Seth didn’t finish his sentence. He made a vow to himself never to mention Caroline again. Fleur – how easy it was thinking of her as that already – would need to know sometime but not for years and years hopefully, by which time she’d be used to her name and to Emma as her mother.
Emma shivered beside him.
‘I’ll soon warm you up, sweetheart,’ he said.
‘I hoped you might say that.’ Emma squeezed his hand tight. ‘I know Fleur wasn’t in my plan, but …’
They’d reached their room now and Seth took the blanket from her shoulders, dropped it onto a chair, and lifted her into bed.
‘But what?’ Seth said, climbing in beside her.
‘Make love to me, Seth,’ Emma said. ‘I’ve got another plan. A brother or sister for Fleur would be better coming along sooner rather than later. What do you think?’
‘I think,’ Seth said, gently easing her nightdress from her shoulders, ‘that each plan you have is better than the one before.’
‘Christmas Day lunch is very, very late this year in the Jago household.’ Emma giggled. She felt light-headed, not just from the large tumbler of sherry Seth had poured for her, but because any danger in re-acquainting herself with Matthew was no longer there. She’d put a match to the letter, then watched the flame take hold and climb high in the air, before throwing it into yet more flames in the range to make doubly sure. Gone. Burnt. The spark of something she hadn’t understood then, that the charismatic and rather dangerous Matthew Caunter had ignited in the younger, unworldly, Emma snuffed out forever.
Taking advantage of a sleeping Fleur, she and Seth had made love so many times she’d lost count. They’d dozed fitfully in between each glorious, loving, satisfying union, then woken to do it all over again – Emma’s tiredness from the day before completely dissipated.
And now it was almost four o’clock and the light was already fading outside. Fleur had been fed – not just milk but some sieved oatmeal mixed in with it, the way she remembered her mama doing for Johnnie when he’d been a baby – and was sleeping on the leather chaise longue in the corner of the kitchen. Seth had been insistent on them having a chaise longue in the large kitchen because there’d been one at Hilltop when he was a child and he had fond memories of sitting on it while his mother busied herself doing something or other with the cook.
For the briefest of seconds, Emma wondered if Seth had known months ago about Fleur’s existence and that this was why he’d insisted on having the chaise longue – knowing his daughter would feature in his life at some stage. But now didn’t seem the time to ask.
‘More sherry?’ Seth asked, rather anxiously Emma thought, almost as though he’d been reading her thoughts.
‘I’ll put some in the gravy,’ Emma said, taking the bottle from him, pouring in a generous slug. ‘I’ve already had far more than is seemly. Lunch is nearly ready.’
‘I’m glad you persuaded me not to invite Olly and his mother to Christmas lunch,’ Seth said. ‘We’d have had some explaining to do about Fleur, wouldn’t we?’
‘We would,’ Emma agreed. ‘And if you can keep your hands off me long enough once we’ve eaten, we’ll talk about how we’re going to explain away Fleur’s arrival.’
‘It’ll be hard,’ Seth said. ‘Keeping my hands off you, I mean. But I’ll exert some self-discipline.’
Emma laughed. ‘Not if last night is anything to go by! Not for nothing are more babies born nine months after Christmas than at any other time.’
‘Gosh, you’re full of information, you are,’ Seth said, stealing a kiss.
Emma laughed. ‘Aren’t I just.’
Her heart was full of love for Seth and the way he’d immediately taken responsibility for his daughter. Yes, Emma was still in shock that Seth’s time with Caroline had resulted in Fleur’s arrival, and that he hadn’t told her he knew about the baby before the child had been unceremoniously dumped on Emma’s table in the bakery, but then, she was keeping a little secret of her own from Seth, wasn’t she? Even if that secret had been burned beyond saving …
There was no need for him ever to know.
Emma crossed her fingers and sent up a silent prayer that their lovemaking would result in a child of their own by September.
‘Fleur?’ Mrs Drew said, when she arrived mid-morning the day after Boxing Day to clean at Mulberry House. She picked up the baby from the chaise longue and began rocking her in her arms. ‘One of your fancy French names, no doubt?’
‘Rose is the same in both languages and I wanted to give her a French name. Fleur is the French for flower.’
‘And a beautiful one she is and all. Jago through and through with that candle-straight black ’air she’s got. Now you get off to that bakery of yours and get on with some work. And if my Edward doesn’t come up to your standards or shirks or is rude, come and tell me and I’ll give ’im a cuff about ’is ears.’
‘Not in my house, you won’t,’ Emma said. But she knew Mrs Drew’s threats were rarely carried through.
Edward had looked shocked when Emma called at breakfast time and asked if he wanted to work for her. She knew he wasn’t good at his reading or his numbers, but that he was good at drawing. Artistic. Gentle despite his large size.
Taking Edward on as an apprentice would be Seth and Emma’s way of saying thank you to Mrs Drew for all she did for them, but it would free up a bit of time for Emma, too.
In the end Edward hadn’t taken much persuasion and he couldn’t get up to Mulberry House quick enough. He was in the bakery now mixing pastry and making a good job of it, if the first batch Emma had watched him make was anything to go by.
‘Thanks,’ Emma said, ‘for getting all this.’
She waved an arm towards the table where baby clothes and underpinnings were piled high. Sheets and blankets were due to be delivered that afternoon from Rossiters to go with the cot on order from Cyril Jonas the cabinetmaker. Mrs Drew had been instructed to tell everyone to send the bills to Seth.
‘I wouldn’t have known where to start,’ Emma said.
‘People would have questioned your need of it, while they didn’t question mine. And if they ’ad, then they wouldn’t ’ave ’ad much change out of me! Besides, they all knows I works for your Seth and ’e’s a generous man in so many ways – not least with ’is money. Don’t you worry, lovie, this’ll be a five-minute wonder. ’Ave you worked out what story you’re goin’ to spread about? About ’ow Fleur got ’ere, I mean? Other than the normal route!’
Mrs Drew laughed which only served to bring on a bout of coughing. Emma went to the cupboard for the cough mixture she’d bought specially. Although Mrs Drew had said her cough was getting better, it patently wasn’t.
‘It’s just a tickle, lovie,’ Mrs Drew said, giving her breastbone a little thump. ‘Dr Shaw says I ’aven’t got any infection.’
‘Good.’
‘So, back to my question. ’Ave you decided what story you’re goin’ to spread about? So I tell the same one.’
‘No. I’ll let you know when I’ve thought of something.’
After their Christmas Day meal, Emma had been too tired to bring up the subject with Seth, and he hadn’t mentioned it either.
‘Well, whatever it is, it’ll be a five-minute wonder like I said. Now ’aven’t you got something you should be gettin’ on with?’
‘I have. Six crab tarts for the Esplanade Hotel for afternoon tea. Seth’s going to be back from the solicitor in time to drive them over.’
Mrs Drew pressed her lips together and her head bobbed up and down. Emma could tell she was itching to ask what Seth had gone to see the solicitor about, but knew it wasn’t her place to ask.
‘He’s changing the baby’s name from Rose to Fleur by deed poll, in case you’re wondering,’ Emma said, with a laugh. ‘Seeing as he’s her father and his name’s on the birth certificate. Or at least he’s going to try.’
Emma hoped and prayed that Mrs Prentiss wouldn’t have to return to sign
any papers.
‘This ain’t the start you wanted for your marriage is it, lovie?’ Mrs Drew said.
‘No. But it’s what we’ve got.’
I hadn’t wanted to be orphaned so young, or to be made homeless and have such a struggle to survive either, Emma thought, but she’d managed to cope with all that and she’d cope with this, wouldn’t she?
‘Ooooh, you are a scrumptious little darlin’,’ Mrs Drew said, and for a moment Emma thought she was talking about her, but it was Fleur she was referring to, plonking noisy kisses on the baby’s forehead. ‘I couldn’ wait to get up ’ere to be with the little miss. Now, off with you.’
Mrs Drew took Emma’s shawl from the back of the kitchen chair and deftly fashioned a sort of sling around herself and baby Fleur. Emma wondered if it was safe to have the baby so close to the body. Wouldn’t she be squashed when Mrs Drew – no sylph – bent down?
‘I can read your mind like it’s an open book. This baby is goin’ to be perfectly safe with me. It’ll save me ’aving to stop the polishin’ or whatever it is I’m doin’ to see to her, won’t it? And I don’t suppose that stiff, uppity, mother of ’ers ’as over-burdened the poor mite with cuddles. Am I right?’
Emma nodded.
‘Now, just go, Emma. Go!’
Emma went.
Seth needed to clear his head. Rose arriving in their lives had thrown him emotionally. Emma was being wonderfully reasonable about it all, but he knew how hard it must be for her, especially with her business to run. So, leaving the car at home, he’d walked down to the solicitor. But now he left Bettesworth’s offices with a heavy heart. Although he knew that the solicitor himself wouldn’t divulge the name of Fleur’s mother, there were others there – a secretary, an articled clerk, a filing clerk – who would see the papers. What if, in an unguarded moment by one of them, news of Fleur were to get back to Caroline’s parents? Would the Maunders want custody of their granddaughter? While Seth didn’t think that likely, he couldn’t discount the possibility. Fleur had been with him and Emma such a short time and yet he couldn’t imagine being without her now; couldn’t bear to think what the child’s life would be like with her birth mother. For the Maunders to take on their daughter’s child might be the best option for Emma, though.
What a woman she was! The way she’d accepted Fleur, if not readily, then with compassion. He was so lucky to have her – although not married to her yet. Perhaps, when she became pregnant with their own child, Emma would be more keen to make their union legal in the eyes of the law. He hoped so. Emma was part of him now. He’d noticed that when they walked together that he shortened his stride to allow for hers being shorter, and she lengthened hers so that they met somewhere in the middle. And they were forever having the same thought at the same time, able to guess what the other was thinking.
Seth checked the time on the pocket watch Emma had given him very late on Christmas Day. He’d forgotten to give her the pearl earrings he’d bought for her until she’d presented him with his gift. But oh, how she’d loved them.
‘What a pair we are!’ Emma had laughed as she’d fixed the earrings on. ‘Our first Christmas Day together and we forgot to exchange presents until almost midnight!’
It was not quite a quarter past eleven. Time yet before Seth needed to be back. No doubt Mrs Drew was coping admirably with the cleaning and with Fleur, and Emma would be busy teaching Edward how to make pastry or whatever it was she wanted him to do. Seth thought he would go and see Olly, see if that offer of a job in his boatyard was still open. Yes, that idea was beginning to appeal more and more. He knew he only had himself to blame for Fleur’s existence, but still … he was doing his best to right his mistake.
‘Emma, you can’t,’ Ruby said.
‘I can so,’ Emma retorted. In all the brouhaha over Fleur’s sudden arrival in her life, Emma had quite forgotten that Ruby had promised to call at Mulberry House that afternoon. She’d been on the point of leaving with Fleur when Ruby arrived. ‘Seth’s not back and he said he would be. Mrs Drew and Edward have gone home because they’ve got family visiting this afternoon, so what other option do I have?’
A cold frisson of fear fluttered up Emma’s spine as to where Seth might be. She’d phoned Bettesworth’s and a clerk had informed her that Seth had left just after eleven o’clock. God forbid that Caroline Prentiss might have turned up again and he’d gone to meet her somewhere. Would she ever be able to rid herself of the suspicion that when Seth wasn’t with her, he might be with Caroline Prentiss – or on some business connected to her, as he had been when he’d gone to see the solicitor?
‘But ladies can’t drive cars.’
‘Who says they can’t? I didn’t see a sign saying “No Ladies” anywhere.’
‘But you ’aven’t learned ’ow!’
‘I’ve sat beside Seth enough times and seen how he does it. And I haven’t got a choice. These tarts have got to be at the Esplanade Hotel for afternoon tea and Seth’s not here to take me. He said he would but, as you see, he isn’t.’
‘Where is ’e, then?’
‘He had a business appointment. I think it might have gone on longer than he thought it would.’ That was as much as Ruby needed to know. ‘Do you want to carry the tarts or Fleur to the car?’
‘Who says I’m coming with you? I could stop ’ere with the baby.’
‘But we wouldn’t have the chance to catch up with one another if you do that, would we?’
The thought of driving Seth’s car for the first time – and with a baby on the seat beside her – was almost too terrifying to contemplate, but it had to be done. If Ruby came it wouldn’t be quite so terrifying though.
‘This baby ain’t yours, and that’s a fact. You didn’ ’ave no baby in you when we had tea together just before Christmas. And when I saw you in September your stomach was flatter’n a washboard in that fancy frock Mr Smythe got you. You know, the night Carter Jago was ’anged and you ran out of Nase Head House like a scalded cat.’
‘I know which night that was and I don’t need reminding of it, thank you. What’s more, I’d rather you didn’t bring either of those names into the conversation if you don’t mind. But you’re right. Fleur isn’t my baby.’ Emma took a deep breath. ‘Or Seth’s.’
‘Whose is it then? She looks like a Jago, mind, with that ’air. Tiny little thing. ’Ow old is she?’
Emma had to think fast. She and Seth had intended to talk about what story they were going to put about how Fleur had come into their lives, but seeing to Fleur herself, and Seth with his boats to attend to, and Emma her baking, had meant that it just hadn’t happened.
‘Four months and a little bit. She was born on July 16th.’
‘Blimey. Must’ve been like shelling a pea if ’er’s still this small. Going to tell me who ’er parents are, then?’
‘Seth’s cousin, Frank’s. His wife, Mary, died in childbirth and Frank’s gone mad with grief,’ Emma lied. ‘He’s been put away and it isn’t likely he’ll be coming out of the institution.’ It was terrifying how lies came so easily to mind, how silkily they tripped off her tongue. To save her own skin – and now Fleur’s.
‘Hmm,’ Ruby said. ‘I ain’t that sure as I believe you. You id’n lookin’ at me when you says it.’
‘It’s because it’s been such a shock,’ Emma said.
She faced Ruby and told the same lies over again, her eyes never leaving Ruby’s gaze for a second. And without blinking.
‘They live in Canada,’ Emma added. ‘Fleur’s grandfather, Seth’s Uncle Silas, is too old to care for her and so is his wife. So they sent her here. Fleur arrived with an escort on Christmas Eve. A nurse. A—’
‘’Ere,’ Ruby interrupted. ‘I thought you said you was in an ’urry to get these tarts over to Paignton. You’ll be tellin’ me the colour of the nurse’s eyes next!’
Emma burst out laughing. ‘Blue,’ she said, hugging her friend. ‘Her eyes were blue. Now are you going to carry Fleur while I ca
rry the tarts and get in the car, or not?’
‘I’ll carry Fleur,’ Ruby said. She whisked the baby up into her arms and walked towards the door. ‘They’ll never believe I’ve been out in a car when I get back and tell them!’
Emma stowed the tarts on the back seat and Ruby clambered on board with the baby on her lap. Emma closed the door on her friend, glad to have her there for Dutch courage, even if Ruby would chatter all the way. She’d have to stay focused, keep her eyes on the road, not go too fast down hill. She hoped she was strong enough to pull on the handbrake.
Then she cranked the engine over with the starting handle – two-handed, and it took longer than it took Seth doing it with one – and got into the driver’s seat.
‘Oh, I wish I ’ad a camera so I could ’ave a photograph of me in it, Em, I really do. Evidence. They’ll never believe me.’
‘Yes, they will,’ Emma said. ‘I’ll drive past Nase Head House really slowly so the gardener sees you. How will that be?’
‘Tom,’ Ruby said. ‘’E’s the gardener. It were Tom who read your letter to me, remember? Give me time to wave to ’im.’
‘You’re not afraid of Mr Smythe knowing you’ve come to see me, then?’
‘Tom won’t tell. But I’m not afraid of Mr Smythe. Not a bit. Them suffergets ’ave got somethin’. ’Ere’s you runnin’ a business with your fancy tarts and drivin’ a car. And being stepmother or whatever it is you are to this little ’un.’
Emma gasped at Ruby’s use of the term ‘stepmother’. How close to the truth she was with that remark!
‘The Jagos do have strong looks – a bit Spanish,’ Emma said, feeling more than a little flustered. Not least because Seth’s Uncle Silas wasn’t a Jago – he was Seth’s mother’s brother.
She released the handbrake carefully.
‘Do they now?’ Ruby giggled. ‘Anythin’ else I should know about?’
‘Not that I can think of at the moment,’ Emma said.
But if her life so far was anything to go by, there was bound to be something.
Emma: There's No Turning Back Page 8