A Life of Secrets

by Margaret Kaine

  It was on an evening at the end of April when Deborah felt the trickle of water down her thighs. Her heart pounding, she reached for the handbell by her side, and as soon as Waters was framed in the doorway she assessed the situation. ‘So, your waters have broken. Any pains?’

  Deborah shook her head, but then a painful contraction caused her to double over.

  And almost as soon as she was in the prepared bed in the spare room, there came another, and then another. She was frightened, having expected a slow start to her labour. Surely that was more normal? But when Waters returned, there were no expressions of reassurance or even encouragement. Nor any respect for the difference in their status. Heavy rain began to lash at the window, while the grim-faced woman thrust a piece of rolled-up rag at Deborah. ‘Bite on that when a contraction comes, go with it, don’t try and fight it. And hold on to the bed rail.’

  Her gaze fixed on the other woman, Deborah obeyed every barked-out instruction. She had never imagined there could be such pain. Once she screamed out in agony.

  ‘My mother once took seventeen hours,’ Waters scoffed. ‘But we working classes are made of stronger stuff.’ She lifted Deborah’s nightdress and lowering her head peered underneath.

  Deborah gritted her teeth at the humiliation. She hated this woman. And as another contraction threatened to rip her apart, struggled not to make a sound. Stronger stuff? The Claremont family was renowned for its courage.

  Although Waters told her everything was progressing normally, all Deborah could think was that her own poor mother must have suffered like this.

  The struggle seemed endless, and when at last, totally exhausted, Deborah gave birth, she heard the emotive sound she would never forget. The plaintive first cry of her baby. Lifting her head, she could see Waters cutting the cord. ‘Is it a …’

  ‘A boy, a fine boy.’ The now smiling maid wrapped the baby in a towel, wiped his face, and her plain features softened by tenderness, gave the small bundle into Deborah’s outstretched arms.

  Gazing down in wonder at the crumpled little face she held him nestled against her, his black hair – so like Philippe’s. Her eyes filled with tears. This little mite would never know who his real parents were …

  As she placed a glass on the bedside table, Waters said, ‘Let me have him now while you drink this. It will help with the afterbirth.’

  Deborah reluctantly handed back her son and watched the maid place him carefully in a blanket-lined drawer. Already her arms felt empty without him. Then obediently she drained the glass.

  And that was the last time she ever saw her baby.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  On waking that morning, Theo felt happier than he’d been for years. And it was all due to his lovely Deborah. But at breakfast he was puzzled to see that Deborah was subdued, her face pale, her eyes shadowed. Yet earlier she’d said that her headache was better.

  Then after they rose and left the room, she caught at his hand. ‘Is there somewhere we can be undisturbed? I need to talk to you.’

  Puzzled, Theo said, ‘Yes, of course.’

  His father had remained at the table immersed in his morning paper, and Theo went back. ‘Might I ask if you intend to use your study in the near future?’

  Frederick Field shook his head. ‘No, not at all.’

  Feeling bewildered, Theo guided her to the quiet room at the end of the hall. Despite the warm morning, a small fire had been lit in the fireplace, on either side of which was a burgundy leather winged chair. Deborah went to sit in the one on the right-hand side.

  When she looked up at him, her eyes were full of appeal. ‘Theo, please could you ensure the butler doesn’t disturb us?’

  ‘Darling, you’re beginning to worry me. Are you sure you’re not unwell?’

  Silently, she shook her head.

  Theo went to instruct Langton before walking back to the study, his every step apprehensive. Whatever Deborah wanted to talk to him about was obviously worrying her. Surely she hadn’t changed her mind about marrying him? They were made for each other, their time together yesterday had proved that. He could have sworn she was as much in love with him as he was with her.

  Deborah didn’t think she had ever felt so nervous in her life. Her whole life, her future depended on how Theo was going to react. She looked down at her hands and saw they were trembling. And then he was opening the door and closing it behind him.

  Silently he took the seat opposite her.

  Deborah’s voice was shaky. ‘Theo, I’m sorry, but I have something to tell you. It’s about myself and my life many years ago. I vowed then I would never reveal this to anyone. Only the man I wanted to marry, someone I would trust with my life.’

  He frowned, leaning forward, his expression one of intense concern. ‘Deborah, there’s no need …’

  She held up a hand. ‘No, darling, please let me speak.’ She gazed into the flickering flames of the fire, and into her memories of that fateful year, when she had met and fallen in love with Philippe.

  ‘The night before he was due to return to France, I just could not bear to think of him lying alone, dreading what was ahead. And so I went along to his room, thinking to hold him close and reassure him. But we were so in love, that you can imagine what happened.’ Her voice became even quieter. ‘Within forty-eight hours he was killed. It’s always been a comfort to me we had that night together, that he knew how much I loved him. I’ve never regretted it, not once.’

  Then with a rapidly beating heart, she described how shocked and frightened she had been on later discovering she was pregnant. Her stomach churning, she glanced over at Theo, anxious about his reaction. He was gazing into the fire, his expression taut.

  ‘Gerard arranged everything,’ she said. ‘No one else ever knew about it, not even Abby. I was sent away to Wales, and after long lonely months gave birth to a little boy. I was allowed to hold him only for a few precious minutes, before being given a glass of medicine to dull the after pains. I only realised it was a sleeping draught when I woke up hours later to find my baby gone, taken away to a wet nurse.’

  With tears now stinging her eyes she forced herself to continue. ‘But sadly he only lived a short time, after catching an infection.’ And then her voice broke. ‘I wasn’t even allowed to go to my own son’s funeral.’

  Silence fell in the room, the only sound the grandfather clock in the hall striking the hours. Theo still hadn’t spoken, and eventually Deborah said, ‘And this is what I needed to tell you.’

  Theo had listened with growing horror to the sad story being related to him. There was such pain in Deborah’s voice, he could only imagine the courage it was taking. Many young women would have entered marriage hoping to keep their past a secret. His heart went out to her as he listened to the tragedy of her baby’s death. When she became silent, he was stunned for several minutes, crucially aware that this could be a turning point in both their lives. Despite his compassion, his first reaction was one of anger that Deborah hadn’t told him sooner. That she had kept hidden this important part of her life, even while they were falling in love. Yet he could understand her reticence to risk hitherto the slightest hint of scandal. And how could he judge or resent her expressing her love for Philippe on the eve of his departure for France? She had been so young, they had both been young. And he himself was hardly a saint. He was crazily in love with Deborah, knew in his soul that he would never find a love like this again.

  He didn’t know why he was hesitating! She must be in an agony of anxiety. Swiftly he rose and went to her, bending to lift her trembling hands to his lips. ‘Oh, my poor darling. I am so very, very sorry. But please don’t worry that it makes any difference to us. I love you, Deborah, I shall always love you.’

  She whispered, ‘And you still want to marry me?’

  ‘Your honesty in telling me this has made me love you even more.’

  ‘I was so scared, Theo. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.’

  ‘There is n
o chance of that, ever.’ He drew her up and into his arms. Holding her close, Theo gently kissed the top of her head. ‘I hate the thought of you going through such a terrible ordeal alone.’

  Deborah looked up at him, and he could see tears brimming in her eyes.

  ‘Darling, please don’t cry.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as she tried to blink away the tears. ‘It’s just the reaction.’

  ‘Of course. I think you’ve been terribly brave.’ He bent to kiss her lips, a tender, loving kiss. ‘Do you think a brandy would help?’

  She gave a weak smile. ‘Yes, I think it might.’

  Theo went to the small sideboard and, returning, handed the glass to her. Then, after Deborah had taken a couple of sips, said, ‘Are you sure you feel well enough to return to town? We could easily stay another night.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m happy to leave as planned, Theo.’ Her smile was a little shaky although he was relieved to see colour gradually return to her cheeks.

  When a couple of hours later Deborah said goodbye to Frederick Field, his smile was warm, and Theo, knowing his father as he did, detected a knowing twinkle in his eyes as he said, ‘I hope to see you again, very soon.’

  But before leaving, they went to the stables to check on the young collie.

  ‘He’s going to be absolutely fine,’ Harry said, then told them of the young lad’s disappointment. ‘He’s not allowed to have a dog. Something to do with the cottage being small and the laundress couldn’t risk the washing getting dirty.’

  ‘I suppose that’s understandable,’ Deborah said. ‘A pity, though, I can’t imagine growing up without a dog.’

  ‘A shame we can’t keep him here, Harry,’ Theo said. ‘But you know my father’s views.’

  Harry grinned. ‘Bitches only. But not to worry, Mr Theodore, I’ll soon find him a good home.’

  The atmosphere in the car wasn’t completely relaxed. Deborah realised that would be impossible after the emotional turmoil of the morning. While Theo concentrated on driving, she continued to try and calm her thoughts and nerves. Because having at last allowed those traumatic memories of her pregnancy and childbirth to surface, to be spoken aloud for the first time, she couldn’t seem to subdue them.

  Waters had remained in Wales having been offered a position with Aunt Blanche. News that had filled Deborah with relief, as she’d been dreading having to request the maid’s dismissal. She only knew that she wanted the woman out of her life.

  And then she mentally gave herself a shake. It was time to put the past back where it belonged, in a hidden compartment in her mind. She glanced lovingly across at Theo who must have sensed it because turning, he gave her a warm, reassuring smile, briefly touching her hand.

  It was then, for the first time all weekend, a fleeting image of Evan came into her mind. The memory of their meeting in Lyon’s Corner House seemed almost distant now. So much had happened since and there was no room in her heart for anyone other than Theo, not any more. Apart from the wonderful hours spent in each other’s arms at the picnic, he had been so compassionate and understanding earlier that morning. Many men would have had a far different reaction to her confession. And also on learning of her secret life at the agency. Deborah couldn’t think of any other man she knew from her circle of acquaintances who would have been so intelligently accepting of her circumstances.

  And thinking fleetingly again of Evan, Deborah was hoping that he would soon meet someone who would make him a wonderful wife. He deserved to be happy.

  But now she couldn’t help stifling a yawn, sleep having evaded her for much of the previous night.

  ‘Why don’t you have a nap, darling?’

  Theo’s voice was tender, and once again reassured that their future together was safe, Deborah snuggled into the leather seat, relaxed and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  It was two weeks later, when Evan was studying a book on railway engines, that his Aunt Bronwen came into the sitting room to stand before him. And she remained there.

  Frowning, he glanced up. He hated to be disturbed when he was reading. Then seeing the expression on her face, with resignation he put the book down.

  ‘I think you should look at this.’ She held out the Tatler.

  ‘You know I despise those sorts of magazines.’

  ‘I only ever see them in the hairdressers. I’ve been for a trim and they’ve let me borrow this one. Evan, lad, just humour me.’

  He took the publication from her and turned to where she’d marked the place with one of her late husband’s pipe cleaners. Bronwen believed everything had more than one use.

  Evan’s breath stilled. It was a photograph of Deborah, a happy smiling Deborah, her face shadowed by the large brim of her hat. Beside her stood a distinguished-looking man. Within seconds he’d read the caption. Mr Theodore Field, MP, and his soon-to-be bride, Lady Deborah Claremont. He studied the man’s intelligent face, remembering Deborah telling him of his interest in social justice, and that he had even come to Battersea to hear Evan speak.

  ‘I must say they look well suited.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Bronwen, they do.’

  ‘So that’s that, then.’ She surveyed him for a moment, then gave a nod and held out her hand for the magazine. ‘I’ll take that back. Yer dinner’ll be ready in half an hour. A nice steak and kidney pudding.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  Evan’s book lay unheeded as he grimly reflected on what he’d just seen. So, Deborah had gone ahead and made a suitable marriage, then chided himself for his sarcasm. There was no doubt it was a love match and he genuinely wished them happiness.

  Evan had always been a man who accepted reality. Yes, following their parting at the Lyons Corner House he’d felt regret for what might have been, but a future for himself and Deborah could only ever be a fantasy, especially in this country. One day these social divisions would change, must change. In the meantime, he was determined to continue as an active union member, speaking out against injustice wherever he found it. In fact, he was due to speak on Friday, the main thrust of his speech being the continuing deplorable conditions of the miners. Their strike action and that of the rest of the country had been a travesty achieving precisely nothing.

  His concentration having been interrupted, he put the book aside and began to muse on the following day when he was due to go to the Colonel’s house in Blackheath. Evan still found it difficult to believe how much his life had improved since working there. Although it was a disgrace that the level of unemployment was so high in the country that someone like himself, an engineer, had to work as a servant. But at least being involved in the design and building of the model railway had given him back some self-respect. The Colonel was sparing no expense, and it was Evan’s aim to make the layout one of supreme professionalism.

  ‘We have a visitor early this evening, someone you may wish to meet,’ the Colonel said as Evan wheeled him around the garden. He indicated to stop by a particularly colourful display of dahlias, leaning forward to touch the flowers for a moment. ‘Father Keegan, a local Catholic priest. He’s kind enough to give me a game of chess sometimes. Not that I’m of his religious persuasion, you understand.’

  ‘Is he a good strategist?’

  ‘Indeed he is.’ The Colonel chuckled. ‘Always helped along by a couple of whiskies. It was through Father Keegan that you came here.’

  ‘Really? But I don’t know any Catholic priests.’

  ‘You’d be Chapel, I expect, coming from Wales.’

  ‘Rather lukewarm, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well, that’s neither here nor there. The good father seems to have some sort of connection with Miss Claremont at the staff agency.’

  Evan frowned, Deborah had never mentioned a priest. But he supposed that in her line of work she would have many different contacts. I wonder, he thought, whether he is aware of her true identity? Not that Evan would ever betray her confidence, although he’d wondered more than once
how she’d managed to lead two separate lives without it being discovered. Although she did wear spectacles and plain, serviceable clothes at the office. A world apart from the elaborate and fashionable outfit she wore that day in Hyde Park.

  He leant forward to hear what the Colonel was saying. ‘It’s going to be a busy day. My niece is visiting this afternoon. I think she’s becoming really involved in our project.’

  ‘Mrs Parry is very well informed,’ Evan said. He appreciated the way that the Colonel’s niece treated him as an equal, and her company had enlivened more than one working afternoon. He also knew a little more about her now, thanks to the garrulous cook.

  ‘She’s the daughter of the Colonel’s late brother,’ she told him. ‘Poor thing, she was only married a month before her husband was killed. That dratted war took the cream of our young men, it did.’

  But Evan did wonder how and why the Colonel and his niece had become so sympathetic to the miners’ plight. The surname Parry would indicate a Welsh background, but that would belong to her late husband. She had even attended union meetings before the strike − hadn’t she heard Evan himself speak, and more than once? But the Colonel was a senior army officer, almost certainly public-school educated. Such people rarely considered the plight of the working classes. It would be interesting to find out. However, Evan, ever conscious of his paid position in the household, was still wary of asking outright personal questions.

  The Catholic priest arrived half an hour before Evan was due to go off duty, and after greeting the Colonel, turned to Evan with a warm smile and appraising glance. ‘Are you settling in, now, Mr Morgan?’