I said, ‘Ernie tête-à-tête again? What can he want? Has he found Sofy a husband?’
Mrs Chevely said, ‘I hope so. I hope he’s found a brigade of husbands. They’re all so mad for anything in breeches. If they were cats you’d have them cut.’
When Ernie came out from Sofy’s room he pretended not to see me. It was his usual way and suited me.
He said, ‘Don’t hover, Che. She has everything she needs.’ Mrs Chevely said, ‘Is she sleeping?’
‘She’s resting,’ he said. ‘Leave her in peace.’ And off he strode.
I surmised that they’d quarrelled and he didn’t want it known but Sofy seemed happy enough. Mrs Chevely though detected a feverish flush. She took away the steaming balsam and brought in cold towels and iced water instead.
I said, ‘What did Ernie want so mysteriously?’
‘Only to keep me company,’ she said, ‘when my friends go for long, selfish walks and leave me all alone.’
I said, ‘I’ll leave tomorrow. You’re not well and if I stay we’ll only quarrel.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You may go. I really don’t need you. I have my brother. At least I know he’ll never desert me.’
17
No letters came from Sofy and she received none from me. When I thought of her it was with a stab of hurt, to have been cast off like a servant who’d failed to give satisfaction, but my days were too filled to dwell on it often. The Pink Lemon was prospering and Jack and I had leased a house on Seymour Street. More rooms, in anticipation of the babies that still didn’t come.
‘Don’t fret, Nellie,’ Jack would say. ‘Summer’s a better time anyway.’
Then, as another season turned, ‘Don’t grieve. They say winter babies are hardier.’
I couldn’t dash his hopes, but in my heart I was resigned. I had Ambrose at least, to fatten up and chaff with.
It was my mother’s birthday. Papi was bringing her to town to dine with us, Jack was busy making almond creams for Lady Mulholland, and I was casting up the month’s accounts. A letter came, express, delivered to the shop. It was from Mrs Chevely at Weymouth, dated July 26th. ‘Dear Nellie,’ she wrote, ‘HRH Sofy is v. much afflicted with her old spasms & suffocations. She asks for you often. I wish you wd attend her and oblige, Louisa Chevely.’
I thought I should go.
Jack said, ‘Why? What is it to you?’
I said, ‘Mrs Che says Sofy struggles to breathe.’ He said, ‘What, are you a surgeon now?’
Papi’s private opinion was that it would be no great sacrifice for Jack to spare me for a week, but he would not interfere. He suggested I should allow my husband to know best. Mother thought I had been rather ill-used by the Royalties of late but then again, Her Majesty might be gratified by my attendance on Sofy and who could say where a queen’s gratitude might lead? I guarantee the kitchen cat would have had an opinion on the subject too, if I’d asked her for it. For two days Jack thumped about the house declaring it would do all Royal Highnesses good to work a day in their life, and then he softened and paid two guineas for an inside seat on the mail passing through Dorchester. From there I was to travel post.
He walked me to the White Bear on Piccadilly.
He said, ‘Don’t linger, Nellie. Soon as you’ve satisfied yourself she’s not a-dying, you come back where you belong.’
If I’d known what I was going to, that I’d be away from my own hearth four long weeks and caught in such a tangle of secrets, I’d never have climbed into that coach.
It began well enough. When I was set down at Dorchester Tom Garth was waiting to convey me to Weymouth in his gig. My heart leapt to see him. He was the same as ever, smart and polished as a soldier should be, but still sporting that old-fashioned pigtail. I’m sure he found me changed. I was an old married woman of twenty-five.
He could give me no particulars of Sofy’s illness, only that she was staying, not at Gloucester Lodge, but in a better appointed residence close by, for greater comfort and convenience. Also that a Dr Milman was attending her and there was no reason to think her life was in danger.
I said, ‘Does she go out?’
‘This week not at all,’ he said. ‘Last week, a drive along the Esplanade at most. But the Duke of Cumberland arrives tomorrow so Stacie’s Rooms will soon get that dash of royal seasoning they pine for.’
I could have said that I didn’t like Ernie Cumberland and had a mind to go straight home if he was expected, but I knew a faithful equerry like Tom Garth wouldn’t be drawn. So we talked of other things instead, of the brandy-runners at Chesil Beach, and the French victory at Marengo. Garth said the Austrians had been routed and Boney seemed to carry all before him. There would be no king restored to the throne of France any time soon.
Mrs Chevely was at a window watching for us. I thought how strained she looked.
I said, ‘Is she worse?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Much the same.’
She took me up directly to the sick room. Sofy was on a day bed with the covers pulled up under her chin, and the curtains were closed, but it was plain to see how dropsical she was. She gripped my hand and kissed it and we made our peace and pledged never to quarrel again, though of course we did.
Her troubles had begun in March, she told me, with nervous palpitations and a terrible weakness and fatigue which she attributed to her increased girth. Then through May and June her spasms had returned, much more convulsive than usual, and now it required such an effort to get her breath she didn’t know where to put herself. Dr Milman though declined to bleed her or blister her or drain the water from her swollen ankles.
I said, ‘Then what does he recommend?’
‘Sal ammoniac,’ Mrs Chevely said.
I said, ‘And does it give you relief ?’
‘Not yet. But with time it will.’
‘Has any other physician given an opinion?’ Sofy caught my hand again.
‘Don’t worry, Nellie,’ she said. ‘Now you’re here I feel so much better. In a few days I’m sure I shall be well again.’
I dined with Mrs Che.
