The Emperor (35 page)

The child was born at last the following morning, and the
first words uttered in its hearing by its mother were hardly welcoming. 'Oh dear, what use is that?' Lucy croaked despondently; the child, another girl, began to yell.

Flaminia had been a pretty baby, and despite her being of
the wrong sex, both her parents had been sufficiently inter
ested in her, as a novelty, to carry her over the difficult
period until custom made her beloved. But the new baby
was misshapen and ugly, and though Docwra and Jemima both swore that the condition was purely temporary, they could rouse no favourable response in Lucy.

‘Ah, sure, we'll let her be,' Docwra said at length. 'It was a long labour with her, me lady, and sometimes it hardens the heart to have suffered so. I remember me mother had a
bad time with our Joseph, the way she couldn't bring herself
to touch him the first few days. She'll come around to it in time.'

‘I certainly hope so,' Jemima said, nursing the red-andblue mottled monster in her arms with love and pity. 'Poor little creature!' She had loved all her own babies from the
beginning; but then, she reflected doubtfully, she had dearly
loved their father. Perhaps it was different, to have a child
by a man you were no more than fond of? She dismissed the
idea briskly. Dreadful notion! At that rate, what was to
become of marriage and parenthood? What would the
world come to? It was almost as difficult to arouse Chetwyn's interest, although, being in his normal state of health and spirits, he
made a polite effort. He was disappointed that the child was
not a boy, though not quite as disappointed as Lucy, since his children made their appearance with very little effort or inconvenience on his part, and the thought of having to go
through it all again was not nearly so dismaying as it was to
his wife; but he could find nothing good to say about the baby.

‘Ugly little thing, ain't it?' he said dispassionately when Jemima brought her to him.

‘
She's not an it,' Jemima said firmly, 'and she's only a
little crumpled from the birth. She'll straighten out and get her colour in a few days – like a rose-petal.'

‘Rose-petal!' Chetwyn exploded with laughter, and even Edward said, 'Really, Mother, there's not much of the rose about that little brute!’

Jemima found herself growing quite cross in defence of the child. 'You're as 'bad as each other,' she said. 'I don't
suppose you made a very elegant appearance when you
were her age, Chetwyn, and I know Ned didn't.'

‘
I can't help it, ma'am,' Chetwyn said, a little remorse
fully. 'I'm only speaking the truth – she is ugly.'

‘
She's strong and healthy, and she's your daughter,'
Jemima said. 'And since Lucy is not feeling herself at the moment, I think you had better give her a name.'

‘Oh, Lord, another name? No, ma'am, I beg you will
excuse me, but I shot my bolt last time, with Flaminia. It
ain't reasonable to expect me to be brilliant twice in my life, now is it? Ned, I appeal to you – am I the sort of man to ask
for a name?’

Edward only laughed, and Jemima glowered at them.
‘You are a pair of silly babies,' she said. 'Very well, I shall name the child, and you will have to abide by my choice.'

‘Agreed!' Chetwyn said. 'You'll do it very well, ma'am, I'm sure of it. Come, Ned, I want to shew you my Purdeys. They arrived this morning, in good time for the third!’

They went out, laughing, and Jemima turned to Docwra, holding the baby in a fiercely protective grasp .

‘
Don't pay any heed to them, me lady. They was only
trying to provoke you,' Docwra said soothingly. 'The
babby's healthy, and that's everything.'

‘I know. Well, I shall have to give her a lovely name to
make up for it, poor mite. What's the most beautiful name
in the world, I wonder?'

‘
One of the blessed saints' names, me lady, like Miss
Fanny – not a heathenish mouthful like Flaminia or t'other one, begging your pardon.’

Jemima, deep in thought, did not hear her. Her brow cleared. 'I have it: the very thing. She shall he Rosamund –the rose of the world! I called her a rose petal, and they laughed, but she'll grow up as lovely as her name, and put the shame on them.'

‘Amen to that,' Docwra said fervently, and then flinched as the rose of the world woke up and began to yell with a
stridency which betokened at least an extremely healthy pair
of lungs.

*

'What is that you are making, my love?' Héloïse asked, intrigued. James had for several evenings abandoned work on the almost-finished portrait of her in favour of a thick oblong of wood, about one foot by two in size, onto which he had painted a map of the world. It was a very fine affair,
the background sea a bright, unlikely blue, sporting ships in
full sail and colourful sea-monsters with bulging eyes; the land very detailed, with each country painted a different
 
colour, and decorated with trees and animals and plants appropriate to its climate.

But now, having expended a great deal of time and skill on the painting, he seemed, by his actions, to be proposing to cut it to bits with a saw.

James looked up from his work with a sheepish grin.
'Can't you guess?' he asked.

‘Not at all. Will you destroy your own work?'

‘
No, my love, I am making a dissected puzzle,' he
laughed.

‘But what is that?'

‘Don't you have them in France? It's a child's plaything.
You see, you cut out around each country, and divide up
the seas, so that it all comes to pieces. Then you give the pieces, muddled up, to the child, and by learning to put the puzzle together again, they can learn their geography without tears.’

Tiens,
that is very clever,' Héloïse smiled. 'And who is it
for?’

He looked even more sheepish. 'Well — I thought — you
see, it is Fanny's birthday on the third of October, and I
thought I would make something for her, and send it by
post. They would surely not keep it from her, do you think?'

‘
Oh,' Héloïse said thoughtfully, and returned her gaze to her sewing. ‘No, I don't suppose they would do that.' She was silent a while, and then asked, without looking up, ‘Do you miss her very much, James?'

‘Yes, I do,' he said frankly. He put down the saw, and reached out to take her hand, halting it in mid-stitch. She looked up. 'I love her very much, but not enough to make
me want to leave you,' he said. 'I wish I could have you
both, but the love of a child can't replace love like ours. There's no question of a choice.'

‘
I see,' she said. She looked at him gravely for a moment,
and he thought she was going to say something more.
‘Yes, my darling?' he prompted.

She smiled and shook her head. ‘No, nothing.
Rien du
tout, mon âme.
Do you think I should make something for
Fanny's birthday too? You see, I embroider very prettily, as
the nuns taught me. But no, your wife would know convent work if she saw it, and most certainly prevent Fanny from having it.’

He had never heard her speak like that before. He put his
work aside and went to her anxiously. 'Don't,' he said. 'You sound like an ordinary, jealous woman.'

‘But I am ordinary, and I am jealous. Does that surprise you?’

He kissed her brow. 'You are a Stuart princess — that's
not ordinary. And there is no need to be jealous. I love you,
only you. I have never loved my wife: you know that.'

‘I know,' she said, her eyes downcast. 'All the same, she is your wife, which I can never be; and she has borne you a child.'

‘
Marmoset, I will never, never leave you. I will love you,
waking and sleeping, with every breath I draw, until I die. No-one else has ever had what is yours, nor ever will.'

‘
Oh, James,' she said, stricken. She folded her arms
round him, and he rested his head on her shoulder, and she
rocked him, pressing her lips to his hair. 'Oh James, I know,
I know. I am so foolish. I love you too, so much, that sometimes I am afraid. I feel the shadows gather round us like wolves, watching us, just waiting for the fire to die down.’

He lifted his head and smiled. 'Now that is foolish! Our
fire will never die down. We shall cock a snook at the
wolves, and they'll grow bored and go away.’

She pretended gravity. 'Cock a snook? What is this expression?’

Faire un pied de nez,'
he translated, grinning. She shook her head disapprovingly at him.

‘
But this is very
vulgaire,
James, I am quite shocked!
And also it is most unfair to do this thing to the poor
wolves, who have no fingers, and so cannot make the reply — ah no! James! Do not tickle me! I shall lose my needle! James, no!’

The noise brought Marie from the kitchen, and she
smiled to see her mistress romping like a merry child. Holy Mother, Marie prayed, let her go on being happy. But only that morning she had gone down to the village to buy some
meat, and had come back with her basket empty, because
the village butcher had refused to serve her.

‘We will not speak of this to Monsieur, Marie,' Héloïse had said. 'It is not important. We can get our meat from
Thirsk, from the market. Your friend the carrier will help
us, I am sure.’

Oui, Madame.
We can get everything from Thirsk,'
Marie had said cheerfully, and Héloïse had smiled too, each
pretending for the other's sake; but they both knew that the clouds were gathering.

 
Mr Hobsbawn was so outraged that when he made his visit, he abandoned the habits of a lifetime and travelled post, the
sooner to confront Lady Morland and bellow at her.
Edward took exception to this proceeding, and tried to
intervene, but Jemima silenced him with a look and a
gesture. Better that Mr Hobsbawn should get his shouting done, so that they could then discuss the matter quietly.
Damming up his wrath was only likely to lead to an
explosion.

Eventually he ran down for sheer lack of opposition, and
stood, red-faced and panting, staring at Jemima and Ned
and looking, she thought, as puzzled as a bull which had just
charged a shadow.

‘Will you sit down, Mr Hobsbawn,' she invited quietly, ‘and let me send for some refreshments for you?’

He sat, rather suddenly, and said, ‘God damn it, Lady Morland, you're amazing calm about all this! I half wonder if you know what's going on in your own house!'

‘Oh yes, I know,' she said, checking Edward again.

‘
Then why the devil didn't you tell me? I heard about this
infamous business from a fellow mill-owner, and deuced embarrassing it was too. "I say, Hobsbawn," says he, "your daughter's married a wrong 'un, seemingly." What was I to
say to that? Had no notion what he was talking about.
Everyone else in Manchester knew, however. My son-in-
law, run off with this French woman, calls herself a countess, but God knows what she really is! More likely a —'

‘Sir!' Edward intervened in the nick of time. ‘I must ask you to moderate your language in front of my mother.'

‘
It's all right, Edward,' Jemima said softly. ‘Mr
Hobsbawn is naturally upset.'

‘Upset?' he roared. 'I'll say I am!' He caught himself up, and went on in a slightly moderated voice. 'Don't mean to cuss at you, ma'am,' he said, slightly shamefaced, but then his injuries occurred to him again, and his voice began to
rise. 'But why the devil did no-one tell me? Must I hear
news of my own family from the gossip-mongers?'

‘We intended no slight, I assure you,' Jemima said soothingly. 'There seemed no point in telling you —'

‘No point!'

‘No point in telling you when we hoped the unhappy
situation would resolve itself. And really, as there was
nothing anyone could do, we did not wish you to be made
unhappy to no avail. Your daughter was with us in deciding
not to tell you yet.’

Hobsbawn drew out a violet silk handkerchief and
mopped his brow. He looked a little stunned, more than a little bewildered. 'But — but — for God's sake tell me the truth, at least. What has happened? Where is the boy?'

‘I'm afraid the melancholy truth is that James has left
home and is living with Lady Henrietta Stuart, and so far
has refused to come back.’

Hobsbawn stared, his face tragic. 'Dear God!' He seemed
unable to take it
in.
'Left, ye say? What, just walked away? But why? Why, damnit? Is he mad? Left his wife — my
daughter? He must be all about in his head to do such a
thing!'