toy – permitted to converse with none other than Cumbria – or such others only as he sees fit – as if you were a sultan’s woman in a zenana – indeed, I see no difference! You – who were used to be such a wild, free girl, Liza – what makes you remain at Zoyland for a single day? You are not a pauper, after all – you have resources – you have your voice – you could, I dare say, find work of some kind on the stage –’

  ‘I am gr
eatly obliged to you!’ I returned, shaking with anger. ‘I may tell you that last time we were in London I had an offer from an operatic management – yes! – from the management of Covent Garden Opera House – of three thousand pounds and a benefit performance, if I would sing for them for a season.’

  ‘Then why in the world did you not take it? Are you mad?’

  ‘The Duke was not at all well at the time – he would have hated it – it would have seemed so dastardly ungrateful to him –’

  ‘Ungrateful? For heaven’s sake, Liza! He has completely devoured your life – wholly demolished your good name –’

  Conveniently, Hoby chose to forget that on our previous encounter, before I had even met the Duke, he had told me that my good name was already destroyed beyond recall after the incident with the Bath Beaux, not to mention my impudent and vulgar song recital in Mrs Widdence’s showroom.

  I pointed this out to him. ‘And he didn’t care about that! The Duke didn’t! He took me in – cared for me – had me educated – instructed me in the ways of polite society –’

  ‘To what end? If you are never to enter society? You might as well be a leper – untouchable –’

  ‘But he is good to me, Hoby! He has been so kind. Everything within his power he has done for me – even to this water-garden. You just went off – ’

  Suddenly it was all too much for me: the thought of the kind, considerate, affectionate old man, still in his heart sorrowing for my mother, but solicitous to provide me with any indulgence that lay within his power. And this thought merged, in my mind, with recollections of all the other unappeased longing there was in the world – Willoughby’s for Marianne, hers for him, my mother’s lines to her lost love, Mrs Jebb calling out to her long-dead husband, who had spent eight months in jail for her sake.

  ‘Oh, what is the purpose of it all? Oh, where will it all end?’ I muttered, and, stumbling to a stone bench that stood by a great thickset hedge at the end of the orchard, I dropped down wearily upon it and hid my face in my hands.