‘Miss Hopper must have caught a chill,’ the maid said kindly.
I was grateful for her discretion. She and all the other servants had surely heard Caroline’s raised voice.
‘Is there anything I can get you, Miss Hopper?’ she asked.
Isadora didn’t respond. She rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes as if all energy had been drained from her.
The maid left and I sat on the bed, rubbing Isadora’s arm. ‘You are brave and courageous,’ I told her. ‘You are a survivor. You will survive this.’
Eventually her breathing steadied and she fell asleep. I returned to my own room and changed into a nightdress, before going back to Isadora’s room and climbing onto the bed next to her.
I did believe she was strong, but I also knew from experience the devastating effect of Caroline’s maliciousness. I stared into the darkness. How could Caroline say such terrible things to her own daughter?
I thought of Oliver with anger. Why didn’t he stand up for Isadora, for God’s sake, instead of sneaking around his home like the pathetic ghost of the man he used to be?
Sometime before dawn, I fell asleep too, curled up on top of the covers next to Isadora. I was woken by a knock on the door just as light began to peep through the curtains. I slipped off the bed to answer it.
Lucy stood there, still wearing her dinner gown from the previous evening, her hair hanging about her face in dishevelled whorls. ‘I couldn’t find you in your room,’ she said. ‘I thought you might be here.’ Her trembling voice had an edge of hysteria to it.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
Isadora stirred.
Lucy glanced at her before turning back to me. ‘I had to call Doctor Ashby last night. Caroline had a heart attack.’
Lack of sleep caused my mind to move slowly. ‘Are you sure? It’s not merely tiredness or indigestion?’
Lucy sneered at me. ‘Of course Doctor Ashby is sure. She nearly died!’
‘Mother?’ said Isadora, getting out of bed so fast she knocked over the table lamp next to it. ‘Is she going to be all right?’
Lucy ignored her. ‘She’s asking for you, Emma.’
Isadora grabbed her dressing gown and searched under the bed for her slippers. ‘We must go to her,’ she said, her voice tight with fear.
‘Doctor Ashby has given strict orders that you’re not to go near her,’ Lucy told Isadora. ‘You triggered this crisis. She was as strong as an ox yesterday.’
Whatever colour sleep had brought to Isadora’s face drained away. She swallowed and looked at her feet.
‘That’s not fair, Lucy,’ I said.
‘I have strict orders Isadora is not to come,’ she repeated.
Seeing that I couldn’t persuade her, I touched Isadora’s arm. ‘Let me go and see her first,’ I told her.
I followed Lucy to the other side of the house where Caroline’s room was located. The situation seemed unreal. My sister was the last person in the world I’d thought could suffer a heart attack. Interspersed with my apprehension about her health was the nagging suspicion that she might be faking this sudden illness to manipulate Isadora. But surely even my sister wouldn’t go that far?
Lucy knocked on the door of Caroline’s bedroom and a nurse opened it. A grey-bearded man I assumed must be Doctor Ashby was packing medicine bottles into a leather bag.
‘Mrs Hopper must have absolute rest,’ he said, turning to look at us. ‘Don’t discuss anything with her that might add to her distress.’
As soon as I caught sight of Caroline lying in bed, her complexion ashen and her hair damp with perspiration, I was ashamed of my suspicions that she might be pretending to be ill. Her eyelids fluttered as if she was drifting from wakefulness to unconsciousness then back again.
‘Oh, Caroline,’ I said, seating myself beside her and taking her hand. The icy chill of her skin shocked me. All the vitality I associated with her had vanished. With her greying hair spread out on the pillow and her lips a frightening shade of blue, she had become a frail old woman overnight. Tears welled in my eyes. The tender feelings I believed had vanished after learning of her abuse of Isadora rose in me again. ‘Caroline, please don’t upset yourself so much. Everything will be all right.’
She opened her eyes and stared at me. Her lips moved but no sound came out.
I became truly panicked then. If Caroline died, Isadora would blame herself. For my niece’s sake I had to remain calm and do everything I could to help my sister.
‘Do what Nurse Derby instructs you,’ Doctor Ashby said to Lucy. ‘I will come back in the afternoon.’ Then he added ominously, ‘Unless I am sent for sooner.’
Lucy and I sat with Caroline for an hour while she dozed. When Lucy’s own head began to nod I told her to go to her room for some rest.
‘It won’t do Caroline any good if you get sick too,’ I said. ‘I’ll send a maid if I need you.’
Later, a maid brought me a tray with tea and some eggs and bacon, but I turned her away. I had no appetite, but I was also concerned that the greasy smell might upset Caroline. When she was awake, my sister was lost in her thoughts and I didn’t want to disturb her.
Doctor Ashby returned in the afternoon, and Lucy came downstairs to join me for his verdict.
‘Mrs Hopper isn’t completely out of danger,’ he said. ‘But she is showing slight signs of improvement.’
I let out a deep sigh and thanked God.
A relieved smile came to Lucy’s face. ‘Thank you, Doctor Ashby,’ she said. ‘If you hadn’t come so quickly, we might have lost her.’
We accompanied the doctor to the front door, where the butler handed him his hat.
‘She must not have any more shocks or upsets,’ Doctor Ashby warned us before leaving. ‘The next attack could be fatal.’
We turned to go back inside and found Isadora waiting at the bottom of the staircase, her shoulders drooped and her head bowed.
‘Is Mother all right?’ she asked. ‘Can I see her now?’
Lucy regarded her with contempt. ‘You must have heard the doctor just now — she’s not to have any more shocks or upsets or the next attack could be fatal.’
Isadora looked up, blinking back tears. ‘I have some news that might raise her spirits. The Duke of Bridgewater’s footman has delivered a note informing me that the Duke is to visit us tomorrow afternoon. I assume he intends to propose.’ She faltered, before gathering strength and adding, ‘Tell Mother that I will accept his proposal. Tell her I agree to be the Duchess of Bridgewater.’
I shuddered. After witnessing Isadora’s brave attempt to carve her own destiny, her forced acquiescence now was even more crushing. It was as if I had heard gaol bars clanging shut around my niece. She was a prisoner and I was unable to free her.
TWENTY-SEVEN
We remained in London for a few weeks after the Duke’s proposal as Caroline decided that Isadora’s wedding dress would be made by the designers who created gowns for the British royal family. The Duke would be impressed by the dress no doubt, for it cost fifteen thousand American dollars. But I would have preferred that he appreciated the beautiful woman who would be wearing it.
The afternoon of Isadora’s final fitting, I broke down in tears. The dress was white silk satin with gold thread woven through so it sparkled and shimmered. It was trimmed with silk orange blossoms and finished with a silver moiré train that would require eight bridesmaids to carry it. Isadora looked beautiful, yet my tears were of grief not joy. How happy I would have been if she was marrying someone she loved and who loved her.
‘I feel like I’m split into two people,’ I told her that evening when we were alone together. ‘One who is helping your mother to entrap you; and the other who longs to set you free.’
Isadora’s eyes fastened on me. ‘You must go along with her, Aunt Emma. If I lose you, I will die.’
We returned to New York as an early spring was touching the city. The air was still frigid, but the snow had vanished and th
e gusty winter winds had transformed into soft breezes. Buds were emerging on the trees in Central Park, and the warblers, swallows and thrushes reappeared.
As soon as Caroline returned to her position as the queen of New York society, she ensured everyone was aware of her near brush with death. She sat in the drawing room each afternoon with her feet propped on a stool, ready to have a fuss made over her by the women who called.
‘Oh my Lord!’ exclaimed Bessie Graham, arriving with an enormous bouquet of lilies. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I heard it, Caroline — a heart attack!’
Caroline lowered her eyes. ‘I know. I nearly died, Bessie. I even glimpsed heaven — the angels were blowing their trumpets and Saint Peter was welcoming me through the gates. And what gates they were! Pure gold and encrusted with pearls and diamonds. But it wasn’t my time.’
If my sister ever did get to heaven, God would have a hard time holding on to his throne, I thought. Then I chastised myself. Caroline had nearly died and I shouldn’t make light of it.
Charlotte Harper arrived with a tincture of hawthorn berries. ‘This helped my sister when she had trouble with her heart,’ she told Caroline. ‘She swears it saved her life. But don’t let anybody without heart problems touch it. It can cause palpitations otherwise. Take it. You only need two drops in a glass of water.’
Charlotte went to pour Caroline some water from the crystal decanter on the table, but my sister waved her away. ‘Not now, my dear. I take all my medicines before bed. Doctor’s instructions.’
‘Very well,’ said Charlotte, putting the decanter back down.
Helen Potter arrived next. She was carrying a book and placed it on Caroline’s lap. The title read Science and Health by Mary Baker Eddy.
‘It’s a marvellous book,’ gushed Helen. ‘It says that sickness is an illusion that can be healed by prayer alone. You must read it, and follow the instructions exactly.’
Caroline opened the book and perused a few pages as if she’d been given a splendid gift. ‘I certainly will, Helen. I’ll start on it tonight.’
Later, when her guests had left and Woodford had cleared away the tea things, Caroline opened the book again and glanced at the flyleaf where Helen had written a note wishing her good health.
‘What a load of nonsense,’ she said. ‘As if prayer can heal anything.’ And she threw the book in the fire.
Witnessing my sister, with her rosy cheeks and bright eyes, receiving the adoration of her subjects made me wonder again about the truth of her heart attack. But hadn’t I seen her myself, lying in bed ill and grey in the face? Besides, although Lucy was Caroline’s best friend, I doubted she would have colluded in a fake heart attack. I shook the doubt from my mind.
I was thankful that Caroline was distracted by the constant stream of visitors, because it left Isadora free to work on her sculptures in the afternoons and soothe her mind before she had to listen to her mother’s chatter about the wedding over dinner.
Mr Gadley must have sensed Isadora’s downcast mood for he was especially gentle and encouraging of her.
‘I’ve decided that you are ready to work in bronze,’ he told her. ‘It is the perfect material for your subject.’
They chose to create a series of the animals that Isadora had sketched at the zoo. She threw herself into the work with enthusiasm, but one day her nerves got the better of her and she dropped one of the clay pieces.
Mr Gadley picked it up and remoulded it for her. ‘Don’t try to think of the whole picture at once, Miss Hopper,’ he said kindly. ‘I want you to close your eyes and imagine each piece separately. When you have a grasp of the parts, then slowly start putting them together, a piece at a time.’
Isadora’s breathing steadied and her body became still. Even the colour that so rarely visited her face these days filled her cheeks again.
‘Better?’ asked Mr Gadley.
Isadora opened her eyes. ‘Much better, thank you.’
He handed the piece back to her. ‘Sometimes, when you surrender yourself to the subject, all sorts of answers and possibilities come to mind. Life always has possibilities, and as artists we must be constantly on the lookout for them.’
Isadora smiled for the first time in a long time. I smiled too, convinced that Mr Gadley was the last decent man left on earth.
The Duke wouldn’t be arriving in New York for another fortnight, which gave me time to strengthen Isadora for the lonely life ahead of her. And perhaps for the lonely life ahead of me too, I thought, without Claude.
Rebecca came regularly to call on Isadora. She had avoided coming to the house before, but now she sensed her friend’s need. I told Caroline I was giving both the young women French lessons. In reality, I would sit in an armchair writing and let Rebecca and Isadora play cards, sketch, read to each other or whatever else they wished to do in the short time they had left together.
‘Do we really have to have that insufferable Rebecca Clark here every day?’ Caroline asked me one morning. ‘I’m sure she’s got wind that Isadora is engaged to a very important man and she’s hoping to be a bridesmaid. Not a chance! Not a dumpy girl like that. Isadora’s bridesmaids must be beautiful.’
I had long ceased to be amazed by Caroline’s cold-bloodedness, and for the past few weeks had adopted the role of a skilled diplomat negotiating a fragile peace with a volatile despot, but I had to take a deep breath before answering her this time.
‘Rebecca’s French is far superior to Isadora’s and the competition is making Isadora work harder. You do want Isadora to be above the English girls she’ll be associating with after she’s married, don’t you? You told me that you want her to outshine them in every way.’
Competition was something Caroline understood and appreciated.
‘Very well,’ she agreed. ‘But only until the Duke arrives. Then I never want to see the girl again. She has been out for a season and hasn’t received a single proposal yet. I don’t want her failure bringing down Isadora by association.’
Caroline’s preoccupation with the forthcoming wedding and the ball at which Isadora’s engagement would be announced gave me some free time. I took advantage of it to visit Florence while she was working on the mural she had been commissioned to paint for a women’s college. The institution had been set up by female philanthropists, for girls from poor families to pursue higher education.
I walked into the great hall and stopped a moment to enjoy the scene before me. Florence, wearing a smock, was standing on a ladder and adding finishing touches to the leaves of a tree. Her painting spanned the length of the wall and showed women in a lush green orchard with a backdrop of mountains and rivers. Some of the women were picking apples from the trees and handing them down to others. Scattered around the women were cats, dogs, sheep, chickens and pigs. The colour palette was blues and greens with touches of pink, and the brushwork was loose and flowing. My heart stirred joyously to see it.
‘Florence — you have nearly finished. It’s magnificent!’
‘You’re back from England!’ she cried, climbing down from the ladder to embrace me. Then she nodded towards the painting. ‘Do you like it?’
‘I do. It’s brimming with life!’
‘It’s bound to cause a scandal,’ she said with a wink. ‘The women are picking the fruit of knowledge for themselves.’
‘That’s a theme of yours,’ I said, smiling. ‘Before we left Paris I remember you telling me that for centuries men have been terrified of what might happen to women if they gain the knowledge that comes with freedom.’
Florence cleaned her brush and wiped her hands. ‘Tell me what happened with Claude,’ she said, offering me a stool to sit on while she plonked herself down, cross-legged, on the floor. ‘I went to see his exhibition and he was there with a girl, Lise.’
Tears filled my eyes. I hadn’t confided in anyone what had happened, not even Isadora or Grace. I shook my head. ‘I feel like such a fool . . .’
I didn’t want to continue, but the earn
est expression on Florence’s face had me pouring out all the pain in my heart like a great flood.
When I’d finished, she tapped her finger against her lip. ‘But, Emma, I confronted him about it and he told me that you broke things off with him.’
I stared at her, stunned. ‘That’s not true. I wrote to him constantly for weeks but received no reply at all. I wrote to his parents as well. When I saw him with Lise at the exhibition I suddenly understood why he hadn’t written back.’
‘But that doesn’t sound like Claude. I can’t believe he would treat you like that.’
‘I can’t either! That’s what’s broken my heart most of all. Perhaps if he had written I would have been upset but I’d have understood. The way I found out was humiliating.’
Florence rubbed her cheek, mulling over what I had told her. ‘No, that wasn’t a kind thing to do. Nothing is more distressing than being betrayed by someone you’ve trusted. It’s as if they’ve taken off a mask and the person you loved never existed at all. Claude probably told me that you’d broken it off so I wouldn’t give him a piece of my mind.’
Her words scorched me. If that was what Claude had done, then I hadn’t known him at all. I thought we had shared everything, even our honest opinions about marriage. But perhaps Lise had the same views of life as he did and he felt less pressure from her. That didn’t explain why he hadn’t had the decency to tell me though. I would never have believed Claude capable of such cruelty if I hadn’t experienced it myself.
On my way home, I called in on Grace. The Hunters’ usually unflappable butler, Aston, looked agitated when he greeted me at the door. A muscle was twitching in his face and he avoided meeting my eyes as he led me to the reception room.
‘I will inform Mrs Hunter that you are here, Miss Lacasse,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder as though nervous about something.
A door slammed and I glimpsed Harland rushing down the stairs into the great hall. A servant ran after him. ‘Your watch, sir,’ he called.
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