Fanny (75 page)

“But what then
is
the Truth?” I askt, my Eyes brimming with Tears, my Heart pounding against my Chest like a Pigeon who hath flown off course and lost his Loving Flock.

“Fanny, my Dear, you know in your Heart that I am your Mother and Lord Bellars was your Father. Dear Daughter, I call’d you by that Name when you had just ceas’d labouring to bring this Babe to Birth—yet you remember nought….”

“I thought so, I thought so, and yet I dar’d not think…. I thought ’twas merely Metaphor,” said I, wetting Belinda’s red and curly Hair with Tears. The Sweetness of knowing Isobel for my Mother somewhat assuaged the Pain of knowing Lord Bellars was my Father. “O my God, my God,” I cried.

“Goddess,” said Isobel smiling.

From the Bedchamber, there came a lone Cry from Lady Bellars, then Silence again. O my two Mothers! One was sane and one was mad! One a Witch and one a Wife—madden’d by Goodness! But O which was which? Were they perhaps
both
mad—but mad in diff’rent Ways?

“Hear me now,” said Isobel, directing her Words both at my Sobs and Mary’s incredulous Stares.

“When Lady Bellars bore her first Babe, Mary, in the fourth Year of the Reign of Queen Anne, the Child was put out to nurse with a Woman in the Country, nam’d Mrs. Griffith, for ’twas not the Custom of that Time, nor is it now, for Mothers of Noble Birth to nurse their own Progeny, suckling being consider’d a low and bestial Pursuit…. Lord Bellars had no Wish to have his Sleep interrupted by a squalling Babe—for no Rake nor Man of Fashion would endure such Distractions; thus the Infant was sent to Griffith upon her Birth and left for near three Years. I was then Housekeeper at Lymeworth and so I knew Mary as a Babe. I’faith, ’twas I who found the Wet-Nurse, who was my Friend. You met her once, Fanny; her name was Joan.”

“Then Joan was Mary’s Nurse?” I gaspt.

“Aha, so ye both are in league against me!” cried Mary. “Ah, when my Father’s Lawyer comes, I’ll have ye thrown out of this House….”

“Very well,” said Isobel, “but first my Tale!”

Whereupon she continu’d: “But alas, the sweet Babe, Mary, dy’d in her third Month, of a Fever, and Joan, who was mortally afraid of being charged with Witchcraft—for she liv’d alone and practis’d Healing and Wet-nursing, having lost her own Babe—substituted another Child, who was the poor abandon’d Babe of a Chambermaid transported to the Plantations for Theft after her Lying-in.”

“What?” cried Mary. “No Chambermaid was my mother! Ye lye!”

“Hush,” said Isobel. “When the Attorney brings the Will, ’twill all be there. Meanwhile, let me tell what I know.”

“Lyes! Lyes!” cried Mary.

“If they be Lyes, then why are you alarm’d?” Isobel sweetly askt. Whereupon she continu’d, “The following Year, Cecilia bore a Son, Daniel, and nearly dy’d bringing him to birth. I heal’d her with the Herbal Receipts I knew; thus she was always grateful to me, for she saw me as her blessed Friend, who sav’d her Life. But what she did not know was that during her Confinement, Laurence Bellars had turn’d his Lustful Eyes upon me, forced me to be his Mistress upon Pain of being discover’d as a Witch—for I was also famous in the Neighbourhood for all my Healing Arts—and I carried his Child!”

“No!” I cried, marvelling that my Mother and I should both have shar’d the self-same Fate!

“But,” Isobel continu’d, “Cecilia would not hear of Daniel being taken from her—for she had borne him in so much Pain and had sorely miss’d her little Daughter when she was foster’d out to nurse, therefore she hired a Wet-Nurse to attend Daniel here at Lymeworth and ne’er let him out of her Sight, having the Babe and Wet-Nurse sleep in her Ante-Chamber so that e’en in her weaken’d Condition, she could oft’ visit ’em. Lord Bellars was not happy with this Plan; besides he now tired of his ailing Wife whose Favours had been denied to him for lo so many Months. Thus, he departed for London to play amongst his Whores…. I saw him go with little Regret and I e’en consider’d aborting his Child—but the Truth was I wisht for a Child with all my Heart—since I was thirty-three Years of Age and knew not when I might bear if not then. Cecilia and I were left alone, and Truth to say, we became the dearest of Friends. ’Twas impossible to hide my Condition from her after a Time, and knowing her as I did, I took the Risque and confess’d her own Husband was the Father of the Child I bore!”

“What did she say? What did she do?” I askt.

“She took it calmly,” Isobel said, “for she was no Fool, tho’ she was mad for Want of True Affection from her Mate. ‘You have sav’d my Life,’ said she, ‘and prov’d a Perfect Friend. Therefore will I raise your Babe as mine until the Time is Ripe for her to know your Name. Then she shall know all if we see fit.’ In the sixth Month of my Confinement, I went away to my Friend, Joan, and bore the Babe assisted by her able Hands. Then I left her upon the Doorstep of Lymeworth as agreed, and also as agreed, Cecilia took her in. O I regretted my Decision almost instantly, for I miss’d my Babe and soon was sure that I might raise her despite my impoverish’d State—but Cecilia would not let me change my Mind. I suppose she bore some Grudge against me after all, and when I askt for Fanny back (or at least for my Post as Housekeeper once again, so I might watch her grow), she banish’d me from Lymeworth. ’Twas a harsh Punishment indeed—for I lov’d my little Daughter. I might have had Revenge by keeping Mary (for I went to live with Joan), yet, ’twas ne’er my Way to take Revenge into my own Hands, for I believe that greater Hands than ours arrange our Fates. And verily, i’faith, it hath been proven true!”

“What happen’d then?” I askt.

“Mary return’d to Lymeworth at almost Three, but tho’ Cecilia was ne’er told in so many Words, she seem’d to know that Mary was a Changeling—for Mothers know these Things—and besides the Child clung to her Nurse, Joan, as if she were in Terror of Cecilia, and i’faith, returning to Lymeworth was a Shock from which I think Mary ne’er recover’d. No Bond was e’er created betwixt Mother and Child, as is oft’ the case with Children nurs’d away from Home so many Years.”

“Lyes!” cried Mary, desp’rately, yet was there something in the History which seem’d to explain her own Grievances ’gainst the Fates. ’Tis True, I thought to myself, that such an envious and ill-humour’d Nature was perhaps the Result of her unhappy History.

“Lord Bellars knew nothing of these Things,” Isobel went on. “Fanny, he conceiv’d an abandon’d Babe, Mary and Daniel his own Progeny; whereas his Love of Fanny he thought a Fluke of Nature—for he lov’d her more than his own Daughter and was e’er delighted by her great Gifts of Language, her excellent Penmanship and Skill in Latin, and, of course, her Horsemanship….”

“What Gifts?” cried Mary. “The little Minx hath no great Gifts!” O then she fell to whimp’ring like a whipp’d Dog. I’faith, I pitied her; what a Shock to discover that one’s entire Destiny and Genealogy hath been a Lye!

“But when did Lord Bellars learn the Truth?” I askt Isobel.

“After your Babe was born,” said she. “Tho’, i’faith, you knew it not, you were an Instrument of the Goddess’ Vengeance. For in wearing your Masks and letting him keep you without knowing your True Identity, you brought him to Repentance. No doubt you also sav’d his Soul. What Daughter could do more for her Father?”

“Dadadadadada?” askt Belinda.

I was silent with the Astonishment of all these Revelations; Mary whimper’d softly as if, i’faith, she knew that Isobel’s History were true; Lady Bellars awaken’d suddenly and began to cry out for Isobel. Isobel rusht in to tend her.

“Mary,” I said to my Step-Sister, whereupon she only wept longer and louder.

“Mary,” I began again, walking o’er to her, carrying Belinda and putting my free Hand upon her Shoulder.

“Sister, Friend, Playmate of my Youth,” I said, “if these Things are true, and I am the Heiress to Lymeworth, I swear you shall always have a Place here and a Home—for this is your Home as much as mine!”

“More!” she scream’d, and spat full in my Face.

CHAPTER XVI

Drawing still nearer to the End.

I
N THE DAYS THAT
follow’d upon these Astounding Revelations, the whole Household was in a great State of Anxiety, awaiting Lord Bellars’ Lawyer from London. The usual Yuletide Festivities which had graced the Christmasses of my Youth were put aside, both for the Sake of Mourning and because of Lady Bellars’ great Illness, which requir’d Isobel’s constant Care.

As there is nothing more sombre than to be sombre when all the World is merry and rejoicing, Lymeworth was gloomy indeed. Many of the Servants had, in any case, left Months earlier, for Want of Wages; and doubtless to seek better Places in Town—for they had heard the Siren Song of London’s Charms and they fancied there was more Tea to be had in London Households, and better Liveries, and less Work than in the dull Country.

As for me, what was my Response to the News that I might soon be Mistress of Lymeworth? I’faith, I scarcely believ’d it! ’Twas a Fairy Tale, a Dream, a Fable from a Book of French Romances! First, as a Bastard—and a female one at that—how might I inherit the Estate settl’d upon Lord Bellars by his Father? Then, what Reason had I to believe that Lymeworth was unencumber’d by Debts and Mortgages! Why some of the greatest Houses in all of England were as heavy with Mortgages as their Chestnut Trees were heavy with Chestnuts! I presum’d, therefore, that Lord Bellars had left his Affairs in great Disarray, o’erspent mightily upon this aborted Renovation of Lymeworth, and was in Debt to his Architect, his Landscape Gardener, all his Builders, Painters, and Plasterers, not to mention his Banker, and e’en his Lawyer! In London he had liv’d high; at Lymeworth e’en his Expences for his Horses, Grooms, and Stables—not to mention his Hounds—must be hundreds of Pounds a Year, nay thousands. O I had no Head for Banking and Money (if I were Mistress of Lymeworth, indeed, I should call Sir Richard Hoare to handle my Affairs as Lord Bellars had done before me), but I knew that ’twas likely I was Heiress to nought but Debts, and that e’en paying out Lady Bellars’ Jointure should sore stress the Estate.

Besides, the Shock of learning that my beloved Belinda was of incestuous Birth dampen’d whate’er rejoicing I might have known o’er the News of my presum’d Inheritance. I lookt and lookt at the Babe, seeking some flaw, some Touch of the Devil’s Tail, some Imperfection—yet found I none. I’faith, you were more perfect, more amiable, more fair, more clever than any Babe I’d seen. If this be Incest’s Fruit, sobeit! thought I. Perhaps we all should have incestuous Births! Whereupon I quickly chid myself for such Impertinence to the Fates, and hung my Head again in Shame.

Oft’ I respond thus to Good Fortune, whereas Calamity puts me upon my Mettle. ’Tis true as true can be that we are oft’ more easy in the Face of Adversity than in the Face of Pleasant Circumstances; for Ill Fortune calls forth all one’s Pluck and Tenacity, whereas Good Fortune runs the Risque of plunging one directly into
Ennui
, which is, of course, a greater Evil than Pyracy, Want, or e’en Debt.

So I mus’d and agoniz’d concerning my suppos’d Good Fortune. Nor did I fail to think of a hundred other Dire Possibilities that might stand betwixt me and its Fruition: Daniel might yet turn up, wrongly reported dead; Mary might stab me in my Sleep; Isobel might prove to be quite as mad as Lady Bellars—for are they not the Maddest of the Mad who ne’er doubt their Convictions and seem, i’faith, most sane? Perhaps there was no Last Will & Testament at all, but only Isobel’s Word—the Word of a suspected Witch—’gainst Mary’s? Perhaps Daniel had married Kate ere he dy’d and she had borne a Son and Heir to whom the Estate would surely go. Perhaps Kate
herself
would arrive to blacken my Good Fortune; for certainly the Chambermaid’s Gossip about her was not to be accounted free of Errors. There were more Reasons surely to expect Disaster than to expect Success, and e’en if Success were mine, ’twas sure as Buds in Spring and Flies in Summer that by and by our Deeds of Pyracy and Highway Robbery should catch up with us at Lymeworth.

I told all this to Lancelot, who laugh’d and laugh’d.

“Ye have the Thieves’ Disease, me Girl,” said he, “Fear o’ a quiet Life. A quiet Life in the Country affrights ye more than Fleein’ upon the Seas! Ah, I know it well. But I have roam’d the whole Wide World so long, that I think
this Libertalia
may well be the best we’ll find, an’ I’m content to stay here an’ cultivate me Garden.”

Lancelot already had Plans for Lymeworth—which we should rename Merriman Park—and make a Sanctuary for retir’d Pyrates and Robbers, where they might stash their Gold and practise the newest Farming Methods, breed Horses, raise Sheep, and fight Sea Battles for Fun and Fancy upon an Artificial Sea.

“When I met ye, me Girl, I thought ye no Use to anyone—on account o’ yer Arrogance, yer Beauty, an’ yer damn’d red-headed Impertinence. Then, little by little, I came to love ye, until me Heart was so caught up in yer red Hairs that ’twas very like a Fly caught in a Spider’s Web—an’ now ’tis wholly yers—whatsoe’er Use ye plan to make o’ it. An’ now to boot, I find ye are an Heiress! Did any Man e’er have such Good Luck? I would have taken ye without a Farthin’ an’ accounted meself most blest—an’ now ye are an Heiress, too!”

Whereupon he threw his Arms about me, tumbl’d me to the Bed, and began to kiss my Face from Forehead to Chin saying, “Fanny, Fanny, Fanny Hackabout-Jones. Only promise ye’ll ne’er change yer Name.”

I thought then of the Lancelot who had coin’d that Name, the loud and brawling boastful Lancelot who had no Use for Women, nor indeed for any Human Creature who did not serve as a Mirror to the Glorious Figure he cut, an Echo to his Braggadocio—and I had to laugh. And then I had to cry as he cover’d my Eyes with Kisses and drank my Tears, and made love to me with a Love stor’d up for Years—who knows, maybe e’en for sev’ral Centuries?

Our Bedding, being so long delay’d, was bound to be either dreadful or wonderful; ’twas the latter. We kiss’d and clung and kiss’d and clung again. We delighted each other all thro’ a Day and Night with that Tenderness which only Lovers who know each other’s Souls ere they discover each other’s Bodies, may bestow upon each other’s Forms. After we made love, and betwixt each tumultuous Act, we laugh’d and talkt and remember’d.