The Admiral's Wife

Chapter Three

This weeks art work: St Paul's Anglican Church in Halifax - early nineteeth century.

Mary wept her grief into her pillow that night. She wept quietly so the others would not hear, just as she had done every night since the news had come. This night however, was worse than all the others that had passed before it.

Lizzie, seeming to sense her anguish had curled up close beside her, offering her what comfort she could. Mary kept her arm wrapped tightly around the soft, warm body of the cat who did not move from her place, regardless of how much discomfort this might have caused her.

Tonight truly, all hope was gone. It was ended. The pain of that knowledge seemed at this moment to be almost unbearable to her. But bear it she must, for he would not be coming back, and she would have to go on without him. He was lost, and the Admiral had confirmed it. She wept for the loss of the man she loved, and for the child she now carried, a child who would never know its true father. She wept for youth lost, a future uncertain, and for the kindness of a man who owed her nothing.

Earlier that evening, when her father had returned to her in the library, she had informed him of her decision. She would marry the Admiral. It was she knew, the best she could now do for her son or daughter. She was very fortunate indeed to receive a proposal from such a man, and she was sensible enough to recognize it. If she didn't wed him the child would be called a bastard, a stigma that he or she would have to endure for an entire lifetime, and that she simply would not allow. Many were the worse things that could happen to her then being married to the kindly Admiral Morton, or Aaron, as she must learn to call him. He was handsome, kind, and a gentleman of the highest quality who would likely make her a fine husband. With his protection she would have naught to worry about. Although this knowledge did little to comfort her breaking heart, it did do much to ease the uncertainty of the immediate future.

When he had re-entered the library a few moments after her father, she had walked towards him pale and trembling, but when she spoke her voice was firm and sure, her countenance proud and dignified.

"Admiral Morton, I would be proud to accept your proposal." She had proffered her hand, which he took. "I will do my very best to be a good wife to you, sir." She had promised sincerely.

Aaron and John had both breathed a sigh of relief simultaneously, and one was not more relieved to hear it than the other. Her father's eyes showed his pride in his daughter.

"I think we shall do quite well together Mary." Aaron had replied with a gentle smile, bowing his fair head and lifting her fingers briefly to his lips.

Mary had nodded. "I hope you won't mind if I retire early." she even managed a weak smile. "I'm very tired." Both men nodded, and she bade them a good evening and left them.

That had been, as they say, that. The die had been cast, there was no going back, there wouldn't be even if she had the choice, which of course she hadn't. She would perhaps in time learn to grow fond of the Admiral, fond not as a friend of the family, but rather as a wife should be of her husband. She certainly did like him well enough, and she supposed that was as good a start as any.

Sleep did not find her until the morning sun rose to cast shimmering pink jewels on the silver glittering water of the lake outside her window. She just couldn't seem to stop crying. When there were no tears left in her, she finally fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep only to be woken by the soft knocking of the maid an hour later.

She arose then and allowed Iva to assist her as she bathed and dressed. She was pale, weak and shaken, her face swollen from her tears, her heart numb in her chest, and weary beyond belief. All of this was not helped by the waves of nausea that immediately overwhelmed her the moment she sat up.