Authors: Alison Stuart
He turned his back on her, gathered up Hector’s reins and swung himself into the saddle. “Go back to Tony with my blessing. He is one of the few honorable men I know. He will be good to you.”
Helen began untying the reins of her horse. “But will I be good to him?” she whispered, but she was talking only to the horse. Paul had gone.
Helen leaned her head against the warm neck of the animal and fought back the tears.
* * * *
Paul put his heels to Hector’s flanks and crouched down low over the horse’s neck, galloping blindly with no destination in mind. He took several difficult fences and only when the horse, lathered and blowing, reached the foot of Stoneman’s Hill did he ease back.
He straightened and patted Hector’s neck. “Sorry, old chap. I forget you’re not as young as you used to be.”
Hector snorted his disgust and Paul turned the horse up the narrow path to the standing stones. At this hour of the day, the clearing was deserted, although rubbish left by picnickers indicated that it had been a popular spot over the summer months.
He slid from the saddle and collected the papers and ginger beer bottles, stuffing the rubbish into a saddlebag and making a mental note that he either had to close off the walking track or put up some signs about removing rubbish. The curatorial task stopped him from thinking about Helen and only when he stood in the centre of the circle did the pain came back.
Physical pain he could bear–had borne. This crushing agony was new. He felt as if he had a band around his chest that drew tighter and tighter and he subsided on to the fallen giant with a groan.
“It shouldn’t be like this,” he said aloud. “I’ve done the right thing. I know I’ve done the right thing.”
Above him, the wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the alders and sycamores. Nearby, a dog barked and Hector’s ears pricked. He stamped his hoof, pulling on the reins Paul had tied to a tree. Paul looked up and for a fleeting second he thought he caught a glimpse of a black and white coat in the dappled shadows of the trees.
Chapter 24
In the privacy of the sumptuous yellow bedchamber of Wellmore House that had, according to Lady Hartfield, sheltered royalty and persons of great note, Helen unfolded the wad of paper Paul had given her.
Her fingers traced the now familiar scrawl of his handwriting. Just when she thought she had a clear future, that everything had been settled, his shadow crossed the corner of her soul, like Suzanna’s wraith, present but insubstantial, leaving her confused.
She forced herself to concentrate on the diary. The first two entries were written in early June 1812, and recorded the early, difficult days of Robert’s return to Holdston. Suzanna found her husband silent and uncommunicative and with orders from Lady Morrow not to talk of his time in Spain, she struggled with how to communicate with him.
June 20: Adrian is home on leave and rode over this afternoon to visit Robert. To my despair S accompanied him. I saw in his eyes that he has not forgotten me and it was all I could do not to throw myself into his arms for the want of human touch and companionship. When no one was watching he slipped a note to me, begging me to meet him in the usual place. How can I comply? What sort of wife would I be if I were to go slipping away from her husband who needs her to lose herself in the arms of another man?
Helen set the paper down, her breath catching in her throat as the immediacy of Suzanna’s predicament found its echo in her own life.
June 21: I met with S in our usual trysting place. My intention was to reiterate my conviction that our affaire de coeur must end but on seeing his eyes, so full of love for me, all resolve slipped away and I fell, weeping into his arms. I recounted every day of the last month, every lonely, tense moment, not knowing whether my husband would live or die and worse, not knowing if I cared if he did. S said nothing. He just stroked my hair and kissed my forehead as I would Adele’s. When my passion was spent, he remained holding me. I leaned my head against his chest and all I could think was how much I belonged there in his embrace. What are we to do?
As June passed into July, Robert grew a little stronger but with his recovery, Suzanna recorded another, more worrying change in him.
July 18: Every day Robert takes a few more steps and this afternoon walked a little in the garden. For all that we rejoice at his successes, his temper grows shorter by the day. I know not where the anger is directed, only that somewhere within him there is enormous fury. Whether it arises from his injuries and his frustration with his disabilities or from some other experiences of which his mother and I have no knowledge, we cannot say. However, for the first time Lady Morrow and myself are united on this. Robert is to be avoided when he gets in one of his tempers. I fear also that he is turning to brandy to assuage the pain and frustration he is feeling. The combination is not to be recommended.
S writes to me once a week and how I long for his letters, his words of love and assurance. I am embarked down a dark, unknown path with no clear idea of where it will take me.
Once more Suzanna fled to her lover’s arm and her entries became more frantic as she struggled with her wifely sense of duty over the pull of her heart.
Aug 5: Robert came to my room last night. I heard his footsteps in the corridor and lay in my bed, stiff with fear and dread. I had locked the door and although he knocked softly I pretended not to hear, my heart beating as the door latch rattled. He turned away and has not mentioned the matter to me this morning. I cannot bear the thought of his touch. What happy memories we may have had of times gone by have long since been obliterated by absence and the unlovely task of heavy nursing that his injuries have required of me.
August 10: Oh horrific day! Robert awoke querulous and ill-tempered from a bad night. He has not repeated his visit to my door but I see him looking at me with a curious expression of hurt and puzzlement and I feel that I have in some way injured him more deeply than the physical pain of his scars. I cannot meet his eye or pretend a happiness I do not feel. So what began as a minor disagreement over the dressing of his wounds, led to an explosion of anger on his part such as I have never seen before. He reared up before me, his eyes almost red with rage and hit me with the full force of his weight, across the face. He sent me flying against the table and I fell to the floor, momentarily stunned into unconsciousness. Lady Morrow came at once to my assistance, leading me away from his presence to rest upon my bed with a compress for the bruising that already colors my face. My right eye is quite closed. Her tenderness and concern quite surprised me for I fully expected her to take her son’s part. What words passed between mother and son, I regret I did not hear - all I recall are his last words to me “You shall not lock your door against me, madam!” At the memory of these words and the fierce anger in his eyes, I can do nothing but turn to my pillow and weep for guilt and for shame.
August 11: Robert has said nothing about his actions but I saw him looking at my face. We must be the talk of the village for servants will gossip and I cannot hide my face from their view. The children sense the tension between us and have kept to their nursery. Only Lady Morrow keeps up the pretence of gaiety speaking inanely of the ball to be held at Wellmore House next month.
August 15: Robert came to my room last night and I had not dared lock the door against him. I lay supine and allowed him to do what he had to do before he departed. Neither of us spoke a word. It was a base, inhuman act of carnal need of which I was not a participant. I let tears roll silently down my cheeks as he took me and thought of S and his tender lovemaking.
Helen set the papers down and bit her lip as she contemplated the frightening picture of a violent, war-damaged man that Suzanna painted. She had seen it in her own town with men returned from the war. The bruises on the women and children described with a quick smile as “accidents.”
Robert Morrow had become a man that war had made violent. Robert could have been quite capable of murder if he had known that his wife had taken a lover, a lover with whom she continued to tryst while her husband lay on his sick bed.
August 16: S came to me this afternoon. Even in the gloom of the crypt he could see the bruising on my face and he held me close. I could sense his anger and his impotence as he kissed my poor bruised face. “Dearest,” he whispered. “Something must be done.” I wept as I held him close. “There is nothing that can be done.” “Come away with me,” said he. “We can make a new life for ourselves in the colonies. I have prospects in the colony of New South Wales. We will be far away from England and no one need know us.” “But what of my children?” I cried. “How can I leave my children? Do not ask me to make that choice!” “Sweet Suzanna,” he said, “That is the choice. A life with a cripple who abuses you thus or a life with me. The children will be well cared for. You need have no fear for them.”
I sank to my knees crying as if my heart would break. “I cannot live without you,” I wept. He took me in his arms and we made love on his cloak.
The diary entries moved inexorably toward September 12 as Suzanna wrestled with her conscience and then the last entry Paul had translated, put the seal on her fate.
September 8: I fear I am with child and I know not who is the father. My shame and my ignominy are complete. If I am to go it must be now. If I tarry I shall never escape and each day is a reproach on me both as a mother and a wife. I said not a word of my fears to S when we met tonight. He held me in his arms and we made plans for our escape. He must return to London and make the necessary arrangements. He will meet me at the Church yard on the night of September 12 and we will quit this place.
The sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside alerted her and she refolded the papers and thrust them into the drawer of the bureau as Alice burst in through the door.
One look at her daughter’s face told her all was not well. Alice flung herself full length on the bed, burying her head in her arms.
Helen sat down next to her and stroked her hair. “What’s the matter, darling?”
“I hate it here.” Alice’s voice was muffled by the bedclothes.
“Why? It’s a beautiful house. You have a lovely room and you can ride Turnip...”
“Lady Hartfield is mean to me,” Alice sniffed.
“How was she mean to you?”
“She said I was never to run in the Long Gallery and that as soon as you and Uncle Tony were married I would be sent away to boarding school and I’d learn to be a proper lady and have all my colonial bad manners knocked out of me.”
Helen stiffened with anger directed at Lady Hartfield, not her daughter.
“Were you running in the Long Gallery?”
A sniff confirmed that Alice had been committing this sin.
“I want to go home,” she wailed.
“Home? To Terrala?”
“To Holdston!” Alice rolled over, burying her face in Helen’s lap. “Home to Grandmama and Uncle Paul and Sam and Sarah and Reuben.”
“Who’s Reuben?” Helen asked.
“My dog. He’s a cocker spaniel. He sleeps by my bed every night.”
Dog? Helen frowned as she stared down at the fair head. “Darling, there isn’t any dog at Holdston,” she said.
“Yes there is. My dog.” Alice was in full flight now.
Helen let her cry herself out and when the sobbing had subsided to hiccups, she set the girl on her feet, washed her face and gave her a big smile.
“There’s the gong for breakfast,” she said, with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel.
In agreeing to marry Tony, she hadn’t thought about the impact on Alice, beyond the superficial thought that bringing the child up at Wellmore would be wonderful. Of course, it would be expected that Alice would go to boarding school. What was the alternative? A governess? The village school would be out of the question.
Alice took her hand and they descended the long, graceful stairs to the breakfast room.
Lady Hartfield sat at the head of the table reading the morning mail. She laid the note she had in her hand down as Helen entered.
“I see you’ve been for a ride, Helen,”
Helen looked down at her jodhpurs and sweater “Do you wish me to change?”
“You’re fine,” Tony said. “Beautiful in whatever you wear.”
A footman pulled out a chair for Alice and she sat down next to her mother, hunched and miserable.
“Good morning, sprite,” Tony said. “You’re very quiet.”
Alice cast a quick glance at Lady Hartfield who had returned to perusing her letters.
“Good morning, Uncle Tony,” she said in a low, unhappy tone.
Tony glanced at Helen who mouthed, “Later.”
“Now,” Lady Hartfield laid a hand on the pile of correspondence beside her. “When are we to announce your engagement, Tony?”
Helen caught Tony’s eye. “It’s up to Helen,” he said.
“I suppose there will be no question of your parents attending the wedding?” Lady Hartfield enquired.
“Not unless they learn to fly,” she said.
“I suppose we shall have to find someone to give you away.”
“Do I need someone to give me away? I’m a widow. I’ve already been given away once. Surely I don’t need to be given away again?”