Cashelmara (21 page)

In vain Edward explained to me wryly that when confronted by a dispute the English notoriously sided with the underdog. In my fury this explanation simply wasn’t good enough for me. I knew perfectly well that England had become resentful of the Northern United States and had begun to regard them as a rival in world affairs. The prospect of that rival being pulled down a peg or two was far too delightful not to be savored, but I thought it revealed all the less attractive qualities in the Anglo-Saxon character.

However, despite the distressing news from America and the exasperating attitudes of the English, it was pleasant to be back at Woodhammer, and I was delighted when we soon became so busy entertaining visitors that I had no time to be bored with country life. Among the acquaintances whom Edward invited to share the hunting with him was his closest friend, Lord Duneden, whose younger married daughter I found particularly congenial. Lord Duneden’s situation resembled Edward’s before our marriage. He had been a widower for some years and was toying with the idea of finding a new wife. I even wondered if he might follow Edward’s example and marry a much younger woman, for he was unusually attentive to Katherine, but Katherine herself quickly scotched that suspicion by saying I read too many frivolous novels and had too lively an imagination.

“Besides,” said Katherine, who was enjoying the privacy of her widow’s weeds, “I shan’t want to marry again for a long time—and even if I did I would prefer to marry a man who is not half bald and elderly-looking.”

I could not say that Lord Duneden was too old for her, since Edward was even older than he was, but I did agree he had little hair and was inclined to be stout. “But he has great charm,” I said, “and he’s very kind.”

“Perhaps,” said Katherine with studied indifference, and after that we did not discuss Lord Duneden any more.

We had a very happy Christmas at Woodhammer. Thomas learned to haul himself to his feet by clinging to the bars of his crib, and Patrick did a splendid sketch of him glaring ambitiously at the rail. Patrick was so good with Thomas. The three of us used to spend much time playing together in the nursery, but although Edward too visited Thomas every evening to say good night he did no more than pat the baby’s head and watch him for a moment or two.

“Thomas will be more interesting to you when he’s older,” I said, aware that I could hardly expect Edward to follow Patrick’s example and romp with the baby on the nursery floor. “What fun it will be when he can walk!”

“Children grow up too quickly,” he said, smiling at me. “You should enjoy his infancy while it lasts.”

“Oh, I’m enjoying it! But I’m ready for Thomas to be more than a baby now, especially since …” But I stopped. I wanted to say, “Since there’ll soon be a new baby for me to enjoy,” but for some reason I was tongue-tied.

“Since what?” he said naturally, but when I still could not explain he guessed the news and gave me a kiss. “And what is his name?” he asked, amused. “And when is he coming?”

“At the end of June, I think,” I said, disarmed by his good humor and feeling less awkward “But he doesn’t have a name yet because you must choose it. I was so autocratic in deciding upon Thomas.”

“No,” he said. “You choose the name.”

“Why?” I cried. “Don’t you want to choose it? Does the baby’s name mean so little to you?” And in a fit of emotion so common to me when I was pregnant, I burst into tears.

“My dearest Marguerite!” He was shocked to the core. “What a thing to say!”

“Then choose a name!” I sobbed and hurled myself against his chest in a positive orgy of weeping.

“David,” he said at once, “after my brother. I was very fond of him, and I remember you said you liked him when he visited New York.”

I was reassured. I managed to say to him, “You’re pleased?”

“Of course,” he said, holding me tightly and stroking my hair. My face was still pressed against his chest, and I could not see his expression.

“It won’t make any difference to us,” I said, “will it?”

“Good heavens, in what way?”

“Well, with Thomas … it was difficult sometimes … before … and especially afterward … wasn’t it?”

There was a pause. Then he said, “It was nothing.” And when I tried to deny this he added sharply, “You must think me very selfish if you think I’m reluctant for you to have children.”

“But …”

“Every woman has a right to have children.”

“And every husband has a duty to provide her with them? Oh, Edward, don’t let’s talk about rights and duties! If you don’t want the baby—”

“My dearest Marguerite,” he said, gentle but very firm, “you can rest assured that if I hadn’t wanted this child I would have told you so long before he was conceived. Now please, no more of this nonsense or I shall become very cross with you indeed.”

I did feel much better when he said that, and I at once began to kiss him with a great passion. I was always very passionate when I was pregnant, but that was a great deal more pleasant than suffering from morning sickness or fainting spells.

After Christmas I did not go to Cashelmara with Edward but returned to London, where my doctor confirmed my condition and gave his usual tedious advice to lead a quiet life. Presently Edward returned to London, the Queen summoned Parliament, and in no time at all winter had brightened into spring. Since the beginning of my pregnancy I had felt in excellent health, but in early June when I had less than a month of waiting before me an event occurred that was to prove very disturbing: Edward’s daughter Madeleine abandoned her cloister and wrote to ask him if she could come to stay.

I HAD IMAGINED MADELEINE
to be as virtuous as a heroine in a Radcliffe novel and as fanatical in her religious devotion as the earliest of the Christian martyrs. I had never met a nun before. Edward refused to discuss her since she had given him great offense first by becoming a Roman Catholic and second by entering the cloister, and even when she announced her intention to return to the world his only comment was “Thank God she’s come to her senses before she’s too old to find a husband.”

“Do you intend to let her stay here?” I said, uncertain how far he meant to forgive her.

“Of course,” he said. “It’s my duty to give an unmarried daughter a roof over her head, but if she thinks I’m going to treat her as the father treated the prodigal son, I’m afraid she’ll be greatly disappointed.”

Not liking to ask him any more questions, I turned to Katherine for information, but Katherine at once assumed her remotest expression and said there was little she could tell me.

“But she’s only a year older than you!” I protested.

“We had nothing in common,” said Katherine and added with a flash of her old jealousy, “She was Grandmama’s favorite. That was why she became so fanatically religious.”

“Grandmama,” I learned, was Edward’s mother, a fussy old lady who had supported the most Popish branch of the Anglican faith and displayed a talent for narrow-mindedness and longevity.

“She even outlived Mama,” reflected Katherine, “and when Papa went abroad after Mama’s death Grandmama came to Woodhammer and made us all pray daily for consolation in our bereavement.”

“Wasn’t that awful!” exclaimed Patrick fervently. “So boring!”

“Madeleine liked it,” said Katherine. “That was when she turned to religion. Papa said afterward it was all Grandmama’s fault.”

“I can’t imagine Edward having a mother,” I said. “Did they get along?”

“Get on,” murmured Katherine conscientiously. I had recently asked her to help me pinpoint my most frequently used Americanisms. “Yes, they did. She was devoted to him.”

“She was a nice old thing really,” said Patrick.

“And Madeleine resembles her?” I said hopefully, but they both looked doubtful.

“Fanaticism is such poor taste,” said Katherine, and Patrick added, “It’s not really very jolly to be told one’s doomed to hell-fire and damnation, you know.”

At this point I had serious misgivings about this monster of a stepdaughter, and by the time Madeleine arrived from her Irish convent I was so nervous that I hardly had the courage to remain in the drawing room to receive her.

Fortunately Edward was with me. When she was shown into the room he said a cool “Welcome home, Madeleine,” but despite his harsh words earlier he did give her a kiss. “May I present …”

I looked at her disbelievingly. No one had told me how fetching she was. I use the word “fetching” deliberately, because she was neither handsome like Annabel nor beautiful like Katherine, but she had that special soft, curving winningness that many men find irresistible. She was small, as small as I was, and a little plump. She had steady blue eyes, softly waving fair hair and an ineffable expression. No girl could have looked sweeter or more biddable.

“How do you do, Cousin Marguerite,” she said, casting an interested but not hostile glance at my ballooning waistline, and closed her small rosebud mouth with such an air of finality that I wondered if she ever intended to say another word to me again. She turned to her father. “It’s so good of you to receive me, Papa,” she said politely, “but if all goes well, I hope I shall not be a burden to you for long. I have applied for a position nursing the sick at the East End Charity Hospital run by my order, and I intend to begin work there as soon as possible.”

“But I thought you’d left the order!” said Edward, outraged.

“Yes, I have. I decided I wasn’t suited to be a nun either in the cloister or out of it. I found such strict conformity too difficult. However, the order still wishes to help me, and when I decided to be a nurse—”

“But of course you can’t be a nurse! I’ve never heard such a ridiculous idea in all my life!”

“I hardly think Miss Nightingale would agree with you, Papa.”

“Never mind Miss Nightingale!” shouted Edward, in a great rage by this time. “I absolutely forbid it!”

“Yes, Papa, I dare say you do, but as always my duty to obey God must prove stronger than my duty to obey you.”

I would never, never have dared say such a thing to Edward. I closed my eyes in anticipation of his wrath, and far away I heard a thin voice say tremulously, “Cousin Madeleine, you must be so tired after your long journey and I’m sure you must be anxious to rest. Do let me show you upstairs to your room.” It was a surprise when I realized the thin voice belonged to me, but Madeleine remained undisturbed, and Edward at least made no attempt to interrupt. Maneuvering her from the room before his temper could explode, I rushed her upstairs while I talked continuously about the new wallpaper in her room and the train journey from Holyhead and would she like a little refreshment, as it would be so easy to order tea.

“How very kind,” she said, regarding me with compassion, “but I can wait till dinner for refreshment.” And as I sank down exhausted upon the bed she said soothingly, “You mustn’t mind Papa and me, you know. He’s quite used to me being the exact opposite of Katherine.”

“Opposite?” I said weakly. “Katherine?”

“Of course! Katherine believes the world would end if she were not a dutiful daughter, and I believe the world would end if I were. By the way, since I’m certain Papa is already speculating about a possible husband for me, could you be kind enough to inform him that I have absolutely no intention of marrying either now or at any other time? Thank you so much.”

“But—”

“Will you take me up to the nursery presently to see little Thomas? I adore babies! In fact one day if I have the means I should like to establish a foundling hospital.”

“How very commendable, but … well, in that case, wouldn’t you like to have babies of your own?”

“Without being married?” said Madeleine with every appearance of seriousness, and then burst into such peals of laughter that I could not help but laugh with her. “Pray don’t misunderstand me,” she said at last. “Marriage is a sacred and blessed institution uniquely fitted to the human race, but God never intended it to be for everyone, did He? Such a very simple truth but tragically so often overlooked by women taught from the cradle to put the dictates of society above the will of God. Yes, it is pretty wallpaper. How interesting to see some modern notions in decoration! One of the nicest things about being American must be that one isn’t weighed down by centuries of obsolete ideas.”

And after that encouraging remark all trace of awkwardness between us vanished until soon I was even wondering how long I could persuade her to stay with us at St. James’s Square.

But my delight at having Madeleine to stay was dampened daily by Edward’s inability to keep his temper with her. Madeleine was hardly at fault; she always adopted a pleasant, polite manner that, unfortunately, Edward found all too difficult to emulate.

“If you had a husband and half a dozen children you wouldn’t feel any need to work in a hospital tending lice-infested bodies, Madeleine,” he said to her after she had gently reproved him for talking of suitors, and to me in private he added angrily, “If only I could make her stop all this hospital nonsense! If she gave her mind to it she would soon meet some suitable fellow and settle down.”

He simply did not understand. The situation should have been eased by the fact that Madeleine did not expect him to understand, but Madeleine’s placid acceptance of his disapproval was infuriating to Edward. I saw clearly then that Madeleine was the daughter who baffled him most. Annabel he could understand; they were alike, and though Annabel had angered him in the past, he continued to speak of her with affection. Katherine he could tolerate; she was always so anxious to please him that he found it easy to be kind to her. But Madeleine he could neither understand nor tolerate, and had it not been for the fact that I was in my ninth month and that they were both loath to upset me, I believe they would have quarreled hopelessly within a week of her arrival.

But I liked Madeleine. I liked someone who was interested when I wanted to discuss David’s imminent arrival, and I liked someone who shared my absorption in Thomas’s progress. I am not, I hope, one of those boring women who can normally talk of nothing but their children, but when one is nine months pregnant one’s mind is necessarily filled with little else but thoughts of cribs, diapers and rattles, and Madeleine seemed to understand this more readily than anyone else. I found her a comfort, and I wanted her to stay.