Thirty-Two

UV

ENGLAND

The most important quality of any lawyer is discretion. Knowing that full well, Mr. Arthur Farthing decided that he must put discretion aside if it could possibly save someone’s life. He had experienced a heavy sense of foreboding after leaving Lord Haversham and only managed a fitful sleep in the ensuing days. After failing to receive a reply to his last attempt at communication, he was seized by the concern that he might have blood on his hands if he did not hint at his Lordship’s distress to his son.

To that end, he sent an anonymous dispatch to Mr. John Haversham, the son, suggesting that a visit to his father might be in order.

T

“What can this mean?” John asked at breakfast.

“Of what do you speak, dearest?”

“I have here an anonymous letter that suggests I should visit my father!”

“It must be a cruel joke from someone who has found out our secret and the rift it has caused. My goodness, it did not take long, did it? They must know that your father left here in anger. What else can it mean?”

John crushed the letter in his palm and threw it to the floor, from whence the footman picked it up to dispose of it. Life could be immensely unpredictable and he felt it sorely. But what was done was done and his little family would sustain and support one another through the threatening storm. He only prayed that after the storm had abated, some courageous young man would still venture for his daughter’s hand so that she might not suffer for his sins. It would take a singular character to set at naught the disapproval of society. Would that there was such a man.

As Francesca entered the breakfast room, he made his excuses to leave, lest she perceive the worry upon his countenance. He strode about the grounds but the feeling of uneasiness did not leave him and at length he decided to make the journey to satisfy his own curiosity. If he was not received he would stay at an inn close by his father’s residence. Then at least he could be at peace that he had not ignored a warning.

T

Haversham Hall was dark when John arrived, and he supposed that his parents were not home. He was greeted on entry by Sanderson, the butler of his youth, instead of a footman, and the butler was wearing a very dower expression.

“Oh, Mr. Haversham, how very prescient is your arrival! We are all in a commotion! Your father has taken ill and refuses all nourishment and ministry, and her Ladyship has left for the Continent. I did not know if it would be proper for me to send word for you and had been wrestling with the idea when here you are!”

“My father is ill? Has he taken a fever?”

“I believe it is a fever of the mind rather than of the body, sir, But more than that, I cannot say.”

John felt a punch of guilt as he supposed his own actions responsible for this illness of the mind, but was astonished that it would cause his father so much anguish. Did their standing in society mean so very much to them, then? For his own part, society could hang if it no longer valued his daughter.

“Where can I find him, Sanderson?”

“In his bedchamber, sir.”

John bounded up the stairs to his father’s room before he could change his mind and knocked, bracing himself for the onslaught of criticism he was sure to receive. There was no reply. He knocked again, more sharply this time but still no response. Gingerly, he opened the door a crack and, seeing no shaft of light, entered carefully.

The room was stale and odorous. He picked his way cautiously across the room and pulled back the heavy drapes in order to open the window for some fresh air but dropped them back at the pitiful cry of pain from the bed.

There is no sight quite so disturbing as seeing one’s parent regress to a state of childhood. It knocked John’s earth off its axis, and his own place in the universe was called into question.

He rushed to the bed, finding his father’s hand in the bedclothes. “Father, courage! If society rejects us, we will band together! We will not leave you alone!”

“Oh, my son, my son. Would that it were only a fall from social grace. It is far, far worse. I have been a derelict steward of your inheritance and it is all gone. All gone!”

This was such an unexpected direction of speech that John was temporarily mute. As his brain received and digested this new set of facts, the problems associated with his daughter’s birth faded. His father’s fortune had been very great, and he had varied interests in America. How could it possibly be gone? Gently, he spoke. “Tell me all, father.”

T

John reflected on the Bible’s teaching that the love of money is the root of all evil. He had never had to think much about money as there had always been plenty. Now, on the contrary, money was very much on his mind. He had spent the last four hours going over his father’s accounts, sinking deeper and deeper into depression with every minute that passed.

He was horrified to see that Haversham Hall was mortgaged in its entirety, and the amount of money owed to creditors made him tremble. The losses sustained in America had resulted in huge debts that could not be repaid in a lifetime. He found letters from Arthur Farthing that had never been opened that warned of the impending doom. How could his father have been so irresponsible? It seemed so totally out of character. Even were John to sell his own home and give his father the proceeds, it would hardly make a dent and would, quite frankly, be throwing good money after bad.

He checked on his father periodically, and, after four hours, Lord Haversham had finally slipped into a sleep from sheer mental exhaustion and no nourishment.

John was irritated that his mother had flown the coop and not been of more assistance, then almost immediately chastised himself, realizing that he was being uncharitable and that she was probably in shock. She was dealing with it the only way she could—escape.

He ran his fingers roughly through his hair and sighed. He was starving and looked at the clock, surprised that it was already eleven in the evening. He rang the bell for some food and when Sanderson appeared with a tray he was more than grateful. Rather than leaving the room, Sanderson hesitated and John quirked an eyebrow.

“It seems most ill-mannered to make such indelicate inquiries at this difficult time, but the staff are up in arms and rumors are rampant. Her ladyship’s maid, Mrs. Oliver, left in a hurry with her ladyship and we have been told nothing. I just want to put the rumors to rest.”

“What are they saying?” asked John.

“That her ladyship and his lordship have parted ways and that the house will only need half the staff. It’s about their jobs, you see. Several of them send their wages home to families that depend upon the extra.”

John breathed in deeply and let out a long sigh.

“They are correct then, sir?”

“I am afraid it is a lot worse even than that, Sanderson. I know I can count on your discretion … the truth is, Lord Haversham has lost his fortune and owes a great deal in debts. This house has been mortgaged, and with the news of his interests in America failing, I am sure that it is only a matter of time until the bank calls in the loan and the house is repossessed. I am very sorry to have to tell you that all the staff, yourself included, will need to look for new positions as soon as possible.”

Sanderson’s face fell in disbelief, and he staggered to sit in a chair. He whipped out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

“I had no idea, sir. No idea at all.”

“No more did I, Sanderson. I am more than sorry. We will, of course, give everyone the best references.” He knew this was of little comfort and had an idea. “We will give each servant a bonus as a parting gift.” It would come out of his own pocket, but he did not want to admit that.

The faithful butler rallied and, standing, said, “I will inform his Lordship that I will stay on until he, himself, departs. I will not leave him comfortless!”

John was so touched by the statement that he did not trust himself to speak and merely nodded as the butler left the room. It struck him that people really did not appreciate just how much their actions affect the lives of others. His father’s irresponsibility would bring the whole house to its knees financially, and his own deceit had estranged his family from him and ruined, perhaps forever, the chance for his daughter to have a happy life.

He picked up the next letter from the desk but found that he no longer had the energy to deal with it. He snuffed the candle and mounted the stairs to one of the guest bedrooms, leaving his supper untouched.

T

FRANCE

A small, colorful bird flew and sat upon the wrought-iron railing of the balcony and gave a deep throated aria for Lady Augusta’s entertainment. She watched and listened, intrigued by the celestial sound emanating from the tiny creature. She envied him his uncomplicated life and all at once felt old and tired, the weight of her troubles pressing upon her stately shoulders.

As she looked beyond the bird and out from her balcony, she drank in the warm air and pristine view of the Mediterranean. The ocean had a slight haze upon it and other birds swooped up and down searching for food. Life was so tranquil here and she realized that she would happily stay on, indefinitely, pretending that all was well and that nothing had changed.

Did she miss her husband, she wondered, and was surprised to find that the answer was no. She was outraged and bitter that he had dragged her down to complete and utter destitution. She thanked heaven that her parents were no longer living to witness her disgrace.

She had had some inheritance of her own when she wedded, but it became her husband’s property upon marriage, and he had used it to fund his enterprises in America. It was gone now, of course. She did not even have the money to pay for this apartment and had only secured it because the owner was blissfully ignorant of her change in fortune. Just thinking of having to escape without paying left her feeling exhausted.

She had run away from the situation. It had seemed the only logical thing to do—to wait out the scandal from afar. The mismanagement was not her doing and therefore she felt no compunction to support him through the fallout. The plan to marry Francesca to Langley Ashbourne was too little, too late; a finger in the dyke of their financial hemorrhage. Her husband’s lack of honesty gnawed at her, and she found that she could not forgive him. Bitter tears stung her eyes and she wiped at them roughly. He was the author of this disaster. Let him suffer alone!

As if this was not trial enough, there was the other matter—Francesca. How could her son have polluted their family tree thus, with the daughter of a servant? The illegitimate daughter of a gentleman was one thing, but this, this was inexcusable. She had ingrained in her children the need for standards, and John had thrown it all to the wind, bringing her down with him. She could barely think of her granddaughter without repulsion.

Her trials were heavy to bear. Which trial was the greater of the two evils? She might be able to live off her friends to cope with the poverty but the heritage problem, that could not be avoided and it would undoubtedly leave her reputation in tatters. The fine ladies of her acquaintance would snicker and talk about her behind their fans and cut her in public. She could not think of one so-called friend who would stand by her. Indeed, if truth be told, she would not stand by them if circumstances were reversed. Her past was littered with rejected souls. She had never before appreciated the power she had wielded in such individual’s fates. Where were those she had sentenced, now? She had never given them one moment of thought. Were they languishing in some virtual jail or secluded on a self-imposed island of despair?

She had labored greatly to coronate herself judge and jury and now it had come back to haunt her. Guilt crept into her consciousness, but she banished it before it could begin a soliloquy. She refused to succumb to a weakness of conscience. She should be heralded for protecting the integrity of England rather than being condemned for it!

She thought back to the dark bedchamber, to the admission of her husband’s failures. She would have been less shocked had he told her that he was dying. She knew that their reserves were depleted, of course, but bankruptcy? She shuddered at the filthy word.

He had continued to lament their situation and beg her forgiveness, but it had all been as background noise. She had assessed the situation coldly in that moment and seen that escape was her only option. She had hurried from her husband’s room, castigating him for the whole affair and spitting oaths like daggers. He had failed her.

With a speed that belied her age, she had summoned her maid and commanded that she pack for a voyage to the Continent. Within two hours, they were speeding cross-country toward the ships that sailed the Channel. Her maid had looked on, not daring to ask questions as her mistress wallowed in self-pity and tears.

At length, her weeping had transformed into resolve borne of the need to survive. She had put away her handkerchiefs, washed her face, and stiffened her spine. She would not crumble. She would not falter. By the time they had arrived at the enchanted coastline of the Mediterranean, she had developed a renewed determination.

She had dismissed her maid, sunk onto the bed, and slept for sixteen hours. Upon awakening, the ball of heaviness in her middle had perked awake and stretched, but she noticed with relief that its presence was less powerful, and she had felt capable of surviving another day.