Prose and Considerations

Prose and Considerations 

The odors of calfskin and parchment tickle my nose, blending into an intoxicating perfume that beguiles me. 

I shall endeavor, in this fresh journal, to set forth that which I cannot otherwise communicate. The book is almost too lovely to use… but now I have begun, there is no going back. 

The last gift from my poor Horace before his untimely departure from this earth, this slim volume seems a most appropriate vehicle to convey my deepest—and darkest—thoughts and feelings.

The supple hide, a pleasing shade of milk-tea brown, is stamped discreetly (in gold) with my name in the lower corner: Evangeline Moss.

Evangeline Moss. Widow of Horace, and mother of three small children. I write it here because it is something I cannot—yet—say aloud. Agnes and Blanche are only two years old, and baby Casper just five weeks. By mercy of Lord Hubert and Lady Gwendolyn, I and my children have a home here at Llewellyn Hall.

I am too young to be a widow. It is a turn I never expected life to take, at least not this soon in the journey. I was twenty-eight on my last birthday, and would have been married three years next month. 

Our fortunes ran high for a while. At the time of our marriage, Horace was employed as an under-gardener at the estate of Baron B——-. As it happened, the groundskeeper of Llewellyn Hall was at the point of retirement, and Lord Hubert offered the position to Horace.

We moved into the groundskeeper’s cottage, which is grander itself than the house where I was raised. And there we expected to stay for many happy years.

—

I’ve spoiled the page with a blot. The tears came unexpectedly, dripping onto the wet ink without so much as a prickle behind my eyes to warn me. That was yesterday. 

The ink has dried and I’m calmer now, I think. The herbal garden (which Horace tended so carefully) has started to run wild, but I managed to gather enough to make a tonic of chamomile, lavender, and valerian. Such simple things really are very effective in relaxing one’s mind.

—

I am determined herein to set forth the events which led to my current situation, so that I may settle them in my mind. And perhaps one day my descendants will read these words, so I will provide some background. 

Lord Hubert was considered quite a catch among the peerage, but he chose to marry Gwendolyn Moss rather than one of the simpering daughters of the Marquess of M——-. (I shall not directly name the particular marquess; I am no gossip.) 

The details are irrelevant here, but the bare facts are these: Lady Gwendolyn's father and Horace’s were brothers. The Moss family are respectable, but not monied. Society’s view is that Lord Hubert married beneath him.

Lady Gwendolyn is lovely, both in aspect and attitude. It is no wonder she caught the eye of Hubert Llewellyn. Their union is one of mutual respect, and they are well regarded in the district. However, one thing has spoiled their happiness.

Until the birth of Master Hugh, just last week,  Lady Gwendolyn has suffered multiple miscarriages. The baby seems a lusty boy, big and robust. I had not realized, until his birth, how small and weak my own son is. 

Dr. Hale is of the opinion that Casper’s early arrival was precipitated by shock, and that he will “catch up”. But, now that I compare him to baby Hugh, I begin to wonder.

The doctor is a broad, bluff man with jowls like a bulldog’s and small eyes hidden within folds of fat. I somewhat doubt his proficiency as a physician, but the Llewellyn family has a tradition of retaining a succession of Hales as their family doctors, and I am not in a position to dispute his worth.

—

Lord Hubert has prevailed upon me to assume some care of young Hugh, as Lady Gwendolyn is slow in recovery from childbirth. He suggested that it will both distract me from my grief, and be helpful to himself and Lady Gwendolyn. So I have my two little girls and two newborn boys to look after. I am grateful for the honor.

It is remarkable how alike they are, yet so different. They look similar enough that a stranger might think them to be twins. Only Hugh is bright and alert, with a rampant appetite. He produces captivating little gurgles, and his chubby fingers can grip mine ever so tightly! But Casper does not thrive. He consumes barely enough to sustain him, and he has a chronic case of the colic. His arms and legs are thin, and he doesn’t wave them about. He just lies placidly wherever I place him, and coos softly. I am certain he has some enduring affliction. 

—

Lord Hubert has appointed Jeremiah Dudley head groundskeeper, and has moved him into the cottage that was, too briefly, my home with Horace. Jeremiah is betrothed to Ambrosia Pigg. They are  soon to be married, and I suppose I ought to be happy for them. But it does hurt to contemplate the idea of joyful young newlyweds occupying what should be my home.

Jeremiah has done admirably in restoring the herb garden. I visit it often, to gather a selection. Chamomile, vervain, licorice, fennel, and lemon balm make a good gripe water to soothe Casper’s colic. And Lady Gwendolyn says she has never tasted a better basil tea than mine. It is a fine restorative. She is growing stronger, and beginning to show more of an interest in her child.

—

Casper’s everlasting nocturnal fussing is depleting my sleep. Last night, after he finally quieted, I lay thinking. 

What am I to do when Lady Gwendolyn has fully recovered, and my assistance is no longer required? I cannot hang about, depending on the munificence of my late husband’s relatives and doing nothing of consequence. I have no means of making my own way, encumbered with young children, one of them almost surely with an infirmity. 

I cannot even think of the prospect of going to the poorhouse.

—

I am becoming consumed with anxiety for my future and that of my children. Why must I bear the burden of losing Hubert, and another of having a sickly child? What will happen to me when I grow old, and should be taken in by my son? I fear I will still be looking after him, instead. 

Why should not the healthy baby be mine? I could easily switch them round, pretend Casper is Hugh and Hugh is Casper. Say that Casper has at last outgrown the colic, and Hugh has developed it. 

I would only be doing what is best for my son. Lord Hubert and Lady Gwendolyn can afford to give him the finest of care; indeed, I shall urge them to bring in specialists. He will inherit the earldom, and the estate, but Hugh—the real Hugh—won’t lose. He will still live here in his ancestral home, and won’t know the difference. I shall offer to manage the household, so that I have a respectable standing.

—

I was interrupted in my writing by Lord Hubert popping his head round the doorway to say that his wife was feeling well enough to sit up, and would like to see her son. 

I picked up one of the babies, and carried him in to Lady Gwendolyn.