by Stella Riley
‘You knew she was my mother, didn’t you? You knew it all along. So why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me come here not knowing?’
Frowning slightly, Sophia smoothed back Venetia’s hair and reached again for the lavender water. She said carefully, ‘I tried to tell you as you were leaving – but it’s not an easy thing to blurt out in a hurry. Perhaps I should have approached the subject months ago … but I was afraid it might do more harm than good. You never mentioned your mother, you see. And I could quite easily have been wrong.’
Gabriel turned slowly. ‘But you weren’t.’
‘No.’ She hesitated and met his eyes. ‘I was too young to see Susannah often or know her well – and Robert never spoke of her. But she had the kind of face one always remembered and, at the age of five, you looked just like her. As, in a way, you still do.’
He frowned as if trying to make sense of it. Then he said abruptly, ‘If that’s really all you had to go on, I suppose I’d better acquit you. But I’d be grateful if you’d inform the Dowager Countess that I’m by no means ready to discuss this with her. Nor, quite possibly, will I ever be. But that shouldn’t be any hardship. We’ve been strangers for thirty-five years, after all … so why change it now?’
Sophia’s gaze grew unusually direct.
‘Because of the way you found out. You have to come to terms with what happened last night so you can put it behind you. And Susannah is the only one who can help you do it – because she is suffering, too.’
There was another long silence; but eventually Gabriel said indifferently, ‘You may be right. I don’t know. But while Venetia lies there fighting for her life, you’ll have to pardon me if I say I really don’t give a tinker’s curse.’
*
Dawn became day and the hours dragged by on leaden feet. The Dowager reappeared with a different potion for Venetia to swallow and Sophia bullied Gabriel into eating some bread and meat before taking herself off to lie down for an hour. Shortly after eight, Jack returned with Annis and Bryony in tow. The women conferred anxiously together and banished Gabriel to the other side of the bedroom door while they bathed Venetia from head to foot with cool cloths and changed the bed-linen, before dressing her in a clean night-rail. Then Annis managed to get her to take a few spoons of water infused with Peruvian bark, followed by a remedy which she said had been a help when she herself had miscarried.
Downstairs, meanwhile, Major Maxwell had arrived in response to Mr Morrell’s note.
He said, ‘Two corpses?’
‘So Gabriel said. One must be Lady Gillingham – but I’ve no idea about the other.’ Jack paused uneasily. ‘I also don’t know … how either of them died.’
‘Christ,’ muttered Eden. ‘We’d better go and find out, then.’
Taking the Dowager’s coach, they set off for the Axe Yard. Of Margery Harris, there was no sign and, being ignorant of her existence, they did not bother looking for her. But the bodies of Harris and Isabel still lay where Gabriel had left them … and the obvious conclusions were not hard to draw. Barring a few small adjustments, Jack and Eden left the first where it was and carried the other back to the piazza, wrapped in a blanket. Then Eden went off to report a possible suicide to the appropriate authorities.
While Susannah dealt with the curiosity of her servants and left Isabel’s body to be prepared for burial, Gabriel remained all day at Venetia’s side, talking himself hoarse out of the conviction that, sooner or later, she would hear him. And finally, just when the fever seemed to be at its peak and he was beginning to lose all hope, he found himself repeating the same words, over and over.
‘Come back, Venetia. Come back to me, love. Please. Please come back.’
It was hours later that he finally saw the first small signs of change. For perhaps a minute he sat very still, struggling to breathe. Then, too physically and mentally drained to retain any kind of self-control, he dropped his face in his arms and surrendered to the deluge that had been threatening to overtake him for hours. Silent, racking sobs tore his chest as relief drove out fear and he began to understand that she wasn’t going to die.
A short time later, Sophia entered the room and immediately saw what he had seen; the first, tiny beads of moisture which said that the fever had broken at last. By then, Venetia was sleeping peacefully – as was Gabriel. Sophia took a few minutes to master her own relief. Then she brushed the tears from her eyes and went down to tell the others.
Gabriel slept for about an hour and awoke to find Annis sitting quietly by the hearth. His eyes felt swollen and gritty and his throat ached. He said, ‘Did I imagine it? She is going to be all right, isn’t she?’
‘Absolutely,’ replied Annis calmly, rising to bring him watered wine from the jug at her side. ‘See for yourself. The fever’s broken and her colour is returning to normal.’
‘Thank God!’ He pressed the heels of his hands over his bloodshot eyes. ‘Thank God. Does Sophy know?’
‘Everyone knows – but they’ll stay away till you call. Meanwhile, there’s a draught on the table for Venetia when she wakes – and a slice of beef and oyster pie for yourself.’ Annis smiled suddenly. ‘There is also water and a razor, which I suggest you use if you want your wife to recognise you.’ Then she was gone.
He shaved, drank the wine and managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of food. Then, feeling marginally better, he settled down to wait; and some two hours later, Venetia stirred and slowly opened her eyes.
‘Welcome back,’ said Gabriel, managing a smile even though his voice wasn’t quite steady.
A faint quiver of response touched her mouth and then was gone. Recollection awoke and the violet eyes stared back at him, stricken with voiceless anguish, until finally she whispered, ‘It … wasn’t a dream, was it?’
‘No. It wasn’t.’ Just a vile nightmare straight from hell.
‘The baby … is it … did I …?’ She stopped, plainly unable to say it.
A knife twisted inside his chest and his fingers tightened on hers.
‘Yes, sweetheart. I’m afraid so.’
Tears drowned her eyes, gathered on her lashes and spilled down her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. If – if I’d done as you asked, everything would still – would still —’ she stopped and, turning her face into the pillow, gave way to helpless tearing sobs.
Gabriel gathered her into his arms and held her close, stroking her hair. Then, when the sobs grew quieter and he was sure of keeping his own voice level, he said, ‘Darling, don’t. It wasn’t your fault. You mustn’t ever think that. You couldn’t have known what Isabel would do. No one could. The woman was clearly insane. And there’s a great deal more to this than I suspect you can remember. I’m not suggesting that it can … that it makes what has happened any easier. Nothing could do that. But, knowing it all, may help just a little … in one way, at least.’
Venetia drew a long, shuddering breath. ‘Tell me.’
‘When you’re stronger.’ He reached for the potion Annis had left and, twining his hands in her hair, gently tilted her head back so he could look at her. ‘Drink this.’
Ignoring the cup, she stared into his face and saw her own devastation mirrored over and over. Then, because there were no words for what she felt, she did as he asked and drank.
Gabriel set the cup down and gathered her back against his shoulder. For a time, she seemed to doze and then she said shakily, ‘Tell me what happened. All I remember is the pain … and Isabel smiling … and dreaming you were there. But nothing made sense. It – it still doesn’t. And if you talk to me, I may manage not to think until – until I can bear it better’
Gabriel wasn’t sure he was ready for this – or, more importantly, capable of it. But because Venetia needed him and because one had to start somewhere, he summoned what resources he had left and used them as well as he could.
Keeping his tone utterly matter-of-fact and his arms close about her, he told her everything – from the mom
ent of his release from the Tower to Sophia’s meeting with the Dowager. And, at the end of it all, he said lightly, ‘So there you have it. This whole vicious mess has been brought about by … by an accident of birth and a mad woman. And though it’s hard, as yet, to find any satisfaction in the fact, we can at least be assured that it’s over.’
Venetia shifted slightly so that she could look up at him.
‘And … and your mother?’
For the first time, the grey gaze grew shuttered and opaque.
‘Sufficient unto the day,’ said Gabriel. ‘But if anyone expects me to fall on her neck, they’ll be disappointed.’
~ ~ ~
SEVEN
While Venetia slowly recovered her strength amidst a constant procession of visitors and tried to conceal the fact that the baby’s loss remained like a festering wound on her soul, Gabriel formally resigned his commission and continued treating the Dowager as if she was nothing more than his temporary hostess. Sophia anxiously watched all three of them, waiting for the first fissures to appear … and was extremely relieved when Isabel Molyneux’s body left Covent Garden for discreet burial.
Outside the piazza, the first week of February passed in bitter cold and sullen bewilderment as ordinary men and women struggled to come to terms with the enormity of what had been done at Whitehall on January 30th. And, far away across the Tweed, the Scots demonstrated both their anger and their intent by promptly proclaiming King Charles II.
On February 6th, the Commons resolved to abolish the House of Lords and Venetia exchanged her bed for a chair by the hearth; on the 7th, the monarchy went the same way as the peers and Gabriel started making plans for returning to Brandon Lacey; and on the 8th, King Charles the Martyr was laid to rest at Windsor … and, with a little help from Sophia, the Dowager managed to isolate the frigidly courteous man who was her son.
Without giving him time to either speak or leave the room, she said baldly, ‘We have to talk.’
‘We?’ asked Gabriel aridly. ‘Speaking for myself, I can’t think of anything I wish to say.’
‘But you’ll listen?’
He shrugged. ‘If I must. But only up to a point.’
The warning was clear. Nodding her acceptance of it, Susannah sat down facing him and clasped her hands tightly together in her lap.
‘I don’t know how much Robert told you … but I think you ought to be aware that you were not the – the consequence of a tawdry little affair. We loved each other very much. Had it been possible, we would have married; since it wasn’t, we took what happiness we could.
Gabriel surveyed her over folded arms.
‘And where did your husband fit into this? Or is that a silly question?’
She flushed slightly but did not look away.
‘My marriage to Gervase was an alliance of money and land. When he wasn’t at Court amusing the late King’s father, he was discovering every vice known to Europe and inventing a few new ones. That is not an excuse. The truth is that it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d been a paragon of virtue. One can’t love to order. And I loved Robert from the day we met. I still do.’
‘And is that supposed to make everything all right?’
‘No. Just to help you understand.’ She stared down at her hands for a moment and then said, ‘I know from Robert’s last letter how your marriage came about. So imagine for a moment that Venetia had married Ellis and then you had met and fallen in love. Could you have walked away from her?’
‘Probably not,’ came the cool reply. ‘But that’s not the point at issue, is it? Surely the point is whether, in similar circumstances, I’d permit Venetia to give birth to my child in secret and then send it to be fostered so that she and I could go on as if nothing had happened. And the answer to that, of course, is that I wouldn’t.’
There was a long, suffocating silence before Susannah said haltingly, ‘You have every right to be bitter. But —’
‘It’s generous of you to recognise it. Do I also have every right to ask why – despite both your undying passion and your pregnancy – you and Sir Robert didn’t run away together? Or why, having chosen respectability rather than love, the pair of you decided that it was enough to inform me of one half of my parentage but not the other?’
Her voice tight with strain, Susannah said, ‘We didn’t run away together because of Robert’s scruples about condemning me to social leprosy in this life and hell in the hereafter. It may not sound much – but it’s the way it was. As for our decision not to tell you, it was less to do with you yourself than the fact that, if you knew, the Morrells would know too. And if either my family or that of my husband ever discovered the truth, Robert’s life would not have been worth a groat – nor, quite possibly, yours either.’
Gabriel’s face remained utterly impervious.
‘You’re asking me to believe it was for my own good? Very well. I’ll try. But where is all this supposed to lead? Absolution?’
‘No,’ she sighed. ‘No. That’s too much to expect. But if you think we took the easy way out or that a day ever went by when I didn’t think of you, you’re wrong. And Robert … well, Robert faced other difficulties altogether. So don’t think we didn’t care. We did. And despite all appearances to the contrary, we believed that we were doing our best.’
‘Perhaps you did. And perhaps, at the time, you were. But it hasn’t worked out very well, has it? Oh – don’t run away with the notion that my life has been blighted by your absence from it. As a child, I wondered from time to time … as any child would. But the Morrells treated me as one of their own and Jack is as much my brother as if we shared the same blood. So in that sense, you did me no harm.’ He paused and then added, ‘However, if I’d known the facts, it’s just possible that the catalogue of disasters which culminated in the Axe Yard might never have happened. And my child and my oldest friend might still be alive.’
A shiver passed over the still face.
‘I know. And you can’t possibly blame me any more than I blame myself.’
Gabriel opened his mouth to tell her not to be too sure … and then, without warning, recognised the inherent injustice of it.
She couldn’t have known where her long silence would ultimately lead – any more than he could be sure things would have been different if she’d broken it. Neither, as he’d just told her, could he blame her for in any sense ruining his life. At the age of fifteen, he’d told himself that a man shaped his own destiny; that he didn’t need to know who he was – only who he wished to become. And he’d spent the last twenty years proving it to be true. Consequently, there was no reason why discovery should prove any more destructive than ignorance. It was simply a matter, as Sophia had said, of facing up to it in order to put it aside.
Drawing a steadying breath, he said slowly, ‘I’m sorry. For obvious reasons, I’m not coping with this as well as I might … and my last remark was less than fair. You couldn’t have known what Isabel would do. And there is no guarantee that matters would have worked out any differently even if I’d known of - of our relationship. So don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.’
For perhaps half a minute the dark eyes, so like his own, stared frozenly back at him. Then Susannah said faintly, ‘You are … generous.’
‘Not especially. I’m just trying to regain my sense of proportion. And I don’t suppose the situation is any easier for you than it is for me.’
‘No. But I had an advantage. I knew who you were. And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for allowing you to find out in such a way.’
‘I could have done without it,’ agreed Gabriel, with a brief flash of mordant humour. ‘But what’s done is done – and we are left with certain basic facts. You are my mother; but, in every sense that matters, we are strangers. And for the sake of your son, the Earl, it might be best to leave it that way.’
Susannah said carefully, ‘Is that what you want?’
‘I don’t know. Suddenly acquiring a mother at the advanced age
of thirty-five takes a little getting used to; and, as yet, the best I can manage is acceptance. I’m sorry if that sounds hard. But right now, I’m primarily concerned with Venetia’s well-being – which is why I want to take her home so we can put all this behind us and begin our lives afresh.’
‘I see. When will you leave?’
‘As soon as she’s fit enough to make the journey.’
It was both natural and reasonable but she wasn’t ready to lose him again completely. She said, ‘I won’t ask if we’ll meet again. But if … if I were to write to you sometimes, might you reply?’
There was a long pause and then, for the first time, Gabriel smiled at her, the charm of it taking her unawares.
‘Why not? It’s probably as good a beginning as any.’
*
On February 10th, the Justiciary swung into action again for the trials of the Duke of Hamilton and Lords Norwich, Capel and Holland. And four days later – in spite of Bryony’s pleas that they stay to attend her wedding at the end of the month - Gabriel, Venetia and Sophia left London for Brandon Lacey.
The journey took twice as long as it should have done and was the worst that any of them could remember. Snow clogged the roads in various places, alternately slowing their progress or halting it completely and forcing Gabriel to expend a good deal of energy wielding a shovel. Sophia’s joints protested vigorously against the cold; and, although largely physically recovered, Venetia’s spirit remained locked in some ice-bound retreat where not even Gabriel could reach it.
In the carriage with Sophia and Jane or over supper at the various inns where they halted each evening, she rarely spoke … and, when she did, it was usually to make some brief, flippant remark accompanied by a smile that never reached her eyes. And at night, though at first she let him hold her in steady, passionless arms while he waited for her to share her grief with him, he felt her gradually retreating … her body stiff with tension if he touched her, then curling on her side, away from him and feigning sleep. He tried telling himself that it was natural she should tire easily but he knew that wasn’t all. And so, after a few nights of it, he took to staying downstairs long after she had retired in order to make it easier on both of them.