by Joan Avery
“My daughter needs to know what a coward he was. What a thief and a liar he was. There is no excuse for this kind of behavior. No excuse at all. A man must take his responsibility to his wife seriously. Even in the worst of times. This is inexcusable.”
“Please,” Victoria interrupted him. “Think about Emily. Think about her child, your grandchild. If you upset her now, she may well lose the baby.”
“That man’s child.” He nodded toward the library. “It would be little loss.”
“I beg of you.” Victoria rose and went to Emily’s father. Someone had to stop him.
Hugh also stepped forward. “She’s right. It would be cruel to your daughter to put this burden on her right now.”
“If you love her, you can’t tell her. Not now. Not today,” Victoria pleaded.
“This is none of your business. Either of you. This is my family and my decision.” He pushed by them both.
“Oh, please, no!” Victoria trailed after him as far as the foot of the steps but he was too fast and he would not listen to reason. She was numb. The sitting room was a blur.
And then she was in Hugh’s arms. He had approached her and simply enfolded her. She laid her head against his chest.
A wail from above rent the quiet. Victoria recognized Emily’s scream of despair.
“How could he? How could he? Poor Emily,” she said. “Emily didn’t deserve this. Any of this. Men! When will you understand everything is not about you and your possessions—your women, whom you see as mere accessories to your lives. We are not slaves. We are not household servants put here for your pleasure. We think, we feel, we hurt. We have pride as well. Why can’t you see that?”
The sound of the front door opening separated them. Hugh offered her no answer, only his handkerchief.
Mrs. Pell returned with a sergeant from the Metropolitan Police. His black coat and hat seemed appropriate for a wake.
“He’s in there. In the library,” Hugh said. Then he led Victoria to the sofa and made her sit. Mrs. Pell remained just inside the door.
“If you could have some tea brought, I think it would help,” Hugh said to the housekeeper, who was still very pale.
“Yes, my lord. Right away.” She bobbed a curtsy and left for the kitchen.
The sergeant reappeared at the door. “If I might have a word or two, your lordship.”
Hugh disappeared into the library. Victoria could hear their subdued voices as they talked.
Guilt lay heavily on her. She had a part in today’s tragic outcome. Perhaps if she had known sooner or told Emily sooner of her husband’s flaw. If she hadn’t allowed Emily to be so utterly naive.
Then she reprimanded herself. Emily had known, but she was a believer. To strip her of this wonderful trait would leave her raw and open to all the evil in the world. She couldn’t have done that.
A horrific cry came again from above stairs. “Oh, God. Please, God. Don’t take the baby away from me, too!”
Heavy footsteps trod the stairs and Emily’s father appeared at the door to the sitting room.
“I have to get the doctor.” The man needed no further rebuke from Victoria. He was rightly chastened by what was happening. He might lose his daughter, for all his haughtiness. He said nothing more but hurried out the door.
Hugh was still with the police sergeant. She was alone for the moment. Emily’s sobs grew louder. She could hear Mrs. Sherman’s voice as she tried to calm her daughter. Victoria made a decision.
She hurried up the stairs.
Emily was as white as her nightgown. The fresh sheets were equally pure except for the red stain that formed and spread. Mrs. Sherman looked up, her eyes pleading for some kind of intercession.
“Emily, it’s Victoria.” She hurried to the side of the bed opposite Emily’s mother. “Listen to me. You must quiet yourself. Calm yourself, please.” She took her friend’s hand in her own, rubbing it to try and restore its color.
“You must think of your baby. Edward would want you to bear his child and love it for him.”
Emily sobbed, this time more quietly.
“You have to be brave. You can survive this. You will survive this.” Victoria brushed loose hair back from Emily’s forehead.
She leaned in close, whispering so only her friend could hear. “You cannot let him do this to you. It is wrong. Wrong in so many ways. You cannot let this defeat you. You cannot let them win.” Victoria did not need to elaborate. Her friend knew very well what she meant.
Emily grew quiet. Only a soft sob escaped her lips, and then she relaxed.
Victoria kissed her friend’s forehead. “You will get better. You will have a future where anything is possible.”
A conversation below told her Emily’s father had returned with the doctor. She rose and nodded to Mrs. Sherman before leaving the room.
She passed the doctor and Mr. Sherman on the stairs. Emily had grown quiet. Victoria hoped that was a good sign.
She wandered back into the sitting room. It sounded like Hugh and the sergeant were finishing up. Soon, the sergeant nodded toward Victoria and left the house.
Hugh approached Victoria. “How are you?”
The thoughtful question caused her to become emotional once more. “I’m afraid she is going to die. I don’t know if she has the will to live any longer.”
He stepped forward and took her into his arms. “She’s young and strong. You have to believe she will recover.” He pulled her tighter to him and pressed a long kiss into her hair.
But death had settled on the house and despair seemed to have become its new occupant.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was dark before all the arrangements could be made. Whitney’s body was taken to a mortuary.
Hugh helped Victoria into the carriage before he joined her for the ride back to her home. He was concerned about her. She was listless and dispirited.
“What did the doctor say?” he coaxed.
“Emily has lost the baby.” She paused. “Perhaps it is for the best.”
“What about Lady Whitney herself?” Hugh needed to keep her talking, afraid if she stopped, he would lose her to a dark place once again.
“She has lost a great deal of blood. They think she will survive, but the next few days will be very telling. What will they do with his body?”
“He will be buried in his family plot. It’s best done quickly. There will be no service. None of the clergy will preside over a suicide.”
She nodded. “What will become of the estate? What of all the money Lord Whitney received when he married Emily?”
He hesitated. He didn’t want to upset her any further. “Since Lord Whitney died without an heir, whatever is left of the estate will go to his younger brother. I believe he is a naval officer.”
“And that will be the end of it? All legal and nicely settled then.”
He didn’t answer her.
“But what of Emily? What will become of her? She has nothing left to rely on, only the goodness of her parents, whom I’m sure will take her in. But is this English justice?” She was becoming impassioned once again.
Hugh needed to reason with her. “Primogeniture, inheritance of the eldest and no others, and the inability of women to hold property in their own right are some of the longest held values in this country. They cannot be changed overnight. There is movement in these areas toward a more just society for women. Things will change. You will see. We are trying, Victoria.”
“Yes, yes. I know. But will it be soon enough for Emily, for me?”
He lowered his eyes, unable to meet her gaze.
“That I don’t know.” He looked up again. “But without challenging the laws, without fighting for what we think is right, there will be no change. That is our obligation. That is the trust given to us by all those whom the laws have unjustly stripped of property and possessions.” He wanted to give her hope.
She shook her head. “We women are in a sad state, indeed, when we don’t even have the means to change our
own position. We cannot even choose those who command our destiny. Universal suffrage cannot be denied much longer. You realize that, don’t you?”
A slow smile crossed Hugh’s face. “You would have me betray my own feelings and make myself vulnerable to your arguments?”
She smiled sadly. “I don’t think I could convince you of anything you didn’t already believe.”
He did not answer her.
They continued their ride in silence.
The carriage stopped, and Hugh stepped down. He offered a hand to Victoria. It reminded her of that first night, not so long ago, when she had slipped and he had kissed her.
She descended the carriage, and he dismissed the driver.
“Aren’t you taking the carriage home?” she asked.
“I believe I would like to walk tonight.”
She took a deep breath of the chilly winter air. Fog still filled the night sky. She reached out to touch him. “But it is so cold out.”
He brushed a dark lock from her forehead. “You are a remarkable woman. Do you know that?”
She searched his eyes. What did he mean?
“You are intelligent and passionate. You dare to expose yourself to criticism without a care for anyone’s opinion. You fight for justice in the face of injustice. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone as committed.”
She smiled softly. “I think that is perhaps the nicest complement I have ever gotten. More so because the word ‘beautiful’ never entered into it.”
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “You are beyond beautiful.”
His breath and his words sent a chill down her and she shivered. Too many times she’d been told how beautiful she was. She wanted…needed to hear more. And here was a man who offered more.
It was heartbreaking so many things still stood between them. Lord Stanford chief among them.
“Where have you gone?” he asked.
She laid her head against his chest. “I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of all the things that may come between us. Perhaps of all the things that should come between us.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “Do you realize how unwise this is? I could be using you. I could be using my feminine charms to sway your opinion and win my case.” She had voiced the thing that worried her most. The thing she couldn’t bear him to think.
He laughed then. “You couldn’t use a man, or anyone for that matter. You are far too opinionated, far too dedicated to your causes to put your passions aside for anything or anyone. You lack the guile and wiles of most of the women of my acquaintance.”
She pouted slightly. “That does not make me sound at all feminine or attractive.”
“That makes you all the more precious to the right man.” He released her. “I should go. Try and get some rest.” He headed toward the far side of the square and home.
She did not move. She was no longer cold. No longer discouraged. Perhaps, for the first time in her life, no longer alone.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Oh, miss, you’re up and dressed. That’s good. Someone has come.” Mrs. McCreery sounded upset. Victoria had not slept well and had risen early from confusion and frustration. She finished up her toilette at her dressing table and rose.
“Who is it, Mrs. McCreery?”
“Mrs. Sherman has sent a boy. She begs you to come immediately to see Lady Whitney.”
Victoria’s hand flew to cover her mouth. A terrible dread invaded her mind. “Have him tell Mrs. Sherman I’ll be there directly. And have the carriage brought immediately.”
She waited impatiently for the carriage. Why did it take so long? She needed it now. She was afraid. She never had been so afraid in her life.
Finally the carriage pulled up. “To Lord Whitney’s. As quickly as you can.”
The jarring of the carriage as the driver maneuvered hurriedly through the early morning streets did little to dispel her worst fears. Please, God, no. She didn’t put words to the request. She couldn’t.
Within minutes, she had arrived at Emily’s. As she stepped down, she looked around her for any clues as to what was happening inside the house. All was quiet.
Victoria didn’t know if that was good or bad.
She rapped hard on the door. Mrs. Pell answered. She looked as haggard as Victoria felt. “Mrs. Sherman has been expecting you. She’ll be pleased you’re here so quickly.”
Mrs. Sherman appeared at the top of the steps and hurried down. “Oh, my dear. You’ve come. How can I thank you? Emily is…”
Victoria held her breath. She couldn’t be too late. Please, God, don’t let me be too late.
“Emily is so distraught I cannot calm her. You must speak to her. I’m afraid if she doesn’t calm herself, she will—”
Mrs. Sherman didn’t have to complete her sentence. Victoria sent a prayer of thanks and raced up the stairs.
She could hear Emily crying before she even entered the room. Emily lay with her hair splayed about her pale face and her chest heaving with the sobs.
“My dear friend, what is it? Please calm yourself. How can I help? It pains me to see you so upset.”
Emily tried to speak but tears clogged her nose and throat. Victoria offered her a linen handkerchief that lay on the small table beside the bed.
As Emily tried to collect herself, Victoria checked the white linens. There were no telltale red stains. She relaxed a bit.
“Why have you sent for me? What can I do to end this misery for you?”
“Oh, Victoria! They are going to bury him without a prayer, without his wife there. I need you…” She sobbed once and then recovered. “I need you to go there for me. Stand in my stead. Here…” She struggled with her wedding ring, pawing at it with her weak fingers.
“Shhh. Shh. Let me help.” Slowly Victoria removed the small garnet ring from Emily’s finger.
“Tell him I forgive him. He was a good man and a good husband.”
Victoria nodded.
“You must pray for him. No one else will. Promise me this.”
“I promise.” Victoria’s heart was breaking for her friend.
“Put this in his coffin. That way a little of me will always be with him. He’ll know I had come to love him. And despite all that has happened, love him still.”
Love. Did Emily know what love was? And then she thought possibly Emily had a much better idea of what love was than she herself did.
“They are burying him soon. In the family plot in Brompton Cemetery. You must hurry. Promise you’ll do this for me.”
“I promise, my love. Quiet yourself. I shall go immediately, but you must promise me you’ll rest.”
The haunted look in Emily’s eyes seemed to recede with Victoria’s promise. Victoria leaned over and pressed a kiss onto her friend’s forehead. “I promise I will do this for you.”
…
The fog seemed grayer and thicker than usual so early in the morning. The cemetery was on the far side of Kensington Park. Victoria would have enjoyed the ride any other day, but today she worried she would be too late and would not be able to uphold her promise.
Brompton Cemetery was a new garden cemetery of over thirty-nine acres built in eighteen thirty-nine. It attested to the newness of Lord Whitney’s pedigree that his family plot was here and not at the manor house or village church of the manor. The cemetery was designed to give the feel of a large, open-air cathedral. It was rectangular in shape with a central “nave” that ran from Old Brompton Road toward the central colonnade and the chapel, which was built as a modest representation of St. Peter’s in Rome.
Victoria had little time to admire the beauty of the gardens and water features. The driver had sought out directions from the caretaker and as they drove farther into the park, beside the elaborate colonnades that ran along the main drive, she was enveloped in gloom.
The carriage stopped, and the driver came to hand her out. She still did not see what she was looking for. It wasn�
�t until she cleared the carriage that she noticed a paltry group near a large headstone forward of the carriage. The grass was wet with fog and dew, and the hem of her dress grew heavy with the weight as she made her way over to the five men. The drag on her dress matched her mood.
She remembered Hugh had said Edward’s younger brother was in the navy, and there was a single naval officer in the group. The other four men appeared to be from the mortuary sent to convey the casket.
The officer looked up as Victoria approached.
“Excuse my intrusion, sir. You are Lord Whitney’s brother, I presume?”
The officer nodded. “And you would be?”
“I am a friend of Lady Whitney.”
“Ah, you are an American as well. I’m Christopher Whitney.” He extended a hand.
“Victoria Westwood.” Victoria took the man’s hand. “You have my condolences, Lord Whitney.”
“You are the first one to refer to me by that title. It seems strange still.”
The man was ramrod straight and in his late forties. He bore a striking resemblance to his brother.
“Your brother was a kind man. He was extremely kind to Emily.”
“Yes, she seemed a sweet girl. Edward was not an evil man, Miss Westwood. He was kind and generous and had only one fault.”
Victoria liked this man, who seemed to share his brother’s kind demeanor.
“Unfortunately, that single fault seems to have ruined us.” Lord Whitney shook his head sadly.
She looked down, away from the pain in the man’s face.
“I will try and sell what I can to pay his bills. No doubt, the estate will have to be leased. I suspect there will be little left when all his debts are settled. Lady Whitney is welcome to that amount. I have made a life for myself at sea and have little need of it. But you must tell her that what there is will be hers.”
“That is most kind of you.” Victoria was surprised at his generosity. “Her parents are with her. I have no doubt they will see to her needs.”
“Do you think she will be returning to America with them?”
This hadn’t crossed Victoria’s mind. It was painful to contemplate. She would miss her friend dearly. But it did seem the best thing for Emily.
