The Muse

  “Yes. Help me up! I am going to be just fine. Everything will be all right.” Imogene figured she must believe in it if she wanted it to come true.

  Graham drew her up and helped her to a chair first where she shakily took stock of her person. She felt no pain or anything untoward, no broken bones or apparent damage. She felt normal. The baby kicked as if on cue to tell her everything was fine. Relief poured through her body, and she smiled at her husband. “I am well, Graham,” she nodded. “The baby just kicked. I have to be well…and I will be,” she told him in a quivering voice.

  Graham pressed his lips to her forehead and held them there for a moment. “Yes, you will. I know you will be fine. Let me carry you to bed. You should lie down now, chérie.”

  “Yes…probably a good idea. Thank you, my darling.” Imogene tried to quell her worry, forcing herself to relax and lean against the strong chest of her husband as he carried her to their bed.

  “I cannot find any sign of distress to the baby or indication Imogene is harmed. The next four and twenty hours are important though. It would be prudent for her to get as much rest as possible, Graham.” John Brancroft spoke directly, but gently. “If she were to deliver now, the outcome would be bleak; the baby’s lungs are just too underdeveloped to breathe properly. You understand?” Graham nodded solemnly. “I gave her a bit of laudanum and she is sleeping peacefully. I could sense she was very upset and worried and that is not good for her right now.”

  “Thank you, John.” Graham paced in his study. “I just couldn’t get to her in time. It was insanity to allow her to be painting like that!” He berated himself.

  “Graham, she could have fallen on the way down to dinner. It is common at this stage for women to be unsteady on their feet. She must be more careful. No more falls.”

  “Can you stay tonight, John? I’d feel so much more at ease with everything…”

  “Of course, you need not even ask.”

  IT happened in the middle of the night.

  Their fairy tale ended in tragedy, their hopes and dreams shattered, and there was nothing they could do to change it.

  Graham woke to the sound of Imogene crying out in pain, their bed wet. Everything felt wrong and he knew fear, deep, paralyzing fear, the kind of fear that dripped down into the very core of his bones.

  “What is happening, chérie? Tell me!” Bolting up from the bed, he lit the lamp and held it over them, pulling back the covers. The bed was soaked and there was blood as well. “No, no, no, Imogene. What—what? Are you—”

  “Get John! It hurts. Ohhh, dear God, it hurts!” She held herself down low between her legs and sobbed. “No! No…nooooo! It’s too soon! Too soon, too soon, too soon,” she chanted the last, hysterically.

  These were the words Graham would remember always with regret and sadness whenever he heard them. These were the words that would haunt him in his dreams, when he tried to forget. ‘Too soon…too soon…too goddam soon.’

  “Imogene dear, drink this. It will take away the pain and relax you. I am trying to stop the baby from coming.” John directed her firmly, although Graham could tell she barely registered his instructions.

  He told Graham his main concern was for Imogene. And he had very good reason to feel that way. She was in shock, hysterical from the fear of giving birth too early, well aware that her baby, if born now, would have no chance at survival. John explained he didn’t hold much faith in the ability to stop the birth. Clearly, her waters had broken, and her body was readying for the inevitable. Even so, he dosed her heavily with laudanum, knowing that she would be spared from facing the worst of what was to come.

  Graham stayed bravely by her side, even once she was unconscious. He watched all of it, his heart breaking for her, and for himself. Mrs. Griffin and Hester were also there helping and assisting John, but it was into Graham’s hands that he placed the baby when it was delivered.

  Even through the devastating reality of the sad outcome, Graham was still awed by the miracle of life. Thus, they were all surprised by the words John next spoke, “Twins! Another baby is coming. She is carrying twins…”

  HOW would he tell her? How would he say the words to her that would annihilate her world?

  How did he do that to the person he loved more than anyone on this earth—

  But he did do it, because there was no one else who had the right. Even though his heart was breaking in two, he would tell his beloved. And he would mourn with her.

  Graham was with her in their room when Imogene awoke for the first time. She took one look at him and he could see the ice-cold fear taking root.

  “My baby, Graham? My baby?” She grabbed at her belly as she remembered.

  Graham moved to hold her, and tried to whisper the words he knew she must hear, the most difficult thing he’d ever faced in his life.

  Her anguished cries carried out of the room, down the corridor, through the house and to the gardens outside.

  The pall of death was heavy like a fog, shrouding Gavandon and cloaking it in sorrow. Their bucolic realm retreated into the mist, as if even the house and grounds themselves could not face the pain of its occupants, and had to turn away from them in grief.

  IMOGENE’S mourning was profound, and after the initial heartache over the loss of her babies was felt, fear turned alarmingly for her health.

  She would not eat. On the third day she stopped speaking. In her sleep, she suffered terrible nightmares. Laudanum was given to help her sleep. Her melancholy grew, spreading like a weed that takes over and completely covers all in its path. She became unreachable, lost in a world not known to the rest of them.

  Elle came to stay at Gavandon. Visits from Jemima Burleigh and Philippa were frequent, but for everyone who loved her, their worry grew with each passing day.

  Imogene could not face the pain of her loss. She could not go forward until such a time had come to pass that she was able to face it.

  Graham lived in a state of continual panic, the effects of which made him ill.

  He understood his wife was slipping away and was frantic to stop its progress. He was afraid to let her out of his sight, reasoning that if he stayed by her, he could hold on and keep her from falling deeper into the darkness.

  The dream he had dreamt of her floating away from him was now his horrific reality. Even so, he was reluctant to force her to face the painful events, fearing she would slip over the edge and be forever lost to him. Imogene did not ask him about that night and he did not speak of what he had seen or experienced.

  Zuly was the one link that remained intact. She was able somehow to breach the fortress protecting Imogene, to move freely in both worlds. Imogene did not speak to her at first, but sought her company, stroking her soft fur, seeming to take comfort in her companionship. Zuly was kept with Imogene at all times, hoping she could draw her out of the iron grip the blackness held over her.

  Eventually Graham had to cope with the panic. It was a primitive reaction—the body simply taking over in order to survive.

  He became a madman possessed with physical, exhaustive work, and took to labouring in the fields on the estate. He dressed himself in tenant work clothes each morning and went out and dug ditches. He ploughed fields and brought in harvests, working most of the day, stopping only to eat enough to keep his body functioning.

  In the evenings he came into the house, cleansed away the dirt and sweat of his labours, and went to Imogene. He sat with her. Read to her. Brushed her hair. He bathed her and agonized at the sight of her beautiful body so thin from not eating. It broke his heart. Graham painted too, staying up very late into the night to work in his studio after she slept.

  Imogene was passive and unresponsive to most of what he did. She accepted his closeness, but was oblivious to all emotional interaction. Byron’s books were read to her, as well as old letters. Her body was there with him, but her mind was entirely somewhere else.

  Imogene allowed Hester to dress her and attend to her needs. She began to ea
t on her own after two frightening weeks of this behaviour. Finally, she began talking again but conversation had to be initiated since she did not volunteer to speak on her own.

  Graham consulted with John, who advised him on the subject of melancholia in women after child loss. John felt sure it was the multiple pregnancy that caused the premature birth. The trauma of her hard fall had been too great to keep her birth waters from breaking with two babies adding stress to an already stretched membrane. He pronounced Imogene perfectly recovered from the birth, physically at least. John was optimistic her spirit would rebound in due time with the loving support of her family, when she was ready.

  COLIN approached his brother’s study carefully as soon as he arrived. He too, dreaded what would await him on this visit home to Gavandon. He knocked.

  “Come in, Colin, I saw you ride up.” His brother’s voice sounded broken, reminding him of another time of loss and wretchedness.

  When Colin stepped inside the study he could see how Graham just sat with his back to the door, brooding as he looked out at the beautifully manicured grounds sweeping up to the tree line. His older brother, who he’d looked up to for his whole life, was morose. “I can’t reach her, Colin. She lives in a world of her own making,” he said slowly without turning away from the window.

  Colin put a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll get better, Graham. She needs…she needs to face it.” He said it gently, for he knew Graham was hanging by the merest of threads.

  “You cannot understand the pain she feels. She’s not able to face it yet. She is not ready, and I cannot allow her further hurt.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “She’s in the solarium. I’ll take you.”

  “Elle says she is greatly changed, and is very worried.”

  “We are all worried, Colin,” Graham said sorrowfully as they walked. “Be gentle, Brother. She is fragile. You will see what I mean.”

  Colin nodded, alarmed at how changed Graham was as he took in his disposition. He looked like he’d aged ten years. For the first time in his life, Colin thought his brother looked…old.

  “Chérie, look who has come to see you.” Graham gently roused her from the chaise.

  Imogene slowly turned glassy eyes toward the door. It took a moment for recognition to register. “Colin.” She offered a lazy smile. “Shouldn’t you be at Trinity? How could you get away?”

  “No, I finished up at Trinity, remember? Now I just do research for Sir William Hershel.” He sat down and picked up her hand. Her skin felt cold.

  “You are so brilliant, Colin. You find stars in the heavens and give them names…” She looked wistful like she was miles away. “The stars are so very beautiful up in the heavens.”

  “But I’ve been in Ireland at Donadea. I wanted to come back to Gavandon to see you and Graham.”

  “Ireland? Graham loves it in Ireland. He wishes he could be there all the time. I know he does.” Even Colin could tell she was trying to make an effort at conversation, but it was apparent she was only partially present within her mind. “Do you look at the stars in Ireland, Colin?”

  “Yes, of course.” He tried to get her to meet his eyes. “How have you been, Imogene?”

  He ignored the daggers piercing into him at Graham’s glare from across the room. Imogene simply ignored the question.

  She was trying, though, trying to be attentive, and polite. Her face alighting with a smile, she faced Colin again. “Elle is coming. She is coming to stay with us, Colin. I know you adore her so. Is that not…nice?”

  Colin flashed eyes at Graham. “But Elle is already here.” He spoke gently. “She has been here with you for some weeks now. Don’t you remember?”

  “Oh.” She shook her head slightly. “I forgot.” Her eyes began to fill. “I’m so sorry. I forget everything.” Some tears spilled down her face. “What is wrong with me, Colin?”

  “Nothing.” Colin patted her hand. “Nothing is wrong with you, my dear. You are just sad.”

  She trained her soulful brown eyes onto him. “Why am I sad, Colin?”

  “Because—”

  Graham stopped him right there. “Chérie, you are tired and it’s making you upset. Why don’t you rest before luncheon?” He kissed her on the forehead and helped her to lie back. “I’ll return in a little while after you’ve had your sleep,” he told her, stroking up and down her arm. “I want to discuss some business with Colin right now.” He waited until Imogene closed her eyes and then turned to face him. The searing look he gave Colin brooked no argument.

  Colin relented, and followed his brother reluctantly out of the solarium.

  “What in the bloody hell are you doing?” Graham barked as soon as they were ensconced back in his study. “Why are you doing it rather? I can see what you are trying to do, Colin, and I won’t allow it!”

  “Graham, she must deal with what has happened to her.”

  Graham shook his head. “You can see clearly that she is unable to do that right now.”

  “Brother, please be rational about this. Surely you comprehend that in order for her to heal she will have to face the pain of it eventually. I don’t think she even understands what has transpired.”

  “God dammit, Colin! Would you please back down? You saw how she broke when you pressed her. I cannot hurt her any more, or allow anyone else to do the same. It is my duty to protect her.”

  Colin threw up his hands in frustration. “This is so wrong in every way.” He glared at his brother. “But you are not protecting her—you’re giving her opium, aren’t you? How could you? After everything, after Jasper—”

  Graham would not meet his eyes.

  “How, Graham?”

  “It is to help her sleep…she has terrible nightmares.”

  “Sleep!” Colin scoffed. “Sleeping all day long, Graham? A girl who could not stand being inside on the coldest day? That’s not the woman I know! Talking in riddles, glassy eyed and dazed, unable to remember things. For Christ’s sake you’ve got her dependent upon the stuff!”

  “Did Elle tell you that? What else has she said?”

  “You know Elle and I correspond regularly. She loves Imogene as a sister, and she is frightened for her. And rightly so. How can you not see what you’re doing to her is wrong?”

  Graham shook his head slowly back and forth, his jaw set. “She is not dependent. She’ll face her loss when she is ready.”

  “Imogene will not live a year in the state she is in. I’ll go to Brancroft then, and I’ll put it into his hands. He can remove her from your care if you are found unfit and putting her in harm’s way. She can go to her sister and Brancroft.”

  The instant the threat of removing Imogene from Graham and into Brancroft’s care left his lips, Colin watched as the colour drained from Graham’s face. His brother began to visibly shake, and lurched toward him.

  Good. Maybe that will wake your sorry arse up about the condition of your wife.

  “You pretentious shit.” He stabbed a finger at Colin with each word, sounding as lethal as was his intent. “You’ll do no such thing, little brother. You’re going to leave me now.” He pointed again. “Go on. I cannot vouch I’ll not kill you if you try to have her taken from me.”

  Colin faced the murderous stare of his brother without fear. “I know you bear great pain for the loss of your children, and the grief that traps Imogene, so I forgive your threats. I am not afraid of you.” He knew his next words would burn like hot coals but he said them anyway. He had no choice. “What would our mother think of what you are doing to Imogene? Shame on you, my brother.” Colin walked out of Graham’s study and out into the hall.

  The smashing of glass against the wall echoed in his ears as he departed.

  TRISTAN visited her faithfully every day.

  “Imogene, I’ve had a letter from Byron. I told him you’ve been…ill, and he is very worried about his dear cousin,” he said the last teasingly, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of her. Imogene responded
with a half-smile, clearly indulging her friend the best that she was able, which wasn’t much at all. “He sent something, for you to have personally. I think you’ll like it.” Tristan placed a soft, bound, printed leaflet in her lap. It’s a new story from the Turkish tales he’s writing now called, ‘The Bride of Abydos.’ He’s giving it to you before it’s even been published. It’s about a princess and her travails in love. He honors you specifically, Imogene.” Tristan pointed to the page, showing her. “See here? The heroine is named Zulekia.”

  Zuly lifted her head from where she lay at Imogene’s feet and looked up quizzically when her name was spoken.

  “Zulekia?” she mumbled, trying to focus on his words. “Why would he name her after the dog?”

  “He was taken with the name, remember? I believe he did it to show his admiration for you, Imogene. Byron thinks you are magnificent.”

  “Oh, that is so like him. Byron is a master at flattery,” she said dazedly.

  “One of his many talents. Would you like me to read it to you?” Tristan asked her gently.

  “Yes, please. That would be most welcome.” She attempted to show an interest for Tristan’s sake, but he wasn’t fooled. “I cannot read for myself—trouble concentrating.”

  “Very well, then.” Tristan began to read aloud to her, his voice resonating with suppressed emotion and worry for his most dearly loved friend.

  …The might — the majesty of Loveliness?

  Such was Zuleika — such around her shone

  The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone;

  The light of love, the purity of grace,

  The mind, the Music breathing from her face,

  The heart whose softness harmonised the whole —

  And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

  He read for a few moments before glancing over to find she had fallen asleep again. Sighing in resignation, he left the story for her on a side table.