Secret for a Nightingale (15 page)

I will be watchful. I hope I never have to see this man. Stephen gave me his book to read. It is mysterious and er sensual. and really rather disturbing. It has qualities like those I found in Sir Richard Burton’s books. They both fascinate and repel. “

“Stephen admired both men so much. I read only one. I had no desire to read more. Stephen used to say that when he read them it was like taking a trip into those far-off countries. The writing was so vivid.”

“It’s true,” I said.

“But I believe with you that the writers are dangerous men, even if remarkable. I believe they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.”

“I always thought that it was because of this man that Aubrey began to experiment. He may have wanted to see what effect drugs would have on a man like Aubrey. I don’t know. I’m only guessing. I don’t suppose Aubrey would do such a thing now …”

She looked at me anxiously. I understood perfectly what she was trying to tell me. I was beginning to fit together a picture of what very likely happened on that never-to be-forgotten night.

I almost told Amelia of it, but I could not bring myself to talk of it even to her. Of one thing I was sure: I would never endure that degradation again.

I thanked her for what she had told me, assuring her that she had been right to do so.

We did not say much more after that. We took a fond farewell and promised ourselves that we should meet again soon.

I suppose most unsatisfactory marriages break up gradually. The disintegration of mine certainly began on the night in Venice. True, I had made excuses for Aubrey, but I had always known that those impulses must have been in him somewhere, otherwise they would not have come out in any circumstances. I sensed that he was equally discontent with the marriage. I had failed him just as he had failed me. I was ready to believe that in these situations the blame cannot be all on one side.

I can say that when I married him it was with the intention of being a good wife. Perhaps he also first intended to be a good husband; but as his character was being revealed to me, I was realizing that I had made just about the biggest mistake a woman can make.

And yet . out of it had come Julian. And how could I regret anything that had brought me my child.

For the first two months after Julian’s birth I was too absorbed in him to think about much else.

Aubrey did say: “Aren’t you getting rather absurd, darling? After all, old Nanny Benson is there. Must you always be dashing off to the nursery?”

“Nanny Benson is rather old.”

“She has looked after children all her life. She’s more experienced than you are. You’re so nervous about that child, you’ll be upsetting him if you are not careful.”

There might be some truth in what he said; but I could not help it. I sensed the criticism in Aubrey’s words and manner. I was so overwhelmed by motherhood that I was not bothering to be a good wife.

Through Julian I formed a relationship with Mrs. Pollack, the housekeeper. Before, she had seemed to me a very formal woman, deeply conscious of her position in the household,

humourless and something of a martinet. But since the coming of Julian she had changed. She looked completely different when she saw the baby; her face would be forced into a smile, which appeared to be most reluctant and was all the more genuine for that.

“I have to tell you. Madam,” she said as though admitting to something sinful, “I do like to see little babies.”

When I walked with him in the gardens, she would contrive to be there.

When she thought he smiled at her, she was filled with delight. When he grabbed her finger, she marvelled at his intelligence; and Mrs. Pollack’s adoration of my baby brought us closer together.

I sometimes had a cup of tea with her in her sitting-room, and took Julian with me. I felt a certain pleasure in having a friend in the house and such a stalwart, honest woman. She knew a little about babies too. She had had three of her own.

“All married and gone away now. Madam. But that’s how it is.” She shook her head slowly.

“You remember them as little ones when they depended on you … and then they’ve gone to live lives of their own. Oh, mine are good enough to me. I could go and live with my Annie, but I don’t think that’s right for the young somehow. I wish they could stay little babies.”

I was so pleased to find that Mrs. Pollack was quite human after all. I believed that she would have been a better nurse than Nanny Benson.

I asked her once why she had not found a post looking after children rather than keeping a household of servants in order.

She pondered that awhile and then she said that she thought madness lay that way.

“I should get too fond of them … and then they’re too old to need you. It’s like having a family all over again. I must say though. Madam, it’s good to have a little one in the house.”

If I were going out, I used to tell Mrs. Pollack. There was an unspoken agreement between us that I wanted her to keep an eye on Julian, for I did not want to leave him entirely in the care of Nanny Benson who might nod off at a moment when she should be looking after the child.

Mrs. Pollack was the soul of tact. She understood and took pride in the trust I placed in her. She was well repaid by Julian’s obvious appreciation of her, when he grew old enough to express it.

One night, when Julian was only a few months old, I was worried about him as he had developed a cold. It was only a slight one but the smallest thing wrong with him sent me into a panic.

I awoke in the night. It must have been soon after three and I felt I must make sure that he was all right. I went into the nursery. He was restless, flushed and breathing heavily.

I could hear Nanny Benson’s rhythmic snoring in the next room.

The door was open but she was in such a deep sleep that I was sure it would take a great deal to wake her.

I seized the baby and, wrapping him in a blanket, I sat cradling him in my arms. I stroked his hair back from his forehead and as I did so he ceased to whimper. I went on stroking his head for he seemed to derive much comfort from my touch, and from the back of my mind came memories of those other occasions when my hands had seemed to have a healing effect. I could see my old ayah’s face clearly. What had she said?

“There is power in those hands.”

I had not believed her. Now I thought of what I had read in the books which Stephen had given me. It was true that in a society like ours we were apt to dismiss that which was not what we could call logical. But there could be other ways than ours, other cultures. Sir Richard Burton and the strange Dr. Damien had hinted at that. It was to discover these things that they had set out on their wild journeys.

Now my thoughts were all for soothing my child, and I did so so satisfactorily that soon he was sleeping peacefully, his breathing normal, his face less flushed.

I sat with him through the night. I should not be able to sleep if I left him. So I just sat there happily holding him in my arms and becoming a little more certain that there was some power in my hands.

My ayah had said that it was a gift from the gods and such gifts should be used.

“5

It would be a wonderful thing to save life. I could understand in a way why men like Dr. Damien were ready to do anything in their thirst for knowledge. In his case, I read, it was to discover how certain substances could be used for the benefit of the sick. That sounded noble. But there was an arrogance about him which came through in his books, and I believed that he took an immense delight in the adventures which came his way savouring a hundred sensual mysteries in the name of furthering medical science, which made me suspicious of the man especially since Amelia had more or less warned me against him.

I wanted to learn more about this strange healing power which might be mine.

The next morning, when I returned to our bedroom, Aubrey said: “You look worn out. What on earth happened?”

“Julian wasn’t well in the night.”

“Couldn’t Nanny B. look after him?”

“She was snoring all night. The child could be in convulsions and she would know nothing about it.”

“Well, I hope you are not going to make a habit of these nocturnal wanderings.”

“No. I am going to have the cradle moved into this room so that I can be near him.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Indeed it is not. And I am going to do it.”

He shrugged his shoulders and it was done.

Julian was fretful in the night and Aubrey said it was an impossible situation, and either I moved out of the room with the cradle or he would.

I thought it was only fair that I should. There were plenty of rooms in the Minster.

So I had the cradle moved to one of them and there I slept.

I don’t think either Aubrey or I was greatly disturbed by the fact that we now occupied separate rooms. I know I slept in peace knowing that my mother’s instinct would wake me immediately if Julian needed me.

A year sped by. It was entirely taken up with Julian. Julian’s first smile; Julian’s first tooth; his first word, which I was delighted was Mama. There were cosy chats with Mrs. Pollack when we discussed Julian at great length and he crawled about the floor playing with the empty cotton reels she found for him, rolling over the floor, clapping his hands when we clapped ours to show approval for his little achievements. He took his first tottering steps across the short space from her knees to mine, smiling up at us with triumph when he fell against us. They were wonderful moments which I would treasure for ever.

I was now and then aware of a certain exasperation in Aubrey’s manner.

Now that mourning for Stephen was officially over, he wanted to entertain his friends. I naturally had to take part in this; but I did so without much enthusiasm. They were not the sort of people who greatly appealed to me. Their main topic of conversation concerned hunting, fishing and outdoor sports with which I was not very well acquainted.

After those dinner-parties Aubrey now and then expressed his disappointment in my performance.

“You were scarcely the sparkling hostess.”

“They talk about such trivial things.”

“Trivial to you, perhaps.”

“They never talk politics for one thing … the change in the government, the coup d’etat in France with Louis Napoleon making himself absolute head of the French government…”

“My dear girl, what has this to do with us?”

“Everything that happens in this country and those close to us must affect us.”

“You are a regular bluestocking, my dear. Do you know that is one of the less popular brands of woman?”

“I wasn’t thinking of attractiveness, just a little interesting conversation.”

He looked at me with cool distaste.

“Of course,” he said, ‘you have grown accustomed all your life to looking down on people. “

This was a reference to my height which he did not seem to like, for if I wore high heels I would stand above him. It was

a symptom of his growing feelings against me, for when you dislike people you pick on certain points which normally would not be noticed.

He thought my devotion to our child was unworthy of our class. We had servants to do what I insisted on doing myself. I believe he thought it showed a lack of breeding in taking so much on myself. Then there was my inability or refusal to form friendships with his friends;

and now even my height.

I took Julian to see my father and we stayed with him for a week. That was a happy time. He delighted in the child and Jane and Polly revelled in having him to look after.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if you came and lived here, Mrs. St. Clare,” they said.

And I knew my father agreed with them.

I heard from Amelia. She was happier in Somerset.

“Making a new life,” she said. It was pleasant to be near Jack and Dorothy. She obviously spent a great deal of time with them for they figured often in her letters and perhaps particularly Jack.

On Julian’s first birthday the cook made a cake with one candle on it.

The servants came in to wish him a happy birthday and he thoroughly enjoyed that.

It was soon afterwards that Louie Lee arrived.

I had taken Julian for his outing in the gardens in his push chair and when we came in I went up to the nursery. A young woman was there. She was opening the cupboard doors and looking into them as I came in.

I stared at her.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

She said: “Oh, you’re the mistress, are you? Thought so.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeated.

“Will you please explain?”

“I’m Louie. I’ve been took on for the nursery … to help Aunt Em.”

Aunt Em! That was, of course. Nanny Benson. I had discovered that her name was Emily.

“I have not engaged you.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

Nanny Benson came in.

“Oh, this is Louie,” she said.

“She’s come to give a hand. It’s a bit much for me, as I was telling Mr. Aubrey. I said there’s our Louie and he said bring her.”

So Aubrey had engaged this young woman without consulting me! I looked at her intently. Her hair was bright gold a little too bright for nature; her big blue eyes were bold too bold for modesty; her nose was small and her long upper lip gave her a kittenish look. She did not appear to be the kind who would be an efficient nurse.

“My brother’s son’s girl,” said Nanny Benson.

“Well, there’s too much for me in the nursery now our little man is growing up so fast… and there was Louie looking for something.”

I was dumbfounded. I wanted to tell the girl to pack her bags and go taking Nanny Benson with her. I wanted to arrange my own nursery. It was for me the most vital part of the house and it was more than I could endure that it should be in the hands of a woman who was more often than not in a state of somnambulance brought on by lashings of whisky, taken in tea though it was and now she had brought in this brazen-looking girl.

I waited for Aubrey to come in.