Fractures and Hinges Page 3

  “I may require a new dress to repay me for the favour you ask of me, Papa.” Charlotte’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “But now I must go and change into one of my old dowdy frocks. Tea will be served shortly, and you know Mama does not appreciate us being late.”

  “Certainly.” Henry stood as his daughter rose, shaking his head at her antics as she slipped out of his study. With a heavy sigh he attended to his papers. There was a lot to do before he could so much as think of afternoon tea.

  Charlotte’s maid had a day off, so she summoned Rose, her mother’s maid, to help with her change of clothes.

  “Tell me, Rose,” Charlotte asked while the maid was helping her out of her riding dress, “how was mother today?”

  “Quite well, milady.”

  Rose spoke carefully, and Charlotte was aware that Rose knew it wasn’t her place to comment on her mistress’ demeanour. Still, Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, into the earnest face of the young maid, and implored, “Please, Rose, you can tell me the truth! How was she really?”

  “Sad.”

  Her whisper let Charlotte know that this was all she would say.

  “Thank you.”

  Rose finished undressing her in silence, readied the bath, and took her leave. Alone in her bathtub, Charlotte contemplated her father’s request. How should she approach her mother on the subject? For she knew how unrelenting her mother could be if she made up her mind on a matter. Rose said she had been sad, which was, of course, not surprising. Her mother had been nothing else for the last few years, as if a part of her had died. She could charm everybody with her wit and humour if she wanted to, yet her smile never really reached her eyes anymore.

  Society didn’t approve of women such as her mother or men like her father and Jonathan. Theirs was a special family. Contrary to many other young people of their acquaintance, Charlotte and her brothers had always felt loved by their parents and their parents’ paramours. It was as if they had two sets of parents. Her mother’s wealth and title as well as her father’s connections did help in shielding their family from prying eyes and from being shunned by their peers. Her parents had always maintained a discretion some would have wished others to uphold. But Charlotte knew their relationship, as loving and caring as it was, was also a lie. She often felt sorry her parents weren’t allowed to live the lives they deserved.

  Lately, whenever Charlotte studied her mother’s eyes, she found a trace of bleakness in them. There was a time when those sky-blue eyes shone with happiness and laughter. But for the past few years none of them had been able to chase away Eleanor’s sadness. Charlotte was truly afraid nothing ever would. More often than not, there was an emptiness in her mother’s eyes and a distant expression so far from the woman she used to be.

  When Cathleen died, a part of her mother died with her.

  Although Charlotte had told her father to give it time before he expected her to approach her mother, Charlotte feared the right time to do so would never occur. Now was as good a time as any. The worst that could happen was her mother changing the subject, refusing to think or speak about it, as she had done so many times before.

  Charlotte was determined to change her mother’s mind about the invitation. She herself had always wanted to go to Vienna, and now that the family had a perfectly good reason to do so, she wouldn’t let it slip through her fingers. And what was more, her father was right; it would do her mother good. With a last glance into the mirror, Charlotte left her room and went to her mother’s study so they could go downstairs for tea together.

  Eleanor sat behind her desk, deeply immersed in correspondence with the keeper of her stables in Scotland. A knock on the door interrupted her train of thoughts and she answered impatiently. “Yes? What is it?”

  When the head of her daughter peeked around the door, Eleanor’s irritation vanished. She put her reading glasses on her desk, smiling at the fresh and youthful face of her daughter.

  “Hello, darling,” Eleanor said warmly.

  “Good afternoon, Mama. I thought I’d come and get you for afternoon tea. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  With a wave of her hand, she said, “Nonsense. Did you have an enjoyable morning?”

  “Quite so, yes. What about your morning?”

  Eleanor frowned at the expression on her daughter’s face. “Why do you ask?”

  "What? Well . . .”

  “Did your father send you by any chance?”

  “No, of course not.”

  Eleanor knew Charlotte was lying, and not very convincingly. She met her daughter’s reluctant gaze. “No point denying it. Let’s hear the truth this time.”

  “All right, yes, he did. But only because he’s worried.” She took Eleanor’s hand in her own, entwining their fingers.

  Eleanor tightened the hold on her daughter’s hand and breathed out heavily. “I know.”

  “I miss your happy laugh and so does Papa.”

  “I am sorry, my darling.”

  Charlotte got straight to the point. “Ever since Mummy died you’ve been nothing but sad. We know you miss her terribly, so do we.”

  “But?” Her mother’s voice was hoarse.

  “But you promised her you would find somebody,” she reminded her mother softly.

  Eleanor closed her eyes at the sudden onslaught of another memory. A single tear stole its way down her cheek. She was barely able to stifle a sob when she felt her daughter gently brush away the tear. In her memory, as if transported back in time, she sat in a comfortable chair by the window in the bedroom she shared with Cathleen, watching the laboured breathing of the woman on the bed. It had been half an hour since the doctor’s visit. He changed the bandages on Cathleen’s chest and injected the highest dose of morphine so far.

  Eleanor knew it wouldn’t be long now. The cancer had spread all through her lover’s body. Cathleen’s organs were failing, and the doctor estimated a matter of two or three days before Cathleen Northcott would leave this mortal plane.

  The frail woman on the bed slowly opened her eyes and blinked, disoriented, before her piercing green gaze met Eleanor’s. She seemed to have to muster up strength to hold out her hand for Eleanor. In an instant, she rushed to her side. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaned close, and carefully took the outstretched hand in one of her own. She lifted it to her lips to gently kiss the tips of the fingers, closed her eyes, and cursed herself when her eyes started to water. She brushed the tears away angrily.

  “Hush, don’t cry, my love,” Cathleen whispered, caressing Eleanor’s cheek softly. “Open your eyes. Let me see those beautiful blue eyes of yours. Let me see the love in them.”

  Bravely, Eleanor did as Cathleen requested, gazing at the face that had

  held her captive since the first time she laid eyes on it. Although her hair had lost its shine, her eyes were sunken in with dark circles underneath, and her cheeks were hollow, Cathleen was still the most beautiful woman Eleanor had ever seen, and she loved her with an intensity and passion that took her breath away.

  Cathleen had been ill for two years. After the doctors detected cancer in one of her breasts, they removed the mass in the hope of getting rid of the cancer. But unfortunately, soon after, the second breast was affected, and she underwent another painful surgery only to learn the disease was already spreading through her body. The wound on her chest, painful and raw, was open and smelled bad, so for the last three months, the doctor came by at least twice a day to change the bandages. During all that time, Eleanor refused to leave her side or trust her care to somebody else. Eleanor knew her lover was slowly wasting away, but she still refused to let her go. Her heart ached to see her beloved wasting away. All those wonderful years they had spent together, Cathleen had been her most cherished treasure. She was intelligent, sophisticated, funny, loving, caring, and the gentlest lover Eleanor could have hoped for. Theirs had truly been a blessed life. Full of love and laughter.

  “I want you to promise me something, darling,” Cathleen requested. Despite her exhaustion, she tightened the grip on her lover’s hand.

  “No, please,” Eleanor begged, knowing already what Cathleen was going to ask of her.

  “Please, Eleanor,” Cathleen insisted with sudden strength in her voice. “Promise me you’ll find someone to make you happy again.”

  “I can’t,” Eleanor whispered brokenly.

  “Yes, you can. You deserve to be happy. You have so much love to give and deserve to receive. You need to let me go, my love. Promise me to find love again!”

  Eleanor finally relented. “I promise.” How could she not—she could never deny anything to her lover.

  That promise brought a satisfied smile to the sick woman’s face, making it easier for her to close her eyes forever and leave the love of her life behind with the knowledge she would not stay alone for the rest of her life.

  But Eleanor’s world had stopped spinning. She stumbled through life in a dream-like state ever since. With Cathleen gone, Eleanor missed all the colours in the world, and nothing seemed to bring her joy, not even her beloved horses.

  And with that heart-breaking memory in mind, Eleanor opened her eyes to gaze upon her daughter, knowing her lover had asked the impossible from her. She knew both Cathleen and Charlotte meant well, they all did. They didn’t want her to be lonely in a house full of people.

  “I tried, Charlotte, I really did,” Eleanor said, “but you know it is more than difficult. I haven’t met anyone who’s touched my heart even remotely, and I doubt I ever will.”

  “Mama, have you ever regretted the way you’ve lived your life?” Charlotte asked the one question she had always avoided with any of her parents.

  “What do you mean, darling?” br />
  “I mean, have you ever regretted you had to marry Papa to be able to spend your life with Mummy?”

  “No,” Eleanor did not have to think about it, especially since Charlotte seemed so honestly interested. “Never. I love your father dearly, and I know for certain he feels exactly the same way. How could I ever regret having you and your brother? And I did have the opportunity to spend my life with the most wonderful woman. So, what is there to regret?”

  “Nothing, Mama,” Charlotte said, pleased. “I think we should go downstairs. I’m sure the others are already waiting for us.”

  “You are absolutely right. We never want to miss this cherished tradition.”

  Philip and Martin shot their sister a questioning look when she entered the drawing room. They guessed their father had had a serious conversation with her regarding their mother, and by the expression on their sister’s face she wasn’t content with the outcome.

  Charlotte was not altogether disappointed, but she couldn’t call their talk a success either. Every now and then during tea, she cast an unsuspecting glance at her mother only to find her deep in thought, a frown marring her forehead.

  Martin, despite his engagement in the conversation, keenly observed his surrogate mother. For as long as he could remember, this woman had been as much a mother to him as his biological mother. She may not have given birth to him, but she loved him just the same. He counted himself the luckiest of all his friends. After his father’s death and the loss of his inheritance to his father’s so-called friends, Martin and his mother had found a new home with the ones he now proudly called Mama and Papa.

  Although, he did miss his mother dearly, he knew Eleanor had been in sheer agony over her death. The most prominent evidence of how much it had affected her was the colour of her hair. Her once golden hair had turned snow white overnight, and then Eleanor cut it off in a fit of grief and mourning. Since then, she wore it short, which suited her. Her appearance was quite distinguished with her white hair, piercing blue eyes, patrician nose, flawless skin, and regal bearing befitting a woman of her social position.

  But Martin knew most of her bearing was superficiality. Deep down she hadn’t been able to let go of the woman with whom she’d spent most of her life. Maybe this invitation Henry had spoken about would do her good. The only thing standing in their way was Eleanor herself.

  He would need to talk to his siblings; they surely would find a way to make it happen. Just like his brother and his sister, he wanted to see her laugh again. All of her joy had been gone since his mother died. The absence of her smile was a heartfelt loss because her sunny grin genuinely transformed her whole face. She was even more beautiful when she smiled. They would have to think of a way to make it happen again.

  Much to Eleanor’s displeasure Henry had insisted on taking her to the opera this evening. Only his heartfelt plea and sweet way of apologising for having pressured her finally made her consent.

  At dinner, Eleanor had barely followed the lively conversation about politics, sports, and the theatre. She thought about the heart-to-heart she’d had with her daughter. Maybe her family was right, maybe it was time to move on, but hadn’t she tried already and failed utterly? True, she had done so for Henry’s sake mostly, but her efforts were a disappointment. Now the last thing she wanted to do was go out in public.

  Rose helped Eleanor dress and put on her jewellery, then she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. The maid opened the door and Eleanor took her fan and opera-glasses from her vanity and glided out of the door, pausing in the hall to say, “You do not have to wait up, Rose. I will undress myself. You can take care of my clothes tomorrow.”

  “As you wish, ma’am,” Rose acknowledged with a curtsy.

  “Good night, Rose.”

  “Good night, your Grace.”

  Henry was already waiting at the bottom of the steps, wearing a tail-coat, a white scarf around his neck, an overcoat over his arm, and a silk top-hat already on his head.

  “You are magnificent, my dear,” he said.

  “Oh, please.” Eleanor waved him off, “You have seen me in this gown before. So, stop gushing because we do not want to be late now, do we?”

  “Certainly not, dear,” Henry said.

  He ordered Benson to tell Parker to bring the carriage to the front, then Benson helped Eleanor with her wrap and Henry with his overcoat. As they were about to leave, the door to the library opened and the whole family came to wish them a nice evening.

  “Mama, you look wonderful,” Martin and Philip announced at the same time, laughing at their synchronised exclamation.

  “Why thank you, darlings.” She felt a light blush steal over her cheeks and was touched that her sons thought so.

  “You really do look gorgeous, Mama.” Charlotte kissed her cheek and grinned at her.

  Accepting her daughter’s kiss, Eleanor cast a questioning glance at her husband’s lover. Jonathan was watching her with a critical eye. In a rather arch voice, he said, “This gown can only enhance your natural beauty, Eleanor.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Eleanor regarded Jonathan fondly. He was as dear to her as a brother. Slightly taller than Henry with dark hair and streaks of grey, compassionate grey eyes, and a well-groomed beard, he was quite dashing. Jonathan was, at least in her opinion, not only a wonderful partner to Henry, but also a congenial completion to their family.

  “Well said, all of you.” Henry ushered his wife towards the door. “Let’s go. After all, you’re the one who said we can’t be late. Good night, every-body. Try not to rob poor Jonathan of his last shilling, you scoundrels.”

  “Who? We?” The three of them tried to sound as innocent as possible.

  “Good night,” Henry said, “you horrible offspring.” He chuckled as Benson closed the door behind them. Parker held the door of the carriage while Henry helped his wife climb inside. When he had boarded, they set off towards Covent Garden.

  They rode in companionable silence for a while until Henry felt the need to express his regret. “I apologize for trying to put pressure on you,” he said ruefully. “If you are not inclined to go to Vienna, we won’t.”

  Eleanor sighed. She knew he meant well, and she hadn’t been reasonable in her initial responses but had taken her ire out on him. She put her gloved hand over the one in his lap, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  “You do not have to apologize, Henry. I know why you did it. And I do appreciate it.” Leaning over, she lightly kissed his cheek.

  “Just think about it. You still have plenty of time to decide one way or the other.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  They fell silent once more until Henry cleared his throat. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes because she knew another difficult matter was on his mind.

  “Yes?” Eleanor encouraged him softly.

  “I was wondering,” he started reluctantly, “if you have noticed something about Charlotte?”

  She couldn’t help but chuckle at her husband’s carefully phrased words, already knowing where this would lead. She took pity on him and released him from his torture. “If by ‘something’ you mean her interest in the fairer sex, then yes, I have noticed. Quite a while ago, to be honest.”

  “Oh.” Henry sounded surprised she had known for so long, when in all honesty, he shouldn’t be. Eleanor had always known about their children’s joys and worries.

  “Like mother like daughter, isn’t that what they say?” Eleanor said with a ring of sadness in her voice.

  “Maybe so, but you are nothing like your mother.”

  “Nobody is like my mother.” Eleanor snorted very unmannerly. “That woman is evil personified. Cold, harsh, self-righteous, and full of loathing for everybody who dares to disagree with her. Most of all, she does not even know how to spell the word love.”

  “Are you sure? I always thought she was quite enchanted with our children.”

  “Only so far as she could use them as pawns in her ambitious machinations.” Eleanor shuddered at the thought of her mother meddling in their children’s lives. “I am glad we put an end to it before she could think of it any further.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “I just wish . . .” Eleanor wouldn’t finish though.