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

‘You cannot be so selfish as to take her from a family who loves her and whom she loves – the only parents she’s ever known. To drag her away from all that, have her pine for those she loves and has lost, compelled to live with a stranger in a strange house – that is unthinking and grossly selfish and I have never put you down as being that, my dear.’

How she now hated those words, my dear. A term of endearment yet they could hold a sting as much as any reprimand. At that moment she hated him with all her heart. She wanted to rush at him, tear his cheeks with her nails, rake at his eyes, hurt him with every means she had. But all she did was sit crouched in misery as he came and gently patted her bent shoulders.

‘You would not wish to inflict such a cruel action upon a defenceless child,’ he whispered. She found herself shaking her head in agreement as quiet sobs convulsed her whole body.

Twenty

It was arranged. Under the guise of distant friends of the family briefly stopping off on route to somewhere else while passing through, she and James would arrive late afternoon. The child was to be kept far enough away to be seen but not to be spoken to.

In a fever of nervous tension, Madeleine sat beside James in the car, her eyes riveted on their chauffeur’s back, not seeing anything of the towns or countryside they passed through. It was taking hours to get there, James holding her hand most of the way. They had lunch somewhere though she couldn’t remember where or what she ate or anything of the tiny country pub in which she sat picking at her food, conscious only of the smell of beer and a gabble of conversation.

The agent had arranged the time of arrival and there being no delays on the way, the weather for November being kind to them, they were a little early although dusk was already closing in.

The house stood well back from the road. It was large and imposing, reached by a curving driveway, and it reminded her somewhat of her father’s house from where she had been banished long ago. It wasn’t a good start.

They were met by a maid servant and conducted to the rear of the house and into a spacious, well-lit conservatory. There they found themselves met with guarded smiles from the couple and an even more guarded but polite handshake by the husband, his wife having moved out of range of any necessity to partake in the ritual, her face taut and almost hostile.

Bidden to be seated at a small, round, wickerwork table, there was no pretence at social niceties, no offer of tea despite their long journey. The couple also sat; the wife a little apart from them, the husband seemingly stationing himself between them and the interior of the house as if guarding against any attempt to rush into the place when the child was brought into the living room, which they could see into, it too being well lit.

‘You had a decent journey here?’ he began, a formality to which James replied in equally formal tones.

‘Very good, thank you.’

‘It was long,’ Madeleine began, only to find the two people turn their eyes to her, the wife’s veiled and slightly guarded, her husband making an effort at a smile.

‘It is quite a way from London. I’ve been there a few times but found it noisy, people hurrying about as if their lives might come to an end at any moment – which I expect they could, seeing the amount of traffic there is.’

He laughed somewhat hollowly at his own little joke. The woman gave him a sharp look upon which he sobered instantly.

‘Well, we’d better get on with the business,’ he said abruptly and, getting up, went into the house leaving silence behind him, his wife sitting where she was, very stiff, staring down at her hands, while Madeleine looked desperately at James for something to say. The business, those words, as if the baby was no more than an item on some committee agenda.

She stood up, James also rising to stand beside her. She fumbled for his hand and felt it tighten around hers. She tried to draw comfort from the grip but her heart was racing. Her mouth felt dry. Any moment now she would be seeing the baby she’d had taken from her.

A movement within the room beyond interrupted her thoughts. The man had come in holding the child in his arms but the window glass was throwing back her own reflection, making it difficult to see through from where she stood.

As he approached her view became clearer and she could see the child, her small arms clinging about his neck; a child of around seven years old. In that second she felt her stomach go over. Even though the years had passed, she had still half expected to see a baby. It came as a shock, a weird sense of looking at a stranger, not her child at all. All these years filled with pictures of a tiny, screwed up face, half buried in a white shawl. Suddenly this didn’t seem real at all, no sudden recognition.

As he brought her closer to the window, still clinging about his neck as though unsure what was happening, the room’s bright light revealed a round little face, blue eyes wide and round, the rosebud mouth a little apprehensive as if not sure why she was being brought there.

Slowly, almost cautiously, as one might on being ordered to, the man moved closer still to the window though not right up to it, making it seem he was worried lest Madeleine made an attempt to leap through the very glass. But she could now see better the short, wavy, fair hair, tied on each side of the little head with bows of light blue ribbons. She wore a pale