Elephant Man - Christine Sparks [79]
Louisa’s most blatant indiscretion was a longstanding love affair with Lord Hartington, or “Harty-Tarty” as society called him. For her sake he remained unmarried, ignoring his duty to provide an heir to the Dukedom of Devonshire, which he would one day inherit, and it seemed that nothing, not even age—for Louisa was now in her fifties—would shake him from her side. Even now she was still a considerable beauty, and her picture was one of the most prominent on Merrick’s mantelpiece.
Under the urbane exterior of a man of the world Carr-Gomm concealed a puritanical soul. It caused him now to say, “It seems to me, Treves, that you have contrived to turn this hospital into a way station for all the notorious riffraff of London society.”
“Well, John doesn’t know they’re riffraff, sir. And it means a lot to him to see them.”
“Oh, very well. Who is it today?”
“Lord and Lady Waddington.”
“Well, at least they’re decently married—and to each other,” said Carr-Gomm, unconsciously echoing Mothershead.
It was Mothershead who showed Lord and Lady Waddington to Merrick’s rooms later that day. As soon as she saw them she feared the worst. They were young, attractive, and empty looking. Lady Waddington twittered aimless pleasantries until Mothershead produced a photograph of Merrick. It was Treves’ instruction that all visitors must be made familiar with their host’s appearance before going in, so that they could experience their initial shock where he could not see them. Treves was determined that there should be no repetition of the day when Nora had come upon him unaware.
When Lady Waddington saw Merrick’s picture, Mothershead thought she was going to faint.
“I can’t, Charlie,” she fluttered prettily. “I just can’t. Oh, do let us go away.”
He coughed. “Impossible, my sweet. What would people say? I mean—everyone knows we’re coming, you know.”
Mothershead’s lips tightened.
“If her Ladyship doesn’t feel up to the visit,” she said at last, “it really would be better if it were not made. If Mr. Merrick sees that his appearance upsets people—”
“Oh no, no.” The girl recovered herself elaborately. “Charlie’s right. We’ve told so many people we’re coming, and besides,” she made a noble effort, “one must be kind to these poor unfortunates, must one not?”
With difficulty Mothershead restrained herself from hitting her.
“If you’ll follow me then …” She led them down the hallway to Merrick’s door and knocked.
She hated Lord and Lady Waddington for the eagerness in Merrick’s voice as he called, “Come in”; hated them even more when she saw him standing there ready to greet them, dressed in his best clothes, the window carefully open so that the last of his lingering smell should not offend them; hated them totally for the joy in his eyes when they controlled themselves sufficiently to simper forward and shake his hand.
“I’ll get you some tea,” she said gruffly, and departed.
She sent Nora along with the tea, but returned herself half an hour later to see how everyone was managing. Her sensitive nose for atmosphere warned her as soon as she entered that the young couple were both on the verge of screaming, although smiles were fixed onto their faces as though held on by steel rivets. To all this Merrick was happily oblivious. He was examining a ring that just fitted onto the little finger of his good hand, and a silver-tipped walking cane that rested against his chair.
“Thank you for your kind gifts,” he was saying. “I can’t say enough about this ring. And this walking stick is ever so dashing. So much more elegant than my old one. More tea?”
They nodded shakily, beyond speech. John reached over and lifted the teapot to refill the lady’s cup. She sipped delicately and seemed in control of herself, but as she replaced the cup it rattled against the saucer.
“If you have a chill, I can close the window,” Merrick offered.
“Oh no, no—I’m fine. Please—I mean, thank you—” She floundered to a standstill.