Lost Autumn

by Mary-Rose MacColl

  “Everyone likes you, sir.”

  “Maddie, you really are the dearest dear.” He gave me a fond smile. “The admiral is not my friend,” he said. “None of them are. They’re just sycophants. But you are my friend, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” I said. I saw his dinner tray, the meal barely touched.

  He sat down beside me now, taking one of my hands in both of his. His hands were warm and soft like a child’s. I noticed the bruises on his right hand were less angry after the days at sea in which he didn’t have to greet all those people.

  I saw there were tears in his eyes. “Are you all right, sir?” I asked.

  “Oh, Maddie.” He sighed. “Do you know what it is to love?”

  “I think so, sir,” I said. “I love my family.”

  “But to love a man?” he said.

  I shook my head. The prince was worrying me again now. He wasn’t quite himself.

  “I think, my darling girl, I might be falling in love with you.”

  “Really, sir?” I said. I had an inkling he was going to kiss me again.

  “David,” he said, and he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. He sat back and grinned.

  I felt an odd combination of nervousness and curiosity.

  Helen’s warning came back to me; he is not to be trusted.

  Oh, what have I done? I thought then.

  I stood, but the prince, who still had my hand, pulled me back down beside him on the couch.

  “I must go, sir. I can’t be here in your room with you.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Sir, you have the races to attend tonight.”

  “Ah, my little Maddie bossy boots, Rupert’s little helper! That’s where you’re wrong. They’ve been canceled because of this awful weather. So I am a free agent tonight.”

  He swung around and kneeled in front of me, his hands on my knees. He looked at me, that smile. “May I kiss you?” he asked.

  I barely nodded. I was afraid, but I was still curious too.

  He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips and then his tongue was in my mouth. I could taste tobacco and smell whisky.

  I felt desire now, welling up from deep within my body. It was my body that began to respond.

  “Oh, Maddie,” he said. He was still leaning over me, his hands moving up my thighs, outside my clothes.

  He pulled at my blouse before apologizing, smiling tightly, and moving to undo it. He lifted my skirt. He was breathing heavily, as if under considerable stress. He leaned back, rubbed his own thighs.

  I watched his face. He wasn’t looking at me.

  He stood now, began to undo his belt, his trousers.

  “I want you,” he said tightly. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment we met. You’re Emily’s daughter. I want you.”

  At the mention of my mother’s name, my desire drained from me in a moment. It was fear that took over.

  “Please,” I said. I could hear my voice as if from far away, high and reedy. “We must stop this.”

  I was having trouble getting breath into my lungs.

  His body was over me now. “We can’t stop,” he said. “Of course we can’t.” His own voice was loud. He was tearing at my bloomers. And then, he was hurting me.

  * * *

  I stopped struggling. I became oddly calm, my body still as a mountain. He was nothing but this frenzied movement on top of me, and the pain was so great, I thought I might die under him.

  Still, I did not move.

  After he had finished doing what he wanted to do, he moved off me and sat back on the couch, his pants around his ankles. I could feel the wetness between my legs. I didn’t know what it was. I wondered if he’d urinated.

  When I could move again, I sat up, tried to pull my skirt over myself to cover me. The firelight in the room, which had seemed dim when I came in, hurt my eyes now with brightness. The prince was puffing but his mood was calm, neither anxious nor upset. He said he was sorry. “I didn’t intend to . . .”

  Perhaps he found me willing. Perhaps he did. “We love each other?” I said. I was trying it out, but the words were wrong as soon as I said them.

  “We do,” he said.

  “So it doesn’t matter?” I said, trying again. “I might have wanted it.”

  “You did,” he said, looking at me oddly. “I suppose you did. But you mustn’t tell the others.”

  “Why would I?” I said.

  “Yes, good girl. It will be our secret. Helen said I mustn’t . . . with you. I’d hate to disappoint her. But we couldn’t stop ourselves, darling, could we? There’s a good girl.” He grimaced. “The fact is, I wouldn’t have done that to you,” he said. “I have had a very bad week. My father . . .”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Yes, of course you do. You’re the only one who understands.”

  “Mr. Waters understands you, sir. He mentioned the letter that came from your brother. He was very upset for you.” I was trying to find the life I’d had before he did what he did, but it wasn’t there anymore.

  “Ah. Well, it seems I am yet again found wanting in comparison to Bertie,” the prince said. He was perfectly calm. For him, what had happened was entirely normal. “The thing that rankles, of course, is that he is no better than me. He just knows how to play up to our father. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps Rupert understands me.”

  I was shaking, I realized.

  “He loves you, sir,” I said.

  “And Helen?” he said. “Helen loves her prince.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. We were both still only half dressed, I realized. “She loves to write for you because you are such a marvelous speaker.”

  I was worried suddenly that someone would come in and find us. I felt shame, shame at what I’d done. I felt terrible about Helen most of all. She had warned me. She had warned me and I had failed to heed her warning.

  I was still shaking. I could not stop.

  “But does she love me like you do?” he said. He seemed not to care if we were found.

  “She loves Mr. Waters.” I had started to fix my clothes. I noticed my notebook and pen there on the table but couldn’t place them as mine.

  “But you’re cold, Maddie. Yes, let’s get you dressed to warm you up.”

  I wasn’t cold. The fire was still burning in the grate.

  “How do you know that?” he asked then.

  “Know what?”

  “That Helen loves Rupert. I thought she and Grigg . . .”

  “In the war. You know the story.” I assumed he knew.

  “What story?” he said, sitting up, looking interested.

  “When Mr. Waters was wounded. Helen was at the hospital. But he had to come back to you, sir.”

  “That’s nonsense,” he said. “Rupert never loved anyone. He loves his prince!” He thought for a moment. “What do you mean Helen was at the hospital? The first one? The French one? I went to get him and took him home. Helen was there?” He frowned. “The rascal. That’s why he didn’t want to leave. It’s why he made me appoint her to my staff. He told me she was excellent with the pressmen, but really he wanted her for himself. Why did he lie to me? I thought he was the only one who was loyal. But he’s just like the rest of them, out for what he can get.”

  There was a knock on the door then. Someone tried to open it as if to come in, but it remained fast.

  The prince made a face at me, a funny face. He was standing up now, buttoning his trousers and tucking in his shirt.

  Whoever it was couldn’t open the door, which was when I understood that the prince had locked the door behind me. He’d locked the door with me in his room.

  I pulled up my bloomers and stockings and straightened my skirt as best I could. I wanted to be away from him.

  “Who is it?” he
said, trying not to laugh, looking at me. I was still shaking.

  “Come on, David, open up—it’s me.” It was Dickie’s voice.

  The prince went over and let his cousin in.

  “Maddie?” Dickie said when he saw me.

  “Oh shut up, Dickie,” the prince said. “You’re a fine one to judge.”

  “I wasn’t,” his cousin said. “Maddie, are you all right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “David, they’re looking for you.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re supposed to be at the races.”

  “I thought that was canceled.”

  “Apparently it wasn’t. We’ve got to get you ready and get over there.”

  “It’s pouring rain.”

  “Yes, but they can’t run the Prince of Wales Cup without the Prince of Wales.”

  “All right,” he said. “Maddie, darling, thank you for looking after your little prince.” He lifted my hand and kissed it.

  I left them then, Dickie calling for James to come to help the prince dress.

  Soon I heard them leaving the house.

  Dickie came to my room just before they left. “Maddie, there’s nothing you need to talk to Mr. Waters about, is there?”

  “Why would there be?” I said.

  I had hoped to be able to come here to my own room and get under the covers and feel safe. I had hoped to cry. But there were no tears. I had sat looking out at the rain without seeing anything.

  Desire. That word desire that I see in books and magazine stories and on the television. Desire. That moment he had first leaned in and kissed me had awoken desire, hadn’t it? Later, I would relive what happened, over and over, moment by moment, in every cell of my body, but I would never feel desire again.

  “Good girl,” Dickie said. “Mum’s the word when it comes to these sorts of things.”

  “Of course,” I said, as if I understood everything about the ways of love.

  He’d locked the door. That’s what I was thinking. He’d locked the door. Why would a person do that?

  Thirty-five

  LONDON, 1997

  I’m going to come right out with it,” Claire said. “Ewan called me yesterday after you left.”

  They were meeting at Torino’s in the banking district, as Claire had lunch with a client. She was dressed in a black suit with a bright pink blouse. Today, she looked the picture of a modern businesswoman, Victoria thought, nothing like the day before other than the pink of the blouse echoing the fuchsia of the T-shirt.

  “Some days a milk-vending machine, today an idea-vending machine,” Claire had said when Victoria commented.

  “The bastard,” Victoria said about Ewan. “I mean, I know I’m having trouble, but what did he call you for?”

  “Trouble with what?”

  “And yes, I had to go in this morning and beg off the Diana story. I’ve never done that before. I’ve always filed to deadline. But Diana. I couldn’t do it. Why call you about it? The bastard.”

  Claire laughed. “Why the fuck would Ewan call me about your writing?”

  “Oh,” Victoria said. “Then what did he call about?”

  “He’s pretty worried about you, as it happens.”

  “Why?”

  Claire just looked at her.

  “Ben?” Victoria said.

  “Look,” Claire said, “I know Ewan hates anyone who’s successful as a matter of course, and Ben’s successful, and I’ve always thought Ewan had a little crush on you himself. But something’s wrong. I know it is.”

  “I see,” Victoria said. “Well, you and Ewan have put two and two together and got five. I know Ben isn’t the sort of fellow I’ve been with before—let’s face it, they’ve all been more like Ewan really. Maybe it’s like me and Tony. Ben will get used to you like Tony got used to me and then we’ll be back to normal.”

  “Did I push you away when I first knew Tony?” Claire said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Believe me, I didn’t,” Claire said. “I know Tony has his problems, but he’s not like Ben. Ben’s got all the signs.”

  “Signs of what?” Victoria found herself getting angry at her friend.

  “He was lovely to start, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Swept you off your feet.”

  “So?” Victoria wasn’t sure where this was going. “We fell in love,” she said.

  “You did,” Claire said. “I know you did. Except . . .”

  “Go on,” Victoria said, her mouth set tight.

  She gave a little sigh. “He is different from the other guys you’ve dated, but that’s not it. What did you first like about Ben?”

  “He couldn’t care less what anyone thought.” And she had liked that about him, she thought.

  She recalled their third date. It was what they’d nearly fought about last night. He’d wanted to take her somewhere special, he said, so he booked Le Gavroche.

  “But sir must wear a jacket,” the maître d’ had said to Ben at the front desk.

  “Why?” Ben had said, tilting his head, smiling slightly. “It’s not cold out.”

  The waiter had looked flummoxed. Clearly he was accustomed to being obeyed. “Never mind, sir. We can lend you one.”

  “No thanks,” Ben said, exaggerating his American accent, Victoria thought.

  “But it’s a requirement,” the maître d’ said firmly, placing himself between them and the dining room.

  Ben reached into his jeans pocket, took out a bill. “You sure about that, bud?”

  Victoria, who’d been standing behind Ben, grabbed his hand. “We’ll eat somewhere else. Come on.”

  He looked at her. “No,” he said. “We’re eating here.” It wasn’t said angrily. It was just a statement of fact, the way he put it.

  It should have been a warning. He lacked . . . Was it respect for old things? Was it affection for tradition? Whatever it was, he lacked it, and when faced with whatever it was, he was not embarrassed, as Victoria might have been, but belligerent.

  They’d dined at the restaurant, Ben the only one without a jacket. For Victoria, it was excruciating.

  What might have saved him was his final gesture. He left an enormous tip and, on the way out, he said to the maître d’, “Thanks again, bud. Good food, by the way.”

  Victoria told Claire about that night now. She left out what had happened later, after they got home, when Victoria had asked him why he’d insisted on dining there.

  “Don’t you fucking tell me what to do.” He’d shouted that, hadn’t he? He’d shouted at her. That was the truth.

  Victoria had told herself that she was the one with the problem, that he didn’t let all the trappings of stupid English propriety get in the way, that she, Victoria, had let him down, not the other way around.

  She looked at her friend. “He’s just not bothered by all the nonsense. It’s refreshing.” But even as she told the story, she saw the seeds of what she’d seen last night, self-belief and confidence turned to rage.

  “What’s wrong?” Claire said.

  “Nothing,” Victoria said. “Nothing. Go on.”

  “Okay,” Claire said. “I am in your corner.” She held her hands up. “If he’s the one, I’ll be clapping you into the bridal waltz. But I want to say this, even though you might hate me for saying it. You have no promise to keep to him, Victoria, and no promise to anyone else. Your dad won’t care if you don’t marry him. I won’t care. The world won’t care. You have to be sure.”

  “Were you sure with Tony?”

  “I was.”

  “Totally?”

  “Okay, not totally. But I knew I was safe. I don’t think you know that.” She smiled across at her friend, tears in her eyes. “I never try to change people. First, you’re a grown-up. Second, you�
��ve never listened to me anyway, and, third, why should you? You’re perfectly happy, by your own account.”

  She nearly told Claire then. I’m pregnant. I’m terrified. But something stopped her. Once she said it aloud, it would become real. It would become the truth.

  “Yes, I am,” Victoria said. “And this is all just pre-wedding nerves. Ben and I wondered if you would be matron of honor.”

  “Of course,” Claire said. “Anything.”

  “Well, that’s great—and now, I must away.”

  “Just know this, Victoria.” Claire grabbed her friend’s arm as Victoria stood. “I’m here when you need me. I am totally here when you need me, and Tony has your back. Ewan too, okay? We’re all on your team.”

  Victoria looked over and saw that the tears had filled Claire’s eyes now and were running down her cheeks.

  Thirty-six

  PERTH, 1920

  It was Sunday now and the prince was to rest until the afternoon, when we would depart Perth for the south again. I hadn’t seen him since the night he’d called me to his room, and sometimes in my own mind, I had trouble believing anything at all had happened.

  After breakfast in the main house on my own, I thought I would go into the office and do as much as I could to get the letters typed for Mr. Waters. I thought if I had something to concentrate on I would feel better, more anchored. Helen came in as I was finishing breakfast and sat opposite me as she usually would. “Are you all right, Maddie?” she said when I stood to leave.

  “Of course,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

  “You seem to have lost your spirit a bit. Last night was so deadly dull. I wished I’d been able to stay back here. We could have had more fun playing skittles.”

  They had gone off to a state dinner the night before, Helen and Dickie and the prince and Colonel Grigg. I had wondered if I would be invited too but I wasn’t. Mr. Waters didn’t go either. He and Sir Godfrey had gone back to Albany by train to pick up mail and meet with the admiral about the tour of India before the ship left. They had only returned late the night before, and I hadn’t seen them.

  I had wanted to tell Helen about what had happened with the prince but found I could not. I was sure I had done something to make the prince do what he did. Of course I had. I shouldn’t have gone to his room. I shouldn’t have kissed him. And underneath my shame was fear. I would have moments of panic—I was having one now, with Helen—and I would have to stop whatever I was doing until I could get breath into my lungs again.