Chapter 2

After the accident

" Stop hovering over me, Bateson ! I am FINE ! Just go and leave me alone, for God's sake !"

Bateson exited the room in his sedate way which did not in any way reflect his inner feelings. Since the train accident, Sir Timothy had not been himself. He was cranky, bad-tempered, and misanthropic. The funeral of Lady Adelaide had been conducted in the utmost privacy by the vicar, and even the child was not present. The squire had stood alone besides the grave, shooing away even the kindly priest after the prayers. "Stood" was a misnomer – he had not been able to stand since before the train wreck. One of his legs had been burnt so severely that the doctors had had to amputate it just below the knee. Even more seriously, they said his spinal cord had been damaged – he might never be able to walk or ride again.

He had stayed nearly two months in the hospital, and the physicians there did not agree on the diagnosis – some of them said he would recover mobility with time, others thought he would remain a cripple for life. He was now back on his patch, in a wheelchair.

His little daughter Faith had luckily come unharmed from the wreck – she had been found under her mother's body in one of the carriage. She was physically unhurt, but she suffered from terrible nightmares from which she woke up sweating and with racing pulse, eyes and mouth wide open, but in total silence – she had not uttered a word since she had been rescued from the train.

Since she had heard of the train wreck, Dorcas had been …Well, kind of a wreck too. Daniel had managed to learn that Sir Timothy had been transferred in a serious condition to the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford, but since then, she had had no more news. Two days after the accident, as she could not bear not to know anything about Timothy's health, she had harnessed her pony-trap and driven to Oxford, but as she was not family, the physicians refused to tell her anything or to let her see him.

She came back in a worse state than she left. She was even more worried, and she was angry – at the physicians, at fate, at Timothy, and most of all at herself. How could she still love a man who she had refused to marry? "Love never crosses the great divide of social class" – for years, she had wondered if she had obeyed her father, or if there had been something else, something amiss in their relationship. And then, he had married Adelaide, who had borne him a daughter – the eternal link. Dorcas admitted to herself that until the child was born, she had nurtured a secret hope that maybe, one day, he would come back to her. But when Faith – she had laughed bitterly at the choice of name- was born, she felt she really had to abandon all hope of Timothy ever looking her way again.

And now …Now Timothy was back on his patch. He had been back for over a month, and she had not caught even a glimpse of him. She had gone to the manor, of course, but she had been denied entry by the butler, who had said he had strict orders not to let anyone come in. Her pride – her one weakness – would not let her beg, especially not before a servant, and she had come home her head held high, and her insides churning.

A "stranger" in the graveyard

"Please see to the customers, Laura – I'm going to the graveyard. I've sorely neglected my parents' grave this spring, and I really must see if it has not disappeared under the weeds!"

"Of course, Ma'am"

When Dorcas arrived at the graveyard, she made out a dark figure over what appeared to be a recent headstone. She did not want to intrude on a stranger's private grief, but she was also very curious. She firmly told herself it was none of her business, but when she heard the man talking aloud, and what he was saying, she thought her heart would stop.

"Now it's too late – we'll never make it work. Why did you have to fall in love with that Richard Hastings? I remained faithful to you, and you betrayed me ! And finally, that baby …"

It was Sir Timothy – although he was partially hidden by a tree, and quite far from her, she could not mistake a voice she had heard for so many years, and for so many more in some of her dreams. She did not hesitate for long. She knew he wanted to be alone, but she could not help herself – she just had to see him, to be sure it was him.

When Timothy heard footsteps, he cursed his infirmity – he was not in the wheelchair anymore – the physicians had been wrong in thinking he would never walk again – but he still leant on two canes, and those prevented him from walking fast, let alone run away. And when he saw the intruder was Dorcas …Well, he cursed even more. He was not exactly sure of what he was feeling – it was a mixture of shame, powerlessness, anger …He did not want anyone to see him so diminished, so feeble – a cripple, a half-man, let alone the girl who had taunted him and teased him for so many years with her fleetness of foot, her fearless riding, and her deftness.

"Timothy …

Dorcas …"

Neither of them could find the words. Dorcas, who was rarely at a loss when it came to speak, found herself tongue-tied, and Timothy was too bitter, too ashamed to say what he wanted to say – and even if he had found the words, he did not exactly know what he wanted to say. So he finished the sentence he had begun to say to the person who laid in the ground: "It was a baby boy – and I'll never know if he was mine"

"He that dies pays all debts".

When she could not think of what to say, Dorcas often turned to her beloved Shakespeare.

Would you stop spouting the Bard at me?

"It's not enough to speak, but to speak true." I'm sorry, Timothy! I just can't seem to help myself!

You're sorry! Well, you ought to have been sorry twenty years ago, when you refused to marry me. We wouldn't be standing here like that.

"The course of true love never did run smooth.""

Dorcas covered her mouth with her hand – "oops, I can't believe I did it again."

When there is nothing left to say, you've always been able to add your two cents, haven't you ?

Oh Timothy – that IS unfair !

It is not …But then, you've always wanted the last word too …

Dorcas could see Timothy was not in a talkative mood, but her curiosity – her one weakness – would not let her leave without trying to know what he was talking to himself about. She wanted to say she was sorry about his loss, sorry about the death of Lady Adelaide but …She did not believe in God, of course she did not – she only believed in science, and in what she saw, but – and it was quite a big but – if by any chance there was a god, surely he would not take too kindly to fibs, lies and other misdemeanors. And so she felt she could not possibly say she was sorry.

I suppose you've overheard me and you want to know what it's all about, don't you ?

Well…I am sorry, Timothy, I did hear you.

It was a baby boy – he was so beautiful, so …

Timothy felt the tears rising – damn that stupid sensitivity which had mostly come on him after the accident! He turned his head for a moment, swallowed hard, and then went on:

"Adelaide gave birth to a baby son three months ago. He died a week after his birth – an unexplicated fever. And then, not two days after the burial, she told me she did not, and had never loved me. She said she had a lover, Richard Hastings, her harp teacher. The affaire had been going on for quite some time, and she wanted to leave me and go live with him. They would go to Germany, she said – he could teach, and she could keep house for him! Keep house! Ha! She had never known a life without servants, but she was ready to forgo everything and go to clean and cook for that Hastings! She even implied that Guy – my son – may not have been mine! I went crazy, and left London that very same day. I was found two days later, with a raging fever, by a parson on a country lane. He took me in, and he and his housekeeper nursed me back to health. When I felt better, we had long talks, he and I. About life, about God …And he convinced me my duty was to Adelaide and Faith. He persuaded me to go back to them.

So I did - and…I'm ashamed to say I used Faith as a bargaining tool. I told Adelaide that if she went away with that Hastings, she would never see her child again. And I organized our immediate departure to Candleford, so that she would not see Hastings again. She agreed to my plan, but as the birth had left her quite weak and in pain, her physician did not want her to travel by carriage the whole way from London. Thus I arranged for us to take the train …And you know how it all ended."

Dorcas had listened to him aghast – she had had no great fondness for Adelaide, but she would not have wished the death of a newborn child on her worst enemy. As for that Richard Hastings …Well, it had happened once before, but Dorcas had been sure that Adelaide had only wanted to make Timothy more attentive towards her. She could not rely on her usual sarcastic wit to reply to this long tirade, but she was not used to express her emotions aloud, nor did she know how to tell Timothy what she felt for him. So she said nothing, and busied herself with the few weeds that had grown on Adelaide's grave.

Timothy went on speaking : "Since the accident, Faith has not uttered a single word. She was a quiet child before, but now she is a little ghost – so pale, so drawn – she eats like a bird, and she has nightmares. The physicians at the hospital said she had not suffered any physical damage, but the shock has made her mute – they have no idea if she will ever speak again."

"Oh Timothy, poor little girl! Why don't you bring her to the post-office? Maybe she could play with Sidney?

I have no idea what to do with her. I have engaged a governess, a very nice girl, but …anyways, I'll have to go away again, and I won't be able to take her with me. I'll leave her with Lydia – the governess – she'll be well taken care of

Away again ?! But you can't ! I mean – you mustn't – you …

Dorcas could not believe her ears – he had come back to her, and he was going to desert her again? All the men in her life had left – her father, Timothy the first time, James Delafield, James Dowland, Gabriel …Was she cursed ? Of course, she was a mother, but if she was honest with herself, she had said to Adelaide that motherhood filled her like nothing else …maybe she was not quite full after all. Maybe there was still somewhere in her heart a little, a very very little void left for a man – and that very, very little void sometimes hurt very very much …