Louisa shook her head, as though the whole story was too bizarre to be credible. ‘But your family – didn’t they meet her? Didn’t your parents advise you?’
Wearily, Robert sat down, leaning back against the sofa cushions in an attitude of utter exhaustion. ‘My mother died when I was fifteen. By the time I met Charlotte, my father was already too ill to know or care what I was about. Anyway, her family made a whole mint of excuses as to why she couldn’t travel down to Waterford to meet the Duncannons. Eventually, William and Letty — my brother and sister — travelled up to Dublin to meet her. Letty came several times. And for some peculiar, God-forsaken reason, actually liked her! There was none of this: “Oh, my goodness, you’re stealing away my favourite brother” nonsense. Not with Letty. She spent half the time before my marriage entreating me to be good to Charlotte, that poor, innocent orphan. Even now, she sees good in her, in spite of what she’s done. In fact, Christmas Day was partly Letty’s fault. She praised Charlotte so much, told me how much recovered she was – I fell into the trap of believing her.
‘No,’ he said after a moment. ‘That isn’t true. I wanted to believe her.’ He closed his eyes, and the argument with Anne came back to him: her insistence that he should accompany them to morning service, and his refusal; his burning determination to see Charlotte alone, while the house was quiet.
The thought of seeing Charlotte again, for the first time in six months, with every ear strained to catch the first obscenity, had appalled him. So he had stood at the window and watched them go, before climbing the stairs alone. ‘I exchanged a few words with Charlotte’s nurse — not the brightest of women, I must admit, but a kindly soul who loves and cares for her like a child. Even she reinforced Letty’s optimism – told me that Georgina had been visiting her mother regularly, with no apparent problems. She said Charlotte was taking an interest in herself again, which I knew she had not done for a long time – not since before Georgina’s birth. So, feeling optimistic, I asked Mrs Hanrahan to wait in the anteroom. Oh, yes, the nurse’s name is Mrs Hanrahan — you see now why your friend’s name surprised me?’
Louisa nodded, and he went on. ‘Charlotte was at her dressing-table, brushing her hair. She paid no attention to me, but I knew she’d seen me in the looking-glass. She really is very beautiful, you know — if you ever saw her, Louisa, you’d understand. And she looked…’ Sighing, he passed a hand over his eyes. ‘She was wearing a white robe. I remember thinking of our wedding, how much I had loved her then…
‘I had presents for her – a pretty dress ring, and a bottle of scent. She liked the ring,’ he said, and saw again the moment of pleasure as she ceased brushing her long, rippling hair. Delighted, he had watched her turn her hand this way and that, admiring the pretty design of seed pearls and amethysts; had been tempted, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch that beautiful hair. He had longed, just once, to convey that he cared about her.
His touch had been light, momentary, but Charlotte had whipped her head back, the glacial fire in her eyes shockingly intense. Recoiling, he had nerved himself for a more violent reaction, but, with an effort, she had controlled herself. Nervously, Robert had sought to distract her with the second present, but as he opened it, talking all the time, she had wrenched it from his grasp.
‘She had the stopper off that bottle in a second – no more. Before I had a chance to move away, out of reach, she’d flung the contents in my face.’ Involuntarily, his hands went to his eyes. The vaporous liquid had stung, blinded, suffocated him; and while his hands protected, Charlotte had found those scissors, carefully hidden, but so readily to hand.
‘I remember thinking I must stay on my feet, keep upright, out of reach. The tweed of my jacket took most of her attack. But of course, where my hands and wrists were exposed...
‘Her screams brought Mrs Hanrahan running within seconds. She rang the bell, and help came pretty quickly. I was dragged out of there with very little ceremony and, of course, when William and Anne came back, no sympathy either.’
‘Why, Robert?’
‘Well, everyone kept telling me it was my fault. They were quite right, of course, but it didn’t help. Only served to increase my self-pity, I’m afraid.’
‘I mean, why does she hate you so much?’
‘Oh, my dear, what a question! Several reasons — most of them founded in fantasy, or so eminent medical brains would have me believe. She hears voices, has intimate conversations with all kinds of people, alive and dead. If it weren’t so frightening, it might even be funny! If I recall correctly,’ he added lightly, ‘Her Majesty was always most gracious, quite a good influence on Charlotte, had it not been for her aversion to men!’ He laughed, and for the first time, seemed genuinely amused.
‘Oliver Cromwell was a little hard to accept, in spite of being a fellow-soldier. God!’ Robert suddenly exclaimed. ‘When I think of the times I’ve sat with her, listening to that stream of nonsense, wondering what to do! Cromwell came on the scene at Aldershot — his arrival persuaded me that it was time to take Charlotte back to Ireland. Her behaviour had become so bizarre, I dared not leave her alone, and the servants were beginning to gossip — and to leave. I persuaded William and Anne to have her at White Leigh, and before you credit them with great philanthropy, Louisa, let me assure you the arrangement is a legal one. Charlotte’s fortune pays their bills.
‘Joan of Arc made herself known about the time of Georgina’s birth,’ he said quietly, but did not elaborate. ‘And then Charlotte gained the ear — and the voice – of the Almighty Himself. Since then, my dear, I’ve been what you might call a marked man. Charlotte’s God, in His wisdom, has informed her that I am the Devil incarnate, the Prince of Darkness himself. Rather a back-handed compliment, don’t you think?’
Louisa shivered. ‘Don’t, Robert, don’t joke about it.’
‘My dear, I couldn’t be more serious. It’s Charlotte’s bounden duty, as she sees it, to rid the world of my evil influence.’
Coals fell into the grate. Glad of the distraction, Louisa knelt to mend the fire. She turned to look up at him, almost angered by the intensity of her feelings. Love, compassion, and a sizeable amount of jealousy provoked her to ask, ‘Do you still love her?’
He shook his head. He wanted to say that he had never loved her, but it was not the truth. Hard as it was to recall, he had loved her once, in the beginning; but the memory which lingered was that of desire, unfulfilled. The memory shamed him. ‘Love died a long time ago,’ he said with a bitter smile. He wondered when, and how, and found it impossible to pinpoint the manner of its dying. ‘I suppose I must still feel something for her. I can’t bear to think of her suffering, when I seem to have been the cause of so much of it.’
Something in the tone of his voice, the way he avoided her eyes, made Louisa study him intently. ‘She makes you feel guilty, doesn’t she, Robert? Why?’ When he shook his head, she pressed him further. ‘You may as well tell me – you’ve told me so much already.’
He frowned, searching for an adequate reply. ‘Shall we say I added fuel to the flames?’
‘In what way?’
Agitated by the question, he studied his hands, worrying the signet ring. ‘I don’t know how to answer that,’ he said eventually. ‘At least, not in a way that won’t shock you.’
‘I wasn’t born yesterday, Robert,’ she said. ‘Anyway, one more shock on top of all the rest I’ve had today won’t make a lot of difference. Go on.’
‘Well, shall we say that when I first married Charlotte, she confused me. Completely. I thought – oh, I thought all kinds of things, Louisa. Innocence in an ivory tower, that kind of nonsense. That theory held up quite well for a while,’ he said sadly, remembering the long nights of tenderness, endless words of patience in the face of torment. And the end of patience, which he could rationalize, but never really forgive.
On a shuddering breath, he said: ‘I loved her – I wanted her. But once she understood that, once she understood w
hat marriage entailed, she used it to torment me. Eventually, one night, she went too far — and I’m afraid my self-control snapped...’ His voice tailed away. ‘Do I have to say more?’ he asked quietly.
‘No.’ Embarrassed, Louisa poked at the fire, sending showers of sparks flying up the chimney. ‘But you’re not the first, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. If that were a prime cause of insanity, Robert, the inmates at Bootham Asylum would double overnight!’
‘No doubt,’ he said, but his agreement was half-hearted. ‘Still, I can’t forget. If I could have accepted the situation, simply walked out and abandoned the marriage, Charlotte might not have collapsed so totally…
‘But I don’t know,’ he added distractedly. ‘The doctors say not. They say she would have reached that point sooner or later, no matter what. But you see, Louisa, if I had accepted her rejection of me as her husband, then she would never have borne a child. It was the birth of Georgina which finally tipped her over the edge into madness. Before, she’d been unpredictable, strange. Afterwards, her behaviour became... terrifying, there’s no other word to describe it.’ He stopped again, and Louisa looked up; she saw that his hands were trembling, that tiny beads of sweat glinted across his forehead.
‘She did dreadful things to herself — indescribable things,’ he said, suddenly closing his eyes against an image of Charlotte, spread-eagled across the bed, her thighs and abdomen a mass of blood. ‘She thought she was bearing another child, tried to kill it, and in the process almost killed herself.
‘They’d taken Georgina away — fortunately. And Letty’s looked after her ever since, been a mother to her in all but name for the last three years. If ever Letty should marry,’ Robert began, and then stopped again, spreading his hands towards Louisa in a gesture of mute appeal. ‘You see how many people’s lives are affected? Can you begin to understand why I feel so responsible?’ As she nodded, he said: ‘But all that, all that’s nothing, compared to the regret I feel now.’
His eyes held hers, and she was suddenly afraid that his regret was centred on herself. Sighing, he stood up and moved towards the window, staring out at the darkening sky. ‘If I had accepted her rejection of me, Louisa, there would have been no marriage. I know now that it could have been annulled. I would have been free.’
In the silence, the ticking of the clock sounded unnaturally loud.
‘You can’t divorce her?’
‘No. In sickness and in health – remember? Charlotte is ill, and in law I am bound to care for her. As things stand,’ he continued bleakly, ‘only death — either hers or mine – can release me.’
Stunned, Louisa stared at him. Of all the things he had said, for her that was the most chilling. ‘Robert,’ she said quietly, ‘please don’t say that.’
He turned, a bitter, mocking smile on his lips. ‘But it’s true.’
‘I don’t care how true it is – you mustn’t even think it!’ Angrily, she pulled the heavy chenille curtains together. Taking his hand, she drew him back towards the warm fire. While he talked, she had kept apart from him, feeling compassion above a dozen different emotions. Knowing her mother or Bessie might enter the room at any moment, she had not expressed it. Now, afraid for him, she drew him close, trying with the force of love to stem that insidious stream of guilt. She sensed a curious imbalance in his nature, something oddly self-destructive. He would not harm his wife, of that she was sure; but he might prove too careless of himself.
‘You mustn’t see her again!’ she muttered fiercely. ‘Forget her — let her forget you. Think about yourself and your daughter. She needs you — she always will.’
Moved by the urgency in her voice, by the concern which took no account of herself, Robert held her tightly. He brushed his lips against her hair. ‘I need you so much,’ he breathed. ‘We could be happy together. I know it.’
‘You mustn’t say that,’ she whispered, and he heard the anguish in her voice.
‘Why not? It’s true.’ His fingers caressed the nape of her neck, then lifted her chin until she looked at him. ‘Don’t you want me too?’
A moan escaped her as he touched her parted lips; twisting free, she covered eyes and shook her head. ‘Don’t say such things, Robert – please.’ Trembling, she sank down into the nearest chair, her face turned away. ‘I could have loved you,’ she whispered, ‘had things been different. But even if there can be nothing more between us — and there cannot be — I need to know that you are safe. Not constantly tempting danger. Promise me that.’
Feeling a coldness round his heart, Robert slowly nodded. ‘I promise.’
There was a firm tap at the door and Bessie came in to collect the tea things. Under cover of her skirts, the curious tabby cat sidled in, and with a plaintive cry, looked up at Louisa. Glad of its protection, she gathered the sly creature into her arms, burying her face against its silky fur.
‘Mrs Elliott thought you might like something before you go, sir?’ Bessie said pointedly to Robert. ‘Another cup of tea, perhaps?’ As he shook his head, she turned to Louisa. ‘And she asked me to remind you that it’s past five, Miss Louisa.’
With tense, unsmiling acknowledgement, Robert said he was just about to leave; unable to trust her voice, Louisa said nothing at all.
Bessie’s sharp look encompassed them both. ‘Well then, don’t make yourself late. And don’t,’ she added from force of habit as she retired with the tray, ‘let that cat claw the furniture.’
As she disappeared, Robert gently removed the cat from Louisa’s arms and set it down, unprotesting, on one of the velvet sofa cushions. As it began to purr ecstatically, he knelt again beside Louisa’s chair, begging her not to turn away. He raised her hands to his lips, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
‘I didn’t want to deceive you,’ he said at last.
‘I know that,’ she whispered, ‘And I… I admire you so much for telling me.’
Wanting to say she loved him for it, Louisa embraced him with a passion which belied fine words and better intentions. For the first time she knew and understood her mother’s predicament all those years ago. It was so tempting to say: I’m yours, take me — what do consequences matter? Mary Elliott had done that; but in this case Louisa knew in advance the price to be paid; and it was far too high.
Aware of tears running freely, she eased herself away, brushing ineffectually at her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Robert,’ she said huskily, ‘I know what you’re asking, but it’s not possible. I wish it could be, but it can’t. It really can’t. Forgive me.’
‘Forgive you? For what?’ His eyes, so blue in the firelight, were brimming with emotion. Softly, he traced the outline of her mouth. ‘For your tender heart, or that lovely smile? Or maybe,’ he added, framing her face with both his hands, ‘you think I should forgive you your funny hair. Well I can’t, I’m afraid. I love it too much... ’
He kissed her hair and her face where the healing graze disfigured it; and then, very tenderly, he kissed her lips. ‘I’m going to miss you, Louisa Elliott,’ he whispered, ‘How I’m going to miss you!’
Quietly, Robert took up his hat and coat; and, without looking back, let himself out.
Fifteen
In the Minster’s great nave, the vaunting tread of soldiers’ feet disturbed a thousand echoes. A cacophony of sound, like holy souls in protest, assaulted every ear, catching the unwary, halting the faint-hearted, until each booted and spurred man of war filed into place on tiptoe. For several minutes, voices and footfalls echoed, a ghostly, murmuring resonance in the upper reaches.
Late April sun filtered through medieval glass, throwing jewelled harlequins of light across stone floors and soaring piers, rivalling the secular brilliance of scarlet and gold in the nave. Someone coughed, and the cough was repeated to muttering infinity, swallowed at last by the first tentative notes of the organ. The music swelled, filling the Minster with tangible, thrilling sound, and Robert’s tensions began to ease.
The Dean’s sonorous vo
ice broke into his reverie, welcoming them all into this house of God, reminding them that they were gathered here to pay their respects to the memory of a dead comrade, Prince Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence and Avondale, stricken in the prime of his youth, a royal victim of the scourge which throughout the winter had made mourners of almost every family in the land.
Fifteen other royal victims, bearing crowns and swords, gave witness to the transitory nature of life on earth; carved into the stone of the choir screen, they gazed blankly down on the gathered congregation. Only half-listening to the Dean, Robert’s eyes focused on Prince Francis, a couple of rows in front. It was rumoured that his sister would marry the Duke of York, and Robert found himself wondering at the nature of royal romances. Were they so very different, in the long run, from commonplace ones? Talk had it that Albert Victor had been unbalanced; if so, he thanked God that Princess May had been spared. But perhaps she had preferred the brother all along?
On his knees, Robert prayed not so much for the repose of their dead comrade’s soul, but, with a fervency which would have horrified the Dean, for Charlotte’s rapid demise, as much for her sake as his own.
Not knowing which pained him most, her absence or her presence, he thought of Louisa, finding honour small consolation for the deprivation of her company. Eight weeks since that day, and it felt like so many lifetimes. How he cursed his sense of fair play, trying to console himself with the knowledge that she would never have agreed to be his mistress. And even had he been free, it would still have been difficult for them to marry.
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