A Daughter's Duty

Chapter Eight

     Cordelia sat in front of Lord Alfred's sturdy and ornate wooden desk, her father seated in front of her. His glasses stood at the tip of his nose, and the eyes looked through them were dark and serious. "Cordelia, do you mind telling me what the devil this is?" The letter was in his clenched hand, and the paper was crumpled beneath the force in his fists. Cordelia felt like a little girl again, getting in trouble for pulling Gertrude's braids. 

     "Papa, I can assure you that your guess about this letter is about as good as mine." She took a deep breath before she continued, still rattled by what she saw as her father's overreaction to her mother's correspondence. "This is the first that I'm hearing from my mother, and I'm confused as to why you're so upset. If I may be frank, Papa, we should be pleased. I letter from Mama could mean a start in the right direction for her!" 

     Alfred shook his head, slowly removing his glasses and setting them on the desk. "Cordelia," he began slowly, looking down to his daughter, "what if I told you that this wasn't the first letter this house has received from Marga-I mean, your mother?" Cordelia's mouth opened in shock, and she started to shake her head.

     She felt betrayed by her father, for the second time in a very small span of days. "How do you mean?" It was all she could get out, she was so upset. She knew that her mother had hurt her father by leaving, but at least Lord Alfred was able to know her mother. Cordelia's only recollections of Margaret Gardiner were what she could surmise from idle gossip and bits and pieces from the older members of the house's staff. All of her life, Cordelia had wanted to know something-anything about Margaret, something that she could cling to while all the other girls she knew had mothers of their own to teach them, sing to them, dry their tears.

     For her father to say that this isn't the first time her mother has tried to reach out to them, Cordelia felt a piece of her snap. She reached up and snapped her crinkled letter from her father's hands, earning a look of shock from the aging man. She smoothed the thin paper over her lap and cradled it to herself, ensuring that her father wouldn't take anything of her mother's away from her again.  

     "Cordelia," he said, taking a second to clear his throat, "your mother has sent me almost fifty letters over the years, each one being sent to Loddington more and more frequently." Cordelia opened her mouth to question him, but he persistently continued. "When your mother chose to leave, I made sure that it was done in a way that would accrue the least amount of gossip. She and I both understood that divorce wasn't an option for people like us, it would set all of British society afire. Instead, we separated. I set her up with a small but well-kept piece of property in Covent Gardens and provided her with an allowance that would guarantee her yearly necessities were paid for."

     Cordelia inhaled deeply, sitting back in her chair. "All this time, all these years of listening to my questions about her, where she was, what she was doing. All this time...and you knew exactly where she was." A fat tear began to roll down Cordelia's cheek, and it made its way to the paper still clutched to her chest, staining the parchment and blurring her mother's ink.

     "Everything I did, was done to protect you, my dear. Your mother doesn't live an honest life. Even though we are separated, I still cannot escape the whispers that creep their way back to me." Seeing Cordelia's confusion, he elaborated further. "Your mother has acquired debts upon debts, keeps the company of ill-mannered and wanton sorts and, as I've quite recently discovered, shares her bed with a man who is-obviously-not her husband." 

     The tears were rolling faster now down Cordelia's cheeks, and she had to put the letter back on the table to protect it from becoming saturated. These had to be lies, rumors that had manifested themselves to her father as facts. She would go to her mother, even still, and come back and report to her father that his sources were incorrect. Upon telling this to Lord Alfred, he just shook his head. "You're still not listening to me. I have sent Margaret upwards of four-thousand pounds, in addition to her hefty allowance. She is writing to you to play on your sensitivities, as she knows that I will no longer be financing her life of ill-repute."

     "Papa, even so, I have to see her. She's my mother!" Cordelia stood up and began pacing around the room. "You don't understand-"

     "You forget yourself, Cordelia," Alfred said, sitting back and crossing his big arms across his chest.

     "I forget myself? Me? You're my father, you're supposed to protect me, to be there for me. You're not supposed to keep these monumental secrets all to yourself. I'm going to see her, I don't care about needing your damn blessing." 

     "Go then, see for yourself what your mother has become. But you'll need a chaperone daughter, and I'm most definitely not accompanying you." He said, running his hands through his graying hair. Cordelia stormed out of the office, and up to her bedroom. 

      She felt the sobs escape her, and she began to rock herself on her bed. The weight of her father's betrayal making it difficult to breathe-to think. She would go see her mother, she was sure about that. Now, however, she just had to find someone willing to go with her.