Lily's Story (28 page)

Old Bill was already in the
stall, thick with fresh straw, part of which was dusted with snow
blown in through several cracks in the planking. Gert, the Jersey,
was bawling out great wrenching cries, pelvic and vascular. Her
eyes alternately lolled and stabbed. Her legs quivered, registering
each spasm. Aunt Bridie hurried to help Old Bill who was trying to
jam his hand into the cow’s slavering vagina.

“
Quit the
jumpin’, Gert,” Old Bill yelled. “I ain’t the bull!”

Gert wheezed as if she’d
been kicked in the stomach; Old Bill’s wrist disappeared. Aunt
Bridie went around to Gert’s front end, grasped her by the neck and
began to murmur into her ear. The next cry shook the planks of the
barn. Lily felt her blood curdle; she couldn’t swallow. Uncle
Chester left.

“
Comin’ out
feet first,” Old Bill announced. “I can feel its little hooves.” He
gave a yank, as if he were trying to jerk his axe out of an oak.
Aunt Bridie was thrown against the wall.

“
Here she
comes!” Old Bill hollered.

Lily saw the spasmic
undulations of Gert’s belly muscles, heard the fierce dry-heaving
of her breath; and then riding as it were on the death-scream of
its mother, the calf slid into the world on a toboggan of blood,
mucous and membrane that splattered across the snow and the straw.
Old Bill looked like he had been shot with ruby-glass. The calf,
wobbling in the pool of its afterbirth, peeked up at the snowy
universe. Gert dropped to her knees, reached for breath and, unable
to ask why, died.

W
hat surprised Lily
about the baby taking shape in her body was how disconnected its
existence seemed to be with the event that initiated it and with
the life of the person housing it and feeding it. Certainly the
pleasures of the Prince during their lusty encounter and the
gentle, almost effeminate, afterword, did not have
this
end in view. Nor did her own surrender have any purpose but
the immediacy of its joy and pain, the need to feel that something
mattered. Not only had the creature inside her proclaimed its own
existence, it continued to evolve in a manner that was both
impudent and independent.

It lay in her womb like a
young vegetable marrow with a nozzle attached, hose-like, to the
host-vine. Her abdomen, as Auntie predicted, puffed outward and
inward as well, pressing against her back. Her belly felt like a
rind or a casing that might harden and burst without warning in the
night. It cared little that she could walk or sit or lie with ease.
Moreover, when she wanted to sleep, it decided it wanted to swim.
One of its errant back-strokes would jar her out of a dream.
Huffing and panting at the end of a day’s work, she could feel it
sucking on her flagging energies, pulling the best of her blood
into its own. Always she referred to the thing as “it”, never him
or her. And not simply because she couldn’t see it to know or
fantasize: even her dreams reminded her that it was a creature, a
tadpole seeking out a shape for its eventual humanness, and more
powerful than any ordinary infant – boy or girl – because it was
still ungoverned potential, raw ribs-and-blood with no future yet
to lose. For Lily it had organs and cartilage and nerves – but no
face. I will bear you, she thought often, then I will name you, and
love you. Forever.

B
y mid-April the snows
had vanished. The crocuses and stove-pipes dotted the lawns and
gardens of the town by the River and the Lake. The rains fell,
gentle and inevitable. The surveyors arrived to lay out the streets
and lots of yet another village destined to germinate and bloom
within a single season. Aunt Bridie looked on this event and at the
unswaddled belly of her niece, and permitted her heart to leap –
once – in expectation.

3

N
o one at the great
western station that April evening took any particular notice of
the impeccably attired, distinguished gentleman – complete with an
entourage of well-dressed but undistinguished lackies – as he
disembarked from the first-class Toronto car and crossed to the
livery at the east end of the building. After all, Sarnia was an
important town: moguls and politicians and pretenders of all sorts
stepped off the 6:40 almost every day of the week. Such anonymity
seemed to be to this visitor’s liking for the exchange which
resulted in the rental of a democrat –
sans
local driver
– was done with despatch and discretion. One of the lesser apostles
took the reins, while the two secretaries and the Honourable
Charles Gunther Murchison settled down into leather and velvet, and
studiously ignored the regional scenery. Little notice was taken of
them as they turned north-east up the Errol Road and drove into the
dusk of early spring. It was almost dark when the driver, following
some route previously committed to memory, veered into the lane of
the Ramsbottom place.

O
nly the Honourable
Charles Gunther Murchison remained in the kitchen. The others,
having been courteously introduced, were banished to the democrat,
where they were stared at by Old Bill as if they had just dropped
from the moon. Inside, Uncle Chester perched on the edge of his
chair and watched in awe as Bridie and the distinguished arrival
occupied the middle of the room. In her bedroom Lily was just
waking from a restless doze.

“
I have come
on the most urgent of matters, Mrs. Ramsbottom, straight from the
office of the Governor himself. I apologize again for the
suddenness of our appearance so late in the day, but when you hear
what news I bring, you will understand our need for covert action.
Several lives are at stake.”

Uncle Chester leaned forward;
Bridie blinked but gave no ground. “Whose lives?” she asked
evenly.

“
Before I am
permitted to offer detailed explanations, I must talk with
your...niece.” He was like a bald eagle at home in this strange
eyrie, his bronze pate feathered at the sides with grizzled
whiskers, his
aquiline beak
and assayer’s eyes piercing every shadow in the coal-oil gloom, his
bearing regal as befitting a man who has twice been a cabinet
minister, who stared down a dozen rebel guns in ’thirty-seven and
prevailed.

“
My niece
isn’t well,” Bridie said. “She’s not available to you, sir, nor to
Sir Edmund Head himself.”

Murchison took no offense. “I’m
afraid she must be. The orders I am under, you see, come from Her
Majesty.”

Uncle Chester fell part-way off
his chair and barely recovered in time to abort the trick in his
back. Lily opened her eyes.

“
Queen
Victoria?”

“
Yes. Directly
from the palace, through His Excellency in Quebec. I have been
asked to seek out and speak with your niece on a matter of the
utmost delicacy and urgency.”

A glimmer of insight reached
Bridie’s eyes, they faded in disbelief.

“
With all
respect, sir, my niece is ill and can’t be disturbed. If you tell
me what you need, of me or her, I’ll talk to her in the morning.
Surely even our Queen would understand the need not to upset a sick
child.”

Lily’s legs cramped to the
bedstead.

“
I appreciate
your desire to protect your niece, Mrs. Ramsbottom, and I know His
Excellency and Her Majesty would applaud your loyalty and
solicitude. But it is imperative that I at least
see
your niece. If she is ill, I can return to speak with her
tomorrow.”

“
Please, sir,”
Uncle Chester said, his voice quavering, “Lily ain’t well. An’
that’s the truth.”

“
Chester, you
keep –”

“
It’s all
right, Auntie,” Lily said coming slowly into the shadowy
light.

A
unt Bridie was now
sitting down in the straightback chair by the stove. Her face was
ashen.

“
You see,”
Murchison was explaining in lower but no-less-formal tones, “I had
no idea whether the girl had informed you of the possible paternity
of the child. Indeed, we did not know for sure that the girl was
‘enceinte’, though one of our sources, a young man disguised as a
lost traveller and sitting now in my carriage, reported the
possibility to us two months ago. All this was carried out, you
understand, at the request of the Monarch Herself after a belated
confession on the part of her son. Then, of course, we had to use
the utmost discretion possible to ascertain the moral character of
the girl. It proved, as I’m sure you know, ma’am, to be
unimpeachably stainless.” He was speaking directly to the stunned
Aunt Bridie, averting his eagle gaze from the lumpish, squat figure
seated to his right.

“
It is the
Prince’s babe,” Lily said again.

The Honourable Mr.
Murchison shifted tone and stance, as if he were a lawyer changing
from defense to prosecution. “Now that these most difficult and
delicate matters are clear, I have the awful duty to inform you of
the decisions taken, as I have said, at the highest levels of
state. I have been commanded to explain to you that these decisions
have been reached after full consideration of the best and just
interests of all parties concerned. The Prince, you will be pleased
to know, is contrite and eager to make amends for his youthful
indiscretion.” He looked about for some confirmation, but only
Uncle Chester was nodding ritually.

“
Now that we
know the babe will have royal blood in his veins, we are under the
strictest obligation, as citizens and subjects of the Empire, to
treat that fact with the awe and respect it deserves. Her Majesty
expressly wishes the child to be born in circumstances most
conducive to its general health, including the utmost care of the
mother during the crucial days of her lying-in. The best doctors
and midwives are to be consulted; a hospital or surgery must be
close at hand in case of emergencies.”

“
We got no
hospital here,” Aunt Bridie said.

“
Precisely.
You take my very point,” the solicitor said, wheeling to face the
invisible jury. “We have come to take Lily to a place where all of
these conditions obtain, where both her well-being and that of the
child will be assured. Moreover, we are not insensible of the
social difficulties associated with a child born out of wedlock;
the Prince himself was particularly concerned about this point.
Hence, the immediate and secret removal of the girl to a house we
have arranged in London will be of benefit to all
concerned.”

“
And after the
babe is born?” Aunt Bridie said coldly into the ensuing
silence.

“
Mother and
child can be returned here, of course. Not right away naturally.
Perhaps a husband can be found for her, or a reasonable story
concocted to account for the exceptional circumstances. Whatever
arrangements are decided
post
partum
,” he said relishing the
Latin, “Her Majesty has commanded Her viceroy here in the dominion
to disburse appropriate funds for the maintenance of the child till
he comes of age. Furthermore –”

“
We don’t want
any of your money,” Aunt Bridie said.

“
Now, sweetie
–” Uncle Chester said, but was cut dead by a stare.

“
Would you
kindly get the girl’s things together as soon as possible? There’s
a freight train leaving here in an hour; we’ve arranged a special
caboose to be attached.”

Aunt Bridie stood up. “The
girl, as you call her, only goes if she wants to. Please tell Her
Majesty that we are quite capable of taking care of our own – royal
blood or not. An’ we don’t take charity.”

“
May I see
Lily alone, then?”

Lily nodded to her Aunt.

“
If you
must.”

T
he privy-councillor
and ex-Grenadier was disconcerted by the way the girl stared
directly at him while he lectured her, with just the slightest hint
of impending disrespect. Moreover, the thumping of the foetus on
the drum of her abdomen was scandalously audible.

“
We understand
your reluctance to leave home, but we ask that you reflect on all
the advantages that will accrue to a positive decision to go to
London. The lady who has agreed to care for you is a woman of the
highest quality and discretion. We also recognize that you are part
of a working family and that your loss over the next three months
or so will impose serious hardships on your Aunt and Uncle. Thus,
though your Aunt sees it as charity, His Excellency will, with or
without her consent, deposit a hundred dollars in her account at
the Bank of Upper Canada for each month you are away, for as long
as it takes to resolve matters in a satisfactory
manner.”

W
hen Aunt Bridie and
Uncle Chester were waved back in, they found Lily standing by the
stove, her eyes brimming with tears.

11

1

M
rs. Edgeworth’s
walled garden in May was as beautiful as the East Gate to Eden, as
that lady iterated often over the irritation of teacups and silver
spoons. When the ladies of London were gathered there, as they were
each Thursday afternoon during the warm season, Lily had to observe
the ritual proceedings from her room on the second floor of the
red-brick mansion. She was not to be seen in public and
particularly
en
silhouette
. Those were the
principal terms of her confinement. But when it was not Thursday
afternoon, Lily was free to roam the gardens at will, protected
from prurient view by its fieldstone walls, rampant privet and
gothic elms. Hedges of honeysuckle and wild lilac marked out
avenues for the eye or the weary step, arrested by arbours of
budded rose, beds of thrusting tulips, and the prodigality of peony
and rose-of-sharon. Here Lily whiled away the weeks and hours of
her twenty-first spring.