His One Woman

by Paula Marshall

  No, it was plain that Miss Marietta Hope had finished with Mr Jack Dilhorne.

  He must try to forget her—if he could.

  Chapter Ten

  Alan Dilhorne to Jack, September 1st, 1861

  I cannot tell you how pleased I was to read in your latest despatch—you really do rival Russell of The Times—of your intention to settle yourself with the charming and clever Miss Marietta, and of the successful outcome of your adventures on the battlefields of the United States. I’m delighted to learn that you resisted the lures and wiles of Miss Sophie—a proper little scorpion, that one—avoid her, Jack, avoid her. Her behaviour at the battle, and that of Marietta, was exactly what I would have expected of both of them. The South’s victory was also exactly what I would have expected at this stage of a war which I am sure the North will win—although whether we over here ought to want it to is quite another matter.

  The rest of the letter dealt with family affairs, until the Postscript at the end.

  Little brother, I have opened this before sending it, originally to tell you that they are making me a knight—Sir Alan, if you please—now that the male Hatton line has come to an end with Beverley’s untimely death. Eleanor says that it is only fitting that the owner of Temple Hatton should have a title, and then my own joyful news was darkened by the sad tidings in your last letter.

  So you have lost Marietta. I count that as a tragedy, as you must do. Her desertion of you surprises me. I had not thought that she would be so fickle, since she and her father both struck me as good and true. I can only commiserate with you and wish you better luck in the future. I live in some hope that you may yet hear from her.

  Marietta Hope’s Journal, Hentys’ Farm, Maryland, October 3rd, 1861

  I can only think that I feel the need to confide in a Journal because I have never had the time to keep one before, and I now have so much time to spare, and nothing to do in it, that my journal is almost my best friend—after Aunt Percival, of course. Besides, when I am writing about the day’s non-events I have no time to think of Jack, only about the gift he has left me—for whose birth I wait with an impatience which surprises me. It certainly surprises Aunt Percival! ‘Goodness, child,’ she told me yesterday, ‘I scarcely know you.’ The only reply I could have made would have been, I scarcely know myself. Which is nothing less than the truth. I think that Mrs Henty thinks that I am a little simple—or have been left simple by grief for my poor dead hero of a husband!

  Today I milked a goat. I think I like being mindless.

  Jack Dilhorne to Alan, November 4th, 1861

  Dear Sir Alan—what would the Patriarch have said to that?

  Despite your last kind wish I have still heard nothing further from Marietta, and I am trying to forget her, which is difficult. I am also trying to persuade the Navy Department and Ericsson to allow me to accompany the Monitor on her sea trials, and form part of her crew when she goes on her maiden voyage. I think it is important that there should be a marine engineer on her who can report at first hand to her inventor on her performance in battle.

  Wish me luck. Perhaps, if I have been unlucky in love, I might be lucky—or luckier—in war.

  Sophie Hope to Avory Grant, November 17th, 1861

  Will you be at the Norrises’ Reception on Saturday evening? I am hoping to be allowed to go. It seems to me that mourning for Uncle Jacobus’s death has gone on far too long. It isn’t as though he was a young man. No, in answer to your letter, I have no notion where Marietta has gone to, or any address to which you may write, either to her or to Aunt Percival. I hear that all the Percivals are in mourning for some backwoods cousin who was killed at Blagg’s Crossing. Really, this war is becoming too dreary for words. I shall be only too happy when it is over. I shall be sure to save a few dances for you if you are at the Norrises’.

  Jack Dilhorne to Alan, late February, 1862

  You see in me a survivor from the first sea trials of the Monitor, but only just! She really ought to be called a submersible, or a submarine, she rides so low in the water. Her most amazing feature is a gun turret which revolves so that she may fire at enemy warships from any direction without changing course—if we ever manage to sail her safely to any place where an enemy is to be found, that is. People over here are annoyed at the British for trying to break the blockade which Lincoln has ordered against the Southern ports. They feel that a war against slavery ought to be supported by a free people, not opposed.

  I have still heard nothing, nor do I now expect to, from Marietta. I have met a pretty young woman journalist, Peggy Shipton, who believes in all the things which advanced young women in the States are taught to believe. I suppose that I really ought to try to console myself for Marietta’s loss by becoming interested in her. She has already told me that if we wish to enjoy ourselves we can go to bed together, whenever I am willing to oblige her, because she believes in free love, and that marriage is an institution designed to make slaves of women. Before I met Marietta I might have taken advantage of such a splendid offer, but I am foolish enough to entertain a vague hope that we might yet meet again, a hope that grows fainter with each passing day.

  Marietta’s Journal, January 21st, 1862

  The war—and Jack—seem so far away. I dreamed about him last night. It was an odd dream and I had an even odder conversation with him. We were on a ship—or what passed for a ship—it wasn’t like any I had ever seen before. He said, ‘What do you think of it?’ I said, ‘I don’t think about much these days—only about the birth of our son.’ I’m sure that he’s a boy. Why, I don’t know. Jack said, ‘It could be a girl.’ I said, ‘What a strange thing for you to say. You don’t even know that I’m expecting your child.’ He waved a hand around the strange ship, and said, ‘I don’t understand you. This is my child.’

  And then I woke up.

  Jack Dilhorne to Alan, March 10th, 1862

  Forgive me if my writing is barely legible, but I spent yesterday taking part in my first sea battle. We set off from New York in the Monitor on March 3rd, making for Chesapeake Bay where the Merrimac, the South’s iron-clad, had been sinking our wooden ships which had no defence against it. We didn’t discover this until we arrived in the Bay, to be asked to defend those ships still afloat, to keep the Merrimac away from them and, if possible, sink her.

  We finally engaged her on Sunday, March 9th—the crew later named it Bloody Sunday. We had barely slept for the two days before the battle—keeping the Monitor afloat took all our time and strength. One day I will tell you all about it. The most surprising thing was how noisy it was. I am half-deaf today. As a civilian I was supposed to stand about and observe, but that proved impossible when I saw my friends being maimed and killed. Suffice it to say that I did what I could.

  In the middle of the battle I had the strangest experience. I have been having odd dreams about Marietta ever since Christmas. I remember that in one I was trying to show her the Monitor and she kept babbling nonsense at me which I could make nothing of. This time, when the gun turret was hit and Captain Worden was badly injured, I knelt down to comfort him, and said something encouraging, I can’t remember what. Instead of Worden, I saw Marietta. She was lying on a bed, her face distorted. Someone, I think that it was Aunt Percival, was holding her hand. She seemed to be in pain. For one mad moment I thought that it was she whom I was comforting, not Worden. I put out my hand to her—and then she was gone, and I was holding on to Worden’s instead. He had been blinded by the shot which had hit the turret. My vision of Marietta was brief, but was intensely real while it lasted.

  I write this to you in order to hold on to my sanity. I was told that strange things happen in battle, but I had not expected anything so strange as that. Suffice it that we finally drove the Merrimac off. We did not destroy her, but she was so badly wounded that she will not prey on our ships again. War is even more dreadful than I had thought. When I was helping to design the Monitor it was simply lines on paper. I never thought that what I was doing wo
uld kill and destroy—but necessity makes savages of us all. Hold on to your peace over there—we do not value it properly until we lose it.

  Marietta’s Journal, March 10th, 1862

  Aunt Percival is scolding me for writing my Journal so soon after I have given birth, but I most desperately want to record everything which happened on the day I was blessed with my beautiful baby boy, who came into the world nearly a month early. All the pain and agony, and the long dreary months of waiting, were rendered worthwhile when I first saw his dear little face and his beautiful blue eyes, so like Jack’s.

  I haven’t told Aunt Percival. She already fears for my reason, and would fear even more if I were to tell her that at the worst moment of my agony I suddenly saw Jack holding out his hand to me. ‘Hold on,’ he was saying. ‘Hold on, help is at hand.’ And then he was gone. I was only able to recognise him by his beautiful blue eyes. His face was black and his forehead was bleeding. Before I had time to wonder what in the world was happening to me, I gave one last push—and there was my baby. We are going to call him Jacobus, after my father, but he is so small I can only think of him as Cobie. Aunt Percival agrees. Jacobus is far too pompous for such a little mite. I never dreamed that I could be so happy.

  The Naval Attaché at the British Embassy in Washington reporting to Sir Alan Dilhorne, Cabinet Minister,

  March 12th, 1862

  I have to report that the latest news from Chesapeake Bay, detailing the battle of the iron-clads at Hampton Roads, is of the utmost importance to all the navies of the world, as Captain Cowper Coles prophesied that it would be. Wooden ships are obsolete and the task of rebuilding our navies to replace them must begin at once now that the Monitor and Merrimac have proved their use in battle. A little bird whispered to me that your brother Jack was present at the action, which he survived…

  Aunt Percival to her friend, Allegra Van Horn,

  March 15th, 1862

  I still have sad news of my dear niece Marietta. The shock of her father’s death continues to affect her. She is quite overwrought, and hardly seems to know what to do these days, but is content to ply her needle and spend her time reading novels, by which you will judge how greatly changed she is. To add to our woes, my cousin Henty’s girl has died having a baby boy. You may remember that she married another cousin of mine, Lieutenant Philip Percival, who was killed in that wretched skirmish at Blagg’s Crossing. I am trying to persuade Marietta that it is our duty to adopt him, particularly since his mother’s last wish was that he should be named Jacobus after the Senator. The Hentys cannot afford to bring up yet another child, having so many of their own. His christening produced the first smile on my darling’s face since her father’s death.

  Marietta’s Journal, May 5th, 1862

  Aunt Percival bullies me unmercifully these days. She says that it is time we left our Arcadian fastness and went home. I am so happy here, looking after my darling Cobie, that I have no wish to return to Washington where I must pretend that he is not mine. In my heart I know that she is right. I have agreed to leave in early June so that I may continue to feed him myself for a little longer. My uncle Hope has written me an urgent letter saying that I am needed to agree to some changes which the war has forced on us in the disposition of my father’s estate. I worry that everyone who meets me will guess that I am now a mother. Aunt Percival tells me not to talk nonsense, but I know that having Cobie has changed me very much.

  Avory Grant to Marietta Hope, June 20th, 1862

  I cannot tell you how delighted I was to meet you again last night and discover that, despite your illness after your father’s death, you have not only recovered completely but have acquired a rare beauty which leaves me more regretful than ever that you refused me all those years ago. I shall be at the Van Horns’ ball to morrow, and I hear that you will also be present. Save me a dance, no, make that dances, my dear. We must not waste any more time.

  Marietta’s Journal, August 1st, 1862

  Today Avory Grant proposed to me and I accepted him. I have finally to admit that Jack has gone for ever and that Avory is a good man and will make Cobie an excellent father. When he arrived this afternoon and begged me to agree to marry him this time, I did not immediately reply, but told him the truth about Cobie, for I could not deceive him by pretending that he is not mine. Everyone here knows him as Jacobus Percival, Aunt Percival’s ward. To my surprise he looked at me in the grave way he has these days and said, ‘My darling, I knew that he was yours that first time I visited you on your return, when he began to cry. You rushed into the other room to pick him up and the look on your face told me everything. It explained your long absence and the glory which motherhood has given you. Forget the wretch who fathered him, and betrayed you, and let me take his place in every way. He shall be Cobie Grant, a brother for my dear Susanna who already loves him.’

  Well, that is true enough, and although I do not feel for Avory what I felt for Jack, this new feeling may be a better one. We are to be married soon, for, as he says, we are neither of us getting any younger and the war may take him away now that he has recovered from his wounds. He makes me feel young again and his kindness and love for my little son is all that I could wish for. May God bless our union. Last night I dreamed of Jack for the first time since Cobie’s birth. How strange that I should have seen him that morning, on the day of the Battle of Hampton Roads in which, Ezra Butler told me yesterday, Jack took part. I must try to forget him: my future is with Avory.

  Ezra Butler to Jack Dilhorne, August 1st, 1862

  By the by, your old flame, Marietta Hope, is back in Washington, having recovered from her father’s sudden and tragic death. She is in fine form and the talk is that she may marry an old flame of hers from the distant past, Avory Grant. I believe that you met him once when you first came to the States.

  The Washington Post, August 10th, 1862

  The marriage between Captain Avory Grant, the war hero, and Miss Marietta Hope, the daughter of the late Senator Hope, was celebrated at her home yesterday. At the wishes of both of them it was attended only by the families of the pair.

  Sophie Hope to her friend, Isabelle Tranter

  of the Boston Tranters, August 12th, 1862

  Would you believe that, after all the high hopes I had of him, Avory Grant deserted me for that poor stick, Marietta, when she returned to Washington with Aunt Percival and a squalling child who was sick all over me the first time I visited them. To cap it all, he married her two days ago. Of course, I had to go to the wedding and pretend how happy I was for them. What is it that she has that neither of us possess? First she took Jack Dilhorne from me, and now Avory. Why should we, who are nearly half her age and possess twice her looks, be left on the shelf? Having written that, I have high hopes of Hunter Van Horn. He’s not bad-looking and will inherit the Van Horn fortune, which I under stand is considerable. Wish me luck!

  Jack Dilhorne to Sir Alan, August 15th, 1862

  I have recently heard that Marietta has married Avory Grant. I am not sure whether you met him when you were over here. He was a good fellow and something of a hero from his conduct in one of the War’s earlier skirmishes. She should be happy with him. I shall be leaving New York and going into the field myself to help with the Naval River War in the South. Remember the woman journalist I told you of recently? She and I finally had the affair she wanted. I proposed marriage, but she would have none of it. Unless she changes her mind it is over. My departure seems a suitable time to end it. I am growing old and wish to settle down…if I can ever find anyone to replace Marietta, that is.

  I think of her constantly. Perhaps, in the crucible of war, I shall forget her.

  Hunter Van Horn to Sophie Hope, September 2nd, 1862

  I wish to make it quite plain to you in writing that I have withdrawn my offer of marriage to you after your recent disgraceful conduct at the Winthrops’ ball. I could not ally my family and myself to a person who spoke of, and to, Avory Grant’s wife with such churlish rudeness
in a public place for all to hear. Pray do not attempt to visit me: I shall not change my mind. To spare you I am prepared to put it about that we parted by mutual agreement. Should you continue to pester me, I should not hesitate to publish the true reason for the breakdown of our engagement.

  Marietta’s Journal, November 20th, 1862

  The day we have been dreading has finally arrived. Avory has been posted as Colonel and is to accompany General Ambrose Burnside, who is the new Commander of the Army of the Potomac, with orders to drive General Robert E. Lee from Fredericksburg, on the Rappahannock River. We have been so happy together, and I had to summon up all my courage when the time came for him to leave so as not to disgrace myself breaking down. I could not help but remember that when I last saw Jack we hoped for a happy reunion in the future—and look what happened to that! Aunt Percival was her usual tower of strength, but Susanna, who is now old enough to understand that Papa may not return, was inconsolable when he had gone.

  Avory was his usual quiet and stoical self: the self I have come to admire and love. ‘I must do my duty,’ he said. ‘I am not the only man to leave a loving wife and family behind.’ Among the many things which he said to me on the night before he left was that I must distrust Sophie, for he felt that she would do me a mischief if she could. I told him that I would be careful. How odd to think that if I had accepted him all those years ago Susanna would have been my child and Cobie would not have existed. Aunt Percival was quite cross with me when I mentioned this to her. ‘Land sakes, child,’ she roared at me. ‘You have enough to trouble you without letting your imagination run riot and making yourself more!’ As usual she was right.