Chapter Sixteen #3
He looked towards her, and for the first time that morning, Victoria saw not the calculating guardian but the son who had learnt obedience in this room.
Lady Agatha entered.
“Sir Giles, whatever irregularities may have occurred, this is a family matter. It need not be enlarged into a public disgrace before every allegation has been properly examined.”
“It ceased to be merely a family matter when an order of the court was obtained upon statements now shown to be in serious doubt,” Sir Giles replied. “The child is to be restored to her mother. The remaining questions will be examined in the proper place.”
Lady Agatha’s expression hardened.
“You would remove Gerald’s daughter from her father’s family upon the word of Peregrine Crayle?”
“Upon an order directing her return, supported by evidence your son has not answered.”
“My son has no obligation to answer accusations flung at him in his own drawing room.”
“He will have every opportunity to answer them under oath,” Cole said. “This morning concerns only the child’s immediate restoration.”
Lady Agatha turned upon Victoria.
“You have brought strangers and scandal into this house and call it motherhood.”
“No,” Victoria said. “Sir Roland brought scandal into my house and called it guardianship.”
The older woman’s gaze sharpened.
“A Hemsworth child belongs among her father’s people.”
“My daughter belongs where she is safe, loved, and treated as a child rather than an estate.”
“You presume to judge this family.”
“I lived among it. I know what it teaches.”
Victoria’s voice remained low.
“You taught Roland that the family name excused whatever was done to preserve it. You taught him to mistake control for duty and property for care. He has spent months paying men to compromise me, deprive me of my means, and take my daughter, and still you speak as though the offence lies in our having brought proof into your drawing room.”
Lady Agatha’s eyes went to the papers upon the table.
“You know nothing of what was required to preserve this family.”
“I know precisely what it required of me.”
Victoria stepped closer.
“It required my silence, my money, my obedience, and at last my child. I have given it enough.”
Lady Agatha looked towards Sir Giles.
“You cannot intend to permit this performance.”
Sir Giles rose fully.
“This is no performance, Lady Agatha. I granted an order upon your son’s representations. Evidence now before me gives substantial reason to believe those representations were false. The order directing the child’s return will be enforced. That is not a matter upon which this household has a vote.”
The words left no space for further appeal.
For the first time, uncertainty entered Lady Agatha’s face.
Victoria held her gaze.
“You have lost, Lady Agatha. Not because I married a man with a greater title or found a solicitor more skilful than yours. You have lost because the things this family has called duty have finally been made to bear their proper names.”
Lady Agatha’s hand found the back of a chair. She sat, not because Victoria had commanded it, but because the room no longer offered her anywhere from which to govern it.
Roland looked at the writ, at Sir Giles, and at the drafts upon the table. Whatever had held his composure together loosened quietly.
“Fetch the child,” he told the servant by the wall.
His voice had gone flat.
“She was never worth this much trouble.”
Victoria’s exhaustion vanished beneath a clean, bright anger.
“She was worth all of it and more. You could never see what she was worth, only what her property might be worth to you. That was your mistake from the beginning.”
The servant left.
A few minutes later, footsteps sounded upon the stair.
Sophy appeared with Pruett beside her, small in her crumpled travelling dress and clutching Ruth beneath one arm. She saw Victoria at the foot of the stairs and stopped.
“Mama came,” she whispered to the doll. “I told you she would.”
Then she ran.
Victoria caught her and went down upon her knees beneath the force of her. For the first time since Sophy had been taken, she allowed herself to weep.
“You came late,” Sophy said into her neck with the terrible forgiving honesty of a child.
“I know.” Victoria held her more tightly. “I came as quickly as I could.”
“I told them I was not to go without your word.”
“You were right. They should have listened.”
Sophy drew back far enough to look at her.
“Are we going home now?”
“Yes,” Victoria said. “Now.”
Elias had come to stand near them. Sophy reached one hand towards him without being asked, and he took it.
“Bishop is waiting,” he told her. “I expect he has been thoroughly disagreeable in your absence.”
That won the smallest smile.
Victoria rose with her daughter between them, Sophy’s hand in hers and in Elias’s.
They crossed the hall and went out through the tall front door.
Once, Victoria had entered that house as a young bride and learnt within it how small a woman might be made. Now she left with her daughter beside her, her husband at her shoulder, and nothing of herself remaining behind.
She did not look back.