Julia looked back at the different sets of research results. Something played at the edge of her mind, tantalisingly out of reach. She sensed Gabriel was right: there was a missing factor she hadn’t added into the equation; but the more she concentrated, the more it eluded her.
51
The Vicarage Anascaul, County Kerry
June the 10th
In the Year of Our Lord 1861
My dearest daughter,
I was most troubled by your letter. I cannot believe an individual as upstanding, as intelligent and as dedicated a father as Colonel Huntington could be the cause of any marital or domestic distress. You have in the past been given to flights of the imagination (a trait you inherited from your dear unfortunate mother) and so I am inclined to think that your correspondence was written in haste during an attack of negative fancy. I urge you to remain in your marriage and to fulfil your wifely duties to their utmost. You have had the extraordinary good fortune to marry into an established family of impeccable breeding, and into a manner of living I could never have provided for you.
Obviously there will be sacrifices, especially when there is such an age difference between husband and wife, but it is one’s duty to tolerate a degree of incompatibility within matrimony (indeed, I have often lectured from the pulpit on this very same subject). Out of respect for my good f
riend and son-in-law, but also with the understanding of the implications for my grandson, I cannot agree to taking you in.
Turning to happier matters, we are in the full flight of summer here and the lavender in the garden is most…
LAVINIA SAT IN A YELLOW SATIN armchair, her father’s letter, half-read, resting on her lap. The Colonel moved towards her and Lavinia turned the letter over, hiding its contents.
‘Dr Jefferies believes you to be a hysteric,’ he said. ‘A trait inherited from the maternal line. Lavinia, do you know anything about your mother?’
Colonel Huntington knelt and took one of his wife’s hands into his own. Her fingers were freezing, he noted. Since the visit to the phrenologist, now over a month ago, they had barely spoken. Lavinia had escaped to the nursery while he, ashamed and uncertain over his own behaviour, had retreated to the safe haven of his club.
Lavinia stared at the fire, the flames now twisting into the shape of Polly Kirkshore’s hair, his mouth. If my mother is living, she can only belong to that world of criminals and prostitutes, she thought.
‘I believe my mother to be dead.’ She did not look up, fearing he would see the doubt in her eyes.
‘Are you so unhappy?’
Wondering at the honesty of his concern, Lavinia did not take her eyes from the fire.
‘The night I was at the window waiting for you,’ she said. ‘I saw Mr Campbell and yourself…’
A coal rolled out of the grate onto the stone hearth. Neither kicked it back. The Colonel forced a short bark of a laugh. His wife’s insinuation—if proven—was a criminal offence. She was unpredictable in her emotions and mental equilibrium, yet if she were to go to a magistrate…Such a possibility terrified him.
‘Campbell is an enthusiastic youth, idealistic in his beliefs,’ he answered carefully, his tone deliberately neutral. ‘He seems to have conceived of a kind of hero worship for me, which can become quite tiresome. Perhaps it is this which has driven your wondrous imagination to all sorts of wild inventions.’
‘I wish I could believe you, but you two have an intimacy that is exclusive of everyone.’
He caressed her hand, trying not to reveal his fear through his trembling fingers.
‘Believe me, Lavinia. You must.’
All of his past and the possibility of any future seemed to hang upon this conversation. If Lavinia were to betray him, the Colonel knew there would be a trial, public humiliation; he would lose his good name, his son, all possibility of an ongoing professional reputation. He would be imprisoned; his life would be over.
‘I cannot help but conclude your hysteria is the result of a good intellect gone to waste. Your mind needs occupation.’ He stared up at the painting above the fireplace, wildly searching for a strategy. ‘I have been asked to compose a pamphlet for the Royal Society on the botanical specimens I collected in the Amazon. Are you interested in writing this?’
Having dangled the bait, the Colonel waited, his future suddenly as fragile as the Chinese porcelain flower resting on the mantelpiece before him.
Finally, Lavinia looked at him, her face devoid of emotion. ‘Is the pamphlet to include the plants that are used in the religious ceremonies you told me about?’
‘Indeed. I intend to execute one of these rituals in a couple of months.’
‘You will take the ayahuasca brew? You will summon the goddess of the Bakairi?’
For the first time in over a month, Lavinia appeared animated. The Colonel smiled, encouraged by her enthusiasm.