Broken Threads

by Tessa Barclay

  The deciding factor was Mrs Massiter’s outburst at the Truscotts’ house. Before Lucy was packed off to Galashiels they decided to run away. Lucy promised to bring her jewellery and anything else she could.

  They had to wait for a night when her flight would be easy. Ned was often away, and they had known when Ronald would be in London. Fortune favoured them even more ‒ Jenny went to Newcastle.

  Harvil had arranged for the post chaise to be waiting. Everything had been arranged by letter. ‘You didn’t realise we wrote to each other regularly, did you?’ Lucy asked, with a gleam of something like triumph in her blue eyes.

  Jenny had noticed the envelopes in what she guessed was Massiter’s handwriting. But she had been sure that he would get bored with writing love letters after a few weeks. It had never occurred to her they were planning an elopement.

  The arrangement was for Lucy to drive to Newcastle for the mainline train to London at six in the morning. She had no fear of meeting Jenny because according to Jenny’s plans she hadn’t intended to leave Newcastle until two days later and would hardly be up and about in the railway station at six.

  ‘It was exciting at first. I packed a few things and was ready to slip out to the carriage at midnight. Then as I went out, I thought ‒ I felt ‒’

  ‘Go on,’ Jenny prompted, keeping her tone calm so as not to frighten her into silence.

  ‘I thought I’d just go in and kiss Heather goodbye. You see, I knew I wasn’t ‒’ her voice broke ‘‒ I wasn’t going to see her again. And so I tiptoed in, and leaned over her, and she woke up. And she just put her arms up, the way she does, and twined them round my neck, and smiled at me, and I picked her up, and she snuggled against me, half asleep. And I couldn’t put her down again, I just couldn’t.’

  Lucy paused for a long moment. She was reliving that moment. ‘You see, I was going away ‒ for ever. It was a bit frightening. And Heather was part of the familiar things, and it was comforting to have her holding on to me, the way she always does.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So then,’ Lucy said, with something almost like a toss of her head, ‘I thought, why shouldn’t I take her ‒ I’m the one who loves her most, after all ‒’

  ‘Lucy!’

  ‘Well, it’s true, you never pay her enough attention, you’re always off at Waterside Mill or looking over the accounts or drawing designs. I was the one who was always there for her. So I just went out as quiet as a mouse and got downstairs with no trouble and opened the side door and I was on my way down the drive ‒ almost safe away from you all ‒ and your mother called my name and caught at me. And I swung round, and I don’t know how …’ She broke off, frightened at the recollection.

  ‘Well, anyhow, she fell, and I thought she’d make an outcry, but she didn’t make a sound after that once when she called me. And I thought, she’s fainted, good, she can’t stop me. And I was in the carriage the next moment and the postilion was shaking up the horses, and we were away!’

  Jenny held her breath. She dared not ask any questions for fear of disturbing Lucy’s train of thought.

  ‘We were lucky to get good horses, we made good time …’

  ‘But,’ Jenny burst out, ‘no one saw Heather when you changed at Hexham.’

  ‘No, she was asleep in the corner. She was so good then. Not a sound out of her, she slept like a little angel. And when we got on the train at Newcastle she was pleased, she waved her arms and gurgled. But then she began to cry. I suppose she was hungry. I got some bread and milk for her at one of the stops and she went to sleep again, so that was fine and I got a hackney to take me to the inn in Holborn where Harvil was to meet me.’

  ‘He was waiting for you?’

  ‘No, it was very lucky, really, I was able to buy a frock for Heather and though she was very naughty about letting me put it on she looked quite nice and she ate some minced chicken and seemed to like it and then Harvil came.’

  ‘Yes. And what did he say when he saw Heather?’

  ‘He was … he was surprised.’ Lucy bent her head so that the words were muffled and her face was hidden by the tangle of her hair. ‘He was cross.’

  ‘Didn’t you think of that, Lucy? That he wouldn’t like it?’

  ‘I don’t know … She’s so good as a rule, I thought she wouldn’t be any trouble … And we could get a girl to look after her in Rome ‒’

  ‘Rome! Was that where you were going?’

  Lucy looked up at that, her cheeks flushing with pleasure. ‘Oh, it would have been so wonderful! It’s a beautiful city, everybody says so, and the sun shines there, and there are palaces and gardens with fountains, and Harvil and I would have strolled by the sea ‒ or I think it’s a river ‒ and Heather would have been no trouble, and the sunshine would have been so good for her, better than the damp and cold of the Borders …’

  ‘What happened, Lucy?’

  The sheen of happy expectation left her face. She sighed and drooped. ‘Harvil was so angry. He just refused … He refused to take me if I insisted on bringing Heather. He told me I’d have to go back. And you know, I couldn’t do that. Not after … after …’

  Not after stealing her husband’s watch and ring and after knocking her mother-in-law down. Not after running away in the middle of the night with her sister-in-law’s baby.

  ‘So Heather was crying because she was frightened by the raised voices, I suppose. And she was sick down the front of her new dress. And Harvil said she was disgusting, and she was being so kittle, you know. So after a lot of arguing he said that he really loved me and he wanted me to go with him but I’d have to leave Heather. And I said … I really did, Jenny … I said I couldn’t leave her, I couldn’t just abandon her. So Harvil said not to worry my little head about it, he’d see to it that she got safely back to you.’

  ‘How was that to be done?’

  ‘He took Heather downstairs and when he came back he said he’d paid a very respectable young woman who was waiting for the stagecoach north to take Heather and deliver her back to Gatesmuir. He gave her a guinea as well as paying for her seat on the coach.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Yes of course!’ Lucy gave a sudden gasp. ‘You mean, he didn’t do it?’

  ‘I’ve no way of knowing. All I know is, Heather has not been seen since you took her away.’

  ‘But that’s impossible,’ Lucy protested. ‘He told me, a very respectable young woman ‒ he gave her a guinea!’

  The constable, who had been listening to all this without speaking or moving, now left the room very quietly. Jenny had no doubt he was reporting the facts, true or false, of the ‘respectable young woman’ at Holborn to the sergeant.

  Lucy was rubbing her forehead with her fingers. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘You can’t mean Heather is missing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But she should have reached home ‒ I forget what day it was ‒ but by now. I mean, I know I’ve been in Dover for at least a week and we sent her back before we left London.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go to Rome, Lucy?’

  Tears welled up in the forget-me-not eyes, welled over, and flowed down the grimy cheeks. ‘He left me here,’ she said, choking on her sobs. ‘He said he was going to check that we had berths on the packet for Calais and he went out and … and … he never came back.’

  ‘When was that? What day?’

  ‘I think it was Thursday. A week ago, it must be.’

  Jenny sighed. ‘And before he left, he asked you for your jewellery, I suppose.’

  ‘How did you know that?’ Lucy said in surprise. ‘Of course, as he explained, he had to sell it to pay for the steamer tickets. He said he would give me some of the money at once to buy some clothes, because I hadn’t brought much, you see, and I felt I wasn’t looking my best, and after the disagreement about Heather I wanted him to be pleased with me so I said if I could have enough for a ready-made dress which of course wouldn’t have been very fashionable but the
re are some dressmakers here with modes in the window ‒ did you notice, Jenny? Quite smart, and I thought one of them would probably fit me with a little alteration, and then perhaps just gloves and stockings, because of course we were going to travel via Paris and I could have bought such nice things there …’ Her voice wavered into silence.

  ‘Do you really think he’s gone to Rome?’

  ‘Of course, he said he was. You don’t think he was lying to me?’ Lucy said, as if the notion were shocking.

  There was no way of knowing. Harvil Massiter might really have intended to take Lucy with him to a new life in Rome. Perhaps he had been put off by her stupidity in burdening them with a baby girl, and had changed his mind at the last moment. Certainly, if a man was planning a romantic escape to Latin skies, Lucy was beautiful enough to seem the ideal companion. But she had made their future together much more dangerous. Baby-stealing was likely to cause them a lot of trouble.

  ‘I don’t know why he went like that,’ Lucy went on, shaking her head in bewilderment. ‘After all, I gave in about Heather. And I came all this way, and he promised … he promised …’

  The constable came back as quietly as he had left. He raised his eyebrows at Jenny.

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything more to be learnt,’ she said. ‘Massiter seems to have gone about a week ago, taking everything of value with him. As far as Mrs Corvill knows, he was taking the steam packet to Calais.’

  ‘We knew about the steam packet, ma’am. The innkeeper told us that. He did actually go on it.’

  ‘He went without me!’ Lucy wailed.

  The constable stared at her. Without taking his eyes off her he said to Jenny, ‘What’s to be done with her now, ma’am?’

  ‘Is she to be charged with anything?’

  ‘She hasn’t committed any offence in Dover, Mrs Armstrong. The London police want to see her on account of the matter with the little girl. There may have been an offence against a minor within the jurisdiction of the London magistrates, that’s to say the selling of a child for money.’

  Lucy cried out in protest. ‘Harvil didn’t sell her! It’s quite the opposite ‒ he gave money to the young woman to take Heather home!’

  ‘What was the name of this young woman, ma’am?’

  She stared at him, a blankness in her eyes. ‘How do I know? Harvil saw to it all. It was the kind of thing that a man has to see to.’

  ‘We can have inquiries made at the London inn. The coach-driver may remember her, or the ticket seller.’

  He turned to go. As Jenny was about to follow him, Lucy snatched at her sleeve. ‘Don’t go, Jenny! Don’t leave me here alone! I’ll go mad if you leave me!’

  Jenny pulled herself free. Her whole being shuddered away from any contact with her sister-in-law.

  ‘No, no! Don’t go! They lock me in! They question me and I don’t know what they want me to say! You promised, Jenny ‒ you promised I should have a clean dress and stockings ‒ you promised!’

  The constable had intervened to unhook the clutching hand from Jenny’s jacket. He pushed Lucy back into the room without gentleness. ‘Sit down and control yourself, lady,’ he said.

  Outside, after the door had been locked on the sobbing girl, he said to Jenny, ‘She’s right, though, she’s going out of her mind. Something’ll have to be done about her, ma’am ‒ I’ve seen it before.’

  The sergeant was with Ronald and Ned in the innkeeper’s private parlour. They all rose as she was shown in by the constable.

  ‘I’ve sent word to London to try to find the woman Mrs Corvill mentioned,’ the sergeant said. ‘But I don’t hold out much hope. It was over a week ago now, and the Mitre is a busy place, I imagine.’

  Ned shouldered his way between the two others to get to his sister. ‘How is she now?’ he demanded. ‘When can I see her? I must see her ‒’

  ‘She hardly knows where she is or what’s happening.’

  ‘Is it true, what the constable said ‒ she gave Heather away to some stranger?’ Ronald sounded dazed, incredulous.

  Jenny sank down on a chair. ‘It seems so, Ronald. It seems so. She’s muddled and weak in her nerves, but I think she’s telling the truth. Harvil Massiter took Heather downstairs and when he came back he said he’d given her to a passenger on the coach to take home.’

  ‘There’s some mistake,’ Ned insisted. ‘She wouldn’t do that. She’s talking wildly. She was hysterical when I saw her ‒’

  ‘I’ll kill her,’ Ronald said. ‘If ever I lay hands on her, I’ll kill her.’

  ‘Now now, sir,’ said the sergeant, laying a broad hand on his arm, ‘you don’t mean that ‒’

  ‘You don’t think so? If ever she and I are in the same room ‒’

  ‘You’re doing no good like that, sir. Think of your poor wife, it’s no help to her.’

  Ronald turned to look at Jenny. He found her leaning back in her chair with an arm over her eyes. At once he forgot his anger. He rushed to kneel at her side, an arm about her, words of comfort ready to whisper to her. ‘It will be all right. We’ll find the woman who has her. My dearest lass, you’ve been so brave ‒ don’t give way now.’

  Later that night the sergeant came back to say that there were no grounds for any charges against Mrs Corvill, but that a member of the Metropolitan force would be here next day to escort her to London. ‘She’s wanted for questioning there, but the big problem is she goes into a hysterical attack if we attempt to move her. I wanted to warn you ‒ it’ll have to be done by force.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Ned. ‘Don’t dare to ‒’

  ‘Sir, what else are we to do? She cries out if anyone even comes in the door, something about her dress ‒’

  ‘I promised her a new dress,’ Jenny said. ‘She’s always set a lot of importance on how she looks.’

  ‘Well, we could get a dress from a second-hand shop if that would quieten her.’

  ‘I’ll buy her a dress,’ Jenny said, getting up. ‘A dress, and stockings and shoes. I promised.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Ronald cried. ‘Don’t ever do anything for that woman ‒’

  ‘It’s not for her, it’s for Heather. We want her in London, where perhaps she can help trace the woman she spoke of. She mentioned a modiste ‒ I noticed one as we drove by in the High Street. Send for a cab, please, Ronald.’

  When the inn was at last settling down for the night, there was a knock on the door of Lucy’s room. It was unlocked. As she drew back in dread, her sister-in-law came in with an armful of parcels.

  ‘Your new dress, Lucy. Look, it’s blue velvet. You like velvet, don’t you? And the bonnet matches. And here are stockings ‒ only cotton yarn, I couldn’t get silk at this hour, but they’re quite fine. And a cloak, because it’s very cold outside.’

  Lucy came forward, her eyes on the clothes that were coming out of the paper wrappings. ‘Where are the shoes?’

  ‘I couldn’t get any. But we’ll have that pair cleaned and they’ll look almost as good as ever, and besides, they’re mostly hidden under your skirts.’

  The words, softly spoken as if to a child, were soothing. Lucy picked up the velvet gown and held it against herself. ‘It’s too big!’ she complained. ‘It won’t do!’

  ‘We’ll have it altered when we get to London.’

  ‘We’re going to London?’

  ‘Yes, tomorrow. And there are shoes there, in your room at Eaton Square.’

  Lucy was unhooking the fastening of her soiled gown. ‘Quick, help me. I must put it on ‒’

  ‘No, Lucy, it’s time to go to bed now.’

  ‘I want to put on my new dress! I want to put it on!’

  ‘Put on your nightgown instead. You must get some sleep. We’ll be leaving for London early in the morning.’

  ‘No, no,’ cried Lucy, her fingers fumbling with the hooks of her bodice. ‘You don’t understand ‒ it’s important ‒ I must wear it ‒ I’ll look pretty in it ‒ everything will be all right if I have som
ething pretty to wear.’

  There was no avoiding it. Jenny helped the other girl put on the new dress. When it was fastened and tied, she found the lace bertha she had attempted to sell to the pawnbroker. She draped it round her shoulders. ‘It’s not much too big,’ she said, turning to examine herself in the small mirror that was all the room afforded. ‘The colour’s too bright, but it will do until I get to London. I think my amethyst silk is at Eaton Square, and there’s a dark blue wool voile …’

  She talked on, her world suddenly changed by the thought of pretty dresses and clean underwear, of silk stockings and kid shoes.

  When Jenny, dropping with exhaustion, eventually left her, she was sitting upright on a chair in the middle of the room, fully clad, eyes staring ahead, glorying in her new gown.

  Ronald had taken two private carriages on the London train for next day. Lucy and the police sergeant occupied one, and though Ned wanted to be with her that proved impossible ‒ the mere sight of her husband drove Lucy to hysterics. He sat with his sister and her husband, white-faced, bewildered.

  A closed carriage took them to Eaton Square. A gentleman in a dark suit was waiting when they came in; an inspector from the Central District of the Metropolitan Force.

  Lucy was put in the morning room with the sergeant on guard. Inspector Simmons went with the others into the library.

  ‘The report from Dover came by the morning post,’ he said, waving a manila envelope. ‘May I just go over it to be sure I have the facts? The lady travelled south by post chaise and train to London, where she met her lover ‒’

  ‘No,’ Ned groaned.

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

  ‘My wife would never enter into an illicit affair.’

  The inspector, a man of about forty who had seen everything, raised his eyebrows but didn’t attempt to argue. ‘Mrs Corvill came to the Mitre Inn in Holborn and there Mr Harvil Massiter was also present. At some point Massiter took Heather Armstrong, the child of Ronald and Genevieve Armstrong, to the general waiting room. When he returned he told Mrs Corvill that he had sent the child home to Galashiels in the care of a woman passenger on the northern coach. That is correct?’