The Poor Relation

by Susanna Bavin

  ‘Eleanor!’ Lady Kimber exclaimed. Was that an echo? No, Helen too had cried Eleanor’s name.

  ‘As I understand it,’ said Sir Edward, ‘Rawley left a debt of hefty proportions.’

  ‘I fear so, and it must be repaid from his estate to the estate of Mr Ezekiel Jonas.’

  ‘Must Jackson’s House be sold?’ Helen burst out.

  ‘This is nothing to do with you,’ Lady Kimber snapped.

  ‘Mr Rawley’s will cannot overturn that of your late brother, Miss Rawley,’ said Mr Porter. ‘You are entitled to remain in Jackson’s House, which now belongs to Miss Kimber.’ He addressed Sir Edward. ‘Neither may the debt be paid from the money Judge Rawley left to Mr Rawley, because that is tied up in accordance with his wish to provide a home for his sister.’

  ‘Where does that leave us?’ asked Lady Kimber.

  ‘Sir Edward will wish to consult his family solicitor, naturally, but as I see it, there are two options. You may take the view that since the estate of Mr Rawley cannot pay the debt during the – forgive me – during the lifetime of Miss Rawley, that the estate of Mr Ezekiel Jonas must wait for settlement. In this case, Mr Jonas’s representatives would presumably require interest to be added year on year.’

  ‘And the second option?’ Sir Edward asked.

  ‘To repay the debt yourself. If you consider the debt now to be your daughter’s, that would be appropriate. A woman’s debts are for her husband to repay or, in this case, her father.’

  ‘So, my dear, it seems I may be going to pay Rawley’s debt after all.’ Sir Edward gave her a wry smile. To Mr Porter he explained, ‘Rawley sought financial assistance from my wife shortly before his death.’

  Lady Kimber found Helen looking straight at her. She gave her back look for look. Helen was the one to glance away.

  ‘There’s no call for a swift decision,’ Mr Porter said. He handed Sir Edward the will. ‘Here also is a copy of Judge Rawley’s will, so you can see the arrangements he made.’

  ‘How good of you to come, Mr Porter,’ said Lady Kimber. ‘I assume you’ll escort Miss Rawley home?’ Just in case anyone was thinking how pleasant it would be if Helen stayed. ‘Well!’ she exclaimed the moment they had gone.

  ‘Indeed. Fancy our girl being an heiress. She already was one, of course, because of the Davenport money. Now Rawley’s made her an heiress twice over.’

  ‘Heiress to Uncle Robert’s estate, but also to a vast debt.’

  ‘We shan’t dwell on that, I think. I’m sure he had no intention of encumbering her.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t.’ It was a moment before she was able to say, ‘Thank you for recognising that.’

  ‘I will pay the debt on Eleanor’s behalf. I simply want what’s best for our daughter.’

  ‘Of course you do.’ She gave him her hand. ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘Please don’t leave yet,’ said Mary. ‘Won’t you stay a little longer? Aunt Helen will be sorry to miss you.’

  ‘You call her Aunt Helen?’ asked Eleanor.

  ‘We’ve become friends.’

  Eleanor had come to Jackson’s House. ‘To pay my respects,’ she had said, ‘and … well – to have a look, since it’s mine now.’

  Of all times for Helen to be out. She would kick herself when she got home.

  Mary had shown Eleanor round downstairs and introduced Mrs Burley and Edith, but Eleanor had baulked at going upstairs.

  ‘It would feel so nosy.’

  Mary guessed she was dying to get upstairs, but an unexpected flash of vexation prevented her from overcoming Eleanor’s scruples. She showed her the garden instead.

  ‘I thought I might meet your new husband.’

  ‘He’s out. You may know he’s involved in the clinic where I used to work. There’s a meeting he wanted to attend, so another doctor has taken him and will bring him back. He’ll be exhausted, but at least that’ll make him rest. Nothing else does.’

  ‘Rotten patient, is he?’

  ‘The worst.’

  Suddenly they were smiling at one another. Mary felt them hovering on the brink of intimacy, but Eleanor pulled back.

  ‘I must go.’

  ‘Will you come again? It’d mean a lot to Aunt Helen.’

  ‘One in the eye for my mother, you mean?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I don’t know why Mummy and Great-Aunt Helen are daggers drawn, but I’m not going to fan the flames. Mummy didn’t mind my coming today, because it’s a visit of courtesy, but she wouldn’t want it to be a regular thing.’

  ‘And you’re going to let her keep you away?’

  ‘You would say that. I imagine you didn’t pay much heed to your parents or you’d never have married Charlie. Tell me, did you tell your parents in advance that you were marrying Doctor Brewer or did you make them wait to find out, the way you made the head of the family wait?’

  Minutes after Eleanor departed, Helen came hurrying in, panting, hauling her bad leg behind her. She seemed to believe no one was aware of it. She would be appalled to learn that Mary, Edith and Mrs Burley discussed it regularly behind her back.

  ‘A coach passed me in the lane. I saw the coat-of-arms.’

  ‘It was Eleanor.’

  Helen groaned. ‘And I missed her. I must write immediately.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll come again. Today was a mixture of curiosity and civility.’

  ‘I’ll still write. It’s the correct thing to do. Am I a silly old fool?’

  Mary smiled. ‘When did that stop you?’

  ‘Have you seen this in the paper?’ asked Nathaniel.

  Mary looked up from the work basket she was tidying, its contents on the table in front of her. ‘I haven’t seen the paper today. I’ve been busy dusting.’

  ‘The nesting instinct.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘When the baby’s due, a mother often starts cleaning and tidying.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ she said, instantly followed by, ‘Really?’ She fell silent. What would happen after her baby arrived? ‘What’s in the paper that’s so interesting?’

  ‘It’s about forcible feeding. It’s been officially admitted in the House of Commons that it takes place.’

  ‘That’s splendid – well, it isn’t, but you know what I mean. They’ll have to stop doing it now, won’t they? They can’t continue if it’s public knowledge.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. They might let it continue, using the excuse that it’s the woman’s fault. If she hunger-strikes, she knows what will happen. Let’s hope I’m wrong.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Helen came in. ‘A man admitting he could be wrong? Have I ever mentioned how different you are from Robert? Take my advice, Mary, hang onto this one.’

  ‘I’ll consider it.’

  ‘Thank you for the resounding vote of confidence,’ laughed Nathaniel. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have medical papers to look over.’

  ‘Leave that work basket,’ said Helen. ‘I want to ask you about Greg. I can’t stop thinking about him killing that man. Such a desperate act. It’s made me wonder about how I tripped on the stairs and how my bedroom door was locked the night of the fire. Edith swore blind there was nothing on the floor, but I know I tripped over something. As for the door being locked …’

  ‘It was.’ Mary was as sure now as she had been at the time.

  ‘Not because I locked it. But someone did, just as someone left something for me to trip over.’

  ‘And you think …?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s hard to believe. There was no love lost between us, and I don’t want to believe him capable of such acts, but he had a lot to gain from my death.’

  Mary’s heart reached out to her friend. ‘We’ll never know.’

  ‘But we’ll always wonder.’

  ‘What are you doing here? Do you imagine that because Eleanor called at Jackson’s House, that entitles you to return the visit?’

  Helen looked at Lady Kimber, remembering the beauti
ful, vivacious girl who had come to Jackson’s House that fateful summer. After years of Robert’s patronising company, how wonderful it had been to have her in the house. She had – oh, shame on her – she had pretended Christina was her daughter, a fantasy that had given her such joy.

  She had welcomed Greg too, some young company for Christina.

  But that was a long time ago.

  ‘I wasn’t sure I’d be admitted.’

  ‘Of course you were admitted. I wanted to make your position clear.’

  ‘You’ve certainly done that.’

  ‘Good. I trust it won’t be necessary to leave instructions that in future you aren’t to be admitted.’

  ‘If that’s my cue to leave, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I didn’t come here to presume on Eleanor’s good nature. I’ve come to blackmail you.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I suggest you hear me out, so we can get it over with quickly.’

  ‘This is outrageous—’

  ‘For years I’ve longed for your forgiveness and dreamt of being allowed to know Eleanor. But I finally accept that it won’t happen. You detest me.’

  ‘You flatter yourself. I don’t think of you from one day to another – one year to another.’

  ‘That’s worse. All these years, I’ve felt so injured. But there comes a point where you can’t go on feeling like that. I’m worn out with it. I have other people to love now, so I can put the past where it belongs: behind me. You can’t hurt me, but you can hurt the people I love and I’m not having that.’

  ‘What nonsense is this?’

  ‘I’m talking about Mary.’

  ‘Oh, her.’

  ‘Yes, her. Charlie’s inconvenient former wife, who has added to the inconvenience by expecting a happy event – and believe me, I intend to see that it is happy. I expect you know by now that she has married again. My solicitor uncovered some examples of legal precedent that could help her keep her child until it reaches the age of seven. He believes that having a respectable husband will increase her chances.’

  ‘So she married this crusading doctor to keep the child.’

  ‘They love one another.’

  ‘Off with the old love and on with the new.’

  ‘I prefer to think how lucky she is to have a second chance with a hard-working, honourable man.’

  ‘Spare me the admiration society.’

  ‘We believe this marriage could strengthen Mary’s position.’

  ‘You’re taking the Kimbers to court? I’ve heard everything now.’

  ‘Go to court? Whatever gave you that idea? No, my dear, there’ll be no need, because you’re going to persuade Sir Edward that if Mary has a girl, she’ll be allowed to keep her for ever. If it’s a boy, I concede that that’s a different matter; but she must keep him at least until he’s seven and thereafter he must stay with her regularly.’

  ‘I’ll do nothing of the kind.’

  She pretended to misunderstand. ‘If you think Sir Edward too tough a nut to crack, work on Charlie. If he puts his foot down, no one can gainsay him.’

  ‘I repeat. I’ll do—’

  ‘—precisely as I say. If you don’t, I’ll ruin you. I’ll make your sordid affair and attempted elopement public knowledge.’

  ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘There’s one way to find out.’

  ‘That was years ago.’

  ‘And since then, you’ve risen considerably in the world, which means you have more to lose. I’ll leave you to mull it over. Don’t worry about letting me know your decision. I’ll know by what happens after the baby arrives. I rather think Mary will get good news … don’t you? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to visit my new friends at the agency.’

  In the grip of a pain so intense she couldn’t speak, Mary gazed imploringly at Mrs Salisbury.

  ‘You’re doing well,’ the midwife assured her. ‘Now push hard as you can. One last try or it’s going to be forceps.’

  Feeling as though her body were splitting in two, she made one final effort, fighting against the agony and exhaustion of the past gruelling sixteen hours. She knew how long it was because she could see the clock. She had kept herself going by promising herself that by two o’clock … three o’clock … four o’clock, it would be over. Now it was gone six in the morning and here she still was, her nightdress clinging to her body and her back ready to snap in half.

  Gulping in a huge, ragged breath, she held it for a moment as she pushed and strained, before it came whooshing out, all mixed up with a sobbing groan. The pain reached a fresh pinnacle of intensity. Was she going to pass out?

  She heard a fresh note in the midwife’s voice. ‘One more good push.’

  She made a final gasping effort and felt something enormous force its way out of her. She lay there, panting and sniffling, her pounding heart settling to a more moderate hammering.

  A slap and a cry.

  ‘You have a beautiful baby girl.’

  When Mrs Salisbury placed the infant in her arms, Mary took one look at the little face and felt herself consumed by love. Everything became worth it – her Kimber marriage, the annulment, everything – because it had brought her this adorable, perfect child.

  ‘You’ll need some stitches. I’ll clean you up first.’

  The stitches stung like mad, but her tears were those of happiness. She was dimly aware of Mrs Salisbury bustling about but was too absorbed in these first moments with her child to take much notice.

  ‘There now,’ said Mrs Salisbury. ‘Time to fetch Father.’

  She wrenched her gaze away from the baby. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’

  ‘Pleasure. You were lucky you didn’t get the forceps with those skinny hips. It’s meant to get easier, the more you have, but you’ll always have bother, I’m afraid. Still, it’s worth it when you get a bonny chick like this one.’

  The moment she opened the door, Nathaniel came in, brushing past her in his eagerness.

  ‘It’s a girl,’ said Mary.

  He leant over, his face soft with loving amazement. She ought to give him her daughter to hold, but she couldn’t bear to let go, not even for a moment, not yet.

  ‘Aunt Helen, Edith and Mrs Burley are going to spoil her rotten,’ he said. ‘They’re going to spoil you rotten too, and quite right. You deserve it.’

  ‘Do they want to come and see her?’

  ‘Champing at the bit, but I wanted a minute first.’

  ‘Go and tell them her name.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d chosen.’

  ‘I hadn’t, not until now. The moment I saw her, I knew. I just knew.’ She dropped a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. ‘Hope,’ she said. ‘Her name is Hope.’

  Acknowledgements

  I should like to express my gratitude to:

  Elizabeth Hawksley, for her feedback on two drafts of The Poor Relation. Her sometimes stinging but always insightful comments led to my producing a much better book.

  Melanie Catley, for encouragement and support during the writing of The Poor Relation and also for introducing me to the dilemma-risk-decision principle.

  Annette Yates and Jacquie Campbell, who were by my side during the writing of early drafts of The Deserter’s Daughter and The Sewing Room Girl as well as this book.

  Jen Gilroy, for unwavering support.

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  About the Author

  SUSANNA BAVIN has variously been a librari
an, an infant school teacher, a carer and a cook. She lives in Llandudno in North Wales with her husband and two rescue cats, but her writing is inspired by her Mancunian roots.

  susannabavin.co.uk

  @SusannaBavin

  By Susanna Bavin

  The Deserter’s Daughter

  A Respectable Woman

  The Sewing Room Girl

  The Poor Relation

  Copyright

  Allison & Busby Limited

  11 Wardour Mews

  London W1F 8AN

  allisonandbusby.com

  First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2019.

  This ebook edition published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 by SUSANNA BAVIN

  The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978–0–7490–2373–7