“Yes.Why did I never think to ask him?He says here he had no idea anything was wrong until he came to town and called at Lauriston Street.”She could feel joy rise in her like the sun.“Am I foolish to think this gives hope?”
Miss Hurstman pursed her lips.“No,” she adjudged.“But to be honest, I’d want to know their track record for sympathetic feelings before I got carried away.After all, if your husband is gone to Canada or Virginia, would such feelings operate at that distance?”
“I will write and ask Lord Stainbridge immediately.”
“Ask him down,” said Miss Hurstman.“If you write he won’t answer the questions properly.People never do.”
After a brief hesitation, Eleanor agreed to this course.
One week later Lord Stainbridge’s carriage, that same carriage that had taken Eleanor to and from Newhaven, came bowling up the drive.
By this time he had discovered the true story behind events and his anger had faded.Now he was anxious, he was sympathetic, he was proud that Nicholas had apparently done something important (the regent himself had taken him aside to offer discreet congratulations and tactful inquiries about the hero’s whereabouts), and disgusted at how it had been achieved.He fussed Eleanor to death, but as she had invited him she felt she must endure it.
Eventually, however, she had him settled for questioning.
“Why, yes,” he said, “we do experience such things.It happened first when we went to school.We had rarely been apart before then, but our father insisted we go to different schools.I went to Eton and Nicky to Harrow.When he had a fever there and was very sick, I felt terrible.Not sick, but out of sorts in my mind.”
“What about when he’s been abroad?”asked Eleanor anxiously.
He understood where she was leading.“You are wondering if I would know if he was dead,” he said, losing color.“Yes.Yes, I honestly think I would.He was shot once in Massachusetts and was close to death with fever afterwards.I knew how ill he was, though not where he was or what was the matter.”
Eleanor could not put the question, but he answered it anyway.“I do not think he can be dead, Eleanor.It is impossible that I not feel anything.It could be that at the time all this was going on I felt something.I was … disturbed … is the only word for it.I confess it might have been an ordinary malaise.It did not amount to anything significant, I am sure.”
Relief flooded her like a golden tide.She hardly had time to savor it before it was swamped by grievance.“You do not feel there is anything wrong with him at all?”she persisted.
Sublimely un-attuned to her outrage, he said, “Not that I am aware of.”
Eleanor was forced to face the idea that Nicholas had not been murdered or kidnapped or hurt in any way but had blithely left with his light-of-love for a life of adventures in the Americas.
Lord Stainbridge stayed for a few days, attempting to persuade Eleanor to make her home with him, but finally he gave up and left disgruntled.Eleanor was relieved to see him go.Holding her tongue with him had been difficult, especially as he had constantly assured her that Nicholas was in excellent health.
As she waved his carriage farewell, she admitted that would rather Nicholas be alive and with his mistress than be at the bottom of the ocean.But if she ever set eyes on him again she’d carve him into tiny pieces!
She wrote to Francis and told him of Lord Stainbridge’s opinion.Soon she had Francis on her doorstep, eager to discuss the matter and convince himself that there was, in fact, hope.He understood Eleanor’s ambivalence, and they spent some time fruitlessly trying to make the facts fit the picture of Nicholas they wanted to cherish.Eventually they tacitly agreed to abandon the subject and enjoy the autumn weather.When he left, she gave him her gift for Amy’s wedding, and in due course she received thanks and a long letter describing everything about what seemed to have been a perfect day.
Eleanor disciplined herself to accept the fact that her husband was a wanderer, both physically and emotionally.She reminded herself that she still had much for which to be grateful to him, and it was unfair to blame him too harshly for following the way of life he obviously preferred.She had a lovely home, a comfortable independence, and a child growing within her.She would take joy in her blessings.
As the first frosts feathered the windows and she grew larger, Eleanor’s life became a matter of waiting.Waiting for the child and, despite everything, waiting for Nicholas.She felt sure that even if he was again bewitched by Madame Bellaire he would send her word.She believed that one day he would want to see the baby.
She and Miss Hurstman spent a quiet Christmas walking down to the village church on a crisp, sunny morning and exchanging joyous greetings with all their new community.Despite Eleanor’s advanced pregnancy they had received many invitations, but because of it, their polite refusals were completely understood.
On the first day of the new year Eleanor was awakened by a change in her body, a change as yet unclear.Soon, by concentrating, she felt the tightening low in her abdomen.The midwife was immediately sent for.She indulgently listened to Eleanor’s excited description and then told her to go along as normal, walk about as much as possible, and eat every now and then.
“For if the child is born before midnight, I’ll be surprised, Mrs.Delaney.No need to wear out your excitement before it’s needed.Send for me if you need me and I’ll be back to stay in the evening.”
It was as the woman said.The day passed much like any other.Eleanor even took time to walk around the garden and pick a few late roses for her room.Flowers to greet her child.
By the time the midwife came back she was lying in the bed, but she was soon up again.
“Keep up and walking as long as you can, my dear.It’s easier that way.Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll see what I can do, but don’t be afraid to yell.It’ll help to get the baby out, you’ll see.”
Then gradually it was as if a wave took her, and there was pain and pressure and she had to go with it, because if she fought the force it would surely break her.She grabbed on to the midwife’s hands and read her safety in her eyes, but she still groaned and grunted and found herself whimpering, “Nicholas.”
She would give anything to have him here.She could trust him.
A part of her mind looked down and laughed.
She at least had Arabella Hurstman, though that lady for once looked flustered almost to panic.She settled eventually, however, and sat reading aloud from the works of Mr.Wordsworth:
