go away after Charlotte had died and though he wasn’t sure exactly how long she’d been gone, it had been a long time. If she was going to be sent away again, this time he wanted to know why.
“What was I to do?” she asked. “Let them both die? That poor child needed my help. At least there was something I could do.”
“They’re Irish. They have their damn free state now. Let them take care of their people the way they always wanted to.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Geneva said. “She was close to death. How was she supposed to care for that little girl?”
“Do you have any idea what’s going on outside this house, Geneva? Have you any conception what this family has had to face in the past ten years? With the uprising and the civil war, we have been teetering on the edge of ruin. It’s been all around you and you’ve been completely oblivious.”
“I read the papers, Henry. I’m aware of the political climate in Ireland.”
“Well, let me give you a better account of it, just to be certain. We used to have a good life here. A prosperous life, a life that my father blessed us with when we married. I was happy to take over the enterprises in Ireland. But now, we live here in—in exile.”
“That’s not true, Henry.”
“Oh, no? When the troubles started, my brother and father didn’t hesitate to sell anything that might fetch a good price. They left me with the mills and the mines they couldn’t get rid of. Let Henry have them,” he muttered. “He’ll be grateful for that much.”
Edward’s father stood and walked over to the whiskey decanter, then poured himself a drink. He took a long swallow, then turned back to his mother. “Now that this country belongs to the Irish again, our property is worth only what an idiot Irishman might pay for it. We’re trapped here, Geneva, with no way out.”
“The uprising was put down. The civil war is over,” Geneva said. “You employ hundreds of Irish workers who want to work. I can’t see how we’re headed for ruin, Henry.”
“I served in parliament, I helped run this country. And now, suddenly I have no say in how this government treats my interests. That’s decided by the Irish now and their damned Diál Eireann. And with them in charge, this country is doomed to fail.”
“Irish, British, free state, republic, Catholic, Protestant, what does it all matter? We have a home and you have a livelihood. You make a comfortable living. You’re a smart man, you can make what you have a success. The terrible times are ended. We have two sons and we must make the best of it.”
Edward peeked into the library and watched as his father stared into his glass. “The terrible times have only just begun, Geneva,” he muttered. “As long as Ulster is under control of the British, the people in this country will never rest. Another civil war is just around the corner.”
“Then perhaps we should stop thinking of ourselves as English and consider ourselves Irish. We’ve lived here through all the troubles, for nearly fifteen years. Our future is here. This is our home and we are not visitors in this country.”
“You are mad,” Henry muttered.
Geneva shook her head, her voice quivering. “I—I am not mad. You live in your world of comfort and wealth, you employ these people in your mills and mines and take advantage of them every day. But you never look at them, you never see them. They’re good people. They survive on nothing, trying to support their families on pay that isn’t enough for one, much less seven or eight.”
“And you live in the same world with me,” he said, his voice angry and accusing. “My money buys those beautiful gowns you wear and pays for your trips to London and for your spiritualists and fortune tellers.” Edward’s mother gasped. “What? You didn’t think I knew about them? Those charlatans preying on your grief.” He cursed, then sat down behind his desk.
Everyone in the family had changed since Charlotte’s death, Edward thought. Malcolm had become mean and nasty, deliberately inflicting pain on his younger brother whenever he could. His father stayed away from home as much as he could and when he was home he was cold and unapproachable and often drunk. And his mother… Edward drew a ragged breath. Some days she was just like she used to be, happy and lighthearted, laughing at the silly stories he told. And other days, she wouldn’t come out of her room, caught up in the midst of one of her black moods.
“We cannot keep her or her daughter in this house,” he said. “I won’t have it.”
“She’s worked as a domestic before and she claims to be an excellent seamstress.”
“Let’s be candid with each other, shall we, Geneva? You don’t need a seamstress. You want that child.”
Edward watched as his mother’s face grew pale. She slowly rose, her hands clutched in front of her. “Why can’t you do this one thing for me?” she asked in a strangled voice. “Just let me have what I need. I will make my way through this, I promise. But I have to deal with this in my own way.”
“This child is not yours,” he warned. “And if I see you becoming too attached, I will force them out of this house. And if I see any strange behavior from you, then you will return to the hospital until you are able to comport yourself in a proper manner. Is that understood, Geneva?”
His mother nodded. “Yes, Henry.”
“This will not become an obsession, or I will call an end to it.”
“I understand,” she replied.
He picked up a ledger from his desk and opened it, focusing his attention on the columns and rows of numbers. “That is all.”
Geneva circled his desk, then placed a dutiful kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Henry.” With that, she swept out of the room, her head held high, her eyes watery with tears. She didn’t even notice Edward standing outside the door, brushing right by him, her skirts rustling.
A few moments later, Edward walked into the library, his footsteps silent on the thick Oriental carpet. He stood in front of his father’s desk, his heart slamming in his chest. When his father finally looked up, there was an expression of impatience etched across his face. “What is it?”
“Are you going to send Mummy away again?”
“That is none of your concern,” he said.
“Please don’t send her away,” Edward begged. “I promise, I’ll watch over her.”
Henry Porter stared at his son for a long moment. “And will you tell me if she begins to confuse this Irish urchin with your sister Charlotte?”
Edward nodded, crossing his fingers behind his back to lessen the lie. “I will, Father,” he said.
His father nodded slowly. “You’re a good boy. And I think you understand how important it is that your mother keep her wits about her. She has been very emotional lately and that’s not good for anyone. You must try to distract her from her worries.”
“I will. I’m good at that.”
“Very well,” his father said. “I’m glad you see things my way. Run along now, Edward, I have work to do.”
Edward
