by Julie Matern
T
Haversham Hall was dark when John arrived, and he supposed that his parents were not home. He was greeted on entry by Sanderson, the butler of his youth, instead of a footman, and the butler was wearing a very dower expression.
“Oh, Mr. Haversham, how very prescient is your arrival! We are all in a commotion! Your father has taken ill and refuses all nourishment and ministry, and her Ladyship has left for the Continent. I did not know if it would be proper for me to send word for you and had been wrestling with the idea when here you are!”
“My father is ill? Has he taken a fever?”
“I believe it is a fever of the mind rather than of the body, sir, But more than that, I cannot say.”
John felt a punch of guilt as he supposed his own actions responsible for this illness of the mind, but was astonished that it would cause his father so much anguish. Did their standing in society mean so very much to them, then? For his own part, society could hang if it no longer valued his daughter.
“Where can I find him, Sanderson?”
“In his bedchamber, sir.”
John bounded up the stairs to his father’s room before he could change his mind and knocked, bracing himself for the onslaught of criticism he was sure to receive. There was no reply. He knocked again, more sharply this time but still no response. Gingerly, he opened the door a crack and, seeing no shaft of light, entered carefully.
The room was stale and odorous. He picked his way cautiously across the room and pulled back the heavy drapes in order to open the window for some fresh air but dropped them back at the pitiful cry of pain from the bed.
There is no sight quite so disturbing as seeing one’s parent regress to a state of childhood. It knocked John’s earth off its axis, and his own place in the universe was called into question.
He rushed to the bed, finding his father’s hand in the bedclothes. “Father, courage! If society rejects us, we will band together! We will not leave you alone!”
“Oh, my son, my son. Would that it were only a fall from social grace. It is far, far worse. I have been a derelict steward of your inheritance and it is all gone. All gone!”
This was such an unexpected direction of speech that John was temporarily mute. As his brain received and digested this new set of facts, the problems associated with his daughter’s birth faded. His father’s fortune had been very great, and he had varied interests in America. How could it possibly be gone? Gently, he spoke. “Tell me all, father.”
T
John reflected on the Bible’s teaching that the love of money is the root of all evil. He had never had to think much about money as there had always been plenty. Now, on the contrary, money was very much on his mind. He had spent the last four hours going over his father’s accounts, sinking deeper and deeper into depression with every minute that passed.
He was horrified to see that Haversham Hall was mortgaged in its entirety, and the amount of money owed to creditors made him tremble. The losses sustained in America had resulted in huge debts that could not be repaid in a lifetime. He found letters from Arthur Farthing that had never been opened that warned of the impending doom. How could his father have been so irresponsible? It seemed so totally out of character. Even were John to sell his own home and give his father the proceeds, it would hardly make a dent and would, quite frankly, be throwing good money after bad.
He checked on his father periodically, and, after four hours, Lord Haversham had finally slipped into a sleep from sheer mental exhaustion and no nourishment.
John was irritated that his mother had flown the coop and not been of more assistance, then almost immediately chastised himself, realizing that he was being uncharitable and that she was probably in shock. She was dealing with it the only way she could—escape.
He ran his fingers roughly through his hair and sighed. He was starving and looked at the clock, surprised that it was already eleven in the evening. He rang the bell for some food and when Sanderson appeared with a tray he was more than grateful. Rather than leaving the room, Sanderson hesitated and John quirked an eyebrow.
“It seems most ill-mannered to make such indelicate inquiries at this difficult time, but the staff are up in arms and rumors are rampant. Her ladyship’s maid, Mrs. Oliver, left in a hurry with her ladyship and we have been told nothing. I just want to put the rumors to rest.”
“What are they saying?” asked John.
“That her ladyship and his lordship have parted ways and that the house will only need half the staff. It’s about their jobs, you see. Several of them send their wages home to families that depend upon the extra.”
John breathed in deeply and let out a long sigh.
“They are correct then, sir?”
“I am afraid it is a lot worse even than that, Sanderson. I know I can count on your discretion … the truth is, Lord Haversham has lost his fortune and owes a great deal in debts. This house has been mortgaged, and with the news of his interests in America failing, I am sure that it is only a matter of time until the bank calls in the loan and the house is repossessed. I am very sorry to have to tell you that all the staff, yourself included, will need to look for new positions as soon as possible.”
Sanderson’s face fell in disbelief, and he staggered to sit in a chair. He whipped out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
“I had no idea, sir. No idea at all.”
“No more did I, Sanderson. I am more than sorry. We will, of course, give everyone the best references.” He knew this was of little comfort and had an idea. “We will give each servant a bonus as a parting gift.” It would come out of his own pocket, but he did not want to admit that.
The faithful butler rallied and, standing, said, “I will inform his Lordship that I will stay on until he, himself, departs. I will not leave him comfortless!”
John was so touched by the statement that he did not trust himself to speak and merely nodded as the butler left the room. It struck him that people really did not appreciate just how much their actions affect the lives of others. His father’s irresponsibility would bring the whole house to its knees financially, and his own deceit had estranged his family from him and ruined, perhaps forever, the chance for his daughter to have a happy life.
He picked up the next letter from the desk but found that he no longer had the energy to deal with it. He snuffed the candle and mounted the stairs to one of the guest bedrooms, leaving his supper untouched.
T
FRANCE
A small, colorful bird flew and sat upon the wrought-iron railing of the balcony and gave a deep throated aria for Lady Augusta’s entertainment. She watched and listened, intrigued by the celestial sound emanating from the tiny creature. She envied him his uncomplicated life and all at once felt old and tired, the weight of her troubles pressing upon her stately shoulders.
As she looked beyond the bird and out from her balcony, she drank in the warm air and pristine view of the Mediterranean. The ocean had a slight haze upon it and other birds swooped up and down searching for food. Life was so tranquil here and she realized that she would happily stay on, indefinitely, pretending that all was well and that nothing had changed.
Did she miss her husband, she wondered, and was surprised to find that the answer was no. She was outraged and bitter that he had dragged her down to complete and utter destitution. She thanked heaven that her parents were no longer living to witness her disgrace.
She had had some inheritance of her own when she wedded, but it became her husband’s property upon marriage, and he had used it to fund his enterprises in America. It was gone now, of course. She did not even have the money to pay for this apartment and had only secured it because the owner was blissfully ignorant of her change in fortune. Just thinking of having to escape without paying left her feeling exhausted.
She had run away from the situation. It had seemed the only logical thing to do—to wait out the scandal from afar. The mismanagement was not her doing and therefore she felt
no compunction to support him through the fallout. The plan to marry Francesca to Langley Ashbourne was too little, too late; a finger in the dyke of their financial hemorrhage. Her husband’s lack of honesty gnawed at her, and she found that she could not forgive him. Bitter tears stung her eyes and she wiped at them roughly. He was the author of this disaster. Let him suffer alone!
As if this was not trial enough, there was the other matter—Francesca. How could her son have polluted their family tree thus, with the daughter of a servant? The illegitimate daughter of a gentleman was one thing, but this, this was inexcusable. She had ingrained in her children the need for standards, and John had thrown it all to the wind, bringing her down with him. She could barely think of her granddaughter without repulsion.
Her trials were heavy to bear. Which trial was the greater of the two evils? She might be able to live off her friends to cope with the poverty but the heritage problem, that could not be avoided and it would undoubtedly leave her reputation in tatters. The fine ladies of her acquaintance would snicker and talk about her behind their fans and cut her in public. She could not think of one so-called friend who would stand by her. Indeed, if truth be told, she would not stand by them if circumstances were reversed. Her past was littered with rejected souls. She had never before appreciated the power she had wielded in such individual’s fates. Where were those she had sentenced, now? She had never given them one moment of thought. Were they languishing in some virtual jail or secluded on a self-imposed island of despair?
She had labored greatly to coronate herself judge and jury and now it had come back to haunt her. Guilt crept into her consciousness, but she banished it before it could begin a soliloquy. She refused to succumb to a weakness of conscience. She should be heralded for protecting the integrity of England rather than being condemned for it!
She thought back to the dark bedchamber, to the admission of her husband’s failures. She would have been less shocked had he told her that he was dying. She knew that their reserves were depleted, of course, but bankruptcy? She shuddered at the filthy word.
He had continued to lament their situation and beg her forgiveness, but it had all been as background noise. She had assessed the situation coldly in that moment and seen that escape was her only option. She had hurried from her husband’s room, castigating him for the whole affair and spitting oaths like daggers. He had failed her.
With a speed that belied her age, she had summoned her maid and commanded that she pack for a voyage to the Continent. Within two hours, they were speeding cross-country toward the ships that sailed the Channel. Her maid had looked on, not daring to ask questions as her mistress wallowed in self-pity and tears.
At length, her weeping had transformed into resolve borne of the need to survive. She had put away her handkerchiefs, washed her face, and stiffened her spine. She would not crumble. She would not falter. By the time they had arrived at the enchanted coastline of the Mediterranean, she had developed a renewed determination.
She had dismissed her maid, sunk onto the bed, and slept for sixteen hours. Upon awakening, the ball of heaviness in her middle had perked awake and stretched, but she noticed with relief that its presence was less powerful, and she had felt capable of surviving another day.
Thirty-Three
UV
ENGLAND
Phillip was looking forward to a rare night out at a great lady’s London townhome. He had thrown himself into his work and was in sore need of some distraction. The invitation had come through one of the other solicitors in his chambers and he was eager to socialize with people in the great metropolis. He might personally find many ways to criticize the great culture of “society,” but he could not deny that life was pretty lonely without social interaction, and as a newcomer to London, his circle of friends was the size of a pin dot.
As a footman opened the door onto the dark and dreary night, the warmth, bustle, and lights spilled out and drew him in. He followed the crush of people, bumping shoulders and apologizing as he went. He craned his neck in search of his legal colleague, making his way to a large room where people were playing cards and engaging in animated conversation. He purloined a drink from a passing footman and with some difficulty, made his way around the room, searching for a face he might recognize, holding his glass high to avoid spilling it on anyone.
“Why, Mr. Waverley!”
He turned back to see a very pretty face framed with golden ringlets, and a delicate rosebud mouth cast in a smile. Beguiling as she undoubtedly was, he was still untouched, except in friendship. He pulled his manners out of his back pocket and smiled. “Miss Fairweather! Well, this is a welcome surprise! Pray, what are you doing in London? Are your sisters here?” He looked around hopefully in search of them.
“Why no, sir,” she simpered. “I am here with my aunt and uncle, who are acquainted with the family. Do you know Lady Mountbatten, then?”
“No, indeed. I was invited by a third party who is a close acquaintance of hers and was assured of a warm welcome, but I see that the welcome was extended to the whole of London!”
He chuckled good-naturedly and then, hoping to make an escape from the awkward situation, took a step away and turning his head said, “I am trying to find my colleague but there are so many people here that I have failed thus far.”
“Then please sit here by me,” encouraged Miss Fairweather. “For I am alone at present and in need of company in this great throng, though I do thrill to watch them all.”
Phillip waited a beat as he decided how best to handle her invitation without giving offense and sensibly decided that to decline her offer would be ungallant. He picked up his tails and took the seat beside her, looking out at the crowd.
“You left Staffordshire in a great hurry, Mr. Waverley. I did not have the chance to say goodbye. I hope there was no emergency?”
He turned to face her, resigned. “Not a real emergency,” he bluffed. “I just needed to return home quickly.” It was a lame excuse and he felt like a cad.
“Oh.” She looked crestfallen, surely hoping that he had been called away by some great tragedy. Her eyes fell to her hands in her lap.
“It was very bad manners of me to have left without a proper farewell, Miss Fairweather. Can you forgive me?”
She looked up at him with bright, shining eyes and a smile that clearly forgave him all.
“Of course, Mr. Waverley. Perhaps you can sit by me at supper, since neither of us really knows anyone here.”
Phillip looked over the crowd in one last desperate attempt to find his friend and save this captivating young woman from any false hopes, but fate contrived against him and so he accepted, just as the announcement for supper was made. He courteously stood and held out his arm just as her aunt and uncle approached. Miss Fairweather made the introductions and they went in to supper.
Initially, the feast passed with lively, yet inoffensive small talk, but as time went on, one lady in their group articulated a comment that struck Phillip’s heart like a gong. His blood instantly ran cold and he could not help addressing the lady in question. “I’m sorry, but did you say that Lady Augusta Haversham has finally been put in her place? Can I ask what you mean by such a thing?”
“My dear sir, it is all over London. She has been damaged by the revelation that her granddaughter is actually the child of a stable boy!” The last comment was screeched with a triumphant flourish. “She, who has destroyed the chances of many a worthy person, now humiliated herself! I cannot help but take pleasure in it as she cut my mother some years ago for a rumor that was untrue, as it happens, and my mother never recovered from it. No one who was anyone would accept my mother’s invitations after that and she was refused at doors. It took such a toll on her health that she was never the same. I am most fortunate that my dear Henry rescued me and elevated me again in society.” She nodded around the table for affirmation, but Phillip could not let it go.
“I demand to know to what source you attribute this vicious
rumor?”
“It is no false rumor, sir! Indeed, I believe one of her servants has spread it abroad, and you know how rumors fly from house to house among the servants. I understand that Lady Haversham has fled to the Continent, which would seem to affirm the veracity of the claim, would it not? I hear that she is in hiding until the scandal blows over, but if I am not mistaken there are many of us who have faced the fierceness of her judgments who will willingly fan the flames. I heard it all of my maid yesterday morning.”
Phillip blanched and stood abruptly, tipping over his chair.
“My dear Mr. Waverley,” exclaimed Miss Fairweather. “What can be the matter? Do you know this person of whom she speaks? Truly, you look very ill! Can I be of assistance?”
Phillip pulled down his waistcoat and said clearly, addressing the other woman, “Madam, I do not doubt that Lady Augusta Haversham may have brought this on herself, but in delighting in her demise you slander a worthy young woman who is completely without fault in the matter. It might be better if you would hold your tongue!”
At his words, the table went silent, which silence spread through the whole room like a bad odor, as adjoining tables felt the tension and pointed hush.
The lady who had uttered the claim flushed to her roots and sprang to her own defense. “Well, I am sure that I meant no offense, but those are the facts, and there are many among us who are not sorry about it!”
The whole room stared at Phillip, who bowed stiffly and abruptly left the room, almost running to flee the claustrophobic atmosphere.
Miss Fairweather filed away her matrimonial hopes for the future with more than a little disappointment while silently championing Phillip for defending the unfortunate.
Phillip did not wait for the footman but pushed open the front door himself and fled down the stairs and out into the crisp, night air, gasping like a man who was being suffocated. He tore at his cravat and pulled it free of his neck as though it were a strangling python. Could it be true that Francesca was actually the daughter of a stable boy?