A Crooked Rib (32 page)

‘Sir George is not in his right mind.’

‘On the contrary, I believe him to be entirely in his right mind. For his own ends, he’s playing very cleverly the part of the wronged husband. I greatly fear he’s seen his chance to cast off his lady while appearing in the eyes of the world to be the injured party. No madman is capable of the arguments he’s advanced to us tonight. He claims that if he is forced to carry on to Cape Town on the
Forte
, he will murder Lu— Lady Grey or shoot himself. I don’t believe for an instant that he’ll do either, but Captain Turnour and the surgeon certainly take him at his word, so, under the most extreme pressure from them both, I’ve instructed the Captain to return the ship to Rio.’

‘And Sir George remains confined?’

‘Yes, and must be so for the two or three days it will take us to get there. What will happen then, I simply don’t know. The Governor will speak to me now only through the agency of a third party.’

‘But he may murder Lucy in Rio …’

‘He’s a wily fox. He won’t place himself in jeopardy by murder. I assure you that if I believed for one second he would harm a hair of her head, I’d shoot him myself.’

In a dark silence, accompanied only by young Harry Stephenson, Sir George, Lucy and I were disembarked from the
Forte
in Rio. A trap deposited us at the Rio Hotel.

‘Midshipman Stephenson,’ said Sir George, ‘you are to tell Lady Grey I shall organise new passages for her and Miss Thompson. She will be informed of the arrangements in due course. Meanwhile, they are to remain in the hotel unless told otherwise.’

‘Aye, aye, Sir. M’Lady, His Excellency requires you to remain here until such time as he has procured new passages.’

Lucy merely looked at the midshipman, expressionless.

‘Thank you, Harry,’ I said.

‘Since this message was not intended for you, Miss Thompson,’ said Sir George, ‘there is no cause for you to respond.’

I felt a hand press into mine, and the cut of a scrap of paper. With the most imperceptible of movements, Harry Stephenson nodded towards Lucy. I slid my hand into my reticule, lodging the note safely out of sight.

No amount of effort will rouse Lucy from her listlessness and I have begun to fear for her health. She spent most of today and yesterday occupied at her writing case.

Young Harry Stephenson has just appeared, begging leave to send his uncle’s kindest regards to the ladies and to bid them be strong. I have not yet dared to pass the note he gave me to Lucy for fear of some unquenchable outburst, but for the first time in many hours, she spoke. ‘Please to tell your kind uncle I will never forget him.’

‘I shall, Ma’am.’ He hesitated. ‘Ma’am, I’ve been instructed to inform you that the Governor is re-embarking on the
Forte
. She sails again for the Cape tonight.’

‘Rejoining the ship! But it was
he
who ordered her turned back, who swore he would kill the Admiral if he was obliged to—’

‘My uncle says they’ve come to an arrangement in which each will entirely avoid the company of the other. Any essential orders will be conveyed through Captain Turnour.’

‘But I don’t understand why Sir George leaves us here …’

‘Lady Grey, you’ve been so kind. All the middies are most warmly disposed towards your ladyship, and I would that some other, not I, had been sent with this intelligence. Ma’am, it is my … painful duty to … Ma’am, you and Miss Thompson will not be embarking on another ship for Cape Town. You are going Home.’

Upon our arrival, I took lodgings for us in London. ‘And, next month, when my tenants have vacated,’ I said, ‘we will go to Lyme.’

‘It’s very dear of you, Fanny, but I can’t possibly retire to Lyme. If I do, all the world will believe me guilty of what Sir George claims. No, I must go directly to Oxford and lay my case before Bishop Wilberforce. He’s Papa’s cousin; he’s certain to exonerate me from my husband’s charges.’

‘But if you see the Bishop and become … upset or … emotional, you might very well undermine your own position. Wouldn’t it be better to write to him?’

She brightened a little. ‘Yes, you’re right. Will you help me with the letter?’

‘We’ll compose it together tonight.’ I hesitated. ‘Have you heard anything yet from Sir George?’

‘Not a word. It seems he feels no duty to maintain his wife. Without your charity, I’d be entirely destitute.’ She clung to me. ‘Oh, Fanny, I’m so afraid he may be intending to divorce me.’

‘He has no grounds for a divorce.’

‘He has the note.’

‘But even if he tries to use the note to show you intended … criminal conversation … that’s not the same as proof of such an act. He cannot divorce you.’

‘I most sincerely pray that’s so.’

Lucy ran into my room, waving a letter. ‘A reply from Bishop Wilberforce. And so quickly. I’m
vindicated
! With him as my supporter, my honour is safe.’

‘This is excellent news.’ I looked at the letter. ‘But, Lucy, the seal
hasn’t yet been broken. How can you know what he’s written?’

‘A bishop is God’s minister on earth, and, as God Himself knows I’ve done no wrong, how can Bishop Wilberforce fail me?’

‘Open it,’ I said. ‘At once. Let’s set our minds at rest.’

She left it to me to break the large red seal, revealing the letter and two others enclosed within it. I passed them to her, but she handed the Bishop’s letter back to me, indicating I should read it aloud to her.

‘
Cuddesdon
Palace
,’ I began.

‘But what does he
say
?’

‘Patience, I’m coming to that.
‘My dear Lady Grey, it is not without great hesitation that I write to you. It is so painful to write what must give you pain’
—I paused —
‘especially to one in many ways so crushed already. Yet if I am to do you any good I must speak to you with entire openness. I have received two letters from Sir George — one sent to me by the Bishop of Cape Town—’

‘That odious man.’

‘—
the other an answer to the Bishop of Cape Town on his repeating to Sir George some remarks of mine as to his present duty towards you.’

Lucy clapped her hands. ‘He means to have my husband take me back.’

‘You have wished me to advise you … but before doing it I ought to say One; that whilst I do not admit for an instant that the Sin of infidelity in the wife is altered by the want of chastity in the husband, I do not believe the charges you have brought against Sir George.’

She stared at me. ‘
What
? The Bishop doesn’t believe me?’

‘Lucy, I’m truly sorry. He says,
That you were second in Sir George’s house, that he with cruel neglect of you maintained a mistress in the house etc. I am bound to say I do
not
believe.’

‘But, Fanny, I swear it’s the truth.’

‘Hush,’ I said. ‘There’s more, much more. He writes,
You named Dr Bickersteth as one who knew the evil rumour
—’

‘He did! Indeed, he did.’

‘I sought out the Doctor … and so far from confirming your statement he distinctly affirmed that had such a state of things existed he must have known it and that he never, amongst the scandals of the small Cape community which made free with Sir George riding with young ladies and so on, he
never
heard a whisper imputing to him infidelity to you.’

At this, Lucy broke into loud sobs. ‘He lies,’ she cried.

I placed an arm about her shoulders. ‘He’s protecting Sir George. And himself. How could he say now to the Bishop what he knows in his heart he should have said months before? He’d be accountable for the sin of complicity.’

‘And, as a result,
I
am to play the guilty part.’

‘Tear up this letter,’ I said. ‘It’s clear the Bishop won’t plead your cause.’

‘No, I must hear in full what he has to say.’

‘If you insist. He goes on,
I believe you then
…’I stopped. ‘Lucy, I beg you, let’s not continue. Its contents will only distress you further.’

She shook her head. ‘No, read it all. I must know how the world intends to view me now.’

‘I believe you then, under the influence of jealousy first and recrimination since, to have allowed yourself to exaggerate (to say the least) so as to really state untruths in this matter.’

‘He says I’m bearing false witness.’

‘I fear so.’

She clutched my arm. ‘Tell me, Fanny, please. Do
you
believe I am lying?’

‘No.’

‘Then I am satisfied. Please to read on.’

‘Now the light that this throws on the reality of your penitence before God is very fearful and if there be not penitence what security is there for the future if guilty sympathy is offered to you? I do beseech you for your Soul’s sake to think and pray this deeply over. And now for the rest. The letters I enclose show, first, the depth of Sir G’s affection for you …’

Lucy spread her hands in a gesture of despair and resignation.

‘The Bishop of Cape Town says, “He will talk to me for hours of Lady G, weeping as an heartbroken man.”’

‘I told you he was a hypocrite.’

‘And you were right.’ I resumed reading.
‘They show secondly that’
— I paused —
‘his mind is made up as to a permanent separation.’

‘No!’

‘You should write to him — fully — freely — affectionately — penitently. The Bishop of Cape Town says in his letter, “Sir G. would be glad if she
went
to live near his Aunt and Uncle; they are very fond of her.” This should be your first course. But the root of your peace must be in deep real true penitence — and oh, my dear Lady Grey, does God see in you a penitent? Or an angry self-justifying, self-deceiving Spirit? What more can I add? Do not let this post go without its bearing to Sir George the wail of a penitent heart and self-reproaching wife. I am ever most sincerely yours. S. Oxon.’

I laid down the letter. Lucy, her face blotched with weeping, crossed silently to the shelf, took up the blue vase which had been given to her by Sir George’s mother, and smashed it to the floor. Then she took down her bound volume of Sir George’s handwritten Australian journal, tore it into pieces and threw them onto the fire. A stray sheet fell next to me. Picking it up, I flung it into the flames after its fellows.

‘There is only one good aspect to this whole dreadful affair.’

I frowned. ‘Which is …?’

‘I always believed that some day I should see poor Mama again, and it has been the greatest source of sorrow to me that I was never able to do so. But now I feel it’s a mercy she has not lived to have to endure my public shame.’

‘Aunt would never have believed ill of you.’

‘No, but she would have had to suffer knowing I shall be ostracised by everyone in England and be the butt of gossip everywhere. And so will you, Fanny, if you associate with me.’

‘What nonsense.’

‘And unless Sir George agrees a settlement on me, I’m utterly destitute.’

‘Come back with me to Lyme. I have more than enough for us both.’

‘I can’t run away to hide in Lyme. Everyone would believe it was a sign of my guilt.’

‘We can face that together. After a time, people will lose interest.’

She shook her head.

‘Well, you could certainly go to Aunt Julia Martin. It would be impossible for Sir George to refuse you an allowance if you were under her protection.’

‘That’s true.’ She sighed.

‘Is something else troubling you?’

‘No — well, perhaps …’

‘Yes?’

‘I thought that possibly, by now, I—’

‘—would have had some communication from Sir Harry?’

She nodded.

‘But, Lucy, how can he write to you? He can’t afford to arouse Sir George’s venom and spite.’

‘Do you believe he ever thinks of me?’

‘I’m sure of it. He’s a good, just man, and it’s clear from the note he asked young Harry to pass to you in Rio that he’s very troubled by your situation.’

‘Ah, his dear note. It’s my only keepsake of him. I have it by heart.’

‘Then tell it to me again,’ I said, in hopes of deflecting her a little from her low state.

‘He wrote,
Would that I might have spared you the agony of what has transpired and that I could rescue you from the wretched state into which I have unwittingly plunged you. I believe you know the true nature of my feelings towards you; it would be folly to state them here, but be assured that I pray for you and that you are ever in my thoughts. Until we meet again, may the Lord keep you. H.K.’

‘There. It’s scarcely likely that he’s forgotten you.’

A few days after this conversation, out alone on an errand, I was accosted by a well-dressed stranger. ‘Excuse me, Ma’am, I believe you are Miss Frances Thompson.’

Taken aback, I did not immediately answer.

‘I beg you to excuse my forwardness in speaking to you, but please be assured I mean you no harm.
Are
you Miss Thompson?’

‘I am.’

‘And are you cognisant of the whereabouts of Lady Grey?’

Though something in his manner made me feel I might trust him, I hesitated. ‘Before I answer, you must tell me the reason for your question.’

‘Ma’am, I know where you are lodging but I dare not risk calling
on you. Sir George has set spies to report upon his wife.’

‘I have no trouble in believing that. But what is your interest in this matter? ‘

‘Ma’am, I am Arthur Stephenson, the older brother of Harry, the young middy on the
Forte
.’

‘The Admiral’s nephew?’

‘Yes, and I am charged by my uncle with the delicate matter of passing correspondence to Lady Grey.’

‘That may be very dangerous for her. If Sir George becomes aware of any communication between them, it will exacerbate her position.’

‘My uncle is all too aware of that. Are you privy to the fact that Lady Grey sent him a letter from Rio?’

‘I have no knowledge of any such letter.’

‘By some means, Sir George learned of it. It was the greatest misfortune. So I imagine you have no idea either of how things stand at the present time?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘Regrettably, the incident aboard the
Forte
has now reached the newspapers, which are fuelling the scandal daily. Miss Thompson, I’ve been entrusted with communiqués for you and Lady Grey but I am known in London. If I’m seen to deliver anything to your lodgings it will arouse immediate suspicion. I have already had to wait several days for this opportunity to speak with you. Is it possible that you could pass exactly this way again tomorrow and at this time?’

I nodded.

‘Excellent. As you reach this spot, a woman carrying a basket of apples will bump into you. Her apples will fall, she will apologise to you profusely and, as she brushes down your cloak, she will slip into your pocket a small bulky packet containing correspondence from my uncle and others.’

‘And if Lady Grey should wish to reply to this correspondence?’

‘It would be far too unwise to do so. She must protect what remains of her reputation.’

‘Which appears to be even less than we presumed.’

‘I fear so. Sir George is a relentless enemy. He wishes to damage both my uncle’s character
and
his wife’s.’

‘But Lady Grey has none of your uncle’s powerful friends and connections.’

‘My uncle is not concerned for himself. He wishes only to preserve what he can of the lady’s honour. It is not he but
her
own husband
who has spoken publicly of events aboard the
Forte
and has set out to ruin her.’

I retraced my steps of the previous day but saw no woman, only a man, loitering opposite our lodgings. Remembering Arthur Stephenson’s talk of spies, I recalled I had seen this same fellow several times, always apparently idling nearby. Could he have been set by Sir George or his agents to witness our movements? I passed to the shop where I had completed my errands the day before and set about for home. Then, as I turned the corner before the lodging-house, a woman darted across the street between two hansoms, colliding with me as she gained the pavement. Apples flew from her basket. While she helped me to my feet and brushed down my cape, I felt the thrust of something into my pocket.

‘I beg your forgiveness, Ma’am,’ she said loudly, as concerned passers-by began to gather. ‘I pray you’re not hurt.’

‘No. Just a little shaken.’

‘Be careful,’ she whispered, apparently smoothing my bonnet. ‘We are watched.’

And, as I made to walk away, I saw that the loiterer had joined the small knot of people forming around us.

In the privacy of my bedroom, I sat before the fire and undid the package. Wrapped about its contents was a letter:

Unfolding the contents, which included newspaper clippings and copies of letters, I began to read.