The entire top section of the mountain was gone.
Vanished.
It appeared as if a huge fist had pummeled the mountain’s summit, causing a large crater in the center that was several miles wide, with lava flows streaming out of the gaping center and down the mountainside. Floating layers of ash lingered around what was left of Tambora’s summit in an immense cloud that stretched high above the jagged peak, as far upward as the eye could see. It seemed to reach into the heavens, though there was nothing divine about what had happened here.
My crew began to murmur prayers in various languages, and I found myself appealing to God in his mercy to spare those who might have survived the eruption. Yet I knew in my heart that it was not possible for anyone to live through such destruction. If the volcanic blast had not instantly killed nearby residents, the lava and ash would most certainly have caused their eventual demise.
I scanned the lower part of Tambora and saw flames shooting out from the sides like fiery spears, stabbing into the air with thin, red shoots.
The Mountain had turned to fire.
And everywhere around the base stretched layers of ash and pumice – no village, no people, no wildlife.
Nothing but the smell of burning death.
Silence descended over us as we sailed past the crumbling mountain and devastated landscape, noting the black masses of pumice stone and the charred, skeletal remains of tree trunks. There was little point in trying to find a safe harbor or hunt for survivors. Instead, I ordered the crew to head south.
If we were lucky, we might find someone still alive.
EIGHT
Geneva, Switzerland, August 28, 1816
Slowly, I ambled through the empty rooms of Maison Chapuis, my footsteps clattering on the cold, hard wood floor. Mary had already packed up all of our household items; Shelley had ordered the furniture to be removed and sent on to Bath, England, in the West Country where the three of us would reside, far from my mother and stepfather’s observant eye. They would, no doubt, immediately discern that I was to have a child were they to see me, and I could not bear their constant nagging as to the father’s identity.
No, it was best to give birth in secret – not that it would remain so for long. Certainly, nothing in life could be hidden from one’s parents for too long; indeed, I think they had already surmised my condition from their letters. The gossip mongering had probably stretched all the way from Geneva to London, with visitors eager to relate my scandalous activities.
In truth, my heart was broken – shattered into so many pieces that I feared I would never be whole again.
A sad affair.
As I stood near the parlor window and gazed up the hill at the Villa Diodati where we had shared so many happy evenings during the summer, I felt a sob rise up in my throat. Never again would the four of us share such a time together – full of excitement and passion and creative fire. I could see it all passing out of my life like a fading echo, already losing some of its sweet magic.
But I regretted nothing.
My hand covered my stomach, feeling the presence of new life, and the sadness shifted into a sense of joy. How could I feel remorse over the creation of a child of love? My mouth curved into a smile as I imagined being a mother, embracing my own child – not Mary’s but mine. I would live for another being for the first time in my life – a responsibility that I did not take lightly and one that I welcomed heart and soul.
Not only had I experienced the heights and depths of love during this summer, but I had also grown up and learned that no matter how much I wanted something to happen, it just might elude my best attempts. I could not make Byron care for me with the same depth of feeling that I possessed for him, and yet I still trusted in the power of love to raise one above the trivialities of everyday life. I would always believe that reaching for my heart’s desire had been the most noble of actions – and the bravest.
Sliding on to the window seat, I touched the glass, tracing the outline of Diodati in the distance, including the high roof and porticoed pillars. Ironically, the storms had finally cleared and the sun peeped out from behind the thick layer of clouds with a bright radiance that I had not seen in months.
I gave a short laugh. Fate truly loved a jest.
Then I heard a familiar footfall: the tap of a boot and sliding drag of the heel across the floor. It grew closer … and I turned my head toward the door just at the moment Byron appeared.
He bore the same sad, tired look that I had seen that first day when we encountered each other by Lake Geneva in early summer, almost a lifetime ago. Still wearing his riding breeches and a loose open shirt, he managed to look both elegant and dashing as he paused in the doorway, clutching his riding crop in one hand. In spite of myself, I felt that familiar dance of excitement inside at his magnetic presence.
The silence stretched between us, tense and awkward.
‘I could have made you happy, if you had allowed me into your heart,’ I finally spoke up in a quiet voice.
‘My heart?’ He sighed, keeping his gaze averted. ‘It is a twisted, barren land – not a place for someone who is so young and full of hope. No, Claire, I would have made you very unhappy, turning that love you feel for me to hate before very long. You are seventeen, and I am almost thirty with a wife and a disgraced past behind me. I have nothing to offer you. Eventually, we would have parted in such bitterness that there would be nothing left for our child.’
‘You do not know that,’ I protested.
‘But I do.’ Tossing the riding crop aside, he moved into the empty room with halting steps, his limp more pronounced than ever. ‘Look what a chaotic mess I have made of my life. Everyone whom I have loved has either deserted or disowned me. I can never go back to England because of the scandals; I know that now. I will be ostracized for the rest of my days. Can you truly say that is the kind of life you want? You know what it was like here with tourists peering at us through spyglasses and residents cutting us out of the best society—’
‘I don’t care about any of that!’ I rose to my feet and reached out to him. ‘Why should it ever end? Why?’ I heard the note of desperation in my voice but I did not care. I was fighting for my future.
He moved closer and twisted one dark curl of my hair around his finger. ‘You are truly one of Beauty’s daughters, are you not?’ He asked the question as if he were speaking to himself. ‘Your eyes hold the mysteries of foreign lands – full of passion and fire. I could almost lose myself in those eyes.’ He lowered his face to mine and I awaited his kiss, already feeling his lips on mine. But he kissed my forehead, not my lips.
My eyelids fluttered open and I saw the truth in his face: it was the kiss of goodbye.
Dropping my arms in defeat, I turned around so he could not see the tears that had welled up. ‘You are pushing me away because I am not Mary – my lovely, accomplished stepsister, the woman that every man wants. If I were more like her, you would not let me leave, would you?’ I choked back a bitter sob.
‘That is not true.’ He grasped my upper arms and I felt his breath against the back of my neck. ‘Mary is a unique woman, worthy of Shelley in every way, but I have never spent one moment thinking about her in that way—’
‘Not ever?’
‘No.’ He drew me against him and I inhaled the scent of his cologne – a deep, spicy fragrance. ‘You are my last great passion, Claire, and I have no desire for another. That part of my life is over now.’
‘I can scarcely believe that.’ I could not resist adding with some irony, ‘After I return to England, I am sure you will not lack female companionship – Polidori will no doubt help in that regard. He has always hated me and will be only too happy to find future replacements.’ As I spoke the words, I knew they sounded churlish, but part of me believed that Polidori had tried to undermine my influence over Byron – perhaps even to the point of doing me harm.
Slowly, he turned me in his arms. ‘That is not true. You ascribe power to him that h
e does not possess. He is but a silly young man – and, in truth, I do not intend to keep him in my employ for long after we leave Geneva. I have tired of his fits of temper. But I have never heard him utter a word of criticism about you in my presence.’
‘But at Chillon—’
‘You slipped on the steps.’ He held my gaze steadily. ‘Mary told me that you thought someone might have pushed you, but is that likely?’
I hesitated. Mary should not have shared my suspicions.
‘No one knew you had traveled to Chillon to meet Shelley and me, so how it is possible that an attacker lay in wait for your appearance at the castle?’ Trailing his fingers across my cheek, his touch seemed almost tender. ‘After that hellish two-day trip by land … in your condition … you had to be exhausted. You fell and had a fever that caused you to rave for days. I do not blame you for imagining all kinds of things – even attempted murder.’
I bit my lip. My suspicions sounded foolish when stated so starkly: the silly fantasies of a pregnant woman in an uncertain situation. I just did not know anymore.
‘The only thing that matters is that you and the child are safe and healthy. You will return to England, have the baby, and I will honor all of my promises—’
‘What if it is a boy? Would you feel differently about our future together if I bore you a son?’ I searched his face – so familiar and so dear to me, waiting for a change of heart. But he merely shook his head. ‘Shelley left his wife for Mary,’ I continued, ‘and he is constantly trying to make their son, William, his heir, though Shelley’s father opposes it vehemently.’
‘But that is his father’s decision; it is his estate, and Shelley’s reputation is tarnished, as is mine. No, his father will never relent as long as Shelley’s wife still lives. I know these aristocrats – they do not allow others into their sacred circles if they can help it. And you know our child could never inherit my estate; it will go to my legitimate daughter with my wife. Even if we divorce in the course of time, I will no doubt have to concede my wife’s dowry that she brought to the marriage and acknowledge Ada as my heir. It is not to say that I cannot provide for our child, no matter the sex, but …’ His words trailed off. Our child would be illegitimate.
It was a cruel world. I never knew my father, and now my child would never know the respectability of having a family.
Looking down, I murmured, ‘I understand.’ And I truly did at this point. There was little reason to keep pressing for a future that would never happen.
He tipped up my chin. ‘You will have Shelley and Mary to support you in your confinement and beyond, never fear. Shelley is a gentleman, one of the best souls that I have ever known, and he can always be counted on for the honorable course. He is, in fact, a better man than I – in every way.’
I did not respond.
Frowning, Byron’s eyes took on a shadow of guilt. ‘I have disappointed you, my dear – and for that I am sorry. If I could go back in time to when we met in England, I would have behaved very differently and been more prudent about starting a relationship when my life was crumbling around me. It should never have happened—’
‘No!’ Jerking back from him, I uttered the word yet again, even more emphatically. ‘I will never lament our relationship, or our child. Ever.’
A smile appeared on his face. ‘What I could accomplish still in this world if I had your conviction, my dear. I envy you that above all things.’
‘So you are to be your hero, Childe Harold, after all? “Grown aged in this world of woe”?’ I quoted.
Wincing as I recited the lines from the third canto of his poem, he then shrugged. ‘It appears that will be my fate.’
‘Such a melancholy thought.’ Slipping on to the window seat again, I felt my emotions drain away like the air emptying from a balloon – a long, drawn-out deflation. ‘You will miss my fair copies of your poems …’
‘I will miss much about you, Claire, though your handwriting is probably not at the top of my list.’ Amusement flickered across his face as he gave a rueful laugh.
I managed a smile.
‘Never question your charms … they are considerable.’ After a few moments, he bent down awkwardly and retrieved the riding crop, then straightened again.
Folding my hands in my lap, I felt our time drawing to a close. ‘Where do you intend to go next?’
‘I am not certain. My dear friend, Hobhouse, should arrive soon, and he wants to travel to the Jungfrau and then see Mount Blanc. I shall play the tourist again.’
‘And after that?’ Glancing out of the window once more, I took one last look at the majestic outlines of the Villa Diodati. The beautiful arches and graceful awning. A gem perched on the lakeshore. ‘What then?’
Rapping his riding crop against the black leather boot that encased his clubfoot, he stared at the floor. ‘Perhaps south to Italy. I have heard that a man can lose himself in the decadent world of Venice on the Grand Canal, and that sounds appealing right now. No more philosophizing. Just sensual pleasure to make a man forget.’
I shuddered inwardly.
‘Since I can never return to England, what does it matter?’ He gave the boot a hard strike. ‘Hell and damnation. Claire, why do you not come—’
‘My lord, your horse awaits,’ Polidori cut in as he hurried into the room. He wore almost the same riding clothing as Byron, except he sported an elaborate cravat around his neck. ‘I believe you have an engagement and you are overdue.’
Do not leave, my love.
Was Byron about to ask me to go to Italy with him? My hands curled into fists and I began to rise in protest at Polidori’s interruption.
But Byron gave a curt nod to his physician. ‘Yes, I must take my leave of you, Claire … Take care, my dear.’
‘Shall we meet again?’ I said in a choking voice.
He lingered for a few seconds, then, without another word, exited the room, drawing all of the light from my world.
He was gone.
My head sagged in defeat. It was over. Byron did not need to say anything because I knew that I would never see him again.
When I looked up, I felt the venom in my glare directed at Polidori. ‘You poisoned him against me, and I do not understand why. I never did anything to cause your dislike except love him. Perhaps that is what caused it; you did not want to share him with me.’
‘Do not be ridiculous,’ he responded in a quiet voice as he moved to the center of the room. ‘I never bore you any ill will, nor am I jealous of Byron’s … acquaintances. Do you really think I do not see him for who he is? The Great Poet!’ he scoffed. ‘Oh, no one can deny he is a genius, but he is also a self-absorbed aristocrat who sees everyone as merely a bit player in the drama of his life. I have watched him treat people with the utmost carelessness, and I have been disgusted.’
I sat back, stunned at his diatribe. He had rarely spoken more than a handful of words to me, and now he was waxing bitter about the man whom we all idolized. Not that I disagreed. I, too, had seen that side of Byron and found myself dismayed, but who among us is not self-serving in some manner?
‘You seem surprised, but I am not as easily swayed as you may have thought. Indeed, I am more than capable of forming my own views about Byron, even if he is my employer.’
‘I … I do not know what to say, except that all signs during the entire summer conveyed the impression that you do, in fact, dislike me.’
He paused. ‘That is far from the truth. Ask Mary. I never spoke ill of you to her or anyone else – not even when I guessed your secret before you told Byron.’ He looked deliberately at my stomach. ‘And I never revealed my suspicions to him, either. It was for you to tell him.’
Instinctively, my hands moved there in a protective shield. ‘How did you know so quickly?’
He raised one brow. ‘We “bit players” often notice what others do not see.’
Taking in his words, my mind reeled with confusion. Polidori seemed sincere enough, but his past behavior ha
d done nothing to earn my confidence. Quite the opposite. ‘Why did you take so long to reveal yourself?’
‘I have my reasons.’
‘And my every instinct tells me that you are false,’ I exclaimed. ‘Especially after the incident at Chillon—’
‘You are wrong to think me such a villain.’
Rising to my feet, I watched him with a critical squint. ‘You did not push me down the stairs?’
‘No.’
As I took in his firm response, I felt as if my world had shifted slightly. Had I been wrong about him? I could not answer for certain at this point.
‘No more, please.’ I covered my face, blotting him out as I tried to quieten my chaotic thoughts. ‘I cannot bear to hear anything else right now.’ Once I had time to accept that the love of my life had parted from me forever, maybe I could begin to consider that I had been in error about Polidori’s role in our lives. It was a remote possibility – and one that, for now, I could not accept.
Polidori gently eased my hands away from my face. ‘You are going back to England and I am traveling to Italy with Byron, so it hardly matters what you think of me since we shall never see each other again. But I did not want you to leave still having the wrong idea of my motivations.’
Raising my chin in polite skepticism, I continued, ‘I cannot thank you, if that is what you seek. Too much has passed between us.’
His face shuttered down.
‘We leave tomorrow, so I will bid you farewell.’ I extended my hand.
Ignoring the gesture, he leaned forward and whispered in my ear. ‘Do not have this child – it will bring you only heartache.’
Taking in a sharp breath, I immediately jerked back. ‘How dare you say that to me? I should have known that I was right about you … Only a hateful, vile man could suggest such a thing. Get out of my sight.’
His jaw clenched. ‘You will see that I was right.’ He turned on his heel and strode out of the room.
Claire's Last Secret Page 18