“I am so sorry to have to trouble you with my affairs,” she said, eyes downcast.
“Nonsense!”
It embarrassed her to look directly at him. He seemed so eager, like a tiger about to lunge at its dinner.
“Would you please sit down and have tea?” she asked.
He looked so fidgety that she wished she could get him to drink a good dose of brandy to settle him down. Could his feelings for her have intensified in absentia? She had been so wrapped up in her own difficulties in recent months that she had hardly thought about her poor Robert. Elgin had said that Robert was always falling for one woman or another. When last they’d spent time together, she had assumed that she was merely one of many, that Robert fell for whatever attractive—and unattainable—woman was in his vicinity. What exuded from him now hardly seemed like a passing flirtation.
“Once again, I am dependent upon you,” she said.
“I would serve you all the days of my life if allowed,” he answered.
She had no idea how he could find her alluring in her present state. She was swollen beyond normal. Even her face had begun to lose its attractive angles as her body grew in size. She was exhausted these days and could hardly stand the sight of herself in the mirror.
There was something emphatically different about him now. But whatever had transpired in his heart, whatever feelings were present, no matter how strong, she could not encourage them. She needed him. And she must let him know that the pressing needs of the moment must take precedence over anything else he might be feeling or thinking.
“Mr. Ferguson, you are the only person I know in England who has enough influence with the French to work for Elgin’s release. You are the only person both Lord Elgin and I trust to dispose of our property. You are the only person I can depend upon to help me negotiate my way through the maze of a business transaction with the government on the marbles. It is unseemly to be so overly dependent upon one person, but there it is.”
“Sir Joseph Banks will be happy to help us again. If any person in England knows who can give us an accurate appraisal of the marbles, it is he. He is universally admired. I shall speak to him forthwith.”
“Thank you. I do not know how we shall repay you, but mark my words, it shall be done!”
Robert leaped out of his seat as if he could not wait another moment to start the process of helping the Elgins. Mary almost laughed at the fervor he displayed. Hurriedly, he kissed her hand and rushed out the door.
Feelings were a minor detail in the ever-unfolding drama of her life. This was not an opera or a romance novel. Mary would contain this man and his ardor, which had radiated from his eyes. She had managed the feelings of the fantastically handsome Count Sébastiani, the Capitan Pasha, and other powerful men. Surely she could manage Robert Ferguson.
I simply cannot have any more children, Elgin. I have never suffered so much in my life. I would do anything in the world for you but this. The horror began long before the labor and continues now long after it. Life is nothing but a burden to me under these circumstances. This is the fifth time I have undergone this pain. I am worn out and would rather lock myself up in a nunnery for life. I leave my fate in your hands. If that is your decision for me, I will live wherever you like and never see a soul, but this agony I will no longer endure.
Your wife who continues to love you, Mary.
When William died, Mary thought she had lost the will to live, but as she was defying her husband and taking her stand, she realized that she had entirely regained her desire to be in the world.
William had come to her while she was in labor. She had passed out, and in that moment, her fondest wish was met. She was sitting in a beautiful garden in France in the sunshine. Her dress was open, and she was nursing William, staring into his beautiful blue eyes again, watching him watch her. Was any child ever so alert, so curious, so in communication with his mother? As he quietly sucked at the breast, he delivered a silent message to her: Mother, you must live.
She had suffered worse than ever before in the labor to produce Lucy—another pretty little girl—and the aftermath was the worst she had ever experienced. But rather than praying for death, after the visitation from William she had prayed for life. As the weeks wore on and the blood and the pain kept coming, she continued to pray that she might live. It was her little boy’s last request. Even when she did not have the strength to get out of bed, she begged God to let her remain on this earth and see it all through.
That is when it occurred to her—no child would ever replace William. Though Mary ferociously loved all of her children, William was special. Perhaps it was because she had been in exile, away from her other children, when he was born, or because she had nursed and cared for him herself. She realized that even if she produced another dozen children, none would ever replace William. She wrote as much to Elgin, giving him daily accounts of the children’s progress, but making her stance clear.
He never answered her letters. She pleaded with him to affirm that he had received these missives, read them, and understood her immutable decision. She tried another tactic, the sort that he responded to in the past:
I am not refusing you pleasure, my darling. But there are ways to have pleasure that do not result in pregnancy. We have practiced them many times, and I do recall that you enjoyed it every time. You will have your Mary, your tasty morsel, as you love to call me, but we will eliminate the aspect that leads to the unwanted thing.
But he did not reply to her seductive missives either. She agonized over the lack of response. She wrote to him that the moment she could travel—and at this point, weeks after Lucy’s birth, she still could not walk—she would return to France to be near him.
He sent no response. What would she do if he refused her terms?
In May, when the weather had cleared and Mary was recovered, Ferguson came to visit. Slowly he entered the drawing room, a smile plastered on his face, waving a letter. “Fantastic news, Mary.”
“But you look as if you have just learned of the death of a beloved pet,” she teased.
“Do I? No matter, Mary, we have succeeded. Napoleon has bent to our pleas, thanks to the numerous letters written by our more influential friends. Our efforts are rewarded. Lord Elgin has permission to leave France.”
The news was unexpected. Mary did not know how to respond, especially in front of Robert. It had been so long since she had heard from her husband.
“You have nothing to say on the matter?” Robert had delivered the news with a grim countenance, and now Mary was aware that she had received it with the same. He must think her insane, after all they had been through together to obtain Elgin’s freedom.
“I am surprised, that is all. I suppose that I had given up.”
“I have some news of my own. I have made a decision. I am returning to Scotland to run for Parliament.”
“You are leaving me again?” she asked. The words tumbled out. What right did she have to ask him to do anything further for her? Why did she say that?
“The Whig party has returned to power, Mary. I see a unique opportunity to push for the reforms in which I so firmly believe.”
Before she could prevent it, she started to cry.
Robert sat on the sofa next to her and took her hand. “Mary, everything will be fine. You have four lovely children. Your husband is coming home. I have done my best by you. Sir Joseph promises that the marbles will receive fair appraisal as soon as the customs are paid and they can actually be seen. Do you see, dear girl? All is well!”
Some intangible quality in warmth of his skin and in the soothing tone in his voice caused something inside of her to break, some wall that she had kept solid and strong so that nothing from the outside could breach it, some barrier to a place in her heart or her mind that no man should breach but Elgin. A sacrosanct place that married people kept private but for each other. But Elgin was not present, and Robert was, and the wall came tumbling down.
She told Rober
t everything—the way she had suffered, which he and not Elgin had witnessed on his many visits before the baby was born; her decision not to have more children; and Elgin’s silence on the matter.
“I want him to come home, Robert. Oh, God knows I do not want my own husband imprisoned indefinitely. But I am afraid. What if he refuses my terms? Whatever shall I do? What can any woman do? Must I choose between my husband and my very life?”
“The thought that you would endanger your life again arouses every indignation inside of me, Mary. I couldn’t bear it, though I have no right to insert myself into the matter.” Robert stood, pacing around the room as if this were another of her problems for which he might find a solution. He turned to her several times, and then turned away and recommenced his pacing.
“There is nothing to be done about it until my husband is at home and allows his thoughts on the matter to be revealed,” she said.
“No man in his right mind would refuse you,” Robert said.
“Then let us hope that when Lord Elgin arrives, he is indeed in his right mind.”
In the city of London, June 1806
MARY PREPARED THE CHILDREN for Elgin’s return by telling them stories every day about their brave and important father, who, though held captive by the enemy, did not betray his country. She had worried that between his long absence and his odd appearance, what with the mask covering his missing nose, they would shun him as a stranger. Bruce claimed to remember his father, but Mary did not see how the girls could have any memory of him. Little Mary had been without him for much longer than she’d been with him. Harriet had been an infant when he parted with her, and Lucy he had yet to lay eyes on.
“He pictures his children in his mind, and that is what gives him strength and courage,” she told them every day, demanding that they sit still and listen. The paterfamilias was returning to his rightful position as head of the family, and she wanted the children to acknowledge it. She would acknowledge it as well. She intended to uphold every form that was expected of her as his wife, at least publicly, but it would be more akin to staging a lovely play for others rather than actions proceeding from the directives of the heart.
She wanted everything to go smoothly once Elgin was home. It would not do to have explosive confrontations. Yet no matter his response to her demand, she was firm in her resolve. Elgin could apologize as he did when he was released from the fortress at Lourdes. He could improve his health and his appearance and return to his well-mannered ways as he had done in the past. But this time, his repentance, should it manifest, would not win him entrance to her bed.
She thought that she was doing him enough of a favor by training the children to admire and respect him and by refraining from pouncing on him with the realities of their mounting debts. When he finally appeared at her Baker Street home in London, she presented him with one beautifully groomed and turned-out child after the next.
“Why, look, it is my brood of little Greek-speaking brats!” he exclaimed, opening his arms to gather the children in.
“Lord Bruce, have you managed to learn a word or two of English in your father’s absence?” he asked his son, smiling at him.
“Yes, sir,” the boy said proudly. “I read the language too, sir. And Mother and I are working on my French.”
“Then you shall have the gift I bought for you, young man.” He presented the six-year-old with a shining French saber. Not sharpened, he mouthed to Mary. “Thank you for being the man of the family while I was away.”
To the two older girls, he presented porcelain dolls dressed in elegant French finery. He held and approved of Lucy, ever the proud father when another of his heirs was delivered into his arms. “Why, she is as small and delicate as one of the bisque dolls I brought from Paris,” he said.
The children gathered around him for the rest of the afternoon, competing for his attention, and the older two demonstrating everything they had mastered since he’d last seen them. Bruce parried swords with the manservant Andrew, and later read from his primer. Little Mary had just learned to make the first tiny stitches in a sampler, which she proudly showed her papa. “I shall make the entire alphabet, Father,” she said. “And I have taught Harriet how to say her letters.”
“I am proud of all of you,” Elgin said, kissing each of them before they were to go upstairs and be readied for bed. “You are exemplary children.”
“I too shall go to bed now,” Mary said to him. She was tired, and in no mood for serious discussion. She also wanted to set an example for what their relationship was to be henceforth—one of good form and friendship.
“I shall be upstairs shortly,” he replied, giving no indication of whether he had read her letters or not, or of whether he intended to join her.
“As you wish,” she said, and went straightaway up to her bedroom.
He might have been trying to keep her in the dark about whether or not he had accepted the proposed arrangement, but she was prepared for any eventuality. She dressed for bed, but asked the new lady’s maid to lock the door from the inside and remain in her chamber. Mary did not explain her reasoning, but told the girl to sit in the chair by the window until Mary decided that she could take her leave.
Within the hour, Elgin knocked on the bedroom door. He twisted the doorknob, but found it locked. “Mary? Please open the door,” she heard him say.
Mary had to get out of bed to awaken the maid, now slumped in the chair.
“Open the door, tell Lord Elgin that I am sound asleep, and stand in front of the door until he leaves,” she whispered to the girl. “Then, go to your room.”
“Yes ma’am,” the girl said, jumping up and curtsying, and rushing to the door.
“Asleep, is she?” she heard Elgin say.
“Yes, Lord Elgin,” the girl replied. For a few moments, there was no movement. Then Mary heard Elgin shuffling away, and the girl’s quicker footsteps moving in the opposite direction.
THEIR SOCIAL LIVES resumed immediately. Everyone wanted to see Elgin and to hear about his experiences. A man who was once held prisoner was always, at least for a time, an object of fascination in society. Mary declared that she had no time to digest her food between the luncheon and dinner invitations from so many curious Londoners. Even Lord Grenville, the new prime minister, invited the Elgins to dine with him.
“They have reconsidered reimbursing my expenses, because of all that I have endured on behalf of my country,” Elgin speculated as they rode in a carriage into Whitehall, past Buckingham Palace toward Downing Street.
Mary had not yet brought up the subject of Elgin’s ruined finances. She thought that a man deserved a little time to readjust to life at home. Elgin had not been on English soil in seven years. If Lord Grenville authorized a generous reimbursement of embassy expenses, the subject of Elgin’s debts would be much easier to discuss.
“Perhaps he is going to make a firm offer for the marbles too,” Mary said.
“Undoubtedly. And to offer me another position. There is talk about us going to Vienna, Mary. And also Russia.”
At one time, the idea of venturing into foreign lands had been exhilarating to Mary. But now, so many years and miles later, the thought of moving their belongings and their brood from country to country exhausted her.
“It would be lovely to return to Broomhall,” Mary countered. “I have dreamt of it for so long.”
“We shall see what the evening brings,” Elgin said. “We are young, Mary. We might spend some years in the Foreign Service before retiring to our home.”
The evening began well. In addition to the Elgins, Lord Grenville had invited Richard Payne Knight, a world-famous collector of antiquities.
“I am certain that Lord Grenville has consulted with Knight on the marbles,” Elgin whispered to Mary. “I’ll wager that some serious discussion shall be had after dinner in the brandy room!”
But as soon as the subject of the marbles arose, Knight uttered an unwanted, unfounded opinion. “Your labors are fo
r naught, Lord Elgin. Your marbles are overrated. They are not Greek. They are Roman, of the time of Hadrian.”
The man spoke with shocking authority, Mary thought, though he could not possibly have known what he was talking about. The marbles were still in crates, sitting on the docks.
“But you have not even seen them. No one has,” Elgin replied, trying to control his temper. “Oh, let me retract that statement. Antonio Canova, perhaps the greatest sculptor in the world, has seen pieces and has proclaimed them masterpieces by the hand of Pheidias.”
“I do not have to see them, Lord Elgin,” said the antiquarian. “Many a collector has been deceived by excellent Roman imitators.”
“Sir, I beg you to cease this line of argument,” Elgin said. “I was present when the pieces came off the Parthenon. They had sat in place for two thousand years!”
Elgin turned to Lord Grenville. “I assure you, Lord Grenville, that there is not a piece of marble taken from the Parthenon that was not carved by the hand of Pheidias!”
“That is for the experts to decide, Lord Elgin,” Grenville said calmly. “Of course, lack of authenticity would alter the price.”
“But they are authentic!” Elgin protested again.
Lord Grenville smiled politely, and then turned to the person next to him and began to discuss weather patterns. For the rest of the evening, he coolly deflected any talk of the marbles, making it clear that the government had greater concerns at present, such as containing Napoleon. Lord Grenville also offered no hint that the government had changed its position on paying any of Elgin’s expenses.