‘Like all mothers she dislikes my profligate lifestyle and wishes me to settle down, marry and produce heirs.’ He spoke in dismissive tones, as men do about their mothers. It made me recall the pressure my own had put upon me to marry at only fifteen, and how I had regretted that day ever since.
‘Would that I were a free woman,’ I said, unable to prevent my anguish spilling out.
‘You have nothing to fear, Mary, I have no wish for marriage and will never give you up.’
‘How can you resist when the pressure is so great? I know what it is to feel a responsibility to one’s family.’
Capturing my face between his hands, he gently kissed me. ‘All will be well, I promise you. Cornwallis has offered to put in a good word for me, and persuade my family to help. You won’t ever lose me, Mary. You know full well how I am mad with love for you,’ and to prove the truth of his words he took me to bed and made love to me there and then, awakening that passion between us that was never dormant for long.
Afterwards we slept contentedly entwined, only to wake and make love again. Later, gently kissing my brow, he rose from my bed and began pulling on his breeches, shirt and jacket. ‘You stay where you are, my darling, all warm and cosy, while I go and discuss terms with my creditors, and perhaps touch one or two of my friends for a loan. I’m feeling lucky tonight so I might try one more throw of the dice.’
‘No, please, no more gambling, I beg you.’ But he was already striding away, oblivious to my pleas.
After he had gone, I sank my face into my pillows and wept. How could I have been so foolish as to find myself again in the very same situation I had been in with Tommy? But I knew the answer even as I berated my own stupidity. Unlike my husband, I was madly in love with Ban Tarleton. What I had felt for Thomas Robinson had been no more than a fond affection, the prince had turned my head with his flattery and persistence, and I had mistaken the passion he’d evoked in me for love. But now I was twenty-five years old, a mature woman not a silly young girl, and with Banistre Tarleton this was the real thing. This was the man I wished to spend the rest of my life with.
Nothing changed in the weeks following although Cornwallis was apparently in touch with the Tarleton family attempting to produce a plan to resolve the situation. I, however, had other concerns on my mind, as I’d discovered that I was again in a delicate condition. I chose not to tell Ban at this stage, not until I was a little further into the pregnancy, and hopefully his financial difficulties had been resolved.
One night, not feeling well enough to accompany him, I sat at home waiting and praying he would return soon from The Cocoa Tree, but could not resist glancing at his papers as I tidied them away. And there I found a most damning letter from his mother. They say that eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves, and prying eyes no doubt suffer the same fate.
The words seemed to leap off the page as his mother condemned my influence and my lifestyle, claiming that my personal failings were poison for her beloved son. She went on to demand that he leave me and go to the Continent. In return for this sacrifice the family would settle his debts. The letter ended:
London can not, nor must not be your place of residence. It will give me real pleasure and satisfaction to hear that your connection with Mrs Robinson is at an end. Without that necessary step all my endeavours to save you from impending destruction will be ineffectual.’
Slipping the letter safely back where I had found it, I knew, in that moment, that whether or not I was carrying his child, I should give him up. I should encourage Ban to do as his mother asked, perhaps even find a young heiress to wed, one with the finances necessary to lift him forever out of his financial difficulties.
Yet I knew in my heart that I could never relinquish him. I would love him till I died, and I believed he loved me too. Some other solution must be found.
It was a sultry night in late July and I was at the opera, seated in my box, the Duc de Lauzun by my side as he was currently paying a short visit to his house on Pall Mall.
‘Wasn’t the colonel expected to join you?’ he asked, as the curtain rose upon the second act and still Ban had not appeared.
I had barely stopped looking for him from the moment we’d arrived at the theatre, yet there was still no sign and I was growing concerned, even while doing my utmost not to show it. ‘He must have been delayed for some reason. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.’
But he still had not appeared by the time the performance ended.
‘I insist upon seeing you safely home,’ the duke said.
‘That is most kind, and you must join us for supper. I dare say Ban will be there already, waiting for me at home.’
But he was not, and I instantly became alarmed. Despite his growing gambling addiction, it was not like him to break his word.
‘Do not fret, dear lady. I shall go and make enquiries at his various clubs, The Cocoa Tree, and among his friends, and bring him home to you,’ Lauzun generously offered.
‘You are most kind, sir.’
But the duke quickly returned with grim news indeed. ‘I am reliably informed that the colonel has departed for France.’
‘What?’ I was utterly devastated. ‘I cannot believe that he would leave without even saying goodbye.’
‘Perhaps it was a decision of the moment,’ the duke suggested. ‘Would he be in danger of arrest for debt, were he to remain in England?’
I bleakly conceded this to be true, thinking of Tommy’s arrest and how I had dutifully followed him into the Fleet. I made an instant decision not to allow that to happen again, nor to let Ban go without a fight. I tactfully withdrew my offer of supper and saw the duke on his way, then sent my manservant to Fox begging for a loan of £1,000 to release Ban from the threat of prison.
I paced the floor in anguish, but less than an hour later my messenger returned with £300 cash and the promise of another £500 by morning. How generous and kind my old friend was.
‘I must take this money to the colonel now. Can we catch him, John, before he reaches Dover?’ I asked of my manservant.
‘Possibly, if we were to leave at once, madam. But you cannot think to go now, it is too late.’
‘But we must. If we delay, he could take ship for France by morning and we’d miss him altogether.’
‘But madam, your horses are not up to such a journey.’
‘Then run and hire me a coach if that will make changing the horses easier.’ I refused to listen to any further argument, and with the duke gone and my mother visiting family in Bristol, there was no one to dissuade me. I ran upstairs to kiss my daughter, who would be safe in the care of her nursemaid while I was away. In any case, I fully expected to be home before she woke, with Ban beside me. Then without even pausing to change my gown and despite the lateness of the hour, I set out at once in a hired coach with my manservant, to follow Ban to Dover.
The night was not a cold one, it being late July, although there was a brisk breeze whenever I opened the window to look out, as I did constantly. I longed to see a sign of his vehicle ahead of me but the road remained stubbornly empty. We barely stopped long enough to do more than change the horses, refusing every offer of refreshment. But the further we travelled the rougher the road became, bouncing and tossing me about on the seat so that I was beginning to feel as sick as I’d been on that stormy crossing over the River Severn.
‘This is madness. You should stop now, madam, and return home at once,’ my loyal servant insisted.
‘I am fine, John, do stop fussing.’ I held on to the strap like grim death, but a strange ache had started in my back, and pains were shooting up and down my legs. Was he right? Was this indeed madness? Putting one hand to my stomach I thought of the precious child I carried, praying I could keep it safe. The journey seemed endless and I was relieved when next we stopped to put on fresh horses, as I felt sure I was about to throw up.
‘You should stay here and rest for the night, madam,’ my servant pleaded, seeing how drawn and pale I l
ooked. But I would not hear of it.
‘No, we must keep going. I cannot lose him now.’
The thought of spending my life, even a few months, without Ban, was more than I could contemplate. But the coach had barely lurched forward more than a few yards, the cooler night air now making me shiver, when my hand slipped from the strap and blackness overwhelmed me as I collapsed in a dead faint.
I woke in a strange bed, a woman I did not recognise in attendance. I felt hot and sticky, a burning pain in my back and legs, my limbs feeling oddly twitchy and restless. ‘Where am I? Am I in Dover? Where is Ban?’ I could barely croak out the words.
‘Oh, madam, how glad I am to see you’ve come round at last. You’ve been that delirious I fair feared for your life.’ Her face was old and pinched, and wore a pitying look of sadness that struck a cold wave of fear in me.
‘What is it? What has happened? Did the coach overturn?’
‘No, madam, not at all. You collapsed, is all, but fortunately your servant was able to quickly fetch help, the coach not having gone more’n a few yards from the inn door.’
‘When was that? How long have I been here?’ My thoughts were still focused on the purpose of my journey. If I was still at the inn, then I might be too late to catch Ban before he left for France. ‘What time is it?’ I started to tug at the bed clothes but found my hands were curled up and my fingers could not grasp the blankets.
‘Ooh, don’t you stir a muscle now, not until you’re fully recovered.’
‘Recovered from what? Tell me what has happened.’
She glanced about her as if seeking rescue but, sick as I was, I could see that she and I were alone in the dingy inn bedroom. Wringing her hands the old woman said, ‘Sadly, ma’am, the jolting of the coach didn’t do your poor wee babby any good at all.’
I stared at her in shock, and in a whisper asked the dreaded question. ‘Are you saying that I’ve lost it?’
‘I did me best, ma’am, but you was only what – three months gone, three and a half at most? Mebbe had you been further along it might have survived, but your little son was too fragile to …’
I turned my face away, unable to bear to listen to the details she was giving me. My reckless drive across country had indeed been madness, which had resulted in the loss of my precious child. A son! Ban’s son. The pain of my grief was catastrophic and I began to sob.
‘There, there, ma’am, don’t take on. You need to rest. Don’t you fret now, I’ll take good care of you.’
And so she did, but her best efforts could not control my feverish sweats, or the pain that overwhelmed me as once again my temperature soared. I sank into a delirium where reality and dreams, or rather nightmares, merged into one.
How long it was before I recovered sufficiently to speak again, I cannot say. The passage of time was never explained to me. I knew only the misery of losing my child as well as Ban. And then I discovered my loss was greater even than that. When I made an attempt to sit up and rise from my sick bed, I found to my horror that my legs, having stopped their twitching, wouldn’t move at all.
I screamed with pain whenever I attempted to move, and in deep distress, my self-appointed nurse at last went running for a doctor.
What he had to say was not good. ‘I fear the fever you suffered following your miscarriage has left you partially paralysed.’
I stared at him in horror, quite unable to take in what he was saying.
‘It is likely that the condition will only be temporary, but it is essential that you rest for some weeks, when you will then hopefully make a slow recovery.’
Even I could hear the doubt in his tone. Paralysed! Fear beat a slow pulse within as I considered the harsh reality of that terrifying word, one I refused to acknowledge and would never use again. I tried to flex my fingers, but they remained stubbornly curled inward to my palm, like those of a witch in a pantomime. He saw my efforts and put out a hand to stop me.
‘There is much we can do to improve movement. We can try massage and hot baths, perhaps a stay in Brighton as cold sea water bathing is said to be excellent for the circulation. With your permission I will speak to your manservant and get him to make the necessary arrangements.’
So it was that by the end of August I was residing in Brighton with Maria Elizabeth and Mama.
‘You realise we are not far from Steine, the prince’s home,’ my mother gently reminded me. ‘Do you wish me to communicate to His Highness that you are here?’
‘No! We have overcome our differences, but I have no wish to see him on this occasion. Nor anyone else for that matter, save for Ban.’
‘And where is he when most needed?’ she said with a sniff of disapproval.
Stifling a sigh I clung to my patience, generally at a low ebb these days because of the constant pain I suffered. It felt very like a dragon gnawing with giant teeth at my joints, which had me weeping with anguish into my pillow night after sleepless night. ‘He is almost certainly in France, waiting for his family to relieve his financial difficulties. And don’t say a word on that subject either, Mama.’
‘Then I shall take dear Maria for a walk,’ she announced and flounced off, leaving me to my morose thoughts.
I doubted Ban would even be aware of the disaster that had befallen me when I had executed my desperate plan to save him and keep him by my side. I grieved for my lost lover, and for our son. How different it could all have been if I had reached him in time. But I would not think of that. I must concentrate on getting well, as the doctor had instructed.
I took regular dips in the sea, and sea-water baths in a building called The Temple, set below the cliffs. I even drank sea water, which was most disagreeable.
We lodged on the sea front at the Old Ship Hotel, and at any other time, for any other reason, would have found it extremely pleasant. Brighton was a small, quaint, fishing village where society flocked to consult Dr Russell, famous for his cures. It was set amongst beautiful countryside of cornfields and rolling downs where John, my devoted manservant, would sometimes drive me to enliven my day.
Generally, when I wasn’t undergoing treatment, I would sit on the veranda gazing upon the long shingle beach where Mama was now playing a jolly ball game with Maria to amuse her.
I closed my eyes, dozing gently in the warmth of the sun, when I heard a familiar step on the path below, then felt the touch of a soft kiss upon my lips. My eyes flew open in delighted astonishment.
‘Ban! Can it truly be you, or am I dreaming?’
He laughed, that warm, so-familiar sound that I loved so much, put his arms about me and kissed me some more. ‘Do I seem real now?’
‘Oh, my darling. How did you know I was here?’
‘For once you can thank the papers for their gossiping,’ he said, dropping into a chair beside me. ‘The Herald reported in late July “Mrs Robinson lies dangerously ill at her house at Berkeley Square”. A second report a few days later stated that you were not quite as bad as expected, but still unwell. Unfortunately I did not see either report until one of my brothers cut out the pieces and posted them to me only last week, out of pity, knowing how I ached for you. It included a more recent one which said you had gone to Brighthelmstone to aid your recovery. I at once made arrangements to take the Dieppe to Brighton ferry and here I am. Under an assumed name, I might add, and my visit must be fleeting as I have no wish to run the risk of arrest, even for you, my darling.’
‘Oh, no, you must take no risks on my behalf, but it is so wonderful to see you.’ I wrapped my arms about his neck and held him tight, drinking in the beloved smell of him, the warmth of his cheek pressed to mine. I wept a little, with joy, and he laughingly wiped away my tears. Then we sat holding hands as lovers do, gazing into each other’s eyes in rapturous contentment.
‘I have to say that the Herald soon ceased to be sympathetic, claiming you were not ill at all but sulking over the loss of your lover, and the “declining influence of her charms”. Looking at you now, my love, I wis
h that were indeed the case as you look far from well.’
‘I am suffering from a form of rheumatic gout, born of a fever, but you must not worry. The doctors are optimistic of an eventual recovery.’
‘But what caused it? How did such a fever come about?’
I told him then about my mad dash for Dover, and the child I had lost, and saw the sadness in his eyes deepen.
‘I was not even on the Dover road as I sailed from Southampton. The fault is entirely mine for running off like that without a word. I knew if I even saw you one more time I would lose the will to leave at all.’
So that was the reason. Relief flooded through me, knowing that he did love me, after all. ‘I quite understand, but it is no one’s fault. It was an unfortunate accident. These things happen.’
‘Much as I miss you, dearest, I must remain on the Continent until such time as my debts are settled.’
‘Oh, I do so agree. I have no wish for you to suffer the rigours of the Fleet, as did I when but a girl. It is too terrible to contemplate. Fox leant me £300 for you, promising more, although I have been obliged to use some of it myself to pay doctors’ bills and accommodation these last weeks. You can have whatever is left, and write to Fox yourself. He may still be willing to help.’
‘I believe he has enough difficulties of his own. In any case, I truly hope and believe my family will come up with the money, given time.’
‘On condition you stay away from me,’ I drily added.
‘Ah, you know about that, do you?’
‘I accidentally came upon a letter from your mother,’ I confessed.
‘I have already informed her that I have no intention of giving you up, and that you are not the cause of my bankruptcy. She will have to accept it in the end.’
We spent the happiest two days together, our kisses as passionate as ever even if because of my poor state of health we didn’t take our love making too far. He would gently massage my clawed hands, rub my sore stiff legs, and once carried me down to the gardens for a delightful picnic. Ban propped himself against a tree while I rested in his arms, listening to his plans for the future.
Lady of Passion Page 22