might have come from me.”
And I said, “Do Caroline’s parents visit Judith?”
He looked very surprised at that question, and I suppose that it was unexpected.
“No, they have never seen her. They never wanted to see me again, if you would
know the truth. John and Thomas know all about what they did.”
“And that was?”
“They claimed that their daughter Caroline was perfectly normal, that nothing at
all had ever been wrong with her, that it was I who ruined her, destroyed her
somehow. They did not understand what possible reason I had for doing it, but
there was no doubt in their minds that I had murdered their daughter. I was
responsible for their beloved daughter’s death. They said they never wished to
see any child that was mine.”
“They continue to deny their own granddaughter?”
He nodded.
“That is extraordinary, but hardly your fault. Incidentally, Lawrence, I think
you’ve done a magnificent job raising Judith. She is a sweet child, very
enthusiastic, bright as the sun itself, and utterly normal. You selected a fine
woman to instruct her. I am very sorry for Caroline, but please believe me when
I say that it was a very long time ago. None of it will touch Judith, nor should
it.”
And because it was all so grim, and there was so much long-ago misery still
sifting through this room, I said, “I am twenty-one years old and have come to
grips with the fact that I am now a stepmama. Judith and I will become great
friends, I promise you. Forgive yourself, Lawrence, for I forgive you for not
telling me.”
“I may come eventually to forgive myself, but never can I forget it. I have
already said it, Andy. Judith carries her mother’s seed. Is there madness in her
that will emerge when she gains years?”
I said, “The king is mad. Was his father, George II, mad as well?”
“Some Tories would quickly say that he was,” Lawrence said. “But no, certainly
he was not mad.”
It was an attempt at a jest, and so I smiled. “You know as well as I do that
madness is not something that is automatically visited by the father or the
mother on the child. There is no madness in Caroline’s parents, is there?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said slowly, “there is not, only hatred toward me.”
I swear he wanted to believe that his young daughter would be just fine. “But I
will tell you that before Miss Gillbank came, I feared for Judith.”
“How old was she when Miss Gillbank arrived?”
“Perhaps three years old.”
To me that was madness to even say that, much less think it, but again, I was
the voice of calm and reason. “Judith was a toddler. I imagine that when a
parent sees all the havoc a young child can create, they are ready to believe
that the child is the spawn of Satan. That is how my grandfather viewed me upon
occasion, and I didn’t turn to madness. Yes, I remember now. He called me an ill-begotten
imp of Satan.”
He laughed at that, really laughed, just as I had hoped he would. Was I so
pleased with myself and my handling of this situation that only I looked
inordinately relieved? No, I swear he looked younger, his shoulders more square,
as if a weight had been lifted off.
When he left me at my door awhile later, he lightly touched his fingers to my
chin. “You are everything that I could possibly have expected. Perhaps even a
bit more. I will think about what you have said tonight. Goodnight, my dear Andy.”
When I finally got back to The Blue Room from walking George, who wasn’t all
that picky about his selection this time, and finally managed to dismiss Belinda,
who wanted to remain and gossip, I eased myself into bed. I snuggled under my
warm covers. George, too, decided to sleep beneath the covers and burrowed down
to press his warm little body behind my knees. I had to admit that today was
very probably the busiest, the most unexpected, the most frightening, and with
that blow on the head, one of the most painful days I’d ever spent in my life.