Authors: Margaret Dickinson
‘There’s a baby crying, Mama. I can hear it.’
In the semi-darkness, Dorothea pursed her mouth, screwed her eyes tight shut and didn’t answer him. The boy moved closer to her bedside. ‘Mama, I said—’
Dorothea’s eyes flew open. ‘I heard what you said,’ she snapped. The boy flinched and took a step backwards.
The door behind him opened wider and Elizabeth, dressed in only her nightgown with a shawl around her shoulders, tiptoed into the room.
‘Dorothea – aren’t you going to see if everything’s all right?’
‘No, I am not,’ she replied tersely and turned onto her side, her back towards them.
There was a brief, shocked pause, before Elizabeth, in a surprisingly strong voice, said, ‘Then Theo and I will go and see. Come along, my dear.’ She held out her hand to the boy and
together they left the room and went up the stairs towards the noise of the newborn baby.
As the door closed behind them, Dorothea buried her head beneath her bedclothes and muttered angrily, ‘It’s Theo
dore
.’ Even her mother was being influenced by
Annabel.
When Elizabeth knocked tentatively, the door was opened by Jane, who had been present at the birth to be at the beck and call of the nurse.
‘May we come in?’
‘Oh, m’lady! And Master Theo.’ Jane’s face was pink with pleasure, lit with a beaming smile. She turned back briefly towards the nurse to see if she could admit them.
Elizabeth heard Nurse Newton say, ‘Please ask them to come back in half an hour. They can see Mother and Baby then.’
As Jane turned back to relay the message, Elizabeth said, ‘We’ll do that. Come along, Theo, we’ll go down to my room. There’s a fire still burning there. We’ll be
cosy while we wait.’
Elizabeth lit a candle and they sat together in front of the dying fire. But it still gave a little warmth and the early September night was not cold.
‘Do you realize that this little baby will be your cousin?’
‘Will it? Why?’
‘Because he – or she – is the child of your uncle.’ Elizabeth was thoughtful for a moment before saying, ‘You have another cousin too.’
The boy, now six, though educated solely by his mother, was bright and intelligent and had been drilled by her in the matter of the family lineage, so he understood about relationships. But she
had never told him about a cousin.
‘Have I?’ he said innocently. ‘Who is it?’
Elizabeth was silent for a moment before saying softly, ‘Albert Lyndon Banks.’
‘You mean Bertie? The boy who came to stay here for a night or two when his house burnt down?’
‘That’s right.’
There was a pause whilst Theo digested this information. ‘I gave him my train, you know,’ he whispered, ‘but please don’t tell Mama.’
Elizabeth chuckled. ‘It’ll be our secret, Theo dear.’
The boy was thoughtful now and, after a moment, he said, ‘But he won’t inherit the estate, will he, because I’m older than him, aren’t I?’
Elizabeth was silent for a moment, gazing into the fire, lost in her own thoughts and memories. ‘He won’t inherit,’ she said slowly at last, ‘because he’s
illegitimate.’
‘What’s – ill-illimate?’
‘He’s your Uncle Albert’s son.’
‘The one who died who was the earl before Uncle James?’
‘That’s correct. By rights, though, Bertie should be the heir – he should be the earl now, really, young though he is, because he’s the son of the eldest son.’
Now it was getting complicated for the young boy, but his grandmother’s next words clarified her reasoning. ‘But he can’t inherit because his mother and father were never
married. That’s what illegitimate means. He was born out of wedlock.’
Theo was quiet again, digesting the information, but now he had more questions. ‘Am I – illimate?’
‘No – no. Your mother and father were – are – married.’
‘But I haven’t got a father.’
‘Of course you have. Everyone’s got a father.’
‘But he’s not here. I don’t know him.’ He paused and then added, ‘Is he dead?’
Elizabeth stroked her grandson’s hair. ‘I really don’t know, Theo. He went away when you were about eighteen months old and he never came back. Do you remember him at all? He
was tall with dark hair and a moustache.’
Theo wrinkled his forehead. ‘I don’t
think
so. I remember Uncle Albert, though. He was fun. He used to carry me on his shoulders, didn’t he? And he taught me how to play
poker.’
‘Did he now?’ Elizabeth said fondly. Despite Albert’s wild ways and the trouble he had brought upon the family, Elizabeth had loved her firstborn fiercely. He had, as Theo had
said, been fun and with his death a bright light had gone out of her life. But now there was another child born into the family – one who might take away Theo’s inheritance in a way
that Bertie Banks could never do. The child would be her grandchild too – indeed, they were all her grandchildren.
The door opened and Jane peered around it. ‘Nurse says you can come and see Baby now, m’lady.’
Elizabeth rose stiffly and again took Theo’s hand. They crept up to the bedroom and went to stand beside the bed. Annabel, her cheeks red from the effort of giving birth, smiled at them.
Her eyes glowed with happiness as she cradled the tiny bundle in her arms.
‘It’s a boy,’ she said softly, pride mingled with a note of anxiety in her tone. She was not sure how either of them would respond. Elizabeth smiled and nodded with obvious
satisfaction. ‘The future Lord Fairfield,’ she murmured. ‘What are you going to call him?’
‘I must talk to James when he comes home, of course, but I would like one of his names to be Edward.’
‘It’s a good name, my dear, but would you consider calling him Charles after my late husband?’
‘Of course,’ Annabel agreed readily, then her glance went to Theo and she searched his expression for anger or jealousy, but he was looking at the baby’s red, wrinkled face
with disappointment and all he said was, ‘How long will it be before he’s big enough to play with me?’
It was two days before Dorothea could bring herself to acknowledge the child’s arrival. On the third day after the birth, she ventured – at Elizabeth’s
insistence – into Annabel’s bedroom. She was surprised to see the new mother already sitting in a chair near the window, breast-feeding her baby.
‘Should you be up already?’ Dorothea spoke before thinking. Then immediately, she was angry with herself; she had shown a concern she was anxious not to express. Annabel looked up
and smiled, but her eyes were wary. Elizabeth came each day – twice sometimes – to see her grandson and Theo came as often as he could sneak away from his mother’s watchful eye.
‘Has he grown today?’ he would ask innocently and Annabel would say, ‘A little, perhaps, Theo, but it will be a long time before he can walk and talk. I’m sorry.’
The little boy had shrugged. ‘But one day he’ll be old enough to be my friend, won’t he?’ His words and the longing in his tone broke Annabel’s heart. She touched
his cheek with gentle fingers as she whispered huskily, ‘Of course he will.’
The household was full of talk of the new baby – the boy who would one day be the Earl of Fairfield; the boy who had usurped Theodore. And now Dorothea had come to see him. She approached,
reluctance in every step, and yet she had to see him for herself.
She stood a long time looking down at him. The baby looked up at her with wide, dark blue eyes whilst his mother stroked his downy fair hair. She glanced up at Dorothea, fearful to see the
expression on the woman’s face. But, to her surprise, her sister-in-law was smiling grimly. ‘So – that settles it, then. He’s no Lyndon. Lyndons all have dark hair and brown
eyes. And,’ she added triumphantly, ‘Jackson was fair-haired and blue-eyed. James will
have
to believe me now.’
It was five weeks before James arrived home. During that time, Annabel wrote countless letters to her husband, begging him to come home to see his son and also to agree to the
name she had chosen: Charles, after James’s father and Edward, after her grandfather. But no word came and Annabel began to panic that something had happened to her husband.
‘I’ll have to register his birth. It’s the law,’ she told Elizabeth worriedly as they sat together one warm early October afternoon in the shelter of the walled garden.
The baby boy lay in the perambulator, which the butler had unearthed from the attic. ‘If I don’t hear soon . . .’
Elizabeth no longer needed the bath chair and she walked from the house to the garden each day with only the support of a walking stick. Now she sat with her hand on the perambulator gently
rocking her new grandson.
‘Then you must decide the name, my dear.’
‘But what if it’s not what James wants?’
Elizabeth lifted her shoulders. ‘Then it’s his own fault. You’ve done your best. And I must say I am rather surprised and disappointed in him that he hasn’t come home.
I’m sure Army officers aren’t so heartless as not to allow a man a little leave on the birth of his son and heir.’
‘Perhaps,’ Annabel murmured softly, ‘he really believes what Dorothea is saying. Has she written to him, d’you know?’
‘I expect so,’ Elizabeth said mildly.
Annabel sighed. ‘Then that’s the reason. He believes her.’
It seemed he did, for when at last James arrived home, he was cold and distant, scarcely glancing at the child and when he did so, it was to say harshly, ‘I see that Dorothea is right
after all. He does not take after the Lyndon side of the family. Fair hair and blue eyes?’ His belligerent glare pointedly took in Annabel’s own black hair and violet eyes. ‘Now
from whom do you suppose he inherited such colouring?’
Annabel swallowed painfully. ‘My father has fair hair and your mother told me she used to have fair hair too before it turned grey. And her eyes are still blue.’
‘I understand my mother is enamoured of the child whom she believes is her new grandson,’ he drawled, his tone heavy with sarcasm.
‘He
is
her grandson – and your son, though I presume from the way you are acting that you are still doubting it.’
He shrugged. ‘How can I not? You can’t deny that you spent a lot of time in Jackson’s company. And alone, which is not the actions of a devoted wife or’ – he added
with a sting – ‘of a
lady
.’
‘It wasn’t my
ladylike
qualities you were interested in when you married me, was it, James?’ she retorted heatedly. She was getting very tired of his jealous
accusations. Giving birth had left her feeling emotional and vulnerable. And her disappointment in her husband that he had taken so long to come home to see his son was the final humiliation.
‘James – for the last time – he is your son. Are you going to believe me or your sister’s lies?’
‘Are you calling Dorothea a liar?’
‘I’m sure she believes what she’s telling you,’ Annabel said magnanimously, though she didn’t feel any understanding for the woman who was doing her best to oust
Annabel and her son from their rightful place. ‘But she has no grounds for such wicked tales. Ben Jackson was a true gentleman the whole time. Yes, we spent time together working for the good
of the estate –
your
estate, which you put second to your army career. It should be you here looking after your lands and your people, not left to a bailiff. James,’ her tone
softened and she crossed the space between them to stand close to him and look up into his face, ‘won’t you consider leaving the Army and coming home to look after
everything?’
He looked down into her upturned face, meeting her steady violet gaze, the pleading in her eyes as she went on huskily, ‘There’d be no need for me to see anyone outside of this
house, if you didn’t want me to. I’d be willing to live like a virtual recluse, if that’s what it takes.’
His expression hardened. ‘You should have thought about that before, my dear. It’s a little late now, don’t you think?’ A righteous indignation rose up in Annabel and
overflowed as he added, ‘Besides, you’re only saying this so that you can secure the inheritance for
your
son.’
‘So you really won’t believe me?’ she said. ‘Is there nothing I can say that will make you believe the truth?’
His glance went again to the baby lying in its crib. ‘Not now I’ve seen him – no. He so obviously does not take after me or the Lyndon family.’
‘And you’re an expert on hereditary hair and eye colouring, are you?’ she snapped. ‘Don’t you know that all new-born babies have blue eyes?’
James’s lip curled. ‘That’s an old wives’ tale.’
‘You’re wrong—’
‘But I am an expert on who should inherit the Fairfield Estate and let me tell you now, Annabel’ – he jabbed his forefinger towards the cradle – ‘it won’t be
him.’
Annabel gasped and stared at him, thunderstruck, robbed finally of any retort. She could not speak and as her legs gave way beneath her and she sank to the floor, James made no effort to help
her. Instead, he turned and left the room.
That night for the first time since her marriage when James had been at home, Annabel slept alone in the big bed they had once shared and where, she thought with bitter irony, their son had been
conceived.
The following morning, whilst Annabel was washing in the bathroom across the landing from their bedroom, she heard a cry from the cradle that stood at the foot of her bed. She
hurried back into the room to see Dorothea standing over Charles.
‘What are you doing?’ Annabel demanded.
‘Just looking at the cuckoo in the nest,’ Dorothea remarked with a slow smile.
‘He’s no cuckoo,’ Annabel said moving closer. ‘And you know it.’ She gazed at her sister-in-law and asked softly, ‘Dorothea, why are you doing
this?’
The woman thrust her face close to Annabel’s. ‘Because,’ she hissed, her spittle raining on Annabel’s face, ‘no one is going to take away my son’s
inheritance. No one. You hear me?’ With that she spun round and stalked out of the room, leaving Annabel gazing after her but with her hand protectively on the side of her son’s
crib.
Annabel didn’t see James until the evening. She heard from Jane that he had been out around the estate all day, visiting the outlying farms and talking to the shopkeepers and residents in
the village.