She took me with her.
Jenny seemed hardly aware of us. Because of Rebecca I could feel deeply, especially deeply for her in her sorrow. I wished I could do something to help her.
She changed after that; the new sensible Jenny retreated; the poor dazed creature emerged. It was very sad. Everyone tried to help. Those for whom she had worked offered her more work. They wanted her to know how they sympathized with her.
“She’ll get over it,” said Mrs. Penlock. “It takes time.”
Mrs. Fenny thought it was the wages of sin. “When all’s said and done she was born out of wedlock and that ain’t going to please the Lord.”
I felt so angry with her that I retorted: “Perhaps He was pleased to see the difference the child made to Jenny.”
She gave me one of her sour looks and I knew she would tell the next person who came along that that Miss Angelet should never have gone to foreign parts because if people live among heathens they start to take after them.
There was nothing we could do to help poor Jenny over her sorrow; but everyone continued to be gentle with her and whenever she appeared would call a greeting to her, as they had never done before.
It was spring, the best time of the year in the Duchy where the land is caressed by the south-west wind bringing the warm rain from the mighty Atlantic Ocean. Flowers were blooming in abundance—bright yellow celandines, golden dandelions, pink crane’s bill and purple ground ivy. The woods were full of color; the songs of the blackbirds and thrushes filled the air; and the wind which blew off the sea was fresh and invigorating.
Time was passing. Was I becoming reconciled? How often were my thoughts in that shanty township? Winter would be coming on now. I thought of Mr. and Mrs. Bowles in their store. How many babies had been born? I thought of the graveyard. Gervaise and David Skelling lying not very far from each other. I tried to shut out the memory of Golden Hall. How had they spent Christmas? How was Ben faring? How was his marriage? Was the mine as profitable as ever? It must be or he would have come back. I could not believe that he was happy. How could he be? He was a man who liked lively conversation. He had always enjoyed discussion. There were one or two educated men in the township to whom he could talk. But Lizzie? Lizzie was gentle and kind and loving … but could she give him what he wanted? Perhaps she could. Perhaps a dominating man like Ben was happiest with a docile wife.
And so my thoughts went on. I tried to forget, but although I was in Cador where everything was done to make me happy, and although I had a beloved daughter with me, still I hankered for a crude Australian township … for the dust, for the dirt, for the flies … and the discomforts of a two-roomed shack.
You must be crazy, I said to myself.
Then I would play with Rebecca; we would walk in the gardens; I would listen to her amusing comments; I would talk with my mother and father. I read a great deal. My father was making me more interested in the distant past, the history of the Duchy and its quaint customs; he had done quite a lot of research on these subjects and we had some lively discussions. I should be happy.
It was April when there was a letter from Grace. It was so long since she had seen us. Might she come and visit us for a few weeks.
My mother replied enthusiastically that we should be delighted to see her.
Aunt Amaryllis was a constant letter writer and she kept us up to date with what was going on in London. Her letters were usually full of Uncle Peter’s clever projects and Matthew’s wonderful performance in the House and what good work Peterkin and Frances were doing at the Mission.
So we had learned that Grace gave quite a lot of parties in her house. True, it was not very large but people seemed to find that amusing. Grace was invited out frequently and Peter made sure she was always at their parties. “Peter says she is a born hostess,” wrote Aunt Amaryllis. “He feels that she ought to get married again. After all it is a long time since Jonnie died. One cannot go on grieving forever. Sometimes I think Grace herself would like to marry. Perhaps one day some nice man will come along.”
I said: “Do you think Aunt Amaryllis is doing a little matchmaking?”
“That could well be,” answered my mother.
Grace arrived. She had always had a look of distinction although she was not what could be called handsome, beautiful or even pretty. But she was certainly soignée and elegant.
Jack drove to the station to meet her and I was with him.
She was effusively affectionate.
“It is just wonderful to see you, Angelet,” she said. “And I can’t wait to see Rebecca.”
“She calls herself Becca,” I told her. “I suppose Rebecca was a little difficult for her to pronounce.”
“Becca. I like that. It is more unusual. I expect your child to be unusual, Angelet. You are rather, yourself, you know.”
“If that is a compliment, thanks.”
“It is wonderful to be here again. I shall never forget all that your family have done for me.”
“It is your family now,” I said. “You married into it and before that you seemed to be a member of it.”
“It’s like coming home.”
My mother greeted her with pleasure.
“Do you remember how you used to make our dresses? I shall be tempted to make use of you while you are here.”
“I should love that,” declared Grace. “It would make me feel so much at home.”
“You must feel that all the time,” said my mother.
Grace was impressed with Rebecca’s beauty, charm and intelligence, which endeared her further to me. Rebecca liked her, too.
It was wonderful to have news from London.
“In our circle,” she told us, “it is politics all the time. There was a great to-do when Palmerston died. We never thought he’d go. There he was past eighty … and no one would have guessed it. He was jaunty till the end. People used to pause outside Cambridge House in Piccadilly to see him come out in his natty clothes and ride his gray horse out to the Row. The people all loved the old sinner. He always had an eye for the women right till the last. It was just the sort of thing to appeal to them. He was Good Old Pam to the end. He remained witty and when he was dying he was supposed to have said, ‘Die? Me? That’s the last thing I shall do!’ The Queen was upset, though he was never a favorite of hers. John Russell had to step in … but not for long. Once Pam had gone the Liberals were out of favor and Lord Derby is back now. That is good for Matthew, of course.”
“Politics,” said my mother, “is an uneasy game. One is in one day and out the next.”
“That is what makes it so exciting,” said Grace.
“We hear quite a bit … even down here … of Benjamin Disraeli.”
“Oh yes, the coming man,” said Grace. “Perhaps not coming though. He’s arrived. We shall be hearing a great deal about him. He has somehow managed to charm the Queen which is amazing. One would hardly have thought she would have approved of those dyed greasy black curls.”
“The Prince Consort would have been most displeased I imagine,” I said.
“How is she getting on after his death?” asked my father.
I saw my mother flash a glance at him. She meant, Don’t talk of dead husbands in front of Angelet.
He saw the point at once and looked abashed:
“It seems that she revels in her mourning,” said Grace and changed the subject.
Rebecca had shown a fondness for one of the parlormaids. She was young and quite clearly had a way with children. Her name was Annie.
My mother had said that she thought Annie might help to look after Rebecca until we came to a decision about a nanny. We had not yet asked Nanny Crossley to return. I remembered her—excellent at her job but a little domineering in the nursery; and I wanted no one to take my daughter from me.