Chapter Eight
As the days passed and the working problems in the shipyard, with material shortages and mechanical defects, occupying her attention, there were times when Roberta almost forgot she was ever married. There had been no letter from Lord Bond, and Mr. Holmes’ next letter explained that both father and son were desperate not to anger the Lords of the Church or the Lords of the Government.
Julian is acting as if the mensa et thoro were an established fact in order to demonstrate his respect for the cloth. The Marquess has not yet signed a new Last Will and Testament. The issue is not that they are both inactive, but that each move by the one is immediately cancelled by the defence of the other.
Mr. Holmes suggested that he should come to Clydebank for a council of war, and put some suggestions before her. One of his lines of action, that he did not describe in detail, was that she should show her face to some gentlemen who would have important interests at stake. She supposed she should hear his arguments but did not see herself free to leave the works and travel the country.
The only bright spot had been the arrival of Aunt Nelly from Newcastle―now she was at least free from planning all the appropriate elements of her newly imposed social life. They decided to plan some of the functions around the work, such as formal invitations to the launching of the warships. Roberta expected that these would not be acceptable to everyone, but it would do her better service to emphasize the Stephenson activities than draw attention to her, so far, invisible husband.
The plan for Mr. Holmes’ visit was affirmed but choosing the time was not straightforward as he was in demand both in the Admiralty and with the Tiverton crisis. As a consequence, it was into November before Roberta had to send the carriage to Glasgow’s main station to meet him. The delay had one other result that she had to consider an advantage―her father was away on a working visit to the Newcastle locomotive works, and so would not be able to participate in their discussions. It was, after all, her marriage, even though any father would no doubt expect the right to have his say.
Their first opportunity to talk came at dinner time with just themselves and Aunt Nelly present. Mr. Holmes waited until the meat course. “I suppose I had better set the scene, as it were, first. Rumours of the dispute over the marriage have begun to fly in London.”
“Ach, I feared as much,” Aunt Nelly exclaimed. “Wi’ all these ways o’ sendin’ letters an’ newspapers abroad it was only tae be expected. I durst not see how tae keep it a secret from ower neighbours.”
“We cannot,” Roberta said. “And I for one am not sorry. If some of our social climbing friends are scared away then so be it. How should we present this news?”
“It will have to be about the prospect of the mensa et thoro, I fear,” Mr. Holmes said. “The Church has been pleased to see the old method revived―at least, some of the old curmudgeons are pleased. I suggest you announce the Marquess’ opposition yourself, and point out that your husband’s representative—me—has brought the news. That will assure everyone that problems between the husband and wife are not at fault here.”
“An’ what do this menthoro thing do, Mr. Holmes?” Aunt Nelly said.
Roberta set down her fork. “I think we should leave the details until we have more time to concentrate, Aunty. For now we just need to remember that it keeps my husband from coming to Scotland.”
“Ye must nae meet?”
“That’s right. But is this a permanent thing, Mr. Holmes?”
“I am afraid it could last a lifetime―or at least until the death of one of the parties. But I take it as no more than a token―the Marquess cannot want it to prevent the succession.”
“He needs a divorce,” Roberta said. “And I am firm in my resolve not to offer him one.” She had learned of this necessity quite recently. She had been perfectly healthy these past weeks, but of late had found it impossible to contemplate eating breakfast. Aunt Nelly had immediately diagnosed the ailment as morning sickness. If it truly was, she now had the responsibility of making decisions for Lord Bond’s child as well as herself.
Mr. Holmes coloured slightly. “Ahem. I am glad that you can look upon the matter in so business-like a manner, My Lady. He will doubtless send investigators to Clydebank in the hope of finding such evidence.”
“What evidence is this, Dearie?” Aunt Nelly asked.
Roberta answered her. “There is only one requirement for the Parliament to grant a divorce, Aunty. One of the parties must be found guilty of adultery. It will not be me.”
Aunt Nelly put her hands to her face.
Mr. Holmes appeared equally embarrassed. “Unfortunately it is not impossible for the Marquess to buy falsified evidence, although he will not be so ungentlemanly when his temper has had time to cool. But until then you must be on your guard against slanders.”
“Yes,” Roberta agreed. “But you still address me as ‘my lady’?”
“The title will stay with the marriage, and the mensa does not dissolve it. You are still Lady Bond.” Mr. Holmes directed his attention to his plate but Roberta could see he debated with himself whether to raise another point.
“But if the Marquess could disinherit Lord Bond, the title would go, I presume.”
He looked up. “Yes. I was not sure whether to mention his next action in that direction, but I see I must. The only successful instance of disinheritance that is known to my legal friends is the Baron Berkeley affair in the fifteenth century. The nobleman had no heirs of his blood but wanted to disinherit his younger brother who had married . . .” He seemed uncomfortable and took a drink of wine before continuing. “. . . beneath his status. The only way he was able to slight the brother was to settle the castle, lands, and titles upon the king himself, and this kept any and all Berkeley heirs from the inheritance for two generations until King Edward the Sixth died without issue.”
“But surely that is a desperate measure,” Roberta said. “It ends the Tiverton peerage―perhaps forever. Would he do such a thing?”
“We do not know. Julian says he is fixated on the doctrine of the nobility of the blood and sees even a legitimate offspring as ‘Corrupting the Blood’ because you have no claim to a noble ancestor.”
Aunt Nelly’s face darkened. “She has as good ancestors as he, fer all they has nae titles. They has nair been sae cruel to treat they’s bairns in sic a way.”
Mr. Holmes smiled at her. “Too true, Miss Stephenson, but the peerage depends upon the notion.”
“But you wrote that Lord Bond went to his political friends in London to fight the disinheritance,” Roberta said. “Can an act of Parliament not help him?”
“There, I can offer you no definitive answer, My Lady. For all the common perceptions that mathematics is an arcane study, I feel the practice of law is far more obscure than my discipline―all precedent can count for little in the give and take of a court of law. It would be as if in mathematics the numeral four could one day be declared to be greater than five. That is why we want you to come to London, My Lady. You dazzled Napoleon―perhaps you could dazzle the House of Lords.”
“Good Grief,” Roberta said. “I think you have set my stock too high―and I believe I had a less bigoted opponent in the Corsican―I doubt if he considered the Empire an institution that could be harmed by corruption of the blood.”
“They says he have made butchers inter Princes,” Aunt Nelly said.
“―and all my husband attempted is to turn an engineman’s daughter into a lady,” Roberta said with a twisted little laugh, and then had to bury her face into her napkin until her composure was safe.