Lady of Lincoln

by Ann Barker

  ‘Of course I will not reveal it,’ Emily responded, taking her a glass of the rich red wine. ‘But if it is so secret and possibly damaging, do you really want to tell me? Might you feel differently about this tomorrow and perhaps regret saying anything?’

  Nathalie shook her head. ‘No. I need to tell someone. If anything should go wrong’ – and here she slid a hand over her stomach – ‘someone else ought to know my story.’

  ‘Very well then,’ Emily agreed. ‘But will you not sit down? You have exhausted yourself today and that cannot be good for you or the baby.’

  Nathalie did as she was bid. Then she looked at Emily again and said, ‘Now that I have made up my mind to tell you, I am very close to changing it again, for fear that you decide to hate me.’

  Emily leaned across and caught hold of her hand. ‘I could never do that,’ she said. ‘But if even now you decide to say nothing, I will be content.’

  ‘No, I am resolved to tell you.’ Nathalie paused, then began her story. ‘You will find that no one knows very much about my background. If asked, I say that I am a squire’s daughter and that my family live in Devon. That much is true; except that my family have long since disowned me, and the name by which everyone knows me is not mine. I began life as Emily Thorpe; yes, I was christened with the same name as yours,’ she added, responding to her companion’s start of surprise.

  ‘I was the youngest of three girls, and was always fascinated with the theatre. When I was seventeen, a theatrical company came to a nearby town, and after a performance which we attended, I became enamoured of the leading man in the company. I found a way of meeting him, and he appeared to be as interested in me as I was in him.

  ‘At the same time as this was happening, my parents were encouraging me to become engaged to a local man. He was nearly twice my age and not exactly a figure of romance, so I rebelled. When the theatrical company left the area, I went with them in company with the leading actor, and we … we became lovers.’ Emily uttered a little gasp.

  ‘I have shocked you,’ Nathalie went on. ‘There is worse to come, I fear. Once we had reached London, he soon tired of me, for there were plenty of actresses with far more worldly experience than I.’

  ‘Never say that he abandoned you!’ exclaimed Emily.

  ‘Oh no, he did not do that,’ Nathalie answered in a cynical tone. ‘He introduced me to a gentleman who was an habitué of the Green Room – a man about town, noted for his good taste and fine looks. Having nowhere else to go and with my reputation ruined, I had very little choice. So I exchanged an actor for a gentleman. Unfortunately, the gentleman did not treat me as well as the actor had done, and I soon began to fear for my safety. Then, when I had been with this man for a few weeks, I realized that I was expecting his child.’

  ‘Dear heaven,’ Emily breathed.

  ‘I could not think what to do. I knew that my parents would never receive me at home. I had no friends in London for my new lover, being very possessive and also protective of his own reputation among the ladies, did not allow me to meet people; for which I am now very thankful. The only time I was permitted to go out was on a Sunday morning, to attend church. Even then my lover insisted that I should go to a small, unfashionable place of worship so that I would not be noticed; I did not anticipate being noticed by the vicar.’

  ‘Mr Fanshawe?’ Emily asked.

  Nathalie nodded. ‘Yes, it was Ernest,’ she agreed. ‘I did little more than slip in and slip out each week, but he noticed me which helps to explain what happened next. My lover – you will notice I do not use names; I think it best not to do so – got into a quarrel with another man. Not over me, I am thankful to say. Anyway, there was a duel, my lover killed his man, but was himself seriously wounded. He was borne off to be nursed in hiding by friends, and the lodging which we had shared was reclaimed by his landlord, to whom he was heavily in debt.’

  ‘What on earth did you do?’ Emily asked. She had often wished that her life could be more exciting. She could at least be thankful that it was not as exciting as this.

  ‘Every duellist has a second,’ Nathalie replied. ‘Once my lover’s second had delivered him up to his friends, he came in search of me.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Emily exclaimed.

  Nathalie shook her head. ‘No, you misjudge him, for he was a true gentleman, who treated me with respect and did not seek to use me as well,’ she said. ‘Instead, he asked if there was anywhere he might take me. I was on the point of saying that there was nowhere, when I remembered the vicar of St Saviour’s. He had seemed so kind, and I knew that he would find me a place if he could. So I asked my lover’s second if he would take me to the church, which he did.’

  Now, Nathalie paused for a long time, looking down at her clasped hands. Then when she looked up at Emily, her eyes were filled with tears again. ‘Ernest was there and I told him everything; my childhood in Devon; the loss of my reputation at the hands of the actor; my liaison with the gentleman; my pregnancy; everything. Emily, he listened, and in his face there was no condemnation, no disgust. Then he told me that he had loved me from the first; that he had always suspected that I was troubled because of my manner; that he still loved me, despite all that I had disclosed; that he wanted to marry me.

  ‘Emily, what would you have done?’ she asked, her voice breaking. ‘I was desperate. Ernest offered me a way out. The appointment to Lincoln had already been offered and refused. He told me that he would accept it after all, and that we could marry at once, then go on a holiday. After that, we would proceed straight to Lincoln where no one would know us. Because I had nowhere else to go, I accepted him, and as soon as the licence had been procured, we were married.’

  ‘How deeply you must honour him,’ Emily murmured.

  ‘I do,’ Nathalie agreed. ‘And although I did not love him when I married him, I do love him now as much as any wife could love her husband. But you do see, do you not, that I had to tell someone my story? If all should not go well, and I pray that it will, I feel that there should be someone else in the world who knows that my baby is not Ernest’s child. And should he have to bring up this child alone – which heaven forbid – he ought to have the comfort that someone else is privy to our secret.’

  ‘Does he know that you are telling me?’ Emily asked.

  ‘He knows,’ Nathalie replied.

  Nathalie went into labour that night, and Emily knew at once that Mr Fanshawe would have to be sent for. She had already found out from Mrs Sealey the name of a man who would ride to Louth if necessary, and she was glad now of her foresight. The maid was despatched to fetch the doctor, and then to take Emily’s note for delivery to Nathalie’s husband.

  That done, Emily remained in attendance on her friend, mopping her brow when necessary, holding her hand when the labour pains came, and speaking reassuringly to her.

  ‘Will he come?’ Nathalie asked. ‘Have you sent for him?’

  ‘The doctor is on his way,’ Emily told her.

  Nathalie shook her head. ‘Not the doctor; Ernest.’ She gasped again, as a fresh pain assailed her.

  ‘The man has gone,’ Emily promised her. ‘Your husband will be here as soon as he can, I promise you.’

  The doctor, who arrived very quickly, spoke calmly and confidently to his patient, but after he had examined her, he took Emily on one side and said, ‘Has the husband been sent for?’

  ‘Yes, a man left over an hour ago,’ she replied.

  He looked at her solemnly. ‘It’s just as well,’ he said quietly. ‘I have anxieties about this one; grave anxieties. The baby is the wrong way round, and the mother is the kind who lives on her nerves, with no real strength. To be plain with you, ma’am, I do not think that both of them will live.’

  Emily just managed to stop herself from gasping at this news. ‘But she seemed so well,’ she replied, in the same low tone. ‘In fact, I remarked on how well she looked when I arrived, although I was concerned about her colouring.’

  ‘Well, I
may be wrong,’ the doctor temporized. ‘But I felt that I must prepare you for the worst. I am glad that the father has been sent for.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ asked a faint voice from the bed.

  Emily turned back to the bed. ‘I am telling the doctor what a splendid mama you will be,’ she answered cheerfully.

  ‘I certainly mean to be,’ Nathalie replied. ‘Emily, you must get out the baby clothes that I have made.’ Then she gasped as another spasm of pain gripped her, and the doctor came to her side.

  ‘That’s right, ma’am,’ he said. ‘The babe is making its presence felt. But we’ve a long night ahead of us, I fear.’

  By the time Mr Fanshawe arrived, looking exhausted and anxious not long after dawn, it had become clear that the doctor’s predictions had been all too accurate. The baby was now very near delivery, but Nathalie was not going to survive.

  The young clergyman was desperate to remain at his wife’s side, but the doctor would not permit it. The midwife was now in attendance, and so Emily sat downstairs with Mr Fanshawe in order to wait for some kind of resolution.

  ‘If only I had been here,’ he said over and over again. ‘What kind of husband was I to leave her in this way?’

  ‘Mr Fanshawe, you could not have done anything,’ Emily told him earnestly. ‘From the moment that she went into labour, it was all in the doctor’s hands.’

  ‘Yes, and what kind of doctor is he, plying his trade out here in the countryside?’ he retorted, his voice rising. ‘She should have been in the town, with the best physician that money could buy in attendance upon her.’

  ‘I have seen him at work, and I believe that he is a very good doctor,’ Emily said calmly. ‘Mr Fanshawe, I wish you would sit down and have something to eat and drink. Mrs Sealey had made these sandwiches—’

  ‘Damn the sandwiches!’ he cried, thrusting at the plate with his hand so that they fell to the floor and the plate smashed. ‘Damn Mrs Sealey, and damn you for not sending for me sooner. Do you realize that my wife is dying up there?’ He stared at her as the enormity of his words sank into his brain. Then in a broken voice he said, ‘My God, my God,’ and sat down heavily, his face in his hands.

  At once, Emily poured him a glass of claret and, stepping carefully over the sandwiches and pieces of smashed crockery, she touched him on the shoulder and handed the wine to him, half afraid that he might thrust this aside as well. He looked at her through moistened eyes, then took the glass and drank from it.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said in a subdued tone. ‘I’m sorry, I … I …’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Emily answered.

  ‘It does. I know you sent for me as soon as you knew yourself that the baby was to be born.’ He paused again. ‘Did she tell you about…?’

  Emily nodded. She did not ask to what he was referring.

  ‘It will be a strange irony, will it not, if the baby lives and …’ Again he seemed on the point of being overcome.

  They sat for what seemed like a very long time until, from upstairs, there came the sound of a baby crying. Fanshawe sprang to his feet, his eyes wild. ‘Nathalie,’ he breathed. He flung open the door, but before he could leave the room, Emily caught hold of his arm.

  ‘Mr Fanshawe, you must be composed,’ she urged him. ‘You must show her that you can manage.’

  He swallowed hard. ‘I’m not sure that I can,’ he replied, looking at her.

  ‘But you must make her think that you can – for her sake.’

  He stared at her, and some of the wildness went out of his face. He ran a hand through his blond, dishevelled hair, and walked to the foot of the stairs, but as he reached them, Mrs Sealey appeared at the top, a bundle in her arms.

  ‘You have a daughter, sir,’ she said.

  ‘My wife?’

  Mrs Sealey bit her lip. ‘She is alive, but you must be quick.’

  He ran up the stairs two at a time, not even glancing at the tiny bundle that the woman held, before entering his wife’s room and closing the door. Mrs Sealey glanced after him for a moment, then came down the stairs to where Emily was standing. ‘Just look at the little mite,’ she said, pulling back the covers to reveal the sleeping infant. ‘Poor motherless child. You take her, miss. I’ve already alerted a local woman who’s had a baby a little while back to come and wet nurse this one. I’ll have her sent for, shall I?’

  ‘Oh yes, do,’ Emily answered. ‘We cannot risk her going hungry.’

  ‘Will you hold her then, miss, while I do that? Do you know how to hold a baby?’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Emily replied, taking the child in her arms. It would not be the first time that she had held a child who was never to know its mother, but she had never felt anxiety about a baby before as she did about this one; for although hardly anyone else knew it, this baby was fatherless too.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The next few days went by in a haze as far as Emily was concerned. There seemed to be so much to do, and everyone was looking to her. Mr Fanshawe had remained at his wife’s bedside until she had passed away peacefully, breathing his name, but after that, had seemed to withdraw from any decisions that needed to be made. The only thing he had been adamant about had been that Nathalie should be laid to rest here, in Mablethorpe.

  ‘She loved the place, and never really settled in Lincoln,’ he said.

  The funeral he left for Emily to organize in consultation with the local clergyman, simply saying when asked about any matter, ‘Whatever you think best.’

  Hannah Grant, the wet nurse, arrived soon after Mrs Sealey had sent for her, and she proved to be a gentle, cheerful woman, and very well able to feed the new baby. After a little negotiation, Emily managed to persuade her to come back to Lincoln with them, leaving her own baby, who was just weaned, in the care of the child’s grandmother. Mrs Grant agreed to stay in Lincoln until a local wet nurse could be found. Emily could think of one or two women who had recently had babies who, if asked, might easily be glad to help in that way.

  Then there was Mrs Sealey who needed comforting. After the initial shock of Nathalie’s death, the landlady had taken to blaming herself. ‘It was I who upset her so with that awful tale I told her, miss,’ the woman said to Emily, with tears in her eyes. ‘Do you think that that brought her on into labour too soon? Oh, if I thought that by my careless words I had killed that poor young woman, I would never be able to forgive myself.’

  Emily reassured Mrs Sealey that this was not the case. ‘The doctor said that the baby was the wrong way round, and no words of yours could have caused that to happen,’ Emily insisted.

  Nevertheless, Mrs Sealey could not lay the matter to rest, and brought it up over and over again, until Emily thought that she would scream. So, what with one thing and another, including writing to her father, the bishop, the dean, and Mr Fanshawe’s housekeeper, each letter needing care and tact, she had no time at all to think about her own feelings in the matter. She did wonder whether Nathalie’s family in Devon ought to be informed, but she did not know their address, and Mr Fanshawe was in no condition to be consulted on the matter.

  They all travelled back together in a hired chaise. The wet nurse and Emily took turns holding the baby. Mr Fanshawe still refused even to look at her. Mercifully, perhaps, for everyone’s peace of mind, she was a remarkably good baby, taking to Mrs Grant’s breast without difficulty, settling down to sleep between feeds, and lying placidly in someone’s arms when she was awake. Emily hardly dared imagine how the haggard young clergyman might have reacted had the baby been fretful on the journey. She had not dared ask him by what name he wanted to call the child, but secretly, she called her Nathalie.

  The weather was cool and overcast but fine when they set off from Mablethorpe, and it remained so throughout the journey. Last time she had travelled this road, she reflected, she had been reading a novel. The experiences she had undergone over the past days had surely been the stuff of novels, but not of any novel that she wanted to read.

&nb
sp; On their arrival in Lincoln, the chaise drew into Minster Yard, Emily helped Mrs Grant inside with the baby, commiserated with the tearful housekeeper, delivered Mr Fanshawe into the hands of his valet, then left the house, promising to return very soon. After all, she had two women to speak to, in order to discover whether one of them could take over as wet nurse. Hannah Grant, quite understandably, wanted to get back to her family as soon as possible.

  The door of the Fanshaws’ house closed behind her, she walked down the path, took a few steps into the yard, then stopped and turned. It was here, she thought to herself. This was where I was standing when Nathalie came running out of the house. I was standing here with Dr Boyle. This was where our friendship really began; I never had a chance to say goodbye.

  She had not yet cried, because she had had to be strong for all the others who were around her and who seemed to be falling apart. Suddenly, all the tears that she had had to hold back seemed to rush into her eyes at once. She looked around blindly. Where could she go?

  There was only one place. Hurrying to the west door, she fumbled for the handle and made her way into the heart of the building that had always been her sanctuary.

  Sir Gareth had called to see Emily during the afternoon following their outing to Gainsborough. The whole morning had been wet and miserable, but after midday, the clouds had cleared and the sunshine had made everything look sparkling and new. He had hoped to persuade her to take a walk with him, but when he had arrived at the Whittakers’ house, he had been greeted with the news that Emily had gone into the country to visit friends. No, unfortunately the maid could not tell him when Miss Whittaker would be back. No, she did not have her direction. Yes, she would certainly inform Miss Whittaker when she returned that he had called.

  Two days later, he called again, but as he arrived at the house, Dr Boyle came out. ‘I’m afraid that Miss Whittaker has not returned,’ the doctor said. Something about his tone seemed to indicate that he knew where Emily was, and for a moment, the baronet was sorely tempted to use his justly famous left fist and lay the doctor out on the front step.