The Gamekeeper's Wife

by Clare Flynn

  As soon as the servants had left the room, he said, ‘I will find her. Wherever she has gone, I will seek her out and find her. I intend to marry Martha Walters and you won’t stand in my way. I don’t expect you to understand my reasons. I realise that love is an alien concept to you, but it’s what I feel for her and why I want to spend the rest of my life with her.’

  ‘Nonsense. Love?’ She spoke with a cross between a sneer and a snarl. ‘I’ve told you before. Love is not for people of our class.’

  Putting down his knife and fork he said, ‘And what’s more, I intend my sister to live with us. With her mother and me. As soon as I can arrange for the necessary care. When I’ve found Martha, we will be married and the three of us will move away from here. You’re welcome to the whole damn place. Do with it what you will. All I ask for is my allowance.’

  ‘You ask too much.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I can’t do anything about the choices you make when you are thirty, but until then the provisions of your father’s will established that I have full control over your inheritance. And I have determined that you will not have a penny of your allowance unless you are living under this roof.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I can and I will.’

  ‘Why? Why would you do this, Mother?’

  ‘I ask in turn why you want to do everything to flout my wishes? I expect you to do your duty.’ She emphasised the words. ‘I expect you to marry Lavinia Bourne. I’m prepared for you to sow your wild oats and, once you’re engaged, even delay the marriage for a year or so. But I will not permit you to see that woman again.’

  ‘Permit me?’ Christopher felt his voice rising and the veins on his temples began to throb. ‘I am twenty-six, not twelve, Mother. You can’t tell me what to do. I’ve fought for my country, risked my life, lost my leg and still you persist in treating me as a small child.’

  ‘Because you behave like one. As for the idea of bringing the lunatic bastard child of that woman to live with you – you must have lost your mind too, Christopher. Now I don’t wish to discuss this any more.’ She jangled the bell for the second course.

  The rest of the meal took place in silence as Christopher tried to figure out what to do next. His priority was to find Martha. He had to bring her back. She had to meet her daughter. He dreaded to think what his mother had said to her. If she had believed her child had died, as he was certain she had, she must now be in a state of shock. She must think he’d abandoned her. He would find her wherever she was and make everything all right with her.

  Lying in bed that night he longed to be with Martha. In turmoil as he lurched between blind faith in her and anger that she had lied to him, he was sure if she were with him she’d be able to explain everything. But how? She had lied to him with a cock and bull story about her husband. Lied about having a child. And yet, he refused to accept that she had done so deliberately or maliciously. There had been no mistaking the love he had seen in her eyes.

  Turning on his side he punched his fist into the pillow. He couldn’t help himself. He loved her anyway and longed to be lying here with her in his arms, the fresh scent of her hair as it spread on his pillow, the feel of her skin under his hands, the touch of her lips on his and the memory of how it felt to be inside her.

  Chapter 15

  Christopher spent the next three weeks searching for Martha Walters. He established from Michael, the groom who had taken her in the cart to the station at Ledford, that he had been instructed by Mrs Shipley to purchase a one-way train ticket to London and wait to see Mrs Walters onto the train. Heading straight for London, Christopher stood on the platform at St Pancras, wondering where to start his search.

  Crowds of people thronged the station, all rushing towards their trains, or disembarking from them, only to be absorbed into the vast ocean that was the capital.

  He began by questioning staff on the station, but no one had seen her. Most of the porters he spoke to laughed at him.

  ‘You got any idea ‘ow many people come through ’ere each day?’

  ‘She wouldn’t know where to go. She might have enquired about places to lodge.’

  The porter shrugged. ‘I’m a porter, not a bleeding travel agent.’

  Christopher visited lodging houses in the vicinity of the station, but no one had any recollection of a woman of her description.

  Footsore and dispirited, he broadened the search and tramped his way every day around employment agencies, hostels and guest houses throughout central London, everywhere being greeted by raised eyebrows or shrugs of indifference.

  ‘You reckon this lady would want to be found?’ asked a landlady, putting down the cloth she was using to polish a brass bell on the counter, in order to study him. ‘You say she took off without warning?’ She smiled and said, ‘Sounds to me like she wanted to disappear. Nowhere in the world easier to do that than in London.’ She shrugged, turned away from him and went back to polishing the brass.

  He went to several police stations. If the railway porters, hoteliers and employment agency staff were dismissive, it was nothing compared to the reception he got from the police.

  Defeated, Christopher finally admitted to himself that he was getting nowhere and called on the services of a private investigator.

  The man, a Mr Pontefract, was not encouraging. ‘A name and a description is not much to go on,’ he lamented. ‘You’ve no idea how many people come to London and disappear. She may even be using a different name if she doesn’t want to be found.’ He fixed his gaze on Christopher. ‘You sure there’s no relatives? Friends? And you say she has no occupation?’

  Christopher replied in the negative, beginning to lose heart.

  ‘What’s she going to live on then?’

  Cursing his own stupidity, Christopher remembered that his mother had said she had paid off Martha with a cheque. ‘There’s the bank,’ he said. ‘She will have drawn a cheque on my mother’s account. Perhaps that will give us a clue as to her whereabouts.’

  ‘That’s more like it. Get me the account details and I’ll see what I can find out.’

  ‘But will the bank give out such information?’

  ‘You leave that to me. Best you don’t know. My methods are trade secrets.’ The man winked and Christopher felt as though he were conspiring in something nefarious. But there was no possibility of moral quibbles – finding Martha was all that mattered.

  * * *

  Two days later Mr Pontefract called to say he had unearthed the information.

  ‘The lady drew the sum out from a bank branch in Northington on the same day that you said she travelled to London. It appears she got off the train from Ledford before she reached London.’

  ‘Northington? Are you sure?’

  ‘Are you questioning my integrity, Mr Shipley?’

  ‘Of course not. It makes sense. I should have known. You have done an excellent job.’

  ‘That all? Don’t you want me to go to Northington and try to pick up the trail there?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. I’m confident that I know where to find her.’

  He handed over some notes to Pontefract, who counted them out, grinned and stuffed them into his wallet. ‘That’s most generous, sir. I’m happy to have been of assistance. I trust all will go well between you and the lady concerned.’ He tilted his head and gave an almost imperceptible wink and Christopher felt himself reddening.

  He drove straight to St Crispin’s. As soon as he set foot inside the building, the disinfectant smell assaulted his nose. He made his way along the interminable, brown-tiled corridors to Jane’s ward. Looking through the glass panel in the locked door, he saw that Jane was sleeping, head slumped forward, chin on chest and mouth slightly open. Her hair was clean – glossy and tied back neatly with a ribbon, rather than hanging in the greasy rats’ tails of his previous visit.

  A nurse was sitting at a desk at the top of the ward. It was a different
one from his last visit. She opened the door. ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  ‘I’ve come to visit Jane Walters, but I can see she’s asleep. I haven’t picked a good time.’

  ‘She always has forty winks after she’s eaten her dinner. Might I ask who you are?’

  ‘My name is… Shipley, Captain Shipley.’ There was no point in continuing with the story he had used last time. ‘I’m a relative. I called on her about three or four weeks ago. I’d intended to return sooner but I had urgent business to attend to.’

  ‘Isn’t Jane a lucky girl? Another visitor. There’s a lady who’s been coming. Every day for the past few weeks. Isn’t that strange – no visitors in a whole lifetime and then two of you appear out of nowhere.’

  He hesitated for a moment, then decided to plunge onwards. ‘I presume you mean Mrs Martha Walters?’

  ‘You know her then? Well, of course you do. You said you were a relative.’

  ‘Has she visited today?’

  The nurse smiled at him. ‘All morning. Stayed with her until after dinner. Feeds her she does. Said she be back later once Jane’s had her nap.’

  ‘Any idea when that will be?’

  The nurse lifted her fob watch and checked the time. ‘In about half an hour or so. She likes to be here ready, as soon as Jane wakes up. Devoted she is. Apparently she only recently found out the poor creature was in here. I suppose it’s the same for you?’ She was evidently eager for him to tell her more about this sudden convergence of relatives on a previously neglected inmate.

  ‘Thank you for your help, Nurse. I’ll return another time.’

  Christopher hurried back along the corridor. He would sit in the motor car and watch and wait for Martha’s return.

  He saw her approaching long before she saw him. He watched her tall slim figure as she moved up the drive in her familiar brown coat and shapeless felt hat. Kit felt a surge of desire as she moved towards him, oblivious of his presence in the parked car. When she was a few yards away she saw him through the windscreen and stopped in her tracks.

  Kit got out of the car and took her arm, steering her towards the vehicle. ‘Get in,’ he said. ‘We can talk inside.’

  Martha hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously towards the front door of St Crispin’s, and then slipped into the passenger seat. ‘I’ve never been inside a motor car.’

  He turned to face her and then, unable to stop himself, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He held her face in his hands and gazed into the dark pools of her eyes, looking for the truth in them. ‘I’ve searched high and low for you. I was desperate. Terrified I might never see you again. That I’d lost you forever.’ He stroked a finger down her cheek and ran it over the contour of her lips. ‘Oh, my darling Martha, I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d lost you. But why? Why did you tell me all those lies?’

  Martha turned her head away, leaning it against the windowpane. ‘I didn’t lie. I’d no idea about Jane. Do you think I’d have abandoned her if I’d known? I thought she was dead. That’s what they all told me. Then I think I wiped everything that happened out of my mind. When Mrs Shipley told me I’d had a child I thought at first she was lying. But I knew about Mr Shipley. That he was the father. That he was the one who did those things to me.’ She put her hands over her face. ‘But how could I tell you that?’

  Kit stared ahead out of the windscreen. He knew she was telling him the truth, but it still hurt.

  ‘Walters never touched me. Not that way. Not as a husband. But he was responsible for the beatings. That was all true. They only stopped when Da died and he moved into the other bedroom. I think sharing a bed with me was a source of shame to him.’ She paused, running her finger down the glass window. ‘But Jane. How can I forgive myself for what happened to her? Why didn’t I insist on seeing her body when they told me she was dead?’

  ‘You were in shock. You’d suffered so much. Everything my father did to you. The beatings from Walters. And, according to Mother, you almost died giving birth. She said your labour lasted for days. And you were a child. It’s no wonder you wanted to blot it all out.’ He reached for her hand and held it, stroking it. ‘The mind can do strange things. I know that from what I saw in the war. Men who one day were laughing and brawling, next day reduced to blubbering babies. Men who forgot their own names. How to talk. Some even became blind or deaf with no physical damage to the eyes and ears.’ He bent his head over her hand and kissed it.

  ‘If people go through an experience that is truly shocking to them, or terrifying, their mind can completely block out the memory, as if it never happened. I think that’s what happened to you.’

  Her eyes filled with tears and he pulled her towards him, holding her with her head resting against his chest. He felt the warmth of her breath through his shirt.

  ‘Martha, my love, you must come away with me. I want us to go back to Newlands and I will confront my mother. Later we will bring Jane back too. I want to marry you and then together we can care for Jane.’

  He felt her body stiffen.

  ‘I won’t leave her. Not ever. Even for a day.’ She pulled away from him. ‘I need to go now. She will be waking and I want to be there.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. I promised I would return to see her again.’

  She nodded. ‘I’ve asked them to find me work here. As a cleaner. So I can be with her. I start next week.’

  Kit grabbed her arm. ‘No. I won’t have you doing that. I’ll pay for your lodgings until we can make the necessary arrangements to bring Jane out.’

  Her eyes were brimming with tears. ‘She can never come out of here. The doctor told me she’s completely institutionalised. She would be distressed at the change in her surroundings. I can’t allow that to happen. Staying here is the best thing for her.’ Martha took the handle of the door and stepped outside the motor. Impatient, Kit followed her.

  As they walked through the building he spoke again of his dream that they marry and live with Jane.

  Martha stared straight ahead as she answered him. ‘Your mother would never permit it. She made her position absolutely clear to me. And you can’t possibly expect her to accept Jane, knowing her origins, quite apart from the shame of her idiocy.’

  She was right. And his mother could veto his allowance until he was thirty. He couldn’t even afford to set up house with Martha somewhere else. It was imperative he reach some form of accommodation with Edwina. He couldn’t bear to think of Martha scrubbing floors to be close to her daughter.

  As soon as they entered the ward they heard Jane crying. Martha threw him a glance, full of recrimination, and rushed towards the young woman where she was sitting in the chair, thrashing her arms about. He watched, mesmerised as Martha knelt before Jane, wrapped her daughter in her arms and cooed words of comfort to her until the sobbing subsided.

  Martha turned to look at him. ‘You should go, Kit. It will take me some time to calm her. She must have thought I wasn’t coming back. She’s so fragile and so trusting. It’s taken time for her to accept me and I can’t risk hurting her. Please go, my love. Please.’

  ‘What time will you leave here? Where are you staying?’

  ‘I’m in lodgings opposite the gates. I’m staying with an elderly lady.’

  ‘I’m going to wait for you. I’ll book us a room in a hotel.’

  ‘I can’t walk into a hotel with you. What would people think?’

  ‘If anyone asks, we’ll tell them we’re married. But I’m sure no one will. I’m going to book the room now and I’ll be back later to fetch you.’ He spoke quietly, looking around to make sure there were no nurses within earshot.

  She nodded.

  Taking a last look at his still sobbing sister, he ran his hands over Jane’s hair, bent and kissed the top of her head then left the ward.

  * * *

  Kit was right about the hotel. The place was so busy no one gave him a second glance when he booked in. Northington was a bustling market town and he had been
lucky to secure the last available room, tomorrow being market day. He walked around the town to kill time and then arranged for a plate of sandwiches and a flask of tea to be left in his room for later and returned to St Crispin’s to collect Martha.

  She told him she had eventually calmed Jane and left her sleeping. They drove the short journey into the centre of the town in silence. As soon as the door to their room was closed behind them they were in each other’s arms.

  ‘I was so afraid,’ she said at last. ‘Afraid that you would hate me because of your father. I was scared your mother would convince you that I went with him willingly.’

  He frowned. ‘She tried. I didn’t believe her. But it still cuts me to the quick, Martha, that you lied to me.’ He dropped his embrace.

  ‘What else could I do? I was ashamed of what he’d done to me. And when I got to know you, I was terrified you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me if you knew your father had…’ She began to cry. ‘I never meant to fall in love with you, I tried to stop seeing you but I couldn’t.’

  He felt as though his heart was breaking. ‘I’m so sorry, Martha. My father was a monster. And as for my mother – what did she say to you?’

  ‘She told me you didn’t want to have anything more to do with me once you knew I’d lied about your father and the baby. But I didn’t lie about Jane. They never even let me see her. When they told me she’d died I tried to put the whole terrible experience out of my head. And as I had no baby to show for it, I must have convinced myself it had never happened. How was I supposed to tell you?’