Then I would shut my eyes and wallow in my grief and assure myself that life was over for me. I would force myself to get up and remember that I had to be bright because of the children.
And as I lay there that morning it flashed into my mind. It was possible. Could it really be?
If it was, it would make all the difference in the world to me.
Of course I could not yet be sure. But if it were. Oh, God, I thought, I should begin to live again.
I lay there as though wrapped up in a cocoon of hopefulness.
The next weeks would tell me, and if it were true, I should have something to live for.
I could only keep saying to myself: I shall begin to live again.
They noticed the change in me.
“You’re getting over it,” said Harriet, and she looked so happy that I knew she was truly fond of me. The children noticed it. They leaped about making strange contented noises as they used to. Lucas, dear Lucas—who seemed to have grown up so much in the last months—was quietly happy.
Oh, indeed, I owed it to them to shake myself out of my misery. And if this were true … oh, if only this were true … I should not have lost Edwin entirely.
By the end of July I was sure.
I was going to have a child.
Madame Lambard, who had acted as a midwife when she had had the opportunity, confirmed my condition.
She was so delighted that she burst into tears and became emotionally voluble.
The good God had answered her prayers, she told me. She had prayed to Him to give me this. He had made me suffer but He had his reasons. Now He was giving me this blessing.
They were going to take care of me—she and the good Lord together, and with such guardians I could rest assured I should come to no harm. I should have every care … every attention. I would be happy again.
Yes, I thought, I can be happy again. When I hold my child … mine and Edwin’s … in my arms, I shall be happy again.
Of course I told Harriet.
She was amused and went into fits of laughter.
“What is funny about it?” I demanded.
“It just strikes me so,” she answered. “I’m happy for you, Arabella. This is going to make all the difference to you, I know.”
“It is, Harriet, it is.”
I wrote immediately to my parents and then remembered Matilda Eversleigh. After all, this concerned her.
Her response was immediate. She wrote:
My dearest daughter,
This news has filled me with such happiness as I feared never to feel again. Oh, blessed day when you came to us. Edwin will live on for us. Let us pray for a boy. Though a little girl will be a comfort. But a boy will recompense us in so many ways. You see, my dearest child, I can talk to you like this because you are one of the family now. Edwin was the heir to a great name and a title, and it is a tragedy that we had no other son. His inheritance would have gone to my nephew Carleton whom you met in England. He is worthy enough, of course, but if your child is a boy, it will be kept in the direct line and that is important to us. My dearest grandson! Lord Eversleigh will be delighted. I am writing to him without delay. Oh, this is such a blessing. What a joy it is to have good news. You must take the greatest care of yourself. Perhaps you should come to me. I cannot convey what joy your letter has given me. …
Oh, yes, I was able to be happy again. Now I awoke in the mornings with a light heart. It was not the end of my marriage. I had something to live for.
I wrote to Matilda and assured her that Madame Lambard was the best midwife in the neighbourhood, and as she was determined to look after me, I thought I could do no better than place myself in her care. This child would be more precious than most because of the sad circumstances in which it would be born. I was determined to take no risks by travelling. I was going to rely absolutely on Madame Lambard. I was determined that there should be no danger to my child.
Messengers came back and forth to the château. My parents were overjoyed.
My father wrote that the entire situation was altering. There was hope everywhere.
The news from home is getting better and better. Edwin has sent back valuable information. More is coming from his cousin who has and is doing such good work.
My dear daughter, by the time your child is born it may well be that we have plans for the King’s return to England. What a joy that will be to us all!
He sounded more confident than he ever had before, and he was not a man to conceal the truth.
I began to dream of the future.
My baby should make his appearance in January the coming year, sixteen hundred and sixty.
Now the days began to pass quickly. How differently I felt when I awoke each morning. I even welcomed the little discomforts which heralded the existence of the child. I began to count the days and months, so much was I longing for the day when I should hold the child in my arms.
Expectation pervaded the château. The main topic of conversation was “When the baby comes.” I started to make garments under the tuition of Jeanne, who was good with her needle, and although I was scarcely the same, I did derive a great deal of satisfaction from the work.
The children were told that there was going to be a new baby and that they were going to be uncles and aunts, which made them hilarious with glee, particularly Fenn, who being the youngest had never felt so important before. Every day he asked if the baby had come and was he an uncle yet.
Harriet would sit with me while I sewed and sometimes read plays to me, enacting the parts as she did so—a pleasant pastime. The children liked to come in and listen. Even Harriet seemed to have changed. I could not quite say what it was; perhaps she had become more thoughtful; she moved less swiftly and I fancied she had put on a little weight.
She had been concerned because she thought my mother had not liked her and she wanted to know what questions she had asked about her. Had I mentioned the d’Ambervilles? “Not by name,” I told her. “And I just told her you left because one of the sons made advances to you.”
She was uneasy, I knew.
It was July, I remember, hot and sultry, and I felt listless in a contented kind of way because I knew my feelings were due to the child I carried. Letters came from my mother.
Dear Arabella,
What wonderful news this is. I trust you are taking good care of yourself. I feel that you are in good hands with Madame Lambard. She so prides herself on her skills and I believe with reason.
I long to be with you, but as I cannot I am happy to think of Madame Lambard. At the earliest opportunity I shall be with you. As you can imagine a great many things are happening here and it seems likely that by this time next year we may be home. What a joy that will be when we are all together. …
Oh, yes, I thought, there is a lot to live for. I went on reading and was slightly taken aback.
I have been wondering about Harriet. We need someone here to help us make our preparations. I have told your father about her and he thinks it would be a good idea if she joined us here. After all, if we shall soon be back in England, the children will not be so very old and they can resume their education in earnest then. We have heard of an excellent tutor …
The letter dropped from my hand. I knew her well. She did not want Harriet to stay here with us.
I said nothing to Harriet for a day or so. I meant to, but every time I attempted to, I found it difficult. She was clever enough to realize that my mother did not approve of her being here and wanted to get her away.