‘Do you take me for a simpleton?’ This rapacious rake was no doubt skilled in the art of disposing of the husband so that he might all the easier seduce the wife. In my case, he would fail utterly in this most nefarious mission.
I at once took a hackney coach and proceeded to the address of my rival, which Lord Lyttelton had given me.
By the time I arrived at the lodgings of Miss Harriet Wilmot, I felt sick with misery and waited impatiently while the coachman rattled the door knocker. A grubby looking servant girl opened the door.
‘The mistress is not at home,’ she stated, with very little conviction in her bored tone.
Stepping down from the coach, I adopted my haughtiest air and strode past her into the hall. All of a fluster, the maid fled, promising to inform her mistress that she had a visitor.
Walking straight into the drawing room I couldn’t resist doing a little exploring while I waited. Opening the chamber door I saw a new white lustring sacque and petticoat lying on the bed. I was examining it with open curiosity, wondering if my own husband had provided these garments for her, when suddenly the woman herself appeared before me.
She was tall and rather handsome, if some years older than me, dressed in a gown of printed Irish muslin with a black gauze cloak thrown about her shoulders. On her head she wore a chip hat trimmed with pale lilac ribbons. On seeing me she appeared confused, almost fearful, and turned pale to the lips.
‘No need to be alarmed. I came only to enquire whether or not you are acquainted with a Mr Robinson?’ I smiled at her, wishing for an honest answer rather than revenge.
‘I am, he visits me frequently.’ Drawing off a glove, Miss Wilmot rubbed a hand over her cheek in a pensive fashion, as if fearful of what I might ask next.
I instantly recognised the ring she was wearing as belonging to my husband, and my heart contracted with pain. Seeing my interest she quickly covered it with her other hand, her gaze flicking over me, taking in the betraying swell of my belly. My condition was thinly disguised beneath a morning déshabillé gown of India muslin, which I wore with a simple bonnet of straw. Draped about my shoulders was a white lawn cloak bordered with lace.
‘You are Mr Robinson’s wife, are you not?’ she asked, a tremor in her voice. ‘If this ring was yours, pray take it.’ Tugging it from her finger she thrust it at me.
I ignored the gesture. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Had I known that Mr Robinson was the husband of such a woman, in such a condition …’
I turned to leave, not troubling to answer, or respond to her pleas of guilt. My cheeks might burn with humiliation but I walked to the door, chin held high.
‘I never will see him more, I swear,’ she cried, hurrying after me. ‘He is a most unworthy man. I never again will receive him.’
I paused to politely incline my head before calmly departing with every shred of my dignity intact.
It was not until the following morning that I mentioned to my husband that I had met Miss Wilmot. He stared at me aghast, but made no attempt to deny that he knew her.
‘I did not seek her out,’ he protested. ‘It was no fault of mine. Lord Lyttelton suggested I call upon her. I did not intend to betray you, my love.’
I gazed upon him with cold indifference. ‘Yet you did.’
‘How did you discover her? Who was it that informed you of my conduct?’
‘That is of no matter.’
He guessed, of course, that the person responsible for revealing his secret was the very same who had mired him in this tangle of infidelity in the first place, that he had himself been betrayed. Sadly, my weak husband was too proud to accuse Lyttelton of such treachery, or to eschew this dangerous friendship. Poor, foolish Tommy was convinced that Lord Lyttelton’s influence at court would shortly gain him some honourable and lucrative position which would be to his benefit.
I was by now quite well known, with many female friends, and often attended card parties at the house of Mrs Parry, a woman of considerable talents, and the author of the novel Eden Vale. It was here that I met the actress, Mrs Abbington. I thought her a most lively and bewitching woman, and my mind turned with regret to my own hopes for a theatrical career. But it was liberating to talk with intelligent women, as sadly too much of my time was spent in the company introduced to us by Lord Lyttelton.
Among them was a George Robert Fitzgerald, the dangerous Irish duellist known as Fighting Fitzgerald. Despite his reputation, oddly enough I felt more comfortable with him than I did with Lyttelton. His manner was quite charming, or so I at first thought. ‘Jew’ King was also a regular visitor.
‘Why does that fellow call so frequently?’ I asked Tommy, irritated at finding the money lender constantly in my home.
‘Do not meddle in matters that don’t concern you.’
I guessed that these visits were connected with the large debt my husband had accumulated previous to our marriage, which, far from being paid off, was growing daily. But since any comments I made on the subject were dismissed, I said no more.
One evening, at Mr Fitzgerald’s suggestion, a party of us visited Vauxhall. As it was a warm, balmy night, the gardens were crowded. We supped by the statue of Handel, and did not leave until the early hours. By then there was only my husband, Mr Fitzgerald and myself left. There was a disturbance, no doubt some drink-fuelled quarrel or threatened duel, there were many such, and the two men ran off to investigate. I almost followed them, but then thought it more prudent to remain in our box, considering my condition. Moments later, Fitzgerald returned.
‘Where is my husband?’ I asked, instantly concerned.
‘We thought you had gone, so he went to look for you by the entrance. Allow me to conduct you to the door, where I’m sure we’ll find him.’
‘Thank you. He will be most concerned for me.’ Taking his arm, we hurried towards the entrance on Vauxhall Road. Tommy was not there.
‘Where can he be?’ I was beginning to feel rather alarmed.
‘No need to fret,’ Fitzgerald said, attempting to soothe me. ‘He has no doubt gone to fetch the carriage.’
‘I cannot recall where we left it, but I know it was some distance away.’
‘I could always transport you home myself. My chaise is around here somewhere,’ he said, glancing about.
‘There is really no need. I shall wait by the entrance for Tommy. If I am not here when he returns, he will be worried.’
‘Where can the fellow have gone? I left him here not five minutes ago,’ Fitzgerald grumbled. These words were barely out of his mouth when he stopped abruptly as a servant, holding open the door of a vehicle, appeared in front of us. ‘Ah, here is my chaise. Allow me to be of service.’
I looked at it in surprise, instantly suspicious. ‘Goodness, there are four horses harnessed to it, rather a large number for so small a vehicle, do you not think?’
He smiled at me. ‘I like to be well prepared for any eventuality.’
‘Such as finding a lady without transport?’
‘Indeed!’ He grinned, and I felt his arm come about my waist as he half lifted me on to the step of the chaise, the servant now keeping his distance.
To my horror, by the light of a lamp I caught the glint of a pistol in the pocket of the open door. What was going on? Surely the fellow did not mean to abduct me? Such tricks were almost common place in certain quarters and I began to resist, panic rising in my breast.
‘Sir, what mean you by such conduct? Release me this instant or I shall scream.’
He paused only a moment to whisper in my ear, ‘Robinson can but fight me, and I have not lost a duel yet.’
I can scarcely describe the extent of my fear at that moment, but somehow I found the strength to force him to loose his hold. I had half-turned to run when I saw Tommy striding towards me, calling out my name.
‘Ah, there you are, Robinson!’ Fitzgerald remarked with an easy nonchalance.
I flung myself into my husband’s arms. ‘We have been lookin
g everywhere for you, Tommy.’
‘And very nearly made the mistake of taking the wrong carriage,’ Fitzgerald airily remarked. ‘Mrs Robinson is alarmed beyond expression.’
I could say nothing to this, but was thankful to have my husband help me into our own carriage and drive home. Tommy appeared to have noticed nothing untoward, no doubt putting my distress down to my delicate condition, and the very reasonable explanation given by his friend. Alarming as the situation was, I consoled myself that it could have been far worse, had Tommy not appeared when he did. But since I could not prove what Fitzgerald’s true intentions had been, and had no wish to risk my husband’s life in a duel, I said no more on the subject. I simply avoided being alone with this dangerous Irishman in future. He continued to call upon me but eventually, when I was never ‘at home’, he gave up, no doubt turning his unwelcome attentions upon some other naïve female.
The poor state of our finances meant that we could no longer afford to stay at Hatton Garden and we removed to a house at Finchley, lent to us by a friend. I hoped to remain here at least until my child was safely born, and happily filled my days sewing pretty little muslin dresses, delicately trimmed with lace or ribbon.
‘Only a few short years ago I was making silly little frocks for my dolls,’ I said to Mama, smiling at the memory. ‘Now I am soon to become a mother myself.’
‘And a fine one you will make, dearest,’ she assured me, fetching a stool upon which to rest my feet. ‘But no more gallivanting. See that you take plenty of rest.’
‘I assure you, Mama, I have no wish to go anywhere. I do not pine for public attention, and it is a great solace to have your company again, after your long stay in Bristol.’
‘Mr Robinson’s social life, however, appears to continue unabated.’
I heard the slight note of censure in her tone, but did not respond to it. ‘I am content to amuse myself with the poetry I love.’ Anxious as I was about the approaching birth, and my husband’s debts, my writing was the one thing that kept me sane. Even as we talked I was scribbling down lines.
‘Perhaps you should curtail your visits into town,’ I suggested later to Tommy. ‘In view of our straitened circumstances.’
‘I have already explained that the matter is in hand,’ he snapped, and continued his daily outings, sometimes accompanied by my young brother, George, who was visiting us at the time. The boy loved any excuse to ride his pony.
After returning from one of these trips, my brother chanced to mention that the pair of them had been to Marylebone, and that he had waited and held Mr Robinson’s horse while my husband made a morning visit.
‘But we have no acquaintance residing in Marylebone, that I can think of,’ I said, rather puzzled. ‘Where, in Marylebone, exactly, did you go?’
He carelessly shrugged, as boys do. ‘I don’t know, but he was some time inside. I grew tired of waiting.’
I was instantly alert. ‘Ask to wait inside next time, and take more notice. Then report to me what you see.’
A few days later my brother came to me again with a tale. ‘You mustn’t let Mr Robinson know that I told you this, Mary, or he’ll never take me anywhere again. He agreed to allow me inside only if I didn’t say a word to you, and I did pay more attention, as you asked. He was visiting a lady, and she must be a very good friend of his.’
I felt an all-too-familiar sinking sense of betrayal. ‘What makes you say so?’
He gave that little shrug again, more sheepish this time. ‘By the way they talked to each other, and how he looked at her. She’s quite pretty.’
Even a youth scarcely in his teens could draw conclusions of no favourable nature, and a deep sadness enfolded my heart.
My brother continued. ‘I noticed a watch lying on the mantelshelf, Mary, very like the one that Mr Robinson once gave you. It was all enamelled and with musical trophies on a steel chain.’
Now my heart almost stopped beating as I had supposed this gift to have been sold off in the general loss of our property when my husband had been settling some of his debts. I wasted no time in challenging him on the subject.
‘Do not blame my brother for this, but I know about your latest mistress, and that you presented her with a gift that was once mine.’
A flush of shame crept into his cheeks, although he made no attempt to deny my claim, rather the opposite as he immediately admitted his infidelity. ‘I had no money to give her.’
‘So you paid her with my watch.’
‘I shall retrieve it for you.’
I gave him the benefit of my most scathing glance. ‘I would not touch it ever again. She is welcome to it, and to you.’
He put his arms about me then, softly kissing my cheek. ‘You know you don’t mean that, Mary, my love. I am truly sorry. It is but the anxiety over our financial difficulties, and your current condition, that took me from the comfort of your arms. We must, I fear, move again before our creditors press us further. We shall leave for Tregunter first thing in the morning.’
I was horrified. ‘Oh, please, no. I cannot leave my beloved mother when I am so close to my time. I need her!’
‘I am sorry, my love, but you will be well taken care of by my family.’
‘I very much doubt it.’ Knowing that I would be obliged to once again tolerate the scorn of Miss Betsy and Mrs Molly filled me with trepidation. ‘Why cannot she come with us so that she may attend me?’ I already knew the answer from the sadness in his eyes.
‘We cannot impose yet another uninvited guest upon my uncle.’
I felt I had no choice but to go along with the plan, albeit in a fit of sulks. We set out once more on the arduous journey to South Wales, despite my being only a few short weeks from giving birth.
The welcome we received on our arrival was even worse than I’d feared. Clearly they had been forewarned of our precarious financial state as Miss Betsy scarcely spoke a word to me, and Mrs Molly was even more difficult than before. Squire Harris was from home, but even he, when he returned shortly after our arrival, greeted us with cold contempt.
‘So you have escaped prison. Have you come here to do penance for your follies? You had much better have married a good tradesman’s daughter, Tom, than the child of a ruined merchant incapable of earning a living.’
Leaving my husband to answer that charge, I fled to our old chamber where I wept tears of bitter misery.
The squire did not soften his stance towards Tommy, or me, in any way. One evening there was a large party invited to dinner, including two members of Parliament and their wives, and an old clergyman of the name of Jones. This latter gentleman elicited from me that I was but two weeks from my confinement.
‘How wonderful that you are here in time to give Tregunter a new little stranger,’ he said, and turning to Mr Harris, added, ‘And fortunate that you were able to finish your house in time for a nursery.’
‘Not at all,’ replied Mr Harris with a caustic laugh. ‘They came here because prison doors were open to receive them.’
I felt my cheeks burn with humiliation as an awkward silence fell upon the gathered guests. My husband was silently seething with fury, barely able to contain himself, yet somehow managed to hold his tongue out of duty.
In fact the manor house was not yet completed, and a few days later Squire Harris called me to his study. ‘I’m afraid there is no nursery, and I have no accommodation for your approaching confinement.’
‘Then where am I supposed to go?’
‘You cannot simply turn her out,’ Tommy protested. ‘This is no fault of hers. And she is my wife!’
After lengthy family argument in which I took no part, it was decided that I should remove to Trevecca House, a place about a mile and a half distant.
‘At least we will be together,’ I softly reminded my husband who was beside himself with fury.
He gave me a bleak look. ‘I cannot stay with you, dearest, much as I would like to. I must find some way to settle our debts and stave off our credi
tors.’
It seemed I was to be all alone, save for a servant woman, in the wilds of South Wales, when I presented this miserable world with my firstborn child.
I was not, after all, to be entirely solitary as Trevecca House also housed the Huntingdon Methodist Seminary. It was set at the foot of a mountain, one I dubbed the Sugarloaf because of its shape. The building was large, and a part of it had also been converted into a flannel manufactory.
Yet despite being surrounded by activity on all sides, I found it a great relief no longer to be subjected to the tyranny of Miss Betsy and Mrs Molly. They never called, neither did Squire Harris, even if I was no more than a mile and a half from Tregunter, an easy ride. Nor did my husband visit, though what he was doing to resolve our difficulties I had no idea. It seemed I had formed a union with a family who treated me as the most abject of beings, and I was obliged to endure their ignorance and haughty manner, as well as my husband’s neglect.
Fortunately my spirit was able to rise above their powers to wound, much as the mountain towered over the white battlements of my habitation. At least I could wander at will and marvel at the soft wisps of cloud that misted their blue peaks. I would stroll along wooded paths, the trees, wintry branches spangled with the frosty dew of morning! Or I would sit at my parlour window and watch the pale moonbeams dart amidst the old yew trees that shaded our little garden.
‘Oh, God of Nature! Sovereign of the universe of wonders! How fervently do I adore thee!’
The poet in me came to life once again as I happily scribbled my thoughts down on paper. I saw it as a gift that I could appreciate the true wonders of creation, and was content to enjoy this period of tranquillity. The scene brought balm to my troubled soul, and I little regretted those of fashionable folly we had left behind.
It was with great joy that I shortly afterwards gave birth to my darling child – my Maria Elizabeth, born 18 October, 1774. I cannot describe the moment when I first held her to my breast, when I kissed her tiny hands, her soft cheeks. In that moment of miracle when I cradled my infant to my heart, I was overwhelmed with love. She was the most beautiful of babies, and I the happiest of mothers. Her very existence brought light and joy to my dreary existence.
Lady of Passion Page 7
