Authors: Rosie Goodwin
‘Oh yes, Mr Montgomery,’ the Matron assured him. ‘I myself shall be seeing to Miss Isabelle’s needs personally until someone trustworthy can be employed to look after her.’
Charles glanced at his daughter, who thankfully was still out cold. ‘It is imperative that no one knows she is here, so you will have to be most careful whom you employ,’ he warned.
The woman clasped her hands together and simpered, ‘Of course, sir.’ It was Charles Montgomery’s donations that mainly kept the asylum running and she had no intention of upsetting him. Their footsteps echoed on the cold tiles as they trooped along, with Mrs Bradshaw hurrying ahead to lead the way – but eventually she paused and took a key from a bunch suspended from a chain about her waist and unlocked a door.
‘In here,’ she directed the two men who were carrying the stretcher.
Charles followed them into a room that was warm and comfortable. It was by no means as luxurious as Isabelle’s bedroom back at Willow Park, but he was pleased to see that it was more than adequate.
Whilst the two men lifted Isabelle’s inert figure onto a large four-poster bed that stood against one wall, Mrs Bradshaw opened another door. ‘This is her private sitting room,’ she said. ‘And she will have her own dressing room here,’ she assured him, opening a third door. ‘Hot water will be carried up here from the kitchen so she should be perfectly comfortable. There is a separate room for a lady’s maid.’
His lips compressed, Charles nodded then turned and went back into the bedroom to examine it properly. A large marble fireplace had a fire roaring in the grate, and a comfy chair was placed against the high bay window. The curtains were closed now, but he imagined there would be a good view during the daytime. A bookcase contained a fair selection of books, and there was also a matching suite of dressing-table, wardrobe and chest of drawers in mahogany. Bright Persian carpets were thrown down on the floorboards and all in all Charles was satisfied that his daughter’s comforts would be seen to for as long as was necessary.
As the Matron opened the door to usher out the porters, a wail from one of the inmates floated along the corridor, and Charles started in shock. Mrs Bradshaw hastily closed the door.
‘One of our patients having a bad night,’ she said, and he could not suppress a shudder. It was then that Isabelle groaned softly, and as they looked towards the bed, her eyes opened blearily.
‘Wh-where am I?’ Panic appeared in her eyes as she found herself in strange surroundings.
‘It’s all right, my dear,’ Charles soothed as he hurried to the bed and gripped her hand reassuringly. ‘You are somewhere safe until after the ba— Until the confinement is over.’
‘What?’
Isabelle struggled up onto her elbow, and as she looked about her she began to cry. When her eyes fell on the stern face of Mrs Bradshaw she cried even harder.
‘Where is this place? I don’t like it here,’ she wailed. ‘Please take me home, Papa.’
He extricated his fingers from hers. ‘I am afraid that is out of the question,’ he told her as he backed towards the door, feeling guilty and anxious to escape. ‘Now you just be good. Mrs Bradshaw will take excellent care of you and I shall have your things packed up and sent along to you tomorrow.’
‘No!’
She would have got out of bed and gone to him but her head still felt woozy. ‘Please don’t leave me here, Papa.
Please.’
The Matron opened the door and urged, ‘I should go now, sir. There is no good in delaying.’
He gave a cursory nod before stepping out into the corridor with Isabelle’s screams ringing in his ears.
‘Papa! Papa, come back!’
As the door closed between them he sagged against the wall, hearing Isabelle’s screams grow louder.
‘No, no! Get away from me, get your hands off me!’
‘Now, now, dear,’ he heard Mrs Bradshaw say. ‘There is no point in getting yourself all upset.’
Charles pushed himself away from the wall and set off along the corridor, unable to bear hearing any more.
But what else could I have done?
he asked himself. If word were to get out that Isabelle was with child, she would never be able to procure a respectable husband and might well end her days as an old maid. No, however unpleasant this was, it was for the best – and now that he had reached the decision he would stand by it. One day, Isabelle would thank him.
Once back in the carriage, Jacobs eyed his master with concern. He was as white as a sheet and sweating profusely despite the bitterly cold weather.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ he dared to ask.
‘Yes,’ Charles answered distractedly. His mind was racing ahead now, for in the morning he would have to come up with some explanation for Isabelle’s disappearance to Helena.
The carriage moved away, throwing the men about in their seats as it trundled across the pot-holes in the dirt track. Charles stared morosely from the window, and Jacobs wisely fell silent.
Once back at the Manor, Charles immediately went to his study and poured himself a large brandy. He threw it back in one great gulp and quickly had another – then another – coughing as the fiery spirit slid down his throat. And then it came to him. In the morning he would tell Polly to pack Isabelle’s things and inform her that her mistress had unexpectedly gone to stay with one of her schoolfriends who was ill. He would tell his wife the same, although he doubted whether she would swallow it. He rubbed his face wearily with his hand. The worst part was done now. He would face Helena’s interrogations when the time came. All he wanted now was his bed.
The weekend seemed to go on forever, but at last it was Monday morning. Maria rose and after hastily washing in the cold water she had left on the wash-stand the night before, she then pulled her work clothes on and hurried down to the kitchen to stoke up the fire and put the kettle on. Her mother was already there stirring a pan of porridge on the old black-leaded range, and she smiled at her as the girl entered the kitchen. Maria still looked peaky and Martha was gravely concerned about her, but continued to pray that her suspicions were wrong.
Maria hurried away to fetch some logs in from the log store and after banking the fire up she filled the kettle from the bucket of well water on the wooden draining board and pushed it into the heart of the flames. Henry was sitting at the table yawning and not looking forward to his shift down the pit one little bit.
‘I’ll try my hand at catching another couple o’ rabbits in Montgomery’s woods after work tonight, Mam,’ he promised. ‘The last two were right tasty, weren’t they?’
‘Yes, they were, but just make sure you don’t get caught, lad. You know how strict Montgomery is about anyone trespassing on his land.’
Henry waved his hand airily. ‘Huh! As if he’d miss a couple o’ rabbits,’ he scoffed. ‘He owns practically ’alf o’ Nuneaton and he still isn’t satisfied.’
Glancing nervously towards the stairs door for a sight of her husband, Martha lowered her voice. ‘That’s as maybe, but I still want you to be careful. They reckon that new gamekeeper of his is red hot and not one to show any mercy to anyone he catches.’
‘I’ll be fine, Mam.’ Henry kissed her affectionately on the cheek as she ladled some porridge into his dish, but all conversation halted when they heard Edward’s footsteps on the stairs.
He strode into the room and took his seat at the table without a word as his wife hurried to serve him. ‘Have you a busy day ahead, dear?’ she asked nervously.
His brows drew together in a dark frown. ‘All my days are busy. You should know that by now! Idle hands make work for the devil. I shall spend my morning visiting the sick. There seems to be no sign of the epidemic slowing as yet. And then this afternoon it will be lessons as usual.’ Each Monday afternoon Edward used their small front parlour to tutor those of the children from the village whose parents could afford the penny fee for the privilege – not that Martha ever saw any of it.
‘Of course, dear.’ She held her tongue. Personally, she considered that Edward had an easy time of it compared to the other men in the village. There were no long shifts down the pit or hours spent bending over a loom for him, which accounted for his lily-white hands. She glanced at her own, reddened and sore from the many hours she spent doing her own and other people’s washing, but she made no comment.
After hastily swallowing his breakfast, Henry rose and taking his snap box from the end of the table he headed for the door.
‘Make sure you wrap up warmly,’ his mother urged as she glanced towards the window. ‘’Tis enough to cut you in two out there.’
Henry grinned as he yanked on his great coat, worn now and ill-fitting, then without a word for his father he went out into the snow which was fast turning into a blizzard.
Maria was nearly ready to leave for work too. She forced her feet into the sturdy leather boots her mother had bought for her from the pawnshop in town the year before. They were at least a size too small for her now and regularly gave her blisters, but at least they would keep her feet reasonably dry. She then drew her woollen shawl across her head and crossed it over her chest before tying it at the back as Martha looked on.
‘Eeh, I’m afraid that’s going to give you little protection in this weather,’ her mother fretted. ‘As soon as I can I’ll visit the rag stall in town and see if they don’t have a warm coat for you.’
Maria smiled at her warmly. ‘I’ve not that far to go, Mam, so don’t get fretting.’ She pecked her on the cheek then hurriedly followed her brother through the back door. Despite her brave words, the bitter cold took her breath away, and head bent she trod through the thick white carpet. Within minutes the snow had found its way over the top of her boots, and her feet and the bottom of her skirt were sodden, but Maria’s steps never faltered. The sooner she got to the post office the sooner she would be in the dry, the way she saw it. As she moved along, her thoughts returned to Lennie and tears stung at the back of her eyes. She had just spent a miserable weekend worrying about why he hadn’t kept his promise and come to speak to her father, and the mood she was in now he was due for a tongue-lashing when she did manage to catch up with him. If he didn’t have a very good excuse, that was.
By the time the post office came into sight Maria was panting with exertion. It was no easy task wading through the ever-deepening snow and her mood did not improve when she saw that there were no lights on within. Normally Mrs Everitt was pottering about by the time Maria arrived but today the place appeared to be deserted. Pressing her nose against the cold glass, Maria peered inside before rapping sharply on the door. She waited some seconds then knocked again, louder this time but no one came.
‘Oh dear, what now?’ Maria grumbled to herself. If Mrs Everitt had overlaid, no doubt it would be she who would pay for it. Mrs Everitt was not the sweetest-natured of women at the best of times. Seeing no alternative, the girl now went around the side of the building to the back door that led into small living quarters. The curtains were still drawn but Maria could see a faint glow through them.
She rapped and called, ‘Mrs Everitt . . . are you there?’
After a while she heard a shuffling and then the sounds of a bolt being drawn. Next minute the door opened and Mrs Everitt appeared with her thin grey hair hanging loose about her shoulders and still dressed in a long voluminous nightgown.
‘Goodness me!’ Maria exclaimed. ‘You look awful, Mrs Everitt.’
‘I feel awful,’ the woman croaked. ‘I think I’m coming down with this influenza that’s going around, so you’ll not be needed today, Maria. The shop will remain closed.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Maria said hastily, afraid of losing a day’s wages. ‘I could keep it open for you.’
The woman shook her head. She had never trusted anyone enough to be in charge of her till, even Maria, who had always appeared to be very trustworthy.
‘No, that will not be necessary. I shall send for you when and if I need your assistance again.’ The woman then closed the door abruptly, leaving Maria standing there.
‘Damn,’ she cursed beneath her breath, thankful that her father wasn’t there to hear her. It sounded suspiciously as if she had just been dismissed, so now what was she to do? Her father would never allow her to sit at home with idle hands, but jobs were hard to come by. It seemed that things were going from bad to worse – if that were possible. There was nothing for it but to return home and tell her mother what had happened, but first she decided she would pay an impromptu visit to Lennie.
With her mind made up, she turned and headed purposefully for his mother’s cottage. On the road she passed a few of the village men who were making their way to the pit to begin their shifts and they all raised their caps to her. The lanes were deserted and she was sure that no one would have ventured out on such a day unless they had to.
When she finally reached Lennie’s home she was again confronted with drawn curtains, but now that she had come all this way she had no intention of going away without seeing him, so she rapped on the front door.
‘Bugger off!’ a woman’s voice shouted and Maria pursed her lips. Mrs Glover had obviously been planning a lie-in. She knocked again and heard cursing as someone approached the door. The woman peered out at her blearyeyed and said, ‘Oh my Gawd, it’s you again. What do you want this time, eh?’
Maria was more than aware of the rumours that circulated about Dora Glover. It was said that she was never short of male company – or a bob or two, if it came to that – and she wasn’t particularly fussy about who the males were either. Single men, married men, young men, old men . . . it made no difference to her so long as they had the means to pay. But Maria wasn’t concerned about the woman’s reputation at present. She had far more pressing things on her mind.
‘I er . . .’
As Maria faltered, the woman went on, ‘After our Lennie, are yer? Well, you’ll ’ave yer work cut out to find ’im now! I don’t know what it were as yer said to ’im but within an hour o’ yer visit he’d packed his bags an’ scarpered like a cat wi’ its tail afire. Gone to sea, so he has, an’ I’ve no idea when – or if – I’ll see him again. Now sod off an’ leave a body in peace, can’t yer!’ And with that another door was slammed resoundingly in Maria’s face.