A Fall from Grace

by Maggie Ford

  She stood trembling, perplexed. What did he mean by precautions, being careful? But he wasn’t done talking yet.

  ‘But I promise you, Maddie, if you do have it and try to name me as the father, I’ll deny it. No one knows about us, certainly not my fiancée. And if you do try to accuse me, she’ll stand by me, because who’d ever imagine for a moment that some well brought up daughter of a distinguished man like your father – though I must say you’ve never behaved to me all that well brought up – having an affair with some tradesman like me, even to letting him have his pleasure with her.’

  He stopped, breathing heavily from his furious speech. Through the many cracks in the broken planks of the barn the hot July sunshine pierced the gloom with shafts of dustladen light. One shaft was lighting up those beautiful blue eyes she so adored but she hardly noticed them now.

  ‘You’ve been making love to her all the time you’ve been with me?’ she queried stupidly.

  ‘Not making love,’ he corrected, almost savagely. ‘We’re engaged. I’ve never touched her. She wouldn’t have allowed me to, not until we marry. No decent girl would.’

  ‘You mean I’m not decent?’

  ‘I never said that. I thought you understood. You from a good family and me working class, where did you expect it to go?

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on after a pause during which she could find nothing to say, ‘it’s all over. If you need help finding an abortionist, I’ll take you, secretly. If not, then that’s it. Just don’t start trying to pester me when I’m delivering milk to your family or I’ll have to complain to them about it, all right?’

  With that he moved towards her, brushing past her and out into the bright sunshine, walking off without a backward look.

  As if turned to stone, Maddie watched him go. She wanted to sink down again on to the barn floor, but now there was no one to help her up. Instead she backed slowly towards the far wall of the barn, letting herself lean heavily against it. And there she wept.

  Four

  Dwelling on one’s own personal problems was expected to be put aside as trivial, the whole of Great Britain consumed by the need to show Kaiser Bill he couldn’t walk into another country just as he pleased. Squabbles in Europe had been one thing, marching uninvited into a neutral country in order to invade France was quite another. With Great Britain ready to square up to Germany in defence of little Belgium, men were rushing in hordes to enlist and show the Bosch what British people were made of.

  Madeleine’s mind was as much taken up by the outbreak of war as anyone’s but her own problems were hitting her hard. She’d not heard from Freddy for nearly a week. Instead his father was delivering the milk, so what excuse had his son given for not delivering it himself any more? He could be ill but more likely he felt it better for him not to show himself.

  After the third non-appearance, she approached his father to ask why he no longer came. ‘Didn’t you know, miss, begging you pardon,’ he said, partly with deference, partly with pride. ‘My Freddy went off to enlist the day after war was declared.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all she could say, but was unable to prevent herself adding, ‘What does his fiancée think about that?’

  ‘Oh, she was all for it, miss,’ was the reply. ‘Hundred per cent behind him, she was, and so proud of him. If I was a younger man, I’d go meself.’

  With that Madeleine stepped back letting the man get on with his job as, with a heart that felt like a lead weight inside her chest and a sick feeling in her stomach, she made her way back to the house. With all chance gone of persuading Freddy to change his mind about her, what was she going to do now?

  ‘Are you not feeling well, my dear?’ her mother asked as she went into the breakfast room. ‘You look quite pale.’

  ‘I just feel a little queasy this morning,’ she answered as she glanced with distaste at the breakfast laid out on the sideboard.

  ‘Then you’d be better eating something. Last night’s dinner was a little rich. But a good breakfast will soon settle your stomach, dear.’

  The last thing she wanted was to eat. Her mother continued, ‘Come and sit down and I’ll get you something. What would you like, egg, bacon or some ham, some kedgeree? Or perhaps a little porridge would be better?’

  ‘Nothing, Mummy,’ Madeleine said shortly.

  ‘Toast then. A slice of plain toast? With a little marmalade.’

  ‘I don’t want anything, Mummy! Just a cup of tea.’

  For an answer her mother came and put a hand on her daughter’s brow. ‘Your head does feel a little too warm. Perhaps we should call…’

  Before she could finish, Madeleine leapt up and ran from the room, sickness welling up inside her. She just made the downstairs cloakroom, her stomach rebelling as she dropped on to her knees by the toilet to lean over the pan, heaving, bringing up, or so it felt, her whole insides.

  Lying feebly against the cold porcelain she heard her mother tap on the toilet door, quietly calling, ‘Are you all right, my dear. Can I help?’

  ‘No, Mummy,’ she answered weakly. ‘Please, go away. I’m all right.’

  ‘Have you been sick, darling?’ her mother persisted.

  ‘A little,’ she made herself reply. ‘You were right, Mummy. Dinner last night was rather rich. But I’m all right now.’

  ‘Perhaps you overate. You must watch what you eat, Madeleine. We cannot have Hamilton seeing you putting on weight, can we? He is so proud of you and you are so beautifully slim.’

  Beautifully slim. For Hamilton? The thought made her want to vomit again. ‘Please go away, Mummy,’ she begged desperately. ‘I’m feeling a lot better now. Just leave me, please.’

  Beautifully slim! What would he say, what would they all say when she did begin putting on weight? And in one place only? Already her breasts had become slightly bigger than they had been. She had noticed that. And they tended to tingle as well, just a little. Was that a sign of pregnancy? She didn’t know. Whatever it was it was strange and as she thought more about it, rather frightening.

  Another paroxysm of retching caught her, now only bile, bitter, acid, stinging her throat. With it came tears flowing unheeded down her cheeks. Despite all effort to be quiet lest her mother hear, sobs broke from her. Any minute her mother would ask her what was wrong, demand to come in, then what? What excuse could she make? But from the other side of the door there was silence. Her mother had left.

  Breathing a trembling sigh of relief, Madeleine let herself slip to the floor, her body curled like a fetus, and gave herself up to a welter of abject misery.

  * * *

  ‘I’m sorry, Father, I can’t help what I feel.’ Her response to his angry reaction to this evening as she cringed inwardly before his fearsome glare was heated and obstructive even though she knew it would never pay her to be so.

  ‘I am not concerned by what you feel!’ he blared back at her while her mother sat some distance away on the edge of one of the sitting room chairs, like a small girl awaiting her turn to be berated. Why did her mother have to be so meek before her own husband? Why could she not stand up for her own daughter?

  But of course, she wouldn’t. She was in truth of the same opinion as he. And even if she hadn’t been she would have convinced herself that he was right. She always did. It was left to her, Madeleine, to stand up for herself, and this she was doing, too angry even to tremble before his glare.

  ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ she began.

  Why did she never address him as anything but Father while her mother was always Mummy? It just didn’t seem fit to call him anything other than that, certainly not Daddy, laughable had it not been so unthinkable.

  ‘But I don’t care for him in that way,’ she ploughed on bravely. ‘And I certainly can’t love him.’

  ‘What does that have to do with it?’ he demanded. ‘The first aim of marriage for a young lady is security and there is none more secure than Hamilton Bramwell, other than, as your mother says, a possible suitor with a title, except th
at the way you are behaving of late, putting on weight daily by your appearance, no one else will even look at you much less accept you.’

  Her mother had melted just a little. ‘You must admit, dear, lately you have been eating more than is good for you, despite all our cautioning…’

  ‘Please do not interfere, Dorothy!’ commanded her father, returning to his daughter. ‘Possibly we’ve not allowed you to be alone together to talk privately of things you might feel a need to discuss. But you get on well together. Hamilton likes you immensely and you admit you like him.’

  ‘As a friend, yes, not as a…’

  ‘Enough of this!’ he cut in almost savagely, making her jump a little. ‘I have enough to worry about without being plagued by your foolish whims and fancies. We are at war. It has been arranged for young Hamilton to join his father’s old regiment as a junior officer. During the Boer Wars his father attained the rank of colonel and Hamilton will be looked upon to follow suit. In time, my dear, you will become the wife of an officer of high rank equal to that of his father in his time and will enjoy all the fine prestige that carries.’

  For the first time in many long months he smiled benignly at her. ‘You will be proud of him, my dear. And grow ever fonder of him. So enough of this foolishness…’ The smile vanished. ‘I have decided to announce your engagement to Hamilton before the end of the month. It will no doubt be a military wedding as befits the times.’

  Decision made, he strode away, leaving her as though rooted to the spot, staring after him. Her stomach felt odd, then a sudden spasm caught her, not painful but strange so that her head felt it was reeling, making her feel suddenly feeble. She felt herself sway. Her mother’s voice, calling to her, seemed to be a long way off, her mother catching her as she began to slip to the floor, but she was unaware of it as blackness engulfed her.

  * * *

  Madeleine was lying in bed in her room. Her mother was bending over her. By the window the silhouette of her father’s back was dark against the bright sunshine pouring into the room. Between the two stood a man, tall, thin, bespectacled, slightly balding; Murray, their family doctor. He looked grave.

  Her gaze drifting back towards her mother, she saw that she had been weeping, her face anguished but not loving. Seeing her open her eyes fully, her mother straightened up and walked away, stiff backed. No one spoke and all Madeleine could say was, ‘I’m sorry. I must have fainted.’

  At the words her father whirled round to face her. ‘Sorry! Is that all you have to say?’ He came forward to stand over her like a dark monument.

  ‘How dare you bring this appalling shame upon us?’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she quavered, still not quite back in the world. ‘What have I done?’

  A convulsive sob was torn from her mother at her words. Her father’s reply to her question rumbled deep and sonorous in her ears.

  ‘You know well enough. Doctor Murray has informed us of your condition. You disgust me. And I want nothing more to do with you. I wish never to set eyes on you again, do you understand what I am saying!’

  From across the room, her mother broke in, her words tumbling out in a frantic torrent. ‘How could you do this to us? I am so ashamed! How could you?’

  Her voice melted into tears, Doctor Murray going to her aid. ‘Try to calm yourself, my dear. Your daughter…’

  ‘She is not my daughter!’ she burst out, the words seeming instantly to freeze Madeleine’s heart. ‘I can’t bear to look at her. I don’t ever want to look at her again. What are we going to do?’

  Madeleine felt sickness rising inside her, not from her condition but from what her mother had said.

  ‘There is only one solution,’ Doctor Murray was saying. ‘She must marry her fiancée as soon as possible. She is only just above three months. If her fiancée hasn’t yet realized her condition, you may use the excuse when the time comes that the child arrived earlier than expected. It happens quite often. But you should not delay. It is the only solution…’

  ‘There is only one solution!’ her father echoed forcibly. ‘I have no intention of harbouring this disgusting creature that has the audacity to call herself my daughter under my roof. We know for a fact that her fiancé would never have…’

  He pulled himself up sharply, leaving the rest unsaid. But Madeleine knew what he had been about to say. To say it would have lowered him in the eyes of all who knew and respected him, including their family doctor.

  Instead he continued, ‘But I thank you Doctor Murray, for coming here so quickly. You have been most helpful and I am grateful to you. But I expect you’re probably needed elsewhere.’

  As Doctor Murray took his leave, Madeleine got up from her bed and, going to the door of her room heard her mother say after they’d closed the front door on the doctor, ‘She knows no one else other than Hamilton and I certainly cannot believe it is him.’

  ‘Of course it’s not him!’ he answered irascibly.

  ‘But who?’

  ‘I’m not concerned who,’ he growled. ‘She has disgraced this family’s good name. She is soiled, caring for nothing but her own disgusting desires and I’ll not abide her living under this roof for one minute longer. I cannot even bear to look at her. I am sickened by her and I shall never forgive her, and neither shall you, Dorothy, at your peril!’

  Madeleine wrenched open her door, ran out on to the landing, leaning over the balustrade. ‘You can’t mean that!’ she cried out in panic. ‘I never meant for this to happen to me.’ She saw him look up at her, his expression, harsh and unloving, freezing her blood.

  ‘That does not change anything. That you lowered yourself to let some filth have his way with you, be used for some stranger’s appetite turns my stomach. My own daughter no more than a…’ He stopped short of having to utter whatever immoral term he’d been about to use. Instead he drew himself upright, seeming to tower above his wife. ‘I erred in calling you my daughter. I will correct that. You are no longer my daughter.’

  ‘Who was it, Madeleine?’ cried her mother but he cut her short.

  ‘We do not wish to know. You will not ask that question again, Dorothy.’

  Her mother fell silent but Madeleine found her own voice, descending the stairs at a run to face him. ‘Father, I need to explain, I’m…’

  Her words were sharply silenced by a stinging slap across her cheek. Never before had her father ever laid a hand on her. His voice and the sharp glare of his blue eyes had always been enough to chastise her.

  ‘I don’t want your explanations or your excuses or even to know who the father is. It is certainly not Hamilton. You’ve never been alone together. Had you been, it would not have crossed his mind to abuse his position.’

  ‘What is he going to say when he is told?’ came her mother’s wail. ‘The poor man.’

  ‘Be quiet, Dorothy!’ he barked, then turned back to Madeleine, his voice growing deep and calm.

  ‘You will stay in your room. Your mother and I do not want to set eyes on you. Your meals will be sent up to you and you will not leave this house. Tomorrow I will arrange for you to be sent to an institution for unmarried mothers. We will not visit you and you will not contact Hamilton. Nor will you try to contact any of my wife’s mother’s family; not her sister nor her brother’s family. If you attempt to contact any of mine, they will be told not to respond.’

  Tears were already streaking down her cheeks. But having him refer to her mother as his wife rather than her mother tore a racking sob from her but he was indomitable.

  ‘When the child is born it will be immediately given up for adoption. But you will not come back here, ever again. Your mother and I wish to have no more to do with you. When you leave that home you will find your own living and provide for yourself. I will put a small sum of money into an account for you. When that is exhausted, you will make your own way and never return to this house, nor come begging. It may be that you will marry this man whoever he is but your mother and I do not wish to see
you or hear from you again, do you understand? Now please, return to your room. When the arrangements for you to leave are complete you will be taken out by the servants’ door so that we do not have to look on you.’

  Madeleine forced herself to speak through her weeping, her voice hoarse and cracked. ‘You can’t do this. You love me.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said slowly, almost as if her words had bewildered him. ‘I do not know you.’

  It sounded so terribly childish yet held a sting that went through her like a knife. In that second she had been cut out of his life as he turned from her to say something to his wife that they would take their nightcap together in the lounge before retiring to bed.

  She watched them cross the hall, her mother trading a little behind him. She saw him catch her arm as she was about to turn back to look at her, compelling the woman to continue walking towards the lounge door.

  As they disappeared, the door closed with a click that sounded so utterly final that Madeleine wanted to fall to her knees where she stood. Instead she too turned away, her whole body a leaden weight under the burden she knew she had made for herself by her own folly, and she forced herself to mount the stairs to her room.

  Five

  How she had survived the trauma of leaving home she still couldn’t believe. True, most of her life had been spent away from her family but the love of her parents had always gone with her. This time no love at all had departed with her.

  That morning in late September, ordered to leave the house by the trade’s entrance, there’d been no sign of her parents; no one to say goodbye to her or help her as she struggled with her weighty suitcase to the waiting taxicab. Only Mrs Plumley and Maud their kitchen maid, with no other reason to be elsewhere in the house, had been there to see her off; the other servants at their duties elsewhere – more by design than duty she suspected. So leaving had been lonely, heartbreaking.