Chapter 44 DOROTHEA
DOROTHEA
Dorothea straightened the cushion on her armchair and tidied her bookshelf.
The cake sat on a floral plate, and she had picked a posy from Mr Thistlethwaite’s garden to decorate the table.
She had slept poorly. The invitation to Adeline Fitzhenry had been spontaneous, but as she lay awake after midnight in her narrow bed, a plan had emerged.
It was probably futile; a stupid, embarrassing effort to solve two problems in one audacious move, but it was all she had.
This week the nausea had subsided and she had begun to feel human again.
The fear had been subsiding too. She had lived with her decision for six weeks now, and it felt as if there was no going back.
Not that anyone would be able to discern her condition yet.
But the baby was there, and it would not be long before it made its presence known to the world.
What will be will be, she had reminded herself every day since she had tipped out that mug of pennyroyal tea.
She supposed she’d gone looking for a reason not to drink the tea.
Her herbal knowledge had been gleaned solely from her grandmother, but she was a modern woman with troves of research at her fingertips, here in the shop and at the university library.
She had long owned a copy of Culpeper’s Complete Herbal—written centuries ago and providing plenty of interesting information on herbs as medicine.
But more recent studies showed pennyroyal to be toxic for the liver.
What if the dose not only killed the child growing inside her, but damaged her own health too?
That information had given her an excuse to listen to her conscience.
Not that she judged others who might choose to drink the tea; each to their own.
But there was a small, irritating voice inside her, begging to be heard.
Don’t harm the belly pea. It’s a child, Thea.
Let it live! Perhaps it was the voice of James, floating across the waves from America.
Anyway, here she was, her belly still flat, but soon enough her customers would notice.
She had no idea what she would do then. She’d handed the entire thing over to fate.
Then Adeline had walked in and confided her problem.
There was a hesitant tapping on the door of her flat, and Dorothea hurried to open it. ‘Come in.’
Adeline kissed her cheek and stepped inside.
The paint on the walls of her flat was chipped and the kitchenette was old-fashioned, but Dorothea had worked hard to make it cosy.
She had hunted through second-hand shops, finding small, colourful knick-knacks to add to the warmth already provided by her display of books.
She’d bought a rag rug from a flea market; upturned crates covered in pretty fabric served as side tables.
‘It’s lovely,’ said Adeline, blinking her big eyes.
‘It’s perfect and I do love living so close to work.’ Dorothea put the kettle on the hob and turned on the gas. She poured milk into the jug. ‘Sit down, please.’
‘Are you working today?’
‘No, I have a lecture this afternoon and Tuesdays are a quiet day, so Mr Thistlethwaite is happy to have the shop to himself.’
Adeline’s smile faltered as Dorothea brought the cake to the table.
‘Are you all right?’ Dorothea asked.
‘It’s strange,’ said Adeline. ‘All these years I have never spoken about wanting a baby to anyone except a doctor, two years ago. A dreadful man on Harley Street. He did some tests but they found nothing wrong, so he told me I was too anxious, and to just relax and it would happen eventually. I’m due to go back.
’ She gave Dorothea a wry smile. ‘But after our conversation yesterday, it’s as if I want to talk about it.
I couldn’t wait to come here. Edward refuses to discuss things.
He’s so obstinate.’ Adeline withdrew a cigarette from a silver case and lit it, inhaling deeply and blowing smoke over her shoulder.
Dorothea poured the boiling water into the teapot and brought it to the table. ‘It must be frustrating.’
‘It is. I’ve had dreadful misfortune with pregnancies,’ said Adeline, inhaling on her cigarette. ‘I’ve lost three. It’s hideous but you just get on with it, don’t you? You don’t want to complain.’
‘You poor thing.’
‘I can almost not bear to go through it again. It’s the hope, then the fear, all mixed together.’ Adeline studied the water-colour on the wall depicting a field of wildflowers. ‘It rather takes a toll.’
Dorothea gave her a rueful smile. She crossed to the cupboard to retrieve the sugar pot then stood, staring at Adeline’s fine hands, the elegant way she dangled the cigarette from her fingers. Without thinking, Dorothea’s hand slipped to her stomach.
The women regarded each other, Adeline’s brow puckering as they sat in the dawning unspoken truth signalled by Dorothea’s oddly placed hand.
Dorothea swallowed, thought how silence could be loud; could host a cacophony of feeling. ‘I’m having a boy.’
Adeline’s lips parted.
‘I’m having a boy,’ she said again, almost to herself. The knowledge had arrived with a fierce certainty, right at that moment. She simply knew it.
She swallowed, crossed the room and took Adeline’s hand in hers. ‘I’m pregnant, Adeline. Almost three months along. Will you take him? Will you love him as if he were your own? Please?’
Adeline frowned. ‘How … I mean, are you sure you’re pregnant?’
Dorothea nodded.
‘What do you mean, take him?’ Adeline’s eyes were glazed in confusion.
‘You want a son, and I am in no position to raise one. I’m … in a pickle, Adeline.’ Dorothea raised her tea to her lips. When she looked up, Adeline gave her a hesitant smile, then her eyes filled with tears.
‘It would mean so much, to know he would be loved.’ Dorothea had a sense that she had been here before, in this room, this conversation. It was strange, unnerving. She could see the face of the boy, so dear and earnest, an old soul. She could see him in Adeline’s arms.
Adeline stubbed out her cigarette. She looked into her lap for a long time and Dorothea wondered briefly if she had offended her.
It was big, off-loading your unborn baby.
An unexpected thing for a lady to pick up on a Tuesday morning above her local bookshop.
But Dorothea shook herself. She knew this was how things were meant to be.
Her knowing was as sure and clear as it always was.
She couldn’t say how it happened, but she saw the baby, the toddler, climbing into that dark green car with his mother and driving away to the big house.
Without warning an eerie rumble of foreboding came over her.
She was temporarily frozen, unable to simultaneously process the two things—mother and child happily driving away and some awful prescient sense of doom in the aftermath.
‘We talked about adoption. Edward and I. Last year, but he wasn’t convinced.
I wanted to, but he says how could we know if it’s going to be a decent child?
Smart and healthy and from the right sort?
He was adamant we wouldn’t do it.’ Adeline looked away, embarrassed it seemed by her husband’s line of thought.
‘But I just want a baby to hold.’ She withdrew her hands from Dorothea’s and sat straighter.
‘Do you mean it, Dorothea? Please don’t say it if you don’t mean it. ’
‘I mean it. Somehow, I know this is the right thing.’ She pushed away the darker thoughts that were clamouring now.
Adeline nodded, a repetitive movement as she came to some decision.
‘All right. I shall tell Edward I’m pregnant again.
You must go away. Soon. Immediately. I’ll find us somewhere.
I will join you after a little while. I shall tell him I’m following doctors’ orders to give this pregnancy the best chance. A rest for my health.’
Dorothea frowned. Fear engulfed her suddenly; her resolve slipping at this strange new plan.
Lady Fitz hurried on, her eyes alight. ‘By the sea! Of course! I have a friend who owns a whole village in Devon. A tiny town called Clovelly. A darling place. She rents all the cottages out, right on the sea on the side of a hill! There are always a couple empty for repairs. She’ll help us. I know she will.’
‘But …’ Dorothea whispered, ‘how will I pay my rent? Buy groceries? I need to work.’
Adeline took her hands. ‘Dorothea, I will pay. This is the only way. Your reputation will be intact. You can finish your degree, and I promise that I will love your beautiful son with my whole heart.’
Dorothea found herself nodding, although the logistics of the plan felt problematic.
Adeline’s hand flew to her mouth and a squeak of excitement escaped. ‘Thank you, Dorothea. Thank you, my friend.’
Dorothea thought of James, of her university assignments due before the summer break.
Would she need to defer the Michaelmas term?
Would she be able to begin classes again in the Lent term?
She would say she had family who were ill and needed her.
Would that work? She would have to see the Dean of Students. Plead her case.
‘I know someone in the English faculty at the university,’ said Adeline, seeming to read her mind.
‘We’ll think of a story. To delay your studies.
I’ll bring you books too, when you’re away.
Plenty of them.’ Her eyes dropped to Dorothea’s waistband.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, frowning. ‘Is that why you’ve looked so ill?’
‘Yes. It’s been terrible. I’ve had nobody to tell. I dare not tell James and ruin his life plans. Plus, I don’t want to marry him. I’m not ready for all that. And Mr Thistlethwaite keeps asking if I’m all right. I wondered if he’d guessed at one point, but I don’t think he has.’
‘Will he keep the job open for you?’
Dorothea hesitated. She thought of this little room over the shop that she adored, of her life here in the village, her beloved books and the university just a few miles away. ‘I can only hope.’