by Julie Matern
Emily released her daughter, and with one look back, Francesca ascended the beautiful staircase with Mario. Dread settled in her stomach. She had never witnessed death or dying and certainly never of someone she loved. And she did love him, she realized—fiercely. Although the two had known each other less than a few weeks, Francesca had bonded with her grandfather and her Italian heritage.
As she entered the room, the feelings of aversion were swiftly replaced with compassion, and she ran to his bedside, taking his big hand in her tiny one, wetting it with her tears.
His eyes were closed but on sensing her there, he struggled to open them and attempted to speak, but the power to do so had left him and he resorted to squeezing her hand. Leaning forward and placing her forehead on his pillow, she whispered, “Nonno, ti amo.”
His face wrinkled into a smile and his thumb rubbed her own and then, too soon and without warning, his hand went slack.
For some moments, she could not process what had come to pass and hesitated, hoping that he would squeeze her hand again, but after some time, she accepted the truth and the doctor came to lead her down the stairs.
There were no histrionics, just a bone-deep sadness for a relationship that had been cut too short. Her parents perceived immediately the events that had transpired by her expression and enveloped her in their comforting arms.
T
The following morning, Mario explained the funeral arrangements. Giorgio had requested a short, private funeral and burial with only his closest friends and new family in attendance.
Francesca was experiencing an emptiness that gnawed at her soul; the bright sunshine seemed to mock the gravity of the situation, but as she stood beside the grave a day later, she thanked God for that same sunshine. It was as though nature itself was celebrating his life, welcoming him to heaven to be reunited with his wife and child.
Upon their return, the attorney who had drafted the document for Antonio arrived and invited them to hear the reading of the new will. Mario translated after each sentence was read.
“I leave the bulk of my estate to my natural granddaughter, Francesca Haversham.”
Francesca gave a little gasp, but her father nodded, having expected as much.
“I leave Mario Lombardi, 10,000 lira per year and strongly suggest that my granddaughter retain him as manager of my vineyards for the remainder of his lifetime. I also suggest that Francesca’s natural father, Antonio Rossi, be offered the job of head groom for the estate.”
Francesca found that she was moved that her grandfather would think of her natural father so kindly and saw it as the perfect solution to maintain a regular relationship with him, should he desire the position.
There were small bequests to people she did not know, and afterward, her father went to speak to the lawyer and Mario. He later explained that the inheritance was a wonderful gift, but the practicalities of living in one country, while being the owner of such an enterprise in another, needed to be sorted out. He spent the next few days carefully planning with the attorney and Mario.
Everyone was surprised to discover the vast extent of Giorgio’s fiscal wealth, over and above the enormous value of the vineyards. Francesca had become an exceptionally and independently rich woman.
At the end of the week, it was decided that the Havershams would make their departure and allow Mario time to gain his footing as sole manager of the estate. Word had been sent to Antonio, and he had readily accepted the position of head groom and arrived quickly to fill the position and to bid his daughter a fond farewell.
As they slowly made their way back across Italy and into France, Francesca found her thoughts turning to Phillip again and again and admitted that her affection for him was growing daily. She was eager to share all that had happened but was reticent, given the change in her status. He had been so supportive of her, despite the revelation that she was adopted, that she felt it was appropriate to inform him of certain recent events but instead of a long sentimental letter, she sent him a short note, briefly detailing her change in fortune and describing her grandfather, sharing with him her anguish as his death.
Her parents had discouraged any disclosure of her father’s station until her own family had been notified.
More than once as she traveled, the memory of Phillip on horseback, smiling at her as she left his home, came vividly to her mind. The vision induced a yearning to be in his company that was new and unfamiliar. At such times, she would reprimand herself for being foolish; had he not said that he preferred auburn hair and had he not always considered her more as a sister? Furthermore, adoption was one thing, but her father was right, her lowly heritage changed everything. The son of a nobleman might have qualms about marrying the daughter of a servant. She must readjust her expectations of life and consider a future without romance. This admission left her feeling hollow and disconsolate.
John Haversham had thought it more prudent to disclose the nature of Francesca’s heritage in person and had sent a letter to Francesca’s grandparents, explaining only their sadness at Giorgio’s passing and her good fortune in becoming his heir. The remembrance of her grandparents’ reaction and fear of an unknown and unpredictable future at the hands of a callous society encouraged a somber mood as the carriage trundled onward, ever closer to impending rejection and loneliness.
Thirty-One
UV
ENGLAND
There is a letter for you, dear,” said Phillip’s mother as he entered the breakfast room.
His stomach jumped and he caught a breath when he saw the handwriting, and he hoped his mother could read nothing in his expression that betrayed his feelings. He had not received any correspondence since Francesca left, which was to be expected, but some part of him had hoped she would send word.
He had begun his employment in chambers and was thoroughly enjoying the challenges of the law but had returned home with the sole purpose of ascertaining if he had any mail. He had not told Francesca of his new address and had instructed his mother not to forward any letters as he would be returning home from time to time. His fear that Francesca would never see him as a suitor had prevented him from opening his heart to his family.
He placed the unopened letter by his place setting and ate his breakfast slowly so as to arouse no suspicions. The letter, however, monopolized his attentions, inert and plain as it was.
As soon as he was able to leave without appearing to be rude, he took a walk in the gardens to ensure complete privacy. He ripped open the seal. If a faint flicker of hope burned that she would in some way write that she had missed him or cared for him, it was handily extinguished by the tone of the note. She spoke only of the beauties of Florence and how sweet her grandfather was and how painfully cruel his passing had been. Phillip was astonished to hear of his death and further amazed to read that her grandfather’s great vineyard now belonged to her! He wondered how she was coping.
He feared the rest of the letter would say that they were delaying their return because of the death but instead it informed him that they were already en route!
T
The ferry crossing from Calais was even more rough than on the outward journey and had necessitated a short stay in Dover for everyone to regain their equilibrium. An unanticipated consequence was that the English coastal environment brought back buried memories of her narrow escape from ruin. She shrank at the memory of how naive she had been and thanked the Lord for her deliverance. She heartily wished that she might never lay eyes on Mr. Ashbourne ever again.
During the journey back to Wiltshire, John and Emily discussed with Francesca the morality of telling any suitor of her true birth. They agreed that it was incumbent upon them to tell their parents, though they shrank from the task, and decided to seek their counsel on the problem. They further discussed the possibility that news of her adoption may have leaked out and already be known abroad. In their experience, people were quick to judge and withdraw support.
Francesca listened as an uninte
rested bystander. Having just lost someone very dear to her, severing the link to her birth mother, she could not evoke the energy to worry. Though she supposed she ought.
After they arrived home and were settled, John and Emily wrote to their parents to invite them to dine the following week. They would lay before them the facts of the case.
Francesca had found correspondence awaiting her which consisted of invitations to balls and to dine. Evidently, news of her adoption must not yet be generally known. Among them, she was delighted to find an invitation to Annabelle’s wedding. She was truly happy for her cousin and, remembering her harsh judgment of the Reverend Sladden, decided to give poor Mr. Doyle another chance.
The night of her grandparents’ visit arrived, and she was struck by the stiffness in their greeting, so English and formal. Or was it more than that?
They talked of inconsequential things during dinner and only addressed the weightier matters once they were all together in the drawing room and the servants had left.
John cleared his throat and nervously began, “I am sure you are all anxious to know the outcome of our journey.”
Lord Haversham, who had dragged himself out of his depressed state to attend this event, grumbled and muttered in agreement.
“You will be gratified to learn that Francesca’s natural grandfather was a man of enormous wealth and land who welcomed us most graciously.”
“Notwithstanding he was a foreigner,” mumbled Lord Haversham under his breath.
“As you know from our letter, he left almost the entirety of his estate to Francesca as his only living relative.”
“How will that work given that she intends to live in England?” demanded Lord Davenport. “I assume she does intend to continue on here?”
“Yes, indeed! There is a very capable manager who is more than able to run things and Francesca will make regular visits to oversee that all is well. He has been well compensated in the will, and I believe that he was fond of the old man and will honor his wishes.”
“What did you find out about her natural father?” questioned Lady Haversham, lips pursed.
“Ah well, there things are a little more complicated.”
“Complicated?” growled Lady Haversham.
John garnered his courage, “The irony is that he was, indeed, a peasant, a stable boy—”
“Good heavens!”
“For shame!”
“—However, he has risen to be head groom of a fine establishment.”
“Oh, it is worse, far worse than we had anticipated!” moaned Lady Augusta.
Francesca looked to her maternal grandparents for support, but though less vocal, they too were shaking their heads in sorrow.
“Would that you had pressed for the truth in the beginning, then it might not have come to bear such bitter fruit now,” spat our Lord Haversham.
“Father, we have been over this. We believed it to be in Francesca’s best interests to keep her parentage a secret.”
Lady Haversham stood and turned sharply, throwing out, “What about the family’s best interests? If this is exposed we will all be ruined!” The muscles of her neck stood out like soldiers at attention.
“Mama?” said Emily, cautiously, to her own mother.
“It is most unfortunate,” Lady Davenport said, and, turning to face Lord and Lady Haversham, she continued, “But it cannot be changed, and the charge cannot be laid at Francesca’s feet. We are all tainted by the association, and I therefore propose that we suppress the fact. Do you not agree, Augusta?”
Lady Augusta sank down on the chaise with a deep sigh, shaking her head, and holding a handkerchief to her mouth in distress. “What if our secret is discovered by malicious persons? Do you appreciate my standing in society? They will stone me as a hypocrite!” She was working herself into a righteously indignant state of agitation.
“We are perfectly aware of your position, Augusta,” Emily’s mother responded acerbically. “You have sacrificed many poor souls on the altar of prejudice.”
“Perhaps it is time to retire from your career as self-proclaimed judge and jury,” proclaimed Lord Davenport. “For it may now bear a bitter fruit of your own sowing! Was it really necessary to hang and quarter people for lack of connections? I believe it is a practice that could well be put to rest!”
“I felt it my responsibility to keep our noble circles pure. I defend the position that our society is stronger because of it! However, I perfectly appreciate the tenuousness of my current situation which, I might point out, is not of my own making. I am furious that my children have placed me in this untenable position! You do not understand—”
“Oh, I think I understand very well!” shouted Lord Davenport. “You have undertaken a cruel employment, Augusta, that leaves people’s lives in tatters. I confess that I am sometimes ashamed to claim you as kin!”
“For shame! What impertinence! I refuse to stay here to be insulted! John, I insist that you take me home this instant!” Her neck was scarlet from her anger, and her hand rushed to cover it as she leaped to her feet.
Lord Haversham arose and pulled himself to his full height. “This is a bad business, son. A very bad business!”
T
Lord and Lady Haversham returned home to their own estate in thorny silence, each ruminating over the catastrophe of their personal affairs and the calamity of Francesca’s revelation. When they arrived, the butler hurried to convey a letter that had arrived by special delivery. Lord Haversham ripped open the seal and sank onto the nearest chair.
Lady Augusta threw a fleeting, sideways glance at the spectacle, oozing with disdain.
“What is it now?” she fumed, her patience stretched as thin as gauze as she removed her gloves.
“The bank has called in the mortgage on the estate. We are bankrupt. The bailiffs will come soon.” He groaned as if in pain.
Augusta Haversham was stunned into silence. She felt stripped, exposed like a peach whose outer skin had been ripped off. He had mortgaged the estate without consulting her! The fool! The fear that had built after he confessed his failures was ebbing away and a furious anger was building in the void.
How dare he hide from her the full extent of their financial difficulties! When he had first mentioned to her that they were running low on funds, she had never dreamed that he was telling her only partial truths. She had been more than happy to conceive a plan to acquire wealth through family connections. It was, after all, a British tradition to gain wealth through advantageous marriages. There was no shame in it. She had gladly encouraged a liaison between her granddaughter and Langley Ashbourne as being favorable to all parties. A little manipulation did no harm. It had worked out extremely well in the case of her son, John, after all. Total bankruptcy, however, was unthinkable. People went to debtor’s prison for less.
She felt crushed, adversity being piled on top of adversity. Was it not enough to face the shame of learning that her granddaughter was of scandalous parentage, a fact that threatened her own position in society? Must God punish her further by adding destitution? What had she done to deserve this?
She did not know which loss she felt the most keenly. Her heart was squeezing in her chest, mourning the loss of the life she had built and the virtual crown she had fashioned for herself.
“Do you detest me, Augusta?”
“Yes!” she hissed. “I hate you for doing this to me! What did you expect me to say? The shame is more than I can bear! I deserve better! I am furious that you have brought me down with you! You have lost all my respect! It was your duty to communicate how dire our situation was. I cannot forgive you! I must escape this mess you have made! I will travel to the Continent immediately and do not even think of following me! You must face the consequences of your mismanagement and betrayal alone. I shall be gone by morning.”
The desperation Lord Haversham had been fighting to keep at bay plunged back over him with a vengeance. He dragged his tired body up the stairs to his room and curled into
a ball of despair, desperately seeking the comfort of drunken sleep.
Thirty-Two
UV
ENGLAND
The most important quality of any lawyer is discretion. Knowing that full well, Mr. Arthur Farthing decided that he must put discretion aside if it could possibly save someone’s life. He had experienced a heavy sense of foreboding after leaving Lord Haversham and only managed a fitful sleep in the ensuing days. After failing to receive a reply to his last attempt at communication, he was seized by the concern that he might have blood on his hands if he did not hint at his Lordship’s distress to his son.
To that end, he sent an anonymous dispatch to Mr. John Haversham, the son, suggesting that a visit to his father might be in order.
T
“What can this mean?” John asked at breakfast.
“Of what do you speak, dearest?”
“I have here an anonymous letter that suggests I should visit my father!”
“It must be a cruel joke from someone who has found out our secret and the rift it has caused. My goodness, it did not take long, did it? They must know that your father left here in anger. What else can it mean?”
John crushed the letter in his palm and threw it to the floor, from whence the footman picked it up to dispose of it. Life could be immensely unpredictable and he felt it sorely. But what was done was done and his little family would sustain and support one another through the threatening storm. He only prayed that after the storm had abated, some courageous young man would still venture for his daughter’s hand so that she might not suffer for his sins. It would take a singular character to set at naught the disapproval of society. Would that there was such a man.
As Francesca entered the breakfast room, he made his excuses to leave, lest she perceive the worry upon his countenance. He strode about the grounds but the feeling of uneasiness did not leave him and at length he decided to make the journey to satisfy his own curiosity. If he was not received he would stay at an inn close by his father’s residence. Then at least he could be at peace that he had not ignored a warning.