Authors: Lucinda Riley
• • •
“What is it, Anni?” Donald asked one clear spring afternoon. Violet was napping at the hall and he’d taken the opportunity to surreptitiously ride over and see us. “I know something’s bothering you.”
“Yes, it is. I hate myself!” With that, I burst into tears.
Donald immediately took me into his arms. “Anni, really, I’m sure that once the baby is born, Violet will resume her old life and have lots to keep her amused. She’ll almost certainly want to go to New York to show the baby off to the relatives, and of course, she loves the winter season in London. I hate to say it, but she’ll almost certainly forget all about you.”
His platitudes fell on me like ineffectual raindrops in a drought, not touching my inner core, which was so in need of redemption. I watched him leave, not knowing how to explain to him that what he was talking about were practicalities—arrangements that would remove Violet physically from my sight but wouldn’t begin to touch the complex and painful emotions in my heart.
That night, after I’d put you to bed, I contemplated leaving Devon
for the first time. Perhaps it would be for the best if we moved away. At least then, I could live openly as the person I really was and have a clear conscience. As I climbed the stairs to bed that night, I honestly wasn’t sure which fate was worse, but I knew that the deception was eating me from the inside out.
As I tossed and turned in bed that night, I remembered that Violet had begged me to be by her side during the birth of her child. “My sister-in-law, Selina, said you were just wonderful when she gave birth,” she had said. The least I owed her was to do as she asked. But once the child was born, I knew I must come to a real decision about our future.
To make matters worse, the singing was becoming louder each day, warning me of danger and a death not far away. I only hoped it was simply a reflection of my own despairing state of mind and tried to ignore it.
• • •
The final few weeks of Violet’s pregnancy coincided with the burning July heat wave, and Violet begged me to visit her at the hall almost every day. We would sit in the cool orangery, where she had installed electric ceiling fans.
“My goodness,” she said, looking down at herself, “I’m the size of a house these days. It’s terribly hard for me to sleep, especially in this heat.”
“Not much longer now,” I said, trying to comfort her.
“You reckon? I feel like I might be pregnant forever. You’ll have to help me slim down afterward to what I used to be. I doubt I’ll be able to get into a single gown of mine ever again,” she complained.
“Of course, the best thing to do in order to regain your shape, and also for the baby, is to feed it yourself. Would you consider doing that?”
“Oh my!” said Violet with an expression of disgust. “That’s the kind of thing the natives do out in Africa.” She shuddered.
“I fed Moh myself,” I said affably, and I saw her blush.
“Anni, I didn’t mean to imply anything by that. I mean, you’re from a different culture, I—”
“Really, Violet,” I said, patting her knee, “I understand.”
• • •
A few days later, I’d noticed Violet’s ankles were swollen and she’d recently been complaining of a headache. I suggested she now rest with her legs raised to try to stop the swelling.
“Her ladyship is really most uncomfortable,” said Dr. Trefusis after he visited her one morning and Violet had insisted I wait in her sitting room. “I always think August babies are the worst, although I suppose it’s like this where you come from all year round.”
I ignored the comment. “She’s been complaining of the headaches for the past few days. Does this concern you, doctor?”
“Not unduly,” he said as he packed his stethoscope into his bag. “I palpated the baby and listened to its heartbeat, which is strong and robust. Her ladyship still has three weeks to go. Let’s hope the baby doesn’t delay its entrance into the world any longer than that. Perhaps you could give her one of your remedies to hasten the process?” he suggested.
“At this stage, I wouldn’t want to interfere with nature. Babies come when they’re ready,” I replied firmly.
“I thought everything you used
was
natural,” said Dr. Trefusis pointedly. “Anyway, I shall look in again tomorrow morning to check on her ladyship.”
“Of course.”
He smiled at me and left the room. I went in to see Violet, who reached out for my hand. “Anni, this headache’s really bad and I feel sick. Can you give me anything?”
I looked down at her and saw how pale she was. Suddenly the singing began strong and loud in my ears. I brushed it away determinedly, not wishing to acknowledge it.
“I’ll have your maid bring you cold cloths, and perhaps there may be something I can give you for the nausea. Please, try to rest now, and see if it eases.”
“Would you stay awhile with me? I feel real dreadful, Anni.”
“Of course, I’ll sit here until you’re asleep.”
Finally, when Violet had fallen into a restless sleep, I released my hand from hers and made my way down the stairs. Donald greeted me at the bottom of them.
“How is she?”
“She isn’t feeling at all well today,” I told him. “She’s asleep now, and I’m going to go home and see what I have to help her.”
“The doctor says it’s nothing to worry about. But are you worried, Anni?”
As he helped me into my trap, I did not tell Donald that I’d seen similar symptoms before and they did not bode well.
Having collected some fresh mint leaves and mixed up a remedy
of fennel seeds, cumin and coriander for Violet’s swollen ankles, I returned to Tilly’s house in the village to ask her to mind you and even gave her a change of clothes in case I was detained longer.
“Is her ladyship ill?” Tilly asked me.
“She’s not feeling well today.”
“She’s always been fragile, that one,” she commented. “You stay with her as long as you need to, Anni. I can always put Moh to bed here in the cot with Mabel.”
“Thank you.”
Violet was further distressed when I arrived, saying she could no longer stand the pain in her head and that she still felt nauseous.
“Please, drink this,” I said as I forced the mint tea down her throat. I placed a napkin scented with lavender on her forehead and checked her temperature, which was normal, then felt her pulse, which was racing. If she didn’t settle in the next hour, I would send for Dr. Trefusis. Eventually, she calmed, and I sat by her bedside as she slept peacefully for two or three hours. At some point, there was a knock on the door and I saw Donald peer around it.
“How is she?”
“She’s sleeping. We’ll see how she is when she wakes.”
“Yes, of course.” He smiled at me in such a sweet and grateful way that my eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t imagine how it was for him to watch his wife and his lover together.
“Please, call me if there’s anything either of you needs.”
“I will, thank you.”
Violet awoke just before midnight, and I noticed her color had changed. She clutched her stomach suddenly and gave a yowl of pain.
I uncovered her immediately and asked her to point to where the pain was coming from.
“It’s . . . it’s like a tight band, stretching right across my belly—” She couldn’t continue as another pain ripped through her.
“Violet, I believe you’re in labor!”
“My head . . . my head,” she moaned.
“Is it still hurting?” I asked as I looked down at her and felt her forehead. She was burning with fever.
“Terribly, it’s—” As a further contraction ripped through her, she couldn’t speak.
“There’s no need to be scared,” I told her firmly as I rang the bell
by her bed to alert her maid. “What you must do now is follow your body. It knows exactly what to do and you must listen to it.”
“So glad . . . you’re here . . .”
“I’m going to call now for Dr. Trefusis. He would want to know that you’ve gone into labor and be here with you.”
“Don’t leave me!” she said, reaching out for my hand and grasping it tightly.
“Violet, I’ll be gone for only a few minutes, I promise,” I said as I wrenched my hand away and flew down the darkened stairs to try to find someone who could raise the alarm. The singing was continuing in my head and I was not happy with Violet’s current condition. Not happy at all.
There was no one to be found downstairs, so I ran through Violet’s suite and knocked loudly on Donald’s dressing room door.
“Anni, what is it?” he asked me as he emerged in his pajamas.
“Violet’s in labor, and I want you to call Dr. Trefusis immediately. She’s running a temperature and says she still has the headache. I think she should be removed to hospital as soon as possible. Something isn’t right,” I added. “I’ve called for her maid, but she hasn’t arrived. Can you rouse her and tell her to bring boiled water, cold flannels and clean towels while we wait for Dr. Trefusis to arrive?”
“Of course, but the doctor still has no telephone, so I must send one of the grooms to fetch him.”
I nodded and disappeared back into Violet’s bedroom.
Since I’d been gone, she’d been sick all over the covers and was groaning unnaturally. The baby was coming fast—too fast—and again the singing rang in my ears.
I stripped the covers from her and propped her up into a more comfortable position, whispering soothing words, trying to calm her.
“Ariane, go and find his lordship and bring him here at once,” I said, panic rising within me at Violet’s high fever. Everything, instinctual and medical, told me that she was in danger.
Donald appeared almost immediately. “My God!” he uttered, shocked at the sight of his wife.
“If Dr. Trefusis doesn’t arrive in the next half an hour, you must take her in your car to the hospital. We can’t afford to wait any longer.”
“I’ll go downstairs and have it brought around to the front anyway,” he said, and ran from the room.
Twenty minutes later, I ordered Ariane to wake Mrs. Thomas and
get her to make a sugar-water drink, partly because I couldn’t stand her hovering, horrified yet intrigued, behind me.
Suddenly, Violet went still and her eyes opened. She stared at me.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“No, nothing’s wrong, I promise, the baby wants to be in this world very fast, faster than she should come, and you must be very brave and help her.”
“Her?” Violet smiled suddenly. “It’s a girl?”
My comment had been instinctive, but I nodded then with complete certainty. And I knew it was important to tell her.
“Yes, Violet, I believe it is.”
Her eyes closed, and after that, she swam in and out of consciousness as Dr. Trefusis finally arrived. Another twenty minutes later, Violet and Donald Astbury’s baby girl made her entrance into the world. As I looked at her, I saw she was tiny and wondered if she’d survive. But it was her mother who took our attention. Blood was pouring out of her, and although Dr. Trefusis and I worked for the next two hours to do everything we could, the bleeding would not abate.
“My God,” said Donald as he sat by a motionless Violet, stroking her hair. “Is there nothing we can do? Surely, we should take her to the hospital!”
“Lord Astbury,” said Dr. Trefusis, “your wife is too sick to be moved.”
“But we can’t just stand here and watch her bleed to death, for God’s sake!”
Dr. Trefusis glanced at me in despair and gave a slight shake of his head.
“I’m so very sorry, Lord Astbury, but there’s nothing more we can do to save her. I think that perhaps you will want to say good-bye.”
I watched Donald then, as he laid his head on Violet’s chest and began to sob.
Knowing it could not be my place to comfort him, I picked up the tiny baby, who’d been placed in a bassinet and virtually forgotten as we’d attempted to save her mother’s life.
“I’ll take the baby and feed and wash her,” I whispered to him.
He gave a slight nod and I left the room.
At six o’clock the following morning, Lady Violet Astbury was pronounced dead by Dr. Trefusis. She never woke to see her daughter.
T
he village of Astbury went into mourning. The tragic death of Lady Violet cast a pall which hung like a heavy fog over the whole estate. I lay low at the cottage, tormenting myself with thoughts of that day. I’d known during the final hours of her life that there was something terribly wrong. I tried to comfort myself by remembering that the doctor himself had been satisfied that she was not in danger, but nonetheless I couldn’t forget Violet’s eyes, so trusting, so full of the belief that I could help her. And at the last, because I hadn’t followed my instincts, I had failed her in the most grievous way possible.
I hadn’t seen Donald since the day of her death. He too, had trusted me with his wife’s care, as had the whole village. They had believed so utterly in me. The fact that my telephone didn’t ring as it usually did with requests to visit the sick said everything I needed to know. In some immutable way, I knew that I was being blamed. Yes, I could cure lumbago, gout, a common cold . . . but when it had really mattered, I had failed them.
Even though, in my heart of hearts, I knew that Violet’s condition had been beyond human help—after all, the eminent Dr. Trefusis had been with me as we tried to save her life—I could not help but torment myself with her death.
And, of course, Donald was now a widower . . .
This thought of him as a free man, which in any other circumstances would have given me pleasure, somehow made everything even more unbearable.
Did Donald blame me?
If he didn’t, then why on earth hadn’t he called, or ridden over the moors to see me? My affection for Violet had been open and genuine and I’d expressed it to him on a number of occasions. Surely, he didn’t think . . . ?
• • •
A few days after Violet’s death, I had a visitor. From my bedroom window I saw Maud Astbury climb out of the car and walk carefully up the narrow path to my front door. Putting you in your cot with toys to keep you occupied, I took a deep breath and went downstairs to answer her knock.
“Hello, Lady Astbury,” I said.
“May I come in?”