Carleton was teaching them riding, shooting, falconry and fencing. Gregory Stevens helped in this and my misgivings faded when I heard the shouts of triumph when one of them scored and listened to their excited chatter. I knew that Carleton was right and I must not be so afraid of Edwin’s hurting himself that I might curb his mastery of these manly activities.
I spent a great deal of time with my daughter who was now developing a personality of her own and was a little wilful I must admit, which I said must be expected with such a father. I was angry with Carleton because he expressed so little interest in her and I determined to shower her with extra love in case she should notice her father’s neglect.
In the early spring I became pregnant again. Carleton was beside himself with joy. He was so certain that this time I was going to provide a child of the right sex. It worried me—this obsession for a boy.
He could scarcely talk of anything else. He was so tender and careful of me that I could not help enjoying that, but sometimes I was filled with misgivings.
I said to him: “What if this child should be a girl?”
“It won’t be,” he said firmly, as though he could arrange these matters. “I know I’m going to have a son this time.”
“It’s absurd,” I said. “You have a beautiful daughter and you hardly notice her.”
“You’re going to give me my son, Arabella. I knew you would from the moment I saw you.”
I began to feel apprehensive. Sally Nullens noticed it. “It’s bad for you,” she said. “Give over. Just sit back in peace and wait.”
I wished I could.
Harriet came to the bedroom often when I was alone. She liked to sit and watch me sewing a baby garment. I took a great pleasure in doing this although I was no needlewoman.
“Carleton is beside himself with joy,” said Harriet. She watched me anxiously. “You’re worried, Arabella.”
“I just want this to be over. I want to be lying in that bed with my son in his cradle beside me.”
“He is going to put Madame Priscilla’s nose out of joint.”
“No one could change my feelings for her,” I said.
“Of course not. You’re the perfect mother. Oh, Arabella, what a lot has happened to us since the old days. We are both mothers … both Eversleighs. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“That we are both Eversleighs? It did not come about without a certain contrivance.”
“That old theme! Why should it not have been contrived? Was Toby ever as happy as he is now?”
“That’s true. But being married to you must put a certain strain on him. It obviously has.”
“You mean his heart attack. I’m very careful of him, Arabella. I’m fond of him. Oh, yes, I am. Besides, what would my position be if he were to die?”
“Your home would still be here.”
“I suppose so. But the old lady doesn’t like me. Charlotte hates me. Carleton …” She laughed. “See I only have you, and you are sometimes suspicious of me. Now if I was the one who was pregnant … If I was the one who was going to have a son. Has it occurred to you that if I did, my son would be next in line to your Edwin? He’d come before this son you may … or may not have.”
There was a silence in the room. I had the sudden uneasy feeling that we were not alone.
I turned and looked over my shoulder.
Sally Nullens was standing there. She was holding a cup in her hand.
“I’ve brought you this,” she said to me. “Good, strengthening broth. Just what you need.”
It was later that night, after midnight I saw later when I was able to take note of the time. Carleton and I were asleep when we were awakened by a shout. We started up, and by the waving candlelight I made out the figure of Harriet.
“Arabella. Carleton. Come quickly,” she cried. “It’s Toby.”
We jumped out of bed, threw wraps around us and ran to the room which Toby and Harriet shared. Toby was lying in bed, his face ashen, his eyes wild.
Carleton went to him and took his wrist. Then he put his ear to his chest.
I knew as he turned that Toby was very ill.
“Shall I send for the doctor?” asked Harriet.
“Yes,” said Carleton.
She ran out of the room.
“Carleton,” I said, “is there anything we can do?”
“Get some brandy. But I’m afraid …”
I went to a sideboard and poured out some brandy. It had been kept in the room since Toby had had his first attack. Carleton lifted him and tried to pour the brandy into his mouth. It fell over his chin.
“It’s too late,” murmured Carleton. “I feared it.”
Harriet came back into the room.
“I’ve sent one of the men,” she said. “Oh, God, he looks … awful.”
“It may be too late,” said Carleton.
“No …” she whispered.
She went to stand on the other side of the bed. Carleton had gently lowered Toby down onto the pillows. We stood in silence looking at him.
Then Harriet spoke: “If only that doctor would come. How long he is!”
“The man has only just left,” Carleton reminded her. “He will be an hour at least.”
Then the silence fell again. I stood at the head of the bed—Harriet on one side of it, Carleton on the other.
Then there was a sudden gasp from behind us. Charlotte had come into the room.
“I heard running about. What’s happened?”
“He’s had an attack,” said Carleton.
“Is it … bad?”
“Very bad, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, poor, poor Uncle Toby.”
Silence again. I could hear the clock on the mantelpiece ticking. It sounded ominous.
We stood like statues round that bed. I was deeply aware of Charlotte. There was a kind of knowing look in her eyes.
Nonsense, I said. You’re overwrought. It’s your condition.
It struck me that we were like a tableau … full of meaning which I could only vaguely realize.
They were somber days that followed. “Two deaths coming so suddenly one on another,” mourned Matilda. “Oh, how I hate death. He was so content. So much in love.”
“Perhaps that was why,” said Charlotte.
I saw a shiver run through Matilda. Then she said: “He forgot he was an old man. It happens like that sometimes.”
“At least,” I reminded them, “he was happy. For the last year or so he was living in a kind of paradise.”
“What kind?” asked Charlotte. “A fool’s paradise.”
Of course she hated Harriet and had always resented the way in which she had been brought into the family.
There was another one who hated Harriet and that was Sally Nullens. But perhaps she feared rather than hated her. She mourned Toby sincerely. She had remembered him before he went away. “He always believed the best of everyone,” she said with meaning.
Poison in the Marriage Cup
I BEGAN TO FEEL unwell. The months of waiting seemed longer than they had when I was awaiting the birth of Priscilla. I think I was obsessed by the fear that I might not have a son.
That made me resentful towards Carleton. It was so stupid to blame a woman because the sex of her child was not what her husband hoped for. Kings had done it in the past. I thought of Anne Boleyn and all that had happened through her failing to get a son and how she must have felt during the long waiting months, the outcome of which would decide her future. The reverberations of that affair had affected my ancestress Damask Farland and her family. It was unfair, so arrogant, so typical of a certain kind of man. Henry VIII’s kind. Carleton’s kind.
Our own King Charles could not get a legitimate son, although he had several boy bastards. I wondered how his gentle Queen felt about her inadequacy. Perhaps she was not so anxious as I was. Charles might be a blatantly unfaithful husband but by all accounts he was a kindly one.