Part 6 – Lord And Lady Featherington Both Get A Shock
Lord F, quiet in habit and by nature, lets himself in at the grand front door. It is well after midnight and he is exhausted. The night man takes his coat, brushes the street smuts off, and wishes his Lordship a tired good evening. Archie stretches and groans. Another night spent acting the fool with games of chance. He has no idea of Holmes' budget but the account must be deep into the red by now.
Speaking of 'in the red', the false accounts must be updated before he can retire for the evening. He's a man of regular habits and even though these house accounts be false, they still need updating.
Yawning, he makes his way up the main hall to his study door, anticipating a calming glass of sherry, when he notices his doors are ajar. He slips up and puts his ear to the opening. He can hear the sharp rustle of papers. He jerks erect. Who would DARE?! His inner sanctum, his refuge! He's never had to lock his doors because no one has ever crossed this threshold without his express permission. But someone is in there now! He drags in a deep breath and barrels through the doors with a stern rebuke on his lips only to…
… only to stutter to a shocked halt as the last person on earth he ever would have expected to find here looks up in panicked alarm. It is Portia, his wife, his heedless needless wife, her hands full of his carefully scripted ledgers all crumpled and crushed. Now he knows she's got absolutely no head for figures (very few Ton women do, in his humble opinion) but her eyes tell him very clearly that she understands enough to know these ledgers spell doom!
The sheer absurdity of being caught out like this (and by HER of all people!) blanks his mind. He can't think of a single thing to say by way of explanation. She was never meant to see these accounts. It had never occurred to him that she would even know to look for them. His stunned surprise doesn't last long. She lifts the sheets and holds them out to him.
She brays accusations. He automatically denies it. She shakes the papers at him, daring him to refute the evidence of her own eyes and brays louder! He starts to sweat, to fret. If she gets any more vocal she will draw unwanted attention and he knows there is no faster means of spreading juicy gossip than the hired help. He has to distract her! He has to distract her right NOW!
But how?
The utter unfairness of his situation suddenly washes over him. A month ago he'd been a man of unbesmirched principle and a pillar of society who was merely lumbered with an unsuitable wife. A chance meeting with an old school-chum, great wads of cash, the rattle of dice, the flutter of cards… and now he has assumed the role of hopeless gambler and near-bankrupt!
And the look on his wife's face tells him she believes everything written down on these pages, plus whatever gossip she has heard in town or just made up inside her own head.
He stares at her with wounded pride. All their years together, three daughters (and NO sons!), the endless Sundays and boring fetes and pointless parties and dull dances, none of it mattered for she believes this incredible lie with ease. He finds himself insulted beyond all measure! Has all of his patient forbearance and loneliness over these endless years been for naught?
Her casual betrayal forces an unconscious tear to course down his cheek unchecked. He barely feels it but he sees the thunderous reaction on her face; the shock, the revulsion, the scorn. With unease he realizes that he has found the necessary distraction. It's extremely drastic but he has no time for finesse. He chutters out apologies all the while shaking with rage to be so misconstrued by the one person he should have been able to trust with his very life, his own wife!
As he holds out shaking hands to her, as he slowly approaches and gauges her acceptance of his apologies, he feels something very small snap in two deep down in his soul. It isn't until he's standing at her side, his head on her shoulder to hide his livid face, his arms around her rigidly restrained girth that he recognizes that tiny pain for what it is.
His wife pats his back like she's half-asleep, uttering useless platitudes, sounding like she can't believe what she's doing. He can't believe it either. His faith in his marriage has just been snuffed and she's more worried about what the neighbours will think! Her husband, her rock in the Maelstrom of Life, the father of her children, the source of all her security, the one man that she should trust above all others is in deep dreadful (feigned) trouble and she doesn't care two straws about him.
All she cares about is her standing in The Ton, showing up the other mothers, and finding advantageous matches for her daughters. For that she simply needs money, lots of money. Archie suddenly thinks that she'd be happier as a widow without the useless appendage of a husband. This only makes him shake harder upon her shoulder… but she's done offering comfort.
She pushes him away roughly and lurches to her feet, "That's enough, Archibald. I think you should go to your room and spend the night praying on your knees for guidance. I shall do the same and in the bright light of a new day, we will decide what to do." And, with that, she sails majestically off, her skirts swirling like eddies in the wake of a three-decker.
Archie wipes at his face, his eyes resigned. He gathers up his scattered papers, smooths them, puts them in order, then sits down to make the updates of tonight's losses. He pauses as remorse and sadness sweep over him. Tonight's losses; it wasn't just the money or his reputation or his family's social standing. No, tonight he'd lost whatever façade he'd clung to with such futility about being content with his life. He can no longer fool himself. He is a very unhappy man, has been for years.
He stoically locks the ledgers away and just as carefully locks his study doors. No matter what Portia thinks is going to happen tomorrow, she will never again set foot in this room.
He trudges up to his bedroom, closes the doors, and sits on his bed. The enormity of the sea-change in his life swamps him. He lowers his head then and mourns for a life wasted.
END – part 6
