A Good Woman

Chapter 25

Annabelle received two letters in the early days of spring. Both gave her food for thought. One was from Lady Winshire, who was inviting her and Consuelo to come for a visit for a few days. She said that she thought it would be good for Consuelo to see where the other half of her family came from and how they lived, that it was part of her ancestry. She was hoping that they would come over as soon as they could. Annabelle thought about it, but wasn’t sure. Harry Winshire was a terrible memory for her, and yet what his mother said was true. This wasn’t about Harry, it was about Consuelo and the grandmother she had finally met. And she had a feeling that Consuelo would enjoy visiting her.

The other letter was from the man at her father’s bank who still managed her affairs. She always had money sent over to live on in France, but the bulk of her fortune had remained in the States. He was asking her, for the first time in a long time, what she wanted to do about the house in Newport. She hadn’t been there in ten years, but she had never had the heart to part with it. She had too many memories in that house, and yet she couldn’t see herself going back, even for a visit. And that was part of Consuelo’s heritage too, far more than Lady Winshire’s estates, since Consuelo’s father had never been part of their lives.

The man at the bank had written to tell her that he had had a very reasonable offer for the cottage. Blanche, William, and the other servants were still there, maintaining it, and they had lost all hope of seeing her again. She couldn’t say that they were wrong. She had had no desire to go back in all these years. She missed it occasionally, but she also knew the miseries of ostracism that she would experience if she went back, even for a visit. There was no one left for her to see. And she was afraid that if she went back, it would open all the old wounds of missing her family again, and all that she had lost, even Josiah. She didn’t want to relive that pain. But she didn’t feel ready to sell it either, although her banker was right, the offer they had in hand was good. She didn’t know what she wanted to do.

She thought about Lady Winshire’s offer first, and talked to Consuelo about it at dinner that night. The little girl was instantly enthusiastic and said she wanted to go. And in an odd way, Annabelle did too. She thought it might do them good to get away. Consuelo had been begging to go back to Deauville again, but Annabelle didn’t want to go there, after her bitter experience with Antoine. It seemed as though she had bad memories everywhere, and was constantly hiding from her own ghosts.

She answered Lady Winshire’s letter the next day, and said they would like to come. Lady Winshire wrote back immediately, offering a choice of dates. In the end, they chose Consuelo’s birthday weekend. She would be seven years old. The weather would be a little better by then. Annabelle had Hélène at her office get the tickets and make the plans. They would take the train to Calais, cross the Channel to Dover, and Lady Winshire said she would have someone meet them there. It was only a two-hour drive to their estate.

When the appointed weekend came, Consuelo was so excited she could hardly sit still. They were leaving Brigitte in Paris, where she was planning to spend time with her new boyfriend. Annabelle boarded the train, carrying their two suitcases, and guiding Consuelo along, and they settled into the first-class compartment Hélène had reserved for them. It was the biggest adventure Consuelo had had since they came to Paris two years before, and the weekend in Deauville with Antoine. They no longer spoke about him. Even at her tender age, Consuelo had understood that the subject was painful for her mother and stayed away from it. Annabelle had seen him at the hospital once, and the moment she caught a glimpse of him she had turned away and run up the back staircase to see her patient. She never wanted to speak to him again. His betrayal had been too great.

As the train pulled out of Gare du Nord station, Consuelo was looking at everything with fascination, and Annabelle smiled. They had lunch in the dining car, “like big ladies,” as Consuelo said, and then they watched the scenery drift by, until the child finally fell asleep on her mother’s lap. Annabelle lay her head back against the seat, thinking of the past few months. They had been hard. It was as though Antoine had taken back not only the dream he had offered her but her hope that things would ever be different in her life.

It seemed now as though she would always be punished for the past. She had been a victim of other people’s decisions, weaknesses, and lies. It was depressing to come away from that feeling as though the truth would never come to light and she would never clear her name. No matter how much she had done since, or what she had achieved, what seemed to linger on forever, like a tattoo she could never remove, were the sins she had been branded with, even though they were someone else’s. She was a good mother and a fine doctor, a decent person, and in spite of that, she would be labeled by her past, and Consuelo worse than that, forever. Only Antoine had dared to say the word. It was a cruel label for an innocent child.

Just over three hours later, they reached Calais, and boarded the boat. Annabelle was dreading it. She was a decent sailor, but the Channel was always rough and she was afraid that Consuelo would be seasick. As it turned out, it was indeed a rough trip, and Consuelo loved every minute of it. The more the ferry pitched and rolled in the bouncing seas, the more she giggled and squealed and was totally delighted. By the time they reached Dover on the other side, Annabelle was beginning to feel ill, and Consuelo was happier than ever. She bounced right off the boat, holding her mother’s hand, and her favorite doll in the other.

Lady Winshire’s chauffeur and ancient Rolls were waiting for them on the dock, as promised. The two-hour drive was through gently rolling countryside, with farms and cows and enormous estates, and the occasional ancient castle. As far as Consuelo was concerned, it was a great adventure. And now that they were off the boat, Annabelle was enjoying it too.

But neither of them was prepared for the magnificence of the Winshire estate, and the splendor of the enormous house. There were huge ancient trees bordering the long driveway, and due to Lady Winshire’s fortune, independent of the late earl’s, the house itself, built in the sixteenth century, was in impeccable condition. The stables were bigger, cleaner, and more beautiful than most homes. Lady Winshire had been a notable horsewoman in her youth, and still liked keeping a stable of fine horses, which half a dozen grooms rode every day.

She came out to greet them on the front steps, looking grander than ever, wearing a deep blue dress, stout walking shoes, the familiar pearls, and another enormous hat. She brandished her silver cane like a sword, pointing it at their suitcases and asking her driver to see to it that the bags got to their rooms. And with a broad smile, after she had hugged both Annabelle and Consuelo, who was looking wideeyed at everything she saw, she motioned them to follow her inside.

There was an endless gallery lined with serious-looking family portraits, a gigantic living room with a magnificent chandelier, a library lined with miles of ancient books, a music room with two harps and a grand piano, a dining room with a table long enough to seat forty people for the dinner parties they used to give. The reception rooms seemed to go on forever, until they finally reached a small, cozy drawing room where her ladyship liked to sit and gaze out at the gardens. As Annabelle looked at the surroundings, and the splendor of the home, it was hard to believe that anyone who had grown up here could rape a woman, and then threaten to kill her if she told. There were photographs of both the Winshire sons on the mantelpiece in the room where they were sitting. And after they had tea with scones and clotted cream and jam, Lady Winshire asked one of the maids to show Consuelo the stables. She had arranged for a pony to be brought around, if she wanted to try and ride it, and Annabelle thanked her for her kindness to them, and her warm welcome as Consuelo disappeared to see the pony.

“I have a lot to make up for,” the older woman said simply, and Annabelle smiled. She didn’t hold her responsible for her son’s crimes. And how could they be considered crimes when they had resulted in Consuelo, no matter how she had happened. She said as much to Lady Winshire, who thanked Annabelle for her generosity of spirit, and said her son didn’t deserve it, much as she had loved him. She confessed sadly that he had been wild and spoiled.

They chatted for a while and strolled in the gardens, and in a little while, one of the grooms appeared, leading Consuelo on the pony. She looked ecstatic. It was clear that the child was having a ball, thanks to her newfound grandmother. Lady Winshire asked if Annabelle would like to ride too. She said she hadn’t in years, but might do so the next morning. All of those luxuries and indulgences had gone out of her life when she left the States. It would be fun, Annabelle thought, to ride again. She had done a lot of it in her youth, mostly in Newport in the summer.

After Consuelo and the groom went back to the stables, Annabelle mentioned that she was thinking of selling her house in Newport.

“Why would you sell it?” the older woman asked, with a look of disapproval. “You said it had been in your family for generations. You need to preserve it, if it’s part of your history. Not sell it.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever go back. I’ve been gone for ten years. It’s just sitting there, unloved and empty, with five servants.”

“You should go back,” Lady Winshire said firmly. “That’s part of Consuelo’s history too. She has a right to that, yours, ours, it’s all part of who she is, and who she’ll become one day. Just as it’s a part of you.” Clearly, all of that hadn’t helped Harry, Annabelle thought to herself, but she wouldn’t have said it to his mother, who knew it anyway, and had said as much herself. “You can’t run away from who you are, Annabelle. You can’t deny it. And Consuelo should see it. You should take her back to visit sometime.”

“That’s all over for me,” Annabelle said, looking stubborn as Lady Winshire shook her head.

“It’s only beginning for her. She needs more than Paris in her life, just as you do. She needs all our histories blended together, and offered to her like a bouquet.”

“I’ve had a very good offer. I could always buy a property in France.” She never had, though. All she had was her very modest house in the sixteenth arrondissement. She had nothing in the country, and she had to agree, seeing Consuelo here, it was doing her good.

“I suspect you can do that anyway,” her ladyship guessed correctly. Annabelle had inherited a very large fortune from her father, and an only slightly smaller one from her mother, and she had hardly spent anything in years. It was no longer in keeping with her lifestyle, or her life as a doctor, and she had been careful not to let any of that show for the past ten years. It spoke well of her, but now, at almost thirtytwo, she was old enough to enjoy it.

Lady Winshire turned to her with a smile then. “I hope you’ll both come to visit often. I still go to London once in a while, but most of the time I’m here.” It had been her late husband’s family seat, which had brought her to another thought she had wanted to mention to Annabelle, when Consuelo wasn’t around. She wasn’t sure if it was too soon to mention it, but it had been much on her mind. “I’ve been thinking a great deal about Consuelo’s situation, because you and her father were never married. That could be a heavy burden for her to carry in a few years, as she gets older. You can’t lie to her forever, and one day someone may figure it out. I spoke to our attorneys, and it makes no sense for me to adopt her, and she’s your daughter. Harry can’t marry you posthumously, which is unfortunate. But I can officially recognize her, which would improve things somewhat, and she could add our name to yours, if that would be acceptable to you,” she said cautiously. She didn’t want to offend the child’s mother, who had been so brave about shouldering all her responsibilities alone. But Annabelle was smiling at her. She had become more sensitive to it herself, ever since Antoine’s outrageous insults, especially calling Consuelo a bastard. The thought of it still hurt her now.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Annabelle said gratefully. “It might make things easier for her one day.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” Lady Winshire looked hopeful.

“I’d like it very much.” She associated Lady Winshire with the name, and not her evil son. “That would make her Consuelo WorthingtonWinshire, or the reverse, whatever you prefer.”

“I think Worthington-Winshire would do very well. I can have our attorneys draw up the papers whenever you like.” She beamed at Annabelle, who leaned over and hugged her.

“You’ve been very kind to us,” Annabelle said gratefully.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said gruffly. “You’re a good woman. I can see what a wonderful mother you’ve been to her. Somehow, in spite of everything, you’ve managed to become a doctor. And from what I’ve been told, you’re a good one.” Her own physician had discreetly checked, through connections he had in France. “In spite of what my son did to you, you’ve recovered, and you don’t hold it against the child, or even against me. I’m not even sure you hold it against him, and I’m not sure I could have done that in your place. You’re respectable, responsible, decent, hard-working. You worked like a Trojan during the war. You have no family behind you. You’ve done it all on your own, with no one to help you. You were brave enough to have a child out of wedlock and make the best of it. I can’t think of a single thing about you not to respect or like. In fact, I think you’re quite remarkable, and I’m proud to know you.” What she said brought tears to Annabelle’s eyes. It was the antidote to everything Antoine had said.

“I wish I could see it the way you do,” Annabelle said sadly. “All I see are my mistakes. And all people seem to see, except for you, are the labels others have put on me.” She confessed one of her darkest secrets then, and told her she had been divorced before she left the States, and told her why. It only made Lady Winshire admire her more.

“That’s quite an amazing story,” she said, thinking about it for a moment. She wasn’t easily shocked, and the story of Annabelle’s marriage to Josiah only made her feel sorry for Annabelle. “It was foolish of him to think he could pull it off.”

“I think he believed he could, and then found he couldn’t. And his friend was always close at hand. It must have made it even more difficult for him.”

“People are such fools sometimes,” Lady Winshire said, shaking her head. “And it was even more foolhardy of him to think that divorcing you wouldn’t blacken your name. It’s all very nice to say he was trying to free you up for someone else. Divorcing you for adultery in order to do it only threw you to the wolves. He might as well have burned you at the stake in a public place. Really, men can be so ignorant and selfish at times. I don’t suppose you can undo that very easily now.” Annabelle shook her head. “You just have to tell yourself that you don’t care. You know the truth. That’s all that matters.”

“It won’t stop people from slamming their doors in my face,” Annabelle said wistfully. “And Consuelo’s.”

“Do you really care about those people?” Lady Winshire asked honestly. “If they’re mean-spirited enough to do that to you, and to her, then they’re not good enough for either of you, rather than the reverse.” Annabelle told her about her recent experience with Antoine then, and she was outraged. “How dare he say things like that to you? There is nothing more small-minded and downright vicious than the self-righteousness of the so-called bourgeoisie. He would have made you miserable, my dear. You were quite right not to let him come back. He wasn’t worthy of you.” Annabelle smiled at what she said, and had to agree. She was sad about what had happened, but once she had discovered who Antoine was, she didn’t miss him. She just missed the dream of what she had hoped they would have, but clearly never would. It had been an illusion. A beautiful dream that turned into a nightmare with his ugly words and assumptions. He was far too willing to believe the worst of her, whether true or not.

Consuelo came bounding into the room then, excited about all the horses she had seen in the barn, and the ride on the pony. And she was even more so when she saw her room. It was a big, sunny chamber, decorated in flowered silks and chintz, and it adjoined her mother’s room, which was more of the same. And that night at dinner, they told her about her new double name.

“It sounds hard to spell,” Consuelo said practically, and both her mother and grandmother laughed.

“You’ll get used to it,” her mother said. She was more grateful than ever for Lady Winshire’s legal acknowledgment of her child. It might avoid her ever being called a bastard again, by someone as cruel as Antoine.

They played cards after dinner, and eventually all three of them went up to bed. Consuelo was already half asleep and leaning against her mother. In the end, she slept in Annabelle’s bed. And she headed straight out to the barn again the next morning as soon as she was dressed.

The two women talked easily all day, about assorted topics, everything from politics to medicine to novels. Her ladyship was intelligent and extremely well read. Their exchanges reminded Annabelle of the ones she had shared with her own mother, and she had given Annabelle much to think about with their conversation on the first day, about Annabelle not being daunted by the labels people had put on her unfairly. She kept reminding her throughout the weekend that she was a good woman. It made Annabelle feel proud of herself, and not like the pariah she had been when she left New York. Antoine’s words had just been more of the same, and worse because they came from someone she loved, and whom she had believed loved her.

On the last day, at lunch in the garden, Consuelo’s grandmother had a surprise for her. She had one of the grooms join them at dessert, when they served Consuelo’s birthday cake, and he was holding a hatbox tied with a big pink bow. Both Consuelo and her mother thought she was being given a riding hat to wear when she came back. And then Annabelle saw the box shake slightly and began to suspect what was in it. The groom held the box firmly while Consuelo undid the bow and cautiously took off the lid. And as soon as she did, a small black face was peering at her and leaped out of the box into her hands. It was a little black and fawn pug puppy, just like Lady Winshire’s own dogs, and Consuelo was so excited she could hardly speak as the little dog licked her face. Both women were smiling at her, and Consuelo turned to her grandmother and threw her arms around her neck.

“Thank you! She’s so wonderful! What shall I name her?”

“That’s up to you, my dear.” Lady Winshire was beaming. This unexpected grandchild had become a great joy in her life.

They were all sad to leave each other when Consuelo and her mother got back in the car to return to Dover, for the long boat and train trip back to Paris. Lady Winshire reminded them to come back soon. Consuelo thanked her again for the puppy, who still didn’t have a name, but was very excited to be going on the trip. And Lady Winshire reminded Annabelle discreetly that she’d be sending her the papers about Consuelo as soon as they were drawn up.

She stood on the front steps waving as they drove away, and Consuelo played with the puppy all the way back to Paris. She told her mother it was the best birthday she had ever had, and it had been good for Annabelle too.

The day after they got home, Annabelle wrote to the attorneys and told them not to sell the cottage in Newport. And in her office the next morning, she asked Hélène to book passage on a ship to New York in June, with a return to Paris in July. She had taken all of Lady Winshire’s advice to heart.