Philippa Carr - Lament for a Lost Lover

“Get some brandy. But I’m afraid …”

I went to a sideboard and poured out some brandy. It had been kept in the room since Toby had had his first attack. Carleton lifted him and tried to pour the brandy into his mouth. It fell over his chin.

“It’s too late,” murmured Carleton. “I feared it.”

Harriet came back into the room.

“I’ve sent one of the men,” she said. “Oh, God, he looks … awful.”

“It may be too late,” said Carleton.

“No …” she whispered.

She went to stand on the other side of the bed. Carleton had gently lowered Toby down onto the pillows. We stood in silence looking at him.

Then Harriet spoke: “If only that doctor would come. How long he is!”

“The man has only just left,” Carleton reminded her. “He will be an hour at least.”

Then the silence fell again. I stood at the head of the bed—Harriet on one side of it, Carleton on the other.

Then there was a sudden gasp from behind us. Charlotte had come into the room.

“I heard running about. What’s happened?”

“He’s had an attack,” said Carleton.

“Is it … bad?”

“Very bad, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, poor, poor Uncle Toby.”

Silence again. I could hear the clock on the mantelpiece ticking. It sounded ominous.

We stood like statues round that bed. I was deeply aware of Charlotte. There was a kind of knowing look in her eyes.

Nonsense, I said. You’re overwrought. It’s your condition.

It struck me that we were like a tableau … full of meaning which I could only vaguely realize.

They were somber days that followed. “Two deaths coming so suddenly one on another,” mourned Matilda. “Oh, how I hate death. He was so content. So much in love.”

“Perhaps that was why,” said Charlotte.

I saw a shiver run through Matilda. Then she said: “He forgot he was an old man. It happens like that sometimes.”

“At least,” I reminded them, “he was happy. For the last year or so he was living in a kind of paradise.”

“What kind?” asked Charlotte. “A fool’s paradise.”

Of course she hated Harriet and had always resented the way in which she had been brought into the family.

There was another one who hated Harriet and that was Sally Nullens. But perhaps she feared rather than hated her. She mourned Toby sincerely. She had remembered him before he went away. “He always believed the best of everyone,” she said with meaning.

I BEGAN TO FEEL unwell. The months of waiting seemed longer than they had when I was awaiting the birth of Priscilla. I think I was obsessed by the fear that I might not have a son.

That made me resentful towards Carleton. It was so stupid to blame a woman because the sex of her child was not what her husband hoped for. Kings had done it in the past. I thought of Anne Boleyn and all that had happened through her failing to get a son and how she must have felt during the long waiting months, the outcome of which would decide her future. The reverberations of that affair had affected my ancestress Damask Farland and her family. It was unfair, so arrogant, so typical of a certain kind of man. Henry VIII’s kind. Carleton’s kind.

Our own King Charles could not get a legitimate son, although he had several boy bastards. I wondered how his gentle Queen felt about her inadequacy. Perhaps she was not so anxious as I was. Charles might be a blatantly unfaithful husband but by all accounts he was a kindly one.

It was a hot summer’s day when it happened. I had four more months to go before the expected birth of my child and I was in the garden with Priscilla. I could hear the boys at the shooting butts just behind the lawn. Every now and then I would hear a shot, then a whoop of delight or perhaps a groan. They were happy. That much was certain. Edwin was really enjoying the discipline imposed by Carleton and I was rather gratified to notice that he had a great respect for him. He did not love him; he was too much in awe of him for that, but he certainly looked up to him with a kind of reverence. I was pleased at this, and I knew Carleton relished it. I hoped it would make them feel closer together.

I was thinking of this and had not noticed that Priscilla had toddled away. She had an exploring nature and was constantly attempting to evade supervision. Looking up suddenly I saw to my horror that she was making towards the shooting butts.

Horrified, I sprang up and ran towards her, calling her name. She seemed to think it was some sort of game, for she increased her speed. I could hear her chuckling to herself. Then I caught the heel of my shoe in a gnarled root and fell.

I was panic-stricken and in sudden pain. I called, “Priscilla, Priscilla,” and tried hard to rise. “Come back. Come back.”

I stood up and fell again.

Then I saw Carleton coming towards me. He was carrying Priscilla.

When he saw me, he put her down and ran towards me.

“What happened?”

“I was afraid … She was running towards the butts. I … I fell.”

He lifted me up in his arms and carried me into the house.

I heard him shout to one of the servants: “Send for the doctor … at once.”

I lay on my bed. The room was darkened, for they had drawn the curtains across them to shut out the light. I was tired and dispirited though the pain had passed.

I believe I had been very ill.

Sally Nullens came into the room.

“Ah, awake then.” She was standing over me with the inevitable bowl of broth.

“Oh, Sally,” I said.

“You’ll be all right, mistress,” she said. “My word, Master Edwin has been in a fine state. I’ve not been able to quieten him. I can tell him now, though, that you’re on the mend.”

“I’ve lost the baby,” I said.

“There’ll be other babies,” she answered. “Praise God, we didn’t lose you.”

“Was I so bad, then?”

“Don’t do you much good talking. Take this. It’ll put life into you.”

So I took it. She watched me. She said: “I’ll bring them in to see you before they go to bed. The three of them. I’ve promised them, you see.”

She brought them in. Edwin flew at me and hugged me so tightly that Sally protested.

“Do you want to strangle your mama, young man?”

Leigh tried to push him aside. “Me too,” he said.

Priscilla was crying because she was being left out.

I smiled happily at them.

Whatever happened I had them.

Carleton came and sat by my bed. Poor Carleton, how disappointed he was!

“I’m sorry,” I said stretching out a hand. He took it and kissed it.

“Never mind, Arabella. There’ll be another time.”

“There must be. I shall not rest until you have your son.”

“There has to be a rest after this … a year at least, they tell me. Perhaps two.”

“You mean before we have a child?”

He nodded.

“At least,” he said, “you’ve come through. You’ve been very ill, you know. If only you hadn’t … But what’s the good?”

“I was terrified.”

“I know. Priscilla!” He said the name almost angrily.

“I thought she would get into the shooting range and …”

“Don’t fret about it. She didn’t. In any case I should have seen her and stopped the firing.”

“Oh, Carleton, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say it like that. As though I’m some … monster …”

“You are,” I said with a return of my old spirit.

He bent down and kissed me. “Get well, quickly, Arabella,” he murmured.

Matilda came.

“Oh, my dear, dear child, how wonderful that you can now have visitors. I have been beside myself with fear. It was so dreadful … my dear husband, Toby … and then you. It was as though there was some evil spell on the house. …”