Scandal in a Noble Family
This is the end! Lydia Matthews dappled the corners of her eyes with a snow-white handkerchief and produced the sort of heart-wrenching sigh that made her husband, Edward Matthews, sit bolt upright in his armchair.
Lydia, what is it? The drops again?
Oh, leave your wretched drops, Eddie! Dont you get it? Its a disgrace, a proper scandal! Our entire family is shamed! Look at her! Not the tiniest hint of remorse!
The only heiress of the Whitmore family didnt give the impression of a miserable sinner. She neither flung herself at anyones feet nor raked her fingers through her hair in abject regret. Nothing of the sort.
Elizabeth Whitmore, long-limbed and breathtaking in her own right, had her legs flung over the balustrade of the conservatory those dancers legs her mother insisted were identical to those of her grandmother, once prima of the Covent Garden Royal Ballet. Elizabeth was eating cherries, one by one, from an exuberant dish set on the table, then flicking the stones into the shrubbery with precise little launches, each one earning a pained gasp from her mother.
Elizabeth! Stop it at once! Have you no shame? We need a serious talk! Instead, you you
Lydia fluttered her hands indignantly and retreated at last to fetch her drops from the drawer.
Lizzie, darling, youre not joking, are you? Edward tried despairingly, peering at his daughter before following after his wife.
No, Dad, not joking. And please, tell Mum its futile to try this matchmaking nonsense. Its settled: I will never marry Max. She neednt hope.
Youll break her heart!
Dont be dramatic, Dad.
Maybe youll reconsider?
No. I already told him. We discussed it earlier, sorted it all out. If you didnt hear me before Ill repeat myself. There will be no wedding.
Good heavens
Wails floated from the drawing room, spurring Edward to rush to Lydias aid, while Lizzie, unruffled, took another cherry from the dish.
Heavens, what will I tell everyone? Its hideous! The restaurant is booked! Invites sent!
Mum, I didnt ask you to send them Lizzie sang out, voice even and undisturbed. Your choices, your consequences!
Its cruel, daughter! I meant only the best!
Thats always how it ends up, isnt it, Mum? Lizzie smirked and stretched, Ive my own plans for life, a sore disappointment, I know.
Elizabeth! Lydias voice cracked, and she sobbed again. What are you playing at?
Honestly? Nothing especially shocking! Lizzie stood, gathered the untouched teacups, and brushed past her mother. I know your entire speech by heart. I can even wash three cups without dropping one.
She disappeared to the kitchen, and Lydia set her handkerchief aside.
Shes your mother all over again! she declared to Edward, wringing her hands. Even the tones match! Dear God, why is this my punishment?
The notorious grandmother, regal Evelyn Whitmore, was an insurmountable presence in Lydias early married years. Lydia prided herself on wisdom and experience, having married past girlhood; she expected a certain deference from her mother-in-law. But Evelyn had her own standards, and saw no reason to adapt her ways merely for a new daughter-in-law.
Lydia dear, what is that fragrance? whispered Evelyn, pinching her nose theatrically as Lydia entered the room.
New perfume, Lydia responded, eyebrow arched. You dislike it?
Perhaps its fine in moderation, but must you bathe in the bottle? A dab on the wrist would suffice.
Being somewhat addicted to the spritz, Lydia pursed her lips in mild offense.
Why does she always target me? she moaned to Edward. What have I done?
Lydia, love, Mum talks to everyone like that. Its her style.
She needs a new style! And dont call me love! Lydia snapped I cant bear that word!
Evelyn, of course, remained unrepentant. Her pointed, sometimes biting, remarks could unmoor Lydia, often igniting family rifts and stretching the relationship between Edward and his mother. That was, until a night at the West End when Lydia overheard what, to her mind, was a backhanded compliment:
Lydia, youve become a real lady. Thats what years around Evelyn Whitmore can do! Not a woman a phenomenon! Her taste is impeccable, her poise unrivalled! Marvellous youre shaping into such a splendid likeness!
The comparison stung, but the compliment delighted Lydia. For it was true Evelyn was a style icon. And Lydia, shrewd as she was, embraced the lesson eventually. She kept a courteous reserve with her mother-in-law, and let bygones be bygones especially after Elizabeth was born. Evelyn adored her granddaughter, delighted to spend as much time with her as possible.
In the rarefied Whitmore family, brimming with artists, musicians, and professors (barring Lydia, the family dentist), peace and quiet reigned. Lizzie grew up cherished, indulged by her grandmother and father, while her mother was stern yet determined her child would live a brighter, finer life than herself.
Of her past, Lydia spoke to no one, not even Edward. He knew the broad outlines, but never asked for details, and wisely so. Lydia was grateful, having traded old ghosts for the present. She cut all ties with her childhood and with her mother, for reasons too tangled and grim to revisit. About her neck, beneath blouses and jumpers, hung a locket with the sepia photograph of a curly-headed little boy. She never opened the locket anymore she could not. Her son had been only two when left in his grandmothers care briefly while milk was fetched from the shops summer, the windows thrown wide, the cot by the sill
The loss nearly destroyed Lydia. She couldnt eat or sleep or think. She cursed herself for not taking leave from university shed only stepped away for an exam. Upon her return, life simply ended before it began. Her first husband off in an archaeological dig didnt make it back in time to say goodbye to their boy. The marriage, never robust, fell apart almost instantly.
With the paperwork completed, Lydia packed a small suitcase and quit her childhood town for good. From the moment she stopped being Mum, Lydia felt a thousand years old, her insides burnt to ash, only ruins left.
So she believed.
Then Edward arrived new patient, swollen cheek in hand.
How longs that been hurting you?
A week. Been suffering.
Youre grown, arent you? You should know better than to let it fester. Lydia scolded.
Youre right. I know nothing, Edward managed a crooked smile through his pain.
Something in that smile stilled Lydia. She even muddled her instruments, a first. Realising, she coloured so fiercely that Edward shut his eyes to end her embarrassment.
She was careful and quiet at work but, for the first time since little Patrick, her movements grew feather-light, almost gentle again.
For over a year, Edward met her after every late shift and escorted her home. They barely spoke, but the connection was there all the same. When Edward proposed, Lydia hesitated.
Im happy with you. But Im not sure I can make you happy.
Why doubt it?
I dont want children.
Why not?
Ill tell you. But I wont relive it all After, if you dont return tomorrow, Ill understand. Have a think. Ask your mother you love her, dont you? Ask her advice.
Edward, of course, never did. He was his own man, and Evelyn never meddled with advice (except, eventually, with Lydia). Evelyn joked shed become an impossible old bat after her stage career ended, just as in all the classic jokes about mothers-in-law. She meant it in jest shed retired early like all the ballet folk, by which point shed already married and divorced twice before her sons engagement.
To Evelyn, Edward confided Lydias whole story. Evelyn smoked, dropping ash into a bone-china cup, growing steadily somber as her son finished. At length, she gave her verdict:
Do you love her?
Yes.
Well then, why think? Loves a treasure, son, gifted to so few. Whatever price is asked, its never too much. And another thing: a true treasure is never weightless. Sometimes its almost too heavy to bear. But youll find the strength if you truly know whats in your hands.
You really think so?
I know so.
Soon after, Edward brought Lydia round. Evelyn offered a cool cheek for the traditional kiss and took Lydia to see her seamstress. From the ancient oak chest she brought a little box.
Here, Lydia. The Whitmore jewels.
Oh, I couldnt!
You must! Youre family now. Wear them or youll break my heart. Choose what you like. But listen they arent baubles. Wear them with sense.
Hows that, exactly?
My gran used to say: to parade round a London market in diamonds is bad form. Unless youre somewhere like Brighton then its fair play. The fishmongers must turn green with envy and give you a proper discount.
To her own surprise, Lydia laughed. Shed thought shed forgotten how.
Evelyn taught her. Lydia bristled, but deep down she was grateful. The day Lydia discovered she was pregnant, it was Evelyn she told first.
You look a bit green, my dear. Whats happened? Evelyn breezed in from a recent trip with husband number three, popping round to check on her son.
Finding Edward absent, she besieged Lydia with questions until Lydia, in a fit, fled to the bathroom and stayed there ages enough that Evelyn, as ever, put two and two together.
Youll have the baby at Sarahs best doctor in London. I trust her. Why are you frightened?
I dont know if Im strong enough
Lydia, Ive never spoken to you this way and wont again. But listen: dont be foolish! Say thanks to whoever you believe in and get on with it! And know Ill watch over you and your child as long as I can. Dont be afraid! As long as Im standing, Ill help! Understand?
Yes, thank you
Save your thanks. When Im a cantankerous old dear nagging at your soul, recall this thank you and say it again for me. Deal?
Deal.
So Elizabeth Whitmore arrived, healthy and red-faced, bang on time. Evelyn took her at the door, peeled back the lace shroud, and cackled:
Flawless craftsmanship! Well done, Lydia!
She kept her promise and became Lydias unwavering support. Evelyn, famed socialite and all, would turn up in her fur, strip down to washing-day togs, and scrub nappies at the sink swearing that carbolic soap beat any powder. Then shed wash Lizzie, cover her feet in kisses, and croon over her, as doting grannies do:
My treasure! My darling! May you always be well!
The quarrels and resentments were forgotten.
Lydia finally had what shed longed for family, a home, and peace (more or less).
She never forgot Patrick Edward took her back to that windswept northern town twice yearly, though Lydia never set foot in her old house or saw her mother. They stayed at a cosy guesthouse at the edge of the moor, and Lydia always counted the minutes until departure.
So it continued, year upon year, until Lizzie was ten and then a letter arrived for Lydia.
Only Evelyn knew what it said. Lydia showed her the brief, trembling note, asking advice.
Go. You cant forget, and maybe you cant forgive. But shes your mother. Remember the good surely there was something? Speak to the mum you knew when you were Lizzies age. None of us are angels. Anyone can make a mistake even the terrible ones. Even you, even me. I dont say forgive her in a day maybe youll never manage. Thats your right. But I know its you, not her, who needs this conversation, so you can live free. Otherwise, youll grow old haunted, and Lizzie will suffer too. Im thinking of you and my granddaughter, not your mother. Whatever you decide, Im here. Think on it.
The next day Lydia kissed her husband goodbye, left Lizzie with Evelyn, and boarded the train north.
The talk with her mother was brief. Her mother woke for only a moment, just long enough to grip Lydias hand and whisper, Forgive me.
After several days Lydia returned, and Evelyn, handing over Lizzie, merely nodded:
You did the right thing.
Peace, then, at last? All together, everything as it should be. But for Lydia, true peace proved elusive. The fears Evelyn had warned of wrapped around her, sticky and sudden, clouding her mind.
Dread senseless, unmotivated but suffocating. Even Edward became anxious, urging her to relax.
Youre too protective of Lizzie, Lydia. Shes not a baby, she needs her own circle, her own world. Mummy, Daddy, Granny its good, but only for a time.
What are you even saying to me?
I just want you to stop controlling every step she takes. A little freedom wont harm her.
Oh, so youre unconcerned about our childs welfare?
Of course I care! Lydia, please!
But what if something happens, Eddie? Id never survive another loss!
Why would we lose her? Edward broke, exasperated.
Because we could! Anything can happen at any moment! And where does that leave us, if it does? Torn to bits again? Madness? Who does it help, then? Have you thought?
Edward could only throw his hands up he loved his wife, but her fear infected the household. He desperately wanted a solution but couldnt find one.
It was Evelyn who helped, again.
Send Lizzie to dance lessons.
Why, Mum? Shes already overloaded, clubs and tutors everywhere
Bin the lot, get her to dance. Ballroom. With a partner.
Are you sure?
Certain!
All right, Ill try.
So Lizzie found a new after-school pursuit. And Max.
Maxwell Carter was a slightly chubby, awkward boy, foisted on the ballroom class by his granny. The two overgrown newcomers were paired, neither expecting much.
Let them muddle along, said the teachers, seeing little hope, not knowing Lizzie was not one for lingering shyly by the wall.
Within three years Lizzie and Max won their first cup. Soon after, they became regulars at ballroom competitions.
Max no longer looked the clumsy part, but rather a striking young man who glanced condescendingly down at his petite partner, both of them causing the judges to speculate about a budding romance.
Lizzie only grinned, neither confirming nor denying. She herself was unaware that Lydia had already mapped out her future.
She discovered her mothers plans on leaving school.
Ive decided. Im reading for medicine, Lizzie declared.
Shed let her choice simmer till the last possible moment, weighing every pro and con, but her mind was made up.
Darling, we thought you had other plans, Lydia smiled, but there was a strange tension that made Lizzie shudder.
Did I say so?
Not in words, no. Youre not given to confessions. But Ive spoken with Max and his parents.
And?
Weve three months to prepare. A lovely autumn wedding! Ill speak to Gran, see if she can arrange something special. She has connections, itll be splendid.
Wedding? Lizzie squinted. Whos getting married Max?
Silly girl, of course you two! Youre perfect together, on and off the floor! Isnt that wonderful?
And naturally, you didnt bother to ask me? Lizzie retorted.
I thought it settled, darling.
Dont call me darling. Lizzies words were like a snap of cold steel.
Grabbing her bag, she dashed out without a backward glance. Lydia only learned that evening her daughter had decamped to Grannys.
Evelyn was succinct.
What did you expect? Lizzie isnt a doll for you to dress up and march down the aisle. Lydia youre a clever woman! I hardly recognise you.
Thats my child! I just want her happy! Max loves her!
Does she love him? Or doesnt her opinion matter here?
I know whats best. She doesnt know her own mind!
Actually, she does. She intends to be a surgeon not a bad dream, if you ask me. Whats your objection?
Everything! If she insists on university, fine by me! But first she should marry! Thatll put my mind at ease!
And how will that help you?
Dont you see? With a husband, shell have a protector. Max is a fine young man! Ever since they partnered up, Ive slept nights, confident hell take care of her.
I see your worry, but I cant fathom your urge to lock her in a cage. Marriage would be a pretty cage golden but still a cage because thats not her choice, its yours.
This is pointless! The wedding will happen.
Hmm lets see if you really know your daughter
Lizzie soon showed her mettle. After the conservatory showdown, she packed her things and moved in with Evelyn. Lydia felt deeply wounded by this and neither called, nor visited, and only learned that Lizzie had succeeded with flying colours at her entrance exams from Edward.
Lydia, isnt it time for peace? Would you rather sob over a pillow than hug your living, breathing daughter? I saw her yesterday, she asked about you, shes worried too.
Oh, she cares, does she? As if what happens to me matters any more!
Lydia! For the first time in their marriage, Edward raised his voice. This is too much! She is your flesh and blood! You waited, longed for her, breathed for her! Why spurn her now? You think I dont see your suffering? Then explain why keep hurting yourself? I dont get it!
Neither do I! Lydia sobbed out. I dont know what to do. Ive lost my way, and I cant see how to make things right. Eddie, I truly cant breathe without her. Youre right It hurts so much, it feels like the world is dark and I cant see the light. Just like when Patrick when he
Lydia, stop! Edward grasped her shoulders firmly. Lizzies alive! And shes waiting for you! Pull yourself together!
Where? Why?
Ill take you to her. And stop imagining that only you can control her fate! Let her be a person, not a porcelain rose locked up for fear of breaking.
Whether it was Edwards anger or his words, Lydia obeyed at last.
The reconciliation was private. What Lydia and Lizzie spoke of in Evelyns locked bedroom remained a secret between them. Only Edward noticed their red noses and tear-streaked faces, with kisses healing the final rift.
Yet fate, ever mischievous, wasnt finished with the noble household. She watched closely as Elizabeth strode steadfastly toward her dreams, then sent a brilliant little twist that even Evelyn met with a bemused sigh.
Dr Whitmore, emergency appendicitis just in.
Excellent. I mean wretched. Of course, Im coming.
Lizzie drained her coffee, stretched, then strode toward A&E. Her shift was ending soon, but she refused to turn down another operation she needed the practice.
You?
Yep Max grinned before doubling up in pain.
So, will you trust me?
With my life, Lizzie.
No dramatic last words? Not even a groan or a will?
Youre such a muppet, Whitmore.
The biggest.
Three years later, Lizzie would swing open the garden gate to the old family home, placing her son on the path to the porch.
Go on! Show Granny how you can run! Mum, catch him!
Little Patrick let out a gleeful squeal and raced into open arms.
My golden boy! Oh, how Ive missed you!
Mum, hello! Gran about?
Oh yes! Lydia hugged her grandson, amused, Shes vanished off to Brighton! New romance!
Typical Granny! Who this time?
Artist. Or a sculptor. Or something odd. Dont ask me shell tell you herself. And wheres Max?
Parking the car.
Brilliant! Lunch is nearly ready, Dads just baked the pie. Hands washed, all of you, and come to the table! Ill put Patrick down for a nap and join you!
Oh, I know you! Youll sit and sing lullabies until hes out cold.
And is that so terrible? Lydia smiled, pressing a kiss to her grandsons temple.
Its wonderful, Mum!
