The Regency (41 page)

‘
Hasn't he got a name, my lady?' she asked on her second
day when she brought him in to shew to Héloïse.

James, who was sitting on the edge of the bed holding his wife's hand in a way that Matty thought truly pretty, mused
that the dairymaid had cleaned up quite well. With her plain
blue nursemaid's dress and white apron and cap, she looked rather fetching. 'Not yet, Many,' he said kindly. 'We weren't
sure if he was going to stay with us, you see.’

Matty's mouth made an 'o' of distress. 'Oh, never say that,
sir! He's coming on right well now, the little daystar! Look what a pretty colour he's getting! He's going to grow into a
big, strong man, aren't you, my precious, my baby lamb?’

She bowed her head over the baby, smiling, and the
wavering eyes looked back at her. Dark blue, they were. She
proffered the baby to Héloïse. 'See, my lady, he's going to have
black eyes, just like yours,' she said beguilingly. 'He did ought
to have a name, my lady.'

‘
Yes, you're right,' Héloïse smiled. Looking at the baby still
gave her almost as much pain as pleasure, for he looked so
pathetic and frail, and he never cried, as though even that
effort were beyond him. 'But what name?'

‘
We could call him Henry, after your father, if you like,'
James said — a little tactlessly, since his son by his first wife
had been called Henry, though he had forgotten that for the
moment. But Matty saved Héloïse from replying.

‘
Oh no, sir,' she exclaimed, her adoration of the child
making her bold. 'Begging your pardon, sir, he doesn't look
anything like a Henry.'

‘What does he look like?' James asked indulgently.

Matty touched the tiny mauve cheek with one fingertip.
‘He's a Nicholas, sir, sure as I'm a Christian. It's writ on his
face. Only look at him, sir! He's a little Nicholas for sure!’

James caught Héloïse's eye, and she smiled. 'Well, my
James, it is a good saint's name. A winter saint.'

‘
As you please, my love,' James said, still unsure that it was
going to make any difference in the long run. 'Nicholas it is.’

*

When the baby was a fortnight old, Héloïse got up for the
first time. The bitter cold had loosened its grip on the land at
last, and the thaw had come, transforming the glittering,
frightening world of ice into a more familiar and tedious
scene of grey skies, fog, dripping trees and gutters, and oceans
of mud. Coughs and colds replaced chilblains and frostbite as
the universal ills, and the servants who had complained that
they couldn't keep the house warm now complained that they
couldn't keep it clean.

Héloïse, however, was brimming over with good spirits. She had recovered very well from the ordeal of childbirth,
and since baby Nicholas had also survived his hazardous first
fortnight, and was looking both more healthy and more pretty,
she felt that all was well with the world.

She got up after breakfast, and insisted on having a proper
bath and washing her hair for the first time since she went
into labour. Marie was doubtful of the wisdom of it, and
Héloïse did find it more tiring than she had expected, but the
fatigue was more than compensated for by the feeling of
freshness.

James came up to see her, and found her being dressed in a
very becoming gown of fine wool the colour of holly-leaves

‘
My love, you've got up! Did Lucy say you could?' he
exclaimed.

Héloïse laughed. 'I am not a child, James, to be told when I
can get out of bed!’

He examined her critically. 'You look rested. Are you sure
you feel strong enough?'

‘
I feel wonderful!' she said. 'Oh James, let us have the christening tonight. I feel so well and hopeful. Can it be
arranged in time, do you think?'

‘
Of course it can, though we shan't be able to have many
guests. There are fifteen fathoms of mud outside. But I'm
sure the Ansteys will come. Shall we ask John Anstey to be
godfather?'

‘
Oh yes! He is such a good, kind man. And Lucy for god
mother, don't you think?'

‘
Yes, of course,' James said, but his mind was no longer on
the christening. He bit his lip. 'Listen, Marmoset, there's
something I have to tell you.' He took her hands and led her
to the sopha at the foot of the bed, and sat down with her.

Héloïse cocked her head at him questioningly. 'But what a
serious face! What is it,
mon âme?
Do you fear for my health?
Do not, I beg you. I am very well. Quite well.'

‘
It is your health I want to talk to you about.' He paused,
drawing his courage together, holding her gaze with his. 'You
had a very hard time of it with the new baby. Lucy tells me that it is a miracle you had him at all. You are not formed for childbearing, my love — that's what Lucy says.'

‘But James —!'

‘
I don't understand the details of it,' he went on determin
edly. 'I know nothing of these things. But Lucy knows what
she's talking about; and she says there must never be
another.’

Her eyes were stricken. 'No, James. No. Don't say it.'

‘
I must say it. We have two children, Marmoset, and that
must be enough for us.'

‘But James, I love you so —'

‘
I love you too. For God's sake, don't you see? How could I
risk your health — your life, even — by allowing you to have
another child? It mustn't be. I couldn't live without you. God
knows —’

Héloïse pressed his hands comfortingly. 'Yes, yes, you are
right. He knows. So we will leave it to God, James. Let it be
His decision.’

He drew his hands away, anxiety making him irritable, and
said impatiently, 'God gave us minds of our own! He gave us
the intelligence to choose for ourselves and take care of our
selves.'

‘Some things we can't choose about,' she said stubbornly.

He stared at her, frustrated. 'Not true,' he cried. 'Our lives
are in our own hands. You can't just sit down and let things
happen to you, like some dumb beast of the field. Where's
your spirit?'

‘
Where is your faith?' she countered resentfully. There was
a silence, and they looked at each other, shocked. It was the
nearest they had ever come to quarrelling. Héloïse began
again, but quietly. 'James, do you want for us never to make
love again?'

‘
No, of course not. What a question. You know how
I
feel
about you.'

‘
And I feel the same way about you. Do you think we can
lie together every night and never act our love again? I don't
think so.'

‘
We must, if it's a matter of your safety,' he said doggedly.
But she smiled at him, her eyes glowing, and he found himself
once more up against that shining, transparent, impenetrable
barrier of faith which had separated him from his mother,
and from time to time separated him from her. It was un
reasonable and beautiful, sustaining and frustrating; it was an
endless strength and a terrible weakness, and there was no
arguing against it.

‘
I
am not afraid, my James,' she said. 'God sees us: He
knows best. We will just have to let Him decide the issue.' Her
smile became mischievous. 'And that is a joke in English, is it
not?’

*

During the day the wind got up and changed direction,
clearing away the fog and grey clouds. The temperature
dropped again, but the brisk breeze dried out the land most
satisfactorily, promising the invited guests a better journey to
Morland Place, and moonlight to go home by.

Monsieur Barnard had laboured all day to prepare a feast
which would not utterly shame him. It was fortunate that,
expecting the summons from moment to moment, he had
made the cake over a week ago, so he had only to cover and
decorate it. It was maturing nicely. He had been feeding it
daily with brandy from a dropper, brooding over it as though
it were some orphaned fledgeling he had determined to raise
by hand.

Héloïse, aware of the notorious sensitivity of cooks, had
gone herself to the kitchen to tell Barnard that the christening
was to be that day.

‘
It is short notice, I know,' she said apologetically, 'but
there will not be many guests: Lord and Lady Anstey, Mr and
Mrs Pobgee, and Sir Arthur and Lady Fussell — and ourselves. Fourteen in all, for the children will dine with us
today.’

Barnard drew himself up to his full five-feet-four and
expanded his noble chest. 'For you, my lady,' he said fiercely,
'everything is possible. Invite twenty — forty — I shall not
fail you!’

Héloïse
smiled.
'I
know you won't. Thank you, Monsieur
Barnard, from my heart. Is there anything I can do to help you? If you wish anything brought from the city, someone
shall be sent at once.'

‘
I need nothing,' he said sternly. 'For such an occasion, I
make everything myself. I have been waiting only for the
word.’

He stood proudly to attention until she had left, and waited
until the swing door between the kitchen and the buttery
passage had come completely to rest before flying to his receipt
books and screaming for the kitchen-maids.

When everyone sat down to dinner at five o'clock, the two
full courses set before them would have defied anyone to
guess it was a last-minute affair. There was chestnut soup and
oyster stew removed with a handsome chicken pie and a cod's
head, to which Barnard knew Mr Pobgee had a partiality;
there was carp in fennel sauce, pigeons with peas, a smoked
saddle of venison with high sauce, roasted sweetbreads —
Edward's favourites — buttered oranges, and apricot pudding.
Then for the second course there was a veal galantine, a roast
capon, a dish of creamed celery, mutton with redcurrant
sauce, a pistachio cream, curd tarts, and Lucy's favourite
cheesecakes.