Laura Carroll Butler

by The Price of a Pearl

  She hesitated a moment before responding, looking at Davis at the opposite end of the table, and said lightly, “I wonder if the colonies would behave better if they were treated like a suitor?”

  “And how would that work?” Cecil asked.

  “Every lady knows that if you give just enough so that the gentleman thinks that he is in charge, he is so much easier to control,” she answered in a coquettish manner.

  This prompted laughter around her and encouraged her on. “Maybe if we give them a little something, their own MP for example, so they feel as though they are represented, perhaps they wouldn’t feel the need to push forth with other demands?” she suggested.

  “But if they decide that they want more than a little consideration?” he continued in a similar playful fashion.

  “Well then, like a lady, England must put her foot down and teach ‘him’ how to behave like a gentleman.” There was more laughter and the conversation turned.

  When Davis was informed of Rebecca’s remarks, he had been told that she was openly supporting rebellion at the behest of Cecil Seymour. On the ride home, he was chillingly quiet. A little drunk and feeling pleasant and relaxed from a night of dancing, Rebecca did not notice at first. After a series of monosyllabic answers to her questions, she asked “Is something wrong, Davis? Didn’t you have a good time?”

  His mouth set in a tight line, he answered, “We can discuss this when we are home.”

  “Discuss what?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

  “When we are home,” he repeated with a look that ended further questioning.

  But when they arrived home, he still said nothing, just walked into the library and poured a drink. Rebecca followed him, anxious about what had caused Davis’ foul mood. She sat down and waited. Finally she said “You obviously did not enjoy yourself this evening; would you please tell me what happened.”

  “What happened is that I was informed by more than one person that my wife dared to undermine me with her support of the rebellion against the Crown, the Crown whose interests I represent.”

  Rebecca was bewildered. “I never suggested that. You must have misunderstood—“

  Davis slammed his drink down. “I know what you said to Seymour!”

  “Seymour?”

  “About the colonies and how we should give them what they demand!”

  “I didn’t say that! Who told you this?”

  “Then what did you say to Lord Cecil?”

  “I don’t remember exactly, but I know that I did not say that we should give in to the colonies demands.”

  “So I was lied to?” he challenged.

  “Or someone misunderstood what was said. But Davis why shouldn’t I be allowed to express my opinion? Some of the other ladies do.”

  “Other ladies are not my wife!”

  Rebecca was quiet, trying to understand what exactly she had done to make Davis so angry with her.

  “I am your husband,” he continued. “I have given you two beautiful homes, I have taken care of your mother and your sister, and I provide for you so that you can have a life any woman would envy. All I ask is that you respect my views and do not embarrass me by contradicting me in public to some Whig rebel sympathizer!”

  “I do not know what you were told Davis, but I did nothing to embarrass you,” she coldly responded in her defense.

  Davis turned on her viciously and angrily said, “You have forgotten that you are my wife. Not my secretary or my colleague, but my wife and you need to remember that and act as such!”

  “I am not behaving as your wife should?” she questioned incredulously. Before Davis could reply, she angrily turned to leave. “I am going to bed. We can discuss this when you are calmer.”

  “We will discuss this now,” he said, beating her to the door and slamming it shut. “I am your husband—,” he began.

  “Then act like a husband!” she screamed back. “Touch me with some tenderness. Talk to me like you want to hear what I have to say. Don’t treat me like a whore whose only function is to satisfy you!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he shouted.

  “How am I supposed to feel when you don’t talk to me, when you prefer cards and your friends to being with me, when the only time you touch me is when you’re drunk?” she asked through angry tears. Davis didn’t answer and Rebecca turned her back to him, wiping the tears. “When you look at me…it’s with such disappointment. You hardly kiss me anymore,” she finished in a hopeless whisper. Davis said nothing. “Maybe,” she hesitatingly began, “maybe I don’t feel like I am the wife that you require. You are angry with me because I have not given you a son and I’m sorry for that. But don’t you still love me?” Rebecca waited for a response, but all she heard was the sound of door closing as Davis left the room.

  The next day, Davis apologized for his boorish accusations and made an effort to spend time with her in the evening. They made love and Davis was more affectionate, though Rebecca could still feel the distance. The issue of an heir was not discussed further.

  *************************

  “We’re going to a masquerade at New Spring Gardens,” Althea announced the next week. Rebecca had never been to one, but had heard all sorts of scandalous tales about the goings-on.

  When she broached the subject with Davis, he was not enthused, but he did not forbid her from going with Althea. Her friend had not intended for their husbands to accompany them, but Rebecca had hoped that Davis would want escort her. It intensified the rejection she was feeling.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Michael did not stray again until after Laurence’s birth, though the temptation remained. He did not always come home at night, but he did not sleep with another woman. Even when they first returned to London, Michael was faithful.

  Susanne wanted a full-time nurse, but all they could afford was a young girl, part-time, and she was often more hindrance than help. She was too exhausted from caring for Laurence to attend many social events. When the Season began, pumped by the knowledge that his second novel would be published and using its necessary promotion as an excuse, he did not refrain from attending dinners, parties and other events without Susanne. It wasn’t long before he was leaving the parties with other women.

  Michael drew energy from the excitement around him; the down came when he had to return home, quietly so as not to wake the baby, and crawl into bed without disturbing Susanne. She never acknowledged his late night activities except to comment that she was happy that he came home to his own room instead of sleeping at his club.

  Of course, he fooled no one.

  Susanne never knew of Michael’s indiscretion before Laurence’s birth. But she knew quickly when it began after they returned to London. Before Laurence’s birth, before her mother died, before Davis and Rebecca left London, she was blissfully happy. Michael had finished his second novel and the morning sickness had subsided. Martha had even forgiven her, though she had never been truly angry with her departure to Elysian Fields and Michael. Martha was a romantic at heart.

  Real life intruded when the young Mr. Collins took over his father’s publishing house. At first, Michael laughed off the changes Mr. Collins suggested. His father had approved the outline and it was a new time, an Age of Reason, the rights of the common man and all that. But when the American colonies seriously threatened England and Ireland remained a hot bed of resistance, the more cautious young Mr. Collins became too fearful to publish the manuscript without serious changes. Michael’s hero, Flynn, an Irish nationalist, could not be hanged on trumped up charges and immortalized by his beloved, Moira, and his followers. He would have to be hung as a traitor and shunned.

  Michael realized how serious Collins was when the letters arrived threatening to block publication and sue Michael for his advance. Never one to hide his feelings, most especially from Susanne who read him so well, he fumed violently and considered what he should do. Before his father’s death, when he was not aware of his precarious finance
s, he would have returned the money personally with a scathing verbal assault. Now he had no home he would own, a limited stream of income from his previous novel, and a family to support. Artistic license could not be his first consideration.

  Michael had never openly lacked self-confidence; now he couldn’t hide his failure. No amount of reassurance from Susanne changed this. He watched from deep inside himself as he emotionally drew away from her and into his own dark thoughts. It was a place he had been before, but it was the first time Susanne had seen him this way. It frightened her; no matter what she said, she knew that she was only an echo in his head.

  She had always slept so soundly that she never knew what time he came home. When she was awakened by her maid the morning Davis’ footman brought news from St. Clare’s of her mother, she was surprised to find that Michael was not home. When he arrived home, still somewhat intoxicated, she was too distraught and afraid to inquire of his whereabouts. He offered no explanation, but was so loving and supportive that she made herself believe that his failure to come home was an aberration.

  And for a while after Laurence’s birth, he seemed like the old Michael. But the publisher’s letters found him at St. Clare’s Abbey and he finally had to make a decision. The changes were made to Collins’ satisfaction and his book would be published. Again, his mood changed. With no nurse, only the Edderle servants for help, Susanne would have been lost without Rebecca and especially Davis.

  Davis was a natural with Laurence. He was always ready to take the child when an exhausted Susanne couldn’t console him; she wanted to cry in frustration sometimes, but she was afraid that if she started, she might not stop. Rebecca was an able nurse to her, following the midwife’s directions carefully; but she seemed more frightened of Laurence than comfortable. Then one day, Susanne saw her sister when Rebecca didn’t know she was being observed. Rebecca was watching Davis hold Laurence and stroke his face gently while the baby slept. The look in her eyes was the same as Susanne had noted when she was old enough to feel empathy and Henry would favor Susanne with a touch, but ignored Rebecca. It wasn’t jealousy or anger, but a cold, deep hurt. Rebecca looked down then turned to Susanne and her eyes changed back to their normal loving warmth.

  The move back to London brought out a different Michael, one that she could only describe as frenzied. She wasn’t surprised given the stress of the baby, of moving to a new home (one financed with his wife’s money) and the exhilaration of the Season. Had she not been so spent she might have also felt a little frenzied. Now though, she slept like a mother, alert for her child’s cries and able to hear her husband creeping up the stairs before dawn to his own room. One morning, she forced herself to examine his soiled evening clothes; they smelled of a perfume that was not hers and a mixture of sweat and sex. The revelation of what she had known but not acknowledged was kept to herself. That he loved her enough to try to hide his extramarital activities, unlike her father toward her mother, was her consolation.

  *************************

  Davis did not understand his friend’s behavior. To Davis, Michael had everything a man could want: a home, a family, a son and heir. His own failure to produce an heir weighed heavily on him. And Rebecca’s sudden enchantment of her Whig friends became a handy excuse for his unexpected coldness.

  He might have attended the masquerade were it not for the memories it dredged up of his time in Europe after Trinity; he and Michael, Venice and the carnival. Life had been so innocent then and full of possibilities. It seemed decades ago, not mere years. Now Johanna was in the colonies, he still had no heir, he couldn’t bridge the widening gap with his wife, and Michael could not appreciate all he was given.

  The night of the masquerade, Rebecca wore her costume for Davis, hoping for his approval. Althea had chosen her attire, a shepherdess complete with crook and curled golden wig. When Rebecca initially tried on the outfit, she was concerned that it might be too revealing with its low, draping top, but Althea assured her that the shepherdess would be one of the more conservative costumes. Althea herself would be the goddess Diana in a short white tunic, quiver, bow and arrow and white slippers. Rebecca preferred her own costume.

  Davis looked her over while she waited for Althea’s carriage. With her dark hair covered and her mask in place, he would not have known she was Rebecca. She waited for a response. “Is this acceptable?”

  He smiled passively. “It’s a very pretty costume.”

  It was not quite the reaction she had hoped for.

  ***************************

  That evening, Davis and Michael met for a late dinner at the club. Michael was dressed for the masquerade which took Davis by surprise.

  “Will you be returning home for Susanne?” Davis asked.

  Michael laughed nonchalantly. “This would be too late an evening for her,” he said.

  Davis considered his answer then shrugged indifferently. “Maybe you’ll see Rebecca there. She will be the blonde shepherdess.”

  “And why aren’t you going, Davis?” He didn’t answer. “Seriously, Davis, do you think it’s safe for Rebecca to be there alone?”

  “She’s not alone. She’s with Lady Althea, her new friend.”

  “You sound almost jealous,” Michael said playfully.

  Davis ignored the jab. “You should spend more time at home. I’m sure that your family misses you.”

  “Now you sound a little judgmental, Davis.”

  “I just think that you are being unfair and dishonest with Susanne. I thought that she was different from all other women; I thought that you were in love with her.”

  “I do love her,” Michael interrupted.

  “Then why do I keep hearing about your extramarital exploits while your wife sits at home caring for your child.”

  Michael stood angrily. “Don’t get sanctimonious with me, Davis. If we are going to throw around dishonest behavior, may I suggest you look in a mirror?”

  Davis flushed but said, “What is that supposed to mean? I don’t keep company with whores.”

  “So Rebecca is aware of where you go when you leave me?”

  “You’re being ridiculous. I am doing nothing dishonorable.”

  “She knows…something. She knows that you have secrets.”

  Davis went cold, but remained calm. “So she has discussed this with you, I suppose.”

  “God, Davis, you know so little about your wife! Why aren’t you with her? Why Davis? Did you give her a reason or were you silent so that she would feel the fault lay with her?”

  “You don’t know what you are talking about,” Davis answered in a low, ominous voice.

  “Yes, I do, Davis. Answer the question—why didn’t you go to the masquerade?”

  “How could you go?” he exploded. “Does anything but your constant pursuit of pleasure mean anything to you? You toy with people, people who love you and you are so good at it!” he finished bitterly.

  “You need to get over me, Davis.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried? It is so easy for you—“

  “—It was a long time ago—“

  “—And it meant nothing to you—“

  “—I cannot continue to be your source of discontent, Davis! If you will not let yourself be happy with Rebecca then that is on you, not me!”

  “You are a fine one to give advice on marriage.”

  Michael threw his glass in anger and sat down. They did not look at each other, but glared in silence. “What a fucked up mess we are,” Michael finally remarked.

  Davis was still angry, but the truth of Michael’s remark stung. “You are right about Rebecca,” he finally said. “She doesn’t deserve to be lied to. Neither does Susanne,” he added pointedly.

  “‘Consider how hard it is to change yourself and you’ll understand what little chance you have in trying to change others’” Michael quoted.

  Davis smiled wryly. “You were paying attention in class that day.”

  “Susanne knew who I was befo
re we married,” Michael said. Davis stared at him, knowing that Michael would do what he wanted. But Davis was different. “What are you going to do?” Michael asked. “Will you tell her the truth?”

  Davis shook his head slowly. “’What is truth? said Pilate; and would not stay for an answer.’”

  *************************

  Rebecca was not the only blond shepherdess, but she stood out nevertheless. Her bearing was regal despite the tenseness she felt. She danced with several “Dominos”, a Caesar and two Cardinals. Althea was correct that Rebecca’s outfit would be conservative in comparison to some other women who appeared to have arrived in various stages of undress. They walked amongst the crowds, arms, breasts and other body parts displayed, and looking as casual as if they wore the latest fashion. Rebecca was shocked when she first arrived, but two glasses of champagne and one of rum punch had calmed all but the most persistent butterflies.

  There were rumblings that the Prince of Wales would attend, but there was, so far, no sighting. The food was mediocre, but the orchestra was entertaining. It was the atmosphere, electric with the promise of a chance and forbidden encounter that seemed the biggest attraction.

  After a light supper that Althea and Rebecca had shared with other anonymous attendees and which featured the instant lighting of the Gardens, the ladies returned to dancing. As darkness fell, the carnival atmosphere seemed to become almost sinister as Rebecca really became aware of how exposed she was. The other attendees were, for the most part she was sure, ladies and gentlemen of her class, but there were also pickpockets and prostitutes; discerning one from another was impossible. Rebecca loved the recklessness.