It was when Maria said, half-serious, half-laughing, “They’ve quite made up their minds, ma’am, that it will be a boy! It never seems to occur to either of them that it may just as easily be a girl.”
“Well,” replied the Countess, slowly, “I daresay you wish for a boy, so that you may please my husband and your own. But you know, my dear, there’s more comfort to be had from a girl — boys are so soon lost to you.” A look of alarm crossed her face. “But there! I should not say so, and I beg you won’t repeat it to Neville — nor, indeed, to anyone. Pray, pray do not, my dear!”
Maria reassured the shrinking woman, reflecting how sad it was that she should go in such terror of her husband that she dared not even pass an innocuous comment such as this.
“Of course I will not, if you don’t wish it,” she said gently.
Then, thinking to change the subject so that Lady Alvington might not dwell on her indiscretion, she began to talk about Edward Lydney’s recent marriage to a Miss Sophia Barham, a young lady of fortune who lived near Brighton.
“Such a pity that they are to take up residence in London,” she remarked. “That is, a pity from my husband’s point of view, as Mr. Lydney is his closest friend. But I daresay they will contrive to meet fairly frequently, after all.”
The loss to Neville was greater than Maria realised. Edward Lydney had been his only confidant, and now there was no one to whom he felt able to speak freely. His wife, the natural successor to this role, was debarred from it both by the nature of the secret which he must guard and from his own indifference to her.
Had his character been different, he might have learned in time to return her love, and then they could have shared all the secrets of the past and met the future together. As it was, though outwardly united they went their separate ways and could glean no comfort from each other.
The months passed, and on a bright day in May their child was born. It had been a long and difficult labour for Maria, and the Nurse carried the lustily yelling infant from the room almost before its mother had time to see it. The Earl, waiting impatiently with his own family and Maria’s parents, stepped forward eagerly as the swathed bundle was borne into the room.
“A boy?” he demanded. “Is it a boy?”
The Nurse proudly displayed her burden, still loudly complaining at its eruption into a cold, unfeeling world.
“Yes, m’lord, a boy, and a healthy one.”
“B’God, we’ll wet its head, Cottesford, what d’you say? Neville m’boy, you’ve brought it off. Congratulations!”
The ladies gathered round the infant, admiring and tracing likenesses in its tiny features, after the manner of grandmothers. Just then, Maria’s personal maid burst into the room.
“My mistress wants the child,” she announced.
“Not now,” the Nurse answered, firmly. “She must rest. Did not the doctor say so?”
“She won’t rest until she has it in her arms,” persisted Jenny, firmly. “Give it to me, if you please.”
“Best humour her,” said the Earl, tolerantly. “Hand the infant over, Nurse, and for God’s sake have a care with it.”
This earned him a dark look, but Nurse could do no other than obey, and Jenny took the precious bundle from her, carrying it back to the bedchamber.
Maria extended her arms to receive her baby, and gazed down in wonder at the tiny, perfect features at present distorted with yelling.
“There, my darling, there,” she soothed. “Should he be red like this, Jenny? Is there anything amiss with him?”
“Bless you, Miss Maria — milady, I should say — they’re all red when they’re born. And the doctor says he’s as stout in health as can be. He’s a fine boy, and you’ve no cause to fret. Now give him to me like a good girl, and get some sleep.”
But Maria shook her head. “Not yet, Jenny-penny. Only let me hold him for a while.”
As she bent over the infant, he fought one tiny arm clear of its coverings and seized one of his mother’s fingers in a surprisingly firm grip. A wave of tenderness swept over her, bringing a throbbing to her breasts. Instinctively she gathered the child close. His wailing ceased abruptly as his mouth found the sustenance and comfort he had been seeking.
“My son,” she murmured. Tears of joy blurred her vision. “My own sweet child!”
Maria was to experience now the testing period which she had always foreseen must come about if she and her husband continued to live at Alvington Hall. The Earl had quite made up his mind that the future heir of Alvington was his exclusive property, and that he would determine the child’s upbringing without reference to the parents. Maria was equally determined that she would not allow this to happen.
The first clash came early.
“What shall we call our baby?” Maria asked Neville a few days after the birth, when he had looked in to see her. “He must have a name to answer to, bless him, even though he won’t be answering us intelligibly for a while as yet! Do you know, I think I would favour the name Anthony. It’s Papa’s second name, and I’ve always liked it. But not if you have another preference, of course.”
Neville shrugged. “As to myself, I’ve no objection, but my father’s already decided what the child’s to be called.”
“Indeed?” Maria infused both surprise and indignation into her tone. “And may I ask what the Earl’s choice happens to be?”
“Now don’t bristle up, Maria, for you know it can do no good! He thought Pelham should be the first name — after himself, you know — and then Neville for myself, and after that Charles, as it’s been a family name for generations. I suppose he would have no objection to your tacking on any other names you fancy, though he didn’t actually mention that.”
“I see. And didn’t you point out to my lord that we might reasonably expect to have a say in the matter?” asked Maria, coldly.
“Oh, Lord, Maria, don’t put yourself into a taking! You know as well as I do that it never pays to argue with my father. Besides, what does it matter if the child goes by one name or another? We shall soon accustom ourselves to it, whatever it may be, and never think of him under any other. Now pray don’t make a stir, but let him settle it as he pleases. It’s the only way to keep the peace.”
“I do not like Pelham, and I do like Anthony! And as I bore the child, I think I have some rights in the naming of him.” Her tone had been aggressive, but she softened suddenly, stretching an imploring hand towards him. “Oh, my dear, is it always to be like this? Will you never face up to your father in anything? We cannot — must not — allow him to manage the whole of our lives in this way!”
“That is a gross female exaggeration,” retorted Neville. “In what way is he seeking to manage the whole of our lives, as you put it? We live pretty much as we please, in my opinion.”
“But we do not, my love,” she said, still gently. “Would you not prefer to go away from Alvington, and have a home of our own somewhere?”
He considered this for a moment. “Well, I might perhaps care to have a house in Town, later on. But at present I think Alvington suits me well enough, and I can always pay a visit to London from time to time.”
She noticed sadly that he did not speak of her accompanying him on these visits, but she made no comment on that.
“I was not thinking of London. I meant somewhere in the country, suitable for our child — perhaps Oxfordshire or one of the adjacent counties.”
“That would be scarce worth the trouble and expense of setting up a separate establishment. Since I am to inherit Alvington, we may as well make our home here. I have a fondness for the place, and, besides, it pleases my father for us to remain.”
“That is precisely what I mean. Everything is to be ordered to please your father!” Her indignation rose again. “Well, you may tell him that I will not please him in the matter of our son’s name — I insist on Anthony!”
“I tell you what it is, Maria,” he replied, his colour rising. “You will become a nagging wife, if you d
on’t take care! It’s your duty to obey me, and I must ask you to remember that.”
“Obey you, yes, but I’ve taken no vow to obey your father.”
“It comes to the same thing, since I desire to comply with his wishes in this regard.”
“And what of mine? Do they count for nothing with you?”
She did not mean to provoke him, but she was still a trifle weak, and the tears came in spite of her efforts to keep them back.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” He had a natural masculine dread of a woman’s tears. “Very well, then, I’ll do what I can. But I’m not prepared to have a scene with him, and so I warn you! If he won’t come round, you must make the best of it.”
He mentioned the matter tentatively to the Earl, tactfully representing it as one of those whims which might be expected from a female who had recently been confined. Somewhat to his surprise, his father was pleased to be indulgent.
“Ay, ay, very likely, Neville, and she’s done her part, after all, in producing a boy. Anthony, eh? Well, it’s not so bad a name. There was a Stratton who was an Anthony, too, now I think of it, though only a younger son. Anthony Pelham Neville — yes, it will serve. Very well, m’boy, Anthony it is. I’ll tell her myself.”
Neville breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that his troubles were now at an end. But in a day or two, another crisis occurred when it came to the Earl’s ears that Maria was suckling her child.
“Never heard such damned nonsense in my life!” my lord exploded. “No lady of Quality ever gives suck to her brats. Get the housekeeper to find a wet nurse — plenty in the village, I’ll be bound.”
Neville promised that this should be done; but he had reckoned without his wife, who once more opposed him, gently but firmly.
“No, I don’t wish for a nurse for him — at least, not yet, until he’s a little older and I am obliged to go into company once more. But at present we’re both so content in the arrangement. He’s thriving, and I’m happy in being of use to him. It forges a bond between us — I’m certain of that.”
In vain did he put forward his father’s views; she was adamant. The Earl went so far as to remonstrate with her himself, but she artfully stressed the fact that young Anthony had put on weight; and in the face of this welcome news, he decided to let well alone.
“I’ll tell you what it is, though, m’boy,” he said afterwards to Neville; “you’d best have a care with that wife of yours. She’s got a devilish contrary turn of mind, and you’ll be under the cat’s thumb for the rest of your natural if you don’t teach her who’s master without delay. Take a leaf out of my book, and stand no nonsense — firm line from the start.”
The last thing Maria wanted was to oppose her husband; she realised that already they had drifted apart, and she had no desire to increase the breach between them. But where their child was concerned, she felt strongly that the Earl had no right to impose his will; and since her husband would not make this clear to his father, she was obliged to take the task on herself. She was convinced that the whole difficulty arose from their living under the same roof as Neville’s parents. In a house of their own, Neville would be master. She was no bread-and-butter Miss to sit meekly by while someone else took charge of what she rightly considered to be the affairs of her husband and herself. She had respected her father’s authority because it had never been unreasonable; but the Earl was an autocrat who took no heed of any other opinion save his own.
As time went on, such minor crises became a commonplace. The Earl was always interfering in little Anthony’s upbringing, and Maria was resolute in opposing him where she believed this to be in the child’s best interests. Neville, doing his utmost to avoid any unpleasantness with either side, drew farther away from his wife and took no interest at all in his son, whom he was beginning to dislike as a source of unwanted trouble.
In these rather bleak circumstances, Maria did her best to remain cheerful. Increasingly, she fell back upon her own resources, drawing unfailing comfort from her child.
CHAPTER XI
The unexpected death of his father elevated Neville to the Earldom when little Anthony was only three years old. The fifth Earl was thrown from his horse while hunting and was killed instantly. Although no funerary observance was lacking from his obsequies, no one truly mourned his passing. To Maria, who blamed his constant interference in their domestic concerns for the alienation of her husband from herself and the child, it brought hope of an improved relationship for the future.
The dowager Countess decided to remove to Bath to share the home of a widowed sister. Maria was sincere in pressing her to remain with them, but her mother-in-law unexpectedly stood firm.
“You are mistress here now, my dear, and will go on much better without me. You’ve had but a sorry time of it so far, but once you and Neville can be alone together with your dear little boy, I’m confident matters will mend. As for me, I like Bath. The air suits my constitution, and my sister will be delighted to have me with her. So long is I may see my dear grandson from time to time, I shall have no regrets.”
Maria noticed that she made no mention of seeing Neville, and felt all the sadness of this omission.
It was scarcely surprising that Neville should at first find himself at a loss without his father’s guiding hand. He had seldom been permitted any say in the conduct of his personal affairs, and now he was abruptly confronted with the management of a large estate with its usual complement of tenantry and staff. It was fortunate that he had two capable allies in his attempt to enact the part thrust upon him. One was his land agent, a shrewd, conscientious man called Harrison, who had been in the family’s service for close on twenty years, and had all the business of the estate at his fingertips. The other was Maria herself.
In her desire to establish the loving relationship with her husband which she knew was lacking, Maria was eager to aid him in any way which he would permit. He realised that she was a well-balanced, rational young woman, and her judgment was generally sound. A prey to indecision himself, he frequently took her advice on what ought to be done; but far from having the effect of drawing him closer to her, this only fostered resentment in him.
To the world, outside, theirs appeared to be a normal enough marriage. They took part in neighbourhood activities and entertainments, were visited by and visited their relatives, appearing always in company with each other on these occasions. But in the privacy of their own home they passed very little time together; while once or twice a year Neville would take lengthy trips to London or Brighton, leaving his wife and child to their own devices. The pattern of the first years of their marriage continued, and as time passed, it was gradually borne in upon Maria that she was powerless to make any change for the better.
She was wise enough to make herself content with what she possessed — loving relatives and friends as well as a never-failing source of interest and affection in her lively, intelligent young son. She would have liked to provide Anthony with brothers and sisters for companionship; but after several miscarriages, she was forced to abandon the hope of more children.
She was glad therefore, both for his sake and her own when in 1795, a year after Neville became the sixth Earl, Alvington Rectory was occupied by the Reverend Theodore Somerby, his wife Amanda, and their three-and-a-half-year-old son, James. The living at Alvington had fallen vacant that year; and as it was in the Earl’s gift, Maria managed to persuade her husband to bestow it upon Theodore Somerby. He had done so grudgingly — not out of any doubts as to Mr. Somerby’s suitability, but because he knew how greatly Maria wished to have Amanda near her. As he could think of no other suitable candidate at the time, and moreover wanted, as usual, not to have too much trouble over the business, it was finally settled to Maria’s satisfaction.
Besides bringing the two friends together, the move was of material benefit to the Somerby family. As Rector of Alvington, Mr. Somerby would enjoy a comfortable stipend and occupy a commodious, well equipped house in the village instead
of the rather cramped quarters to which he had originally taken his bride on their marriage five years before. Amanda was in ecstasy. She darted from room to room on the day when they first came to look over the Rectory, deciding which would be the parlour, the study, or the nursery, and exclaiming over the view from the upper windows at the rear, which looked out across the park of Alvington Hall.
“How nice and open it is, dearest,” she said, drawing him to the window. “And only fancy, we are in a direct line with the Hall! That is, as the crow flies.”
“But you’re not a crow, my love.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “No, but just look. We’ve only to go through that little wood at the end of our garden, and the park paling is on the other side! No doubt Maria could have a gate put in it, if there isn’t one already, but I can’t be sure from this distance. Then there’s only a short strip of ground to cross before reaching the drive. It’s all on an incline — why, I could be there in ten minutes or so, and it would take more than twice as long to walk ‘round by way of the road and all up the length of the carriage drive.”
He hugged her, laughing. “And you’re so impetuous, my love, you could never tolerate such a delay! But it occurs to me that Lord Alvington may have objections to putting a gate in his fence merely for our convenience.”
“No, why should he? I’m sure it would be the easiest thing in the world to do, and he need not consider the cost, after all, for he’s as rich as Croesus! It would make it so easy for us to visit each other whenever we wished. Besides, it would be pleasanter for our little boys, too. Maria agrees with me that they should play together as much as possible, seeing that they are only children and would otherwise lack companionship.” She paused a moment and a shadow crossed her face, but the next moment she went on again in her usual lively way. “It would be so much quicker and more convenient for them than having to trudge along the dusty road, or go cooped up in a stuffy carriage. You know what my views are on fresh air and as much freedom as possible for children.”
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