A Fall from Grace

by Maggie Ford

  ‘Darling, of course not, but for both our sakes, and for his, you can’t have this baby. You must know that.’

  She was silent, seeing the sense of it. He was right. She couldn’t have it and cause James such pain. In truth she didn’t want it; had thought she had, but all sorts of complications, James’s hurt, his confusion, disillusionment – he certainly didn’t deserve it. And Anthony, wanting no baby hanging around, understandably looking to enjoy a free, exciting social life with her and no strings attached. Maybe later, much later – she needed to settle for that. But thoughts of abortion – a dangerous business, what if she were to die?

  Another solution had presented itself. If she went away until the baby was born as she had last time, the child quickly adopted, no one would need to know; James would be none the wiser, saved all that hurt, and she and Anthony could pick up their lives together as if nothing had changed.

  She almost suggested it to Anthony but she knew what he would say: ‘Six months – far too long to be away and what excuse would you make?’ She recalled how long it had seemed to her that last time, there all on her own, at the mercy of inconsiderate nurses. This time, not at her father’s unkind will, she’d make sure of a top quality nursing home with good food and superb care, but it would still feel interminable.

  ‘You could visit me,’ she said hopefully. ‘No one will know.’

  ‘Maddie, you’re not thinking straight. Why not just get rid of it and have done with it? Not only that, I can see you fretting in years to come, regretting and wanting me to trace it, like you persuaded James. No, I need you to do as I ask. I shall get the best doctors for you. You’ll have nothing to fear if that’s what’s worrying you. You’ll be as safe as houses.’

  ‘You have to give me time,’ she begged almost feebly, ‘time to think, to steel myself. It’s not an easy thing…’

  ‘I know. And I understand, my darling. But you mustn’t leave it too long until it’s too late to do anything. The longer we delay, the more danger—’ He caught himself and started again. ‘The more difficult it will be. Promise me, Maddie, you’re not intending to leave it until it’s too late to do anything.’

  ‘I promise,’ she said lamely and he became instantly brisk.

  ‘Right then, we’ll give it another couple of weeks so you can get used to the idea. Then I set about getting the ball rolling,’ he said, as if arranging a soirée. A momentary surge of anger consumed her. Get used to the ideal All very well for a man – he wouldn’t have to suffer the trauma of what she would, or thought she would, be expected to go through.

  But he had clasped her to him, tenderly kissing her. ‘I know how hard this must be for you, darling. But the sooner it’s done the better for us both. You do understand, don’t you, sweetheart? It’s for the best.’

  She nodded, strangely relieved as he moved away that he’d not tried to cement his loving concern for her further by extending that concern with anything more than a few kisses.

  * * *

  It was the bouts of morning sickness, so violent that dear innocent James had become concerned and spoke of their doctor taking a look at her, that helped her make up her mind that much quicker.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ she protested almost too hastily. The doctor she’d consulted hadn’t been their family physician so she was safe there. ‘It’s only because I’m constantly worrying over you,’ she lied.

  James had been so unwell throughout January that she was truly worried for him. How he had managed to hold his own against such depleting bronchitis, was amazing. He no longer went to his office, making it increasingly difficult to see Anthony. She would make up people she had to visit, knowing he wouldn’t query it, so seeing Anthony had become briefer, mainly because she could not bring herself to submit to his kind of violent love-making. Once she had loved it, but oddly not now.

  ‘I told James I’d only be gone an hour. I can’t have him asking questions and me having to lie,’ she said after they’d kissed in the hallway, but he seemed hardly to hear her.

  ‘It’s all arranged, darling – weekend after next. So you’re going to have to lie to him once more. Tell him you’ve been invited to stay that weekend in the country with some friend or other. It’ll be all right because he’s not well enough to go with you.’

  It was said almost casually, as though he was glad James was ill. But she said nothing, her mind centred on the awfulness of the coming prospect.

  ‘Tony, I don’t want to do this,’ she said as they moved towards the stairs and his bedroom. ‘Say if it all goes wrong? I’m terrified. I don’t think I can go through with it.’

  ‘It won’t. And you have to.’

  He sounded so casual, no soothing word of understanding. As they began to mount the stairs she felt suddenly angry. ‘You don’t seem to care how I feel,’ she cried, coming to an abrupt stop halfway up.

  ‘I’ll be with you.’ But his tone was impatient.

  ‘With me?’ she spat. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’

  ‘Look. It’ll be over in less than a few minutes then a little wait and it’ll all come away. You’ll have a nice rest, a good sleep, and next day we’ll be back here and you can take it easy for the rest of the day. You might be a bit shaky but you can say you felt ill while you were away – or something like that. Now come on, darling.’

  He gave her arm a little tug but she stood resolutely where she was, glaring up at him, for a moment, hating him. ‘It’s all so easy for you, you unfeeling bastard!’

  Pulling her hand free of his, she turned to go back downstairs. The next second, she hardly knew how, her foot had slipped on the next step, her body following, and she found herself sliding helplessly down the remaining six steps on her back to finally land with a heavy thump on the hall floor.

  She vaguely heard Anthony cry out, ‘My God, Maddie!’ then he was there bending over her. ‘God, Maddie, are you hurt?’

  She was crying. ‘Of course I’m hurt! I’ve hurt my back. And my left leg is doubled under me.’

  She felt him gently manipulate the leg until he could straighten it to its normal position. It gave her no pain, her back hurting only a little now.

  ‘Can you try to stand?’ he asked and when she nodded, saying she would try, he gently helped her up, she resting one arm about his neck. Her leg seemed fine and the pain in her back had diminished to hardly anything.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said, annoyed with herself now for being so clumsy, and with him for being the cause of it.

  ‘Do you still want to go on upstairs?’

  Such a damn stupid question! ‘No thank you,’ she said sharply. ‘I need to sit down in an armchair.’ She now found she was trembling. Even a mere six stairs was quite a way to slide down on one’s rump.

  Carefully he helped her to an armchair in the sitting room, asking after she’d sunk down if she’d like something to drink, a whisky perhaps. She nodded then immediately shook her head. ‘I’d rather have a cup of tea if you don’t mind.’ She still wasn’t feeling happy with him.

  ‘I’ll tell Mrs Glover. She’ll be in the kitchen.’

  His cook, a woman he could trust to keep his business to herself, whatever her private opinions might be, was soon bringing in a tray of tea, enquiring as she poured for her if she felt all right, to which Madeleine nodded, thanking her for her concern. Mrs Glover, trusted servant though she was, had no idea of course of her condition and returned to her kitchen convinced that no harm had been done by the fall.

  The moment she finished her tea, Madeleine stood up carefully, testing her back and, finding it only slightly tender, said that she felt she would be better returning home, taking an odd sense of satisfaction on seeing Anthony’s face lengthen. Surely he hadn’t expected her to roll around in bed with him after what had happened?

  He was obviously worried for her, telling her he would get her a taxi, cautioning her to take things easy, only to spoil it by hastily going over the arrangements afresh fo
r the weekend after next.

  She understood the need for urgency but couldn’t quell the return of her queasy anxiety at what was to come, nor the screwed up anger that it was she who must go through it, not him, and refusing to allow him the benefit of her feeling that he too might be keyed up and worried for her.

  One more week and it would be all over she kept telling herself but it didn’t help. As requested she told James she planned to visit some old friends in Oxfordshire that weekend, but it reaped no strong response.

  ‘That would be nice for you,’ he said as he lay propped up in bed, having suffered another sudden bout of laboured, wheezing breath. ‘You need to get away for a day or two. No pleasure spending day after day with a sick old fool.’

  ‘You’re not an old fool!’ she told him angrily, upset with herself mostly for needing to deceive him as she was doing.

  ‘But I am sick – and that can be no fun for you. And a weekend with friends will do you good. Go and enjoy it. Don’t worry about me. I’m being well looked after.’ All this between each laboured intake of breath.

  ‘Are you certain?’ she couldn’t help asking.

  ‘Of course, my dear,’ he replied but already he was sinking down on his pillow, closing his eyes, seeking rest. ‘Now I need to sleep awhile.’

  She watched him for a moment longer until he opened one eye and feebly waved her away, whispering, ‘Go on, my dear.’

  The next days went by far too quickly. All she wanted now was to see Anthony, talk over the coming weekend with him, feel that he was sharing in her worry about what was to happen. She wished with all her heart it could be as it used to be: James leaving for his office, she hurrying out hailing a taxi, in a little while to be lying in Anthony’s arms, knowing they had most of the day together.

  This Wednesday, as always these days, it would be hardly an hour before she must return home, in case James felt well enough to get up from his bed. She must wait for him to drift off to sleep before she felt it safe to leave the house with no need to make excuses. Meantime she might as well get down her small weekend case and begin selecting what to take with her for those two days. Soon it would be all behind her. The thought brought a surge of excitement as she bent over the case to flatten a couple of night dresses. As she did so she felt something warm on the tops of her inside legs, something liquid, almost as if she had wet herself as she’d bent forward. She gave a small frown and straightened up.

  Putting a hand down to where the tiny trickle had made itself felt, she felt something sticky. Bringing her hand back up slowly she stared at it. It was red, sluggish red.

  Twenty-Two

  Hastily cleaning herself up, she hurried to a drawer in her wardrobe and took out one of the squares of towelling she usually kept for sanitary use, fumbling as she folded the small square of towelling into an oblong shape before pinning each end to the piece of tape she had tied around her waist. It was what she always did when she had her periods, but today she was shaking all over, her trembling fingers hardly able to fasten the safety pins. It felt as if her breath was strangling her as she redressed and as quietly as possible made her way downstairs to the kitchen area. The last thing she wanted was to hear James’s voice calling her name should he hear her moving about.

  The kitchen was the first place she thought of. She had a need to tell someone – someone whom she could trust. Their cook, Mrs Cole, had more or less taken her under her wing from the first time she had set foot in this house as James’s wife, being some thirty-odd years older than Madeleine and well in charge of herself. She had always been there to give advice should Madeleine need it and Madeleine enjoyed taking full advantage of her kind attentiveness, although of course she’d stopped short of telling the woman about herself and Anthony.

  Seeing her obvious distress, Mrs Cole ceased whatever she had been doing and, waving to the scullery maid to make herself scarce, hurried over to her employer’s wife. ‘Whatever’s the matter, dear?’ she began.

  From the first she’d never called her mistress or madam; always ‘dear’ or sometimes ‘love’ when on her own, madam only when formality called for it, usually in James’s presence. Madeleine had never complained, so it had remained ‘dear’ or ‘love’ ever since. And now to Madeleine’s ears it held some comfort. Even so, she stood stiff and unyielding before the approach.

  ‘What is it, love?’ Mrs Cole said again, bewildered.

  ‘I’m—’ Madeleine heard her voice die away, tried again. ‘I’m…’ She took a shuddering breath. ‘I’m scared…’ her voice again dying away. ‘Something’s happened. I’ve had some bleeding and I don’t know what to do.’

  Quickly the woman took over. ‘Come with me, love,’ she said, guiding her from the kitchen and across the narrow passage to the housekeeper’s sitting room, being housekeeper as well as cook. Leading her to the little sofa, she said gently, ‘Sit down, love. Your usuals, is it? Are you flooding?’

  Madeleine shook her head, unable to reveal the truth, but it seemed that Mrs Cole had taken her own assumption for granted.

  ‘You should rest more. Probably worry – worrying about the master and all. I’ll have young Lily bring you a hot drink, then perhaps you should go back to bed for the morning. Rest is what you need. I’ll tell the master to arrange for your lunch to be taken to your room. Maybe your monthlies are a bit heavier than usual. They can be a bit alarming if you’ve not had one like that for a long while, but as you know it’ll dwindle in a day or two.’

  ‘It’s not my monthlies!’ Madeleine cried before she could stop herself.

  A brief silence descended, then slowly, ‘Then what, dear?’

  Without warning, Madeleine leaned forward. Hands covering her face, she broke into sobs while Mrs Cole sat beside her, quite still for a while, just looking at her. At last she asked, ‘What are you trying to say, love?’

  Madeleine could no longer hold it in. ‘I’m pregnant!’

  Her voice choked off into silence, not seeing Mrs Cole’s face breaking into smiles or the next moment changing to concern. ‘You’re definitely sure there’s bleeding, dear?’

  As Madeleine nodded, her manner became urgent. ‘But that could be dangerous. You could lose it. We must call Dr Peters immediately.’

  ‘No! Don’t do that! Please – no one else knows.’

  ‘What about your husband?’

  ‘He doesn’t know either.’

  ‘But surely he knows of your condition?’ She sounded bewildered and Madeleine could guess what she was thinking, that had he been told, by now he would be letting everyone know, making a great deal of it that he, a man of his late years, was to become a father.

  ‘I daren’t tell him,’ Madeleine whispered desperately. Mrs Cole was staring at her as if not knowing what to make of this.

  At last she sat down beside her, laid an understanding arm about Madeleine’s shoulder as she whispered, ‘Why ever not?’

  Madeleine had no idea how to reply; wished she hadn’t rushed down here, so fast, so desperate to have someone help her, advise her.

  ‘Because,’ she began, breaking off then tremulously beginning again. ‘Because… It’s not his.’

  There, she’d said it, instantly wishing she hadn’t as the words, ‘Dear God!’ like a tiny whispered explosion broke from the woman’s lips.

  ‘How d’you mean, it’s not his?’ she said, her gentle tone taking on a harder note.

  The question sounded utterly absurd, but all Madeleine could do was break down afresh in sobs of misery. ‘It’s not his! What’s he going to say?’

  She felt the arm lift off her shoulders. ‘It’s not what he’s going to say. It’s how he’s going to feel. The man’s ill. Faced with something like this – how could you ever have done such a thing to him? Who is the father?’

  That she was not prepared to tell her. She had said too much already and she shouldn’t have. She should have gone straight to Anthony. Though maybe he wouldn’t have been home yet, or maybe he would, waiting
for her, waiting to talk about the following weekend ready to prepare her for the ordeal facing her. If she could make it to Anthony’s they could call a doctor from there and perhaps James would never have to know. What the procedure would be she had no idea. Whether a doctor would take it away, or just stop the bleeding, she had no idea, but it must not happen in this house.

  Her thoughts were in turmoil. There was a lurking relief that there may be no need now to go through the trauma of placing herself into the care of an abortionist. She’d told Anthony she wanted a baby, but not at this moment. All she knew was that she needed to be with him. Certainly not here being attended to by James’s doctor, with James having to be informed, having to face him. No need for Mrs Cole to observe and maybe tittle-tattle, no matter how trustworthy. No need for James to be any the wiser.

  ‘I must go!’ she burst out. ‘Don’t say anything to Mr Ingleton, please, Mrs Cole.’

  ‘I should think not!’ The tone was no longer kind. ‘News like that could kill him, ill like he is. How could you treat the master…’

  But Madeleine was already out through the kitchen door, up the basement steps and hurrying down the hall towards the main door. She had only gone halfway when a sharp little pain seared her insides low down and made her gasp, stopping her in her tracks. Tense, she waited for it to ease, but then a second pain took over, slower, heavier, a deep, more persistent grinding like a fist being turned inside her.

  Doubling up, she heard herself cry out, ‘Mrs Cole – come quick!’

  Mrs Cole arrived in an instant and helped her into the sitting room, lowered her on to a sofa, and made her lie back, saying, ‘I’m calling the doctor. No arguments.’ Raising her voice she bellowed, ‘Beattie! Beattie, where are you?’

  ‘Up here, Mrs Cole,’ came a voice from over the landing above.

  ‘Come down here, Beattie, this minute!’