I could hear Nanny Benson’s rhythmic snoring in the next room.
The door was open but she was in such a deep sleep that I was sure it would take a great deal to wake her.
I seized the baby and, wrapping him in a blanket, I sat cradling him in my arms. I stroked his hair back from his forehead and as I did so he ceased to whimper. I went on stroking his head for he seemed to derive much comfort from my touch, and from the back of my mind came memories of those other occasions when my hands had seemed to have a healing effect. I could see my old ayah’s face clearly. What had she said?
“There is power in those hands.”
I had not believed her. Now I thought of what I had read in the books which Stephen had given me. It was true that in a society like ours we were apt to dismiss that which was not what we could call logical. But there could be other ways than ours, other cultures. Sir Richard Burton and the strange Dr. Damien had hinted at that. It was to discover these things that they had set out on their wild journeys.
Now my thoughts were all for soothing my child, and I did so so satisfactorily that soon he was sleeping peacefully, his breathing normal, his face less flushed.
I sat with him through the night. I should not be able to sleep if I left him. So I just sat there happily holding him in my arms and becoming a little more certain that there was some power in my hands.
My ayah had said that it was a gift from the gods and such gifts should be used.
It would be a wonderful thing to save life. I could understand in a way why men like Dr. Damien were ready to do anything in their thirst for knowledge. In his case, I read, it was to discover how certain substances could be used for the benefit of the sick. That sounded noble. But there was an arrogance about him which came through in his books, and I believed that he took an immense delight in the adventures which came his way savouring a hundred sensual mysteries in the name of furthering medical science, which made me suspicious of the man especially since Amelia had more or less warned me against him.
I wanted to learn more about this strange healing power which might be mine.
The next morning, when I returned to our bedroom, Aubrey said: “You look worn out. What on earth happened?”
“Julian wasn’t well in the night.”
“Couldn’t Nanny B. look after him?”
“She was snoring all night. The child could be in convulsions and she would know nothing about it.”
“Well, I hope you are not going to make a habit of these nocturnal wanderings.”
“No. I am going to have the cradle moved into this room so that I can be near him.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Indeed it is not. And I am going to do it.”
He shrugged his shoulders and it was done.
Julian was fretful in the night and Aubrey said it was an impossible situation, and either I moved out of the room with the cradle or he would.
I thought it was only fair that I should. There were plenty of rooms in the Minster.
So I had the cradle moved to one of them and there I slept.
I don’t think either Aubrey or I was greatly disturbed by the fact that we now occupied separate rooms. I know I slept in peace knowing that my mother’s instinct would wake me immediately if Julian needed me.
A year sped by. It was entirely taken up with Julian. Julian’s first smile; Julian’s first tooth; his first word, which I was delighted was Mama. There were cosy chats with Mrs. Pollack when we discussed Julian at great length and he crawled about the floor playing with the empty cotton reels she found for him, rolling over the floor, clapping his hands when we clapped ours to show approval for his little achievements. He took his first tottering steps across the short space from her knees to mine, smiling up at us with triumph when he fell against us. They were wonderful moments which I would treasure for ever.
I was now and then aware of a certain exasperation in Aubrey’s manner.
Now that mourning for Stephen was officially over, he wanted to entertain his friends. I naturally had to take part in this; but I did so without much enthusiasm. They were not the sort of people who greatly appealed to me. Their main topic of conversation concerned hunting, fishing and outdoor sports with which I was not very well acquainted.
After those dinner-parties Aubrey now and then expressed his disappointment in my performance.
“You were scarcely the sparkling hostess.”
“They talk about such trivial things.”
“Trivial to you, perhaps.”
“They never talk politics for one thing … the change in the government, the coup d’etat in France with Louis Napoleon making himself absolute head of the French government…”
“My dear girl, what has this to do with us?”
“Everything that happens in this country and those close to us must affect us.”
“You are a regular bluestocking, my dear. Do you know that is one of the less popular brands of woman?”
“I wasn’t thinking of attractiveness, just a little interesting conversation.”
He looked at me with cool distaste.
“Of course,” he said, ‘you have grown accustomed all your life to looking down on people. “
This was a reference to my height which he did not seem to like, for if I wore high heels I would stand above him. It was a symptom of his growing feelings against me, for when you dislike people you pick on certain points which normally would not be noticed.
He thought my devotion to our child was unworthy of our class. We had servants to do what I insisted on doing myself. I believe he thought it showed a lack of breeding in taking so much on myself. Then there was my inability or refusal to form friendships with his friends; and now even my height.
I took Julian to see my father and we stayed with him for a week. That was a happy time. He delighted in the child and Jane and Polly revelled in having him to look after.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if you came and lived here, Mrs. St. Clare,” they said.
And I knew my father agreed with them.
I heard from Amelia. She was happier in Somerset.
“Making a new life,” she said. It was pleasant to be near Jack and Dorothy. She obviously spent a great deal of time with them for they figured often in her letters and perhaps particularly Jack.
On Julian’s first birthday the cook made a cake with one candle on it.
The servants came in to wish him a happy birthday and he thoroughly enjoyed that.
It was soon afterwards that Louie Lee arrived.
I had taken Julian for his outing in the gardens in his push chair and when we came in I went up to the nursery. A young woman was there. She was opening the cupboard doors and looking into them as I came in.
I stared at her.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
She said: “Oh, you’re the mistress, are you? Thought so.”
“What are you doing here?” I repeated.
“Will you please explain?”
“I’m Louie. I’ve been took on for the nursery … to help Aunt Em.”
Aunt Em! That was, of course. Nanny Benson. I had discovered that her name was Emily.
“I have not engaged you.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
Nanny Benson came in.
“Oh, this is Louie,” she said.
“She’s come to give a hand. It’s a bit much for me, as I was telling Mr. Aubrey. I said there’s our Louie and he said bring her.”
So Aubrey had engaged this young woman without consulting me! I looked at her intently. Her hair was bright gold a little too bright for nature; her big blue eyes were bold too bold for modesty; her nose was small and her long upper lip gave her a kittenish look. She did not appear to be the kind who would be an efficient nurse.
“My brother’s son’s girl,” said Nanny Benson.
“Well, there’s too much for me in the nursery now our little man is growing up so fast… and there was Louie looking for something.”