Dangerous Decisions (16 page)

It was Oliver who broke the silence, his voice harsh. ‘I want no mention of this. The child must have her hands covered at all times. Dr Haverstock, I trust your nurse is not a gossip?'

‘I am a professional midwife, Mr Faraday, not a fishwife!'

‘You're impertinent as well!'

‘Oliver, I can appreciate that this has been a shock, but …' Andrew's tone was sharp. ‘Let me explain. The medical term for this condition is polydactyly. It is quite rare, indeed I have only seen it twice before. Your baby's hands are affected but sometimes it can manifest itself as an additional toe. Fortunately in your case the extra little finger is perfectly formed.'

Helena gazed down in anguish at the tiny fingers now curled into a fist. ‘But what causes such a thing?'

‘I'm afraid we don't know, although it can sometimes be an inherited condition.'

Oliver had not moved. He was still staring down at his daughter's hands, his expression one of profound revulsion. Then without a glance, even a word of comfort or reassurance, he turned to Dr Haverstock. ‘I shall be obliged if you will join me in the drawing room before dinner. Shall we say in about an hour?'

As he crossed the room to the door, Helena stared after him in bewilderment and disbelief. As the others exchanged glances, into the awkward silence the midwife said, ‘Have you decided on a name yet, Mrs Faraday?'

Helena's voice was trembling as she answered. ‘I had thought Rosalind Mary, after my husband's late mother and my own.'

‘What lovely names.'

Dr Haverstock's tone was one of concern. ‘You need to sleep. Nurse will ring for your maid to come and sit with you. There is no need for you to worry about your baby – she's unlikely to wake for some time.'

In the drawing room, Oliver glanced at the French ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. Dinner would have to be served far beyond the usual time, but his dislike of disruption paled into insignificance against his feeling of desolation. This weekend was proving to be the worst of his life. First to be cheated of a son and heir and then to discover that he had fathered that … His mind veered away from the appalling image. He looked up at the gilt-framed portrait of Robert Faraday hanging above the fireplace. Would the man famed for his reserve and arrogance ever have imagined that a grandchild of his would be born so flawed?

Again he glanced at the clock with a frown. His father would not have countenanced dining with a member of the medical profession or indeed any profession, but times were changing, and Oliver had a great respect for this particular man. And then at last Dr Haverstock was ushered in by the butler, but any conversation was constrained until Crossley had performed the ritual of serving their aperitifs.

As soon as he left, Oliver said, ‘Do you have any further comments concerning the unfortunate situation upstairs?'

‘Only that I understand your double disappointment. Certainly, with regard to your wish for a son, I can only repeat that it is very early days. After all, you have only been married just over a year, and next time …'

‘How is one to know that this … aberration will not happen again?'

‘I think that is most unlikely.'

Oliver lowered his glass to stare at him. He said very slowly, ‘But you told me this type of malformation can be hereditary.'

‘It can be, yes, but it is not always the case.'

Thoughtfully, Oliver took a sip of his vermouth, deciding that any such condition in the Faraday family would have been recorded.

Dr Haverstock said, ‘Oliver, I feel I need to talk to you about your earlier instruction concerning your daughter. I really must point out that despite your understandable reticence regarding your private affairs, what you suggest is completely impractical.'

‘May I ask why?'

‘How are you to conceal the baby's hands? She cannot wear mittens all the time, especially when summer comes. And as the months pass, she will not only become distressed but able to pull them off herself.'

Oliver knew he was speaking the truth. His reaction upstairs had been a shocked instinctive one. And yet how could he allow his family name to become drawing-room or salon tittle-tattle? People would refer to the ‘Faraday baby' and the five fingers would become embellished until they became six, seven, or even some other abnormality. Oliver knew only too well the prurient curiosity of the idle and how society loved malicious gossip. But what the doctor was saying made eminent sense. It was idiotic to think that a baby could be so confined, or that tongues could be silenced, no matter how trustworthy and disciplined his staff. It would only take one careless word …

He gazed down into his crystal glass. ‘You give sound advice.'

‘I try to. And Oliver, you must remember that Mrs Faraday has had a long and difficult labour. What she needs, what you both need, is time to come to terms with all this and then to support each other.'

Oliver gazed at him, the word ‘hereditary' preying on his mind. Was there any history of the condition in the Standish family? Intrusive question though it was, he was determined to raise it with Helena's father, whose arrival and that of Beatrice was expected on Monday morning.

The room was cosy with flickering firelight welcoming Helena from a deep and restoring sleep. Her gaze drifted first to the bassinet and then to where Jane was sitting in an armchair, her fingers busy with her needle as she mended a silk stocking. Helena closed her eyes again, feigning sleep, her mind fastening on the earlier scene in the bedroom, the poignant moment when she had first seen her baby's hands. And then remembered the horror she had felt on seeing Oliver's revulsion. How could anyone look at their own child, their first-born, in such a terrible way? Rosalind's little hands were not ugly or disfigured – they were just slightly different. When one considered some of the distressing deformities some children were born with … Bitter resentment at her husband's coldness, his lack of interest and tenderness, brought tears to her eyes. Helena raised a hand to brush them away.

Jane, realising she was awake, came over to help her into a comfortable sitting position. ‘How do you feel now, Madam?'

‘Better, thank you.' Helena glanced anxiously over to the bassinet. ‘Is she all right?'

‘She's sleeping like an angel, such a beautiful baby. I'd like to offer my congratulations to both you and the master.'

‘Thank you, Jane.'

‘Would you like something to eat, perhaps an omelette or chicken? I could ask Cook to poach you some fish?'

‘Yes, I think I would. Maybe some chicken.'

‘I'll just ring for the nurse, and then I'll see to it.'

A few minutes later Nurse Parks returned to check on the baby and to assist Helena with her personal needs. Then she settled herself in the new nursing chair. ‘I'm so pleased you had a good sleep, Mrs Faraday. If I may say so, I fully approve that you're going to feed Baby yourself. I am afraid I could never understand Queen Victoria thinking that breastfeeding was a ‘horror'. Nor that she could have nine children and nurse not a single one. Fortunately, attitudes are beginning to change and you're not my first society mother to make such a decision.'

‘It wasn't easy to persuade my husband,' Helena admitted. In fact Oliver had been appalled at the idea, but she had refused to be swayed. ‘I'm afraid I had to compromise and promise to use a wet nurse after the first six weeks.'

‘Never mind, it's those first weeks which are the most important.'

‘When will …?'

‘She'll let us know when she's ready. I'm hoping you can have something to eat first. You will need to keep your strength up.'

And almost as if the baby had heard them, it was not until Jane had been to remove Helena's tray that into the silence drifted an increasingly plaintive wail.

‘There we are,' Nurse Parks said. ‘Now I must warn you that sometimes it can be difficult the first time.'

‘Before you bring her, please would you take her mittens off?' Helena began to undo the silk buttons on the bodice of her nightdress and unsure quite how to proceed waited until she could take the now fretful baby into her arms. Instinctively she guided the small mouth to her breast, wincing at the initial pain, and then her heart softened as she gazed down at the blissful and contented expression on Rosalind's little face. But for the rest of her life, Helena's abiding memory would always be of the moment when her daughter's five tiny fingers first curled around her own.

It was not until the following afternoon when Dr Haverstock had departed for London that Oliver again entered Helena's bedroom, and at his dismissive gesture Nurse Parks rose from beside the fire where she had been knitting. She gave a swift glance towards the bed and then quietly left. Oliver, averting his eyes from the bassinet, walked towards Helena who, sitting propped against the pillows with her hair loose around her shoulders, met his eyes but made no effort to greet him.

He cleared his throat. ‘How are you my sweet?'

‘I'm recovering well, thank you.' Her voice was cool. ‘Don't you want to see Rosalind?'

‘I have no wish to disturb her.'

‘I am sure that a fond glance from her father will not cause her to wake.'

‘I do not take kindly to sarcasm, Helena.'

‘Neither does it seem that you take kindly to a baby who has a slight imperfection.'

‘I cannot pretend to be overjoyed.'

‘Don't you even want to hold her?' Helena's voice had a break in it, but despite the plea in her eyes, Oliver knew that bile would rise in his throat at the slightest contact with those small, malformed hands; even if Helena had given birth to a son, he would have been equally repulsed. He also knew that his revulsion was something she would never be able to understand.

His voice tight, he said, ‘Babies are exclusively a female domain. You must surely know that gentlemen rarely involve themselves in nursery matters.'

The short silence that followed was broken by Helena. ‘She
is
wearing mittens you know.'

Stung and disturbed by the perception beneath her cutting tone, Oliver turned and went over to the bassinet where his daughter lay sleeping. It was true; both small hands were concealed by white mittens that matched the frilled bonnet. He gazed down at her unable to feel the slightest sense of either pride or tenderness. His only emotion was one of bitter resentment because this baby's arrival, its very existence, meant for Oliver only one thing – that Graylings had been cheated.

He stood back and looked over to his young wife who despite looking pale and tired was still beautiful. It was said that a woman could not conceive while she was breastfeeding so it was fortuitous that he had stipulated a time limit. He forced a smile. ‘The child looks well.'

‘Yes, the nurse is pleased with her.'

‘Then I will bid you good morning, my sweet.'

Helena didn't reply. And as Oliver was leaving he reassured himself that there was no real need for concern. He was a man accustomed to achieving his aims and if all went well, then within twelve months that fussy bassinet would contain a different and much more welcome occupant.

The following Monday, Nicholas arrived at Wimpole Street to the news that Dr Haverstock was expected towards lunchtime. ‘I managed to cancel his morning appointments,' Miss Barnes said. ‘It's a wonderful invention, the telephone. I've been telling mother about it.'

‘One day, Miss Barnes, I think there will be one in most households.'

She smiled at him. ‘I hope it happens in my lifetime, then.'

But while Nicholas smiled back at her, his thoughts were elsewhere. During the weekend, even though his mother was visiting from Bath, he had found his thoughts constantly straying to Helena and the situation at Graylings. At least now, he would hear news. But it was much later and not until his last patient had left that Nicholas heard the welcome sound of his colleague's deep voice. When eventually he went into the other consulting room he found Andrew enjoying a pipe while he gazed out of the window. He turned to smile and beckon Nicholas to join him when together they watched a young boy rolling a hoop along the pavement. ‘Such carefree days,' Andrew said.

Nicholas gave a nod of agreement. ‘I do remember.' He turned to his colleague, ‘So, did everything go well in Hertfordshire?'

The two men went to sit in the leather armchairs each side of a walnut coffee table and as Nicholas listened to Andrew's explanation, his heart went out to Helena. It was a shock to any mother to discover that her baby wasn't perfect. ‘I have only seen it once,' he said, ‘a couple of years ago. In this instance the extra finger, which was also in the postaxial position, was merely a small soft digit. There was no bone so I was able to tie off with sutures. But a perfectly formed one is a different matter.' He paused a moment. ‘How have the parents taken it?'

‘Mrs Faraday – quite well, she is an admirable young woman. But I'm afraid Oliver, who as you know had hoped for a son, seems to consider it some sort of personal affront that a child of his could be flawed. He views it as a deformity, a slight on his family.'

Nicholas looked down at his own hands, spreading the fingers. He hadn't taken to Helena's husband, but then that might have been the case whoever she had married. ‘It's hardly that. I would consider it minor when compared to some.'

Andrew removed his pipe. ‘Oliver has been of an obsessive nature since a child. In my own presence, he threw a teddy bear across the room because the ear had come unstitched. Nothing would pacify him, despite his nanny offering to sew it back. It wasn't perfect, you see.'

Nicholas was incredulous as he heard of Oliver's initial wish to hide his newly born baby away from public scrutiny. ‘Whatever possessed the man?'

‘Family pride I think, to which he is excessively prone. I did manage to persuade him that it was a nonsensical idea, but I doubt whether the child will receive much affection from him, either now or in the future.'

‘It doesn't sound as if he will ever be reconciled to the poor little mite,' Nicholas said. ‘Well, not poor exactly, but …'

‘There's many an unhappy child in a wealthy household,' Andrew commented. ‘I think we both know that.'

‘There are many not only unhappy but wretched children in London, Andrew. Sometimes the poverty and deprivation makes me feel ashamed.'

‘At least by practising medicine we play our part. Come Nicholas, my digestion tells me it is time for lunch. We can continue our philosophy over a good meal.'

‘By the way,' Nicholas said as they rose to leave, ‘did they name the baby?'

‘Rosalind Mary. One can only hope that she has a more fortunate future than those she was named after.'

Helena had been longing to show her daughter to her family, but although she had explained the situation, it was with some apprehension that she watched Jacob and Beatrice stand together to stare into the bassinet.

Jacob was the first to speak. ‘How on earth could such a thing happen?'

‘I don't know, Papa. But she's still lovely, isn't she?'

He looked across at her. ‘Poppet, she's more than lovely, she's a beautiful baby.'

Helena's eyes filled with tears at his use of the childhood endearment. ‘I'm sorry I seem to be so emotional at the moment. It is just that Oliver's reaction was otherwise. At first he even wanted to hide her away from everyone, for her to wear mittens all the time.' The hurt in her voice almost broke Jacob's heart. Shocked, he looked down again at his sleeping granddaughter – was Helena telling him that Oliver was ashamed of his own child?

‘I do worry how it will affect her as she grows up.'

Jacob frowned. ‘Is it possible to have it removed?'

‘Dr Haverstock said it could be done, but it would leave an unsightly scar. His advice was to leave well alone.'

Beatrice came over to the bed, and with a rare gesture of affection took her niece's hand in her own. ‘Helena she has Standish blood, she will cope with fortitude. After all, what difference does it really make? The only difficulty I can think of is with gloves, but that can easily be remedied – she can simply tape the two little fingers together before she puts them on.'

Helena smiled at her with gratitude. ‘You were always practical. Oh I can't tell you how glad I am that you and Papa are here.'

‘I shall stay for as long as you need me,' Beatrice said. ‘Certainly for the rest of your lying-in period. I take it you have a nanny and an under-nursery maid?'

‘Yes, or at least we will have. I'm afraid the baby coming early upset all the arrangements. But the nursery maid is able to come tomorrow – she only lives in the village. And Nurse Parks has promised to remain until the end of the week when the nanny should arrive.' Helena looked up at her aunt. ‘I do hope she won't turn out to be bossy, the sort who will want to take complete charge.'

‘You must start as you mean to go on, Helena. Remember that Rosalind is your child. I'm afraid sometimes these people need to be reminded of such things.'

Jacob turned at last from the bassinet and came over to kiss his daughter on the cheek. ‘Where is Oliver? We haven't yet seen him.'

‘No, he was out with his estate manager when we arrived, which was earlier than expected.' Beatrice went back to the bassinet. ‘When is she due for a feed?'

‘She will probably wake in about half an hour. I'm sure Oliver will be back shortly.'

‘Good. In the meantime, Jacob, shall we go down for tea? And afterwards I shall look forward to holding my great-niece.'

‘Ah, but who is going to be first? Remember I am the proud grandfather.'

Helena smiled at their familiar banter and once alone glanced around her large and luxurious boudoir. Why was it that she often longed to be back in her own cosy bedroom at Broadway Manor? Sometimes she wondered whether Graylings would ever feel like her real home.

Jacob, who was seated opposite his son-in-law as they dined that evening, found it impossible to forget his daughter's disturbing admission. With new and worrying insight he recalled how he and Beatrice had previously discussed the absence of any dogs at Graylings and the almost eerie plethora of good-looking staff. And now it would seem that he had rejected his own baby. Was Oliver such a perfectionist that it bordered on paranoia? What other explanation could there be for such an outrageous suggestion. And Beatrice must have similar concerns because although she contributed to the conversation, Jacob noticed that apart from her initial congratulations she didn't once mention Rosalind.

However, later, once the two men were alone with their brandy and cigars, Oliver himself raised the subject. ‘It is unfortunate about the child's hands.'

Jacob was wary. ‘Indeed, but children are born with far worse.'

‘Dr Haverstock,' Oliver said, ‘who by the way is an excellent physician should you ever need one, told me that the condition is often hereditary. As I am not aware of any such history in the Faraday family, I wondered whether you could throw any light on the situation.'

So that was it, Jacob thought. The man is trying to apportion blame. He managed an even tone. ‘I can assure you that I can't. Certainly I have never heard of it in the Standish family.'

‘I see.'

‘You say he used the word “often”, so I take it that he didn't mean always?'

‘Yes, but …'

‘Then I suggest, Oliver, that you put the possibility out of your mind. Otherwise …' Jacob's voice trailed away.

‘We will know when Helena has another child, won't we?'

Jacob disliked his tone. He had not expected to journey to Graylings and find on his arrival a young mother and baby lacking the love and support they deserved. At the end of the evening when he made his excuses to retire early, his thoughts were not easy ones. He may have encouraged this marriage, but now he was beginning to wonder whether he could have made a serious error of judgement.