‘Let us talk no more tonight,’ I said. ‘In the morning I shall show you a letter I have had from a Dr Rose at Bristol, and if you agree he sounds like the very person for John then we can send for him to come and see John here.’
Celia got obediently to her feet. She looked tremendously relieved. I had stripped her of her power by using my wits and by exploiting her own trusting nature. She was free again to be the loving wife and the pet of the household. She went lightly to the door and whispered, ‘Goodnight, God bless you,’ and then left me. I smiled at the embers of the logs and sat before the fire with my feet on the fender. Celia had caused me some alarm, but I had her back in my hand now. I rang the bell for my maid, Lucy.
‘Fetch me a glass of port from the hamper that was delivered from Chichester, please,’ I said to her. ‘And take the bottle into Mr MacAndrew’s bedroom.’
Afterwards I wanned my toes, and sipped my glass until I was called to supper. I read in the parlour until the clocks chimed midnight and, at the witching hour, I went to my bed and slept.
*
It was a busy week for me. I replied to Dr Rose and asked him and his partner to come and see John, and, if they thought him likely to respond to treatment, to take him back in their carriage. Left to me, John could have gone into a public hospital for the insane where the lunatics wallowed in their own filth and jabbered like monkeys in corners. But Dr Rose’s place was quite different. He had a small manor house outside Bristol and took only half-a-dozen patients. His method was slowly to reduce their alcohol, or drugs, until they were able to face the day with only very small amounts. In some cases they learned to do without their laundanum, opium or alcohol altogether, and could return to their friends and families completely cured.
As soon as that letter had gone off I received one from the London lawyers, who were ready to take steps to buy the entail if I thought the capital to compensate Charles Lacey would be forthcoming. My married name, MacAndrew, inspired a good deal of respect in the City and the letter was positively servile. But they would not be doing their job if they had not cautioned me that the cost of buying the entail was likely to be as much as £200,000. I nibbled the end of my pen and smiled at that. A week ago and I would have been in despair, but now, I thought, with sweet Celia’s help, I might be able to find that sum within the month. So I wrote them a guarded reply and told them to open negotiations with Charles and to keep the price as low as possible.
The second letter I had was from a London merchant who had been approached by our solicitors about a possible mortgage to raise the capital we would need to pay the legal fees. The MacAndrew fortune would stretch only so far, and we would have to mortgage some of Wideacre’s lovely land to take the whole of the estate for my son. If the figures I had calculated were right, I should be able to pay off the mortgage before Richard was even twenty-one. With extra corn grown on the common, extra rents paid, and bad debts called in, Wideacre could nearly double its profits. But it would be a hard winter for the people if we did all that. The merchant, Mr Llewellyn, offered to drive down to Wideacre to see the land for himself, and I sent him a civil invitation to come within the week.
And then I tired of my office and the four walls around me and slipped upstairs to Richard’s nursery where he was in the middle of his breakfast.
There is nothing, nothing in the world messier than a young child learning to feed himself. And, providing you do not have to touch him yourself, no sight more endearing. Richard grabbed unsteadily at his cup of milk and splashed at his face, getting some, accidentally I think, in his mouth. His little fist closed on a slice of bread and butter and he ate from his own hand like a little savage. His buttery, milky, stained face beamed at me through a mask of food and I beamed back.
‘Isn’t he growing!’ I said to Nurse.
‘Indeed, yes,’ she said, hovering with a wet cloth waiting for Richard to conclude this feast of the senses. ‘And so strong and so clever too!’
‘Dress him warmly,’ I said. ‘I shall take him out driving in the new trap I bought. You will come too.’
‘There!’ she said to Richard approvingly. ‘Won’t that be a treat!’
She wiped him clean and lifted him from the chair to take him through’ to his bedroom. I heard his protesting wails as she stripped and cleaned him, and I stood, idle, by the nursery fire smiling at the noise. He has a good pair of lungs, my son Richard, and a will as strong as my own. When they came out together he was dressed as I had ordered, but his hapless nurse looked ruffled and cross.
‘Mama!’ he said, and scrambled across the room in a little rolling crawl to my feet. My skirts billowed as I plumped down beside him on the floor and lifted him to my face. His gentle little hand patted my cheek and his deep blue eyes were fixed on mine with the unswerving love that only very small well-loved children give. I buried my face in his neck and kissed him hard, and then I play-bit his little bulging tummy, so full of bread and milk, and tickled his warm well-covered ribs until he gurgled and whooped for mercy.
While Nurse found her bonnet and shawl and an extra blanket for him, I romped and played with him like a child myself. I hid behind the armchair and popped out at him to his uproarious delight. I hid his moppet behind me and let him find her. I tumbled him over and rolled him on the floor, then I tossed him up to the ceiling and pretended to drop him in a great giggly swoop down to the floor.
Then I caught him up to me and carried him down the west-wing stairs out through the side entrance to the stable yard. John was just coming in and he froze to see me, my child on my hip, my face flushed with love and laughter. I handed Richard to Nurse, who took him on out to see the horses.
‘Thank you for your present of last night,’ said John. His face was sickly white. He looked as if he had drunk deep.
‘You are welcome,’ I said icily. ‘You can be sure that I will always keep you supplied with whatever you need.’
His mouth trembled. ‘Beatrice, for pity’s sake don’t…’ he said. ‘It is an awful thing to do to a man. I have seen better men than I end up as puking puppies in the street through drinking continually to excess. Celia thinks she can cure me; she says you all three agreed there should be no drink left in the house. Please don’t send me bottles like that.’
I shrugged. ‘If you do not want them, don’t drink them,’ I said. ‘I cannot make the whole of Sussex dry for you. There will always be drink around, perhaps one or another servant will always bring you a glass. I cannot help that.’
‘You can help it, Beatrice, for you order it,’ he said with an invalid’s sudden nervous energy. ‘Your word is the law at Wideacre. If you had a mind to save me you could ban drink from the whole estate and no one would disobey you.’
I smiled slowly into his red-rimmed eyes.
‘That’s true,’ I said, my face as sweet as a May morning. ‘But I will never ban drink from where you are, because I am content to see you destroy yourself. There will be no peace for you while I am here. And every time you open a drawer, or reach underneath your bed, or open a cupboard, there will be a bottle waiting. And nothing you do, or Celia does, can prevent that.’
‘I will tell Celia,’ he said desperately. ‘I will tell her you are determined to destroy me.’
‘Tell Celia!’ I laughed, a hard scornful laugh. ‘Run to Celia and tell her. I shall say I have not even seen you today, that you are dreaming. That I sent no port to you, that the cellar doors are still locked, which they are. Tell anyone whatever you like,’ I said triumphantly. ‘Nothing will save you from drink while you are on my land.’
I swept past him, my step as light and carefree as a girl’s and I caught my son up from his nurse. John heard Richard crow with laughter to be in my arms again, and then heard my sharp order to the grooms to hold the horse steady while I climbed into the trap with the precious burden.
As I took the reins in my gloved hands and clicked to the horse I glanced back at the door. John was standing where I had left him, his fa
ce greeny-white, his shoulders slumped in despair. Somewhere, lost in the back of my mind, was a sharp pain to see him so defeated, so driven. But I remembered his attack on me, his affection for Celia, and jealousy, fear, my own driving will, kept me hard. I know no half-measures. I had loved this man most truly; now I hated and feared him. I clicked to the horse and we drove out past him, into the bright sunshine of a Wideacre winter day.
I had him on the run, my husband. He spoke privately with Celia some time while I was out on my drive, and when I came home I noticed her face at the window of the parlour. As I expected, Stride came out to the stable yard with a message from her. He waited while I held Richard up to stroke the horse’s nose, and while I fed it a handful of corn from my pocket; then he told me Lady Lacey would like to see me at once, if it was convenient. I nodded, gave Richard a good hard hug, and told him to eat up all his dinner and went with a quick step to the parlour.
Celia was sewing in the window seat and her face was pale and tired again.
‘Good afternoon,’ I said blithely. ‘I have come straight to you smelling of horse and must be quick, for I have to change.’
Celia nodded with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
‘Have you seen John today, Beatrice?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I said lightly. ‘I passed him on the stairs this morning but we did not speak.’
Her look was suddenly intent. ‘You said nothing to each other?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I said casually. ‘I had Richard with me, and John looked ill. I did not want him upsetting the child.’
Celia’s face was aghast. ‘Beatrice, I am so afraid!’ she exclaimed. I turned to her in surprise.
‘Celia, what is it?’ I asked, full of concern. ‘What has happened?’
‘It is John,’ she said, nearly in tears. ‘I think he is delirious with drink.’
I feigned shock, and sat beside her on the window seat, taking her embroidery from her still hands.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘What is happening?’
Celia gave a muffled sob and dipped her face into her hands. ‘John came to me just after breakfast,’ she said. ‘He looked dreadful and he talked wildly. He said you were a witch, Beatrice. That you were a woman possessed by the land. He said that you had killed for the land. That you were trying to kill him. That you had promised that everywhere he went there would be drink until he was dead from it. And when I told him that he was dreaming, he looked at me wildly and said, “You too! She has captured you too!” and he dashed from the room.’
I put my arm around her and Celia leaned her soft pliant body against me and wept into my shoulder.
‘There, there,’ I said. ‘Don’t cry so, Celia. It sounds so very bad, but I am sure we can cure John in the end. It sounds indeed as if he is half crazed, but we can help him.’
Celia shuddered with a sob and was still.
‘He talks as if it were all your fault,’ she whispered. ‘He talks as if you were a monster. He calls you a witch, Beatrice.’
‘It is often the way,’ I said steadily, sadly. ‘Men who drink so much often turn against the very people they love most in the world. It is part of the madness, I think.’
Celia nodded, and straightened up, drying her eyes.
‘He had a drink last night,’ she said sadly. ‘I was not able to prevent that. He told me it simply appeared in his room. He said you had cursed him with drink every time he reaches out a hand.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose he would blame me for everything. He loves me still in his heart. That is why he has turned against me now.’
Celia looked at me wonderingly. ‘You are so calm,’ she said.
‘He seems to me to be going mad, and yet you are so calm, Beatrice.’
I raised my head and looked at her tired face with eyes that were filled with tears. ‘I have had much sorrow in my life, Celia,’ I said sadly. ‘I lost my papa when I was only fifteen, and my mama just after my nineteenth birthday. Now I fear my husband is going mad with drink. I weep inside, Celia. But I have learned to be brave while there is work, and plans to be made.’
Celia nodded respectfully.
‘You are braver and stronger than I,’ she said. ‘For I have been in tears all morning ever since I saw John. I simply do not know what we can do.’
I nodded. ‘The problem is too great for us to try to handle alone,’ I said. ‘He must go to some specialist who will be able to care for him properly. Dr Rose should come this week with his partner and they could take John back to Bristol with them.’
Celia’s face lightened with hope.
‘But would he go?’ she asked. ‘He was talking so wildly, Beatrice, as if he trusted no one. He might refuse to go with them.’
‘If they agree to take him, agree that he needs treatment, we can force him to take treatment with them,’ I said. ‘They can sign a contract promising to house and treat him until he is well enough to come home.’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Celia. ‘I know so little about such things.’
‘Nor did I,’ I said ruefully. ‘But I have had to learn. This Dr Rose writes that if John can be persuaded to meet him and just talk with him he will be able to advise us. Do you think John would take your advice and agree to meet Dr Rose and his partner if you asked it of him? If you gave him your word it was for the best?’
Celia frowned. ‘I think so. Yes, I am sure he would,’ she said. ‘He accused you and Harry of being in some dreadful league for Wideacre, but he does not seem to doubt my affection for him. If this Dr Rose comes soon I am sure John will see him if I promise him that it is in his own interest.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Then you must keep my name out of it altogether. Just let him think that they are doctors you have found for him, and then he will trust them and talk to them, and his poor delirious mind will have some peace.’
Celia snatched at my hand and kissed it.
‘You are good, Beatrice,’ she said chokingly. ‘I think I must have been as crazy with worry as John is with drink. Of course I will do whatever you think best. I know all you are thinking of is the good of all of us. I will trust you.’
I smiled sweetly and pulled her face up so I could kiss her cheek.
‘Dear little Celia,’ I said lovingly. ‘How could you ever have doubted me?’
She clung to my hands like a drowning woman.
‘You can free us from this madness, I know,’ she whispered. ‘I have tried and tried but it only seems to become worse. But you can make it all right again, Beatrice.’
‘Yes, I can,’ I said gently. ‘Be guided by me and nothing can be as bad as this again. We can save John.’
She gave another little sob and I slid my arm around her waist. We sat quiet in the window seat warmed by the winter sun on our backs for a long peaceful time.
I left the parlour well satisfied. Celia was snared by her own faith in me, and I had made John’s accusations mere evidence of his madness. In the mire of sin that held us all and muddied every clarity, John’s solitary clear vision was incomprehensible. They could have as many afternoons as they wished drinking strong sweet tea and trying to keep John from alcohol. Drunk or sober, as soon as my name was mentioned John would sound like a madman. But during those afternoons Celia, loyally and faithfully doing my witch’s work, spoke to John of the reputation of Dr Rose, and persuaded him to meet the specialist. She did better than that; she persuaded John that the only way he could be cured of his terror of me and his addiction to drink would be in the haven of Dr Rose’s Bristol clinic. And John, drinking and sobering in a haze of nauseous remorse, haunted by bottles tucked into his bed or between his linen, terrified of the gulf that yawned before him, and seeing my witch’s smile and my cat’s eyes every night and day, promised he would go.
The day of the doctor’s visit John had kept sober. I heard him, in the bedroom next to mine, sleeplessly pacing. When he went to throw himself into bed I heard him groan as he found on the pillows a bottle of port. Then I hear
d the clatter of his boots on the west-wing stairs as he fled the house to the icy garden to escape the lure of the drink. I dozed then, and heard him come in, in the early hours of the morning. He must have been frozen. The December mornings showed a heavy frost and often in the night we had a light dusting of snow. John had walked all night, wrapped in his driving coat, tears freezing on his cheeks, in a panic of fear to be away from the house, to set dark miles between him and me. But he was still on my land.
He came home, teeth chattering with the cold, and I heard him poking the fire in his bedroom for the warmth. He kept his back to his bed, and to the warming drink that was his for the pouring. Dozing in my nest of blankets, I heard him walking, walking in the bedroom, like a ferret dipping and running along the front of its cage. Then I slept, and when my maid came with my early-morning chocolate he was quiet.
‘Where’s Mr MacAndrew?’ I asked.
‘In Miss Julia’s nursery,’ said Lucy with surprise in her voice. ‘Mrs Aliens says he went up there early this morning to get warm by the fire, and he has stayed there drinking coffee.’
I nodded and smiled. But I minded little either way. John could stay sober today or he could drink. It made no odds. He was in the grip of a nightmare and was starting to doubt the truths he had so painfully learned. Only one person in the house was safe for John: Celia. He trusted Celia. If he could not be with her, he went to be with her child: Julia. Everywhere else there might be a bottle waiting, or some new madness around the corner. But with her child he was safe. With Celia he was safe.
I dressed in my black morning gown and tied a black ribbon around my head to keep the hair back from my face. My skin glowed against the dull sheen of the gown, a cream rose, my eyes dark as pine trees with sadness. I breakfasted alone and then sat in my office. I did not have long to wait until I heard the sound of a post-chaise, and moved to the main part of the house to greet Dr Rose and his partner, Dr Hilary, in the hall. We went into the library.
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