by Janet Woods
‘No, I would not. It would be good for John to know that he has a grandfather, and to meet him and to spend some time with him. But instead of him coming to me in the first place this man has investigated my background in an effort to find something to discredit me, so to remove John from my care. If he expected me to hand him over before he did me the courtesy of being given the time to investigate him, then he’ll be sadly disappointed. John has already lost his father and mother. He looks on me as his parent, and it would be unfair to remove that support from him.’
They’d moved into the hall.
‘Come, come, Colonel, take my word for it, Sir Charles is above reproach.’
‘I can only judge you at face value, Mr Wyvern, and Sir Charles only by his stated intentions. I’ll do my best to prevent John from being removed from my family, and a home where he’s loved and loves in return.’
‘Think about this, I beg you. Sir Charles may decide to have you charged with child stealing. I’ve already talked him out of it once.’
Seth laughed. ‘I’m not the type of fool your client seems to think I am. I have a document signed by Mary, her signature was witnessed by two of my superior officers, men also above reproach. It’s still sealed, and I’m given to understand that her wishes regarding John are contained within it.’
The lawyer’s smile was unbelieving. ‘And you wait until now to tell me? I’d like to see this document.’
‘I daresay you would. And you will, sir. The document will be opened in court if the need arises.’
‘You’re bluffing, Colonel Hardy.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it if I were you. You may tell your client that if his concern for John is genuine and he wishes to meet his grandson, he may visit him here. We could set a day before you leave . . . one that will give your client time to recover, and for me to acquaint John with the fact that he has a grandfather.’
They set a date for March.
Seth opened the door. ‘Good day to you, Mr Wyvern.’
‘I’ve left a gift for John from his grandfather in the drawing room. I chose it myself, so I do hope he likes it.’
‘I’ll see that he gets it. Wait a moment.’ He went back into the drawing room and took a photograph from the mantelpiece. It was of them all. Charlotte was seated on the sofa with a baby in each arm. He stood proudly behind. John was with Marianne to one side. Her hand rested lightly on one of the boy’s shoulders. He took it from the silver frame. ‘Give this to Sir Charles with my compliments. It might help to place his mind at rest.’
‘Thank you, he’ll appreciate the gesture. And thank you for being so honest, Colonel.’ Edgar Wyvern held out a hand. ‘Let’s not part as enemies. Your quarrel isn’t with me.’
‘But it will be if this goes to court.’
‘It will, but trust me. Now I’ve met you and the boy and have seen the environment in which John is living, with your cooperation I’ll do my best to avoid that option, for the sake of the child. You would not object to meeting with Sir Charles in London, I take it?’
After a moment’s hesitation, Seth took the offered hand. ‘No, sir, I would not object.
Marianne was usually overrun with invitations leading up to Christmas, now there were very few.
‘They’re addressed to Mr and Mrs Seth Hardy, but I imagine you’re included,’ Charlotte said.
But when Marianne appeared for a social evening, she was the censure of all eyes. Women she’d known all her lives turned away from her and whispered behind their fans, some of the men stared at her with speculative eyes.
Lucian pretended not to see her, and when he couldn’t avoid speaking to her, he nodded and used the formal, ‘Ah, Miss Honeyman . . . you’ll have to excuse me a moment, there’s someone I urgently need to talk to.’
Her eyes met his. ‘Lucian, whatever is the matter with you? I thought we were friends.’
His eyes slid away and he mumbled, ‘Of course we’re friends, and can socialize later in the evening. As I said . . .’ He made the exchange between them as brief as possible before mumbling his excuses and moving on.
Mortified, Marianne stared at her plate for the rest of the evening, and only picked at her food. Nick had warned her that this would happen, but living in isolation had buffered her against it. She should have listened to him. Such was her tension that she was sick as soon as they got home.
Charlotte was tight-lipped as she eyed her. ‘Rumour must have got round about you going to America with Nick. Isn’t it enough that we’ve got this worry over John’s future, without that as well? Who have you told?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Then Nick must have told people. I bet that sour old spinster Daisy Thornton is putting it around. She never liked me. You’d better stay at home until it blows over, then you won’t have to answer any awkward questions. Seth is trying to establish himself as a businessman in the district and any scandal about you will reflect badly on him. Really, Marianne . . . you’re always so headstrong, and look where it’s got you. By the way, Lucian has announced his engagement to Isabelle Martin.’
‘Were we invited to the engagement party?’
‘There was an invitation.’
Her stomach rolled sickeningly. ‘But I wasn’t on it, I suppose. Will you still go?’
‘Of course we will, it would be rude not to. Seth needs to meet and socialize with people. Most of the pottery owners as well as the clay producers will be there. I daresay you’d be bored by it all, anyway.’ Charlotte kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t worry, this will all have blown over by next summer.’
By then her stomach would be as round as a suet pudding, Marianne thought. The matrons would be counting on their fingers and giving each other knowing looks, and Charlotte would have disowned her.
The fact that Nick had been right about Lucian was cold comfort to her. Not that it mattered now. ‘Well, it was expected. She’s an heiress and Lucian has always felt the need to accumulate wealth. Do you remember when we were young and he had expectations? He always talked about how he was going to possess a fortune when he grew up. He thought he’d inherit his grandfather’s estate because he was the first boy to be born into his mother’s family for fifty years. But the estate was shared between his mother and his aunts.’
‘There was a time when I thought you and Lucian . . . well, I know you were fond of each other. I thought you might be upset, since it was strongly rumoured that he held you in great affection. You would have made a perfect match.’
‘No we wouldn’t have. He’s too set in his ways and I would have had to behave perfectly. You know I love to be free. Isabelle Martin will be perfect for him.’ She laughed, for truly Nick had replaced Lucian in more ways than one.
‘You’ve changed somehow, Marianne. We should invite people here, try and find you a husband.’
‘Oh, I have . . . decided not to marry,’ she said, catching herself just in time.
‘Marianne! Of course you must wed, if you can. It’s expected.’
‘There was a time when it was expected of you and Nick . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I was surprised when you humiliated him like that. He hasn’t been here since, so it didn’t take you long to forget him.’
‘At least he asked me for my hand,’ Charlotte snapped. ‘Several times, in fact.’
Thank goodness her sister had refused him. ‘You were horrid to him, you know. I did feel for him.’
‘I was piqued with him, I admit. Seth tells me I went too far. They’ve formed a friendship, and he wants to invite Nick to dinner the next time he’s home.’
Marianne’s eyes widened. Perhaps they could announce their marital status then, though she doubted if her state would remain undetected. ‘Nick didn’t tell me that. And will you?’
‘Goodness, there’s no reason why he should have told you, is there? It’s not as though you’ve seen him since you left the ship. To be honest, I don’t know whether I want him here. I miss him sometimes. Sometimes I think that I might still have feelings
for him.’
Marianne’s heart slammed against her chest as she stared at her sister. If Charlotte turned on the charm and won Nick back she’d die of a broken heart. ‘Surely not. You seem so happy with Seth.’
‘I am. But he hasn’t got Nick’s charm. Goodness, the man was always larger than life. But he was like a dog with a bone, one he’d never let go. He wanted to own me, and I doubt if he’ll ever grow out of that.’
Marianne tested the water with a light laugh. ‘Perhaps he’ll marry me instead if I ask him. Then we’d both be out of your way.’
‘Don’t be silly. Nick’s always regarded you as a child, and a nuisance who tagged around after us. That’s why he used to bring Lucian with him. To keep you occupied. He must have fumed when he discovered you on his ship. If you think you’ve got a claim there, forget it. He’s always loved me, and he’s too old to transfer his affections to another. Besides, even if he offered for you, I wouldn’t allow such a match.’
Charlotte had no say in the matter now, Marianne thought with some satisfaction. Her sister was right about one thing though. Nick had buckets of charm, and didn’t Marianne know it! He’d charmed her right into his bed . . . and not even his bed, but a bed that had been used to satisfy the carnal appetites in ways she couldn’t even dream about – yet! She tried not to grin. If Charlotte knew they were wed she’d take it personally, and she’d never speak to either of them again.
Marianne chewed over further worries she had. She suspected that she was carrying Nick’s child inside her. Although the thought filled her with an indescribable delight, if she did prove to be with child she wondered how long she’d be able to hide her condition from everyone. It would be at least five months before he returned. Sometimes she felt sick when she woke, and she couldn’t remember when she’d last experienced her menses. Just before she’d sailed away to Boston with Nick, she thought, though they’d always been erratic. If she was that way, then the infant would be born in either July or August, and by April her condition would be apparent.
Halfway through December Marianne’s suspicions had become a certainty in her mind.
She heaved a sigh of relief. By now Samarand should be sailing into Melbourne Harbour. Marianne had become adept at concealing her sickness from her sister. Now she’d have to try and conceal her changing body shape as well for the next three months.
The weather was bitter, but not cold enough for snow, and the clouds allowed the sun through, so the pools and streams glittered with overhanging icicles.
That morning she’d taken John out on the heath. ‘Always be careful of the pools, John, especially the stagnant ones, since they’re full of rotting animals and leaves, and are poisonous. Best to keep away from them altogether, and from the flooded quarry pits, as well. Drink from the chalk streams if you’re thirsty.’
They’d cut armfuls of holly, the berries a startling red cluster against the dark prickly leaves. And they’d gone up to the pine copse to pick up some cones to burn for the fragrance. Piled on a sack, they dragged it back to the house along with some fallen branches to burn.
Seth helped them take it indoors, and they decorated the stairs and the hall.
There was a small fir tree on the table decorated with metal trumpets, wooden soldiers and silver drums. On the top Charlotte had placed a star covered in sparkling beads, and there were quilted snowflakes. Marianne could have sworn that some of them were made from scraps of the silk Nick had given her. Taking one from the tree she held its softness against her cheek.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Charlotte said from the doorway.
‘It’s so soft and pretty. I should have liked to have helped make them.’
‘You can make the paper baskets if you like, and John can put almonds in them.’ Advancing, Charlotte took the snowflake from her and placed it back on the tree in exactly the same position as Marianne had taken it from. ‘It took me ages to get it looking just right. Stop fiddling with things.’
‘Nick will be spending Christmas thousands of miles away from his family,’ she thought to say, and Charlotte gave her a sharp look.
‘Why do you keep going on about Nick? I doubt if he’ll care about Christmas. He was an orphan, and he isn’t very family-minded. Besides, he’s a sailor. He probably has a woman waiting for him at every port.’
Jealousy squeezed a hand at Marianne’s innards. Had she just become one of them?
A demanding cry came from upstairs and Charlotte smiled wryly. Her life revolved about her children now. ‘I must go and feed him before they both start. Could you find some dry linen cloths and bring them up, please.’
Charlotte was feeding the children unaided now. The routine of looking after two babies was time-consuming. Marianne helped as much as she could with the washing, ironing and mending, and Seth had hired another maid, the fourteen-year-old daughter of one of his labourers. She was as thin as a bean pole and came in on a daily basis with her father, her raggy clothing covered in an equally raggy shawl. Later, he called in for her on the way home. Marianne felt sorry for her, and had already decided to give her a gift of a warm shawl for Christmas.
The laundry room had a copper boiler with a grate in the supporting bricks to set a fire. There was a wooden mangle, and racks that could be hoisted to the ceiling. The place was full of steam.
‘Don’t forget to rinse them properly before you put them through the mangle,’ Alice was telling the girl.
Picking up the folded linens, Marianne gave the young maid a sympathetic smile and went upstairs to the nursery, where Charlotte had Major Mitchell against her breast.
Jessica was kicking up a fuss from her crib, her legs and feet kicking at the air vigorously. When Marianne picked her up she quieted and gave her a gummy smile before turning her head towards her breast and nuzzling for a teat. A tender emotion rose in Marianne at the gesture and she smiled. ‘Sorry, my love, you’ll have to stay hungry for a little while longer. I’ll sing you a song, instead.’ She brought the child up to her shoulder and gently rocked her back and forth, singing a little lullaby. This time next year she’d have her own sweet infant to care for.
‘You’ll be a wonderful mother when the time comes,’ Charlotte said softly.
Startled, Marianne gazed at her, thinking for a moment that Charlotte had guessed. But no, Charlotte would not be either this relaxed or loving, or kind. Her babies had softened her, but not to the extent that she’d let Marianne get away with such a betrayal.
Marianne changed the subject. ‘I went to our mother’s grave yesterday to let her know we were both well. I talked to the Reverend Phipps, and he looked in the records for me.’
A watchful look came her way. ‘For what reason?’
‘To see if there was any record of an infant being buried with her.’
‘And . . . was there?’
‘No. He said that if the child had been stillborn she might have been unnamed and—’
‘There you are then. Why are you raking this up?’
‘Hearing Jessica cry a couple of days ago jogged my memory. I remembered hearing the baby cry on that night she was born, so she couldn’t have been stillborn.’
‘I expect she died shortly afterwards. How can you remember any of the details accurately after all these years? You were young and scared, we both were. I think you remember it because you want to believe she’s still alive. You always had a vivid imagination.’
‘What if she hadn’t died, though? What if we have a sister? Our aunt, Constance Jarvis, founded an orphanage and left most of her fortune to maintain it. What if the baby had been sent there?’
‘Then it’s the best place for her. I wouldn’t want anything to do with a child fathered by Erasmus Thornton, especially one who’d killed our mother.’
‘It’s not the child’s fault. Aren’t you curious?’
‘No, and it would be better if you weren’t. There’s enough scandal around us at the moment without you stirring up the past.’ She grimaced as she
pulled Major Mitchell from her breast with a sucking sound. He flopped in her arms as relaxed as a jellyfish, then passed wind. It woke him up, so he jumped and looked at his mother with astonished eyes before he lapsed into sleep again.
The sisters looked at each other and laughed.
‘You can tell he’s a male,’ Charlotte said softly. ‘You’re a greedy little tyke Major Mitchell. I hope you’ve left something for your sister. Here, perhaps you wouldn’t mind changing his linen while I see to Jessica.’
‘As long as he doesn’t repeat that performance.’
Instead, Major Mitchell belched a bubble of milk from his mouth. She caught it with a flannel when it rolled down his cheek towards his ear. When she gently ran her finger along the underside of his foot his little pink toes curled under in reflex.
He had left something for his sister. Jessica’s appetite wasn’t as voracious as Mitchell’s, and she was soon satisfied and back in her crib, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide and her golden eyelashes fanning her cheeks as she began to drift into sleep.
‘They’re so beautiful,’ Marianne whispered, so not to wake them.
‘I’m so lucky to have them.’
Her own child would be dark-eyed like Nick, she thought, and its hair would curl darkly. She wanted to give him a son in his image. That would bind him to her. She would ask the gypsy to read her palm when she next saw her, and perhaps she’d buy a love charm.
The gypsies usually came in spring, and set up camp in the copse. The women would sell their pegs and tell fortunes on fair days in Wareham, which was the other side of the heath, or in Dorchester. The tinker would go round the streets of the towns to sharpen knives and scissors and repair pots and pans. He wore a battered stovepipe hat that he doffed at the ladies.
The gypsies didn’t all come and go at once. Some came early, some stayed on to work on various farms in teams, helping to bring in the harvest. After that, they went off to Somerset, Cornwall and Wiltshire to take advantage of the county fairs there.