A Woman Erased

Darling Tatie sat staring out her window as she often did while the children entertained themselves - the smaller ones in the room with her, and the older ones scattered throughout the house. 

It had been almost six years since the birth of her tenth child, and she realized she should have been recovered by now.

It was funny, though, how the mind worked. All those years with little rest. The constant demands on her body. In a way, it had kept her young. Agile. Connected to the world in a way she might otherwise have lost. 

For sheer demand on her soul, though. It had been unrelenting.

From the other room, she heard her sister, Georgy, scolding Henry. "Papa" was writing, as usual. Locked away in his study, perpetually guarded by "Auntie." It was a relief, in a way. 

Tatie breathed deeply to stave off the tears.

Since little Dora's death, she had grown grateful for her sister's energy, even as the constant interference reinforced Tatie's own isolation. 

She was so tired.

Perhaps being forced to care for the children would have helped her, but the extra weight gained from Plorn's birth exhausted her. After Dora's death, she had barely six months before she was with child again.

A child that reminded her constantly of what she had lost.

It hadn't been Plorn's fault. None of it was her children's fault. And perhaps she should have rallied herself for their sakes, but in so many ways, Georgy was a better mother than she could ever be.

With the thought, little Plorn wandered over to her, and she managed a smile through the ache in her chest.

He reached to her face, brushing one hand down her cheek and pulsing a moment of relief into Tatie's soul.

"Leave her be, Mr. Plornishmaroontigoonter!" came Georgy's voice from the nearby doorway. "Your brother is going to get all the lemonade."

In an instant, emptiness filled her lap where Plorn had rested. 

"Those boxes from the joiners are still on the floor in your room, and Charles has asked you to remove them several times," Georgy reminded her before spinning and following Plorn into the parlor to manage the distribution of the beverage.

The words reminded Tatie of the other injury - Charle's betrayal. Compared to Dora's death, it was minimal, even if it changed everything.

Dora's death had changed Charles. He had always been sensitive - if he was unhappy, the whole house would find itself subject to whatever lever would set him off. Georgy had helped with that for years, shuffling the children out of the path of her husband's wrath while Tatie herself stayed to absorb his attention so he didn't seek them out.

When Dora died, though, it was like his connection to Tatie had died. The connection had always proven frayed and tattered, held firmly by her even as he thrashed and lashed out at her for not making him happy.

The death morphed him to ice. Now he was not just unkind to Tatie - he disdained her, as if she had failed when the child had died. As if she were now tainted, especially because she couldn't always spend herself to soothe him - as she had done for the two decades since their marriage.

Charles, though, did not have happiness in his constitution. He laughed and entertained and charmed, and behind it all was the injured little boy. The one who had suffered and lost his safety at such a young age.

A noise at the doorway pulled Tatie from her thoughts.

As soon as her daughter, Katey, walked in the door, Tatie knew something was wrong. 

The girl carried her father's rage in her, though wrapped up in true compassion. The fire brewing behind Katey's expression was all too familiar to Tatie.

When Charley followed his sister in a moment later, Tatie's pulse began to race. Something was horribly wrong.

While Katey guarded the door, Charley made his way to her side. He squatted down next to her chair and reached for her face like Plorn had done moments before.

Strong, masculine hands. The hands of tenderness and safety. The hands that had - twenty years before - initiated her into the deep power of a mother's love. 

"Mother?" His voice murmured tense and low. "I know you've been through a lot lately, but Katey overheard father in the study. You need to know what is happening."

A surge of energy turned her to him, and suddenly all her senses stood on alert.

"Father and Georgy are bringing someone else to the house."

His hand shook as he said the words, and Tatie's chest collapsed under the weight of fear. 

"He's going to...talk to you about some legal matters."

She knew what this meant. She had gone too far since the betrayal.

It had been the bracelet and the letter, and Tatie had known she shouldn't show Charles how much it had hurt her. But she hadn't been able to hold back the tears. 

Tears that stabbed Charles's peace and rendered his wife an enemy.

Since that day, he had begun to call her mad. In a mania. Having fits.

As if any sane woman would smile placidly at the discovery of her husband's unfaithfulness.

It hadn't mattered, though, how it had shattered her. She had children. She had to shield them, even from her own injury.

And then there was Georgy. Constantly reminding her that she wasn't perfect. That she had neglected Charles since Dora's death, if not physically, then emotionally.

There was some silent voice in Tatie's mind that pushed back on the accusations - she had never taken Charles's unkindness as an excuse for wrong behavior. Why was he allowed to take her imperfection as excuse?

The children, though. If she pushed too hard, it was the children who would suffer - and maybe even Georgy couldn't protect them.

By the time Georgy showed the man in, with his stiff white collar and black top hat, nausea replaced her fear. 

A lawyer. Charles was meeting with a lawyer.

Doctor Tuke had not given Charles the effect he wanted - had refused to declare her mad or in need of an asylum. For a few glorious days, that had eased the terror, even as the rage erupted behind the study door. There had been numerous crashes and furious mutterings, to the point where Tatie thought he might resort to violence against her - or worse, one of the children. 

But Georgy had shielded the young ones, even as she chastised Tatie for "not cooperating" with the doctor.

A lawyer, though. Did Charles have grounds for a divorce? A separation? What could he claim against her besides her continued isolation - and that at his hands?

Georgy showed the man into Charles's study before turning back with that imperious manner she often wore - head erect, nose slightly elevated, back straight. "You really should be grateful after the difficulty you have put him through," she muttered, irritated. "He is giving you an allowance and a place to stay."

A place to stay?

Katey stepped between her mother and Georgy, squaring her shoulders. "She's staying here!"

"Katey..." Charley advised, and Tatie agreed, quieting her daughter with a word.

"You mustn't interfere, Katey. I will speak with them. Give mama a hug." 

Charley nodded to his sister, who huffed out a violent puff of fury before turning back to her mother.

"You must not defy him, dear Katey," Tatie murmured as her daughter wrapped warm arms around her. "Not now. Charley will care for me - he does not need your father's support. You will marry soon, and then you can speak your mind."

Katey closed her eyes and let her breath calm. That need to protect Katey - to stay calm so she could share her strength with her daughter - buttressed Tatie more than all of her self-justifications. 

The click of the study door lowered Katey's hand to her mother's shoulder. 

Solicitor Ouvry wore chinstrap style whiskers that deepened the sobriety of the thick, hovering brows over his dark eyes. The sides of his beard wound up the frame of his face and directly into thick patches of black hair, leaving a monastic patch of pale skin atop his bald head. 

The course brows furrowed even more deeply as his usually resonant tone dropped into a subtle rumble. Every step closer he took rattled in Tatie's chest, and by the time he stood over her, even Charley had eased back.

When he bent to reach into his satchel, she held her breath.

"I believe we have worked out all the details," he ventured, his confidence a stark contrast to her burgeoning weakness.

"What details?" Charley demanded, though without his usual confidence.

"A house has been let. There will, of course, be an allowance."

"An allowance?" It was Katey, and Tatie knew she needed to speak up to keep her daughter from sharing her opinion too freely. Several of the smaller children peeked in at the doorway from the foyer.

"We have no need for another house, Mr. Ouvry."

He lowered his chin so that his brow hovered even darker over his eyes.

"That is hardly for you to decide, Mrs. Dickens. You will find all of the standard clauses and tenets - nothing that will prove objectionable."

When she reached for the papers, her hand seemed someone else's, detached from her body. Her eyes peered through tunnels as she shuttered her rising panic. Even Katey was glancing at the smaller children where they eased into the room, as if sensing impending danger.

Camden Town, she read. Nearly an hour's walk. Surely, Charles would not go so far out of the way to see the children - though in a curricle, he could travel the distance in a quarter hour. 

The words caught her eye, and she could not look away.

...relinquish custody.

Tatie stared at the paper, read it two, three, four times.

"...relinquish custody," she mumbled, and from a vast distance in her mind, she registered Charley's head jerk up.

"You can't!" he insisted.

 Mr. Ouvry ignored Charley.

"You will not want the controversy to reach your children, of course."

"We will call Mr. Lemon, mother, immediately."

"Money wasted, young Mr. Dickens. When you are older, you will see the folly - "

"The folly of trusting you and my father to protect Mother's interest? I doubt that will change."

"Charley," Tatie murmured. "Wait for Mr. Lemon. You are right. We will appeal to him."

She could not allow him to run away in his anger.

When the tears burst through her control, though, she no longer had to worry about his anger. In an instant, he had dropped to his knees beside her chair. 

"What are we wanting in here, children?" Georgy suddenly appeared from the study. "Upstairs with you! It's time to wash up before bed."

Charley shook his head at Katey who then followed Aunt Georgy and the others through the doorway to the stairs.

A deep sigh from Mr. Ouvry predicated a performance of patience. "I can see that you are unwell, Mrs. Dickens - it is a pity you are not able to receive the treatment that would aid you. Perhaps you will be more rational in the morning. I have heard these things worsen as the sun sets."

When Tatie squeezed Charley's hand, he closed his eyes, obviously intent to control himself.

"Yes, you can come back tomorrow," Charley agreed, rising to his feet. "Let me show you out."

With a sardonic purse of his lips, Ouvry slid the papers back into his leather attaché and followed Charley to the door.

​

"Darling Tatie" was a nickname for Catherine Dickens, wife of one of the most prominent authors of the Victorian era, Charles Dickens. Charles and Kate - as she was also called - had a total of 10 children, one of whom died at the age of 1. Whether it was the tragedy of the loss of a child or just the natural trajectory of Dickens's difficult childhood - combined with his vast success - Dickens grew to despise Kate, even building a wall between his dressing room and their bedroom so he never had to see her. The psychologist called in to certify Kate as mentally ill, a longtime friend name Thomas Harrington Tuke, refused to institutionalize her, claiming she just suffered from severe distress - in part due to Dickens's cruelty. When Tuke failed him - and after publicly eviscerating the psychologist - Dickens resorted to legal resources: Mr. Frederic Ouvry.

 

Ouvry would - despite the best efforts of her own solicitor, Mark Lemon, pressure Catherine Dickens out of the house with almost no access to her children. This all despite the fact that Charles Dickens had ostensibly engaged in a scandalous affair. The necklace mentioned above had been intended for Ellen Ternan, a young actress and object of Charles's admiration, three years younger than his eldest child, Charley.  Only Charley - then 21 years old and barely at majority - would leave Tavistock House to join his mother at 70 Gloucester Crescent nearly an hour away in Camden Town. For the next several years, Kate Dickens barely interacted with her other children, though once her daughter, Katey, reached the age of 20, she married and left the wreckage of the family home. This would lead to the eventual unleashing of her tongue. Of her mother, she said, "My poor mother was a sweet, kind, loving woman... There is nothing to say against her. We loved her very much." Of her father, on the other hand, she held a completely different opinion. "My father was a wicked man—a very wicked man." 
 

The deep pain Catherine felt at the loss of her children during their formative years never left her. Of the ten, only four made any deep connection with her after their separation. Charley and Katey, of course. Then her eldest daughter Mamie and her seventh child, her son Sydney, returned only after Charles's death in 1870. Three sons were sent to the far corners of the world so that Charles did not have to pay for their support anymore. Two remained loyal to their father and only offered a nod of acknowledgement to Catherine even after their father's passing.

 

Still, in the end, escaping Charles Dickens may have proven an ironic mercy for Catherine. Though she lived in a smaller home with less support, never again would she have to freeze at the sound of his voice, step carefully as she passed his study, stand to absorb his moods as the children scurried away. Tragedy too often haunts the halls of life, but Catherine's quiet faith and sharp mind provided her with mountains of joy in her later years. From her love of theatre and music to her growing brood of grandchildren, she transitioned into a fulfilling and meaningful existence apart from the harsh, cold  environment in her marital home. Proving again that a golden thread runs through even the darkest chapters of hardship.