Authors: Rosie Goodwin
The man stared back at his wife incredulously. Helena had never spoken to him like this in their entire life together before and he wasn’t at all sure what to do about it. Running his hand through his hair he turned from her and gazed towards the window, noting that the snow that had been threatening for days had finally begun to fall.
‘Where is Joshua now?’ he asked.
‘He has retired for the night after spending the entire day searching for Maria and our granddaughter.’
Charles felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt. Isabelle’s untimely death had affected them both badly – more than he cared to admit, if truth be known, but when he had placed her in Hatter’s Hall he had only been doing what he had thought was for the best. And now Helena was demanding that he should accept her child. Josh was also making a stand about whom he wished to marry. Could it be that his own ideas
were
somewhat outdated, as Robert and Helena had claimed? And what would happen to the little empire he and his father had worked so hard to build, if his son walked away from it now?
Unused to confrontation, Charles went to his study and rang for the butler to bring him a brandy and soda. He had a great deal of thinking to do.
As Martha straightened the quilt over the mound that was her husband he suddenly grasped her wrist with surprising strength. Apart from feeding, changing and seeing to his bodily needs she had spent little time with Edward that day. She had not even sat after the evening meal as she normally did and read snippets from the Coventry newspaper to him. There were other more pressing things on her mind at the moment, namely finding her daughter.
‘What is it?’ She tried to free her arm but he clung onto it like one of the leeches that the doctor had prescribed for him. He had been like this all day, ever since young Master Joshua had visited her that morning on the offchance that Maria might have returned. He had obviously heard the drone of their voices through the floor, as the parlour was directly below his room, and because she had not told him about the visitor, he had been agitated all day. His eyes burned into her as she became annoyed.
‘Let me go, Edward,’ she demanded. ‘I have more to do than stand here and watch your tantrums!’ But his head wagged from side to side, and she flinched. Even now in his weakened state he could strike fear into her heart. She knew full well what he wanted and so now she told him, ‘If you must know, my visitor this morning was young Master Joshua Montgomery, the one that accompanied Maria and his sister to Australia. It seems that the young man is very taken with Maria and I have an idea that when he finds her, they will make a match. What do you think of that, eh? My lovely daughter will be a lady.’ And then all her resentment of him surfaced as she rushed on, ‘That wasn’t what you wanted to hear, was it? You have hated that girl since the second she was born, and you would have had her rotting in Hatter’s Hall if you had had your way. But it will be Maria who has the last laugh, you mark my words!’
His chest seemed to puff to twice its size beneath the bedclothes as he stared at her in stunned disbelief; his grip on her slackened and his face drained to a waxy yellow. But then Martha’s kind heart won over her resentment and she told him, ‘’Tis no use fretting over it and working yourself into a lather. You know what the doctor said – you must try to stay calm. Now rest and I will go and make you a cup of tea.’ She eased herself away from the bed and slowly made her way downstairs where she pushed the black-bottomed kettle onto the fire to boil.
It was almost Christmas but there was no evidence of it about the cottage as yet. Normally there would have been bowls of holly with bright red berries standing on the table and the windowsill, but she had had no time for such things this year. Martha had always been used to having to make every penny count, but since Edward’s stroke things had been tighter still and she didn’t know what they would have done without Henry’s wages, bless him. The worst of it was that the doctor had confided that it was highly unlikely that Edward would ever again be the man he had been, and yet he could go on like this for years. She shuddered as she thought of it. Years and years stretching ahead of her caring for a man who stared at her as if he hated the sight of her every time she entered the room. Oh, she knew that she was partly to blame, for theirs had not been a love-match. She had been carrying Maria when Edward had wed her, but even so she had tried to be a good wife to him. If only he had tried a little too, she felt that she might have grown to love him in time, but it was too late now. Sighing, she went to measure the tealeaves into the teapot. There was no point in feeling sorry for herself, she just had to get on with it.
She made the tea and carried a cup up to her husband, but when she placed it on the bedside table he lashed out with his one good arm and the cup skidded across the floorboards, splattering tea all across the side of the bed.
‘Now look what you have done,’ Martha said wearily. ‘That will be yet another load of washing I shall have to do in the morning now and it’s so hard to get things dry in this weather.’ She glanced towards the window where the snow was falling before hurrying across to close the curtains. ‘It’s evident that you didn’t want a last drink,’ she told him, trying hard to keep the resentment out of her voice; he was an ill man, after all. ‘So I shall bid you goodnight – and don’t worry, I shan’t be disturbing you. I shall sleep in Emma’s room tonight.’
Ignoring the grunts that were issuing from him she bent and blew out the candle and then left the room quietly, leaving him to burn his anger out alone.
After building up the fire early the next morning, Martha then prepared breakfast for Henry and Emma, and whilst they ate it she cut some thick slices of bread and cheese and loaded Henry’s snap tin for him.
‘Father’s quiet this morning,’ Henry remarked, cocking his head towards the ceiling and Martha’s hands grew still as she considered his words. He was right. Usually the second that Edward heard her up and about he was banging on the ceiling for attention with his stick, but this morning there had been no sound from him.
‘You’re right, son. And happen I’ll enjoy it while I can. I might even have a cup of tea before I take him one up.’
‘You do that, Mam,’ he urged. ‘You look worn out. Oh, and I was thinking, I might stop off in the market after me shift today an’ pick us a Christmas tree up.’
‘It’s a lovely thought, but I don’t need to tell you that we have no money to spare for such things this year,’ she said regretfully. ‘Even the few pennies a tree would cost would make the difference atween us having bread on the table or not,’ and her son nodded and lowered his eyes. It seemed a shame though, as little Emma usually loved Christmas.
Martha saw him on his way and helped Emma to get dressed, then just as she had said, she enjoyed a quick cup of tea before pouring one out for Edward and carrying it upstairs. This time, she hoped he drank it. The room was still dark so she placed the cup down and lit the candle before turning towards the bed. Her husband was lying very still with his fists clenched and his eyes staring sightlessly towards the ceiling – and in that moment Martha Mundy knew that he would torment her no more.
That night, as Charles entered the gentleman’s club in town, the first person he encountered was Robert Pettifer and he joined him at the side of a roaring fire.
‘Are you in a happier frame of mind now?’ Pettifer asked bluntly as he poured Charles a brandy from a cut-glass decanter.
‘Not really,’ Charles confessed. Then he eyed Robert as if pondering whether to confide in him or not. Their friendship went back a long way, and Robert was one of the very few people that Charles felt he might trust.
‘I fear that I may have done something dreadful,’ he said eventually and Robert raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
‘Would you care to enlarge on that?’
Charles rubbed a hand over his face before saying, ‘I dare say you heard the rumours that were circulating about Isabelle before she went away?’
Robert nodded; he was an honest man and would not lie just to save his friend’s feelings. ‘I must admit that I did, but seeing as it was none of my business I chose to remain silent on the subject. I decided that if you wished to talk to me about it, you would.’
Charles took a great gulp of his drink before rushing on, ‘The rumours were true.’ There, it was said although the words had almost choked him.
Robert nodded, then said sympathetically, ‘But it’s not the end of the world, man. Isabelle wasn’t the first girl to find herself in such a position and she certainly won’t be the last. But where is the child now?’
‘She is in a safe place with the young maid called Maria who accompanied her to Frederick’s ranch in Tasmania. Helena is saying that we must accept the child into our own home – and to make matters even worse, Josh is talking of marrying this girl Maria. Helena has even stated that if I do not accept the child, she will leave and find a place where she can care for our granddaughter herself. It’s all such a deuced shambles.’
‘I see.’ Robert was shocked to his core. Helena had always been such an obedient, obliging wife. She must feel very strongly about the baby to threaten such a thing. But then he supposed he could understand it in a way. After all, the child was all she had left of her daughter now.
‘It appears you have some difficult decisions to make, old chap.’ Robert stared at him over the rim of his glass and Charles nodded miserably. He had been unable to concentrate on anything all day. Helena’s stand had shaken him greatly; it had also made him realise that he still had strong feelings for her. Even so, he was a proud man and he had his standing in the community to think of. But what did he value most? he asked himself – his family or his reputation?
‘It’s time to go down to your dormitory now,’ Mrs Bradshaw informed Maria after unlocking the door and entering the nursery. Maria had no idea what time it was. The light outside had darkened hours ago. The Matron now stared about her and tried to disguise her surprise. The usually gloomy nursery looked almost cosy with the candles that Maria had lit, and the fire was burning brightly in the grate. The babies seemed to be more contented too but she didn’t comment on it.
Maria was nursing Faith, and as she laid her back into the cot she asked, ‘Couldn’t I stay in here tonight with the little ones, Mrs Bradshaw? I don’t mind sleeping in the chair.’
‘Why would you want to do that?’ the woman demanded. ‘They’re used to being on their own all night.’
‘They might be, but Faith isn’t.’ Maria faced her squarely, her chin set with determination. ‘And added to that, the little boy in the end cot has a fever. That’s why I got the maid who brought my dinner up to fetch more coal. He really should see a doctor.’
‘Rubbish!’ Mrs Bradshaw was incensed. Just who the hell did this young woman think she was, telling her what she should and shouldn’t do? She must have forgotten her station in life. All the same she walked over to the cot that Maria had pointed to and glanced inside. Grudgingly she had to admit that Maria was right. The child was burning up and his eyes were feverishly bright as he gasped for air.
‘That’s little Johnny,’ she informed Maria coldly. ‘He was born to one of the inmates shortly after she was placed here. He’s always been a sickly child and I’m sure the doctor wouldn’t appreciate me dragging him out on a night like this just to look at him.’
‘Then let me stay here and do what I can for him,’ Maria said. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want his death on your conscience if his fever gets worse during the night and he passes away.’
Mrs Bradshaw looked uncertain. ‘Very well then,’ she said finally. ‘But you won’t be very comfortable. I’ll have young Dilly bring you up a blanket and something to eat, but you will have to use one of the buckets for your other needs. I won’t allow you to be wandering about and I dare say after a night of being stuck in here you’ll be only too glad to go back to the dormitory.’ And yet deep down she doubted it, and she had to admit that Maria had worked wonders. The floors had been swept and she had obviously warmed water in the pan on the fire and washed all the babies. ‘Is there anything else Madam will be needing?’ she asked sarcastically, not expecting a reply, and once more to her surprise, Maria stood up for herself.
‘Yes, there is, as a matter of fact. Some of these babies are far too old to be sustained by milk alone, so I would like some porridge sent up and some dishes and spoons. I can warm it for them on the fire.’
Mrs Bradshaw was so flabbergasted at the girl’s cheek that she didn’t even put up an argument but merely turned and left the room, locking the door securely behind her. Once on the landing she shook her head. She was a right cocky little madam, that one, that was for sure. But then her reasons for allowing Maria to stay in the nursery were not entirely unselfish. She had a new bottle of gin to look forward to that evening once all her work was done, and seeing as her room was within earshot of the nursery and Faith had kept her awake howling for half of the night before, she could enjoy it in peace now. But what was it Maria had said she wanted? Ah, porridge, that was it. She set off for the kitchen to have some sent up to her.
Two hours later, as the rest of the babies slept with full stomachs and clean bottoms for the first time in their short lives, Maria sat at the side of the fire sponging Johnny’s burning little body with cool water. In fact, it was no sacrifice at all to stay in the nursery. At least it was warm there, which was more than could be said for the dormitory where she had attempted to sleep the night before. And here she could be close to Faith, should she wake too. But for now all her concerns were centred on the child in her arms. Poor little mite. He certainly hadn’t had the best start in life and she wondered if his mother had ever even been allowed to see him. It was hard to judge how old he might be, although she guessed he could be anywhere from six months to a year old.
‘Come on, sweetheart,’ she crooned as she rocked his hot little body to and fro. ‘Don’t you dare go and die on me now; you have a lot of living to do.’ Her eyes strayed to the metal shuttered windows again, and she saw that if anything, the snow was coming down faster than ever. Her heart sank as she realised that no one would be looking for her and Faith in such appalling conditions. Not even Josh. Just the thought of him made the colour rise up her throat and flood into her cheeks, for although she had accepted that nothing could ever come of their feelings for each other, she still loved him and knew that she always would. And she had no doubt that her mother would be frantic with concern by now too. Raising her hand, she angrily swiped a tear from her eye as she struggled to get a grip on herself. Commonsense told her that even if Mrs Bradshaw had left the door wide open there was no way she could have escaped. It would have meant leaving Faith behind, for no baby could survive the conditions outside, and she would never leave her there. So for now at least she would just have to accept her position and make the best of it – luckily for little Johnny.