“And you didn’t tell me?” My mother frowned in displeasure.
“Miss Isabella asked me not to, my lady,” Hazel said, defending her actions with respect. After a brief moment, she offered more damning tidbits. “It’s been three or four days this week that she has awakened in a sickly state.”
“I’m fine. Please stop fussing,” I implored. Horrified over the news Hazel had blurted out, I cringed, folding my arms instinctively around my midriff. My mother turned her eyes to me and studied me for a minute. After she touched my forehead and discovered no fever, she suddenly changed her mind. Her eyes became dull, and I suspected she had come to a verdict.
“Never mind, Hazel. I’ll handle this. You may go.” After a hasty curtsy, Hazel retreated and closed the door behind her, leaving me to my judgment.
“Do you often get sick in the morning?” Her tone remained neutral.
“Yes, Mama. For the past week.”
As she listened to my response, she ceased moving. “Have you... have you been late with your menses?”
I shook my head affirmatively but couldn’t raise my eyes to meet hers. She breathed in a quick breath and held it, clutching my hands and squeezing them tightly.
“What have you done, Isabella?” Her voice rose, demanding an immediate response. “Have you been with a young man? Have you been seeing somebody on the sly during your afternoon rides in the country?”
Her grasp tightened to the point that I feared she would break every finger. When I tugged them away, she let go but seized my shoulders instead and gave me a good jolt.
“Tell me what you have done, Isabella.”
After she had shaken me like a rag doll, I wailed my confession. “Oh, Mama, I laid with Roger Gooding, the stable hand. I didn’t mean to; it just happened.”
Mother halted her assault and brought both her hands to her mouth. “You laid with the stable boy?” she cried in a high-pitched wail.
I answered the question by nodding my head while warm tears flowed down my cheeks. Before I could reply further, her hand went up in the air and slapped me across my right cheek. The stinging force made me yelp in pain. Little did I understand that it was the beginning of years of bitterness and angry discourse between us that would follow.
“You stupid girl!” her voice boomed. “How could you be so bloody irresponsible to bring such shame upon us all? Your father... Well, your father will be livid. I dare say that I don’t know what he will do.” She peered at me in panic. “Is the young man still in our employ?”
My throat closed my airway, and I could scarcely choke out the answer. “No... No, he quit the day after.” Mother’s pale pallor had changed to beet red. My life had ended, and I knew it.
“Don’t tell Father yet,” I pleaded.
“I wouldn’t think of it,” she blurted. “First we must have a doctor confirm your condition before arrangements are made.”
“Arrangements?” I cried.
“Never you mind,” she spat. “Now undress and get some sleep. First thing in the morning, we’re traveling to London to see Dr. Richards.”
As I watched Mother leave and bang the door on her way out, I imagined my life had ended at that moment. Briefly I considered jumping out of my two-story bedroom window to finish it all. The short distance would most likely break my leg, but perhaps I could lose the baby. Then, as if a lightning bolt had seared my heart, I realized the seriousness of my situation. The palm of my hand rested upon my abdomen and lingered there. For the first time, I considered the life growing in my womb. Overcome with emotion, I wept like a child.
Chapter Two
Punishment Well Deserved
Lying on my back, with my legs spread apart, turned my face crimson red. My mother waited outside in the lobby. A nurse stood at the doctor’s side. The cold white room and the hard table increased my apprehension. When he touched me, I nearly died of mortification. Finally, after a few minutes of the most humiliating moment of my life, it ended.
“You may sit up now,” he said unsympathetically, pulling off his rubber gloves.
The nurse helped me from the awkward position, pulling the sheet up to cover my naked body. I sat shivering like a frightened and helpless animal.
“Have Mrs. Stuart come in,” he asked the nurse.
I watched with tears moistening my eyes as the door opened and my mother entered. The nurse left, closing the door behind her. My hands gripped the sheet, and I wondered if they would use it to wrap my dead body. Surely my mother planned to strangle me in the next few minutes.
“Well?” Mother glared at the doctor.
“I can confirm that your daughter is no longer a virgin,” Dr. Richards said, establishing my fallen state. “From my examination of the size of her uterus, as well as her symptoms, it is entirely possible that she is pregnant.”
My mother’s eyes narrowed in my direction, and I swore her hand twitched ready to strike another blow across my cheek.
“We won’t know for sure until we take a urine sample,” the doctor declared.
“Why?” I asked curiously. The notion of handing over my pee seemed nasty.
At first he glanced at me as if I should know why but then understood that my ignorance about these matters apparently had gotten me into this predicament in the first place.
“We inject a sample of your urine into a young female mouse. If you are pregnant, the mouse’s ovaries will enlarge, confirming your condition.”
“Oh dear,” I whined. “Does it kill the mouse?”
“What does it matter if the mouse dies?” Mother shouted. Her voice reverberated off the barren walls.
“I just wondered,” I sheepishly replied. Mother stormed from the room and slammed the door behind her. The physician appeared to remain neutral, keeping his mouth shut about our strained circumstances. He handed me a paper cup.
“You may use the toilet through that door. Please leave a sample on the counter. We will collect it after you leave.”
I eyed the container for my waste with disgust and took it. “How long does it take for the mouse to do whatever the mouse does?”
“We will know within the week,” he replied.
As instructed, I gave a sample of my urine that would subsequently be injected into a poor rodent to determine the outcome of my wicked behavior. The poor thing would be tortured at my expense. However, as far as I had been concerned, my symptoms confirmed the dreadful diagnosis.
Since I knew exactly the time that I had succumbed to Roger’s sexual prowess, the due date was easy to calculate. Late August of 1935 would be a date with destiny that I could not escape—unwed motherhood.
On our return home, Mother sat silently contemplating what to do next. As the motorcar drew near to the estate, she spoke.
“Let me handle this with your father,” she casually remarked. “Arrangements will have to be made.”
Arrangements. That word had risen in the conversation once more, and I could only surmise the meaning behind it. Would they attempt to put me through an illegal and dangerous medical procedure to rid me of the scandal growing in my womb?
“I don’t wish to kill the baby,” I hastily remarked, letting her know my wishes. Her head spun in my direction, glowering at me in half rage.
“I wouldn’t suggest such a thing,” she countered. “However, you won’t be able to stay here and have the baby.”
“Why not?”
“Preparations will need to be made to send you away until you give birth. Afterward, you must abandon the child for your sake and its.” My mother expressed the words as an edict rather than a request.
Give up? My heart broke that it could never be mine. The connotation angered me to the core. The child was either a boy or girl—not it.
“Why would you make me do such a thing? Can I keep the baby and raise it as my own?”
Mother looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “You will not bring an illegitimate child into our household, Isabella. It’s best for the baby and best
for you.” She looked at me as if I were daft. “You would be a child raising a child. It’s out of the question.”
“But—”
My mother raised her hand to halt the conversation. “Do you think that any man would dare to marry a daughter of an earl who has a child out of wedlock?”
She did have a point even though I hadn’t accepted the fact that I had successfully turned myself into a ruined woman.
“I am not speaking about it anymore until your father has his say.”
Instantly I envisioned him grabbing my curly locks and throwing me out of the house.
“I will do my best to protect you, Isabella. Nevertheless, the consequences of your actions will be a harsh lesson you will endure throughout your life.”
At that moment, I learned that shame crushes your spirit, causing an awful pain in your chest as if your heart is being ripped out. My body trembled with hot tears pouring down my cheeks. A confession of contrition spilled from my blubbering lips.
“I’m sorry, Mama. So sorry,” I wailed. “I had such a silly crush on Roger, and I thought he loved me.”
The fact remained that he had used me like an irresponsible teenager incapable of control. Mother showed no affection toward me but regarded me coldly as if I had deserved what would shortly follow. Whatever the outcome, forgiveness would not come soon from the proud and socially correct woman who sat next to me.
After the car had arrived at the estate, Mother instructed me to return to my room and stay there until summoned. Eventually my father’s wrath would engulf me like a raging, out-of-control fire.
For hours I paced to and fro in my bedchamber but heard nothing. Not even the bellowing voice of the patriarch of the Stuart dynasty, echoing throughout the halls. My mother visited an hour later and told me that I was to take dinner in my room that evening. I had no idea what tomorrow would bring and how it would permanently change my life.
AT TEN O’CLOCK THE following morning, the summons arrived to meet Father in his study. For the majority of my life, my father intimidated me at every turn. His heritage, rank, and property had always taken precedence in matters of family and relationships. Compared to my mother, who I likened to a cold fish, I compared Father to a rabid dog.
As I opened the door and entered, I instantly closed it behind me and approached. When I reached the distance of the two chairs in front of his large mahogany desk, I stood tall and brave. Underneath the facade, I trembled.
“You asked to see me, sir?” My eyes lowered to the red-and-gold carpet beneath my feet. I had never noticed the pattern before and suddenly became intrigued with the design.
“Sit down, Isabella.”
The sharp command frightened me. Swiftly I obeyed, folding my hands in my lap. Mother stood behind my father’s leather chair like a lifeless statue with no emotion. Not a glint of empathy radiated from her gray eyes.
“Your mother tells me that you have gone and gotten yourself pregnant,” he began morosely.
Surprised that he didn’t growl at me in absolute contempt, I finally lifted my glance to witness his down-turned countenance. My eyes welled with tears.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Father, for disappointing you.”
He cleared his voice. “It appears, Isabella, that your mother and I have failed you in some manner. I partially blame myself for my neglect and lack of interest in your daily affairs.”
Blame. Did I hear Father correctly? Now I had five individuals to share the culpability for my wretched state of affairs. Speechless by his admission, I blew my nose into my hanky and waited for his pronouncement. He inhaled a sharp breath as if he needed it to restrain his anger.
“Regardless of your apology and my confession, we must deal with this matter expeditiously.”
After nervously shifting in my chair, I swallowed the lump in my throat. At that point, I saw Mother turn around. Apparently, she didn’t want me to see that she possibly had lost command of her sentiments.
“You must understand, Isabella, that I must protect the Stuart name from scandal. Therefore, I have arranged that you shall leave in two weeks for France.”
“France?” I squeaked. My heart skipped a beat at the prospect of going to the Continent. Perhaps they were transporting me to a convent for punishment. I envisioned cruel nuns making me scrub dirty floors on my penitent knees. Within, I wailed at the announcement but kept silent as a remorseful daughter.
“You will be cloistered at a private residence outside of Lyon in the country. The parents of my solicitor reside there. They are retired and have generously agreed to house you until the baby is born. However, you will not be allowed to have visitors or be seen in public.”
Suddenly my banishment sounded more like a holiday than hard labor, relaxing my tension.
“When you deliver the baby, you will not be allowed to see or hold it after birth. The child will be placed for adoption and given a good home. You will relinquish all parental rights.” He hesitated and sternly asked, “Do you understand these terms, Isabella?”
My heart, bleeding at the thought of never knowing the child, ached within my chest. No other option or recourse remained. Submission to my parents’ will had been my only choice.
“Yes, Father. Will I then be allowed to return home?”
My mother, who had regained her composure, answered the inquiry.
“No, Isabella. You shall not return home. We have decided it best to send you to Switzerland to attend finishing school.”
“Finishing school?” I balked. “Switzerland?” I furthered my protest. “For how long?”
“As long as it takes for you to learn to become a lady,” my father brusquely replied.
My mother spoke the final sentence. “No doubt you will not return home for a few years.”
As my eyes darted between the two of them, they flooded with hot tears. Embarrassed over the reaction to my punishment, I covered my face with the palms of my hands and wept. A deadly silence filled my father’s study as I blubbered my remorse. They remained silent, neither of them offering me a word of comfort or empathy.
“Is it understood then?” Father asked, breaking the silence.
My head nodded affirmatively.
“You will leave before you start to show your shame to the staff and others. Nothing—absolutely nothing is to be spoken to anyone about your condition. As far as this household knows, you are being sent off to school.”
Distressed and burdened, I begged my leave. “May I go now?”
“Yes,” Mother answered. “I suggest you begin to think about the things you wish to pack for your journey.”
If it hadn’t been for some unseen force lifting me from the chair, I would have fainted. As I found strength in my legs, I turned and walked out, closing the door to the study behind me.
“I hate you, Roger Gooding! I hate you!” I bellowed sprinting up the staircase to my room. Truth be told, I despised myself for being such a naive girl.
Chapter Three
Preparations for Change
France and Switzerland. They both sounded continentally posh if there is such a thing in my condition. When my head continued to visit the toilet bowl, I wondered how long I would be in this state. The prospect of traveling such a long distance made me queasy. Mother indicated that she would accompany me on the journey, no doubt to make certain that I didn’t get in any more trouble. After our arrival, she would return home leaving me in the care of a strange family.
As the weeks passed before our departure, I had started to feel somewhat better though struggled with fatigue. My thoughts frequently turned to the baby developing in my womb. As hard as I attempted not to become emotionally involved, I found it difficult not to love the child that I would never know. As I struggled with the myriad of emotions, sorrow seemed to be the one that overwhelmed me every day. Sorrow for my stupidity. Sorrow for my banishment. Sorrow for the baby I would give up.
My parents expected me to carry on as if nothing had gone amiss in the
household, which apparently included dining with guests. The solicitor and his wife, whose parents would be my guardians for a time, had been invited to Kentwood. Mother instructed me to keep the conversation regarding my visit to a minimum, being careful not to give any clues to the footmen standing nearby. God forbid they should hear and carry the scandalous affair to the rest of the staff. Already I had surmised that Hazel had received a large bonus to keep her mouth shut regarding my morning sickness.
On the evening our guests were to arrive, I took particular attention dressing for dinner. I wanted to make a good impression regardless of my sinful state, but I knew that attempting to save face at this stage was a ridiculous ploy on my part.
As I stood in front of my closet deciding what to wear, my eyes glanced at a red silk dress with a lace collar that I had purchased on a shopping spree but never wore. Mother disapproved of the color, so I left the tags on it and shoved it to the side of my wardrobe. Perhaps I should have known better to dare and wear it for the evening dinner, but since the guests were obviously aware of my fallen state, what did it matter? I loved the silk fabric and dark red hue, so I removed the price tag from the garment and slipped into the luxurious fabric.
Afterward, my appealing reflection in the mirror stunned me. “Elle est une femme éhonté.” The French phrase drifted through my mind. “She’s a shameless woman.” Yes, and nothing could be done about it.
My hand glided down to my belly, reminding me of the miracle of life growing inside. Roger would never know that he would be a father. Frankly, I had not put it past him for having fathered a few children already. “Unspeakable rogue,” I grumbled, casting the blame in his direction to appease my guilt.
With red lipstick, painted red nails, and a scarlet red dress that marked my situation in life, I descended the staircase and joined my parents and guests in the drawing room. When I came to the threshold, I pulled back my shoulders and glided into the room with confidence. Thankfully, I restrained my amusement at the reactions my attire produced. Father’s mouth gaped open, Mother paled, and the guests looked flabbergasted. The hush lingered for several moments until I opened my mouth and spoke.
Ladies of Disgrace Box Set Page 2