by Lara Blunte
Edmund laughed. "The Earl was flabbergasted, but he knew he would have had to kill Adrian to stop him. James was practically hiding behind the curtain at all this. The Countess just kept looking down at her rings. The youngest of them all had given them a lesson in humanity and heart and they had to pretend they hadn't understood.
"That's how Adrian came to visit our little house in London, and he was so amusing and affectionate that my mother never stopped saying how much she loved him."
With the vestige of a smile still on his face, Edmund concluded, "You see, Adrian was the only person I have met, born high or low, who was free from these little satisfactions that people get from feeling superior. Only he had the kindness and generosity to think of a woman who had made a mistake and who was lonely, and to let her know that she still had a family."
Edmund's eyes were lost in remembrance and he was nodding slowly as he said, "I have a long memory, Lady Catherine, and I remember his purity. I remember what he did for my mother. You must understand, no matter what he thinks, no matter how much he wants me dead, just for that gesture I could never harm him."
IV. Five. A New Life
One afternoon, two weeks after her abduction, Catherine was given a different kind of tea.
She looked into the cup and made a grimace. Fatima, who was always with her, approached her.
"What is it?"
"It tastes strange!"
Fatima smelled the cup. "It's probably the last of the tea. Sometimes it tastes like that, when it's at the bottom of the sack. I will have a fresh pot made."
Catherine shook her head, "No, I will drink this one. I'm so cold!"
She looked out the window again, a fashionable novel, which Edmund had procured for her lying on her lap. Heavy white flakes of snow swirled over the waters of the Golden Horn as ships went by below, their calm sails unfurled. She envied their freedom.
Edmund still claimed that he had not found Adrian, in spite of placing an advertisement in an English language newspaper saying in some sort of code that he was willing to talk to the Earl, and arrange for her release. He explained that this was the way that he and Adrian communicated with each other at times. His cousin would know that it was he who was writing, and what he meant.
Catherine needed to be with Adrian before the child was born and by her reckoning, and Dr. Esgin's, she would give birth within the next month.
Before the late winter snow covered everything, Catherine had walked in the garden with Fatima, trying to understand where the gates were and how many men were guarding the house. She had a fair idea that she could escape towards the Golden Horn via a door at the bottom of the wall that was heavily locked. Surely the master of keys, who jangled past her room so many times a day, had the means to unlock it?
Yet she uncharacteristically oscillated between thinking that Edmund was speaking the truth and that he was not responsible for the murders at Halford and then suddenly thinking, with an icy pang, that Adrian knew better, and that Edmund was a cold and opportunistic killer.
Edmund kept claiming without much alarum that he was an adventurer who had made a certain amount of money through criminal pursuits, and that he wanted to be left alone to deal with a disease that was slowly killing him. This seemed to her the less implausible explanation to what was happening. Besides, he was so civilized, clever and amusing, that it was difficult to think of him as "a thing without a soul".
She was, however, also aware that Edmund was intelligent enough to realize that it was a story with some exotic elements, and yet a dose of the ordinary, that would appeal to her common sense. So he continued to present it all as a great and unfortunate misunderstanding that would imminently end. Not long after, she would be reminded of her real situation by the stone-faced men guarding her in their turbans, with daggers sheathed around their belts, or by the master of keys locking her in at night.
Edmund never discussed her pregnancy or the upcoming birth, like a host who, in spite of the extraordinary circumstances, retained the manners and decorum of a well bred gentleman.
But that evening, long before the scheduled time, she started to feel painful contractions. Terrified that she was losing the baby, she banged loudly on the door until Fatima was summoned.
"Lady," Fatima told her. "The baby is coming!"
The birth was long and difficult. Finally, at the end of seven hours, the new life made its appearance. Catherine opened her eyes in the dim light of the candles and saw, as if through a kaleidoscope, that the midwife was holding up a tiny, bloodied, frail baby who didn't make a sound.
"Why won't it cry?"
"Shh-hh, you lie down," said the woman in Turkish. Another woman with strong features came forward to push her onto the pillow as the midwife left with the baby wrapped in a small blanket.
"No!" cried Catherine in English. "Is it a boy or a girl? Why won't she bring it to me?"
"You must rest, lady, you have lost a lot of blood! It's very dangerous!" said the new woman forcefully.
She was being given a spoonful of something and gritted her teeth. "Not before I see my child!"
"Drink, drink," the woman said in English.
"Where is Fatima?" Catherine cried.
"She will come, but now drink!"
Catherine opened her lips and swallowed the bitter liquid. Her eyes began closing almost immediately, though she fought to keep them open.
She must have slept for a long time because she was aware of the day changing into night and then into day again, of people taking her pulse or adjusting her pillow, and of the bitter taste of the same liquid.
There was something important that she should do, but she could not think what, and she fought to stay awake. She thought that she was in Paris and asked for her mother and then for Henriette, but the voices around her hushed her and told her to go back to sleep.
"No!" she cried in French. "Where is...?" But she could not remember either Adrian or the child, as if she had gone back in time.
"Il faut dormir." You must sleep, a male voice told her in heavily accented French. Through lids that insisted on closing, she saw the doctor and his very bushy, very black mustache and laughed.
The next time she woke up it was morning. The windows were open and the air was balmy and clean, and the sky a hard blue.
"Lady Catherine!"
She moved her head slowly and saw that Edmund was sitting on a chair near her bed.
"What happened to me?" she asked feebly.
He frowned and shook his head, "You have been very ill! We hope that you are now recovering, but the fever has been unbroken for a long time. Dr. Esgin speaks of an infection."
She suddenly remembered: "The baby? Is it alive?"
"Yes, Lady Catherine, you have a beautiful and healthy baby boy!"
"I must see him!"
"Unfortunately this is not possible just yet! Your fever may be contagious. It could endanger such a small and still vulnerable life." He leaned forward, "Lady Catherine, Dr. Esgin has told me that it might be advisable, as a precaution only, that you should write to your mother and to Adrian."
Her lips barely moved. "Am I dying, then?"
"No, no ─ please don't think that. Everything will turn out all right, I know it. You are so strong! But you have a child now, which you must entrust to your mother in case..."
Catherine was not frightened. She tried to move, but she was too weak. "Give me pen and paper."
"I have them here. Dictate what you wish to say and I shall write it out, and then you sign it. I don't think you have enough strength to write it yourself."
She felt very tired, so tired she didn't even have a tear for the child she hadn't yet held. In a weak, halting voice she dictated a letter to her mother and another to Adrian. She begged their pardon: everything that had happened had been her fault. She couldn't feel any emotion as she addressed them, only the desire to go back to sleep.
Edmund brought her a leather folder with the letters, the pe
n and the ink pot, which he held for her. Catherine scratched her signature at the bottom with a feeble hand. She wanted to add "your Kitty" to her mother's letter, then thought she shouldn't, as it would only make her suffer more.
Her head fell back and she felt that she was going to sleep, perhaps for a very long time. Before she lost consciousness, she muttered the name Edward.
It ought to be her son's name, as it had been her father's.
IV. Six. Rebellion
Finally, she came to: she was alive, and it was morning. It was, in fact, a lovely morning.
But she had no idea where she was. She had been washed and cleaned and she was lying on a divan, that was all she knew. A strong featured woman turned from tucking new sheets under the mattress and saw that Catherine's eyes were wide open. "She's awake!"
The other women turned to look. "How do you feel?" a girl with sweet eyes and a soft voice asked her in English, kneeling by her side.
Catherine felt panic, as she didn't know for a moment who these women were. But she masked her confusion by nodding, realizing that they were speaking in a foreign tongue that she understood.
"Oh, she can't even speak, she needs to eat," the sweet girl said.
She turned to find a tray with fruit, bread, honey and tea on it and eagerly brought it over to Catherine. Two other women helped her to sit up, as she was very weak, and plumped her pillows.
Catherine thought that she should pretend to be hungry, so as to have time to understand what was happening, and when the tray was placed in front of her she took a fig and bit into it.
"She is famished!"
The fog in her mind was dispelling, and everything came rushing back. But she wasn't in the same room where she had been living, and even the trees outside, which she could see from the window, were different. She thought with a start of the small bundle that had been taken away. "My child?
The sweet girl, who was Fatima, told them what she had asked. The women looked at each other and finally Fatima came forward, kneeling by her again. "Oh, lady, it was such a difficult birth! You almost died!"
"Where is the child? It's a boy, isn't it?"
"It's fine, and yes, it's a boy," Fatima said, stroking Catherine's arm. "But he's weak! He was born before his time!
"I want to see him," Catherine said, trying to sit up.
The woman with strong features who had been present at the birth placed her hand on Catherine's chest, trying to get her to lie down. Catherine immediately remembered this gesture: she must have tried to get up many times, and many times have been forced down.
"Tell her she can't see the baby yet," the older woman told Fatima. "He's being tended to."
Catherine addressed Fatima. "Is he ill? Then I must tend to him."
The hand was again forcing her down. With the little strength she had Catherine knocked it away. "Oh, she needs to be good!" the woman said with some severity.
Fatima shook her head at the other woman, as if asking her to stand down, and the woman took a step backwards with a frown. Clearly she would have wanted to deal differently with the matter.
The girl smiled at Catherine. "Lady, the baby needs care that you cannot give to him. You have no milk!"
Instinctively Catherine touched one of her breasts. It was firm but much smaller than it had been before she had given birth. But was not every woman supposed to have milk and feed her baby? Wouldn't they die otherwise? Oh, where was her mother? Wherever she was, Catherine understood her so much better now that she did not know where her own child was; she could imagine that feeling of worry and fierce protectiveness would never diminish or disappear.
Forgive me, mama, she whispered, even while knowing that she couldn't think of her mother; she couldn't think of Adrian either, though his face was ever present in her mind, a face full of dread as he told her his story and said that he couldn't go through such a loss again. She shook her head slightly to clear it of thoughts of them: now she must keep her mind sharp.
Fatima said, in a regretful tone, "You have been asleep very long."
"How long?
"Three weeks..."
This time Catherine sat bolt upright, the tray rattling. "That's not possible!"
"Yes, lady," Fatima went on. "It's true. You were very weak and very ill. The baby had to be taken away. Even now..."
"What? Tell me!"
Fatima looked back at the older woman, clearly ill at ease. "You must not see him...It's dangerous, the doctor says it could harm the baby, he's so little. Can't you tell that you are running a fever?"
The girl took Catherine's hand and placed it on her forehead. She did feel a bit warm, and exhaustion was overtaking her again, but this time she would not sleep. She looked around the room, "Where are we?"
Fatima looked discomfited. "Don't worry about anything, you are fine and everything will be fine."
"But when will I be well?" Catherine asked.
"It's only a little while longer now." Fatima held her hand and patted it.
Anxiety gnawed at the back of Catherine's mind, waiting to bloom; but a kind of torpor kept her from feeling it. She reclined against the cushions and pillows and concentrated on keeping her eyes open. She didn't want to sleep anymore, and this was all she could manage for the moment.
There was so much to put right, but she must solve the most immediate problem.
She must escape and find her way back.
Another week passed before Dr. Esgin pronounced Catherine well enough to leave the room.
But when she did, she found that she was not in the same house at all. She had no idea where she was.
Catherine climbed down the stairs slowly, though she wanted to fly down the steps and demand explanations. She wanted to hold on to the wall but told herself not to. If she did, Edmund would have reason to tell her that she was too weak, and keep the baby away from her.
She had a son ─ and she had never seen him. She was on her way to meet Edmund now, and she must keep calm. She must sound reasonable and strong, when she wanted to scream and strike everyone who stood in her way.
Before entering the drawing room in this new house, she took a deep breath and walked in with as neutral a face as she could manage. Edmund was standing in the middle of the room as if waiting for her.
"Lady Catherine," he bowed. "I am so glad to see you recovered."
It would be a terrible breach of manners for either to mention the birth, though out of necessity he had been in her room after the child was born; she did remember that much.
Yet Catherine did not care, and was only interested in finding out what had happened to her little boy, and where they were.
She sat down, trying not to seem nervous. He, however, knew what was uppermost in her mind "I must apologize for having taken your baby away, but it was necessary. You have been suffering from a strong, mysterious fever for weeks, and it was thought you could make the child ill."
"But now that I am well," Catherine said doing her best to keep the eagerness out of her voice, "when will I be able to see him?"
Edmund sat down carefully. "I don't wish to alarm you, but you know the boy was born before his time. He is quite small still!”
She waited for Edmund to finish speaking without showing any reaction
"I assure you,” he went on, “So far he is doing as is hoped. But we must not risk his life by bringing him here, not before you are quite recovered."
"I feel absolutely recovered," she said firmly.
"For your sake and your child's we must wait for the doctor to say it is safe to bring him. He will come back in to examine you in a moment."
"Where are we?" Catherine could feel the heat rising to her face as she spoke, and sought to control the tone of her voice. "Why have we moved houses?"
"Unfortunately, I had to do that. Adrian was very close to finding us."
"But haven't you said he had disappeared, that you didn't manage to speak to him and get the assurance that you need?"
Catherine frowned, "Nothing you say makes sense! Are we even in Constantinople?"
"We are...not far."
"Mr. Lawson, is my son under this roof?"
"We had him removed because of the possible infection. And also..." Edmund cleared his throat in apparent embarrassment.
"Let's spare each other too many niceties," Catherine said forcefully. "I am an unmarried woman who gave birth in captivity under your roof. I am a mother who, after almost a month has not seen her child."
She couldn't help letting emotion creep into her voice at the last sentence and Edmund looked up at her with concern on his face. "I know and I deplore the situation. Everything I am doing is for the best, believe me. But I have been obliged to find a wet nurse."
Catherine had difficulty keeping the tears from rising to her eyes and cursed the emotions that rushed through her. "Then, Mr. Lawson, why not bring the wet nurse here?"
Edmund tapped the floor with his cane twice, lightly. He sometimes did that when about to say something that might be considered unpleasant. "You must think this through, Lady Catherine. Think what it would mean to bring a stranger here and let you meet her. I wouldn't be able to let her walk away afterwards."
"I hope you don't mean ─"
"Of course I don't mean I would kill her, but she would become a captive, as you call yourself. This is a woman with a baby of her own and other children, as well as a husband. Every care has been taken that she should not suspect the circumstances of your son's birth, nor who you or I may be. And before you ask, the child may not be brought here on his own because they are quite far away and there would be no way to feed him for perhaps a whole day! And, Lady Catherine…”
