Lady of Passion

by Freda Lightfoot

  My nurse, Mrs Jones, a most excellent woman who had cared for me with every attention, came to me a couple of days later with a request from the workers in the factory.

  ‘They ask if they might see the young squire’s baby, the little heiress to Tregunter.’

  ‘Oh, but it is far too cold to take her out so soon.’

  ‘Ah, no need to fear, madam. We will wrap her up warm. Infants in these parts are very often taken out on the very day of their birth. And we don’t wish to cause offence by having you appear too proud, now do we?’

  I quickly assured her that I did not. So wrapping Maria Elizabeth in a length of warm flannel from their own factory, I presented my daughter to them. What a joyous day that was! How they cheered me, the ladies all wanting to cuddle the baby, while the men heaped blessings on the little ‘heiress of Tregunter’, which was how they insisted on addressing her.

  ‘They say she is the very image of her father,’ Mrs Jones told me, and I felt the kind of sweet gratitude that any new mother feels on hearing their beloved offspring praised.

  That same evening Squire Harris called at last. ‘I trust you are well,’ he said, somewhat dismissively.

  ‘I am most healthy, thank you.’

  Seating himself by my bed, without showing the slightest delicacy over the presence of Mrs Jones, he proceeded to interrogate me. ‘So now you have her, what do you mean to do with the child?’

  I was at a loss how to answer this, and as I remained silent he continued with his unwanted advice.

  ‘I will tell you. Tie it to your back and work for it. Remember, prison still beckons, and Tom could easily die in a gaol, so what then would become of you?’

  I shivered with horror but again made no response. Where was the point in arguing? He had made up his mind that his son, or nephew as he insisted on viewing him, was feckless, and I some heartless trollop who had married Tommy for his alleged inheritance.

  Miss Betsy came next, her plump hands as tightly folded as her prim lips. She glanced nonchalantly at my child, so innocently asleep in her crib. ‘Poor little wretch! It would be a mercy if it pleased God to take it!’

  Such callous words served only to harden my heart against them.

  My precious child was blessed by God in the little church on the hillside above Talgarth when she was but a week old. But my sanctuary was soon breached as letters began to arrive at Tregunter for Tommy, who had by now returned, scarcely allowing any time for him to enjoy our new daughter, my husband became obsessed with only one thought. ‘We must flee. King and my other creditors have discovered our hiding place. We must leave at once.’

  ‘Why do we forever seem to be on the run?’

  ‘Because I dare not risk arrest. It would be the utter ruin of all my hopes of inheritance. We can expect no assistance from my uncle until this problem is resolved. Perhaps we could visit your grandmother?’

  Mrs Jones was appalled by the very thought. ‘You are far too weak to face the perils of such a journey, madam. Delay it for a little while longer, I beg you.’

  I could not disagree with her, neither about the dangers nor my fragile condition. Yet my husband’s liberty was at stake and the prospect of remaining without him at Trevecca, with only the ladies of Tregunter to call upon me, was even more terrible to contemplate.

  ‘I shall make ready to leave with all speed,’ I assured him.

  No one from Tregunter came to bid us farewell as we left the very next day. We proceeded by post-chaise to my grandmother’s house in Monmouth. Mrs Jones travelled with us as far as Abergavenny, cradling the baby on a pillow in her lap, from where we continued alone to our destination.

  A beauty in her youth, at near seventy years of age my grandmother was still a pleasing woman, simply attired in a gown of black silk. She was somewhat pious, and mild in nature, but asked no questions about our situation and warmly welcomed us into her home, gushing over her new great-grandchild.

  ‘I am a little concerned,’ I confessed. ‘As I know nothing of domestic matters, or how to take care of babies. I am still young at only seventeen, and Mama is not here to assist.’

  She smiled at me with an easy confidence. ‘Trust your maternal instincts, my dear, and all will be well.’

  ‘But Mrs Jones has returned home, and I do not even have a wet nurse.’

  ‘Then feed the babe yourself,’ she suggested, with her usual good sense. ‘It may not be the done thing in fashionable quarters, but quite commonplace in other parts.’

  What a joy she was. I began at once to relax and revel in the homely comforts my grandmother offered. Her fireside was in complete contrast to that of Tregunter. And once I felt sufficiently recovered, I enjoyed walking by the River Wye, or exploring the ruins of Monmouth Castle which backed on to the garden of my grandmother’s house. I would accompany her to church, take tea with her friends, and during the month of our stay, on one occasion even attended a ball.

  ‘I believe my spirits and strength have been restored by the change of scenery,’ I laughed, and my new friends flattered me by saying that I danced like a sylph.

  As I was breastfeeding my child, I had taken her with me to the dance and slipped into an antechamber during the evening to feed her. But on our return home I was horrified when she fell into convulsions.

  ‘The fault is all mine,’ I cried. ‘I should not have fed her so soon after dancing. I must have been agitated by the violence of exercise and the heat of the ballroom. Oh, what am I to do?’

  I was frantic with fear. All night I sat cradling her in my arms, and although I tried many times to feed her, she would take nothing more from me. A doctor was brought but the convulsions continued. Neither my husband nor the doctor blamed me, but I could see by the expressions on their faces that they feared the worst as her condition was desperate.

  By morning I’d had not a moment’s rest, and friends who had heard of my trials called to make inquiries, and offer their heartfelt good wishes. Among them was the vicar who had preached to us so recently at my grandmother’s church.

  ‘May I take her for a moment,’ he tentatively asked.

  For twelve long hours I had allowed no one to move her as she continued to fit. I knew the end must be near, that she deserved the last blessing this man of God may be about to offer. Yet I could not bring myself to relinquish my child to him.

  ‘I have children of my own,’ he explained, ‘and have seen one suffer very like this. Will you allow me to conduct a small experiment?’

  I realised that I had little to lose. Maria had no hope of survival if she went on like this for much longer. ‘However desperate the remedy, I beg you to try.’

  He proceeded to mix a tablespoonful of spirit of aniseed with a small quantity of spermacetti oil, and fed it to my child. To my utter joy and amazement, within what seemed only minutes the convulsive spasms abated, and in less than an hour she had sunk into a sweet and peaceful sleep. I cannot describe the relief I felt at her recovery. Never, as long as I live, could I ever thank this dear man enough.

  My husband no longer felt safe at Monmouth, so yet again we prepared to flee. But on the day of our departure a writ was brought forbidding Tommy to travel. Some unknown creditor had issued it, no doubt thinking that since we were so close to his ‘uncle’s’ house, payment for the debt could easily be found. We, of course, knew it could not. My alarm was infinite, the sum demanded far too large for us to have any hope of fulfilling it, and I refused, absolutely, to borrow money from my grandmother. Rather the reverse as I had no wish for her even to know of our distress. Fortunately the sheriff for the county was a friend of the family, a gentleman, and kindly disposed towards me.

  ‘To avoid any unpleasantness, Mrs Robinson, I will happily accompany you and your husband to London, where perhaps his current difficulties may be resolved.’

  We set out that very evening, not even stopping at an inn to sleep till we arrived in the metropolis, and hurried at once to my mother. By then she was living in Buckingham
Street, York Buildings, and her joy at seeing me was boundless. She kissed me a thousand times. She kissed her beautiful new granddaughter, while Tommy went off to spend the day attempting to alleviate our difficulties.

  He found lodgings for us near Berners Street, whither we repaired that same evening. Once we were settled, I retreated once more into my own private world, turning my attention to my beloved poetry and a small collection I had gathered together for publication. I decided the moment had come to have them printed. They were somewhat immature, mere trifles, and I blush at my youthful arrogance in believing them fit to present to the paying public. But money was in short supply and it seemed worth the gamble.

  While I was thus engaged over the coming days, friends began to call upon us.

  ‘We are so pleased to have you back in town,’ declared my old friends Lady Yea and Mrs Parry, but when they suggested I accompany them to Ranelagh, I politely declined.

  ‘My husband has no wish to socialise at present, so pray excuse me if I prefer to remain a stay-at-home new mother gushing over my baby.’

  ‘I am sure your dear mama will happily mind Maria Elizabeth for a little while. Do come with us, you cannot go on rusticating in this fashion. It is quite unacceptable for the woman of the world you have become.’

  I preened myself a little at these words, for after two years of marriage I had grown taller, and had lost my girlish naïvety. I was also vain enough to know that I had matured into quite a beauty, and loved nothing better than to show it off. ‘You are right. I have rusticated enough in the beautiful Welsh mountains. Perhaps it is time to step out a little.’

  For my return to society I wore a simple gown of pale lilac lustring, in accordance with my style, my hair piled high and wreathed with white flowers. No jewels, flounces or ruffles in sight. The entire party complimented me on my looks, and with some trepidation at leaving the solace of the nursery and my beloved child, I accompanied the party to Ranelagh.

  To my complete dismay the first person I saw on entering the rotunda was George Robert Fitzgerald. He looked equally startled, but instantly excused himself from his friends and came over to present himself.

  ‘What a pleasure to see you once more out and about in the world, Mrs Robinson, and without your husband.’

  ‘I am with friends,’ I coldly informed him, as I had no wish to give the fellow the slightest encouragement. Why was it that if a man saw a beautiful woman, he felt the need to possess her?

  Fitzgerald politely bowed and withdrew to rejoin his companions. Yet I was aware of this despicable Irishman watching me for the entire evening. Even when we quitted the rotunda early and were waiting for our carriage, I observed him in the antechamber.

  Could it, I wondered, have been George Fitzgerald who had reported my husband for debt as revenge for my refusing his attentions? Or was it the moneylender, Mr King?

  The following noon I was correcting the proof sheets of my volume of poetry, my foot rocking the basket crib in which Maria Elizabeth peacefully slept, when a flustered servant abruptly announced Mr Fitzgerald, and seconds later in he marched!

  I was appalled. The fellow had no business calling when he must guess that my husband was from home. My table was spread with papers, and everything around me a muddle. Even my vanity suffered a stab of mortification as my morning dress, appropriate as it might be for nursing a child, was not quite up to snuff for receiving visitors. But there was no opportunity to prepare myself as he already stood before me, with that all too familiar wicked smile on his face.

  I received him with a cold and icy mien, and could see that this discomforted him somewhat.

  ‘What a pretty child,’ he said, peeping into Maria’s basket. ‘But then you could produce nothing less.’

  I thawed a little at this flattery of my adored child. I was a most diligent parent, a devoted mother. I fed, dressed, changed and cared for little Maria entirely myself, and she slept in my bed at night. In my view she was indeed one of the prettiest little mortals that ever the sun shone upon. I smile now when I recollect how far the effrontery of flattery has power to belie the judgment, but I did at least think to ask him how he had discovered where we were living.

  ‘I followed you home from Ranelagh last evening,’ he casually remarked, as if this were of no account.

  He came again the following evening to take tea with my husband, and Tommy gave him a warmer welcome. Were we never to be rid of this man? In his wake came more invitations to Ranelagh and Vauxhall, so that in no time Tommy again met up with his old friends: Lord Northington, Lord Lyttelton, Captain O’Bryan, Captain Ayscough, Mr Andrews, and others.

  ‘Ah, good to see you at Ranelagh again, Robinson. Shall we start up those card parties at your new abode, eh?’ Lyttelton asked, as obnoxious as ever.

  ‘I’m afraid the house is not big enough to accommodate such a large party,’ Tommy demurred.

  ‘We are staying with friends at present,’ I hastily added, alarmed by the suggestion as we certainly couldn’t afford such gatherings.

  ‘Let us simply enjoy Ranelagh,’ Tommy laughed. But if my husband imagined himself safe, he was soon disillusioned. Within days he was arrested on a debt of £1,200 and after three weeks in the sheriff’s office, during which he was unable to raise the money, he was taken to the Fleet.

  Four

  Captive Wife

  There’s many a breast which Virtue only sways,

  In sad Captivity hath pass’d its days …

  Each new-born day each flatt’ring hope annoys,

  For what is life, depriv’d of Freedom’s joys?

  Mary Darby Robinson

  ‘Captivity: a poem’

  1775

  Poor, foolish Tommy! I could see no benefit in locking up my husband. How was he ever to repay the sum he owed if he were incarcerated? Yet such was the law. He was even obliged to pay for the privilege, as food and lodging were not provided free. The Fleet at Marshalsea, named after the malodorous river that ran beside it, housed as many as three hundred prisoners, many accompanied by their families. Those who were unable to pay would beg for aid through a grille installed in the prison wall on Farringdon Street specifically for that purpose. Utterly shaming! As I passed through the great stone-framed gateway into the prison to join him, I too felt a deep humiliation, even though I was not required to be there. Simply being in the presence of so many stinking, unwashed bodies was utterly demoralising.

  We considered ourselves fortunate to be allotted two rooms high on the third floor, or gallery as it was more commonly known. Each gallery consisted of a dank, ill-lit passage that ran the length of the prison, with rooms on either side. Ours were each about fourteen feet by nine, with the rare benefit of a fireplace and an even more rare tiny barred window overlooking the racquet court. A tattered curtain, in lieu of a door, hung between the two rooms.

  Here we enjoyed some degree of privacy, if not silence, as there was the constant banging of doors to jangle our nerves; the steady tread of feet shuffling along the passages, sobs and cries echoing in the dark of night beneath the vaulted roof.

  I confess to being shocked at the first sight of our quarters. ‘Are we expected to sleep in this filthy, flea-infested bed?’ I asked my husband. The stink of urine and squalor of our surroundings made me retch, and I was thankful that I’d thought to bring our own bed linen, and basic crockery for our needs. ‘Must we sit on these broken chairs each day gazing upon those vulgar words scrawled by previous occupants on the dirty walls?’

  Tommy made no answer. My husband had sunk into a state of depression from the moment of his arrest, which was why I considered it my duty, as a faithful wife, to be with him in his hour of need.

  ‘He is not worthy of such a sacrifice,’ Mama had cried, outraged that I’d spent much of every day with him at the bailiff’s office, let alone intended to incarcerate myself with him in the prison.

  ‘He is my husband, and I have a duty as his wife!’

  ‘Yet you say you have ne
ver loved him.’

  ‘I feel great sympathy for him.’

  ‘Many people die of fever in prison. Duty and pity will not save him.’

  ‘Do not be too harsh, Mama. Poor Tommy surely deserves some comfort and affection?’

  ‘Why should he, when he has let you down so badly?’

  ‘Because it is not his fault that Squire Harris refuses to properly acknowledge him as his son, or that he is being difficult over Tommy having taken me for wife. And I did help spend some of the money, so should share the punishment. My only concern is for his health, and that of our child.’

  ‘But how will you cope?’ she asked, wringing her hands in anguish.

  ‘I will cope because I must. Left to deal alone with the rakes pursuing me in town without my husband’s protection does not greatly appeal either.’

  Daily exercise proved to be essential in order to maintain health, and to keep up our spirits. My husband was reasonably fit and athletic, so I encouraged him to take part in the racquet games we could see from our window. Tommy became most skilled in the sport, finding the game a pleasant distraction. At other times he might play skittles, and the rumble of the wooden ball, the roars and cheers of the men would echo across the yard.

  I naturally occupied myself with the care of my beloved daughter. I not only kept our rooms clean, but also scoured the stairs and passage close to our quarters. I considered holding back dirt and disease to be an important part of our survival. Finding the necessary funds for our keep was another. Squire Harris sent us one guinea a week which barely covered our lodgings, food and coals for the fire, plus the sums needed to pay our jailers a small garnish for supplying these necessities. I was therefore delighted when Tommy was offered work copying legal documents by his former employers.

  ‘Oh, what a relief, and so generous of them. This will provide us with a much-needed income, from which we can set aside a few coins each week towards paying off our debts.’