Emily

by Valerie Wood

  The woman removed a basket from beneath her cloak and sat gingerly on the chair, then quickly got up again and called the warder who was standing outside. ‘Send more wood for the fire,’ she demanded. ‘And more light.’

  The warder, to Emily’s astonishment, hurried away, to return a few minutes later with a bundle of twigs and a lantern. The woman nodded, but didn’t thank him, and he again locked the gate and waited outside.

  ‘Thank you,’ Emily said gratefully. ‘I don’t know who you are, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’

  ‘It’s not me you should thank, but Mr Francis,’ the woman said softly and removed her hood to reveal, even though the cell was filled with dark shadows, a neat head of fair hair stranded with silver and coiled into a thick chignon at her neck. Not a young woman but a middle-aged one with fine features and large eyes.

  ‘I knew it,’ Emily breathed. ‘I knew if I appealed to him he would help me. I am so grateful,’ she began again, overcome with emotion.

  The woman hushed her. ‘He would have enquired about you even without your letter,’ she said, keeping her voice low so that the warder wouldn’t hear. ‘He read of the case in the newspaper and was of course very concerned, especially’, she added, ‘as his daughter was involved.’

  ‘Oh, but she wasn’t,’ Emily stressed. ‘It was Hugo Purnell, not Miss Deborah – I mean Mrs Purnell, as she now is. It had nothing to do with her.’

  ‘But –’. The woman sounded puzzled, ‘I understood that you damaged one of her pictures. That is what the police are saying.’

  ‘No,’ Emily cried. ‘Mr Hugo said he had bought the picture for her, but it wasn’t true.’ She put her head in her hands and started to sob. ‘It wasn’t the kind of picture a gentleman would buy for his wife! He – he bought it for himself.’

  ‘I see,’ the woman said quietly. ‘And did it offend you? Is that why you damaged it?’

  Emily nodded and wiped her eyes with her shawl. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘He told me that the woman in it reminded him of me. She was naked!’ she breathed, hardly daring to speak of it. ‘I was so ashamed.’

  The woman took a deep breath. ‘And the child you bore? It was Hugo Purnell’s?’

  Emily nodded again, unable to say more, yet feeling such relief that she had told this stranger.

  ‘He will deny it in court, you know that? Even though eventually he will boast to his friends of it.’

  Emily looked up. ‘Will Mr Francis be able to help me? I shall understand if he can’t come himself because of Miss Deborah, but will you be able to see him and tell him? Are you a friend of Mr and Mrs Francis?’

  The woman hesitated. ‘Yes – of Mr Francis. We have known each other for many years, since we were very young. Not Mrs Francis. We have only met once.’

  Emily was puzzled and wondered how she could be a friend of Mr Francis and yet not of his wife; perhaps not of their circle, she thought. She had a pleasant voice and manners, yet did not have the upper-class tone that Mrs Francis had, and Emily knew well enough that Mrs Francis was a stickler for propriety and people knowing their proper place.

  ‘May I know your name?’ she said shyly. ‘When I think of your kindness in coming here, I would like to have your name in my thoughts.’

  ‘My name is Mary,’ she smiled and Emily thought how lovely she was, how her face glowed when she smiled.

  ‘Is that what I may call you?’ she asked. ‘Would it not be impertinent? Don’t you have a married name you would prefer me to use?’

  Mary looked sad for a moment and gazed into the flames of the fire before saying softly, ‘Mary Edwards is my name, Emily, and I am not a married woman, although I am known as Mrs Edwards in my business.’

  ‘Oh,’ Emily said eagerly, ‘I have relatives called Edwards; Hannah Edwards, though she’s dead now, and her grandson is Sam Edwards.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Mary looked her full in the face and there was grief written there. ‘Samuel is my son.’

  There was silence between them. Mary Edwards sat with her hands folded in her lap as she waited for Emily to absorb the knowledge she had given her. Then Emily whispered, ‘Was it shame that drove you away? I felt shame when I gave birth. I knew I would be considered impure, a fallen woman, even though it wasn’t my fault.’

  Mary shook her head. ‘No. I felt no shame at giving birth to a child whose father I loved and who loved me. No, it went much deeper than that. I knew that if I left, both my son and his father would have a better life without me.’

  ‘But no-one knows who is Sam’s father!’

  ‘No,’ Mary said. ‘They don’t. Not even my mother knew, though sometimes I wondered how she didn’t guess.’

  ‘Sam is a good man,’ Emily explained tenderly, ‘but he needs to be looked after. Mr Francis has placed him with a family on a farm in Holderness and they are taking care of him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mary smiled. ‘I know. I know everything about him. How he has grown from childhood into manhood. What work he does, what his pleasures are. I even know about you from the time you went to live with my mother.’

  Emily’s own problems faded into the background as she listened, astonished at this revelation.

  ‘Your father’, said Mary, ‘was my cousin. We were very close when we were young. That’s why you were sent to my mother when he became so ill. He and your mother knew that you would be well cared for, they knew how she had cared for Samuel.’

  ‘But your mother would have stood by you. Why didn’t you stay with her?’

  ‘I came to see you, Emily, and attend to your needs,’ Mary admonished gently. ‘What happened to me is in the past. We must look to your future now.’

  Emily, brought back to the present, looked at her with a frightened expression. ‘I don’t think I have one,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t see further than the hangman.’

  ‘Hush, hush. Don’t speak so,’ Mary chided. ‘We must think of what is the best thing to do. Is there anyone who will speak on your behalf?’

  ‘No-one,’ she said. ‘I have no family. Only Sam,’ she added, ‘and he can’t help me. I have no influential friends. There’s only Mr Francis and he knew me only for a short time.’

  ‘He will do what he can,’ Mary assured her, ‘but it is a little difficult for him. His wife –’. She hesitated. ‘His wife will object if she finds out. Because of your connection with me,’ she added.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Emily began. ‘Your connection with me? Why should she object?’

  ‘We are related, Emily. I explained that your father was my cousin!’ She took a deep breath. ‘And Roger Francis is Samuel’s father.’

  The hour of her visit passed quickly as she related the story of how she and Roger Francis had fallen in love when she was a servant girl and he the son of the house where she worked. She emptied her basket of the things she had brought for Emily. A warm shawl. Soap and towel, a new hairbrush and cotton handkerchiefs. A small tin containing sweetcake, and some fruit, which she pressed her to eat for its goodness. Then she brought out a small posy of sweet-smelling flowers. ‘Not practical, I know,’ she smiled, ‘but I thought they might cheer you.’

  Emily pressed her nose into the fragrance, then she looked up at her. ‘I remember you! I’ve seen you in the florist’s shop!’

  Mary nodded. ‘It’s my shop. Roger Francis bought it for me over twenty years ago. But’, she said proudly, ‘I paid him back every penny, even though he didn’t want me to. I wanted to be beholden to no-one. I didn’t want anyone to say that I was a kept woman.’

  ‘And – and –’. Emily was hesitant, not wanting to pry. ‘Do you love him still?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ There was a radiance about her as she answered and once more Emily thought how lovely she was and that there was little wonder that Mr Francis had fallen in love with her. ‘More than ever.’

  ‘And he? Does he still –?’

  Mary lowered her eyes and Emily felt she had intruded, that she shouldn’t have been so imp
ertinent as to ask the question, but then Mary looked up and laughed. ‘Yes. I’m happy to say that he does.’

  After she had gone, Emily lay on the mattress with her new shawl wrapped around her; it smelt of flowers and dispersed the odour of damp walls and mildew which permeated the building. She thought of all Mary had told her and of what she had not. And piece by piece, bits of the puzzle dropped into place. Remarks made by Mrs Castle, the cook at Elmswell Manor, who had said the master had made a mistake in bringing Emily there. ‘She had known,’ Emily murmured to herself. ‘She had been there a long time. And she had kept the secret all those years.’

  A memory of Mrs Francis came to mind. Of the day when Deborah had let down Emily’s hair so that it streamed around her shoulders. Mrs Francis had been startled when she saw her, she remembered, and had asked, ‘not her daughter’, and Mr Francis had been angry and yet defensive as he denied it.

  I must have reminded her of Mary, she thought. I must have a look of her, the same-shaped face, the same blond hair. And Mr Francis too used to look at me as if he was seeing someone else. She thought of the love that he and Mary still shared, in spite of the differences between them and, inexplicably, Philip Linton and his whispered words to her at Scarborough, came to mind. It is possible then, she mused sleepily, to love someone of a different class! And I didn’t think that it was.

  She slept better that night; she had not been given any further hope, yet now she felt that she wasn’t alone. And I have a kinswoman. Someone I didn’t realize existed; and I feel that she would care about what happened to me.

  Three days later she had another visitor. A man, who said he was a lawyer and had come to consider her case. ‘Mrs Edwards has asked me to represent you,’ he explained. He was a large man in black clothing who seemed to fill the whole of the cell. ‘She speaks highly of you and, although it is a very serious charge against you, there could be mitigating circumstances.’ He looked solemnly at her over a pair of round spectacles as if weighing up her character and explained the procedure of the hearing at the magistrates’ court, when it would be decided whether or not she should stand trial at the Assizes. ‘Well, Miss Hawkins, we will try. We will cheat the hangman if we can.’

  Roger Francis mounted the steps of Mrs Purnell’s house, rang the bell and waited to be admitted to Mrs Purnell’s presence. ‘Forgive me for calling without an appointment, Mrs Purnell,’ he said, on being shown through to her sitting room, ‘but I was in Hull on business and had a desire to see my daughter. I haven’t heard from her for some time, nor has she been on a visit.’ He smiled thinly. ‘She is obviously too busy with the delights of town to think of her Papa.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, Mr Francis. She doesn’t go out much just now.’ Mrs Purnell felt slightly guilty that she didn’t take Deborah with her on her own social visits, but she was such a trial. ‘I, er – I think she is not too well at the moment. This dreadful business’, she waved her hand vaguely, ‘has upset her – has upset us all. I have only just started to go out again myself and then only to friends whom I know won’t expect me to discuss it.’

  ‘Of course,’ he nodded. ‘But Deborah wasn’t actually involved in the disturbance which occurred, I trust?’

  Mrs Purnell looked perplexed. ‘Well, she was there when they found the child.’ She sighed. ‘Such a tiny baby. I have never seen one so small.’

  ‘But it was your son who involved the police?’ he persisted. ‘Over his damaged picture?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she admitted. ‘Had it been left to me, I would never have involved them. I hate this kind of upset, Mr Francis, I really do.’

  He sympathized. ‘I quite agree. There would have been no need for this adverse publicity to sully your name, no newspaper articles for the public to gloat over.’

  ‘Indeed.’ She wiped away a sudden tear. ‘I’m so pleased that you understand, Mr Francis.’

  ‘Well, of course, it affects me also, Mrs Purnell, because of my daughter. We have never had any public scandal; as you know, we keep our problems at home where they belong. However,’ he went on, ‘because of this upset, I have come to ask you if it would be a good idea if I took Deborah home to Holderness until the hearing is over? That is, if she would like to come and if her husband agrees.’

  ‘Oh, what an excellent thought.’ Mrs Purnell was most enthusiastic. ‘And you know that they are in the process of buying a house of their own? It will give Hugo a chance to organize things in Deborah’s absence and have everything ready for her return.’

  ‘I didn’t know they were thinking of moving,’ he said, rather startled. ‘Will Deborah be cared for? Have arrangements been made for a good housekeeper and someone to attend her? She has had you to guide her since her marriage, Mrs Purnell. She has no knowledge of running a household herself.’

  Mrs Purnell clasped her hands in front of her. ‘That is true,’ she murmured. ‘But I’m sure –’. She hesitated. ‘I’m sure that Hugo will attend to those arrangements. Deborah has her personal maid, of course.’ She gave another sigh. ‘But I rather feel that she doesn’t care for the girl very much. Oh, dear. I do wish that we still had Emily. She was such a treasure until she fell from grace.’

  She rang the bell and asked that Deborah should come down, that her father was here to see her, and a moment later they heard her running footsteps as she clattered down the stairs and crashed into the room.

  ‘Oh, Papa! Papa, I’m so pleased to see you.’ She put her arms around him and hugged him. ‘Why did you not write to your little Deborah? I have missed you so much.’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘But I have written to you.’ He smiled, but was concerned at her appearance, at how thin she was and so pale. ‘Several times.’

  ‘Why, Miss Deborah, you know that your father has written to you. Don’t you remember?’ The maid Alice stood in the doorway.

  Deborah froze her with a look. ‘No-one asked you,’ she said rudely. ‘Go away. I will send for you if I need you.’

  Alice swallowed. ‘It’s time for your medication, ma’am. You mustn’t miss a dose.’

  ‘What medication is that?’ Roger Francis enquired anxiously. ‘Have you been ill, my dear?’

  Deborah shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, Papa.’

  ‘When we were in Italy, sir,’ Alice explained nervously, ‘’Mistress was feverish and an Italian physician prescribed some medication.’

  ‘And you are still taking it?’ he asked in consternation. ‘I think you should see an English doctor and ask his opinion.’

  ‘That will be all, Alice,’ Mrs Purnell interrupted. ‘Miss Deborah can take it later if necessary. Leave us now.’

  Deborah sat on a stool at her father’s feet and clasped his knees. ‘How is Mama?’ she asked. ‘And my dear Mrs Brewer? Do they miss me?’

  ‘Indeed they do,’ he said. ‘The house is very quiet without you.’

  Mrs Purnell silently sighed and raised her eyebrows, but made no comment. What she would give for a quiet house again!

  ‘I wondered if you would like to come back to Holderness for a short while?’ he said. ‘For a holiday! The weather is very sharp and crisp, but the roads are still good.’

  Deborah jumped to her feet. ‘Oh, yes please, Papa, I would like that very much.’ She headed for the door. ‘I shall go and tell Alice to pack.’ Then she hesitated, a frown on her forehead. ‘She doesn’t have to come, does she? I shall have Betty Brewer to attend me.’

  ‘Wait, wait,’ he laughed. ‘We must first of all ask your husband if he agrees. He might not want to be without you.’

  Her face changed colour and expression, she became even paler and lost her animation. ‘He won’t mind,’ she whispered. ‘He never minds being without me. I stay with Alice.’

  He felt curiously disturbed. She was frightened, he was sure of it. There was something wrong.

  ‘Hugo won’t mind,’ Mrs Purnell said heartily, ‘and it won’t be for long. Perhaps until your new house is ready.’

>   Deborah stared at her. ‘My new house? What new house?’

  ‘You know, my dear.’ Mrs Purnell gazed back at her. ‘You and Hugo are to have a house of your own instead of living here with me.’

  Deborah came slowly back into the room. ‘No-one told me,’ she whispered. ‘Why didn’t they?’

  ‘But Hugo must have discussed it with you, Deborah. And besides, he took you to look at several houses!’ Mrs Purnell’s many chins wobbled as she patiently explained.

  Deborah shook her head. ‘No. We went for a carriage drive and Hugo and his friends went inside some houses. But I didn’t. I stayed in the carriage with Alice.’

  They heard the front door open and a murmur of voices and Deborah moved closer to her father. ‘There’s Hugo now,’ said Mrs Purnell. ‘You can ask him yourself if you may go, Deborah.’

  As Hugo Purnell entered the room, Roger Francis noticed behind him, in the hallway, the hovering figure of the maid Alice and he assumed, he knew not why, that she had been waiting for her master to return. Hugo strode across to greet him. ‘How do you do, sir! How nice of you to visit us. Don’t you think that Deborah is looking well?’ He took hold of his wife’s hand and squeezed it affectionately. ‘She was not at all well, you know, when we were in Italy. She is not a good traveller, I fear, are you, my love?’

  Deborah stared at her husband and shook her head.

  ‘I understand she has been taking some kind of medication? From a foreign doctor?’ Roger Francis’s tone of voice implied that foreign medicine was not equal to that of English.

  ‘Excellent fellow!’ Hugo rubbed his hands together and leant towards him. ‘Highly recommended. I have his address if you would like it. Deborah has come on in leaps and bounds since she saw him, haven’t you, Debs?’

  His eyes stared mesmerically at Deborah and she wet her lips and nodded, her eyes not leaving his.

  ‘I called’, said Roger Francis, ‘to ask if Deborah would like a visit home, to her old home, that is. Her mother would like to see her and I thought that –’.