Chapter 10: Harriet

London, August 1804

Harriet Palmer felt weary and worn out. She had been standing for more than an hour, greeting the guests who had come to felicitate her on her first wedding anniversary. Even more demanding had been the task of keeping the false smile pasted to her face, a challenge, whenever she had to look at her husband. The feelings she had then, hatred and loathing, threatened to overwhelm her.

Saying meaningless pleasantries to people she barely knew, her thoughts drifted back to those happy months. She had declared her love for Anthony Carter, and the future had held the promise of happiness for her. Why did she have to go to that summer night soiree? It was on her aunt’s country seat near Maidstone, and Harriet had planned to stay over night. The party was dull to begin with, and then she found herself the target of the incessant attempts of Rupert Palmer, the son of one of her father’s friends. Evading him became a daunting task all evening. She retired early, and she fell asleep despite the noise of the ongoing party.

She woke up with a violent start. Somebody had clamped his hand over her mouth! She felt the heavy weight of a body pinning her down while another hand ripped at her nightshirt. She fought against the intruder, tried to get her teeth at the hand that covered her mouth. But the battle was futile. The attacker had already placed himself between her legs before she woke up, and her nightshirt was up around her waist. When something hard and wet touched her nether lips, she renewed her struggle and got her mouth free. With all her power, she bit down on the hand, tasting blood. She heard her attacker curse and suddenly, in the pale moonlight that filtered through the drawn curtains, she recognised Rupert Palmer. Then, his other hand punched her face, and she nearly blacked out. She screamed against the hand again when she felt a ripping pain. Her attacker forced his penis into her dry opening without remorse and began to rut into her. Although he did not last long, for Harriet it seemed like an endless nightmare. When he got off with a grunt, he rolled off her and slapped her face hard, making her brain swim. Without a word, he left the room.

It took Harriet a while to regain her senses. She wanted to cry, but she felt dried up. She wanted to get up and wash off the residue left on her body by the rapist, but she felt paralysed. Almost an hour later, she began to shiver from the cold and woke from her stupor. Looking down at her own body she felt repulsed. Frantically, she rushed from her bed to the wash stand, lighted a candle, and in the dim light, she scrubbed the front of her body with a wash cloth until she was nearly raw. She tore off the blood stained nightshirt and dressed. Quietly, she went to the servants’ quarters and roused her maid, telling her to get up and wake the driver. In the middle of the night, they left her aunt’s house and headed back to London.

It was very early in the morning when the coach arrived at Cavendish Square, and the servants were alarmed when she rushed into the house. Awakened by the noise, Lady Lambert came to look for the reason of the tumult. As soon as she saw her daughter, she knew something horrible had happened to her. Comforting the sobbing Harriet, she led her to her own bedroom.

It took a lot of coaxing before Lady Lambert got the whole story out of her daughter. By this time, she was boiling with rage. She was a prudent woman, too. She knew full well that nothing would happen to Rupert Palmer if they charged him with rape. He would claim that Harriet had seduced him, and the laugh would be on her daughter.

Sir Richard was not due to return from the Baltic Sea before another month, and nothing could be done before that. She hoped fervently that Anthony Carter would be understanding enough not to drop Harriet because of this. Maybe, things could be righted, yet. But she had no doubt that either her husband or Anthony Carter would challenge Rupert Palmer to a duel and kill him. This would create a scandal, but it was the only way to put things right. Nevertheless, she called the family doctor, swore him to secrecy, and had him examine the wounds and bruises Harriet had suffered.

It was a month later when things went from bad to worse. Harriet stood before her mother in the study with a face of stone.

“I am with child, mother.”

Lady Lambert did not know what to say. Finally, she uttered the time honoured response.

“Are you sure?”

Harriet nodded. “I missed my curse, and I feel sick in the mornings. The swine has made me pregnant.”

“Oh dear, what can we do?”

“Give me a pistol, mother, and I shall go over to his house. He will pay, even if they hang me for it.”

Finally, Lady Lambert regained the presence of mind, and she took her daughter into her arms. Talking to her soothingly, she persuaded her to lie down. She still did not know what to do.

Fortunately, two days later, Sir Richard returned to London. When he entered his house, he sensed the atmosphere of despair immediately. In a few sentences, Lady Lambert told her husband what had happened to his daughter. She had never had reason to fear her husband as he was always soft spoken and gentle. But the man standing before her transformed into a stranger. With icy determination, buckled his sword belt, and left the house without a single word.

The coach carried him to Lord Brougham’s home. He rapped on the door and asked for Rupert Palmer. He was informed by the footman that the Honourable Rupert Palmer had not returned yet. Yes, His Lordship would see him. Sir Richard was shown in, and Lord Brougham rose to greet a fellow officer he had known for many years. Sir Richard did not shake the proffered hand.

“Reginald, this is not a friendly call. I came to challenge your son Rupert. He has offended my family and my honour in the foulest way. Please be so kind as to tell him to send me his seconds.”

His Lordship was beside himself. His old friend, Sir Richard, was trembling with rage, and he knew that his son was in mortal danger.

“Richard, for God’s sake, what happened? What did he do? For our friendship’s sake, speak, man!”

Sir Richard told him, and now his Lordship was wringing his hands in mortal embarrassment. Finally, when Sir Richard had finished, Lord Brougham found his voice.

“My god, the poor girl!” he said brokenly. He knew his son was perfectly capable of such a deed. In fact, His Lordship had been compelled to settle two similar affairs with rather large sums of money. But now, Rupert had overstepped the limits of fatherly love.

“Richard, let me try to make this right. Rupert will marry your daughter. She will be Lady Brougham when I’m dead. If he refuses, I shall kill him with my own hands, I promise.”

“Do you really expect my daughter to marry this scoundrel?”

“The poor girl is with child, Richard. No matter what we do, she will be shunned. Think of it! She is a good girl. Don’t ruin her life and mine, please!”

After some more coaxing, Sir Richard relented. The wedding was set to take place three weeks later, and both Harriet and her future husband were presented with a fait accompli. It took Lady Lambert and her husband almost the entire three weeks to convince Harriet of the necessity to go through with the wedding. She threatened to kill her groom right in the chapel, but finally the pressure from all sides made her relent.

She would never forget the first private words her husband said to her in the coach after the wedding.

“Well, you’ve got your will, you scheming little bitch. But you’ll regret this. You’re my wife now, and I’ll make you pay for this!”

Stunned, Harriet had replied, “Do you honestly believe that I married you out of free will? Are you utterly out of your wits? I wanted my father to kill you, and it will not take much to make me kill you myself.”

“Stupid wench, I’ll teach you!”

He tried to hit her with a backhand slap, but Harriet was awake and prepared. With her left hand, she quickly held up one of the long needles that she used to fix her hair. The needle went right through Rupert’s hand. He screamed in shock. Seeing his own blood, he began to shiver and sweat. With a malicious gleam in her eyes, Harriet saw that the sight of his blood reduced her husband to jelly.

“Oh dear, what a hero you are! Listen and listen well: I shall use this needle on your eyes if ever you should try to touch me again.” She looked up. “We have arrived. Try to pretend that you are a man!”

For the next weeks, her new husband avoided Harriet as best he could, and she settled into a life without love. The house was Lord Brougham’s, and so were the servants, and their loyalty was with the heir to the title.

She had brought her own maid, however, and the young woman, Anne by name, was her sole support in the evenings. She spent most days at her mother’s, but in the evenings, she sat alone in her boudoir.

It was one evening, almost two months after the wedding, when Rupert Palmer returned drunk and in exceedingly bad mood. Harriet suspected that he had been ripped off at the card tables again. He was a horrible card player, with no memory at all, and all he managed to play was vingt et un. He always lost. Thus, Harriet retired to her room to avoid him. All of a sudden, however, she heard her maid scream in horror from her room upstairs. Without thinking, Harriet rushed from her room and upstairs, only to find her husband in the process of forcing the struggling maid’s legs open.

“Let go of her, Rupert, you swine!” she snarled at her husband.

With surprising agility, Rupert let go of the girl and turned. Before Harriet could react, he hit her twice in the face and then delivered a brutal blow to her abdomen. The air went out of Harriet’s lungs and she crumpled to the floor. She did not faint, though, and she saw how her maid swung a long-handled coal pan and hit Rupert just behind his right ear. The glowing coals burnt his skin and he screamed before he went down, but neither Harriet nor her maid paid him any attention.

“Oh dear God, Mrs. Palmer,” the maid cried, pointing between Harriet’s legs. Her nightshirt was dark with blood. Several servants had assembled, and the maid sent them to fetch the doctor and to alert Lady Lambert. Others helped to bring Harriet into her own room and to bed. When the doctor arrived, he could only pronounce what everybody knew already: Harriet had lost her child.

A little later, Lord and Lady Brougham arrived, alarmed by the butler. The old man looked at his son with open disgust. Rupert had come to again. His head hurt, and the burns from the coals were painful. Just when he started to complain, he was cut short by his father.

“Shut up, you worthless rascal!” the old admiral thundered. “You have just killed my first grandchild! But for Harriet, I would disinherit you, and if you touch her just one more time, I’ll still do it! Do you understand that?”

Rupert could only nod; he was utterly confounded. His father had always backed him. He started to get up, to follow his father, when the hilt of a sword hit him hard in the abdomen. He dropped back into the chair he had been sitting in, wheezing and moaning. A gleaming blade came into his vision, and the tip pricked his throat. Rupert froze.

“This was the second time that you hurt my daughter,” he heard Sir Richard Lambert’s snarl. “If that happens one more time, I’ll cut you open and feed your bollocks to my dogs. This is my promise, and I have never broken my word.”

The blade moved quickly, and Rupert screamed in terror and pain. The sword had carved a gaping slit into his throat.

“This may help to remind you,” Sir Richard stated grimly. Coolly, he wiped his blade on Rupert’s shirt and stalked from the room.

From that day on, Harriet made it a rule never to be alone with her husband. They lived parallel lives. When Andrew Lambert returned to England in the Medusa and Lucy Gutteridge came to live with Harriet, she finally found some companionship. She never told her the whole story, but young Lucy had gone through a rough schooling, and she guessed what was left unsaid. They watched over each other, and that gave Harriet a modicum of comfort.

She even managed to smile when she heard Lucy voice her admiration and love for Andrew. But then, inevitably, the conversation would turn to Anthony, and Harriet would fall into gloom again. Sensing that, Lucy began to avoid the subject altogether, and Harriet loved her new friend for this.

When Medusa engaged and conquered the Loire, and the papers were full of praise for Captain Carter, Harriet fell into despair again. But for her foul husband, she would be married to that hero by now. More importantly, she would be married to a man she really loved.

If anything, the realisation that she had lost him made her love all the more overpowering. When she saw the news that he was knighted, she clipped the article from the newspaper to keep it. She also clipped the paragraph from the Naval Gazette which reported his posting to the former French frigate, now renamed HMS Clyde. Her obsession with Anthony Carter began to worry herself, and she felt some temporary relief when she read in the Gazette that HMS Clyde, 44, Capt. Carter, had sailed for the West Indies.

Now, her first wedding anniversary had arrived and her father-in-law had arranged this reception. He was a kind man, and he meant well, but how could he think that she found anything to celebrate about this date? She even had a vicious argument with Rupert about this. When she told him to go to hell, he had, in a fit of rage, slapped her face again. Quick as lightning, Lucy had stepped between them and had kneed him viciously in the groin. The way he walked, he must still be in pain, Harriet thought grimly. She had a bruise on her cheek, however, and she knew the makeup would not cover it for long.

Just then, another visitor was announced, and Harriet felt some true excitement for a change.

“Miss Anita Heyworth!” the butler announced, and the room went almost silent. Lord Brougham rushed forward to greet the new guest, and he introduced her to Harriet. Harriet knew that her father-in-law held a rather large interest in the Drury Lane Theatre, but she was delighted to make the acquaintance of the popular actress.

Anita Heyworth smiled at her, but the smile froze when she looked at Harriet’s face. Regaining her composure, she resumed her friendly smile.

“I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Palmer. Why, Rupert,” she addressed him, “you do have a beautiful wife! You have no business sneaking around my wardrobe.”

Rupert was clearly uncomfortable. “I was only trying to invite you to dinner. Yet you always brush me off. You shouldn’t. You know that my father practically owns the theatre.”

Anita laughed at that. “I do know that, Rupert. That is why I dine frequently with him and your mother. They are very nice people. It is hard to believe, but they insist that you are their son.”

She had spoken normally, but her trained voice carried, and many people laughed at Rupert who suddenly remembered that he had to greet more guests. Anita put her hand on Harriet’s arm.

“My dear, could you show me to the powder room?”

“Certainly,” Harriet responded. She liked the young actress, but she was not prepared for the next words when they had reached the powder room.

“Does he hit you often, dear?” Anita enquired. When Harriet stood stock still, she gave a short and bitter laugh. “If you want to cover for him, you have to do better with your make up.”

Harriet found her voice. “He did, but only a few times. This time was the first in almost three months, but he paid for it.”

“I noticed his walk. Did you hit him in the bollocks?”

In spite of herself, Harriet giggled. She had never heard the word bollocks before, but she could guess the meaning.

“No, my friend Lucy did. I kicked his ribs, though, when he was curled up on the floor.”

“Does your family know about this, dear?”

“My father has promised to kill him if he hurts me again, but he can’t always watch over me.”

Anita turned to Harriet and hugged her. “Listen, dear, I like you. Don’t ask me why, but I do. If you ever need help, come to me.”

Harriet nodded. “Thank you, Miss Heyworth. May I tell you that I admire your acting?”

“Yes, you may, dear,” Anita beamed. She liked flattery, Harriet noticed. “Now, let us go back. Walk tall,” she admonished Harriet, “you have nothing for which to be ashamed.”

When they emerged from the powder room, Rupert saw them and frowned. Suddenly, Harriet found the strength to stare him down. After a few second’s test of will, he looked away sheepishly. Anita pressed Harriet’s arm.

“See, you are stronger!” she whispered.

The rest of the evening was easier for Harriet. She was able to engage in small talk with her guests. Whenever she saw her husband, she stared him down with a scornful glare. She had never known that she held such power in her look, and she took a malicious delight in practising this newly found skill on her hateful husband. Rupert resolved to do what he always did when faced with a conflict, he got stone drunk.

That evening was a turning point, and over the next months, Harriet began to rebuild something akin to a social life. She frequently visited Anita Heyworth, or she met with her at the houses of common friends. Lucy accompanied her, too, and soon a bond of friendship developed between the three women.

Later in the year, Anita became preoccupied. They were readying a new piece at the Drury Lane Theatre. Somebody had translated a witty play by the French playwright Moliere into English, and Anita had secured the female lead. She was quite excited. When finally the premiere night drew nearer, Anita invited her friends to her private box and to the reception following the premiere. Both Harriet and Lucy were excited and spent days in preparation. The day before the premiere, the three women met for tea. Anita was positively beaming.

“What is it with you today?” Harriet asked. “You look like you are bursting with good news.”

Anita smiled and Harriet could swear that she was blushing.

“You remember the man I told you about? He is back in England. He will be here for the premiere.”

“The dashing officer?” Harriet asked jokingly, “You mean, he is real? Can we see him?”

Anita swatted Harriet’s arm with her fan. “Of course he is real, and of course you will meet him.”

Lucy and Harriet grilled Anita through the entire tea hour, but she would not say the name. When they were about to leave, Anita grabbed Harriet’s arm.

“Please be there tomorrow. I am afraid.”

“Don’t worry, dear. You’ll do fine. You’ll see, the audience will ask for at least five encores.”

“Not that, Harriet. What if he does not show? I have only met him once. What if he has better things to do?”

Harriet was astounded. Her friend, always so self assured, was human after all.

“If he won’t show, we’ll hunt him down, tie him up with my husband, and drop them both in the River Thames.”

Anita smiled and kissed Harriet’s cheek. “You’re sweet.”

The next evening began wonderfully for Harriet. She sat with Lucy in a private box. Rupert had excused himself; his admiration for Anita Heyworth had wilted away when he became aware of her friendship with his wife. Anita was stunning. By the end of the second act, people were giving standing ovations already.

Harriet was proud of her friend. She looked around, ready to take on anyone who did not applaud, when she saw him. He was standing in a box with an older couple, in his Nº1 uniform, with his sash and star. His face was tanned like mahogany wood, contrasting with his bleached hair. The sight of him cut through her heart with a searing pain, and she had to sit down. She was trembling from head to toe.

“What is it, Harriet?” Lucy asked her in a frightened voice.

“He’s over there.”

“Who?”

“Anthony Carter,” came Harriet’s morose reply. “Let’s hope that he will not see me. I would hate to ruin the evening for him.”

For the rest of the evening, Harriet hid in the shadows of the box. At her urging, they left before the last curtain fell. When they went to the reception, Harriet regained some composure. She even managed to share in the excitement of the wonderful premiere, and she looked forward to the arrival of Anita. Finally, the actress was announced, and everybody stood to cheer her arrival.

The beaming actress strode into the room at the arm of a tall Navy captain. Harriet stood rooted to the spot. Lot’s wife would have appeared jittery by comparison. Her mind worked restlessly, trying to make sense of what was happening. Then a smiling Anita stood before her.

“Harriet, my dear, please meet Captain Sir Anthony Carter! Tony, this is my dear friend Harriet Palmer.”

Tony swallowed hard, obviously challenged to manage a polite reply.

“Always delighted to see you, Mrs Palmer. I trust, you and your husband are well?”

His words stung her terribly. She heard the scorn and disdain in his voice. Trying to find words, she desperately fought for air. Her tight whale bone stays, however, effectively suffocated her, and for the first time in her life, she fainted.

A surprised outcry of the people around her followed. Anita cast a questioning glance at Tony before she quickly knelt beside her friend. With the help of several people, Harriet was carried to another room. Anita briefly talked to her assembled admirers and asked to be excused for a few minutes. She hurried to the anteroom where Lucy had already opened Harriet’s stays. She was still unconscious, though.

“What happened to her, Lucy?”

“Oh Anita, didn’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“Captain Carter is Harriet’s lost love!”

“What?” Anita blanched. “Are you sure of that?”

“Didn’t you see? When she saw him at the theatre, it almost made her faint. To see him as your, well, companion, was too much. She loves you, but she’s still madly in love with him.”

“Oh my god! Why were they separated? How come she married that worthless Rupert Palmer?”

“She was promised to Captain Carter. They had loved each other for years. She was at her aunt’s house when Rupert broke into her room and took her by brute force, even beating her senseless. On top of that, she became pregnant. Harriet’s father went to Lord Brougham’s house to challenge and kill Rupert, but old Lord Brougham reached a compromise. They had to marry. Shortly after the wedding he beat her up again, and she lost her child.”

Anita’s tears were streaming down her cheeks, but her eyes were dark with barely suppressed rage.

“The dirty rotten bastard!” she exclaimed.