Secret for a Nightingale (18 page)

“You do not love him.”

“He is my son. This is his home. All this will be his one day. The house … the estate … even the temple. All his. He must be brought up in his own home. That is something I shall insist on.”

“You would not be so cruel as to take my child from me.”

7 do not propose to separate you. All you have to do is to remain. I shall not ask you to leave, but if you do, the child stays here. “

I was stunned. I could see that he had defeated me.

He went on: “You have monopolized the child. You have taken him out of my care. He hardly knows his father.”

“Because his father has not had the time to spare for him, being so occupied with his drug-inspired orgies.”

“Who would believe that?”

“I do. I know it.”

“Your opinion would not count. If you want to go, if you want to create a scandal, if you want to bring disgrace on your father’s grey hairs, and on the father of your son, then you must do so. I cannot make you a prisoner here. But let me tell you this: if you attempt to take my son from his rightful home, I shall see that he is brought back here. The law would demand it and you would have to obey the law.”

“You forget what I know of you. Surely no court of law would want a child brought up in a home where these evil practices are carried on, where the father indulges in intrigues with the servants …”

“That is no uncommon practice, my dear. And it would have to be proved. I could make sure that it was not. If you are prepared to lose your son … then go ahead and do so. I shall put no obstacle in the way of your going. But a court might well commit you as insane, a poor woman who has fantasies. I would see to it.”

He turned and left me.

I knew that I was a prisoner in this house. I was held here by the one thing which could prevent my escape.

What he had said about the law was true. If I went away I should lose my son; and that was the one thing I could never do.

I was in a state of wretched uncertainty. I knew that Aubrey meant he would not let me take Julian away with me. It was not that he wanted the boy himself; but he did want a son and heir to be brought up on the estate. I also thought that he wanted his revenge on me.

I knew now that his feelings towards me were mixed, and in the force of his hatred for me were the grains of love. He had been in love with me; there had been something very special about those days in Venice;

it was just that the drug habit was too strong for him; he wanted me to share everything with him, and because I would not, because I despised him for what he was doing, he hated me.

My great desire was to get away. I had thought it would be so simple just to walk out of the place with Julian. How I had miscalculated!

It was hard to live through the days. Julian seemed more precious to me than ever if that were possible. If we were separated he would be heartbroken, no less than I. There was one thing which was clear to me: I would endure anything rather than be separated from my child.

I should have liked to go and stay with my father, but I knew that after that scene between us, Aubrey would not allow me to take Julian with me. If I wanted to stay with Amelia who had frequently asked me to visit her I should have to leave Julian behind. It was clear to me that Aubrey would never allow me to take the boy from the Minster for fear I might not return with him.

Mrs. Pollack was a little worried about my health.

“You’re not looking yourself, if I may say so, Madam,” she said.

I assured her that I was all right. I tried to behave as though nothing had happened. I saw as little of Aubrey as I possibly could;

but when I did he regarded me with a sardonic look, the triumphant look of a conqueror.

Two weeks passed, two of the most wretched weeks I had ever known till then. I would lie awake at night devising wild plans which seemed plausible then, but which I knew to be impossible in the light of the next day.

I could think of nothing else. When Mrs. Pollack told me I should avoid going into the town I hardly listened.

“It’s the linen-draper’s daughter. They say it’s cholera. That’s frightened the life out of everyone. They all remember the epidemic two years ago.”

“Oh yes,” I said.

“I remember, of course. It was terrible.”

“They say that more than fifty-three thousand people died of it in England and Wales,” said Mrs. Pollack.

“It’s brought in by foreigners, that’s what.”

I said I supposed so; and I wondered once more whether, if I gave Aubrey a solemn promise that I would return with Julian, he would allow me to go and see my father.

I could not go on like this. Yet what could I do? I longed to get away but I could not go without Julian. If necessary I should stay here until he was of age. I would never leave him.

It must have been about four weeks after that scene with Aubrey when I received a letter. I did not know the writing on the envelope and when I opened and read it my anxieties increased.

Dear Mrs. St. Clare [I read], I am taking the liberty of writing to you because I am concerned about Colonel Pleydell’s health. I think you should know that he had a mild stroke yesterday. It has impaired his speech a little and he is slightly paralysed. I am afraid that he could have another stroke and perhaps a major one at any time.

I thought you should know this. Yours truly, Edgar Corinth.

I read and re-read the letter. The words danced in front of my eyes.

It was as though I felt that by staring at them hard enough I could change them.

I could not believe this. Not now . when I needed his help. I felt the need to lean on someone, to have someone to talk with me, plan with me, advise me. And when I thought of someone I meant my father.

He was the one who cared most of all; he would make my troubles his own.

I must go to him at once and I must take Julian. Surely I could do that in these circumstances. I decided to talk to Aubrey.

He had come in from the estate and I watched him approach the house.

It struck me afresh how he was changing. He looked considerably older than the Aubrey of our honeymoon; his eyes were sunken and his skin was an unhealthy colour.

I met him in the hall.

“I have to talk to you,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows and we went into one of the little rooms which led from the hall. I gave him the doctor’s letter and he read it.

“I have to go to him,” I said.

“Of course.”

“I shall take Julian with me.”

“Take the child into a house of sickness?”

“It is certainly not communicable. It is a stroke. There are sevants there. They love to look after him. I can be with my father and Julian will be all right.”

He smiled at me slowly.

“No,” he said.

“You shall not take the child out of this house.”

“Why not?”

“Because you may decide not to bring him back.”

“I would give my solemn oath.”

“You are a very determined woman. Solemn oaths are not always kept by the ruthless and you could be ruthless where the boy is concerned.”

“You see how ill my father is.”

“How do I know that this is not a forgery … this doctor’s letter?

It’s come at a rather opportune moment, hasn’t it? “

“Aubrey, I am very worried about my father.”

“Go to him. Nurse him. You’re good at that, I believe. Then when you have brought him back to health, come back. But you shall not take the boy.”

“How can I go without him?”

“Easily. You will go to the station, board a train and very soon you will be in London at your father’s bedside.”

“Aubrey, will you try to understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You have told me of your intentions and, as I said, I know how resolute you can be. Go to your father. The boy remains here.”

He smiled at me as he turned and left me.

I went to Mrs. Pollack’s room. She was lying down.

“Just a bit off colour,” she said.

“Nothing that a little rest and a nice cup of tea won’t put right. I’ll make one now.”

“Not for me, Mrs. Pollack. I am very worried.”

“Oh, what’s wrong. Madam?”

“It’s my father. He is very ill. I must go to him and I have to leave Julian behind.”

“He won’t like that. Madam, will he? You’ve never been apart since he was born.”

“No, I don’t like it… but his father points out that I can’t travel with a child when there is sickness about. I … er … suppose there is something in that. I’ll make a quick visit… just to see what I can do. I can go down often and just stay one night. I want to talk to you about Julian.”

“Yes, Madam?”

“You’re so fond of him.”

“Who wouldn’t be fond of the little darling?”

“I hardly like to say this … but Nanny Benson is rather old.”

“Past it if you were to ask me. Madam.”

“Of course, she is an old retainer. My husband’s nanny. People feel sentimental about their old nannies. It’s understandable.”

Mrs. Pollack nodded.

“That girl,” she said, her lips curling, ‘she’s just about as good as a wooden leg would be to a soldier on the march. “

“That’s why I’m anxious. I rely on you, Mrs. Pollack.”

She bridled with pleasure.

“And you can, Madam. That little one will be as well looked after as if you were here, I promise you.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Pollack, that means a lot to me.”

I set off for London early next morning.

When I arrived at the house I was met by a solemn-faced Polly.

“Oh, Mrs. St. Clare,” she said.

“The poor Colonel, he’s so poorly.”

I went straight to see him and my heart sank. He gave me a one-sided smile and opened his lips but he could not speak. I bent over and kissed him. He closed his eyes and I knew what my coming meant to him.

He could not speak so I just sat by his bed holding his hand.

When he slept I talked with Polly and Jane. They told me that he had been working very hard at the War Office and bringing work home.

“He was in his study until early morning,” said Jane.

“We were worried about him,” added Polly.

“I said to Jane, ” He can’t go on like this. ” Then it happened. One morning when I took in his hot water he was lying there in the bed and he couldn’t move. Then we got the doctor. He asked us for your address and said he’d write to you.

Yesterday the Colonel was worse again. “

Afterwards I saw the doctor. He was very grave.

“It sometimes happens like this,” he said.

“The first stroke was relatively minor. He would have been only slightly incapacitated, but he would have had to give up the War Office. But as I feared, a major attack followed.” He looked at me helplessly.

“I understand. Is he … dying?”

“If he survives he will be a complete invalid.”

“It is the worst thing that could happen to him.”

“I thought you should be prepared.”

“Thank you. I could arrange to take him home with me.”

“I believe you have a large estate in the country. That would

be best. You would be able to have him well looked after. The two maids here are excellent but not trained nurses, of course. “

“No.”

“Well, leave it for a day or so to see how things go. I must tell you that I think his chances of survival are not very good.”

I bowed my head.

I was with my father when he died.

I had nursed him for three days, and although he took great comfort from my presence, I was well aware that there was little that could be done for him. In my heart I knew he would prefer to die. I could not imagine a man such as he was being inactive, not even able to speak.

I was numbed. Coming so soon after the revelations at the Minster and my need to get away, that I should lose my beloved father was so staggering a blow that I could not at first accept it.

Through the last weeks I had been thinking of him as my refuge. Now there would be no father to go to. I wrote a short note to Aubrey telling him what had happened and that I should stay in London for the funeral and then come straight back to the Minster.

There was so much to do that I got through the days somehow. I was very glad of Jane’s and Polly’s help. I sensed that they were a little anxious about their future although they were much too tactful to mention it to me. I was trying to come to some conclusion. The house had always been a symbol to me . of escape. If ever I got away from the Minster I should have somewhere to run to.

Now, of course, that had changed. I decided that, if I could afford to, I would keep it on . for at least a while. When I knew what my position was I would be able to assess the matter further. I knew that my father was not poor and that all he had apart from a legacy or two would come to me. I should be to some degree independent. Even if I could not live here, the house could be a refuge.

Uncle James and Aunt Grace with Ellen and her husband came for the funeral. They invited me to go back with them for a few days but I

told them I was anxious to get home to my little boy. They understood perfectly and said that later I must bring him and my husband to see them.

The idea of Aubrey at the rectory almost made me smile, it was so incongruous; but I thanked them for their kindness and said I would remember it.

It was heartrending to see my father’s coffin lowered into the grave and to listen to the clods falling on the polished wood and to face the awful reality that I should never see him again. I felt lost and alone.

Back at the house, the will was read. As I had guessed, the bulk of his money came to me. I was by no means rich, but independent. I could live not extravagantly, but comfortably.

I decided, there and then, to keep on the house. That would allay Jane’s and Polly’s anxieties and those of Joe Tugg; and would provide a home for me when I was able to make my escape, for I did not entirely despair of doing so.

When I told them they were immensely relieved.

“We’ll keep the place beautiful,” said Jane.

“And then you’ll be coming on visits with the little boy,” added Polly.