The Emperor (60 page)

Since Mary had become too ill to breast-feed, the
problem had arisen of how to feed the baby where there was
no possibility of acquiring a wet-nurse. Fortunately goats were plentiful on that coast, and the watering parties that
went ashore were able to obtain a supply of goat's milk until
they could locate and purchase a ewe in milk to bring
aboard. After one or two digestive troubles, Africa had now
settled down comfortably with her ovine foster-mother.

Farleigh looked up as Haworth came in. They had liked
and understood each other from the beginning, united in a
love of Mary, and though she had not approved of Mary's
going to sea, she had to admit that her mistress had been happy, and that it would have been hard to dissuade her,
even had Haworth wanted to.

‘
A ship's been sighted,' he told her now. 'It's the frigate
Lively,
bound for England with despatches and taking us in
on her way. She should be with us in two hours.'

‘
Then I had better pack,' Farleigh said, putting the baby
back in her crib and getting to her feet.

‘Yes,' said Haworth hesitantly. 'Farleigh —'

‘Sir?' she paused.

‘I wonder, would you consider staying?'

‘
Staying? What ever can you mean, sir? Who's to take
Miss Africa home if not me?'

‘
I mean, would you stay and look after her?' She did not
look so surprised as he had thought she would. 'I want to
keep her with me, you see,' he went on. ‘Do you think me
foolish? But I have lost Mary, and Africa is part of her, all
that's left to me. I have such joy in her, Farleigh, and if she
goes back to England, who knows when I will see her again?
She will grow up like Hippolyta, not knowing me, and when
I see her again, I will be nothing more than a stranger to
her.'

‘
But sir, it's impossible,' Farleigh said, without convic
tion. 'A baby on a war ship? It isn't likely.'

‘
Not impossible,' he said, smiling a little. 'Here she is,
you see!'

‘But the hazards, sir!'

‘
All life is hazardous, even on shore. At least here we are
free from infectious diseases. Mary always said it was a
healthy life. And the men all adore her — it puts such heart
into them! She
belongs
here, Farleigh.'

‘
Well, sir, if you want to keep her, I can't stop you,'
Farleigh said doubtfully.

‘
You can — by refusing to stay yourself. She needs a
woman to take care of her, and it ought to be you. You were
like a second mother to Mary. Won't you do the same for
Mary's daughter?'

‘Oh sir!' Farleigh's eyes filled with tears.

‘Please, Farleigh.' He pressed home his advantage.

‘
Well, sir, if you wish it, I'll stay, just for a little while, and
see how it goes. Lord knows, it's not for me
to
deprive you
of your own child.'

‘
I knew you would! Bless you, Farleigh!' He clasped her
hand.

‘
Just for the time being, sir. And if there's any trouble,
home we both go, the very first thing.'

*

 
When the three weeks of rural bliss were over, and Weston
had to report back to the Admiralty for duty, Lucy parted from him reluctantly but calmly, and went back to Upper
Grosvenor Street. The sight of the chariot being led away from the front door towards the mews warned her that her
husband had just arrived back from Brighton, and she felt a
faint qualm, which she quickly shut out from her mind.
Lucy in love could not be less straightforward than Lucy in
any other situation. She wanted to be with Weston, and if
she had no apprehension of trouble to come it was not
because she deluded herself that there would be none. She
simply refused to waste the time of happiness by thinking
about it.

Docwra hurried nervously past her and up the stairs and a footman went out to fetch in her trunk, while Lucy stood
calmly in the hall stripping off her gloves and asked the
butler where her husband was.

‘
He has gone into the business-room, my lady, to open
the letters. He has asked for refreshments to be brought to
him there. Can I get your ladyship anything?'

‘No, nothing. I shall go and speak to his lordship.’

Chetwyn was seated behind his desk, a pile of letters
before him, an opened one in his hand. He looked up as she
appeared and said expressionlessly, 'You have been away
for some time, to judge by the number of unopened letters.'

‘Did Hicks not tell you so?' Lucy said.

‘
I didn't ask him,' Chetwyn said, looking down at the
letter again. 'I have no wish to share the secrets of the
household with the servants. Where have you been?'

‘Staying in the country. In Westerham.'

‘
Do we know anyone in Westerham?' he asked without
looking up.

‘
No,' she said, and waited for him to ask with whom she
had been staying, but he said nothing. Then at last he sighed
and held out the letter he was holding.

‘
This has come from Portsmouth. From Captain Haworth
on the
Africa,
somewhere off the coast of Egypt. It seems
you have a new niece, and your sister is dead.’

Lucy heard the news with distant shock. 'Mary, dead?’

‘
Of the childbed fever,' Chetwyn said. He continued to
hold out the letter, but Lucy made no move to take it, and
eventually he laid it on the desk before him. 'He has sent her
body back for burial. It lies at Portsmouth, awaiting arrange
ments for its transportation to Morland Place. He wanted
her to be buried at home. God knows,' a sudden break into emotion, 'what he must be feeling! He must blame himself
bitterly. Any man would.'

‘
Yes,' Lucy said. Her voice sounded numb. Chetwyn
looked down at the letter again.

‘
The most extraordinary thing, he is keeping the baby
with him on the ship, and Mary's maid has agreed to stay
and look after it.' Still Lucy did not speak, and he went on, ‘I shall have my agent make the arrangements for carrying the body back to Yorkshire, but you had better come down
to Wolvercote tomorrow with me and break the news to
Hippolyta.’

She started, as though out of a reverie. 'What? Go to
Wolvercote? No, no, I can't.'

‘
She will be very upset. She's four years old, Lucy, old
enough to understand.'

‘
I can't leave London at the moment,' Lucy said. 'You
go. You would do it better than me, anyway. I'm not good
with children.’

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes hard and bright,
and then the veil came down over them again. 'As you
please,' he said indifferently. 'I shall go down tomorrow,
and stay for about a month. Various friends will be coming
and going. Join us if you wish.'

‘
Yes – perhaps. Later, perhaps,' she said, and went
quickly away.

*

When Chetwyn brought the children to Morland Place for Christmas, he arrived without Lucy. It was hard weather,
bright and bitter, and though it was past noon when the two
coaches pulled into the yard, the roof-tiles were still rimed
with last night's frost, and the steam rose from the horses
like smoke into the brilliant air.

‘
Too cold for snow!' Edward called cheerfully, coming
forward from the door to meet his friend. 'The hunting's
been shockingly poor - ' He stopped abruptly and cocked a
brow at Chetwyn. ‘No Lucy?' He glanced at the second
coach, as if she might have travelled with the children, but it
was little Polly, all in black, who was descending, followed
by Flaminia, coming down backwards but by herself, and
the nurses carrying Rosamund.

Edward gave his friend a hard embrace, and felt, with the
sympathy of long-established love, how thin and brittle he
was. He released him and searched his face for the trouble.

‘No Lucy,' was all Chetwyn replied.

‘
Is she coming later?' Edward asked, having waited in
vain for more.

‘
No, she won't be coming,' Chetwyn said, and stopped
while Edward greeted his nieces and sent them running
indoors. They watched them go, and then Chetwyn turned
to face Edward again and said, 'She's going to Belvoir
Castle, the Duke of Rutland's place. She'll be there for three
or four weeks.'

‘But didn't they invite you?' Edward asked, shocked.

‘
Oh yes, they asked me, but I didn't care to go.' He heard
the hardness in his voice, and tried to cover it up. 'It's the Prince of Wales, you see - he's got up a party to celebrate
Rutland's twenty-first. Rutland's brothers are officers in the
10th Dragoons, and its all that set who are going. Lucy's
friends - Wiske, Brummel and so on. And others.’

Edward looked puzzled, but trusting. 'Oh well, if Danby
Wiske is there, he'll look after her. I suppose she'll have
taken Mimosa? If the weather's anything like it is here,
they'll have poor sport, however. Well, come in, my dear
fellow, and get warm. I've been making punch all morning,
and I think I've got it just right.’

Edward put his arm round Chetwyn's shoulders and led
him into the house, which was warm and smelled pleasantly
of spiced wine and log fires and evergreens and mincemeat
pies. Leaky and Brach came mincing up to him to bow and
yawn and nudge him in affectionate greeting; Fanny and
Puppy were driving each other almost to hysteria with their
excitement at the arrivals; and Mary Ann and James alter
nately tried to restrain her and welcome him.

‘She spends so much time alone,' Mary Ann said apolo
getically. 'I mean, without companions of her own age. I'm
so glad you brought the children. Poor Little Polly - it is so
sad to see her all in black, poor child. Take them upstairs,
nurse. Is Lucy not with you, then? I suppose she will be
coming later. Ottershaw, Lord Aylesbury's great-coat! The
new butler, Ottershaw, you know. There have been a few
changes since you were last here.'

‘Yes,' said Chetwyn. ‘So I see.'

‘
You haven't seen the half of it yet,' James said with his
lazy smile. 'But come in and have a glass of punch. Now you
are here, the festivities can really begin.' He ushered
Chetwyn before him into the drawing-room, and murmured
into his ear, 'Lucy still off the leash, then? Ned don't know
the story, by the by. He reads nothing but agricultural news!’

There was another new face: standing by the fireside with
his hands behind his back stood a tall young man, with an
aesthetic and extremely handsome face, and his fair hair cut
in a fashionable crop. Mary Ann hastened to make the
introduction, with an unexpected smile and a note of pride
and pleasure in her voice. 'I'd like to make Father Aislaby
known to you, the new chaplain. Father Thomas felt it was
time for him to retire. The duties were getting rather too
much for him. Father Aislaby, the Earl of Aylesbury.’

Chetwyn nodded a greeting, and glanced at Edward
ruefully. 'Break it to me gently — who else is gone?'

‘
Oh, it's like a change of regime, you know,' James
answered for him, lightly. 'When there is a new monarch, all
the principal ministers have to go: cook, butler, chaplain,
and housekeeper, in this case.'

‘Mrs Mappin too?' Chetwyn asked.

‘
She didn't want to stay on after Oxhey went,' Edward
said. 'They'd been together for so long, you see. We have a
Mrs Scaggs now. I must say, she seems very efficient.’

Chetwyn looked from face to face, to assess the situation.
Mary Ann was proud but anxious: all this was her idea, and
she wanted approval for the efficient way she had taken
over the running of the house, but wasn't sure she was going
to get it. Edward cared not one way or the other. The house
had always been run without his help, and though he might
be sorry to see old faces go, it made no more difference than
that to him. And James was enjoying everyone's reactions
with the faint amusement of an outsider.