The Emperor (11 page)

‘Think of me, a hostess!' Lucy marvelled.

‘
Oh, you'll be first-rate. And I'll give you any odds, that
our parties are the most talked-about of the Season.’

*

At the end of February Mrs Haworth came down from
Morland Place to Wolvercote to be with Lucy during her
lying-in. She found her sister larger than ever, but still
cheerful and practical, despite her discomfort.

‘
I shouldn't be surprised, from the size of me, if it weren't
twins,' she said. 'Wouldn't that be a splendid thing, Polly?
Two for the price of one – or rather, for the pains of one.'

‘As long as they were boys.'

‘
Yes, that's the worst of it. I don't mind for myself, but
Chetwyn must have his heir. But tell me all the news of
home. How do you all go on?'

‘
As well as can be expected, in the circumstances,' Mary
sighed.

‘Oh dear, that does sound gloomy. What's the matter?'

‘
Mrs James, as usual. It makes such a bad atmosphere in
the house, her and James not being upon terms. One can
never feel comfortable.'

‘
Poor thing! It must be hard to be forced to leave home
and marry a stranger, just to give him an heir.'

‘Like you, in fact,' Mary said.

‘
Not at all like me,' Lucy said, surprised. 'I wasn't forced
– and Chetwyn wasn't a stranger. He and I are the best of
friends, always have been. Do you think I would have
married him if it weren't so?'

‘But you weren't in love with him,' Mary said.

‘
Oh, love!' Lucy made a face. 'I know nothing of this
love
of yours! You females are always talking about it, but I
think you invent it, to make yourselves mysterious.'

‘
You're a female yourself,' Mary pointed out, and Lucy frowned, and then placed a hand over her belly and smiled
ruefully.

‘
Just now, I am forced to agree with you. Well, what has
Mrs James done now, to make you so cross, Poll? I'm sure
she's a very good creature: why can't you get on with her?'

‘
Her upbringing has been so different from ours; and she
has been mistress of her own house so long, she can't seem
to understand that she is not mistress any more. You heard
about the affair of the pianoforte? Her father's breach of
delicacy was beyond anything, in sending such a gift, accom
panied by a letter saying that as we would not provide her
with the things she needed, he must do it for us –'

‘I'm sure he said no such thing.'

‘
Those were not his words, but that was certainly the
sense of it. But her father's indelicacy was more than
matched by hers, in accepting such a gift, and having it put
in the drawing-room in place of the harpsichord, without
asking Mama's permission, or thinking for a moment of
anyone's convenience but her own. And that was not the
only thing. He is constantly sending her things, not just personal gifts, but horrible great pieces of furniture, all
covered with gilding and scroll-work, and statues and
ornaments, which she places about the rooms in common
use, so that you would hardly recognize the place now.'

‘Can't Mama speak to her?'

‘
Oh, you know Mama – she's hardly ever at home
anyway, and she hates to hurt anyone's feelings. Though I
think even she thought Mrs James had gone far enough
when she changed rooms with her while Mama was out.'

‘Not really!'

‘
Oh yes: she said that it was more suitable for Mama to
have the great bedchamber, and that Mappin had told her
that Mama never liked the red room, which you know is not
true, because it always used to be Great Uncle George's
room, and Mama was very fond of him. Mama was most put
out, but she didn't like to make a fuss when Mrs James had
done it for a kindness, which was how it appeared, so she
said only that she wished Mrs James had asked her about it
beforehand, so that she could have saved the servants all the
trouble of changing back. But Farleigh told me afterwards
that Dakers told her that Mrs James's real reason for
wanting to move was that she had taken a dislike to the
great bedchamber.'

‘Why?'

‘
It seems that one of the housemaids – a new one, that
Ned took in from the asylum – told Mrs James a story about
somebody hanging themselves from the chandelier hook,
and Mrs James couldn't sleep for thinking about it.'

‘
Oh yes, I've heard that story. It's perfectly true. It was
our great-grandmother. She was discovered having an affair
with the domestic chaplain, and hanged herself out of
remorse: one of the maids told me when I was quite little.

But that's no reason to take an aversion to the room, or the chandelier hook. After all, think of all the people who have slept in that room and
not
hanged themselves.’

Mary burst out laughing. 'Oh Lucy, you are like a breath of fresh air! I wish you were still living at home. You would restore everyone's sense of proportion.'

‘
Well it certainly seems you've lost yours, Polly. I've
never known you get so far into the dismals over nothing at all.’

Mary sighed. 'The truth of it is, I miss George so terribly,
and there's nothing at Morland Place to distract me. Mrs
James is so dull and pious, and Jamie so irritating with his sulks and his martyred airs; and Mama is never home, and Ned is growing more bucolic by the day! How I long for the sort of company I was used to when I lived with Flora and Charles.'

‘It's obvious you are wasted in Yorkshire. Why don't you come and live with Chetwyn and me? We are going to get a
house in Town for the Season, and even when we are here
at Wolvercote, you know, it is so close to London, that all
sorts of people come and visit us. If they knew you were
here, all your old beaux would come flocking! We should
never be dull. Oh, do say you will, Polly! Chetwyn would
like it of all things, I know, and I think it would be
prime!'

‘
Such language, child! I think you need me to keep you in hand. I should like it very much,' Mary said, 'but I should be
loath to leave Hippolyta at Morland Place, to he influenced
by Mrs James.'

‘Don't leave her, then – bring her with you. She'll be
company for my child. They can be brought up together: what could be better? Anyway, you know you promised I
could have her, if I should start up my school.'

‘
I only said I'd think about it. But how could I leave
Morland Place, without looking as if I had been driven away by Mrs James? I should hate to do anything that seemed particular.'

‘
Say you want to be nearer London, in case Captain
Haworth should put in somewhere for a day or two. That makes perfect sense.’

Mary smiled, and laid her hand over Lucy's for a
moment. 'You're a good, kind girl, Lucy, and I do thank
you very much. I will come, if you think Chetwyn will not
mind it.'

‘We'll shake down together, never fear. You and I never
quarrelled when we lived together in Bath, did we? And
don't worry about Chetwyn – he is the sweetest-tempered
man in the world.’

*

Lucy went into labour on the eighth of March, earlier than
she had expected. Chetwyn surprised her by exhibiting a
great nervousness, and begging her to send for London's
most eminent surgeon. Lucy only patted his hand comfortingly and retired to her room with the faithful Docwra, who turned back at the last moment to say to her master, 'Now
don't you be fretting, me lord. Haven't I helped me poor
mother through six confinements, and her no more hearty than a breath o' wind on a hot day? Sure, and her ladyship's as strong as the bog-heather: we'll bring it off between us, never fear.’

The baby was large. and Lucy was small, and despite all her determination and her medical knowledge, despite her veterinary skills and Docwra's experience, it went hard with
her. She would not cry out, and remained in control
throughout, but when at last the baby was born, she had a moment of weakness when she could only clutch Docwra's
hand in relief and croak, 'Animals do it all so much more
easily.'

‘
Sure, and animals never give birth to young the size o'
this one,' Docwra said cheerfully, wiping the sweat from her mistress's face. 'I vow and swear, me lady, there was never a bigger babby in the whole o' history.'

‘Boy or girl?' Lucy whispered.

‘
A girl, and as stout as can be!' Docwra replied. Lucy
closed her eyes in weak dismay.

‘Are you sure? Docwra, is there only one?'

‘One's enough to be going on with,' Docwra said firmly. ‘You thank God it's whole and healthy, and leave the planning and worrying to Him. There, now, me lady, drink this, and then I'll clean you up and make you comfortable.'

‘
I don't think I'll ever be comfortable again,' Lucy
groaned. 'Mary, are you there? Will you go and break the
news to Chetwyn for me?’

*

The cordial Docwra administered, and the effect of hot
water and clean linen, restored Lucy to something like her
normal spirits, and enabled her very soon to receive her
husband's visit. They faced each other down the length of
the bed, smiling shyly.

‘Well, then,' said Chetwyn at last, at a loss for words. ‘You've seen the child?' Lucy asked anxiously.

‘
Yes. She seems very healthy; and she's certainly large.
You were right,' he added, trying to make a joke, 'about
carrying an elephant child.'

‘
I'm sorry it's a girl,' Lucy said. 'That must be a blow to
you. It is to me. Now we shall have it all to do again.'

‘
But not immediately,' Chetwyn said hastily. 'Sure you
will want a good, long rest before you begin again!' A
silence followed. 'I was wondering, Luce, what we shall call
her? What do you say to Jane? That was my Mama's name.’

Lucy frowned. 'It's very well; but the thing is, that she
will be growing up with Mary's child, and if she has a plain
name, it will sound ridiculous next to Hippolyta.'

‘Hippolyta and Jane — well, perhaps.'

‘
I think we ought to give her a name something the
same.'

‘
Hmm.' Chetwyn mused, and then his brow lightened.
‘What about Flaminia?’

Lucy tried it, and smiled. 'Oh yes, I like that. That's very
well. What made you think of it?'

‘
I don't know. It must be something I picked up from
m'tutor, at Balliol. It's Latin, you know.'

‘
Well, I know that, you dunderhead,' Lucy exclaimed
indignantly. He met her eyes, and his expression softened.

‘
I'm glad you're all right, Lucy,' he said gruffly. 'Worried
about you!’

*

Lucy fed the baby herself for the first couple of weeks,
expounding to Mary the theory that it was good for both
mother and baby. 'The next time you have one, you must try
it,' she said, and Mary shuddered delicately. At the end of
March, Lucy tried to transfer the baby to a wet-nurse, but
she did not take to it, and there was a distressing period
when she cried constantly with colic. Every time she cried,
Lucy's breasts oozed milk in sympathy, ruining her clothes,
and embarrassing Lucy and Chetwyn almost equally.

‘
You'll have her on your hands for ever,' Mary warned,
and Lucy was obliged to fall back on Morland Place lore,
dismiss the wet-nurse and send out for a milch-ewe.
Flaminia took to ewe's milk, and throve, and grew into a
placid and quite pretty baby. Lucy's milk dried up, and
Chetwyn found a pleasant small house in Upper Grosvenor
Street, and at the end of April the household moved up to
Town.

The news that Lord and Lady Aylesbury had arrived,
and that Mrs Haworth was with them, acted like a charm on
Society, and from the day the door-knocker was hung, it
was never still. Amongst the very first of callers was Mr
Danby Wiske, who came to pay his respects, and to gaze at her ladyship with six months' accumulation of unexpressed adoration. As prompt in his
devoirs
and far more articulate
was Mr Brummell, who bowed over Lucy's hand and
congratulated her on producing a daughter.