A Loveless Marriage

Chapter 32: Fred

Lying to Mary was the only way I could discover the truth. It was clear that she would never tell me about her mother, that we could never discuss whether her mother's ailment was behind her reluctance to start a family, but I needed to know the truth. If I knew that it could be inherited and she feared she would have a tainted child, then I would suggest adoption. If there was nothing wrong, then I would ask the doctor to find a way to tell her, maybe even suggest that motherhood would be good for her. I could see from the tenderness in making the baby clothes that Mary wanted to be a mother. Whatever the block was, I would remove it without causing her any pain. She had suffered enough.

My appointment to see the hunting lodge cancelled almost as quickly as it was made, I bought a ticket first to London and then on to Bishopton the next day. The servant's ball had been a good excuse to take off and Mary had been distracted with making sure the arrangements were perfect. As long as I was not discovered, there would be no harm in my dishonesty. If Mary did discover the truth, I did not think she would forgive me.

I understood her fear though, who would want a lunatic for a mother? I'd grown up with a father who was a gambler and a scoundrel, my father's reputation was always in front of me. Mary's place in society was even more perilous and what was worse, she actually cared what people thought about her. She was forgiven for her former life as a companion because she was beautiful, sweet and virtuous, but the slightest marr on her character would see the doors of Society close on her. There were some no doubt who could not wait to see her fall.

Learning about her mother's insanity had brought my wife into sharp focus. I had started to understand my little Sphinx better. The outrage that Daniel had committed against her was another piece of the puzzle but still something was missing, something that made her an enigma even to me. Slowly throughout our marriage, I had peeled back her secrets, learning more about who she was but her confession about Daniel had cut too deep. I could see the pain it had caused her and I hated myself for pushing her to it. I feared if I pushed her further, if she knew I knew the truth about her mother, she would not recover from the revelation.

I opened and closed my fists, watching the colour change in my knuckles, and thought about my next act of revenge against Daniel Mordaunt. The sound beating I'd given him had been a short-term solution for my anger, but it was not enough. The years Mary has suffered with her shame alone, there was more retribution needed. Physical pain was not enough, I would make Daniel Mordaunt think death was a far kinder fate by the end. I would have to take revenge from afar, Mary's kind heart would be unable to sanction the deeds I had in mind.

My brooding interrupted by the ticket inspector cheerfully checking my ticket and wishing me a good day. It was strange to snap back into social niceties after plotting another man's downfall.

This time in Bishopton, I stayed in the relative comfort of the Grand rather than the shabby Black Lion. I remembered my first visit to the town, tracing the steps of my missing wife, I had been full of confusion and desperation. Mary had come up here four times since then, her visits clouded by mystery and sadness. I pretended not to care about these secret visits but I longed for her to confide in me, I wanted no secrets between us. I wanted to lay my soul bare to her but held back, knowing she was unable to do the same.

I rarely felt nervous. It was not an emotion that had been taught or encouraged in my childhood. However, as I walked through the grim gates of Chestnut Lodge I felt a bubble of apprehension. A sneaking feat nagged at me. What if the truth was not what I wanted? The hatchet-faced matron did absolutely nothing to soothe my nerves. I signed the visitors book, wishing that I could use a false name in case Mary ever noticed it. At least the good doctor accepted cash for his silence.