Louisa wanted to know what terrible thing her father might have done to so ruin her prospects, but when her mother explained in full exactly what had passed between Herbert and Lady Lanford so trivial did it seem that at first Louisa refused to believe it and, becoming almost hysterical, demanded that her mother tell her the plain unvarnished truth. Jane swore on her life that what she was telling her was the absolute truth, whereupon Louisa collapsed once again in a flood of tears, an upset induced this time by the very unfairness and hypocrisy of it all. Between her sobs she swore that she would never be married now since her family was obviously considered a national laughing stock, or if she were the most she could expect was a betrothal to some adventurer who was simply after her money and her inheritance. For that reason she would never again be fooled by love.
Jane tried to comfort her as best she could but finally her reasoning lacked conviction since she knew what her daughter was saying was true. No young man well placed in Society would contemplate marrying the daughter of someone who was the subject of such vicious rumours, and even those simply set on social advancement would think considerably more than twice before seeking permission to call on Miss Forrester. Louisa might come to a marriage financially well endowed, but even the family wealth might not prove sufficient temptation to any but the most cynical of adventurers, and as Louisa herself had just vowed she would have nothing whatsoever to do with such people.
So because of Herbert Forrester’s integrity the family name was ruined. As he now wished he’d implied to Jack Gannon and indeed as he had said to his wife, had he actually committed adultery with the infamous Daisy Lanford he would have been hailed as some sort of hero by his peers instead of being openly derided. Instead, because he loved his wife and respected the vows he had given in marriage he had resisted the temptation, paid off the tempter’s debts and returned home as he had considered at the time with his reputation unsullied. And for this Daisy Lanford had lied about what had happened, spreading the rumour that he had tried to seduce her against her will, and since people are always more ready to believe lies than the truth, particularly about those they judge to be arrivistes, Herbert stood condemned and his family were now social pariahs.
After Louisa had finally fallen into a deep sleep, aided by a draught of the sleeping potion the doctors had prescribed for her mother, Jane sat up waiting for her husband to return. It was quite out of character for him to be so late, for whenever he intended to go on to his club after dinner he always informed Jane in advance. However, given the unusual circumstances which Jane now knew must have prompted the invitation from Jack Gannon and knowing Herbert as well as she did she guessed that for once and for very good reason he might have broken his usual discipline and gone to his club to get drunk. If that was the case then she knew he would not return until morning, but even so as a good wife should she kept vigil, just in case he might return in the small hours of the morning and find himself badly in need of comfort.
As it happened she had long fallen asleep by the time the hansom cab delivering Herbert back to Abbey Close rattled up on the cobblestones outside the house at first light. The tweeny let him in as she was first up as usual, in fact cleaning out the grate of the fire in the hall when through the glass to one side of the front door she saw her master return. As she took his hat and cloak she noticed he smelt of stale cigar smoke and drink and that his usually immaculate dinner clothes were creased, but naturally she said nothing until she scuttled downstairs to the kitchens where later over breakfast she let it be known that their master had returned only half an hour earlier and in a not very proper state, and where in return Cook lugubriously informed the assembled staff that it was her considered opinion that she didn’t rightly know what was to become of them all since things had not been as they were since Lunnun.
In the meantime the house had sprung to life now that the master was back and demanding that a hot bath be drawn for him and that fresh clothes be selected and laid out in readiness. While everything was being prepared for him, Herbert stripped to his undergarments and donning a heavy dressing-gown went in search of his wife, whom he found still fast asleep. While she still slept he found the letter from Philip Gannon on the bedside table, and taking it to the window he stood and read it in the morning light which was seeping through the edge of the curtains. He knew what it must contain, but for some reason rather than diminishing his rage this knowledge increased it, so much so that as he crumpled the wretched note in his hand he suddenly gave in to his wrath by moaning long and low.
A voice called quietly from behind him as Jane awoke. For a moment Herbert stayed exactly where he was quite simply because he no longer knew what to do or say. At first when he had been drunk he had been angry, so vengefully angry that he thought himself capable of murder, then he had started feeling remorseful and sorry for himself, and now he just felt weak and utterly helpless. He knew that as soon as he responded Jane would want to know what they were to do so he delayed the moment as long as he could because he knew that he could offer no solution. Nothing beyond selling everything and emigrating to America, something which as he had finally begun to sober up on his journey home he had begun seriously to contemplate.
‘Are you all right, Herbert?’ Jane asked, as she reached for her robe from the bedside chair. ‘I tried to stay awake but I must have fallen asleep.’
‘This is a daft business,’ Herbert replied, half to himself. ‘We mustn’t let it get on top of us.’
‘What did you do? Sleep at your club?’ Jane was too busy getting herself out of bed to listen to what Herbert was saying.
Herbert stayed standing with his back to her, staring out through the chink in the curtains at the awakening street below him. ‘I said this is a daft business, Jane. I said we mustn’t let it get on top of us. I read the letter from the boy. I found it by the bed.’
‘She’s not taken it well.’
‘She’d hardly. Still – so what? He wasn’t much to write home about.’
‘And Louisa’s hardly—’ Jane was about to say Lady Lanford when she stopped herself in time. ‘Louisa’s hardly going to find it easy getting another proposal,’ she whispered instead. ‘You know your sex. They turn down what’s been turned down already for no other reason than that. Because she’s been turned down. No matter how much of a dot she has. And anyway, she loved him, poor girl, she really did. He might not be our sort, Herbert love, but our Louisa loved him.’
‘That’s being negative,’ Herbert said, without much conviction. ‘It’s times like this people have to think positive, Jane. Otherwise things can get on top of people. Any road, how is the lass?’
‘Still fast asleep, I hope,’ Jane replied. ‘And when she wakes a word from you might help matters. It certainly can’t harm them. Now I shall get myself washed and dressed and join you in the dining room.’
Herbert was halfway through his haddock and egg when he heard the commotion on the stairs. By the time he was up and at the door Jane had burst in, closely followed by her maid Sally.
‘Quickly,’ Jane said, extending a hand to grab Herbert’s. ‘Come quickly, Herbert. You must. Something terrible has happened.’
‘What is it?’ Herbert enquired anxiously as his wife hurried him from the dining room and across the hall. ‘What the devil has happened now?’
‘It’s Louisa, Herbert,’ Jane replied. ‘She can’t speak.’
ADOPTION
There was no help to be found anywhere. At first the doctors in York thought the mutism was only temporary, and just like Jane’s recent illness consequential to the receipt of a terrible shock. But as the days became weeks and then months without Louisa uttering one word the same doctors revised their opinion and began to look for other possible causes, such as a growth on the brain or in the neck or even a stroke. But these theories were not put forward with any great confidence since all the experts were of a mind that if Louisa’s condition was the result of a tumour then she would have begun gradually to e
xperience difficulties with her speech rather than being suddenly struck dumb, and while a stroke could certainly cause such a thing to happen the patient showed nothing whatsoever to indicate that this was in fact what had occurred. All her other responses, her bodily functions and her reflexes were in perfect order. She simply could not speak, that was all.
Herbert was not content with seeking opinion just in York itself, greatly though he respected and admired the doctors there. He sought not only second opinions, but third, fourth, fifth and sixth ones, but not one doctor could improve on the original diagnosis, that the mutism had been caused by trauma. According to the body of medical opinion consulted Louisa had quite literally been struck dumb.
They even tested her for fakery, in case she was pretending to be mute either to elicit sympathy or simply because the shock of her broken engagement had in some way unbalanced her mind. The doctors who suggested the trials were highly respected men in their particular field and they promised to take the greatest care that the pain inflicted on the patient in order to see whether or not she was capable of making any noise whatsoever should only be superficial. It was, they argued, a moment to kill or cure, although of course as they assured the Forresters the term kill was intended only symbolically. So with the parents’ reluctant permission and without the patient’s prior knowledge the learned doctors first stuck a sterilized needle into the cushion of one of Louisa’s thumbs, and having failed to elicit any sort of noise from the patient, her reaction being only a sharp grimace of pain, they then passed the same hand through an opening in a thick metal screen which hid a bunsen burner. This was to ensure that Louisa would have no knowledge of what was about to happen to her, thus preventing her from being able to make any advance physical preparation.
On the far side of the screen one of the doctors then lit the burner and held Louisa’s hand firmly over the flame until the flesh on the palm of her hand was scorched. But although Louisa struggled desperately for her hand to be freed, and threw back her head in her pain, not one sound came from her wide-open mouth, even though to all appearances it seemed she was screaming blue murder.
‘As we said,’ the senior physician reported after he had returned his patient to her anxious parents who had been left downstairs in the waiting room, ‘it was a kill or cure measure. And while I regret to say we have not cured your daughter, we have certainly killed any notion of possible pretence. All we may hope is that one day her speech is suddenly restored in the same sort of way that it was so suddenly removed. That alas is the only hope we can offer.’
Even worse than Louisa’s losing the power of speech was the fact that Herbert became increasingly convinced that she held him responsible. That he held himself responsible was indisputable. Had he not been flattered by Society’s most notorious woman into foolishly accepting her invitation to tea (albeit out of simple curiosity, he told himself), then his family’s social fortunes would have been set fair. But Herbert had never been a man to recriminate. As far as he was concerned what was past was past and there it lay. Life existed to be lived, and any setbacks should be forgotten. Unfortunately among such things he had not accounted for the possibility that he might lose the love of his daughter.
Since she could only communicate by the written word, or by a nod or a shake of her head in response to direct questions, naturally it was very hard to discern precisely what Louisa was feeling most of the time. At best she had never been the most communicative of souls, but now that she had been so suddenly and terribly afflicted she withdrew even further into herself. When she did communicate it was with her mother, not her father. She would write a question on her notepad and hand it specifically to Jane, and on the occasions when Jane had attempted to show the message to Herbert Louisa had snatched the sheet of paper away from her and thrown it in the fire. In order to find out exactly what she was thinking Herbert would have to ask her specific questions which as time went inexorably by Louisa finally preferred not to respond to at all. One evening in desperation her father was reduced to asking her directly whether or not she did actually blame him for what had occurred. For a moment Louisa just stared at him blankly as if she hadn’t heard, a trick she often employed when she wished to be difficult, so Herbert asked her the same question again.
‘I have to know, Louisa dear, because it is driving me half insane,’ he had said as rationally and as calmly as he could manage. ‘So please be good enough to tell me. Do you or do you not hold me to blame for what has happened?’
Louisa had picked up her notepad and then with one last look at her father had written down her answer and handed it to him.
What do you think? the message had read.
It was much worse than a yes or a no, as well Louisa had known, and despite her father’s further pleas she refused to give him any further response.
What do you think? The words ran round and round in his head more and more with each passing day, and despite Jane’s assurances that it was only natural for their daughter to blame someone, a piece of wisdom she had picked up from the doctor who was most often in attendance, a man heavily addicted to the distribution of bromides and homilies, Herbert began to think that he would go mad with the guilt. For someone who had always slept the moment his head touched the pillow, he now woke up with a start in the middle of the night, more often than not drenched in sweat and with a palpitating heart. He lost interest in his food and control of his temper at work. Whereas before he had been known as a hard but fair man, now he began to earn the reputation of being a short-tempered martinet, with the result that over the year the atmosphere at Forrester and Co’s headquarters in York changed entirely. Those working nearest Herbert were affected most, having to bear the brunt of his sudden rages and despairs, and although the business itself did not suffer financially, since the enterprise had been consolidated long before Louisa was afflicted, it was no longer the place which it had always been, a place where people worked hard but enjoyed doing so. Now, because it seemed the despot was no longer benevolent, it had become an altogether darker place.
Had it not been for Herbert Forrester’s long-suffering but totally loyal secretary James Morris it is possible that sooner or later his fortunes might well have started to founder, or worse might have happened, particularly when Herbert began to absent himself from the offices to wander deep in melancholic thought around the streets of the city.
Worried about the state of his employer’s mental health, Morris took to following him after lunch, particularly once he had discovered that all Herbert was doing was wandering the streets. A sensitive man, Morris recognized such pointless meanderings to be infinitely more dangerous than purposeful outings, such as retiring to one’s club for the afternoon to get drunk, or even visiting a house of ill repute to find solace in the arms of a prostitute. A man who roamed the streets endlessly and aimlessly did so because he was deeply unhappy, and when people became deeply unhappy Morris knew all too well what the result of such miserable excursions might be.
So it was not chance but good judgement that brought James Morris to his employer’s side as he stood atop Clifford’s Tower. Something had alerted Morris that afternoon that his employer might have arrived at some sort of decision, something in the manner of his carriage or perhaps in the determination of his stride, but whatever it was Morris had made absolutely sure not to let Forrester out of his sight come what may, following him at a safe distance through the Shambles and along Stonegate and finally up the historic Norman tower.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Morris said, as he saw his employer move suddenly towards the edge of the parapet. Forrester stopped as if he had been shot, but did not turn round. ‘Forgive me, Mr Forrester, but it is you, is it not?’ So as not to alarm him Morris slowly and carefully came to Forrester’s side. ‘Yes, I thought it was, sir. Do forgive me, but it would have seemed odd not to have addressed you, once I’d seen that it was you. Much as you would have no doubt thought it odd had you turned round and seen me standing here, and not s
aying anything to you. I didn’t mean to startle you, sir. I do hope I didn’t.’
Now that he was close to him Morris could see how pale and ill his employer looked. His normally ruddy complexion was sallow and his eyes were sunk in dark grey shadows.
‘What the devil do you want, man?’ Herbert said, not aggressively but more out of irritation, making Morris feel all the more that he had interrupted something. ‘Have you been following me or what? What are you doing away from the office at this hour?’
Morris had his excuse ready, that he had worked through his lunch hour to catch up on all the correspondence which had somehow mounted up, and when he managed to finish it within the hour he thought he would nip out and buy himself one of Stanford’s famous pies in the Shambles. Coming out of the shop in the narrow street where the upper storeys leaned so close they were within a handshake of each other, he thought he’d spied Mr Forrester hurrying back to the office, and anxious to bring him up to date with the work he’d just completed he’d tried to catch him up, only to find the man whom he thought to be his employer taking a diversion to climb the famous old tower.
‘So what decided you to follow?’ Herbert Forrester showed no signs of his recent shortness of temper, only a strange resignation, as if he felt his secretary’s surprise presence was somehow part of his fate.
‘I’d be lying if I didn’t say curiosity, Mr Forrester,’ Morris replied. ‘I thought it couldn’t be you, do you understand? Because knowing the way you work—’
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