The Captain's Daughter

by Leah Fleming

  ‘Then let me enlighten you, Reverend, dear father-in-law. Your daughter, my wife, has stolen my only son and brought him to this wretched place, and she’s not going to get away with it.’

  ‘Get away with what?’

  ‘Kidnapping what’s mine.’

  ‘There must be some mistake. Celestine’s not here. Besides, surely a mother can’t kidnap her own son? Even if that were the case, a child is not a possession to be owned. Roderick belongs to no one but himself.’ He was staring up at his portrait on the mantelpiece, winded by the news.

  ‘Oh, quit your sermons,’ Grover snapped. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ve been under the impression that she was with you. Her letters have said nothing to make me think otherwise.’

  ‘I don’t believe you! You know something, or she does . . . Look at her, quaking in her shoes . . . Well? I’m all ears.’ Grover turned to May, towering over her.

  May started to explain but the words wouldn’t come. The canon did his best to defend her.

  ‘If this is your attitude, kindly leave this house until you’ve calmed down . . . I can’t have you upsetting my housekeeper.’

  ‘I’m not finished with you yet.’ Grover stood tall in his smart suit, every inch the prosperous businessman, wagging his finger at them both. ‘You tell my wife, wherever the hell she is, if she thinks she can run away from me she has another think coming. I’ll find her. She has something that belongs to me. As for this woman, I know now who you are. You and your kind put the idea in her head, you and those man-hating banner wavers. Votes for Women! You’ve turned her mind!’ He glared at May, willing her to break down. ‘Do you know where she is?’

  He was just like old Cartwright, the bullying overseer in the Bolton cotton mill, who’d tried to browbeat his girls with taunts and threats of dismissal. The one who demanded favours when no one was looking. They’d all clubbed together and complained, and it was he who had got the sack. May knew his sort and was having none of him.

  ‘No, sir, and if I did, it’s not my place to break a confidence.’

  ‘So she told you then . . .’

  ‘No, I know nothing.’

  ‘Ah, but you’ve told me everything. Cunning vixen. She never left the States, did she? Thank you.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything . . .’ May protested.

  ‘It’s what you don’t say that’s given the game away.’ He was staring at the mantelpiece. ‘And here’s the proof, a neat little photo for Grandpa . . . My, how’s he’s grown. I’ve not seen him for five years. How do you think that makes me feel?’ For the first time May recognized pain on his face, and longing. He examined the photo closely and then put it back with a smile. ‘I bid you both good day. Thank you for putting my mind at rest. Your daughter can go to hell but don’t let her think I’d let her take my son. My lawyers will see to that.’

  With that he turned, bowed his head under the doorway and slammed the door shut.

  Canon Forester lay back on his sofa, white-faced and breathless. ‘What an unpleasant young man! I don’t recall Celeste’s husband being anything other than charm itself. What on earth was all that about? Do you know?’

  ‘I’m afraid I do. I promised I would help Celeste when she wrote but she never explained fully.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Does my son know too?’

  May bent her head, not wanting to look him in the eye. ‘It wasn’t my place.’

  ‘Oh, but it is now, my dear. You’re her friend and I’m her father. You must warn her wherever she is to come home, and soon. I take it you’ve been posting my letters to her? You don’t think he’ll find her, do you?’

  ‘I didn’t until he picked up Roderick’s portrait, the one I wanted you to put in a frame. Have you seen the stamp on the back? I’ve dusted round it often enough . . . It’s from a photographer’s studio, Cohen’s in Washington. He saw it too. We have to warn her.’

  ‘Send her a telegram. Go to the post office and send it immediately. What on earth has gone wrong? I don’t think Grover will take a no for an answer, not by the look of him. He wasn’t like this when they married . . . Poor Celeste, she must have had good reason to leave but I wish I’d known . . . If only her mother were here . . . they were so close. You must tell me everything you know.’

  May rushed to the post office, unsettled by the encounter. The thought that Mr Parkes was in Lichfield was a worry, but it was bound to have happened sooner or later. Would he follow her home and try to make her reveal more?

  Grover Parkes was handsome and successful but there was a sneer to his lips and an icy coolness in those grey eyes. What had happened to make Celeste run away? She would write her own letter to follow the telegram. Celeste was in danger. That was for certain. He would try to rob her of her son and that must never happen. May knew only too well how precious one’s child was. Few words were needed to convey the urgency of her appeal.

  ‘PARKES IS HERE. LETTER TO FOLLOW KNOWS ABOUT DC. COME HOME NOW MS.’

  56

  Washington

  Ten days later Celeste was busy choosing vegetables in Eastern Market, having rushed from her office back home in time for Roddy. Since that telegram had arrived from Lichfield, warning her about Grover’s visit, she’d been frantically making plans. No one must know of their imminent departure. Today she must prepare for the girls’ refinement class, baking English scones – or muffins, as they called them – with the last of the wineberry jam. If she hurried there’d be time to lay out the parlour ready for the usual line-up of polite introductions: how to sit down and when to stand, how to put guests at their ease and keep conversations from flagging.

  It was all so ridiculous in this modern age. Her pupils were spirited girls who must aspire to more than just marriage and the social round. How easily she’d been sucked onto that carousel and how hard it was to jump off. Sure, she missed some of the trappings of comfort and money but such luxury came at a price. To be free was all that mattered.

  After May’s letter telling her of the encounter in the Close, the first thing she’d done was bob her hair and darken it with strong tea. Red hair was so noticeable. She was glad to have shed all those ringlets. All the women she worked with had bobbed their hair. It made her feel shorn of her girlhood at first, but neat cloche hats and berets covered her giveaway colour. The fashion for hobbled skirts was giving way to shorter ones but she hadn’t the money to follow the latest fads. A black two-piece suit served her well enough, and it was sufficiently dowdy to help her blend into the bustling crowds and shoppers.

  Suddenly some instinct made her turn round as she sensed someone at her side, close enough to be staring at her before turning to their purchase with a half-smile of recognition. It was a middle-aged man in a homburg and mackintosh who stank of cheap cigar smoke. Celeste felt a stab of fear. Had she seen him before, somewhere on the tramcar? Was he following her? Her heart was floundering in panic. If he was, that could only mean . . . She dropped her bag of carrots and made for the exit, not looking back, knowing the side streets around Eastern Market, and making a detour towards the Naval Hospital, where she had to cross Pennsylvania Avenue. She hoped she’d given him the slip. The sidewalks were crowded and she tried not to run but when she came to a line of shops close to South Carolina Avenue, she found herself darting into a shop, breathless and sweating with fear.

  ‘Can I help?’ A woman, also in black, stepped forward.

  ‘There’s a man following me,’ Celeste blurted. ‘A man in a black homburg, He’s been following me.’ She could hardly spit out the words.

  ‘Come with me,’ said the woman kindly. ‘There’s a back entrance out of the store. If he comes in here, he’ll wish he hadn’t. Where’re you heading?’

  ‘D Street . . . South. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re not American?’

  ‘English,’ she smiled. ‘Which is the quickest route from here to D Street?’

  ‘Make for 12th or 13th and
keep heading down towards Kentucky Avenue. There are plenty of back alleys for cover. You just leave him to me, honey. Out the yard and down the passage. Good luck.’

  ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Celeste stammered.

  ‘We widows must stick together. They think we’re easy pickings without a man.’

  Celeste didn’t contradict her. All she could think of was getting back to Roddy. What if Grover had sent this man to snatch him? What if he had him already? May had told her about the photo and the studio address on the back. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to make enquiries about obtaining a copy. He didn’t know her new name but perhaps the assistant would ferret out their appointment date or something? What if this man had been following her routine and she hadn’t noticed until now? She ran until her lungs were bursting, not daring to see if he was in sight. It was such a relief to see Roddy, waiting on the step for her return, oblivious to her panic.

  ‘Come inside!’ she yelled, her hands shaking as she tried to turn the lock.

  ‘Aw . . . Mom!’

  ‘Come inside now!’ she screamed, dragging him out of sight of the street, bolting the door behind them. ‘Has anyone been here asking for me?’

  Roddy looked up, shaking his head. ‘Do I have to get changed?’

  ‘Not today. I want you to pack all your favourite things in the carpetbag, the one under the stairs, and some books –just special ones, though. I’m going to pack our case.’

  ‘We’re going on a vacation?’

  ‘Sort of . . . a trip north.’

  ‘But you’ve got the tea party. It’s Thursday,’ he said.

  ‘Not today. I’ll leave a note on the door. Hurry, there’s not a moment to lose. This is going to be a big adventure.’

  ‘Yippee,’ Roddy yelled. At least someone was happy.

  Her mind was whirling. How were they going to get across Washington to Union Station? Take a tram? Or risk walking in the open? Or stay here until dark? If Grover’s gumshoe was watching the house, it could be dangerous. What if Grover was lurking around, ready to pounce on his son himself? Perhaps she’d imagined the whole thing but the look of triumph on that man’s face remained imprinted in her mind.

  Calm down! The moment you’ve been dreading has come but you knew it would. Everything is ready enough for your flight.

  It was then she had a crazy idea to put the man off her scent. It was dangerous but worth a try. They must leave; she couldn’t risk another failure. No one would be taking her son, not now, not ever.

  Calm down, think it through. If he’s out there with Grover, he’ll be expecting you to dash out now. Wait, there’s another way not so obvious that might just work, but you’ll have to act fast.

  Later Celeste tried to stop her hands shaking as she rattled the teacups and passed the cakes around.

  ‘Now, girls, we’re going to play a game today, a sort of dressing-up and changing clothes game to know how it feels to be different. A lady must judge people not by outerwear, plain clothes or being in servants’ uniforms but by the kindness of someone’s actions. I want you to see how it feels for me to put on one of your uniforms and remember how it felt when I was fourteen. We’ll take a walk in the street together and pretend.’

  ‘Like charades?’ said Mabel, one of the girls from church.

  ‘Not quite,’ Celeste replied, sensing their confusion. ‘Let’s have some fun walking around outside, seeing how it feels going shopping in someone else’s clothes, perhaps. You all know how to take tea politely now. I think it’s time for us to learn how to walk in each other’s shoes for a change.’

  She could sense they were intrigued and up for a diversion from the usual polite regime. It was risky, but worth a try. Trying to persuade Roddy to put on a girl’s frock was another matter.

  ‘Oh, Mom! I’m not playing this stupid game.’

  ‘Please. Do as I say,’ she whispered. ‘IT IS IMPORTANT! It won’t be for long, I promise.’ His disguise was the key to their escape. ‘And you must wear a hat too.’

  The smallest girl swapped her dress and petticoats to squeeze into his sailor suit. They plonked his boater on her head with her pigtails stuffed inside. Everyone laughed. Roddy sulked. Celeste slipped on Mabel’s school uniform, and everybody laughed again. She was so slim she could fit into it easily. She covered her hair with a beret and made for the door, trying to look as if this was just a silly game and not a deadly serious attempt to avoid detection.

  She looked back with regret at what she was leaving behind. It had been a safe haven until now, four rooms they could call their own. This was not time for sentimentality, though; there was no room for anything but essentials and documents. She was prepared for this journey, and she was not making the same mistake again.

  ‘Round the block, just for fun, and look out to see how it feels,’ she ordered.

  There was a lot of giggling as they made for the front door and down the steps to the sidewalk, all dressed in each other’s clothes and hats. She waved back to the empty window as they left the house, her eyes darting to the street corner. And yes, the same man was slouching there, pretending to read a paper, trying to ignore the gaggle of noisy schoolgirls as they walked past on the opposite side of the street and turned round the block. Would it only be a matter of time before Grover arrived too?

  The man was still waiting when they turned the corner and made for 16th Street. Celeste stopped them. ‘This is where we must part company. I’m sorry to deceive you all with this charade but we must go,’ she whispered, and she darted to the back yard where the bags were tucked out of sight behind the door. The girls all changed back, puzzled and silent. Roddy threw off the dress, watching as she said goodbye to each girl in turn, kissing each on the forehead.

  ‘Tell your parents that I’m taking a sudden vacation and I’ll let them know when we return by letter. Thank you for being such sports but I have one favour to ask. Mabel, can I keep this uniform on for a few more hours? I’ll leave it at the left luggage in the station.’

  ‘What’s happening, Mrs Wood?’

  Celeste didn’t answer. How could she explain the bizarre behaviour of these last precious minutes? There was no time. She and Roddy needed to get downtown before the investigator rumbled their deception. ‘Let me just say, girls, thanks for going along with this. It may seem silly to you but you’ll never know how much we appreciate your playing this little game today. Remember, never be afraid to step out of line for what you believe in. Make sure you choose your path carefully, not drift into what others want you to do and you’ll do just fine.’

  Two of the girls picked up the travel bag between them and the other was taken up too. ‘We’ll walk you to the bus, if you like.’

  ‘No,’ said Mabel Whiteley ‘I‘ve got a better idea, let’s go to my house and Bluett can drive you there.’

  Celeste could have broken down right there with gratitude but she smiled and merely said, ‘Thank you, how kind.’

  It was hard to leave but they had no choice. Grover knew where they lived and what they looked like, and there would be photographs. But with the minimum of fuss and disguise she’d bought some time. This time they had the right papers and the passage fare. This time she was going home.

  All the way to Union Station, Celeste was sweating, peering out of the window in case they were being followed, certain Grover would not be far behind them now. The traffic suddenly slowed and the limousine drew to a halt. She wanted to run the rest of the way but knew it was better to sink down into the leather seats and relax, plan their exit, and calm her nerves. No one would expect them to be driving there in style.

  Had her husband put a watch on the station? They should hide in the ladies’ rest room after they had their railroad tickets to New York. Once on board, she was sure they’d be safe enough, though the thought of boarding a transatlantic liner again filled her with dread.

  Pull yourself together. May did it in worse conditions than yours. Show some true grit.

  57
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  Lichfield

  One afternoon, unaware of Celeste’s dramas, May was summoned after school to see Miss Parry. What was wrong? Was Ella ill? But she was sitting outside the office reading a book, looking surprised by her mother’s flustered arrival. May was ushered in and the door closed behind her.

  ‘There’s just a little confusion I need to clear up, Mrs Smith. Don’t look so worried but Ella has been telling her class that her father was lost with Captain Scott. We were doing a topic on brave men and I was telling them to write about snow and ice. Ella prefers to draw, as you know. She said her father sailed in the captain’s ship and fell in the water.’

  May felt herself go hot and cold. Miss Parry continued, not looking at her but fingering the papers on her desk.

  ‘It’s not the first time, Mrs Smith, that we’ve had pupils who are not quite sure of their parentage, who are perhaps not the result of a legitimate union. We’re very understanding on these matters, of course, but it is not wise for a child to know of such affairs.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ May spluttered, ‘but she’s got it all mixed up. Yes, it’s true, my husband died at sea, Joseph Smith. He was going out to America to prepare a home for us. It was a terrible accident. Ella doesn’t know the real circumstances. I saw no reason to tell her much. She’s that fanciful, she’s made this up. We have no grave to visit, you see. I’m sorry, I didn’t think. How can she say such things?’

  ‘I understand how difficult that must be, of course,’ said the teacher. ‘You know she’s a very bright girl with a big imagination, and her drawing is well advanced for her age. Bright girls tend to romance and daydream. We hope she’ll take a Minor scholarship in due course to the High School . . . not that we’d want to lose her but I am aware of your circumstances.’ She coughed. ‘Was your husband artistic?’

  ‘He was good with his hands,’ May offered. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. She’ll get her backside tanned for this.’