Chapter 10

10

She has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt him ... she is lost forever.

—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

By unspoken agreement, the family went into the parlour after church and shut the doors, something they rarely did, as guests sometimes used the informal sitting room as well.

Mr. Gwilt knocked, poked his head inside, and asked, “Shall I bring tea, or...?” Looking uncertainly from face to troubled face, he broke off and closed the door behind himself without another word.

Emily’s husband looked uncertain as well. He rose and said, “I think I shall let you ladies talk in private, but if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know. May I bring anyone anything?”

The women all shook their heads.

So James alone went to partake of the cold collation left on the sideboard for family and guests to eat at their leisure before or after church. Sarah’s stomach churned at the thought of food, and apparently none of the rest of them had any appetite either. Not even Georgiana, most surprising of all.

“What is going on?” her youngest sister demanded. “Claire was there. Our Claire. And you all sat there like lichens on gravestones. Looked as grim as gravediggers too. Sarah shushing me. Mamma staring straight ahead, pretending not to notice.” She turned to Emily and accused, “Even you just sat there.”

Emily raised her hands in defense. “I did not know what else to do. We were in church, after all. Hardly the place to shout someone’s name. Or to run to her, although I was very much tempted.”

“You’ve changed,” Georgie observed. “Is that what marrying does to a woman? I liked the old speak-first-think-later Emily better.”

“I wanted to spare Mamma’s feelings. I did not wish to cause a scene, to embarrass her or the rest of us.”

Mamma gazed across the room. “I can’t believe she came to church, as bold as brass. What did she think would happen?”

“Hardly bold,” Sarah defended. “She sat in the back and left before the service ended.”

Emily said, “I planned to speak to her afterward. I had no idea she would run off like that.”

“Why did she?” Georgiana asked.

“Perhaps she realized she’d made a mistake in coming.”

“Why should it be a mistake?” Georgie stood and propped her hands on her waist. “What are you not telling me?”

Becoming aware of all their gazes upon her and the expectant silence, Mamma came back to herself and looked around at her three daughters. “Will you tell her, Sarah? I can hardly bear thinking about it, let alone describe it to my youngest child. And no need to go into gratuitous detail, if you please.”

Gratuitous detail? Sarah knew few details, let alone gratuitous ones. She did not want to be the bearer of such news. Especially to sweet, trusting Georgiana. Had no desire to see the carefree innocence snuffed from her eyes. But the duty fell to her, and the wave of guilt that always accompanied those memories swamped her anew. For she alone had known what Claire intended to do and had not stopped her or raised the alarm.

Sarah licked lips that were suddenly dry and began. “You were told Claire went to Scotland to serve as companion to Papa’s aunt. That was not strictly true.”

“Then where has she been these last two years?”

“She did live with Great-Aunt Mercer, but that was not why she left Finderlay.” Sarah raised a palm to forestall the flood of questions she saw building on Georgiana’s face.

“Let me start at the beginning. I don’t know if you will remember, but the Parkers hosted a house party of nearly a fortnight’s duration in honor of a visiting friend. You were too young to be invited, I was in mourning, and Viola chose not to attend. Only Emily and Claire went, as the party was mostly for young people, and Mamma’s health was not good at the time.

“During the party, Claire formed an attachment with a young man, the guest of honor. On the last night of the party, he convinced her to run away with him. She came home at, I don’t know, half past eleven. I was already in bed. I woke up as she was changing into traveling clothes and packing. I asked what she was doing, and she confessed all. She was giddy with excitement and not thinking straight. I tried to talk her out of such a rash course, to make her see reason. I did not understand why the pair needed to elope. Claire was of age. Why such a hurry that they could not wait three weeks for the banns to be read and then marry in church?

“At all events, she seemed to be floating above the ground, inhabiting some distant sphere, and I could not pull her back to earth. I warned her she would break our parents’ hearts, but she said they would forgive all once she married Lord Bertram.”

Mamma groaned.

Sarah had done her best not to mention the abhorred name, but it had finally slipped out.

She went on, “Claire begged me not to tell anyone until they were safely away. She was six and twenty at the time and convinced it was her last chance to marry.”

Georgie grimaced. “I don’t think I like where this is going....”

“I don’t blame you. I don’t know all the details, but apparently the man changed his mind. When Papa learned that Claire was gone and confirmed with Charles Parker that his guest had left in the night, Papa was, as you can imagine, justifiably furious. He took off in our coach-and-four, hoping to overtake them, but he failed. He assumed they had chosen the fastest route to Gretna Green and would return the same way, but he did not find them. Of course, Papa did not know that the man had abandoned Claire somewhere and gone back another way, no doubt to avoid just such a confrontation.

“When Papa returned to Finderlay, he was exhausted and chilled through. He took ill and, as you know, suffered his first apoplexy soon after. From Charles Parker, he learned that Bertram had briefly returned to May Park for the rest of his belongings and that he had not married Claire after all.”

“But why?”

Emily spoke up. “When Charles was here after Christmas, I asked him about it. He told me about Bertram returning to the house. It seems he cried off when he learned Claire’s dowry was far smaller than he’d believed. Charles tried to tell him it was his duty as a gentleman to marry her anyway to spare her reputation. Still, he would not be moved.”

“The snake!” Georgie exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Why am I the last to learn of this? I am not a child!”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Emily said, “Viola and I only learned of it last summer.”

“Well, you should have told me too.” She sank back into her chair. “Go on, Sarah, please.”

“Papa wanted to pursue Lord Bertram and force him to marry her. Unfortunately his ill health prevented him from doing much more than writing a few letters. Letters that went unanswered.”

“Then how did Claire end up at Aunt Mercer’s?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Apparently she was too ashamed to come home unwed. After a few days away, in the company of a man not her husband, her reputation was ruined, whatever may or may not have happened between them. I would guess she used what money she had to travel on to Edinburgh, hoping our relative there would take her in.”

Mamma sighed. “We learned of her whereabouts in a letter from Aunt Mercer saying she had shown up on her doorstep asking for shelter, offering to serve as her companion in exchange for room and board. Your father wrote back and told her that if she was willing, that was up to her, but as far as he was concerned his eldest daughter was dead to him and would not be welcomed back in his house.”

“How awful,” Georgie murmured.

“Yes, it was.”

“I mean, how awful for Claire.”

Sarah said quietly, “It was awful for all of us, Georgie.”

“But she is the only one who had her life upended by it.”

“How can you say that?” Mamma shot to her feet, face stricken. “Your father was so upset by it that he had not one but two apoplexies. The first left him bedridden and stole his speech. The second took his life. I lost my husband, and you, your father. And with him dead, we all lost our home and financial security. Don’t try to tell me Claire is the only one who suffered consequences from her actions. We all suffered.”

A heated silence followed.

After a time, Emily said gently, “Yes, there were consequences. I lost Charles, for example. For a long time I thought I should break my heart over it. Then I learned he was not the man for me. James is. Something good came from it too.”

“And I lost my big sister,” Georgie said. “For two years. Now she is here. Why can we not forget the past and go on? She is family.”

“You may forget the past all you like,” Mamma said. “I do not have that luxury. Before he lost the power of speech, your father extracted a promise from me not to harbor her or even speak her name. Sarah was in the room at the time. She can attest to it.”

Sarah nodded grimly, the dreadful memory revisiting her. “If it helps at all, Papa was concerned about the rest of us. He wanted to protect us from disgrace as much as possible.”

Sarah did not repeat all he had said. But she remembered.

“Her reputation is ruined beyond repair. Painful or not, she must now be dead to us. The position of eldest daughter falls to you, Sarah. Eugenia, you must promise me not to aid her in any way, nor correspond with her. Do I make myself clear? We have four other daughters to think of....”

Soon after that, he had his first apoplexy and was less able to communicate, which frustrated him to no end. He became bitter and snappish. Two months later he suffered a second attack and died.

Georgiana seemed to absorb the details slowly and did not look satisfied.

“Mamma, she is still your daughter. Don’t you care what happens to her?”

“Of course I care! If your father thought a few words could banish one of my children from my heart, then he had no idea what a mother’s heart is. It is called maternal instinct for a reason! Even so, I won’t pretend I did not share his dis appointment over what she had done—and his anger at that man. That goes without saying. I was livid with that scoundrel, and disappointed in my daughter, whom I’d raised to protect her virtue and reputation. I was also disappointed in Charles Parker for inviting the man into our neighborhood. Disappointed with your father for being unable to do anything about it...”

“And disappointed with me, for not preventing it?” Sarah asked softly.

Mamma looked at her. “I suppose I was. I know the bonds between sisters are tenacious, but that was taking loyalty too far. I was also disappointed in myself. So wrapped up in my own ailments that I was not even aware of the romance building between one of my daughters and a veritable stranger. I did not rouse myself to join the party. Did not urge your father to attend.

“And how I worried when we learned that jackanapes had returned without her and we did not know where she was. Had she any money? Was she in mortal danger? As much as I disliked your father’s aunt, I was relieved when she wrote to tell us Claire was there with her. Safe.

“No one told me parenting would be so difficult. When you girls were little, I foolishly thought I would train and nurture you for, oh, twenty years or so, and then you would marry and live contentedly on your own and my time for parenting would be over. Perhaps for some women that is so but not for me. Don’t mistake me. I don’t resent it. I love you and am blessed to be your mother. I hope you know that.”

“Do you still love Claire?” Georgie asked.

Mamma’s eyes filled with tears. Voice hoarse, she said, “Of course I do.”

Sarah felt tears prick her own eyes in response.

After a few moments of silence, Emily said, “Forgive me, Mamma, but I long to speak to Claire. Heavens! She has not even met my husband yet, nor Viola’s, although that will have to wait until she and the major return. Perhaps it is better we don’t overwhelm her with too many new people at once.”

“I want to go too,” Georgie said, rising eagerly.

“You promised to go sea-bathing with me today,” Mamma said, an oddly plaintive note in her voice.

“Oh. That’s right.” Georgie sat back down. “At least I’ve already talked to her once. Do be sure to tell her I send my love and hope to see her again soon.”

Emily nodded. “Sarah, will you come?”

With an uneasy glance at Mamma, Sarah said, “Perhaps you and James would rather go alone?”

“Actually, I wish you would come. I feel strangely nervous.”

“So do I,” Sarah admitted, then paused to consider. She had not verbally agreed to her father’s edict but neither had she refused. Was a promise tacitly understood? Sarah was not a wife who had vowed to obey her husband. She was a daughter, taught to obey and honor her parents, yet she was a sister too. And as Mamma had said, sisterly bonds were tenacious.

She looked to her mother, and for a long moment their gazes held. Searched. Then Mamma gave the slightest of nods.

Sarah rose. “I will go with you.”