The Child Lives On
Chapter Five
Gordon's storied military career has been closely tied to Sir Arthur Wellesley, battling the French in both Portugal and Spain, and culminating at Waterloo, which is in Belgium.
Shortly after the news of that glorious victory hit home, a letter came by courier, instructing me to close up the house in London and meet him in France - where he had been awarded a post near the port of Calais. Emily found me huddled in a corner of the sitting room, staring at the floor, mumbling to myself.
"Clara," she said, "whatever is the matter?"
Too upset to answer, I simply handed over the letter. Her reaction was slightly different than mine.
"France?" she said, jumping up and down excitedly. "I've always wanted to go to France!"
"I don't want to go to France," I moaned. "I like London. All my friends are here. Why did he have to accept that position? Why can't he just come home?"
"Clara," she said matter-of-factly. "If you don't want to go, don't go."
"I can't do that. My place is with my husband."
"In that case, let's start packing."
"Give me a minute, will you? Can't you see I'm brooding?"
"Let me know when you're done."
Without a care in the world, she skipped out of the room, humming, 'Frère Jacques'.
Later that afternoon, Ruthie returned from an outing. Taking several deep breaths, intending to just get it over with, I met her at the door, and gave her the news. By the way she reacted, you would have thought the world had come to an end.
"It's unfair," she whined. "I won't go."
"But your father is expecting you."
"My father? When has he ever been a real father?"
"Now wait a minute."
"You know as well as I do, he's always away, fighting in a war; and when he's home, for a day or so, here and there, he spends his time with his mates. Now I'm supposed to jump when he says jump? I won't do it."
"Come on, darling, be reasonable."
"You know very well I can't leave Victor. We're to be married soon."
"Victor can visit you in France."
"Visit me? Just like that?"
"When your father was courting me, he traveled all the way from London to Glastonbury."
"London to Glastonbury is not the same. We're talking about France, for goodness sake!"
"This might be a good test for him."
"A test?"
"To see if his love is true."
It was absolutely the wrong thing to say. I knew it as soon as I said it.
"I don't need to test his love!" she screamed, stomping angrily out the door, and slamming it behind her.
Placing a hand on my forehead, I let out a long, heavy sigh. Has she always been so melodramatic? With a pressing need for someone to talk to, I proceeded through the garden to Emily's workshop. When I arrived, Emily was mixing tonics in a vat on a low table. At one time, the table was of normal height, and Emily would stand on a step-stool while working. Then one day, Ben Johnson (a friend of the family), while watching her at work, asked, "Why don't you cut the table legs in half so you don't have to climb up and down that step-stool?" It was such a good idea, we wondered why we hadn't thought of it before.
As I took a seat on the aforementioned stool, I leaned over, elbows on knees, holding my head in my hands, and let out another long sigh… and then another… and another.
"Tu as l'air fatigué?" said Emily. "Vous n'avez pas dormi?"
"Eh?" I said, sitting up straight and staring at her, dumbfounded.
"Êtes-vous troublé?"
"When did you learn to speak French?"
"I've been studying here and there."
"Why?"
"In case my father comes home."
"Honey, your father won't be coming home."
"How do you know?"
"He would have been home by now. And what if he did come home? How would you know it was him? You have no pictures, no momentos..."
"Well, I…"
"And don't forget, he would be expecting to find a woman of forty."
She stared off into the distance, like in a trance. Then with a shake of her head, and a flutter of her eyelashes, she looked at me. "No matter," she said. "My study will not be in vain. I will speak with my kinsmen in their native language." She stood at attention, placing a hand over her heart. "Mon coeur gonfle de fierté! Vive la France!"
"Hush," I said. "We're still in England, you know."
Now that I think about it, she must have been learning to speak French with Julia. Pretending to be elegant ladies from Versailles would be just the sort of game they would play. Julia, by the way, is a girl from a wealthy family, a few years younger than Ruthie, who loves Emily to distraction - like a stuffed animal or a favorite doll. Perhaps I am being unfair. Emily, who is quite sensible, and not the least bit covetous, is very fond of the girl.
"Have you told Ruthie?" asked Emily.
"Didn't you hear the screaming and slamming doors?"
"No, no, I didn't hear it."
"She refuses to go."
"I don't blame her. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
"Why don't you ask Celia to look after her?"
"I can't. Gordon would be furious."
"Eh, he'll get over it." With a shrug, she turned back to her work.
Rising to my feet, I trudged back to the house, still brooding. "He used to be so gallant," I muttered to myself, "mindful of my every need - my happiness his only desire. Funny how twenty years can change so many things."
The next day, I received another letter. It read:
My Darling Clara,
I have arranged with an auction house to sell the furniture. Pack up the clothing and momentos you wish to bring. The cottage is furnished.
Also, I have arranged for Ruth to stay with Lady Embry. She is to be married soon and it would be unfair to bring her here.
Tell Emily to pack her seeds. A large plot has been tilled and will be ready when she arrives.
Counting the days until you are by my side again. Have missed you so.
Gordon
Emily found me huddled in a corner of the sitting room, weeping.
"Mon chéri," she said, "quel est le problème?"
Too upset to answer, I handed over the tear-stained letter.
"Wow," she said. "So sweet. This must be what love is."
I buried my face in my arms.
"But why are you crying?" she asked.
"I'm a heel," I whimpered.
"Nonsense!"
"Nonsense?"
"Your reaction was perfectly reasonable."
"It was?"
"Why didn't he write this in the first letter? Why didn't Celia tell you about this arrangement? You had a right to be upset."
"I should have trusted him."
"Oh, well, yes, there is that. But we don't have time for moping. Get up. On your feet. We've got packing to do."
Turning on her heel, she marched out of the room, singing, 'La Marseillaise'. A minute later, I rose to my feet, adjusted my dress, and followed.
As we began to sort through our things, I reminded her that she was dependant on Gordon's good graces, and singing 'La Marseillaise' would certainly be frowned upon.
"Don't worry," she said. "I wouldn't dream of aggravating The Major."
"We are English, after all," I said. "Moving to France won't make us French."
"I'm half-French."
"Honey, you were born in England. You've lived in England for forty years. You couldn't be more English."
"My father was French. Should I deny that? Just because our leaders can't get along?"
"Are you proud of your father?"
"I think he's been treated unfairly, just because he's French."
"Sweetheart, he left your mother alone and pregnant."
"Is that really true?"
"Daddy wouldn't lie, would he?"
"Your father doesn't know any more than anyone else. He wasn't there when Mother and Father sat close together on a moon-lit night, making plans and dreaming dreams, wishing upon a shooting star, promising eternal love and devotion."
"You're a hopeless romantic."
"Hopeless is right. I'll never know love."
"You are loved, you know?"
"Of course, but it's not romantic love, like you and Gordon or Ruthie and Victor."
Me and Gordon? I wonder… It's been such a long time.
Before I could even tell her, Ruthie had already changed her mind. "A month or two in France would be wonderful," she said, "and I do want to see Daddy." Later, I discovered that Victor would be out of town on business for a month.
Ruthie, however, wasn't the only addition to our party. Much to my surprise, Aunt Celia, for some inexplicable reason, decided to come along as well. "Are you sure you're ready to enter the land of the barbarians?" I asked, teasing her a little.
"We English are nothing if not stout-hearted," she said, "and I want to see that you arrive safely."
How she was planning to assure our safety, I don't know, but we were happy to have her along.
And it didn't end there. Julia and her parents decided to join us as well. Lord and Lady Harrington are quite wealthy, so this worked to our advantage. Not only did we travel in a luxurious carriage, but first-class accomodations were procured in Dover and on the ship which ferried us across the channel. And to top it all off, a villa was rented in Calais, which we were free to use whenever we desired.
It was early morning when the Harrington's driver and footman came to fetch us in a carriage. The sun was just beginning to send out its light, chasing away the darkness. Our trunks had been packed and sent on ahead. The house had been emptied and cleaned. I shed a tear for my home of twenty years. It had been a good and loyal home.
The Harrington mansion was buzzing with activity when we arrived. Servants were running here and there, carrying out last minute instructions. Luggage had been set out on the curb. As soon as the carriage stopped, the driver and footman set about loading and tying it to the top. In the meantime, Julia insisted on dressing Emily in some clothes she had just bought for her - which delayed us for maybe a half an hour or so. Everyone took it in stride - except Ruthie, who was miffed; but then, Ruthie and Julia never did see eye to eye.
Inside the carriage, Lady Harrington, Aunt Celia and I occupied one seat, and Ruthie, Julia and Emily sat in the other, facing us. Emily had to sit in the middle to keep the tigers from tearing each other apart. No, that's not true. I'm exaggerating. The worst we could expect were a few snide remarks and some dirty looks. Lord Harrington climbed up on top next to the driver, and seemed genuinely happy to be there.
Getting underway, the carriage moved slowly through town, stopping frequently in traffic. When we were finally free of the city, the horses could run and we made good time. I napped most of the way, so I can't tell you much about the journey. Packing up and moving is so exhausting.
As we were approaching Dover, the marvelous, overwhelming beauty of the white cliffs and the channel came into view. With the sun at our backs, shadows stretched out over the shimmering water. We gazed about us in open-mouthed wonder, oohing and aahing. Most of us had never seen such a magnificent sight. Lord Harrington was whooping on top of the carriage.
That night, after a luxurious dinner, we slept at a quaint little inn, listening to the waves beat against the shore. The next morning, we boarded a ship bound for Calais. The Harringtons had been on a sea-voyage before. The rest of us hadn't. Enraptured by the magnificent view, the smell of sea air, and the feel of the buoyant ship under our feet, we remained on deck during the entire voyage. Lord Harrington lifted Emily onto a crate so she could take in the view unobstructed, holding onto her tightly. It was touching to see his tender care and gentle affection for her. The Harringtons, as a whole, loved her dearly. She could have moved in with them at any time, I'm sure. It was in her power to do so. If they had ever asked her to, she never told me.
Sharing this short, awe-inspiring, adventure, our party formed a lovely camaraderie. I even heard Ruthie and Julia speaking civilly to each other. Imagine that.
When the coast of France appeared, growing larger and larger before my eyes, I became more and more anxious and apprehensive. I hadn't seen my husband in two years, three months and four days. As the ship was docking, after a frantic search, I located him amongst the throng on the pier. Leaving the others behind, I ran to him, weaving through the crowd in my haste, until he suddenly appeared. Stopping short, I gasped. The patch over one eye, the scar across his cheek and the missing leg caught me completely by surprise. He stood before me, pensive. Worry distorted his still handsome face. "My darling," he said, "can you still love me? Even like this?"
To set him at ease, I played the coquette. "I've always fancied a rogue," I said with a wink.
"Have you now?" A mischievous grin spread across his face. The old twinkle returned to his eye. Enveloping me in his big, strong arms, he kissed me passionately, replacing my anxiety with sensual delight. That night, we… On second thought, I'll keep that to myself.
The open country, with its forests and meadows and lush greenery, has taken me back to my childhood on Daddy's farm. I'm happier and more content than I have been for a long, long time. Since he's no longer a field-officer, Gordon works behind a desk and is home with me every evening. Paradise on earth, is what I call it. I wish it could last forever.