Illusions of Happiness (25 page)

‘You should rest more. Probably worry – worrying about the master and all. I’ll have young Lily bring you a hot drink, then perhaps you should go back to bed for the morning. Rest is what you need. I’ll tell the master to arrange for your lunch to be taken to your room. Maybe your monthlies are a bit heavier than usual. They can be a bit alarming if you’ve not had one like that for a long while, but as you know it’ll dwindle in a day or two.’

‘It’s not my monthlies!’ Madeleine cried before she could stop herself.

A brief silence descended, then slowly, ‘Then what, dear?’

Without warning, Madeleine leaned forward. Hands covering her face, she broke into sobs while Mrs Cole sat beside her, quite still for a while, just looking at her. At last she asked, ‘What are you trying to say, love?’

Madeleine could no longer hold it in. ‘I’m pregnant!’

Her voice choked off into silence, not seeing Mrs Cole’s face breaking into smiles or the next moment changing to concern. ‘You’re definitely sure there’s bleeding, dear?’

As Madeleine nodded, her manner became urgent. ‘But that could be dangerous. You could lose it. We must call Dr Peters immediately.’

‘No! Don’t do that! Please – no one else knows.’

‘What about your husband?’

‘He doesn’t know either.’

‘But surely he knows of your condition?’ She sounded bewildered and Madeleine could guess what she was thinking, that had he been told, by now he would be letting everyone know, making a great deal of it that he, a man of his late years, was to become a father.

‘I daren’t tell him,’ Madeleine whispered desperately. Mrs Cole was staring at her as if not knowing what to make of this.

At last she sat down beside her, laid an understanding arm about Madeleine’s shoulder as she whispered, ‘Why ever not?’

Madeleine had no idea how to reply; wished she hadn’t rushed down here, so fast, so desperate to have someone help her, advise her.

‘Because,’ she began, breaking off then tremulously beginning again. ‘Because . . . It’s not his.’

There, she’d said it, instantly wishing she hadn’t as the words, ‘Dear God!’ like a tiny whispered explosion broke from the woman’s lips.

‘How d’you mean, it’s not his?’ she said, her gentle tone taking on a harder note.

The question sounded utterly absurd, but all Madeleine could do was break down afresh in sobs of misery. ‘It’s not his! What’s he going to say?’

She felt the arm lift off her shoulders. ‘It’s not what he’s going to say. It’s how he’s going to feel. The man’s ill. Faced with something like this – how could you ever have done such a thing to him? Who is the father?’

That she was not prepared to tell her. She had said too much already and she shouldn’t have. She should have gone straight to Anthony. Though maybe he wouldn’t have been home yet, or maybe he would, waiting for her, waiting to talk about the following weekend ready to prepare her for the ordeal facing her. If she could make it to Anthony’s they could call a doctor from there and perhaps James would never have to know. What the procedure would be she had no idea. Whether a doctor would take it away, or just stop the bleeding, she had no idea, but it must not happen in this house.

Her thoughts were in turmoil. There was a lurking relief that there may be no need now to go through the trauma of placing herself into the care of an abortionist. She’d told Anthony she wanted a baby, but not at this moment. All she knew was that she needed to be with him. Certainly not here being attended to by James’s doctor, with James having to be informed, having to face him. No need for Mrs Cole to observe and maybe tittle-tattle, no matter how trustworthy. No need for James to be any the wiser.

‘I must go!’ she burst out. ‘Don’t say anything to Mr Ingleton, please, Mrs Cole.

‘I should think not!’ The tone was no longer kind. ‘News like that could kill him, ill like he is. How could you treat the master . . .’

But Madeleine was already out through the kitchen door, up the basement steps and hurrying down the hall towards the main door. She had only gone halfway when a sharp little pain seared her insides low down and made her gasp, stopping her in her tracks. Tense, she waited for it to ease, but then a second pain took over, slower, heavier, a deep, more persistent grinding like a fist being turned inside her.

Doubling up, she heard herself cry out, ‘Mrs Cole – come quick!’

Mrs Cole arrived in an instant and helped her into the sitting room, lowered her on to a sofa, and made her lie back, saying, ‘I’m calling the doctor. No arguments.’ Raising her voice she bellowed, ‘Beattie! Beattie, where are you?’

‘Up here, Mrs Cole,’ came a voice from over the landing above.

‘Come down here, Beattie, this minute!’

As the girl appeared at the doorway, Mrs Cole turned to her. ‘Phone Mr Ingleton’s doctor. The number’s in the book hanging at the side of the telephone. Tell him it’s extremely urgent. Do you understand? EXTREMELY URGENT! Tell him Mrs Ingleton has been taken seriously ill.’

Faintly, between groans, Madeleine could hear the girl asking for the number, then as if calling back over her shoulder. ‘Mrs Cole, he’s asking if I mean
Mr
Ingleton.’

‘No. Tell him it’s
Mrs
Ingleton, Mrs Madeleine Ingleton. Tell him it’s terribly urgent and to come straight away.’

A moment’s pause, then, ‘He’s asking, what’s the matter with her.’

Mrs Cole gave an irritated tut-tut and raised her voice even louder. ‘It’s for him to tell us! Tell him it’s a woman’s trouble and looks serious and to come immediately.’ She looked down at Madeleine and smiled. ‘After all, Mr Ingleton pays him.’

When Madeleine, holding her breath against another sluggish twinge, barely returned the smile, Mrs Cole stood up, calling to the girl in the hall, ‘As soon as you’re off the phone go to the laundry room and collect some clean towels and a couple of clean flannels. Tell young Lily to heat some water – a couple of kettlefuls will do – pour it in a basin and bring it to me.’

Seconds later, came Beattie’s voice. ‘Lily’s not there.’

‘Then she must be outside in the garden or in the loo out there. I told her to make herself scarce. If you can’t find her, do it yourself. But be quick about it!’

This last was said almost in panic as Madeleine felt another pain run through her and let out a cry, not one to endure pain in silence. The sound seemed to echo through the house, bringing Beattie up the few stairs from the kitchen at a run, slopping hot water on her way.

‘Put it here,’ cried Mrs Cole. ‘And go and get a waterproof sheet – two waterproof sheets – one for the floor and one for this sofa. Can’t have the Master’s good furniture all wet and stained.

‘What’s happened to her?’ Beattie enquired.

‘None of your business!’ Mrs Cole snapped at her. ‘Now go and wait outside the door for the doctor. Bring him straight in here when he arrives. Bring him in here, then you can go into the kitchen till he’s gone. I don’t want you moving about the house just now.’

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t ask questions. Just keep Lily company when she comes back from wherever she is until I can say you can go about your duties again.’

‘What if the Master wants anything?’

‘I doubt he will, he’s not at all well and won’t be down until well into the morning. Now be a good girl, and go and sit with Lily when she appears. Don’t gossip with her about this. If she asks, say I’ll talk to her later. Do you understand?’

‘But what if Mr Merton comes back down?’

Fortunately, James’s butler had been upstairs with him having awakened him and served him his morning tea as he always did first thing most mornings. Since James’s health had deteriorated these last couple of years, he’d have Merton stay and chat while he sat in his armchair by the window where the sun poured in if the day was fine, Merton pottering about the room or sitting on a hard chair nearby if James fancied a chat.

Over the years, long before he’d married Madeleine, they’d become almost like friends, more so now that James’s health had grown steadily more chronic.

‘If Mr Merton returns downstairs, I shall tell him Mrs Ingleton is a little unwell – that’s all he needs to know for now. Now go!’

As the girl went out of the door, Mrs Cole turned her attention back to Madeleine. ‘How are you feeling now?’

There was concern but no longer any real gentleness in her tone. The woman was obviously disgusted, for all she was merely staff. Madeleine gave a small, wan smile. ‘Not so bad now. The pain seems to have died away. In fact I’m feeling much better.’

‘Well that’s encouraging. Maybe it was only a passing thing.’

‘Maybe we don’t need the doctor. I’ll go upstairs and rest instead.’

‘No, best you stay here. Moving about could start it off again. And you must have your doctor to look at you.’

It sounded as if she wanted him to prove her condition, even hope he would relay the good news to James, congratulate him on becoming a father-to-be, sparing her any temptation to confide in others, ending up with it reaching his ears and she being held responsible for spreading it. Madeleine could feel the fear gripping hold of her. How could she even hope to plead with their doctor to keep the news from James without having to explain why?

Within five minutes of receiving the phone call, Dr Peters was being conducted into the room by the young housemaid who, on appearing to be hovering, hurriedly backed out at a sharp look from Mrs Cole.

Dr Peters came to stand over Madeleine, his expression gentle and friendly. ‘Now what have we been up to, my dear?’

Before Madeleine could reply, Mrs Cole spoke for her. ‘Mrs Ingleton told me she’s in the family way, Doctor, but this morning she had . . . well, you know, a little show and she got herself in a bit of a state.’

‘Quite natural,’ Dr Peters said slowly. ‘Well then, I need to have a look at her. And she must go straight to bed and rest.’ He looked down at her, all smiles. ‘No need for alarm at this juncture, my dear. We will get you to bed and you must stay there until all sign of bleeding ceases. But . . .’

Again he smiled, this time with gentle concern. ‘I do need to add that there is every possibility you could lose the child despite rest and care. We will have to wait and see how it goes. Hopefully all will remain well. But you must rest and not fret overmuch. I know that is hard to do, but you must try to concentrate on all being well. I will tell Mr Ingleton—’

‘No! Don’t!’ Madeleine cried. ‘I don’t want him worried. It might go away and then there’ll be no need for him to know.’

Dr Peters looked mystified. ‘Nonsense, my dear, he must be told or he will be even more upset that his wife has kept a thing like this from him.’

Madeleine sat up sharply before he could stop her. ‘Dr Peters,’ she began, then seeing Mrs Cole still there behind him, said as nicely as she could, ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Cole. Thank you so much for all you’ve done for me this morning, but do you mind leaving us please?’

She didn’t seem that put out by the request. After all, she must have already guessed what her employer’s wife was about to tell the doctor.

Once they were alone, Madeleine haltingly and almost in a whisper mumbled her secret to him, her voice threatening to break as tears began to course down her cheeks, not daring to look up into his face, knowing the expression she would see written there.

After she’d done, he stood there not speaking. Finally he said in low measured tones, ‘You cannot keep a thing like this from him, my dear.’

She wished he wouldn’t keep saying, my dear, almost as though he were in league with James.

‘Even if the bleeding ceases he will want to know what all this is about.’

‘We don’t have to tell him.’

‘Of course you must. All this activity going on in his own home, he is bound to know, ask questions. He is not a stupid man and to be perfectly honest, my dear Mrs Ingleton, you should have thought of him, his feelings, before you embarked on . . . Well, you understand what I am saying.’

Madeleine didn’t answer. His sharp tone went right through her. Dr Peters spoke for her.

‘I think it your duty to tell him. Or would you prefer I do it? Less traumatic perhaps than coming from you, worked up as you are.’

But Madeleine hardly heard him, as hands covering her face, she broke into a paroxysm of weeping and found herself nodding to his words without being sure why, hearing him say something about having a bed brought down lest climbing the stairs to her bedroom might cause even more danger of losing the fetus. But that was just what she wanted – to lose the thing and have done with it.

She lay in her own bed, no longer pregnant, all efforts to save the minuscule life having been for nothing. It had been a terrible few hours seeming to go on forever, the uncontrollable straining making her moan, wishing she could die. At least she’d been saved the terror of an enforced abortion but she’d no longer cared, just wanting it to end.

While she lay downstairs on the made-up bed, Anthony had telephoned on the pretext of asking after his uncle’s health but really to find out where she was, so she had learned later.

Told only that his uncle was well enough but that his aunt had been taken ill, he had come bounding round on a legitimate errand of asking after her. By that time James, alerted by Merton who had returned downstairs to find chaos ruling, had himself come to investigate. It had fallen to Dr Peters to tell him the disturbing news and though he had no doubt been careful with his words, James had gone back up to his room once Madeleine was pronounced out of danger – that was three days ago. He’d not been near her since; hadn’t even wanted to know whose child it was. For that at least she should have felt relieved; no third degree, no accusation, no need for her to lie to him; no adding insult to injury in his having to be told it was his own nephew. But that was no relief as she lay or sat around in her room doing nothing, like a nun in a cell, wanting only to close herself off from the world.

Anthony rang once to ask how she was. That was ten days ago. Since then there had been silence. Between weeping and staring at the four walls, Madeleine felt it would have been a blessing to have died, wished even now that she would.