In January, Matthias sent a solicitor to Munich.
Eleanor learned of it from the steward.
The legal position was complicated enough that even Matthias could not simply make his wife disappear. Their marriage had been celebrated in the Catholic Church, their property arrangements were bound to settlements negotiated between families, and Felix had been acknowledged publicly as Matthias’s legitimate son from birth.
Changing any of that required more than rage.
Matthias could, however, make Eleanor’s life unbearable.
He restricted her household account.
He instructed the coachman not to take her beyond the estate without permission.
He moved her rooms to the south tower, officially because the east wing required repairs.
No door was locked.
It did not need to be.
Everyone understood what exile looked like even when it used good furniture.
Then he announced his intention to send Felix to a religious institution near Tegernsee “until the question of his parentage could be resolved.”
Eleanor came to the library before breakfast.
Matthias was reading correspondence.
She placed the letter in front of him.
“What is this?”
He did not look up.
“You have read it.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know.”
“You are sending a three-year-old away.”
“Temporarily.”
“He wakes at night when he cannot find me.”
“He will adjust.”
“To what? Being abandoned?”
Matthias looked up.
“Do not use that word.”
“What word would you prefer?”
“He will be cared for.”
“By strangers.”
“By Benedictines.”
Eleanor laughed bitterly.
“I am sure God will explain to him why his father stopped wanting him.”
Matthias stood.
“I have not stopped wanting him.”
“Then keep him here.”
“I cannot.”
“You can.”
“I cannot look at him without seeing Hartmann.”
Eleanor stared.
There it was.
Not evidence.
Not law.
Not honour.
Pain.
Ugly, humiliating pain.
For one second she almost pitied him.
Then she saw the letter again.
“No.”
Matthias frowned.
“No?”
“You will not send him.”
“It is decided.”
“He is my son.”
“That is exactly the question.”
She looked at him.
“Then answer another one.”
He waited.
“If he were yours, would any of this be forgivable?”
Matthias said nothing.
Eleanor leaned toward him.
“Suppose you discover tomorrow that Felix is yours. Completely, unquestionably yours.”
His face tightened.
“Would that make what you have done to me disappear?”
“Eleanor.”
“Would it?”
“I am trying to protect this family.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You are protecting yourself from being laughed at.”
Matthias went still.
She continued.
“You would rather destroy your wife and frighten a child than risk being the last man in Bavaria to know he had been betrayed.”
“Enough.”
“That is what this is.”
“Enough.”
“You are afraid of looking foolish.”
He slammed his fist against the desk.
“I SAID ENOUGH.”
Eleanor did not move.
“Then send me away too.”
Matthias stared.
“If Felix leaves this house, I leave with him.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“Watch me.”
He stepped closer.
“You have nowhere to go.”
Eleanor looked directly at him.
“Then I will discover how far a woman can walk in snow.”
