by Janet Woods
There was an urgency in her, a note of anger in her voice. ‘I want to go now.’
Tilda exchanged a glance with her husband and nodded. ‘I’ll look after Toby while you’re gone.’
‘I’ll put him to bed first, he should sleep until morning.’
Joanna kissed her son’s downy cheek as she lowered him into his cot. ‘We only have each other now, my darling boy, but your papa will be watching over us and we’ll survive.’
Ten minutes later she set off through the darkening streets with David. Now and again a stench rose from the river, like the mouth of a dog gusting a foul breath. Mist thickened on the surface of the water.
The rain had stopped, but the air was damp. The hem of Joanna’s skirt dragged forlornly through the puddles.
‘The air in Portland will smell fresh after London, I expect,’ she said suddenly, attacked by a strong sense of nostalgia as she remembered the wind flattening the grass in the churchyard and the seagulls soaring in the air currents. Funny how she’d recalled the good and ignored the hardship.
David smiled in a humouring sort of way. ‘I never imagined myself as a country parson, but rather as a teacher or a missionary.’
‘Then that’s what you should do, David. You won’t have a large congregation in Portland. Most of the islanders are methodists, you know. They enjoy the preaching.’
‘It’s too late to change my mind now. Tilda is looking forward to going home.’
Home? It seemed strange to think of Portland as home, now. It wasn’t that long ago since she’d left the island, though, barely three years. But it had been an eventful three years, in which Joanna had discovered her true identity, had sailed to Australia and back on the Joanna Rose and had given birth to Toby. She’d married Alex and now . . . she was widowed.
She gazed up at David, troubled. ‘You’ll look after Tilda, won’t you? She wants to please you, but she might become melancholy in Portland.’
‘Because of her ill-treatment at the hands of her family? She’s my wife, of course I’ll look after her. And, Joanna, if you need any help in the future, we’ll always be there for you.’
‘You’re a kind man, David Lind, just like your uncle. He was always a good friend to me.’
‘Richard enjoyed your friendship. He said you brought meaning to his life, and I know his last year was the happiest he’d ever known.’
‘How sad it is when good men die. What will I do without Alex to love?’
He took her hand in his and gently squeezed it. ‘You’ll go on living, Joanna, for you have no choice. You’ll love and care for his son, and raise the boy to love and respect his father’s memory, as God intends you to do.’
‘Yes, I’ll do all of that, but because I’m his mother and I love him, not for any other reason.’
They fell silent for the rest of the way to the hospital morgue, where a further shock awaited them.
‘Alexander Morcant’s body was claimed by Mrs Clara Nash, not more than half an hour ago,’ the orderly on duty told them. ‘She came to sign for the body accompanied by an undertaker’s cart. I understood her to be the patient’s mother.’
Joanna’s face blanched. ‘I’m Alexander Morcant’s wife.’
The man shrugged. ‘Sorry, missus. You’ll have to take it up with his mother, then.’
‘And right now,’ Joanna said when they were outside.
‘Shouldn’t we wait?’ David cautioned, for the mist had thickened considerably and was taking on the appearance of a fog.
‘You needn’t come,’ she said gently. ‘There will probably be an unpleasant scene, since Clara Nash and I despise each other.’
He placed a hand on her arm. ‘Remember, Clara Nash is Alex’s mother. She will be suffering too, Joanna.’
‘Hah! It’s obvious you’ve never met her,’ Joanna told him, wishing that David wouldn’t assume that everyone was as gentle and generous natured as he was. ‘The woman hasn’t got a motherly bone in her body.’
‘A few more hours won’t make any difference,’ David urged. ‘I’ll accompany you there in the morning, when you’re refreshed by sleep and your mind is more accepting of the situation. As it is, we’d better get you home before this mist gets any thicker.’
She bowed to his greater wisdom, and they trudged back to her home, where Tilda waited with a pot of hot soup to warm them.
Joanna forced her food down, at the same time trying to comfort the weeping Mrs Bates, who kept saying, ‘What will become of us now the master has gone?’
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Bates. Whatever happens, I’ll look after you,’ she said with more confidence than she felt.
The company lawyer, James Stark, arrived after dinner, his face hollowed with shock. ‘I’ve just heard about Alex. This bodes very badly for the future of the company. Oh, my dear . . . I’m so sorry. How can I be of service?’
‘I don’t know, James. What’s likely to happen?’
‘The company assets could be seized and sold to cover the loan.’
‘But only two of the ships are affected.’
‘There’s more to it than that, Joanna. Alex’s death will send company business into chaos. The clients will go elsewhere to secure cargo space. Without cargoes and passengers you won’t be able to cover the interest payments. The loan guarantor will take everything and sell it off cheap to cover what’s owed, plus interest.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Business is hardly ever fair.’ He gazed at Tilda and David, who promptly excused themselves and went to help Mrs Bates in the kitchen. ‘If you’ve got anything valuable in the house I’ll take it with me. And you might as well know, while you were in Australia, before you were wed, Alex began to pay back the money you withdrew from the company account. There is a large amount still outstanding.’
‘I thought that money was mine. I gave it to my father when I was in Melbourne.’
‘My dear, I can’t give away a large chunk of company money without it being accounted for, not even to the owner. You signed a receipt to keep the account books legal, and there have been regular amounts paid in, as if to repay a loan.’
‘Are you saying the house will be seized?’
‘Unless you can reimburse the money it’s bound to be questioned, since it’s an asset. The creditors might demand payment.’
‘Oh Lord! Of course I can’t repay such a large amount. What a mess everything is. What if somebody asks me what I did with the money? I can hardly tell them I gave it to a man who supposedly died two years ago, a man with whom I entered into an incestuous marriage.’
Alarm filled James’s eyes. ‘That you can’t, else we’ll all end up in prison. Charlotte Darsham and Thaddeus Scott included. If asked, you might have to tell them the money was stolen.’
She nodded. ‘Who would have thought so many problems would arise from discovering my true identity. If Charlotte hadn’t noticed the resemblance between her son, her former daughter-in-law and myself, I might have lived happily with Tobias Darsham as his wife.’
‘If that marriage to Tobias hadn’t taken place, all would have been well. If the timing had been more fortuitous you could simply have lived with him in your proper place, as his daughter. Everyone would have rejoiced at the reunion. What has happened is nobody’s fault, it was just a chain of well-intentioned events that seems to have suddenly grown a will of its own.’
‘Trying to keep the company afloat, knowing it could destroy the people involved in this deception, just doesn’t seem worth the risk. Alex could never grasp that. He lived and breathed the company. Why couldn’t he just let it go, like my father did?’
‘Because your father was the only person Alex respected and loved. He felt he needed to prove himself to him, and earn his respect.’
‘Alex didn’t have to do that. He already had my father’s love and respect. I often wondered if he loved me for myself, or because he wanted to please my father.’
‘Alex was never in any doubt. The reason he went af
ter you was because he loved you, even though he was terrified of going to sea.’
‘Thank you, James. You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that.’
‘Is Alex’s body in the morning room? I’d like to say goodbye to him before the funeral.’
Bitterness welled up in her. ‘Alex died in the hospital. Clara Nash claimed his body and has already handed it over to a funeral home. You know about the signature Clara forged to get funds to have Oliver released from prison, don’t you?’ When he nodded, she said, ‘Oliver has been staying here as our guest. He went with Alex to the hospital, and he promised to come back. But he never did. I feel so betrayed by him. David Lind is taking me to see Clara Nash in the morning. I intend to discuss the situation with her. The meeting will not be pleasant, I imagine.’
‘Oliver is an honest man of good intention. He’s not as strong minded as Alex was, but he wouldn’t deliberately let you down. Clara would have done this to provoke you. Too much can be said in the heat of anger. I advise you to let it go, Joanna.’
‘I can’t, James. I loved Alex. I want to see his face again and I need to say goodbye, too.’
‘Then allow me to accompany you to the house of Clara Nash, and act as your spokesman.’
Joanna nodded, tears thickening her throat. ‘I have borne a son who’s the image of Alex. His name is Toby.’
A brief smile flitted across the lawyer’s face. ‘I’ll make his acquaintance tomorrow, I hope. I’ll be here at ten sharp, and we’ll sort things out between us. In the meantime, pick out anything you want me to hide.’ A slight bow of his head and he was gone, striding off into the layers of the fog that was beginning to blanket the city.
Joanna sent her friends home, saying, ‘The fog is becoming thicker. I’ll be all right now. And, David, James Stark has offered to take me to see Clara Nash tomorrow. He will act as my spokesman. You were right, I must sleep on it, for I’m often headstrong, and I’m exhausted at the moment.’
‘Then you must go to bed at once,’ Tilda said, and the pair exchanged hugs.
Joanna was relieved after they left. She went through to the kitchen, where Mrs Bates sat in the rocking chair in front of the stove, tears streaming down her face. The kettle was singing on the hob. Steam puffed from its spout and rattled its lid.
Taking up the china teapot they always used, Joanna made a strong brew and poured them both a cup. She took up the chair on the other side of the stove.
The women gazed at each other.
‘It’s hard when someone you love dies,’ Joanna said, remembering that Mrs Bates had lost her own husband just a few weeks before.
‘Especially somebody as young and strong as Mr Morcant was. He’d hardly lived.’
They fell silent for a moment, united in the common misfortune of their widowhood. Then Mrs Bates said, ‘Mr Morcant adored his son.’
‘Toby will forget him in the years to come, I expect. Perhaps that will be a blessing. I don’t know what will happen in the future, Mrs Bates. Mr Stark thinks the house and company will be seized, and sold to pay off the creditors. If that happens I’ll probably leave London and move back to Dorset. Do you have anywhere else to go?’
‘Without Bates I’m all alone in the world.’
‘You have me. I doubt if I’ll be able to pay you, but we can share what I have, and I can find work, even if it’s only farm labouring.’
Mrs Bates managed a smile. ‘It’s a nice girl you are for thinking of me. We’ll manage, I’m sure, and I can be of help with young Toby.’
Joanna lit a candle from the embers. ‘I’m going upstairs, Mrs Bates. I have the feeling tomorrow will be a long day.’
It was hard going into the room Alex had used on that last night. The bed was still tumbled where he’d tossed and turned in his pain. She should hang his clothing in the wardrobe, she thought. Taken aback by the smell of stale sweat and sickness, she murmured, ‘When I feel stronger, I’ll scrub the room clean.’
Alex’s clothes had been thrown on a chair in the corner. As she grabbed them up, a whiff of perfume cloyed her nostrils and a woman’s glove fell to the floor. Joanna picked it up and stared at it. It was grubby and the seam between thumb and finger was ripped.
Had Alex been with another woman? Something inside her head screamed out in anguish at the thought. She couldn’t bear thinking about it, not on top of his death. Going back to their room, she took a pair of scissors and cut the glove into pieces. She threw them into the small black fireplace and soaked the fabric with spirit from the lamp on the dressing table. Lighting a taper from the candle, she set the pieces on fire.
When the last spark had died, she went to bed and cried all night.
At the age of fifty-eight, Clara Nash was dried up and thin. Her blue eyes were devoid of warmth, her mouth drooped with dissatisfaction. Upon her head she wore a black wig, the harshness of which made her face appear haggard.
She sat upon her chair like a queen on her throne, flanked by her two flawless daughters, who were almost seventeen years old. Lydia was the one with the slightly lighter hair, Joanna remembered. She and Irene looked uncomfortable, their faces tear-stained and sullen.
‘Stop snivelling,’ Clara said when Irene sniffed back her tears. ‘It’s about time the pair of you got some backbone.’
A tear tracked silently down Lydia’s cheek, which was badly bruised. The pair looked quite desperate. Joanna felt sorry for them, for they’d adored Alex. He’d always protected them from the worst excesses of their mother as she ruthlessly pursued wealthy husbands for her two innocent and reluctant daughters.
Clara’s fingers glittered with rings, her thin arms jangled with bracelets, her ears were stretched with the weight of the earrings she wore. Odd how wearing so many jewels could make a woman look so cheap, Joanna thought.
‘Mrs Morcant wants to know where her husband’s body is,’ James told Clara.
‘My son isn’t her husband. I’ve been assured that a marriage aboard a ship has no legality ashore unless it’s been registered.’
Joanna bit her tongue, for she knew that to be the truth.
‘Joanna and Alexander had a son together. They had every intention of making the marriage a legal one.’
Clara’s smile was almost a sneer. ‘I doubt if she knows who fathered the child.’
Joanna stepped forward. ‘Oh, I’m quite sure who fathered him, and so was Alex. You’d know the truth of that, too, if you saw him. He’s the image of Alex. Now, I haven’t come here to argue about the paternity of my son. I want to see my husband’s body. Where is he?’
Clara examined her fingernails. ‘Why should I tell you?’
‘If you don’t, I’ll go to the law and tell them you forged Alex’s signature on a company document to raise a loan for your own use. And I’ll tell them that Lord Durrington witnessed that signature.’
‘They won’t believe a fortune-hunting little slut like you.’ Clara laughed. ‘You won’t get anything now, since the company will be bankrupt. Without Alex, you won’t be able to run it.’
Lydia sucked in a deep breath as she gazed defiantly at her mother. ‘You don’t care that Alex is dead, do you? And the authorities will believe Joanna if she tells them the truth, because I’ll go to them too, to back her up. And I’ll tell them what goes on in this house, the opium parties, and the men you—’
Both girls screamed when Clara casually backhanded Lydia across the face and blood spurted from a cut to her mouth.’
‘Leave Lydia alone!’ Springing from her chair, Irene came between them, taking the next blow on her chest. ‘My brother is in the funeral parlour just around the corner,’ she sobbed, sending a glance Joanna’s way. ‘Alex is to be buried the day after tomorrow.’
‘You ungrateful pair, get out of my sight,’ Clara shouted.
‘I wish I could,’ Lydia spat at her, her eyes blazing. ‘I loathe you as much as Alex did. You’re wicked, and I wish you weren’t my mother. And neither of us will ever marry the old
men you pick for us. We’d rather die, like Alex.’
‘That will be a fine day for me,’ Clara said. ‘If you’re not careful, I’ll throw you out in the street. We’ll see how you fare then. You’ll soon come crawling back, begging for someone to offer you the respectability of marriage.’
‘As long as I have a roof over my head, so have you,’ Joanna told the girls.
Her words elicited a smile from Clara. ‘Then we must make sure you don’t have one.’
The door opened and Oliver came in. He appeared harassed as he looked from one to the other. When the girls went to him, he took them, one in each arm, so they nestled against his shoulders.
‘Mother?’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘These people are being tedious. This slut your brother lived with came here with her lawyer to make trouble.’
‘On the contrary, Oliver,’ James told him. ‘Joanna is simply trying to discover the whereabouts of Alex’s body.’
Oliver gave his sister-in-law an apologetic look. ‘I’ve just come from your house. I was going to take you to see him.’
Clara rose to her feet. ‘Get rid of her, Oliver. I don’t want her or her bastard to set foot in my house again. She’s just accused me of stealing company money, and threatened me with the authorities. Don’t you dare believe her, Oliver. She’s a liar.’
‘Alex had already told me how you raised the money to secure my release. I see no reason to disbelieve him.’ Oliver gave Clara a pleading look before turning Joanna’s way. ‘Let me try and sort this out please, Joanna. Perhaps my mother can sell this house to help pay back the loan.’
Clara gave a thin smile. ‘It’s mortgaged.’
‘Then perhaps you could sell the jewellery you’re wearing.’
Clara flung a vindictive smile at her. ‘It’s not real.’
‘We have only your word for that.’ Taking a grip on her anger, Joanna nodded towards Oliver, knowing there were too many skeletons in her own closet to risk rattling those of Clara’s. She wasn’t going down without a fight, though, and tried a bluff. ‘Perhaps I should alert the authorities, after all. Let them sort it out.’
Clara rose and headed for the door. ‘Go ahead. Much good it will do you,’ she spat out before she slammed it behind her.