Scandal and Secrets

by Christopher Hoare

  The Professor waited until Roberta had sipped from the glass proffered and Mr. Holmes had returned to his seat before continuing. “Do I take it that neither of the parties wishes to end the marriage? That the only actor in this intention is the Marquess?”

  Roberta put her hands to her face. “I feel that I should have been more conscious of the possible ramifications before accepting Lord Bond’s proposal of marriage. I cannot but believe it a mistake for both of us, but I cannot act in any way that would bring shame . . .” A sob escaped her lips. “That would make an innocent child a criminal victim.” She sensed Mr. Holmes’ agitation but did not dare turn her head to look at him. “I am not entitled to do anything to end the marriage if it should bring that harm―” She paused long enough to calm the pressure in her chest before continuing. “I accept my responsibility in causing the Marquess to undertake these actions.”

  Professor Marsh regarded her carefully. “We did establish there has been no . . . cruelty?”

  Roberta could not answer immediately, and so the professor looked toward Mr. Holmes. “Do you know of your half-brother’s inclinations in this direction? He is a violent man?”

  “I would not exactly say so, but I do recall instances where certain young women have . . . complained of injury and refused to meet him again. He has always offered them money to soothe their feelings.”

  Roberta stared. So she was not the only one who found his advances—she had to seize the word—repellent? What had Elise said? He may be a gentleman, but was not a gentle man. “My husband has . . . demands . . . that I did not expect and do not find appropriate for a wife to accept, Professor Marsh.”

  Professor Marsh stared at her. “There is no recourse in civil or ecclesiastical law that can deal with such matters within a marriage, I’m afraid.”

  Mr. Holmes shifted in his chair. “But I see no solution to the problems affecting, not only this couple, but the continuation of the title itself except some amicable ending to the marriage. If such a thing is possible.”

  “Then I can offer you one more avenue of possible investigation into a fatal impediment to the validity of the marriage. You, Mr. Holmes, at the Admiralty, are in an excellent position to follow it. The whole ceremony was sanctioned upon a marriage certificate issued by the Archbishopric of Canterbury, was it not?”

  “It was signed by the Archbishop himself,” Roberta answered.

  “And since this was the sole authority for the naval chaplain to solemnize the marriage, I feel quite sure that the document still exists upon the Medusa, and can consequently be examined.”

  “You think there could be some impediment to the marriage in the conduct of the ceremony itself?” Mr. Holmes asked.

  “I do not have a positive answer to that, but this whole matter has been totally irregular. Far be it for me to criticise the Archbishop, but there is a possibility—perhaps a slight one—that the clerks making up the document may have committed some error that could invalidate it. Naval chaplains do not customarily conduct marriages aboard ship. Of course, if that is the case, Lady Bond and her issue lose all claim upon the estate, but that appears to be the only solution for her plight.”

  “I feel sure the Marquess can be magnanimous in victory,” Mr. Holmes said.

  Roberta nodded her head. The marriage had been a mistake—a foolish vanity that saw her elevated to the nobility. If she were but free . . .

  After that, their discussion turned to less stressful matters and ended in an atmosphere of conviviality. Roberta felt ashamed that she had arrived with such disrespectful suspicions of the Professor’s possible attitude. After another half an hour, they prepared to leave, after their expressions of gratitude and of good wishes had been exchanged.

  The Professor held up one hand as he saw them to the door. “I must tell you one more thing.”

  Roberta stared. “Yes, Professor Marsh?”

  “I had another visitor here last week on the same errand as yourselves, and I gave him all the same opinions as I have offered you—all save one.”

  Mr. Holmes paused from putting on his gloves. “The Marquess has been here?”

  Professor Marsh gave his answer as a smile. “But I did not suggest to him the possible impediments that could derive from ecclesiastical errors. You may or you may not find that a useful line of inquiry for yourself alone, Lady Bond. To use or to hide as you might decide.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Talks with Elizabeth

  Roberta had a great deal to catch up on at her return to Clydebank. The work took so much of her attention that she barely had time to consider her personal matters. The whole problem, with her husband’s attempts to help her and his father’s determination to cast her out, seemed unreal―just a night anxiety to turn her sleeping hours to troubled nightmares.

  Her days were full; the first of the B version spitefuls was at its mooring for her to send off by canal, and she must arrange the whole journey and pick the workers to go with it before she might have the freedom of thought to digest what she might have learned about her marriage.

  The arrival of Elizabeth Grandin by train could not have come at a better time. After an inspection of the shipyard, the two dressed warmly on a blustery December day to take a private walk on the riverbank. “You seem exhausted, Cherie. Have there been many problems with the ships?”

  Roberta shook her head. “Not really, but I will be glad to turn over much of the engine installation to you. Would that suit?”

  “I have been living engines ever since the Spiteful sailed for Chatham, but I am sure I can live them a while longer, if that is what you need.” She slowed her step to look Roberta in the eyes. “Then what is the cause of your pale complexion and general air of exhaustion? Has your father not said anything―or your aunt?”

  “If you see something to be concerned about, I must attribute it only to the problems with my marriage. Mr. Holmes and I went to speak with a Professor Marsh last week. He has suggested I might find it profitable for me to have the special marriage license examined. There is a possibility that I am not properly married.”

  “Good Heavens, that would be terrible.”

  Roberta shrugged. “I expect so―”

  “You only expect so? How is that, Cherie? Do you really regret your marriage that much?”

  “I would, but for one thing. I believe I am exhibiting all the signs of being with child.”

  “You have been examined?”

  “No,” Roberta answered with a rueful smile. “Only by Aunt Nelly and myself. I am sure I may need to consult with a physician very soon.”

  Elizabeth stared. “But if you are not properly married . . .”

  “Yes, I know. I should be hoping and praying that the Marquess fails in all his attempts to annul my marriage, but every day I see that it was a dreadful mistake. Even my father’s business is affected―the directors are considering some action to ensure Lord Bond never becomes the majority owner.”

  They walked on in silence awhile.

  “There is one man who would not regret your returning to the single state again. I feel quite certain he would welcome you even with a family of someone else’s children.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth! You are surely making fanciful suppositions. What have the two of you been talking about these past months?”

  “It is no fancy. I have noticed that if but one of our naval recruits casts the slightest aspersion on the suitability of some aspect of your design his mien changes like the onset of a gale. He is the very lion springing to the defence of its cubs.

  “At other times I have heard him mourn the circumstance that changed your regard for him and whisked it away to settle on that libertine. I am sorry to use the word, Cherie, but His Lordship would be every woman’s nightmare as a husband.”

  “He says, what? That he has lost my regard? I assure you I have the same regard for him as ever I did.”

  “Do you deny that your regard was not somewhat warmer before you went to sea on the Me
dusa?”

  “Warmer? I do not see . . .” But she had to stop. He had written her a letter postmarked Chatham, a letter she had put aside unread and all but forgotten. It had not caught up to her before her return to London as a married woman, and when she read enough to recognise its tone as being unduly affectionate she had burned it in the fire lest it was to do either of them harm. No wonder his words to her when they met on the Medusa after her marriage had been so guarded.

  Roberta slowed her step as she made these recollections, and Elizabeth watched her closely. “You see now, Cherie? I know his mood as he wrote to you after that meeting. It would have been only natural for him to have expected a warmer relationship after his declaration of such concern. When I saw him on his return that day you met at Chatham, he was fearful for such perils you might encounter, but none of his thoughts had then identified Lord Bond as the enemy.”

  “I am afraid Lord Bond had out-foxed us both.”

  “Then you admit to a partiality for Mr. Worthington at that time?”

  Roberta sighed. “What good does that do today? I cannot take back my actions.”

  They walked on in silence.

  Roberta regretted not paying sufficient notice to him when first introduced. She had found his awkwardness in social matters to be a liability, but perhaps she should have found his expertise in steam and engineering principles an important compensation. If she were married to him instead of Lord Bond, the Stephenson Engine Works would not be in such a legal quandary today. The partners would all see how his presence would suit their business―she might design the future ships while he could handle the sailing and selling of them as practical acquisitions.

  Was she still a believer in love? She must surely be able to make an experienced judgment that would weigh the dream against the reality. But what use would be a reality that closed itself to dreams and hope? Could she yet make Lord Bond a model husband? Would she have become the heart’s desire for Alfred Worthington or would they have merely gone through the outward motions of married life? Her questions were without meaning―only the living of such lives would tell the answer.

  Elizabeth remained silent but she had looked searchingly at her as they walked. “You are making plans the way I have seen you make ships,” she said at length. “You chastised me for taking the matter of marriage in a way too cold and mechanical, but I see no passion or wistfulness in your face that could indicate great love for either one. Would you really prefer the one who would most suit your father and his partners?”

  “I cannot speak of preference. I am not offered a choice. If I am carrying the future Marquess of Tiverton, I am nothing more than a milch cow that must be quickened each year to serve my masters.”

  Elizabeth stopped suddenly and threw her arms about her. “Please say you do not mean that. You of all people are a dreamer―a romantic of such innocence that you can carry the hopes and prayers of an entire country. Please let not your spirit be hardened. Please guard that Roberta I know still exists inside you with all your heart and soul. You can yet overcome these trials if you remain true to what is right. I know you can.”

  Roberta felt her eyes tear and buried her face in Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Oh, how I wish I can. How I long for the knowledge to cast out this awful jeopardy.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Canal Acion

  Early on the morning of December the tenth, Roberta stood on the quarterdeck of a harbour tug as it approached the entrance to the Forth and Clyde Canal and watched as their tow―the forward half of the first spiteful to be sent to Tyneside for its engines and completion―yawed a little as the tow cable went slack. She did not want to criticize the master of the tug but felt he may have been too tardy in letting the ungainly piece of ship astern of them lose way.

  “Wha’ d’ye say, Lady?” he said as he turned to face her, his dark eyes piercing her like the muzzles of cannons.

  “You see how awkwardly it handles, Mister Tavish. If my crew cannot gain control and slow its progress before reaching the lock gate, I shall expect you to place the tug between the vessel and any damage from the stonework of the piers.”

  “Ah! Dinna fret, Lass. I ha’ been judgin’ its handlin’ ’ere since I took the tow at dawn. They two steersmen can back paddle tae slow it enou’.”

  Roberta stared at him angrily but chose not to reprimand him for addressing her so familiarly. The two men at the “stern”, the mid-point where the two halves were to be joined at Grangemouth, were an idea she took from her study of Byzantine galleys when she first thought to build a steam ram. The ancients must have known what they were doing when they placed a steering oar on each side of the stern of vessels designed to ram an enemy. She had to acknowledge that Tavish had observed quite correctly the power of manoeuvre this gave the hulk.

  “I hope your confidence will be rewarded, Sir. I intended the steering to work in such a fashion but must remind you that this is the first time that the theory has been put to a real test.”

  He smiled broadly. “Then we mus’ count on the power o’ yoer theery and my ’xperience—an’ the guid Lord’s mercy—to get thay job din right.”

  She laughed. “Five shillings on it?”

  “Let’s say ten will do, if I have nay need to rescue yer vessel by riskin’ mah tug to yon teeth o’ yoer iron Beastie.”

  Roberta nodded and shook his hand on it. Then she had to turn quickly away as a vicious pain made her wince. That was the third cramp she had felt since starting work on the water this morning. Oh dear God, please not that. Not that on this of all days.

  She walked to the tug’s rail and made herself stand and watch in silence as the tow crept closer. The two watermen she had hired from the fishing fleet plied their steering oars like veterans, quickly turning their prior experience to just the right touch and coordination to keep the powerless iron from drifting off course. The deck crew came forrard and tossed the tow line overside.

  The tug’s paddlewheel nearest to Roberta spun into action with a cloud of spray as it pulled them clear of the oncoming tow. Tavish’s deck crew hurried to haul the iron strengthened hemp cable aboard. As soon as the tug steamed clear and she could see her deck crew prepare to release the stern anchor that would hold the tow from hitting the lock gate, she felt able to turn away to go below to where Aunt Nelly had found herself a warm seat in the tug’s galley.

  “Come in, Lass, and ha’ some hot tea,” Aunt Nelly said as soon as she saw Roberta in the doorway. “Ye mus’ be cauld as an undertaker’s heart up there on deck.”

  Roberta gathered her skirts and slid onto the bench beside her. “I cannot stay long, but I think I am . . . I believe . . .” She nodded at her midriff. “I am not sure . . . I have had three severe cramps this morning. What can I do? I must stay to ensure the crews have mastered the job of negotiating the canal.”

  Aunt Nelly’s face turned white as she tried to hide their conversation from the cook. “Oh Lawd, Dearie. What can we do here? Ye must get back to Clydebank an’ see a physician. A new bride can ha’ all kinds o’ troubles from . . . well . . . you know.”

  Roberta had been barely three when her mother had died in childbirth but her aunt seemed to be reliving the whole tragedy. She must be strong for the old dear’s sake. “Impossible, Auntie. I will manage. I have to. But what does it mean? The women’s troubles had ceased, as you told me they would. And now they have returned, but much worse.”

  “Aye, and a physician ye needs to see.”

  Roberta took the steaming mug the cook handed her and smiled her thanks. She took a careful sip and waited until his back was turned before speaking again. “I’m not dying, Aunt. I am sometimes in pain, but I will have to ignore it and soldier on. We will be leaving the tug soon, but please be prepared to help if I should lose blood. I do not know how to control this, but none of the men must be aware of my trouble.”

  Roberta drank her tea and warmed her hands and feet in the galley awhile before returning to the weather deck. Mist
er Tavish saw her return and waved a hand to where the first half of the spiteful nestled into the open lock. She was pleased to see that the big four-horsepower agricultural traction engine she had rented had backed up along the tow-path to receive the towing cable and was preparing to pull its charge into the lock. She had decided on the novelty when she had thought the strain would be too much for the usual horse teams that pulled barges along the canal.

  She walked over to Tavish. “Here is your ten shillings, Mister Tavish. I am pleased that you were proven correct. Now, if you will be so good as to put my Aunt and myself ashore on the pier, we will get on with the next stage of the journey. You will return right away for the stern half of the vessel, I hope. How many hours behind may we expect it to be?”

  “An hour tae gang down Clyde to catch the tow, an’ three to bring it to the entry lock, M’Lady. Ye may expect tae see it here an hour after noon.”

  “Good. I will look for it. What weather do you expect while my charges traverse the canal?”

  He cast an eye at the entry lock, where the lock gates were starting to close. “Yon iron hulks will nay gang through as fast as a canal barge. Who can tell’t weather fer several days? But I do ken one thing―’twill be cauld. Winter is comin’ down fra Noorth.”

  Cold it proved to be as Roberta moved from tow path to tow several times to ensure her men and the canal bargees she had hired were working well together to negotiate the lock gates and canal banks. The halves of the vessel were designed to fit in the waterway, but there was never more than a foot or two leeway. All other barge traffic was moored in passing channels and private docks until her charge crept past.

  Aunt Nelly had stayed for a while, but with no duties to occupy her she had eventually left to find a warm place in the inn across the access road from the canal offices. “Dinna stay lang, m’girl. Ye need to rest yerself and warm.” Her eyes, only, gave a reminder of the other troubles.