Mother was waiting in the dining room as I arrived. I had decided that I would not discuss this privately with her first, that I would open the discussion up with all of us together. It would at least require Mother to continue speaking directly with Mariette rather than through me. Mariette had already said she was not here for the money, and though I believed it for the most part, there was a niggle there, from the wryness and the look of the lawyer who was used to many and varied devious states of play, and something else, my own instinct, telling me that pieces of the story were missing.
Mother made polite talk, and the two women avoided much eye contact, though they sat directly across from each other during dinner. Mariette wore her freshly laundered white dress, and I had to presume she was relieved at not having to wear Mother’s dresses in front of her.
After dinner I spoke about the meeting with Roland as they watched me expectantly. Though for some reason, perhaps because of the way I felt for Mariette—I can say with more clarity that love was beginning to cloud my judgment—I did not mention that “Mariette Lavier” did not actually exist as such. This was an issue I would raise with her privately.
“And there is no birth certificate for the child. Could it be in some registry somewhere, never being lodged?” Mother was looking at me when she asked this, reminding me that I was yet to reveal to her a possible discrepancy surrounding Samuel’s date of birth, but the question was for Mariette.
“We did not have time,” said Mariette. “He came early, with fighting still around us. It was mayhem to the end. That is all I can tell you. The sister who delivered my baby died, and the hospital is now gone.”
“It seems there are a lot of dead people in the story and the war is convenient for missing information.”
I was a little ashamed of Mother since Mariette had already described to me how bad it had been there.
“Madame, it was not my intention to dupe you as you are suggesting. I would never once think to take anything personally from you. I feel very proud that I have been able to bring you your grandson.”
Mariette had not known Mother long enough to know that her barbs were customary. That if she said nothing cynical at all, we would be worried about her.
“Mariette, is there any way we can get in contact with anyone you know of who could verify the birth or the marriage?” I interjected.
“There are people who knew us briefly at the time, but I do not know their surnames or how to contact them.”
Mother threw up her hands.
I stopped the conversation there and asked if Mariette could leave while I spoke to Mother alone.
“You should have spoken to me in private,” she said, annoyed, once Mariette had left the room.
“Mother, it is now something we have to decide on.”
“I can tell, Rudy, that you are for the girl and the child, and I do pity both of them. But I cannot include them on a permanent basis without proof. It is obvious she had a connection with Edgar somewhere, somehow, but this is a temporary arrangement only, while we verify the child is indeed Edgar’s. I’m not saying she is . . . that way, deceitful, of course, but legalities we must pursue. I have been very generous, and though, sincerely, I like them I’ll admit, must I be the only one who is thinking clearly and without any bias? We must tread carefully if we are to make informed decisions.”
She had a point of course. Even though I’d convinced myself that the feelings I was developing toward Mariette were separate from my beliefs concerning the legitimacy of her claim, such feelings would not be considered helpful to ongoing investigations.
“And you know very well what this means for Laurence.”
I could also see Mother’s dilemma. It was her duty to protect all parties, Laurence included. And she knew as well as I did that any change would not sit well with him.
She stood up. “I need the war record that has Edgar’s name. Tell me the moment it arrives. I need proof of that as well. And even then I am not sure I will believe he’s gone.”
We parted, and upon nearing my bedroom, the faint sound of sobbing led me back down the hallway toward the guest room and Mariette.
“I’m so sorry,” she uttered quietly from behind her shut door.
I knocked softly, and the crying stopped. She opened the door, eyes puffy and red, then turned to sit down at the edge of the bed.
She put her finger to her lips. With Mariette’s improved health, Samuel had been moved back to the annex attached to her bedroom, where he was sleeping.
Mariette was holding a piece of paper.
“Your mother will never trust me,” she said softly.
I moved to sit next to her.
“If it’s any consolation, I believe you, Mariette.”
“I did not want to do this because it would seem there is something sinister in the reasons I am here. This is only for you to see and not your mother.”
I recognized Edgar’s handwriting on the small note she handed me. It stated that should anything happen to Edgar, Lakeland Manor and the estate were to be passed to any child resulting from his union with Mariette Lavier, appointing her also as the trustee for the estate until the child came of age. It also mentioned several personal items that were to be passed to me. It was signed by Edgar but not dated.
Some might say that forgers are clever, and information about a person shrewdly obtained, but I believed the note was in Edgar’s hand, in the way his t’s trailed so finely, and his signature so much of his personality in the large but delicate strokes. It wasn’t only that I recognized the script, but that I felt him in the words also.
“Why didn’t you show me this before?”
“You know why.”
I had in fact seen the glaring change that would affect Mother. Edgar had removed all Mother’s rights, and she would be at the mercy of Mariette if she were to stay on at the manor.
“He wrote this when we parted for the last time,” she said.
If she knew I suspected a different age of Samuel, she did not show it. Perhaps it was only that which I felt was missing from the things she had told me earlier, and something she felt might affect Samuel’s chances of acceptance or inheritance. I was tempted to question her about the date of his birth, then wondered what benefit it would serve. As a matter of course, more details would surface, and I would delay it till then. Regardless of timing, Edgar and Mariette had sealed their union perhaps not only for love, but to protect the child.
“I thought that just bringing the boy, who I believe is so like his father, would be enough,” she said. “I thought the certificate would be enough. But this letter especially affects Abigail.”
She was right. Mother would be hurt. Edgar couldn’t change the terms of Father’s will, but he could appoint a temporary estate manager and trustee in the event of his absence, or for a child not yet of age. Only in the event that something happened to Mariette would the estate management fall back again to Mother, along with any guardianship of beneficiaries.
It must have meant that Edgar trusted Mariette, after knowing her for such a short time. Some might think such precautions about any future children extraordinary; yet knowing Edgar’s attention to detail, I did not believe this was out of character. But what I was most curious about was why he would replace Mother with someone who did not understand the business. Unless of course Mariette knew much more than she was letting on.
“But please say nothing of this yet!” she implored, and held out her hand to receive back the notepaper. “This bequest will make Abigail suspicious of me once more. I have to allow more time for her to see that my intentions are good, and to accept Samuel as her own blood. And, Rudy, even when the will does eventually come to the attention of your mother, I promise that Lakeland Manor will always be your home and hers.”
She was in fact simply buying time, and with every intention of presenting the will at some point.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “I’m afraid the day has caught up with me
and I am very tired. Samuel will no doubt be up early.”
A will, a photo, a marriage certificate, and the priest who could perhaps identify her should it come to that. But even that would not be enough for Laurence. I knew him too well. Mother was relying on the typed record from the registry of deaths in service to come to give her closure on her son’s death. As if this would somehow signify a change. But I wasn’t so sure she would ever find closure, and she would perhaps never fully trust Mariette even if she accepted this as Edgar’s true and final wishes.
And if Mariette was not here for the boy, why was she here? She knew well enough about the estate and the effects of the will: a fact that would haunt me in times to come. Despite her verbal declaration of intent, the idea that she might be here for the money that the estate could bring her crossed my mind. But I vowed not to allow myself to think such things that might dent my feelings of goodwill. The child, I believed, was Edgar’s, and Mariette was innocent of any kind of subterfuge. She was strong and independent, yet I felt she was vulnerable as well. I would still, given there was yet some information unknown, do everything I could to protect her and her son.
CHAPTER 7
Mariette had taken hold of my thoughts; the kiss replayed over and over in my mind. I was not looking forward to returning to work in Manchester or wallowing in my small flat the following week with images of her at the manor without me.
If I could work the land and the house like Bert and plough a field and groom the horses for the rest of my days, I would be a happy man. I could not bear the idea of losing access to the estate, though I felt it was simply a matter of time and money, regardless of whose hands it fell to. I had no high-paying career ahead, or grandiose ideas like my father. I was not like Edgar, who was born for success, or Laurence, who was born for London society. I was perhaps part like my grandfather, who enjoyed the country life, and part a new breed in the Watts clan also: someone who craved ordinary. I had not even contemplated a wife, not like Edgar, who said he would marry one day as if there was no doubt that this had to happen, or Laurence, who loved the attention of women. In the absence of any serious relationships, I had already prepared myself for a life of bachelorhood.
After breakfast on the terrace the following day, Samuel was keen to find Bert again to collect the eggs from the chicken coop at the back of the stables. I asked Samuel if he liked it here, and he nodded politely. He had grown more confident in the time since he had arrived, and without the dolefulness and trepidation he had first displayed. He ran off in the direction of the stable after Mariette excused him early from the terrace table.
We talked of Samuel and her desire for him to ride a horse, and I learned of her love of horses also. She told me she had ridden many times during her childhood. I was pleased we had that in common and wondered whether she might own riding clothes.
“You have brought such a small bag of items,” I commented. “Did you want to send for the rest of your things?” I hoped that I didn’t sound too expectant.
“No,” she said distantly, watching Samuel disappear from view. “It is all I have.” She excused herself quickly, perhaps to avoid any further talk of Edgar’s will. However, I had made the decision not to say more about it unless she first raised it.
Peggy had continued to raid Mother’s treasure trove of clothes that she was planning to give away to the poor, but she found the fashions, though as fine as any other, were from the previous century. I sought out my mother to learn how accepting she was of Mariette wearing more of the clothes Mother no longer wore.
“I think she has enough of my castoffs now. I insist that we use a portion of finances to buy her some clothes. Take her to Kendals.” Mother’s favorite fashion emporium in Manchester since her dressmaker retired. “I suspect Mariette will be here for some time yet, and while she is here, she must at least represent us at her best. I suggest you take her to the city as soon as you can.”
Despite everything going on, Mother was still about propriety. The fact that on the odd occasion we had a visitor, we must at least appear with means. And in a rare show of spontaneity and appreciation, I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.
“What was that for?” she said, a little red-faced.
“It is for all the things you are trying to do and will do again.”
Since it was not yet midmorning, we had time to catch the train and be in Manchester before noon. Peggy said that she would keep an eye on Samuel. Mariette had seemed a little embarrassed by the suggestion at first but agreed to go. She told Samuel that she would bring him back something.
“Would you like him to come, too?” I asked.
“As you have already witnessed earlier, he is tired of travel, and he travels even worse than me.”
Bert drove us to the station, somewhat fast I might add, fearing we’d miss the last morning train, and Samuel stayed with Peggy with promises of sweet treats. I sat beside Mariette on the train and saw some people view her curiously. She displayed a youthful curiosity peering out from the train windows to wave at strangers on the platform, to search for the stationmaster who whistled the departure, and then to point to objects along the way, speaking without fear of someone hearing or judging her in some way.
We disembarked onto the exchange station in Manchester, filled with the sounds of human commerce. The streets were busy with shoppers, noisy with trams and cars and horses and carts. Mariette absorbed everyone and everything, as if afraid she would miss out on something. In Kendals emporium, she viewed the women’s fashions as she walked along, and I could tell that others were intrigued that someone so young could be dressed in the restrictive fashions women had freed themselves from a decade ago.
The sales assistant was at first curious and awkward perhaps because she was unsure of Mariette, who was not shy in rushing to the dresses and pulling them off the rack. The assistant was slightly vexed, as if being faced with a boisterous child, but she soon fell under Mariette’s charms also and seemed eager to find dresses to suit her.
Two dresses were chosen for her, but I think Mariette would have loved anything. The first was pale yellow-gold with a large sash on the hips, short sleeves, and a cropped coat to match for the cooler months just ahead, with fur around the collar. The second was in a dusky pink with a dropped waist, chiffon overskirt, and flowers embroidered over one shoulder. The back was cut low, exposing much of her smooth skin. As well, I bought her a black shawl, a pair of shoes, stockings, a velvet wrist purse, and hats to match both dresses. She purchased with her own money—even though I pressed upon her that I would pay—a silk handkerchief from the men’s section and butterscotch sweets from the confectionary department for Samuel. I watched her count out the money carefully, calculating every cent that would remain.
I still had enough in the allowance to take her to lunch at Lyons Tea Rooms and return by nightfall on the train. She kept the yellow dress on, and I watched the men pass us on the streets. She was unusual to look at, a certain exotic foreignness about her that made her also mysterious, and I felt proud to have her on my arm. I do not know if she was aware of the interest she caused, but I am certain that she did indeed feel beautiful, and I caught her spying herself in the glass windows as we passed.
Mariette was thrilled that there were French-sounding meals on the menu. I ordered the sole, and she ordered a cocotte of game, and we chose profiteroles to follow. With two glasses of wine, it was then my time to talk, to tell her more about my life, about my stutter, about my love for my brother, though I tried very hard not to sound too deep and turn the situation into another wake. I wanted to feel better about the past, and in some way I thought that Mariette and Samuel had been sent here for that very reason. As if my brother had willed it so.
By the restaurant window, she watched the people in the streets and chatted about the differences between Britain and France. How the people in France liked to stare back, but the people here pretended they weren’t looking. I laughed at her assessment. She appeared you
ng at heart and unafraid. I assumed she would barely have turned eighteen when she fell pregnant, according to Dr. Macklin’s assessment. And this was another thing that surprised me about Edgar: that he would take to someone so young. The women he had courted in the past had been his own age or several years older.
On the way to the train, I had the sudden urge to take her somewhere else. I had heard of a club, recently opened, that played jazz music, and I was keen to listen. Mariette and I took a table, and I ordered glasses of champagne. She had never been to a club or a dance hall, she said, but she was excited to try one. Perhaps in some way I was trying to copy what Edgar would have done, and I could see clearly how he had fallen in love. However, our time there was brief. I suggested we leave so as not to miss the last train. I was also looking forward to spending some time alone with her.
On the return train Mariette was still talkative at the start, but the travel and the excitement caught up with her, and she fell sideways onto my shoulder. She smelled fragrantly sweet, and I yearned to wrap my arms around her and breathe her in for the entire journey. Her company, I had begun to crave, and from this point forward, my addiction worsened.
Bert was not there at the station to meet us, and I realized that I had given him an earlier time for our arrival. I wondered guiltily how long he had sat there before he had given up.
I insisted on carrying the bags of shopping, and Mariette took off her new shoes to walk barefoot, to feel the dewy soft grass beneath her feet as we cut across fields to reach home. The half-formed moon shone down on the end of our very pleasant day, and Mariette had made me feel happier than I had for some time. I wanted her then like I had never wanted anyone else. I stopped her on the track that followed the descent into the blue, star-filled valley close to home, put down the bags, gently grabbed both her shoulders, and kissed her. I can’t say what came over me, only that I am human after all.
In a Field of Blue Page 7
