“Mama!” Margaret, still in her dressing gown, leapt up from the window seat as Charlotte entered her bedchamber. “I am sorry I am not yet dressed, I have the headache.”
“I am not surprised. I have just come from a very unpleasant interview with your father.”
What little colour there was in her daughter’s face drained away. “Did he tell you that I am not going to marry Killin?”
“You made that very plain, apparently. Come here and let me have a good look at you.” Charlotte tilted her daughter’s face up, pursing her lips at the dark rings around her red-rimmed eyes, the greyish pallor of her complexion.
“Is he still furious?”
“On the contrary. I am afraid the duke is quite calm and completely set upon resolving your fate one way or another.” Charlotte ushered her daughter to the sofa by the empty hearth, seating herself on a chair facing her. Damn Walter, for leaving it to her to implement his heartless edict.
Across from her, Margaret sat with her mouth set. “I am sorry, Mama, but if my father has tasked you with persuading me to change my mind, then you are wasting your time.”
Knowing precisely what this stance would mean, Charlotte quailed inwardly. “What on earth possessed you to bring matters to a head in this way? You have spent the last six months trying to convince Killin you are willing to marry him.”
“And to convince myself to do so.”
“Yes, that, too,” Charlotte acknowledged. “So I must ask again, why now?”
Across from her, Margaret was studiously avoiding her gaze.
“Your father seems to think that Mrs. Elmhirst and her brother have something to do with it,” she persisted.
“He blames Sebastian for filling my head with nonsense. He threatened to speak to the Archbishop of Canterbury to bring him down a peg or two, to use his phrase.”
This was news! What else had Walter omitted from his account of the conversation?
“I couldn’t let him do that.” A tear trickled down Margaret’s cheek. “So I went to see Sebastian one last time. I took Molly with me. She tried to stop me, but I was determined. You mustn’t blame her. Please don’t tell my father.”
“I promise that nothing we discuss will go any further, if you will tell me the truth.” Charlotte waited, but her daughter simply stared at her, chewing on her bottom lip. “Very well, then. I will tell you what I think, for it seems obvious to me, if not to His Grace. Father Sebastian is the reason you are suddenly so dead-set against marrying Killin, isn’t he? He hasn’t influenced your thinking but your heart. Is that not so?”
Margaret’s lip trembled.
“You believe you are in love with this man,” Charlotte persisted gently. “Am I right?”
Another tear tracked down her daughter’s cheek. “I won’t let my father ruin him.”
“Your father doesn’t suspect your true feelings, and I promise I won’t tell him. Are you in love with this priest?”
For a long moment, Margaret stared at her, wide-eyed before bursting into tears. Dismayed, Charlotte moved to sit beside her, putting an awkward arm around her. Her worst fears, from reading between the lines of what her husband had relayed to her, were confirmed. There was no point now in trying to persuade her daughter to marry Killin. Curse Walter and his ultimatums!
Finally, Margaret’s sobs dissolved into hiccups and she lifted her head. “I’ve made your gown damp.”
“Never mind that.” Charlotte handed over her handkerchief. “Do you feel up to telling me a little more about what has transpired between you and this man?”
“What is the point, now that it’s over? I love him and he loves me and he asked me to marry him but I told him yesterday that it was simply not possible and we were deluding ourselves.” Margaret scrubbed at her eyes. “Sebastian finally accepted that my father would never relent under any circumstances, so I didn’t need to warn him that if we married, the duke would most likely have us banished to some foreign mission, which he would, wouldn’t he?”
Charlotte made no attempt to deny it, shrugging helplessly.
“I thought so. Sebastian would be distraught if he was removed from Lambeth. I would never be able to forgive myself if I was the cause of that transpiring.”
This was said without a trace of self-pity, nor indeed any sign of conscious martyrdom. Charlotte eyed her daughter with new respect. “That is very selfless of you.”
Margret began to twist the sodden handkerchief around her fingers. “I had already decided that I couldn’t marry Sebastian prior to speaking to the duke yesterday. I planned to let him down gently over time.”
“But your father’s threats forced you to act precipitately, is that it?” Charlotte’s heart sank further. “Oh, my dear, I cannot condone your behaviour, but I find it difficult to condemn it.”
“My father has no such problem.”
Charlotte braced herself for what was to come. “No, I am afraid he does not.”
“He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even care about me. He made that very clear yesterday.”
And he had made it equally clear this morning. Walter didn’t value his second daughter at all, though Charlotte was beginning to think her vastly underestimated. Her heart ached, knowing what lay in store for Margaret, and rebelled at the unenviable task her husband had allotted her, but decades of dutiful obedience weighed heavily. “I am sorry,” she began helplessly.
Despite her best efforts, something of her feelings must have shown in her face. “Am I to be sent away again?” Margaret asked.
“I am afraid so.”
“May I ask when?”
“Immediately after the royal wedding.”
“After! But that is weeks away, and we are due to attend any number of balls and parties between now and then. Does my father intend to torture me as well as punish me? I would much prefer to go now, if I must. And what about Killin?”
“Your father will deal with Killin.”
“But how? When? If he tells him, and I am forced to remain in society, can you imagine the snubs? I’ll be branded a jilt.”
“I am sure that Killin will behave like a gentleman,” Charlotte said, with little conviction. “You cannot be branded a jilt, for no announcement has been made. Killin has his dignity to protect. . . .”
“He’ll make a point of snubbing me. Mama, please, don’t ask me to endure that on top of everything else.” Margaret clutched at her. “Please, if I must be sent away, I’d rather it was now.”
“I’m sorry.” Charlotte forced herself to disentangle her hand. “The list of bridesmaids has been published. You are privileged to be among them. You must ensure that your behaviour is above reproach over the next few weeks. We cannot possibly risk offending Her Majesty by removing you before your duties at the wedding are executed.”
“And after the wedding, where am I to go? Back to Dalkeith?.”
Charlotte drew a deep breath. “I have no idea where you will reside. I’m afraid your father has left that decision with me. Margaret, I have to tell you that he has washed his hands of you. Completely and permanently. He will not have you in his home—in any of his homes.”
I don’t ever want to see her again. I won’t even tolerate her presence in the same country as me. It would be too cruel to repeat those words. “There will be no reprieve, and you understand—” Her voice broke. She took a deep breath. “You understand that what the duke decrees, I must implement. All I can do is attempt to soften the blow.”
“How?”
“My dear, I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something.”
“Ex adversis dulcis. Ex adversitas felicitas,” Margaret said with a sad little smile.
“From adversity comes strength and happiness.” Ironically, it was one of Walter’s favourite quotes. “I pray there is some truth in that.”
“I do, too, Mama. I’m very much aware that I have sorely tested your loyalty and I am deeply sorry to have caused you upset.”
Margaret’s voice trembl
ed, but she held herself together with remarkable dignity. Tears sprang into Charlotte’s eyes that she made no attempt to hide as she pulled Margaret into a fierce embrace. “You are my daughter, and you always will be. Wherever you end up, whatever happens, you must never forget that.”
Susannah Elmhirst to Lady Margaret
The Rectory, Lambeth, 20 June 1866
My very dear Margaret,
I trust you will forgive the informality of my method of address, but I cannot think of you in any other way. I have been trying to compose this letter since Sunday, when I arrived home to find my brother in a distraught state, but have found myself struggling to find the right words. Sebastian disclosed the gist of the painful conversation you had. I confess I had guessed how matters stood between you, though I had no idea that he had been so foolish gone so far as to declare himself. My brother, while in some ways very practical and worldly, has a romantic streak, and no idea of the expectations your family will have invested in you. I confess, I was surprised to hear that you had allowed his hopes to flourish. For what it’s worth, and difficult though it must have been, I think you made the right decision, for both your sakes.
Sebastian has thrown himself into his parish duties. I know you well enough, Margaret, to surmise that his well-being will be your first concern. Rest assured that I will take care of him as I always do. He had no idea what your own plans were. Whatever they are, I hope one day we will meet again. It has been a privilege and a pleasure to know you.
This has been such a difficult letter to write. If there is anything I can do for you, now or in the future, please do not hesitate to ask. I consider you a friend, and will miss you greatly.
With my very best wishes for the future,
Susannah Elmhirst
The Morning Post, Thursday, 28 June 1866
The Morning Post, Thursday, 28 June 1866
Reform or Rebellion?
Two days ago, the Whigs’ proposed amendments to the Reform Bill were voted down, causing Earl Russell’s government to fall. We make no secret of our objections to the Bill, which would have extended the franchise well beyond those who, in our humble opinion, are best placed to exercise it. Members of the Reform League do not agree with our stance, however, and, we are reliably informed, intend to organise a number of protests in the Capital this summer.
Has this spirit of rebellion sprung up in certain members of the weaker sex, we wonder? Could the Duke of B——, a loyal Tory and staunch opponent of Reform, have been nurturing a rebel in his own household? The long-anticipated alliance between His Grace’s second daughter, Lady M—— and a certain Scottish earl appears to have foundered. The Earl of K——, who had been paying diligent attention to the lady, has been conspicuous by his absence from her side at social gatherings of late. We have it on the best of authority that, while the gentleman and the duke were of one accord, unfortunately the lady demurred. We recommend that you oppose reform closer to home, Your Grace, and set an example to all in these turbulent times. Long-established tradition and authority must be upheld.
Chapter Twenty
Windsor Castle, Thursday, 5 July 1866
“If you don’t regain your appetite soon, you’re liable to be blown away by the first puff of wind,” Molly said, making some last-minute adjustments to the bodice of Margaret’s bridesmaid’s gown. “Here, let’s see how this looks.”
Margaret stood listlessly while she was draped first in the various layers of white glacé, then white tulle, followed by silver. Pink roses, forget-me-nots, and white heather were used in abundance to trim the elaborate creation. More of the same had been formed into a wreath for her hair to support the long tulle veil. Molly surveyed her work with a critical eye, making a few final tweaks before nodding. “You’ll do.”
“Thank you.” Margaret threw her arms around her maid. “Oh, Molly, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”
“Never mind me.” Molly sniffed, dabbing fiercely at her cheeks, “I’ll be fine. I’ve a wee stash of savings, and Her Grace has been most generous.” She began to pack up Margaret’s dressing case. “I haven’t the heart to work for another lady, to tell you the truth—it just wouldn’t be the same. A cottage in the country is what I have in mind, doing a bit of sewing to keep the wolf from the door.”
“Goodness! Won’t you be lonely? You’re so used to being around people.”
“Well now, as a matter of fact, I won’t be on my own.” Molly continued to fuss with the brushes and bottles. “As it turns out, Esther has been hankering for a bit of a change, too. If we pool our resources, we’ll be quite comfortable.”
“You’re going to set up home with Esther! But that’s wonderful,” Margaret said, highly relieved, if somewhat astonished. “Why are you blushing?”
Molly opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind. “It’s what we want, Esther and I, and it’s nobody else’s business but ours.”
“Yes, of course, absolutely,” Margaret said, slightly baffled, “though I can’t imagine why anyone would question it.”
“No, I’m sure you can’t, bless you,” Molly said. “Never mind Esther and me for now, my lady. I’m going to speak my mind, since it’s my last day in His Grace’s employ. You were very wrong to get yourself into a fankle with Father Sebastian, but you got yourself out of it before it was too late. I know how sorely you’ve taken it, and Esther says Father Sebastian has been a bit of a wee soul, but it was the right thing to do, and I hope you’ll both realise that in time.”
“I already do. It would have been a big mistake for both of us. But my father doesn’t know about Sebastian’s proposal, Molly. The reason I’m being sent away is because I won’t marry Killin.”
“Well, then, I think His Grace is treating you disgracefully,” Molly exclaimed. “I know better than most how hard you tried.”
“And yet I failed, and now I am being punished.” She would not cry, not when this was likely the last time she would see Molly. Margaret managed a grim little smile. “Mama has arranged for me to go to Ireland. I am to stay with Lady Powerscourt, who is married to the son of Mama’s friend Lady Londonderry, by her first marriage. It will be quite a change.”
“It will that.” Molly pursed her lips. “You’re tougher than you look, my lady, you remember that. Every cloud, as they say. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that you have to take your happiness where you find it.”
“I shall try very hard to bear that in mind. I hope that you and Esther will be very happy.” Margaret kissed Molly’s cheek. “You deserve it.”
“Away with you now, and mind you don’t crush that dress. It’s five minutes to twelve, and we’re under strict instructions to have you all assembled in the corridor outside the queen’s apartments by noon.” Molly pinned a smile to her face. “I won’t say goodbye, for I pray our paths will cross again at some point.”
With a stifled sob, Molly pulled her apron up over her face. Margaret pressed the gold locket that was her parting gift into her maid’s hands and fled. Though her eyes burned, she willed them to remain dry. There would be time enough for tears. She would not permit anyone to witness her distress, especially not her father, waiting with the rest of the honoured guests downstairs in the White Drawing-Room. She intended to see this last torturous duty through to the bitter end with dignity.
Making her way to join the other bridesmaids, Margaret was assailed by the memories of happier times at Windsor in the company of Louise. Her tinkling laughter seemed to echo along the corridors. How many of those so-called informal dinners had Margaret endured, forced to sit next to the most tedious of the queen’s courtiers because she had been the last to enter the dining room, lacking Louise’s nerve to rush ahead of the company and claim the best seat, the most entertaining company? How many hours had the pair of them spent huddled together in Louise’s apartments, giggling over court gossip, exchanging girlish confidences or simply enjoying each other’s company, Margaret lolling on a settee with a dog, while
Louise sketched? One encounter blurred into another, and now there would be no more.
Shaking off her melancholy, Margaret pinned her formal smile to her face as she joined the wedding party. Princess Helena was to be escorted up the aisle of the Private Chapel at Windsor flanked by the queen on one side and the Prince of Wales on the other. It could not be said that Lenchen’s toilette flattered her somewhat dumpy figure, Margaret thought as she waited with the other bridesmaids for the lengthy procession to assemble. The white satin wedding dress trimmed with copious amounts of Honiton lace, adorned with orange blossom and myrtle, made the bride look like a dessert made of whipped cream and spun sugar. On top of which, she looked as if she had been sprinkled with diamonds and opals, and her train was so long that there was a real danger it might tip her backwards. The princess herself, though, radiated happiness, making no attempt to hide her eagerness to embrace married life.
The heralds and equerries, marshals and chamberlains were first to lead the procession to the chapel. Then followed the senior royals from both families, including Louise, looking very pale, but as stylishly dressed as ever. Margaret readied herself for her friend to wink surreptitiously at her, or at the very least raise a suggestive eyebrow, but she was very much her royal highness today, and gave no sign that she had even noticed her. Louise’s letters from Balmoral had been so mundane that it was obvious her correspondence was being monitored. Today would be their last chance to speak face-to-face, perhaps for many years. Margaret prayed that her friend had better news to deliver than she did.
The foreign dignitaries were now summoned, including the King and Queen of Belgium, followed by yet more ladies and gentlemen of the bedchamber in a bewildering array. Next were the gentlemen of the queen’s household, including Louise’s precious Lieutenant Stirling, resplendent in his dress uniform, so upstanding and correct it was nigh on impossible to imagine him behaving scandalously. Could the affaire simply have been a figment of her friend’s overactive imagination, an elaborate joke generated by her admittedly quirky sense of humour? But Louise’s despair in that one, frank letter had seemed so real.
Her Heart for a Compass Page 17