Page 13 of The Widower Without a Will
Here, he paused, waiting for Caroline to object that of course he would live forever.She only knocked on the tabletop—superstitiously warding off bad spirits—as she bit into another forkful of mutton.
Martin had no choice but to continue: “I haven’t heard back from him yet, however.Perhaps his reply will be to show up in person.Preferably with Lydia and the boys, too.”
Caroline nodded.“It takes a long time for a letter to reach Galway, after all.”
“What a joy it would be for you to have so many of your children at home,” Mrs.Bellamy said.This time, nothing about her comment felt compelled from politeness.Her smile for Martin was as genuine as her happiness for him.
Martin grinned back, even though he felt every emotion other than joy as he tried to wrangle his children back into his orbit.He knew he needn’t explain that to Mrs.Bellamy.She understood, without him saying, that these relationships with his children who were no longer children were too complicated, just as he knew that as painful as they were at times, they were far less painful than the tragedy she had endured.
“It would be a joy,” he agreed.He turned his smile onto Caroline.“I am grateful that at least one of you has remained nearby so that I need not always beg for visits.”
But this, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.Anger flashed through Caro’s eyes before she could hide it by looking down at her plate.
Perhaps it was too much of a reminder that he had at first tried to push her away so that she would not end up living in a cottage at Northfield Hall married to Eddie.Martin had long since apologized for that—and Caroline said she forgave him.
But she certainly hadn’t forgotten.
“Speaking of letters,” she said, “I have been corresponding with Mr.Mudie, who of late organized the Owenite community at Spa Fields.Their aims are much like yours, Papa, of changing our economy to value labor over money.However, instead of the whole community kowtowing to an aristocratic benefactor, they are made up of working-class men and women who share their labor.”
Martin had, of course, been closely following the Spa Fields group, who called themselves the Cooperative and Economical Society.He, too, corresponded with Mr.Mudie—as well as Robert Owen himself, the man inspiring labor-based communities as a solution to poverty.But the way Caroline said it—the words she used—made it clear she meant this to start an argument.
An argument Martin should steer clear of, since it would only drive her further from him instead of proving that he was, in fact, worthy of her trust.
But he couldn’t help himself.
“Kowtow?I do not believe I have ever asked a single person tokowtowto me.”It was a singular word, one printed by observers of the Chinese court and not one that Martin considered favorable.It conjured images of blind obedience—of emperors banishing courtiers for not bowing deeply enough.
It was exactly the kind of accusation Carolinewouldlevy against him, as if his expectation that she marry someone of her own class had proven that he was in fact the devil incarnate.
“Neither do you tell them not to.”
“Did I not just invite Mrs.Chow to dine with us?Find me one other baron who would do so, whether he is related to her by marriage or not.”
“Yet she said no because she finds it uncomfortable.After all these years, she still calls you Lord Preston.”
“It is mytitle!”
“If you truly do not want people to kowtow, you would do as the Quakers do and instruct us to ignore your title.”
“I did not realize that on top of everything else, you now expect me to become a Quaker.I apologize, Caroline, but as I have sworn to uphold the thirty-nine articles of the Church of England, I’m afraid I cannot make that conversion just for you.”
“I am asking nothing of you, Papa.I depend upon you for nothing.”
And there it was—the ugly truth that always hovered between them.Caroline was happily married to Eddie now, but not because Martin had enabled it.No—she lived in Thatcham and hosted her gatherings and expected a baby because she had been headstrong and her siblings had supported her.
She had never even asked Martin for her dowry.
And because of that, Martin did not dare expect anything from her.He had to hope she would continue to come to Sunday dinners every now and then, and he had to be on his best behavior lest she decide he was not worth introducing her children to.He was the father who was neither disowned nor loved.
What wouldLolly think, if she could visit him now?
WhatdidMrs.Bellamy think, trapped at the dinner table as they hurled feral emotions at each other?
Eddie put his hand over Caroline’s again, and she let out an angry exhale.“I’m overexcited.I had better lie down for a little.”
Martin, too, tried to dismiss his hurt and reply like the father he wanted to be.“The beds are all made upstairs.Rest for as long as you need.You and Eddie can both spend the night, if necessary.”
But Caroline, already rising from her chair, shook her head.“I’ll go rest at Mr.and Mrs.Chow’s.I can sit in their rocker chair and enjoy the children while I recover my spirits.”
