An Embarrassment of Riches

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘Perhaps you should speak to her,’ Maura suggested, distressed by the girl’s fierce determination.

  He shook his head. ‘She doesn’t look as if she needs a hand-out.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘And she’s not Irish. I thought my charitable responsibilities lay with your fellow countrymen?’

  Maura was about to laughingly chide him when the girl shouted out, ‘I used to be Miss Genevre’s maid, sir! I travelled with her back to England!’

  Alexander froze. For a long, disbelieving moment he didn’t move a muscle and then, letting go of Maura’s arm, he slowly turned, looking down the steps to the still captive girl.

  ‘Let go of her,’ he said tersely to the postilion.

  The postilion did so with relief.

  The girl rubbed her arm. ‘Will you speak to me now, sir? I’ve something to tell you. Something that’s going to interest you very much indeed.’

  Alexander stared at her. He didn’t remotely remember her, but there was no earthly reason why he should.

  At the fracas a cluster of footmen had appeared at the main entrance. Alexander turned his head towards them. ‘Have this young woman escorted to my study, please.’

  The girl walked triumphantly towards the steps and began to mount them. As she came abreast of Maura she gave her a quick look, full of hungry curiosity.

  For the first time apprehension struck Maura. There was something gloating in the girl’s glance. Something unpleasantly prurient.

  ‘I won’t be long, love,’ Alexander said to her, but his eyes weren’t on her. They were on the girl as she was escorted into the house. And his face was no longer good-humoured and laughing. It was tense and strained, his eyes filled with an expression of such remembered grief that her apprehension soared and she was filled with sudden, sick dread.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  He was gone for a long time. She bathed and changed and went down to the Chinese drawing-room and sat at her embroidery frame. The needle remained motionless in her hand. What on earth was taking so long? What was the young woman telling Alexander? Why was she feeling so idiotically apprehensive? She had known right from the beginning of their life together that Alexander had been in love with Genevre Hudson and that if she had lived he would have married her. His grief over Genevre’s death had been one of the things that had bound them together. She had wanted to ease his pain; to bring him comfort. And she wasn’t so ungenerous as to resent him reacting with a surge of old grief when Genevre was brought back to his memory as suddenly and brutally as had just occurred.

  She tried again to concentrate on her embroidery. They were dining with Henry that evening. He had bought a stud-farm in up-state New York and Kieron was going to manage it for him. She wanted to know all about it. She wanted to know if he would be buying any Tarna-bred stallions and mares. She wanted to know when Kieron would be leaving New York. She wanted to know how soon it would be before she and Alexander could visit.

  The French clock on the marble mantelpiece struck the half-hour. She forgot all about the stud-farm. What on earth was going on in Alexander’s study? He and Genevre had been parted for less than a year when she had died. Her maid couldn’t have so much to tell him surely? Had she left the house long ago and was Alexander so overcome with old grief and remembered love that he was unable to face anyone, even herself?

  She put her needle back into the sewing-box and rose to her feet. She would go and ask a footman if Genevre’s maid had left the house.

  Before she could do so the footmen on the outside of the Chinese drawing-room doors flung them open and Alexander entered. She gave a little cry of relief and began to run towards him. Then she stopped. He looked terrible, like a man in the grip of a fever.

  ‘Alexander! What is it? What is the matter?’

  He stood still, making no effort to close the gap between them.

  ‘There’s a child,’ he said in a voice so hoarse she scarcely recognized it. ‘A boy.’

  For the first time in her life Maura nearly fainted. ‘A child?’ she repeated after him incredulously. ‘Your child?’

  As soon as she said the words she knew they were ridiculous. Of course it was his child. Genevre Hudson hadn’t been a woman of the streets. She had been well brought up and carefully reared. And although she had not even been formally engaged to Alexander she had become his lover. Never once had it occurred to her that Alexander and Genevre had been intimate. Never once had Alexander even hinted at such a thing. Even though he was now telling her so she could scarcely believe it. And there was a child? Was that how Genevre had died? In giving birth to an illegitimate child?

  Alexander didn’t even notice the crassness of her reaction. He ran his hand through his hair, saying dazedly, ‘The maid travelled to Europe with them. They went immediately to a convent in the south of England and left Genevre there. Then William Hudson travelled on to Yorkshire taking the maid with him and changing her employment from that of a ladies-maid to that of a parlour-maid. Ginnie never went to Italy with an aunt.’ His face was chalk-white. ‘She never went anywhere but the convent. And she died there.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Maura whispered, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth. ‘Oh, the poor girl!’

  His eyes burned hers. ‘And I have a son, Maura! A son by Genevre!’

  He shook his head as if unable to believe the stupendousness of it.

  ‘The maid was highly resentful of being relegated to household duties and three months ago Hudson fired her. She went to the convent to find out what had happened to the baby Genevre had so obviously been expecting when she had been left there.’ His voice cracked completely. ‘He’s still there, Maura. In the orphanage. My son.’

  Maura was unable to remain standing any longer. Dizzily she groped for a chair and sat down. Despite all the horror she felt at Genevre Hudson’s suffering, despite the heartache she felt on Alexander’s behalf, she couldn’t help a twinge of disquiet at the way Alexander was talking. It was as if the child abandoned in the English convent was his only son. As if he had forgotten completely Felix’s existence.

  She said unsteadily, ‘And there was no illness? Genevre didn’t die after being ill?’

  ‘She died after giving birth to the baby.’ His eyes glittered like live coals. ‘She died calling my name.’

  Maura felt a spasm across her chest. ‘You can’t know that,’ she said, forcing her words through dry lips, wondering what she could say and do that would bring him most comfort.

  ‘It’s true. Miss Burrage spoke to the nun who was at the birth.’

  ‘Is Miss Burrage the maid?’ She didn’t really care who Miss Burrage was. She was playing for time, trying to collect her scattered wits, trying to think clearly.

  William Hudson had obviously disowned his illegitimate grandchild. Now that Alexander knew of the child’s existence he couldn’t possibly allow it to remain lovelessly in an orphanage. The child was his son. He was Felix’s half-brother.

  She said compassionately, realizing the problems there would be and uncaring of them, ‘He must be brought to New York, Alexander. He can share the nursery with Felix. How old is he?’

  ‘Fourteen months.’ He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring broodily into space. Suddenly he said: ‘I’m leaving immediately. It’s what Ginnie would want. It’s what she would expect of me.’

  The tightness in Maura’s chest increased. ‘But there’s no need for you to go! You can write to the convent’s Mother Superior. You can arrange for someone else to travel to England to collect the baby.’

  He didn’t even answer her. He merely spun on his heel and left the room, shouting for Stephen Fassbinder, shouting for Teal.

  She ran after him. ‘But that means you’ll be away for five weeks, maybe even six!’ she protested, mindful of her own pregnancy, knowing that every day apart from him would seem like a year.

  ‘I want a suite booking on the first boat leaving for England,’ he rasped to Stephen who had come sprinting at the double.


  ‘You can’t leave so soon,’ Maura protested breathlessly. ‘You’ll need to take a nurse with you so that she can care for the baby …’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he said, striding for the stairs and Teal. ‘I can take care of him myself.’

  It was then that she knew that the news of the baby had quite deranged him. As Teal hurried towards him in order to attend to his wishes she remained at the foot of the stairs, holding on to the intricately carved newel-post for support.

  In a matter of minutes her whole life had been turned upside-down yet again. How were they going to explain away the baby’s presence once it arrived? Would people think it was her child? Would people think she was the one who had borne Alexander a son out of wedlock? And if they did, what would happen to her fledgling social acceptance? Would all Henry’s efforts on her behalf have been in vain? For herself, she didn’t really care. Her only reason for striving so hard for acceptance among the Schermerhorn ladies was in order that life would be easier for Alexander. In great pain she had learned how much such social acceptance meant to him. Now he was risking it yet again. Did he realize? Had he even thought of the consequences that would follow once he brought Genevre’s son into their home?

  Terrified that he would leave for the boat without her even being able to broach the subject with him, she hurried up the stairs to their room.

  Teal was frantically packing a large valise. Alexander was changing, unaided, into travelling clothes.

  ‘What am I to tell Charlie and Henry?’ she asked, knowing that his mind was made up, knowing that nothing on earth would now stop him.

  ‘The truth.’

  It was said without a second’s hesitation. She had hoped to be able to prompt him into thinking what society at large would say, and she had failed. She hadn’t wanted to be brutal, but she was left with no alternative.

  ‘And the rest of the world? How will you explain the baby away? What reason will you give for taking him into our home? People will want to know who he is. They will want to know his parentage.’

  ‘I’ll say he’s the son of a deceased friend or relative.’

  He still wasn’t bothering to look at her. He was scooping silver-backed toilet brushes into a travel-bag. Teal was strapping shut the valise.

  ‘Will you be believed?’

  ‘Why not?’ He snapped the travel-bag shut and looked across at her. ‘I must have distant family in Hungary. Whatever background I choose to give my son, no-one in New York will be able to dispute it.’

  It was true. She had forgotten all about the relatives Sandor Karolyis must have left behind him when he emigrated to America. She began to feel a little better. It was possible that Alexander wasn’t being suicidally reckless. It would be quite natural for him to take into his home the orphaned son of a distant family member. And if Genevre’s son bore a strong physical resemblance to Alexander, then that also could easily be accounted for.

  Teal was tugging the bell-rope. In another second footmen would be carrying the valise downstairs.

  She said sincerely: ‘I’m going to miss you.’

  For a second he was his old self again. He flashed her a dazzling smile and picked up his travel-bag. ‘It won’t be for long. Six weeks at the most.’

  He kissed her hard on the mouth and then was gone.

  She sat down slowly on the bed. He hadn’t asked Teal to accompany him. He hadn’t asked her to travel with him to the pier. He had taken only one valise and that had been so hastily packed that he couldn’t possibly have with him all that he would need. That he quite obviously didn’t care was indicative of the depths of his emotional upheaval. All that mattered to him was that he reached England in the shortest possible space of time. And then what would happen?

  She pressed a hand into the small of her back. There were times when she felt as if she were six months pregnant, not three.

  Would he somehow have to prove that he was the baby’s father? What if the Mother Superior refused to release the baby into his care? What if William Hudson were consulted? She wondered about the baby. Would it look like Alexander? Felix looked like him. The eyes that had been so blue when he had been born were now very slowly but surely turning grey. Would he and Felix grow into friends? What would they one day tell Felix?

  The answer to her last unspoken question came hard on its heels. They would have to tell him the truth. Genevre’s son was his half-brother. Neither boy could be left in ignorance of such a strong blood-tie. Not to disclose it to them would be immoral.

  Slowly she rose to her feet and went back down into the Chinese drawing-room. She sat at her embroidery-frame and once again picked up her needle. The last half-hour had been cataclysmic. First she had been overcome with stunned shock. Then there had been heartache for the anguish and pain Genevre Hudson had so obviously suffered. And last, but not least, there had been another emotion, an emotion she had not thought herself capable of. When Alexander had spoken so passionately of the son he had had by Genevre, she had felt a resentment that came very close to jealousy.

  She cut a length of scarlet thread and began to work on the petals of a poppy. Why? Alexander had loved Genevre and it was only to be expected that he would be overwhelmed by the news that she had given birth to his son. Was the twinge of jealousy she had felt on Felix’s behalf? Was it because Alexander seemed, temporarily, to have forgotten Felix’s existence? But surely that also was only to be expected? He had been in a state of shock, just as she had been. And she had over-reacted.

  She continued to embroider, feeling ashamed of the flash of meanness that had caused her such disquiet. Everything was going to be all right. If, when she had met Alexander, he had been widowed and the father of a son, she would have had not the slightest hesitation in opening her heart to his child. Genevre’s child needed love far more than any child born in wedlock. His maternal grandfather had disowned him. The only care he had ever received had been that provided by an institution.

  She snipped off her thread and put her needle back in the sewing-box. The Fifth Avenue house would now be his home and arrangements would have to be made for him. The nursery would have to be extended to include more rooms, and another nanny would have to be engaged to help Bridget and Caitlin.

  She left the drawing-room intent on speaking with them. At fourteen months old the baby would be too big for a cradle. He would need a small bed and he would need toys, too. She would go out shopping for them straight away. She felt a rush of affection towards him. In everything but name she would be his step-mother.

  ‘I shall love him and look after him, Genevre,’ she whispered beneath her breath. ‘I promise.’

  Henry stared at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. ‘He’s done what?’ he expostulated incredulously.

  ‘He’s gone to England in order to have his son by Genevre handed into his care. Then he’s bringing the baby back to America.’

  ‘Jesus God!’

  Henry had never before in his life blasphemed in front of a woman, but never before had he been so pole-axed. After Alexander had denied the validity of his marriage and after his affair with Ariadne, he had thought that nothing further Alexander might do would surprise or shock him. He had been wrong. The news Maura had just broken to him was beyond all belief. It was insanity.

  ‘You’ve married a madman!’ he said, hunching forward in a gold and damask armchair. ‘There can be no forgiving and forgetting this time, Maura. He can’t possible bring his illegitimate child into your home. It’s an outrage.’

  Maura had known how he would react. It was the reason she was breaking the news to him now and not stalling by telling him that Alexander was at Tarna or away on a pleasure trip.

  ‘I don’t agree with you,’ she said gently. ‘Alexander loved Genevre and would have married her if he could. Obviously he’s going to want to care for the child they had …’

  ‘Then he can have it fostered …’

  ‘I couldn’t live with myself if he did that, Henry. What if m
y position and Genevre’s had been reversed? What if it was Felix who was being brought up lovelessly in an orphanage?’

  ‘You’re being overly romantic …’

  ‘I’m not. I’m being very realistic. A child born out of wedlock needs all the help it can get in life. Alexander has talked to me often of Genevre. He thinks that if we had met we would have been friends. I believe him. And so I’m going to behave as if Genevre had been my friend. I’m going to look after and love her son, just as I hope she would have looked after Felix if our positions had been reversed.’

  Henry gaped at her speechlessly.

  ‘It won’t be so bad, Henry,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Alexander is going to say that the baby is the orphaned child of distant family. No-one in New York knows of the Karolyises who must exist in Europe. His travelling there and returning with a child can be made to seem quite feasible.’

  Henry doubted it, but if that was the line she was taking he wasn’t going to argue the point. He was wondering how a self-centred young man like Alexander had managed to attract the love of two such generous-hearted girls. As soon as Maura had spoken of Genevre Hudson, saying that if their positions had been reversed she hoped that Genevre would have behaved as she was now doing, he knew that Genevre Hudson would have done so.

  ‘My sister is dining with me this evening, Maura. I’d regard it as a great privilege if you would join us. We can perhaps discuss Alexander’s compassionate mission to Europe. If we present it in the right light it may not arouse suspicion and may even be viewed as being a commendable act.’

  Charlie had been too stupefied by the realization that Alexander and Genevre had been lovers to think of the social side-effects of Alexander bringing his son back to New York.

  ‘A baby?’ he said dazedly. ‘A baby?’

  ‘Not a small baby,’ Maura said, trying to make understanding easier for him. ‘It’s fourteen months old.’

  ‘But do you mean that Alexander and Genevre … That Genevre and Alexander …’ Words failed him. Genevre Hudson had always looked such a mouse, a pretty mouse, but nevertheless a mouse. Girls like that didn’t do things like that. It was unheard of Unbelievable. And Alexander had never indicated to him by so much as a nod or a wink that he and Genevre were sexually anticipating their marriage. Charlie felt quite aggrieved. He was Alexander’s best friend. He should have been told. He should have known.