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CHAPTER XXXV

That night, Fanny slept remarkably well. It was gone eight o’clock when a shaft of golden spring sunlight fell on her pillow and roused her. She opened her eyes, noted that she felt quite refreshed and recalled the events of the previous evening.

What a success! She wriggled her toes with great satisfaction and allowed herself a short moment to bask in the glow of it. Mary had been such a dear that Fanny could not think why she had not tried earlier to form a rapport. After all, every girl needed a mother, as she herself knew. Well, it was never too late … Now Mary had that particular confidante, she might finally flourish and find her way.

There then came a scream from the floor above. The crash of a tray. Running of footsteps. The bedroom door was flung open.

‘Madam!’

‘Sayce!’ Fanny scolded. ‘ Really. ’ She pulled her bed jacket around her. ‘What on earth is the matter?’

‘She’s gone, ma’am!’

Fanny let out a cry, became all over cold. She leaped out of bed but her legs would not carry her.

‘ My baby! ’ She fell to the floor. ‘My baby,’ she gasped. ‘My baby is gone!’

‘Madam!’ Sayce crossed the room in a flash, flung open the drawer of the bedside cabinet and found the salts. ‘The baby is upstairs having breakfast with Nurse.’ She held the vial beneath Fanny’s nose. ‘And we need to pull ourselves together. There’s trouble afoot.’ Gently, she drew her mistress up and then lowered her into a chair, placing a hand on her forehead.

‘Trouble?’ Fanny repeated, feeble. ‘But if not the baby , then what … Even so – dear, oh dear – that is a pity. Sir Edward does not like trouble .’

‘He certainly doesn’t and he’s not going to like this.’ The maid swept her mistress’s hair back and took her face in her hands. ‘It’s Miss Mary, ma’am. Looks like she scarpered.’

‘ Scarpered? ’ Fanny was not entirely familiar with the word or its usage, yet still she knew fear.

‘Gone,’ Sayce said, impatient now. ‘Left in the night.’

No! Fanny would not believe it. She cast about, frantic: found one, last straw of hope and grabbed at it. ‘Then she must have been taken ! Taken by someone – against her will ! The child is surely in terror!’

Sayce rolled her eyes in a somewhat impertinent fashion that Fanny did not care for one little bit.

‘Well, if she was, he made a nice job of it. Chamber’s all cleared …’

Fanny listened to the litany of evidence, and then said quietly: ‘I see.’ She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. ‘Thank you, Sayce, for that detailed report.’

So there it was. Ned had – as ever – got his own way. They were now all in disgrace. The servants knew everything … And this was a moment of peril.

She thought quickly. Mary Dorothea – weak, silly creature! – might choose to destroy her own reputation, but she would not take her family down with her. The next hours were crucial. Sir Edward and Lady Knatchbull must be sure to mark their own conduct, or the household would gossip and hell be let loose.

Fanny paused to collect herself and adopted what she liked to call her Voice of Authority. ‘Sayce, I fear I was woken too early. Perhaps you would be kind enough to see that I am not further disturbed, till I have caught up on my sleep.’

And as the maid made to leave, she casually added: ‘Oh, one small, further matter. Might I ask if my husband has yet been informed?’

‘No, ma’am.’ Sayce, suitably subordinate now, bobbed into a curtsey. ‘Thought it best you heard before him .’

‘Quite so.’ Fanny nodded. ‘Thank you then, Sayce. I think that will be all.’

Fanny climbed back into bed – reached out a limp arm for another dose of salts – then, once revived, pulled the coverlet up to her chin, as her mama had once done when tucking her in as a child. And with a new clarity of thought she set out to assess the grim situation.

But of course the maids would choose to tell Fanny first; no one was brave enough to beard Sir Edward with a crisis first thing in the morning. And no doubt – for was it not simply the Way of the World? – they would anyway class this as the mistress’s fault and the mistress’s business. The Mother was always to blame.

On the first point, she decided firmly against. She would not be the one to go to her husband. The rage would be such that he would inevitably lash out, say hurtful things – make wild accusations – which Fanny could then never forget. Better leave it to the valet, or the butler – or even the chimney sweep, should he be so unlucky. The kind wife would emerge at midday.

Meanwhile to the matter of her own guilt: Fanny plunged into a period of deep self-reflection and then surfaced almost at once. She had done nothing wrong! Sir Edward had dealt with all this alone, since the moment of the first proposal. It was he who had talked to his own daughter; he who had claimed that the girl had no feelings … Throughout, Fanny had stayed at a distance – to the extent that she had not even seen her own brother , whom she adored. Or had done, until ten minutes ago.

Indeed, had they not – all three of them – in some way betrayed Fanny ? She had taken her husband’s reports in good faith. She had complimented Mary on her behaviour. Outrage rose in her breast. She had trusted Ned to come into her home …

And the next thought struck like an arrow. Of course, it explained their businesslike conversation. How else could Ned have communicated his plans? They had hatched their plot on that last Sunday morning, while she had stood by in the very next room.

Then could it even be said that Fanny had been in some way complicit ? Surely not that! She had been entirely unwitting. Played for a fool. Had she not?

Although, were she perhaps to dig deep into the far chambers of her feminine mind – that place which she generally liked to avoid at all costs – might Fanny then discover that she had somehow known, all along?

She buried her face into the pillow and started to cry.

Though she was never to know who did the deed, Sir Edward’s unmistakeable roar rang through the house soon after nine. Sayce came in shortly after; Fanny affected deep sleep. But soon the noise of his grief, from the study directly below, pulled at her good, wifely nature. He was her husband! He needed her comfort! She rang the bell, called for Sayce and got dressed.

‘Oh my dear! The dreadful news has only just reached me,’ Fanny cried as she rushed into the study.

Sir Edward was bent over his desk, face sunk into arms. That full, solid form – which she had always found such a comfort – was racked with his sobbing.

‘I am so sorry, my darling. So very sorry.’ Fanny curled herself around him, leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Still.’ She stroked his dear head in a gesture of soothing. ‘What’s done is done and, somehow, we must find it in our hearts to forgive them—’

Sir Edward wrenched himself up then, turned and stared at his wife with pure fury. ‘ FORGIVE THEM? ’ He stood, fists balled. ‘You expect me to forgive that which I had expressly forbidden ?’ He shook his head violently. ‘Oh, no. They shall not get away with this!’

Fanny recoiled, took a few paces back to the plush armchair away from the desk, settled herself and chose her next words with care. ‘Husband,’ she beseeched him. ‘Pray, dearest, do think on it. They have been gone for some hours … By tomorrow, they will no doubt be wed and then’ – she held out both hands – ‘there is nothing that anyone can do.’

He looked back at her with contempt. ‘You must forgive me, madam, but that is na?ve. What matters a marriage in Scotland? Bah! My lawyers will unpick that in an instant. I have summoned them already.’

‘But then, if they seek sanctification in a proper church – in England, I mean?’ Ned never did things by halves, as she well knew.

‘Trust me, that will not happen.’ He started to pace. ‘I intend to write to the Archbishop this very day and, by my word , he will instruct the whole clergy to turn them away.’ Sir Edward turned back then, in full pomp. ‘No priest will marry them!’

Fanny studied her lap. There was a whole other layer to this calumny which she had not yet considered. Her brother William was now ordained … he adored Ned and would never refuse him … Her throat became hot. The flush rose on her face. Were all the Knights in on the conspiracy? Even her father had seemed to warn her of something … That left-out feeling came back, sharper than ever: pierced through her good, loving heart. She suddenly felt entirely alone.

They both fell into silence – he now brooding; she urgently groping for a way through. For if the two families should be cast asunder by this, then Fanny could never know contentment again …

‘Dear husband.’ She tried once again to make him see sense. ‘I feel your grief and – believe me! – I share it. They have inflicted on you – on us all – the most grave injustice. They have wounded your pride. Yet still, for all that, nothing can change the fact that Mary Dorothea is your daughter . You cannot simply reject her!’

‘Madam, believe me !’ Though he still spoke in rage, hot tears of true grief now spilled from his eyes. ‘I can and I must ! How can you, of all people, expect otherwise? I forbade, I forewarned – I made it abundantly clear that I would never forgive. And I did so for the sake of our family – for the rest of our children . So what choice am I left with?’ His substantial being seemed suddenly small. ‘My hands are quite tied.’

‘But – sir – you love her! You love her deeply and honourably . You are the most excellent parent!’

‘No more, madam.’ Sir Edward presented his palm as if swearing an oath. ‘I am her father no more.’

‘Oh, dear good Sir Edward.’ Fanny fell to her knees, clasped her hands as if in supplication. ‘Oh, excellent man! Cast your mind back to that Easter, two years ago – when Mary was so ill that we feared for her life. You wept , you implored the Good Lord that He spare her. I am your witness.’

Fanny could never forget it. Such was his passion, she – then childless and bitter at it – had felt a horrible jealousy. It had been a moment of great personal shame.

‘Better He had taken her then!’ Sir Edward burst out.

‘No!’ Fanny leaped to her feet in sheer horror. ‘Husband, I pray you remain mindful of your good, Christian feelings! What is left for us all if we do not suffer the Good Lord and His influence?’

Sir Edward’s countenance darkened. Even his piercing blue eyes appeared to turn black. ‘May He forgive me, but in this I am sure.

‘ ’Twould be easier for me now if my daughter were dead .’