Authors: Judy Corbalis
A Crooked Rib (33 page)
Horrified, I consigned
The Times
to my bedroom fire. The next item was a copy of a letter from Sir Harry to his brother:
5th July 1860
Last evening, we anchored at 8-00 PM in Simon’s Bay intending to put ashore next morning when … the Governor would have been welcomed under a salute with manned yards. But His Excellency was in such a hurry to convey to Sir Frederick the fact of his arrival that, unseen, he dropped himself into a short boat and landed at Admiralty House …
I did not pay my own respects to Sir Frederick until July 5th when he received me distantly and informed me that Sir George had apprised him of my ‘dishonourable conduct towards his wife aboard the
Forte
’ … The Governor is a very devil, wily and conniving …
10th Nov.1860
I now know that, three days after I had sailed in July, Sir George wrote to the Duke of Newcastle, claiming that, as Secretary of State, it was imperative he be apprised of what had transpired!! Need I say more about the character of the man! It will go some little way towards explaining how the whole sad business was spread so quickly and to such highest levels in England.
Filled with revulsion at Sir George’s duplicity and cunning in the spreading of malice and gossip against his own wife, I nonetheless resumed reading.
In his letter to Newcastle, not only did that wretch enclose copies of the letters between us, further, he enclosed copies of the notes the Lady and I had so foolishly exchanged and his own — much-embellished — account of the incident with no mention of his own threats of murder and suicide … He went on to state that he had ‘hoped the subject might not become a matter of public notoriety but I found that the matter had obtained entire publicity here at the Cape; moreover, I believe, upon evidence I cannot doubt, that this is, in a great degree, to be attributed to conversations of Sir H. Keppel, and to remarks of the most painful, and embarrassing kind, which he had made to other persons.’ Such calumny! The sole person to whom I spoke at Cape Town was Sir Frederick so it evident that either he or the Governor alone can be responsible for the spreading of rumour and innuendo … That the Bishop of Cape Town felt it his ‘duty’ to intervene in a matter of which he had knowledge only from one party to the affair is not merely a matter for speculation as to his (the Bishop’s) motives but has been the regrettable cause of the further spread of damaging gossip and defamation in regard to Lady Grey …
I felt such a surge of anger that, for a moment, I could not carry on reading. The next sheet was a clipping from a newspaper:
The Keppel Scandal
… It may turn out that Sir George Grey acted with unbecoming and causeless impetuosity, and that a British Admiral was removed from a valuable appointment at the request of the Home Secretary, because an irascible civilian Governor chose to pick a quarrel.
This was more encouraging. I looked at the next item.
From the Journal of Admiral Sir Henry Keppel
, I read.
Nov, 1860
To Lady Grey.
If I say that I am and have been afraid to write it is not from anything that may befall me, but the further harm that my doing so may inflict on your comparatively innocent head. You are surrounded by spies. What Sir G’s intentions are with regard to you it is impossible to guess, and although he believes in his heart (heart he has none) that you are innocent, he would sacrifice you to gratify his revenge on me. Would to Heaven that I could by any amount of suffering or misery on my part clear you from that which I have led you into. How painfully true is the simile with which you compare yourself to a climbing plant and in your ignorance clung to a support unable to uphold you. I dare not say what I feel for you, the injury my unfortunate feelings have already led you into is too painful to bear … For a long time I kept a diary for you but that you may never see … May God forgive me and help you. I will not trust myself to add more.
(Signed) H.K.
Is there a scar left on that poor little head?
So Lucy
had
written to the Admiral from Rio. How else could he have known of the injury to her temple she had suffered in a fainting fit there?
The next letter was marked Secret.
Lavington House,
Petworth.
Sep 3 1860
Sir:
I trust that I am not doing wrong in asking Your Royal Highness …
Your Royal Highness? To what lengths was Sir George not prepared to go?
… to read the accompanying most painful letter from the Bishop of Cape Town. I have two motives in venturing to take this step. First a sense of Justice to that great man Sir George Grey: and secondly; a
desire
that all the circumstances of Admiral Keppel’s shameful conduct should be known to Your Royal Highness: because I believe that your possessing that knowledge will greatly tend to enable in this Instance Her Majesty to maintain at the Cape the High Tone of Morals which through the Goodness of God to us She has been enabled to maintain at home.
I am, Sir,
Your Royal Highness’s
dutiful & affectionate,
S Oxon.
Perhaps I may ask for the return of the letter here at the convenience of Your Royal Highness.
Bishop Wilberforce! No wonder, I thought in fury, as I tossed it onto the fire, that he is known to everyone in England as ‘Soapy Sam’. I snatched up the document that had lain below it.
My dear Bishop
I return the Bishop of Capetown’s letter which you have thought it your duty to communicate to me. It relates to a most melancholy affair, on which I had also seen reports from Sir Harry Keppel’s friends.
Here are two of the most distinguished public Servants, within different branches, placed in antagonism where the Country had so much to expect from their united action; the one deeply offended and injured in his domestic life; the other exposed to public ruin.
I cannot conceive anything more painful.
As to the case itself, it appears to me that, if there be presumption of a crime having been committed, the legal tribunals ought to be left to adjudicate; if there has been only indiscretion, nothing more hurtful to the real interests of Sir G. Grey, & particularly to Lady Grey, could be devised, than by blind zeal for her welfare to make the Scandal of her shame more public in attracting general notice to it, nor could anything injure both men more than to encourage two parties to fight, each for their respective friend, in throwing most dirt on the other.
I
can personally do nothing in the matter. Sir George Grey seems to have appealed to his chief the Duke of Newcastle. Sir Harry is under the command of the Admiralty; both Authorities are responsible in their departments.
Ever &c,
A.
If Prince Albert had been present I might have flung my arms about him, so exultant was I at the thought of Bishop Wilberforce’s humiliation at this summary dismissal of his letter. But the growing evidence of the magnitude of the scandal appalled me.
I approached Lucy that same evening.
‘From Harry! I
knew
he’d write, that he hadn’t forgotten me.’
‘Listen very carefully,’ I said. ‘Your entire future hangs in the balance. You cannot afford to be swept away by sentimental notions. If Sir George refuses you a settlement, what will you do? He won’t want the scandal of divorce, but he will attempt to retain control over you. The Admiral knows that. His nephew was adamant that he wishes only for your honour to be protected insofar as that may be possible.’
‘But why didn’t his nephew call on us? It seems a little ungracious.’
‘The Admiral believes Sir George has set spies to watch us and I’m certain he’s right. There’s a man constantly lounging opposite in the street.’
‘
Spies
? What possible intelligence could be conveyed to my husband that could injure me more?’
‘He suspects that the liaison between you and the Admiral continues.’
‘Harry loves me, Fanny. I know it.’
For her own protection, I deemed it essential to show Lucy at least some of the cuttings and letters. Even with the worst of them kept from her, she was horrified at what she read. She was silent for some time, then she said, ‘Why couldn’t my husband have loved me just a
little, Fanny? A small amount of kindness, affection — that was all I asked of him.’
‘That he cannot give. Not to any wife.’
‘Makareta …’
‘Is dead, and she was his mistress, not his wife.’
I understood now that Maud Colville had been right. Woman is purely her husband’s chattel and he may do with her what he will. Had Lucy been a widow she might at last have found happiness with the Admiral, whose concerns were all for her welfare and her honour. Sir George, however, was angered not by the alienation of his wife’s affections but by the loss of his property; he did not want her yet nor he did he want any other to have her. But I was aware of my own double standards in this. What of Te Toa’s wives? Were they any better off than Lucy? It was I, not they, whom he had treated as his equal, I in whom he had confided opinions and beliefs he would not have shared with even another man. And yet, I told myself, Te Toa has not written to me, has not kept a journal for
me
. He has forgotten me. I was merely a novelty, a Pakeha woman, of interest only for my difference.
In this way, I see now, I suppressed the pain of loss and made it possible for myself to continue living.
Lucy wrote regularly. Aunt Julia Martin had never alluded to her situation, and was so kind and attentive she fancied herself treated as a daughter. They were now at the Martins’ country house in Herefordshire; a mount had been provided for her and she spent much of her time riding in the surrounding countryside,
so beautiful and tranquil, you cannot imagine, Fanny … And, in a month or two, I shall come to Lyme for an extended visit … I long to see you again.
And then, I received a letter. I opened it unsuspectingly.
My Dear Miss Thompson,
Acting as his Solicitor and Agent, I write on behalf of His Excellency, Sir George Grey, Her Majesty’s Governor at the Cape Colony. Following the unhappy separation of Sir George and Lady Grey, in conformity with his wishes, she currently resides with his Aunt but it has come to his attention that she intends to visit you at Lyme. Desiring that she should remain at all times under his Aunt’s supervision, he has forbidden her to do so. Should she defy him in this, he will take steps to assert his authority over her, including the justifiable cessation of those funds he now supplies for her material wellbeing.
I feel certain, Madam, that you would not wish to oppose the wishes of His Excellency. Accordingly, I ask you, on Sir George’s behalf, to desist heretofore from any further contact or correspondence with the Lady.
I remain,
Yr. obed. Servant,
Josiah Unwin, Esq.
I cannot recall at any time in my life feeling such rage as I did upon reading that letter. Not content with ruining his wife, Sir George was now set upon separating her from those few friends who still remained to her.
By the afternoon post, I received a communiqué from Lucy.
My dearest, dearest Fanny,
I write in haste. I dare not now dispatch further letters from here. I have been sent a copy of Sir G.’s solicitor’s letter to you forbidding us contact. He knows how very dear you are to me and in this he seeks, as you envisaged, to punish us both. I may write now only to Gussie, and Aunt Julia is to have the reading of those letters, so I cannot even communicate with you by that circuitous route. I must tell you that with the solicitor’s letter was an enclosure, a cutting of the announcement of the marriage of Admiral Keppel at the end of last month. My heart is entirely broken …
21st March, 1867
My Dearest Fanny,
It is now almost seven years since last we were together and not a day has passed without my thinking of you and mourning our separation. I dared not write before but we have returned to Eaton Terrace and I have slipped out to the post while Aunt Julia is seeing her physician.
I am tolerably well and pass my days happily enough, in the circumstances. Aunt is very good to me, though her health is a cause for concern. I long to see your dear face again and pray that we may somehow, one day, be reunited.
I trust you are well and happy in Lyme. I should love to know all about your comings and goings, but please do not attempt to reply to me lest my husband should have knowledge of it. Fanny dearest, I am sure God will find a way to reunite us. I pray for it daily.
Believe me, ever,
Your most loving,
Lucy.
P.S. Do you, too, still think of New Zealand?
A letter arrived with an Australian postmark. It was from Gussie, who in all of our correspondence had never once alluded to the incident aboard the
Forte
or to Lucy’s altered circumstances.
You may already know,
she wrote,
that Sir George’s aunt has died, and that Lucy has entered the lay branch of the Servite order …
Lucy! The Servite order! Scarcely crediting this intelligence, I read on.
Might I beg you to consider visiting her at this address? My husband and I are anxious to ensure she is not in want.
I did not write to announce my coming, but called in person at the sprawling house in the dingy suburb of Fulham.
‘I am her sister,’ I told the stern nun who greeted me, ‘in London for the briefest of visits. I beg you to allow me to see her.’
The nun left me in an austere sitting room on an uncomfortable upright chair set beneath a gloomy representation of the Crucifixion. On the wall opposite hung a large painting of a sorrowing Madonna, below it a cross adorned with a rosary. There was neither curtain nor carpet, merely one other chair and a bare deal table. The grimness of my surroundings lowered my spirits even further. It seemed impossible to imagine Lucy in such an inhospitable place.
At last, footsteps echoed in the corridor, the door opened, and the nun reappeared, shadowed by a white-veiled figure clad in a short-sleeved black tunic held by a leather belt. It took me several moments to realise it was Lucy.
‘You have fifteen minutes, Sister,’ said the nun, and withdrew.
I wanted to run to Lucy, fling my arms about her and kiss her cheek, but she stood motionless, then threw back her veil and looked at me with an expression I could not interpret.
‘Ah, Fanny,’ she said, finally, ‘this is an answer to prayer. If only you could know how much I’ve longed to see you …’
I went slowly to her and embraced her. I could not speak for tears of happiness.
We clung together for some time, then she said, ‘Sir Harry … he married, you know, Fanny.’
‘Yes.’
‘I heard he has two young children. I wonder often about what … but when such sorrowful thoughts engulf me, I pray to Our Lady of the Seven Dolours.’
‘I—’
‘I pray every day for you, too.’
‘Lucy, come home with me, I implore you. Come back to Lyme. You needn’t remain here. You have no more need of Sir George or his pittance.’
‘I can’t, Fanny.’
‘You can.
Please
, Lucy. We don’t have to stay in Lyme. We can travel anywhere you wish.’ I hesitated. ‘To New Zealand, if you want.’
She shook her head. ‘Do you remember, so long ago, that fortuneteller in Rio? How she said I should reign like a queen and slink like a cur? That I should be pious?’
‘I recall how we laughed.’
‘But, Fanny, she was right. One cannot go against Fate. And, dearest Fanny, I told you how I ordered the servant to leave the cobra inside the house? How I rejoiced when Makareta was struck down?’
‘And I said that did not make you responsible for—’
‘I knew I would be damned because I was so thankful that she was dead I could not find it in my heart to repent. Then, after Aunt Julia died, I turned to the Roman faith. I am truly penitent now and my confessor has given me absolution.’
‘If you’ve been absolved, you can return with me to Lyme.’
She shook her head. ‘No. I will cherish your dear friendship till the end of my life, but I’m at peace here. I can never go back into the world again. I can’t bear to reopen painful wounds.’
We were both silent. Then she said, ‘Fanny, please, this is very hard for me to say, but … don’t come to see me again. And don’t write. You will always be my most beloved sister, but …’
Sorrow overwhelmed me.
‘Don’t cry, Fanny. Please. I know in my heart this is the right … the only … path for me.’
A hand-bell rang and the nun returned. I embraced Lucy and left, barely able to see my way through my tears.
