A Fall from Grace Maggie Ford (feel good books .txt) 📖

‘Your father’s chauffeur made enquiries for me. Miles has been so very helpful but I cannot say anything to your father about it. He would be livid if he knew I’d come here, and Miles could be in such trouble.’

The words seemed to stress how bitter her father was towards her still. She knew now that for as long as he lived he would never forgive her. Yet the thought seemed to strengthen her. It was also a concern for her. Her mother had defied him. Should he find out, how would her mother fare? He’d never lifted a hand to her, but wouldn’t have to. He was capable of making life hell by words alone which was the reason why, until now, her mother had always been the subservient little woman.

Madeleine experienced a passing thought quite out of keeping with the situation – what had her mother been like when they were first married? Strong-willed? No, maybe not, but feeling loved and returning that love with an easy will. Only with the passing of years would she have diminished to become what she was now. Yet here she was, brave and strong and defiant. Madeleine wanted to cuddle her close but her mother would have shrunk away from the embrace, she was sure.

‘Would you introduce us, Madeleine?’ Lydia’s voice behind her made her jump. She gathered her wits.

‘This is my mother,’ she announced proudly.

Someone was running down the steps from the registry office, a young man, full of bounce and energy, his tone cheery but urgent as he called out:

‘Sorry to interrupt but Uncle James is waiting. I’m Anthony by the way – his only nephew, his sister Eileen’s son, who’s a widow. Lost me father ages ago, killed in the Boer War. I was eleven, and when—’

‘No more, Tony dear!’ Lydia cut in. ‘We must go in. Is your mother coming in with us?’ she asked Madeleine, who turned anxiously towards her mother.

‘Are you coming in, Mummy?’ Her mother gave a small nod, and meekly allowed herself to be guided up the steps by the effusive Anthony.

It made her day for her, having her at the ceremony, brief though it was. But her mother left almost immediately it was over, not staying for the celebratory gathering.

‘I don’t know how long it will take me to get home and I must be home before your father or I shall have to tell lies or get poor Miles into trouble,’ she said, already becoming tense at the thought. ‘I told Cook, Mrs Plumley – she’s still with us – that I was going to visit a friend in Beaconsfield. So I must make sure to be home and settled in time for your father.’

‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Mummy?’ Madeleine asked anxiously.

Her mother nodded. ‘I shall be just fine.’

There was an unusual confidence in her voice. ‘I shall telephone from the station for Miles to come and collect me.’

This was another surprise. Her mother had always been intimidated by the telephone. As she left she gave Madeleine a kiss on the cheek saying, ‘Take care of yourself, Madeleine my dear, and be happy. I’m so very pleased for you. You will be fine from now on. And so shall I.’

With that she got into the taxicab James had found for her, waving as the vehicle drew away, leaving Madeleine weeping silently deep inside.

‘I love you, Mummy,’ she whispered as the taxi turned the corner out of sight. It was the last time she ever saw her mother.

She wrote during her short honeymoon in Derbyshire, saying that she hoped she was keeping well but she never received a reply. She guessed that her father would have probably intercepted it, opened it, read it and torn it up. Her mother would have been left never knowing she had written to her.

She was glad that she had purposely not mentioned their meeting, knowing her father of old, merely said she was happy being married, had plenty of money and didn’t need handouts any more – this meant for her father’s eyes – so there was no need to worry about her any more. She had not expected a response from him nor did she get one.

It was eighteen months later when she did hear – a letter arriving through his solicitor saying that her mother had been suffering from a galloping consumption for near on a year and had passed away early the previous week, her funeral having taken place two days ago. Such was her father’s attitude towards her, his own daughter, that he’d not even told her of her mother’s condition much less informing her of her death except through his solicitor, even worse deliberately keeping the date of the funeral from her.

The shock of hearing it in this way was like a fist hitting her between the eyes, grief like a dagger to the heart. James found her crumpled up on a sofa in the drawing room, her face buried in a cushion, one arm dangling, the letter limp between her fingers, on the point of fluttering to the floor.

He was by her side in seconds. ‘My dear, what is it? What is wrong?’

When she made no reply, he bent and retrieved the now fallen letter to quickly scan its contents. She heard his gasp of horror and when he finally spoke his tone was a mixture of anger and astonishment.

‘I can’t believe your father could do this to you. How could anyone be so callous?’

With that he bent and gathered her up into his arms, she allowing him to do so without any will of her own left to resist.

‘I am so terribly sorry, my dear,’ he murmured like one crooning to a child. ‘I met your poor mother only the once when she came to attend our marriage ceremony but I found her to be an exceptionally nice person. I took a liking to her on the instant of