A Love by Any Measure (24 page)

“No, sir, I cannot add to anything.”

The judge made no attempt to coax her into changing her mind. “Very well. If you will not speak in your defense, does the defense rest?”

Maeve’s counsel consented, and the court recessed.

“Come on, August, let’s go back to the children.”

August remained still. Around them, others rose and exited. August’s chest heaved as he sighed deeply, catching Maeve’s eyes for the slightest of moments as she was led from the room, sweeping past.

“They’re going to convict her, you know.”

Jefferson placed his hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

His face was stone, cold. “I cannot bear it. Something must be done. I just keep thinking, if only we knew why she left. Then we could make sense of this all, find a way … ”

“I’ve been considering that. I think there is someone who might be able to fill in that missing piece. Come, August. Let’s go home.”

Gaell mé

“C
ome away from the window, poppet.”

Augusta did not stir. Her body and attentions remained fixed on the street below, as though keeping her eyes set firmly on the front gate would somehow bring her father home faster. Charles, on the other hand, was thoroughly enthralled with his bilboquet, again and again batting around the handle and almost catching the ball in the cup.

“Goosie? Did you hear me?”

She woefully nodded and backed from the window. “Yes, Aunt Caroline.”

With all the sorrows of the world, the slumped shoulders of the child shrugged as she planted her petite frame in the chair opposite her cousin. Augusta and Caroline gave a jolt as Charles squealed. They cast glances at him only to discover that his efforts had finally paid off; the wooden ball rested comfortably in the cup.

“Very good, Charles.”

“Aunt Caroline?” Augusta piped up. Her adoring relation gave her a quick smile before returning to her embroidery work. “Why does Uncle Jefferson talk so funny?”

“Funny? What do you mean?”

Augusta shifted in her uncertainty, squirming as she tried to work out a rewording. “The way he says things, his words sound all crooked.”

Caroline suppressed a laugh. In the early days of their courting, she recalled having similar thoughts. “Well, Uncle Jefferson is from America, where that’s just the way things are pronounced.”

“But Boston is in America, and the people here don’t talk like him,” she countered in her determination.

“Jefferson is from the south, which is very far away. Ireland and England are closer to each other than Boston and Georgia, and yet the people speak the same language very differently,” Caroline volleyed, and without thinking added, “Just look at your mother and father.”

Augusta’s body became a positive bolt of lightning in a storm. She alighted from her chair and crossed the distance of the room in a flash. Her eyes were as bright as the fire burning on the hearth.

“You knew my mother too, didn’t you?”

Caroline’s bottom lip bore the brunt of her self-betrayal. August had asked his sister specifically not to mention Maeve to Augusta. While he was not denying the child a smattering of information, he wanted to play gatekeeper to that knowledge. As he was yet uncertain what the future held, he didn’t want to make illusions of Maeve — either positively or negatively — that at some point would need to be shattered. Caroline had respected that request, seeing the importance of presenting a unified front.

Still, the child had asked, and Caroline didn’t see the harm in a simple answer to a simple inquiry.

“Yes, I knew Maeve,” she answered, laying aside the needlework and setting her hands in her lap.

Augusta smiled and leaned in closely, asking in a conspiratorial whisper, “Did you know my other mother, too?”

Caroline’s very breath stilled. “Your … other mother?”

She nodded. “Amelia. Ma said she was very pretty and very, very kind.”

Words seemed to tumble from Caroline’s mouth in a time without context. “You … you know about Amelia? You know that Maeve isn’t your … isn’t your … That she … ”

Augusta was positively affronted. “Yes, Ma told me,” she all but barked — to the extent that a child could. Then her face brightened again at the realization that she had found a new fount of information. “Oh, Aunt Caroline, will you tell me about her? I ask Ma questions but it always makes her so sad and she says she didn’t know her all that long anyhow. Tell me about my mother!”

Taken aback and gasping, Caroline tried to take a hold of the situation. “I … I, I, I … wouldn’t know where to start. Besides, your father has asked me not to speak with you about Amel—”

“Caroline!”

August’s unannounced and shocking rebuke cut Caroline off. Both Augusta and she spun on the spot to find him and Jefferson gaping from their place at the door. Augusta’s attentions were diverted away as she ran into her father’s arms as he bent to meet her.

“Father!” she squealed. “Did you see Ma? Is she coming home?”

Though guilty of no fault, Caroline felt obliged to defend herself. “August, I swear, she brought it up herself.”

The joy drained from his eyes as he turned again and set Augusta on the floor.

“We mustn’t confuse Goosie. I trusted you to keep what you knew to yourself.”

Jefferson interceded before either was able to carry on. “Let’s focus on the matter before us.” He bent over to their niece. “Sugar, may I ask you to take Charles and let us alone for a while?”

“But I want to stay with Da!” she objected with a whine and stomp of her foot.

Jefferson laid his hand against her cheek. “Only a few minutes. I promise.”

“All right,” she conceded, arms crossed to show that while she was going along with the compromise, she clearly was not happy with it. “Come on, Charlie. Let’s go.”

Charles, ever eager to spend time alone with Augusta — in what Caroline anticipated to include all sorts of foul play — jumped up from the carpet. The children exited the room in due process, each kissed atop their heads by doting fathers as they passed through the door. Jefferson closed the door behind them, and both he and August took seats on the chairs adjacent to the fair seamstress.

August’s face was white, his eyes shallow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

She leaned over and squeezed his knee. “These times must be very difficult for you.”

“Do you remember the day Amelia died?”

August presented the question so nonchalantly that Caroline was taken aback.

“Yes,” she answered in a tone laced with venom. How dare he make her relive the pain? “Vividly. I was in the room when it happened.”

He pressed on. “Did she know she was dying, or did she just slip away?”

Caroline gnashed her teeth and shot daggers at him. Had she not told him well enough and a thousand times that she had no desire to discuss that day? She laced her arms over her chest and fumed with utmost resolve.

August’s eyes beseeched her. “Please, Caroline. This is utterly important.”

Sensing that he was taking no comfort in the subject either, she softened. “The doctor said she had only a short time, though he said so only to Maeve and me, not to Mel.”

“But might she have heard?” Jefferson interjected.

His entry into the conversation drew his wife’s suspicions. “I … I suppose so. What is this all about?”

August groaned in frustration, rising and crossing to the very same window at which his daughter so often kept vigil. Caroline wondered if he, like she, hoped his attendance would bring the missing piece of his heart back through the gate.

“Caroline, my love,” Jefferson cooed, falling on his knees and holding both his sweetheart’s hands in his own. “August needs to figure out why Maeve left. I know if you ever left me, and I … Well, I’d just be beside myself with grief, but I’d want to know why you did it, for my own peace of mind.”

Caroline shook her head. “But I already told you, I don’t know why she left.”

Jefferson acknowledged her repeated declaration with a nod. “I know, but from what we’re able to gather, whatever prompted Maeve to take Augusta had something to do with a promise she made Amelia. August feels fairly confident that it must have been regarding something Amelia felt he couldn’t handle. They were such constant companions up until the day Goosie was born that he thinks it unlikely she would have kept something from him otherwise.”

Caroline concurred; it followed reason.

Jefferson continued, “August and I were discussing it, and we feel that if Amelia had known that she was dying, she might have asked something of either you or Maeve. Perhaps something regarding Goosie? Tell us, please. Did Maeve make any promises to Amelia before she died? Did Amelia ask anything of her?”

Closing her eyes to concentrate fully, Caroline tried to recall the horrific day. All she could remember at first was the blood. There had been so much, and it seemed with every raspy breath Amelia had grown weaker. The labor had come on quickly in the early hours of dawn. Amelia had been brave beyond measure. It was only in the last hours that Caroline began to realize something was wrong. The pain was growing beyond her tolerance, though Caroline knew well that pain was inherent to the process. But it was as though Amelia had begun to lose determination, as though she knew something was not going as it should. The doctor saved the baby, but said there was nothing to do for the mother.

“She was very weak at the end,” Caroline began. “She was babbling, incoherently. Every few minutes, the pain would wrack her. She … asked Maeve if she regretted falling in love with August. Maeve said she would have preferred the situation had been less trying, but that she loved him despite her best efforts to do otherwise.”

Caroline looked deeply into Jefferson’s eyes, feeling oddly relieved to at last pass along even these few details.

“She asked me if I was happy, though I had married a commoner and foreigner,” Caroline continued, “and I told her yes, you made me very happy.”

Jefferson smiled. “As do you, my love. More so with each day and each hour.”

She blushed in the reflection of his twinkling blue eyes. August, however, sensed her reticence to continue.

“Was there anything else?” he prompted.

She turned to him with a sour expression. “Do you not think I have thought of this before? Amelia said she wanted the baby named after you. Maeve and I told her Augusta was a lovely name. Then she began mumbling. That’s when the doctor told Maeve and me that she would pass soon. I collapsed, but Maeve stayed strong. She knelt beside her and held her hand. Even then, Mel was still more concerned for others than herself, and said that she prayed her daughter would never suffer the way she had. Then she was gone.”

With the flicker of memories long kept at bay, Caroline played the moment over in her mind. She had been consumed by tears at that point, but something vague and distant surfaced in the recollections.

“I think Maeve may have prayed? She muttered something about God’ll have me?”

“God?” August suddenly perked up. He seemed confused, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “No, if she was praying something from the liturgy, it would have been in Latin. Besides, Mel wasn’t Catholic. Or, did she … ” He spluttered for a moment. “Caroline, is there any chance she might have said geall mé?”

The sound of the foreign words rang like a remembered tune in Caroline’s ears. As though blowing dust away from a neglected book, its invocation crossed the years and she recognized it at once.

“Yes, I think she did. What does it mean?”

August snapped his finger as he made for the door. “It’s Irish!” he exclaimed as he turned the handle. “It means ‘I promise.’ Caroline, dear sister, thank you. Thank you so very much. Jefferson, come with me?”

Jefferson hesitated. “Of course, but where? Why? Goosie is waiting for—”

August smiled. “I know why Maeve left. I was such a damned fool not to have realized before. We need to pay a visit to Murphy again. The task before us will require the aid of a blacksmith and a true Fenian.”

From the Outside Looking In

Norwich, England, April 1870

O
ne eye cracked ever so slightly as she lifted her head and looked back over her shoulder at the lustful gaze devouring her frame.

“For the love of Mary, not yet, August.” Her head surrendered back to the pillow, though she counted herself lucky that he couldn’t see the playful smile dancing across her face. “Let me sleep a bit more.”

“Maeve … church. Caroline will be here soon. If Goosie’s not ready … ”

He trailed off and she groaned, knowing the threat was true. Caroline doted on her niece, and even though she now had a child of her own, was appalled if Augusta didn’t exemplify the height of fashion whenever the family made its way into town.

“Fine,” Maeve huffed, rolling up slowly on the heel of her hands and stretching her back in the process, looking much like a newly awoken kitty. August’s eyes grew dark as she arched before him. From his side of the bed, he fisted the neck of her nightdress and pulled her over him. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “As you said: church. We mustn’t miss Easter service.”

He gave a coy smile, indicating with the movement of his eye the pronounced bump in the smoothness of the sheet that covered them. “Or we can stay in and read some verses.”

Maeve rolled from the bed. His hand traveled with her languidly, giving a half-hearted effort to pull her back.

“That is positively sacrilegious.”

“Positively sacrilegious?” he mimicked. “You almost sound English.”

She smiled as she threw a shawl over her shoulders. The morning was crisp, though sun streamed in through the partially pulled curtain.

“Well, after three years, it was just a matter of course, I suppose.”

His finger traced vague patterns on the bed.

“Do you miss Ireland?” He sat up, his look more concerned and sincere than Maeve had noted from him in a long while. “Do you wish to go back? If you wanted to, we could make arrangements to stay at Shepherd’s Bluff in a matter of—”

“No,” she said by way of cutting him short. “There’s … there’s nothing left for me in Killarney now. Da’s gone. Patty has moved to America.”

“Well, there’s always Owen Murphy.”

She smiled at his jest. “Yes, I suppose I could always try climbing that tree again. Would you consent? May I take my leave?”

Not answering in words, he instead crawled across the bed and attempted again to divert Maeve’s focus. August mumbled as her lips met his. “Never. I shall never let you leave me, least of all for Murphy.”

His hands encircled her, pulling Maeve to him. He offered kisses in praise, and she accepted more than willingly. Had there not been a knock upon the chamber door, she may very well have allowed his attempts to unclothe her person continue.

As it was, he grimaced in his frustration. “Later, my love.”

“Of course, my lord.” Maeve turned toward the door as she stood and tied a sleeping gown around herself. “Enter!”

“See, they’re still in bed.”

Caroline’s voice was full of I-told-you-so as she entered the room, little Charles in her arms. He looked exquisitely dapper in his best navy blue suit.

“Good Easter, sister,” August said, welcoming her. “Where is Mr. Caroline?”

Charles giggled as he caught sight of Maeve, stretching out his arms in childish glee. Never one to deny, Maeve took the dimpled babe in her arms and spun him around. The jollity was quickly ended when August snatched him for himself. Charles was all too equally taken with August to complain. His uncle tossed him high into the air, catching him just in time to give him the proper dosage of fright mixed with fun.

“I declare,” Caroline sighed, clicking her tongue in mock disapproval, “sometimes I wonder if you’ll enchant my own child out from under me. Jefferson is seeing to the coach.” She held her hands out to Maeve. “Happy Easter, Maeve.” She leaned in and kissed her cheeks. Her eyes then took inventory of the room, and she turned a curious glance back to Maeve. “Where is Goosie?”

“Still asleep, I would wager.”

But of course, at that very moment, the door opened even further and a pair of angelic blue eyes resting on cherub-cherry cheeks peeked around the edge. August would not wait for her. Without letting go Charles, he made for the door and scooped up Augusta in the opposite arm. He spun the two around, singing songs to them. Between August and the children, it was difficult to ascertain who took more joy from the frolicking.

Maeve dressed before making her way down to breakfast. It was an odd arrangement in such a traditional, aristocratic home, but one to which the staff had all become accustomed. After all, Maeve was staff, even if all in the household knew that her persona as the Irish nanny to Lord Grayson’s only child was only for appearance’s sake. Within the walls of Meadowlark, it was understood that she was the lady of the house, but so kindly and egalitarian a lady that none of the staff engaged in malice of thought or action to demean her character at large.

And so they had lived quite happily this way. Until the previous Christmas. August still saw to obligations outside the home, as required to keep up his commercial endeavors and provide for the household and the estate. He had taken on Jefferson as an associate, and found in him a most agreeable colleague.

In late December, August and Jefferson had been invited to a Christmas ball at the home of one of their more profitable clients, a merchant of French origin, Monsieur Jacques Prideux. It was made clear by both way of the invitation that children were to attend as well. August was all too proud to have occasion to present his striking child to society. As a widower, Monsieur Prideux had suggested to August that “the nanny” come as well, to keep watch on Augusta.

Maeve was hesitant. Certainly she had any number of instances ventured out of Meadowlark with the Graysons, but acting the nanny during an outing to take a stroll up the lane or even a trip to sea for a week was only natural. To a Christmas Ball, however? As Rory had been fond of saying, that was a beer of a different brew. It was not a mere trip to market or the park. It was a gala on the scale of which Maeve personally had never witnessed.

Arriving appropriately attired for one of her outward profession, she felt like a house cat strutting amongst lions. While those in attendance were not unkind, outside of August and Jefferson (Caroline deemed Charles too young and stayed behind), she found hardly a friendly face among them. August was kept most of the evening seeing to business, or that is, the business of making himself known in the crowd. As a separate playroom had been prepared for the younger children and Augusta seemed well occupied and entertained among her peers, Maeve gave herself permission to take a few moment’s rest in the chilly night air on the back veranda of Beau Visage, Monsieur Prideux’s marble-encased manor.

She did not hear him approach.

“Mademoiselle O’Connor?” Prideux asked, jarring Maeve from her reverie.

She jolted.

“I am sorry, I did not wish to disturb. Only, I saw you standing alone. I hope nothing is wrong?”

Maeve caught her breath, her hand stationed firmly over her chest to calm her heart.

“Of course, Mr. Prideux. I’m fine. I’m sorry if I distracted you from your guests.”

“You did not.” His head cocked forward, trying to study her more closely. “Is the party … not … ?”

Shaking her head vigorously, Maeve answered. “It is quite a gay affair, sir. Only, I found myself a little out of place. I needed a moment without feeling like a reed amongst the roses.” As though a hot poker had entered her chest, Maeve immediately felt the burn of remorse. “I’m sorry. It was not my intention to insult.”

“Can I share something with you? I know exactly how you feel.” He leaned in closer still, and all but whispered to her. “Truth told, I am the son of a Greek sailor and a French whore. Not quite the caliber of those inside, either.”

Blinking several times in disbelief, Maeve tried to gauge if he was jesting; she concluded he wasn’t. Yet she hadn’t the words to respond, not knowing what to say.

Luckily, he chose to continue. “This party, it is for them a chance to show off their baubles and gowns and compare the size of their … assets. I take no pleasure from it. How is it you say, it is only ‘good business.’”

“Of course,” Maeve responded with a smile. “And the children are quite taken with it as well. Thank you, sir. It is nice to know that I’m not the only one of humble stock.”

“Your parents?”

“Before they died, my mother was a seamstress and cloth maker, and my father was groundskeeper at Shepherd’s Bluff, the Grayson’s estate.”

“But,” he began, seeming to stumble for words, “you are so young to be without them. Can I ask how they died?”

The hurt had long since dulled, so it was no more than a retelling of facts. “My mother was taken by consumption when I was sixteen. My father was killed during the Fenian revolt a few years ago.”

Prideux grew somber. “My sympathies. It must have been very hard for you. And now—” To Maeve’s unease, he reached out his pasty hand and traced a long, bony finger over her chilled flesh, looking out from heavy-lidded eyes, “ —you are forced to play governess to a British bastard’s child.”

Maeve snapped back her hand, her face burning and her teeth gnashing. “Lord Grayson is a fine man, and I have not been forced to do anything. I love Augusta as though she were my own.”

His dismissive smirk was accompanied by a pitying gaze. “Of course you do. She is a sweet child. But when she grows and starts to bark orders at you like so many English mutts, you’ll feel differently. For some one of your particular … qualities—” His hand reached up and stroked her cheek, coming to rest on her neck, long fingers wrapping around and taking a firm grip as his other hand planted itself on her waist. “—I am certain I could find better employment for you in my household. Perhaps even one of an extremely domestic bent.”

“Sir, you will remove your hands. If you don’t, I will—”

“Scream?” He gave a mischievous smirk. “You might, but all I need say is that I caught one of the nannies trying to escape with my valuables.” He reached into his pocket and quickly flashed to her a golden chain, an exceptional emerald dangling from it. “As an Irish woman and a servant, they’d be all too ready to believe. Please consider, I am prepared to make any service you perform very well compensated.”

Loosening from her neck, his hand moved down the front of her collar and hesitated over her breast. Panic overtook Maeve as she attempted to pull away. Prideux snapped up her wrists and forced himself upon her, planting his vile mouth on hers. Struggling, she broke free of the intrusion and screamed.

“You limey bastard!”

The Frenchman flew from Maeve as she fell to the ground. The echo of fist upon jaw met her ears. Looking up, Maeve witnessed August moving swiftly, Jefferson quickly approaching, and Prideux doubled over in pain as a knee plowed into his stomach.

“I caught her stealing!” he cried.

Maeve heard Jefferson break in. “Maeve is no more a thief than you are a cotton gin! August, see to Maeve. I’ll take care of this vile disgrace.”

With hesitance, August backed away and rushed to Maeve’s side. The commotion had drawn party-goers who were quickly filing out on to the veranda to watch. August’s arms were around her, pulling her up, before Maeve could even reason fully what had happened.

“Are you hurt?”

Maeve shook her head but could not speak. August pulled her to his chest, and unthinkingly planted the witnessed kiss that all took to the rumor mill, grinding the finest flour of falsehoods.

August found himself a slandered man. No one questioned his concern; a gentleman would aid any lady in distress, even a servant. But to kiss her? What of that? Compassion for the fellow man did not reach the rosy-hued lip of the lord to the lady.

And lesser still to the hired help.

Caroline reported back to Meadowlark that all manner of talk had spread. August remained unconcerned, reassuring Maeve that despite her worries, it was just a passing fancy among the clucking hens, and that another bag of feed would soon occupy their small brains and smaller worlds. It would be forgotten, he claimed, in a fortnight. But the rumor proved too persistent, and when invitations to Augusta’s tea - a fashion for the children of the wealthy - were sent to several prominent families in the community, more than a few came back denied.

Caroline and Maeve discussed it at great length, but August held firm; he did not believe the matter required any attention or action. Jefferson finally convinced him otherwise. It was determined that if they had nothing to hide, then appearing in public in proper roles could dispel the rumors. Maeve would attend Easter service sitting in the Grayson pew at Norwich Church.

Only they did have something. Not to hide, per se, but something they did not wish to expose to public scrutiny.

“Are you certain you want to go through with this?” August said as they all sat to breakfast.

Augusta was wholly consumed with a piece of toast, her feet dangling back and forth from her chair. Maeve drew her gaze from the child and looked into August’s concerned expression.

“I’ll not have Goosie losing face on my account. It won’t require much, only that you treat me with utter indifference for a few hours. And that you remember to call me Miss O’Connor.”

He smiled warmly and rubbed the top of her hand. “Then you must remember to call me Lord Grayson.”

“I have some experience with that.” She smirked.

“Joos!” Augusta wailed, her arms striving to reach the tumbler just beyond her reach. “Da, I wan’ joos.”

August lifted the wooden mug and moved it closer. “It really is a magnificent dress you fashioned for her, Caroline,” he said upon closer examination of the garment. “Quite exquisite. And it took you only one day, you say?”

Caroline positively beamed at the compliment. “It is a talent of mine, though I had rather hoped I might have opportunity to employ the craft soon at Meadowlark.”

Cheeks as red as embers burned brightly. “Caroline!” August spat. “You and I have said our piece on this, and I’ll speak no more of it.”

Maeve’s head lashed left and right. August huffed and Caroline sighed.

“Of course. It was not my intention to upset you.”

Maeve gave the siblings a sideways glance. “Whatever are you two going on about?”

His tension melting, August chuckled. “Did I not tell you?”

Caroline nodded, a timid blush in her cheeks. “You’re right. She does sound English anymore.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, whatever are you two croackin’ about?”

Jefferson, seated at the end of the table, cleared his throat. “Shouldn’t we go?”

August wiped his mouth before throwing his napkin on the table. “Yes, quite right. We’ll be late.”

Confused, Maeve refocused as she glanced at the clock and realized their time was up. A short carriage ride away, she steeled her nerves and prepared to play the role expected. All would be well as long as she kept her wits about her. And didn’t look directly into August’s eyes. As certain as rain, Maeve knew that would be her undoing, as even now, a simple glance was enough for him to pull her to any whim or fancy.

The first part of the service passed with relative ease, even with the sideward glances from every corner as they sat at the family pew, the second from the front. After the initial interest, the ruse settled in. Eyes focused forward as the somewhat stoic nature with which August treated Maeve fooled the lot. He was a little too convincing, Maeve thought, as even she began to wonder if she had slighted him in some manner.