25. Florence
25
FLORENCE
FIRENZE, 1876
JASPER: Courage to address problems, sustain and support in times of stress, nurturing
F lorence remained resolute. She rang the bell for her nurse Cinzia and asked her to prepare Isabella for her portrait. She was determined to mark the moment for posterity; she would preserve her daughter’s image until they were together again.
From the day of Isabella’s birth, Florence had imparted news of her growth and endearing habits in loving letters to Orlando , sealing each with a kiss. She described curls the colour of roasted chestnuts, and long, dark eyelashes that framed knowing eyes of emerald in the same shape as her father’s. She wrote of her joyful gurgling and how dearly she loved her sweet smile, one that turned shadows into rainbows with its warmth.
Orlando’s letters arrived with constancy, written on parchment with curved edges dipped in gold and wildflowers pressed between the pages. They pleaded with Florence to remind Isabella that her father loved her and would meet her soon. He explained that following the recent occupation of Rome and loss of the Papal States , his political aspirations and ongoing support of the king had incensed the pope, and he had been threatened with excommunication.
This had inflamed the ire of his devout Roman Catholic family. It was not the right time to seek marriage with one of a different faith, or risk being seen together.
He begged Florence to be patient and was convinced change would come.
I will fight for you. Kiss Isabella and wait for me , he wrote.
Shortly after their daughter’s birth, Orlando’s emissary had arrived with a heartfelt gift. The accompanying note explained the beautiful coverlet had been in his family’s possession for centuries. Orlando was immensely proud of his heritage, and equally proud of his new daughter. The gift proved Isabella’s birthright and her connection to a lineage of ancestors with long ties in the history, power and might of their province.
Look closely and you will see the faithful knight Tristan , mio grande amore. My family chose him as their champion. And it is with his loyalty, and love in my heart, that l will continue to fight for you. Our clear union is professed in the symbolism .
Orlando insisted that fate drew them together. While Tristan was the prince of Lyonesse , another Cornish legend suggested Florence’s ancestors originated from the lost cities too.
But one night Florence dreamt the coverlet had unravelled until it vanished and disappeared; she was at pains to ignore the omen and the feeling of loss on awakening.
Cinzia entered the sitting room with a smiling Isabella in her arms dressed in a smocked gown of soft white voile embroidered with pink rosebuds. Florence draped the coverlet over the bergère chair, close to the window to ensure the best lighting.
‘ Place her deep into the cushion, Cinzia . And stay there to steady her as I sketch.’
‘ Si , Marchesa .’ Cinzia’s smile was strained. She too knew her time with Isabella was at an end. ‘ Her bag is packed, as requested.’
Florence pursed her lips. Her focus remained on her daughter’s face as her deft fingers gripped the fine-tipped pencil to capture the details of this moment in time. She took pains over the soft line of her chin, and alluring almond-shaped eyes, and tried not to think of the changes to Isabella’s sweet face in the months they must remain apart.
She was loath to follow the plan she had reluctantly agreed to, yet time was of the essence. It tore at her heartstrings to proceed without seeing Orlando again. Yet what choice did she have?
‘ Mama , Mama .’ Isabella clasped her hands together.
Florence looked up from the page and into a mirror image of Orlando’s eyes. Her daughter smiled, contentedly, reassuringly, as though it was a day like any other. Florence’s chest constricted and a cry caught in her throat. How would she bear their parting, however temporary?
The previous week, a messenger had arrived bearing an envelope sealed with vermillion wax. The officious-looking man entered the parlour and glared at Florence with distaste, his upper lip curled over yellow-stained teeth. He appraised his nails and told her with a sneer how easily he had obtained her address from her weekly letters and found his way to her apartment on the outskirts of the walled city with the assistance of a garrulous landlady and a few coins.
Enclosed was a legal document insisting Florence must leave the country immediately. She was not to correspond with or contact Orlando again. If she refused to comply, she would be met with the harsh jurisdiction of the Italian courts. According to the solicitor from Rome , and following instructions from the Conte di Prato , any suggestion that Orlando Vincenzi was the father of her bastardo child, would see Florence called to account for vicious libel. The conte threatened to ensure the Trevelyan name would be tarnished should such an impropriety be disclosed. Florence’s powerful uncle, Sir Charles , had recently been made baronet. Ruin and shame awaited her distinguished family.
The final, subtle yet more sinister threat, stated that the safety of neither mother nor child could be guaranteed while Isabella remained in her care. The letter in the sum of its repulsive legal rhetoric stopped short of inferring that while every effort would be made to clear Orlando’s name, his future, too, was at risk.
The count was a man of influence, wealth and power. A man both cunning and arrogant—one who made the rules and broke them at will. Florence read the legal jargon through a veil of tears, her heart breaking for the large family she and Orlando would never have, for the position she was now required to take. More concerning was that their beloved Isabella was outcast through no fault of her own.
When Florence re-read the document for any sign of misinterpretation, she noticed a postscript on the back of the last page in a familiar hand. Her heartbeat quickened in her chest, trapped like a bird entangled in a snarl of thorny branches. There , in red ink, Orlando’s spidery script appeared as though written under duress. Later , the thought crossed her mind that it may well have been inscribed in blood.
Il mio giglio prezioso , I beg your forgiveness. I regret my love for you is not enough. This must be the end. My heart breaks without you, and for the pain this causes. It grieves me to request the action you are forced to take, and the sorrow you must endure. Send the little one to England immediately. I cannot promise her safety here. But I will try to find a solution. I am sorry, cara . I am forced to marry another.
Despite what cannot be, always remember I love you, and will forever.
I beg you, do not hesitate, mio grande amore . Kiss our beloved Isabella farewell from both of us. We are left with no choice.
This was far more distressful than her banishment from Queen Victoria’s side. It was time to confide in Louisa . Faithful Louisa would stand by her.
Of some small comfort was knowledge of the reputable charitable institution in London that provided unmarried mothers with respite for their babies in times of need; protection until mothers were better placed to care for them. Florence could see no other way. A temporary measure, she assured herself, until a solution was found.
The growing numbers of unmarried mothers requiring assistance meant many were turned away from the institution—but no one dared deny a personal request from the Prince of Wales .
In the days that followed, Florence returned to London and met with Bertie in secret. The understanding between them remained unspoken. Queen Victoria had reigned for forty years—but once Bertie was king, Florence’s reunion with Isabella was assured.
Time was what she needed. Time to find a way to resolve their fate.
I n the first winter without her daughter, Florence invited Louisa to join her. She dearly loved her cousin and regretted their brief period of separation—they were used to each other’s ways. Louisa eagerly agreed, considering it her calling to be Florence’s companion. They embarked on their own modern version of the Grand Tour .
As landowner, Florence managed the Northumbrian estates inherited from her mother from afar, offering instructions to her manager for her tenants via correspondence. She had no intention of returning to Hallington Hall —or to England —until Bertie suggested it was safe to reclaim Isabella from the Foundling Hospital .
The spinsters made a curious pair, travelling to North Africa and Tunisia before taking in the exotic sights of Algeria and Morocco . They finally arrived in Sicily and found a thriving metropolis in the town of Taormina . There , Florence was close enough to the new Kingdom of Italy she and Orlando so passionately supported, yet far enough away from his family’s grasp to remain irrelevant. Florence chose to make it their home, and found solace in nature, while learning to bear the pain of her daughter’s absence.
The gregarious owner of the Hotel Timeo was at pains to accommodate the two gentlewomen and effusive in regard to their comfort. He renovated two floors for their convenience. Florence was forthright in terms of supervising the furnishings and threw herself into the task. Then she took on the training of his staff in a manner more suited to their requirements.
Yet no amount of industry took away her pain. On the day of Isabella’s first birthday, in a melancholic moment of weakness, Florence broke down in Louisa’s arms, despairing of ever reclaiming her daughter. Louisa tut-tutted and blushed and avoided further discussion of her indiscretion. She insisted it best they never speak of the child aloud.
Florence suffered in silence until the day of the eclipse. In the hour after, while people gathered to discuss the phenomenon and marvel over the few minutes when the moon had completely obscured the sun, a letter arrived from the Foundling hospital, informing Florence of Isabella’s death.
It was only then she understood the true meaning of suffering and the full extent of utter heartbreak.