Soul

Shrugging, the Colonel reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his snuffbox. Pouring a large pinch into the crook of his hand, he inhaled deeply.

‘From what I observed this afternoon in the stable, you have no right to speak of a duty of care, Lavinia.’ He sneezed a fine mist of powder.

‘You spied on me?’

‘I was not spying. I had come to make amends.’

‘The relationship between Mr O’Malley and myself is entirely innocent. He is a friend—as much as a servant can be a friend. He was the only one to comfort me.’

‘Perhaps, but I saw another emotion at play.’

She could not reply; he was right. But even though the two of them had stood there, their hands interlocked for a length of time that was indeed scandalous, they had not spoken. The knowledge that any declaration would be disastrous to them both had prevented any conversation. Instead, Lavinia, finally pulling her hands free, had collected the soaking poultice of herbs the coachman had prepared for her injuries and left without a word.

In the corner of the conservatory, the macaw cracked a hazelnut, scattering pieces of shell.

‘There will be no separation,’ the Colonel said. ‘My social standing will not permit it. My duties as a husband—other than economic—will cease from this point. I will not allow you, nor any other, to dictate how or with whom I choose to spend my time. You are a child in these matters. I have strived, in my own way, to protect you from certain aspects of my character. But you have been obstinate and naive to insist on fidelity. Man is simply not constructed to live in such a fashion. For the sake of propriety, we shall continue to attend the remaining events of the season as man and wife. Meanwhile, you will respect your vows and perform the role of loving mother and dutiful wife.’

‘And what of my needs?’

‘You have food and lodging, the dress and accoutrements of a lady of society, and the good name of a gentlemen—that is more than most. Be thankful, Lavinia.’ He reached for a scone. ‘But there will be no betrayal under my roof.’

She stared at him. There was a detachment about him she’d never seen before. The Colonel picked up the copy of Punch again, signalling the interview over.

To disappear to France or Germany, would that be possible? Such a flight would mean a life of poverty and social ostracism. And what of Aidan? What right did she have to condemn their child to ignominy?

She lifted her hand to her throbbing cheek. Noticing, the Colonel sighed guiltily.

‘I will ring for my doctor. He is an old family friend and extremely discreet. But if he should ask, you have fallen from a horse, do you understand?’

Lavinia nodded silently.

Aloysius pulled the coach into the kerb and steadied the horses before loosening the reins. He hadn’t been able to speak to Lavinia since the day of the quarrel. He was determined not to lose his board and living over a woman he could not have, but the persistent sense of belonging with her filled his days with doubt and his nights with temptation.

Then another letter from his brother arrived: impenetrable black letters dancing upon a piece of paper that appeared blood-stained in one corner. Placing it under his horsehair pallet, Aloysius had slept on it for a week, hoping the meaning might seep up in his dreams; but instead, a fear that it contained news of his brother’s death started to whisper poisonously in his ear.

The coachman wove the reins between the iron railings and, after checking the note was still concealed in his sleeve, went to open the carriage door. The Colonel climbed out first, trying to prevent his spats becoming mud-splattered. Under the shelter of an umbrella held up by Mr Poole, he ran for the steps of the mansion. As Lavinia stepped down, Aloysius slipped the letter into the sleeve of her fur coat.

‘Midnight, the wine cellar,’ he whispered.

The coachman waited, a shawl crossed over his chest and tucked into his belt. A lantern lit the rows of dusty bottles stacked sideways in their racks. The air was musky, cold and damp, reminding him of the marshy ditches he sometimes hid in as a child. Handwritten labels in French were pinned above each wine bottle. A wooden cask of brandy sat squatly against the other wall, an old sabre hanging incongruously above it. Hearing the swish of Lavinia’s skirts, Aloysius’s heart leapt high in his throat.

Lavinia came down the narrow steps. She stood for a moment, holding her candle aloft, peering into the darkness, then, finding the pale moon of his face, she smiled, reassuring him. ‘I have read the letter.’

‘And is my brother still with us?’ he interrupted, unable to contain himself.

/> ‘He is injured, but I believe he will recover.’

The coachman dusted off the top of a cask with the end of his shawl. Sitting, Lavinia pulled out the letter from her pocket and read it aloud.

‘May in West Virginia, the year of our Lord 1861

Brother, today I have seen many fight and die bravely, fellow Irishmen fighting for the freedom of other men, so they will never have to suffer the serfdom we ourselves have suffered for so long. Aloysius, I have received a bullet to the leg. As I write, the injured and the dying lie all around me in a tent below the battlefield. This will be a united nation, even if it be over my dead body, brother, and there is more opportunity for the Irishman here than you could possibly dream of. Join me, Aloysius, and write so I have a voice to encourage me in my recovery.

Yours, Seamus Kildary O’Malley’

Aloysius was silent as he absorbed his brother’s words, Lavinia’s crisp enunciation of the Irish rhythms making a curious music. Through its cracks he could see his brother lying in the hospital tent, bent over the page, his fingers curled around a pen, the dried blood caking his saturated bandage, surrounded by an encroaching sea of death and groaning that he pushed away with each pen stroke. My dear brother…

‘You should go,’ Lavinia said. ‘There is nought for the Irishman here except prejudice and ridicule.’