Dearest Lavinia Letter Twenty-Five
Crawley House,
Downton Village,
18th February 1920
Dearest Mary,
I know you must have received my last letter only a day or two ago, but I cannot wait to share the latest news. I have just received the photos of darling Elizabeth, and I am enclosing two as promised so you can show them to Tom. I hope this helps you convey just how tiny babies truly are. Doctor Clarkson and Isobel assure me that at 8 lbs 2 oz, Elizabeth is a bonny baby, perfect in every way.
Did I mention her eyes appear to be a cloudy blue? Isobel warns me that a baby's eye colour can change often in the first year. She has such rosy, red cheeks, and I am convinced she is smiling at me already. Isobel doesn't believe me, but I am sure of it!
I am disappointed to report that Matthew has only held her once so far. It pains me, Mary, to see him so distant, especially at a time when I need him most. I feel as though I have lost part of him, just when I thought we were finally drawing closer. He seems even more withdrawn than during the War. Isobel has noticed too, and we are both concerned. She told me that sometimes men can behave oddly when they first have a child, as if the new arrival solidifies their place in this world and brings them closer to the next. I pray that she is right.
From my bedroom window, I've seen him pacing in the garden at night while I give Elizabeth her last feed before the wet nurse takes over. The wet nurse has been a tremendous comfort to me. I am still so tired and have developed a cough and a slight fever. Though Doctor Clarkson reassures me, I can't shake a lingering worry, especially when I catch Isobel's concerned glances. Sometimes I wonder if they are hiding something from me. Isobel has been so caring, regularly giving me aspirin and instructing the cook to prepare nourishing soups and broths.
Cora brightened my spirits with a visit yesterday. She agrees that Elizabeth is a beautiful baby and shared that she was bedridden for a whole month after your birth. Knowing this has calmed some of my fears. She mentioned that Edith's romance with Sir Anthony has cooled since Christmas, and she has been spending more time in London working for the magazine. Cora confided that she feels relieved, believing Sir Anthony is too old for Edith. She also shared her concerns for Sybil, who has been uncommunicative since her visit in December. Edith reports that she hardly sees Sybil as she is always studying or visiting friends from college. It must be terribly challenging work. I told Cora the same. I found Sybil to be as lovely as ever at Christmas; she looked well to my eyes. I didn't mention this to your mother, but I wonder if Sybil has a secret beau.
Mary,
I hardly know how to write what I must now tell you. My hand trembles as I hold the pen, and the words feel so heavy and impossible that I wonder if they will ever make it to the page. But I cannot bear to carry this burden alone any longer, and I know you are the one person who will understand the weight on my heart.
Last night, after Elizabeth had fallen asleep and the house had grown quiet, Matthew came to me. I could see immediately that something was wrong. His face was pale, his eyes hollow, as though he had been battling with himself for days, and, in truth, I think he had. He stood there, trembling, and before I could ask what was the matter, he blurted out the truth. Mary, my world shattered in that instant.
Matthew has been unfaithful to me.
He did not tell me when or with whom, nor did I ask—I couldn't, not then. All he said was that it was only once and that he deeply regretted it. He begged for my forgiveness, but I could hardly breathe, let alone respond. The room spun around me, and I felt as though the ground had been ripped away. How could this happen? After everything we have been through, after the war, after Elizabeth's birth, how could he betray me like this?
I am so terribly lost, Mary. I can hardly look at him without feeling waves of grief and anger rise within me. He swears it meant nothing, that it was a moment of weakness, but I can't stop thinking about it. Who was she? Why did he turn to her and not to me? I have loved him with every part of myself, yet it was not enough to keep him from straying. How does one forgive something like this? Can I even find it within myself to forgive him?
I haven't told anyone, not even Isobel, though I imagine she knows something is wrong. I've been in a daze all day, barely able to eat or sleep, and a terrible headache has taken hold of me. My cough has worsened. It's as if the weight of this sorrow presses down on me, and no matter how many hours I rest, the pain won't leave. I've taken the aspirin Isobel gave me, but it does little to ease the ache in my head—or my heart.
I feel so torn, Mary. A part of me wants to flee, to take Elizabeth and run far away from this pain. But where would I go? Society would never forgive a woman abandoning her husband, regardless of the circumstances. The other part of me knows I need to stay. We are married; there is no escape for me or for us. But how do I do that when every glance at Matthew feels like a fresh wound?
I feel so foolish and blind. I knew Matthew hadn't been happy with me, almost from the start of our marriage. I am ashamed to admit, but I thought Matthew held a torch for you, Mary, my friend. Yet, our relationship seemed to improve at Christmas. You saw his gift to me, that framed photo of our wedding day. I thought he was declaring his commitment to our marriage. How can I trust that any of it was true?
He says he will do anything to make it right. But I wonder if it is enough. I wonder if I can ever truly forgive him—or if I will spend the rest of my life haunted by this betrayal.
My head and heart ache so. I don't know whom to turn to. Perhaps I will write to Father and ask to visit with the baby. I fear he will be terribly hurt by Matthew's betrayal. I can't remember if I ever told you, but it was Father who introduced us back in early 1916. Oh! Matthew was so dashing in his uniform, and we would go dancing every time he was on leave from the war. Or we would come up to Downton. Do you remember those times?
Have I been living a fairytale of my own making? Did I wilfully blind myself to the truth?
I can hear Elizabeth stirring now, so I must close for the night. Please, Mary, write to me as soon as you can. I need your guidance and strength. You have always been my steadfast friend, and I can't imagine getting through this without you.
With all my love and sorrow,
Lavinia