by Janet Woods
With Mrs Abernathy having been placed on the defensive, the twins decided to put Harriet through her paces. At the end of five minutes the girl could manage a clumsy scale. Irene and Lydia exchanged a long and meaningful glance.
‘Well?’ Mrs Abernathy said.
Lydia hummed doubtfully in her throat and Irene reluctantly nodded. ‘Miss Abernathy will have to work hard, but she has a modicum of talent.’ She pulled on her gloves, fussing with the fingers as she said in a superior way, ‘My sister and I are agreed then, we shall take your daughter under our wing.’
‘Thank you, Miss Nash.’
‘Good. Then I shall be here at ten a.m. sharp, and Harriet shall receive a two-hour music and singing lesson. In the afternoon, my sister will teach her dancing steps, followed by a painting lesson. At the end of each week, you may pay to Mrs Morcant the sum we agreed upon for our services. Good day Mrs Abernathy.’ The pair swept off.
Nodding at her employer, Joanna followed after them, trying not to grin. They’d picked up some useful airs from their mother, she thought.
As for Lydia and Irene, arms around each other’s waists, they chatted and laughed all the way home, pleased by the thought that they’d be able to contribute to the household expenses. They were a bright pair. Joanna was grateful for their company, since she hadn’t had time to be lonely, and they had taken her mind from the loss of Alex.
There was a hire carriage waiting outside the house. The horse fidgeted and its foreleg dug at the road. The driver chaffed his hands together, nodding when the quartet stopped and stared, and jerking his thumb at the house. ‘The gentleman has gone inside.’
‘Perhaps it’s Oliver. He should be back by now,’ Lydia said, gazing hopefully at her sister.
But it wasn’t.
Once inside the house they all fell quiet, staring with disbelief at the figure seated on the couch. A dark-skinned woman occupied the chair by the wall. She had an odd, exotic look to her.
Beside Joanna, one of the twins gasped and clutched at her hand. She was trembling.
Lord Durrington gazed from one to the other, his glance settling on Joanna. He said, ‘I have some private business to discuss with you, Mrs Morcant.’
7
Lord Durrington came straight to the point.
‘I want to raise my grandson as my heir. I’ll pay you handsomely and give you a one tenth per cent share of the shipping company profits, so you’ll have an income.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I have no intention of selling my son to you.’
He held up a hand. ‘Just listen. Tobias will be well looked after, and you’ll be allowed to see him once a year.’ A set of papers were placed on the table between them. ‘I’ll wait while you examine them.’
The woman with him picked Toby up. Tall and wiry, she wore a long cowled cloak over a red military jacket and skirt. Petting the boy, she seemed to be edging towards the door at the same time.
Sensing danger, Joanna twisted to her feet and snatched Toby from the woman’s arms. ‘Leave my son alone and get out of my house.’ Opening the door to the twins’ room, she handed Toby over to them. ‘Lock the door and don’t come out until I call you.’
Up close, the woman’s face was angular, her dark eyes sly. She had a flat, broad nose, dark olive skin, and she smelled strongly of perspiration and liquorice. When the woman tensed, but didn’t back away, Joanna groped behind her back, her hand closing around one of the silver candlesticks on the dresser.
The woman gazed at the earl, saying in a low voice, ‘My Lord?’
Lord Durrington jerked his head and the woman turned and headed for the door. ‘Bisley would have cracked your neck with one hand if I’d snapped my fingers.’
Joanna’s grip on the candlestick relaxed. ‘I’d have brained her first.’
‘I doubt it. Apart from his other duties, Bisley is my valet and bodyguard.
She felt her eyes widen. ‘Bisley’s a man?’
‘Since he’s a creature of many parts, it really depends on how he feels at the time.’ The condescending smile Durrington gave made her feel sick. ‘Your lack of education about such matters is rather refreshing, my dear.’
Her cheeks warmed. ‘I must ask you to leave too, Lord Durrington. I won’t sell you my son.’
His glance slid to her breasts and the pink tip of his tongue slid along his lip. ‘Come, come, Joanna. I can do a lot for the boy. I’m sure it’s what Alexander would have wanted.’
Dragging her shawl from the chair Joanna draped it round her, holding it tightly at the front as she tried not to shudder. ‘You may think you’re sure, but I know you’re wrong. My husband despised you, and everything you stood for.’
His mouth tightened. ‘Only because he learned of our relationship too late. I was unable to acknowledge him while I was still able to father a legitimate child of my own. That time has passed. Won’t you even read the papers? I’m offering you a large amount of money.’
‘Money you stole from us in the first place.’
‘It’s not my fault the business was mismanaged. Think of young Tobias’s future. He’ll get the best education and inherit my title. He’ll never go without.’
‘And will grow up despising the very person who loves him the most, his mother. Never, for I won’t hand him over willingly.’
‘I admit, I’d not considered such a notion. But then, I never knew my own mother, so she wasn’t really important to me.’ He smiled at her. ‘There’s a solution, of course.’
‘Which is?’
‘You could move into my house, become my . . . companion. For a man of my age, a young and desirable female is a sop to his vanity, and it makes him a source of envy amongst his peers.’
Joanna’s response fell between a gasp and a disbelieving laugh.
Lord Durrington shrugged. ‘You’re almost presentable when you’re properly gowned, and your manners and speech are not too shocking. It wouldn’t take much to improve you further and it would please me to have a young woman on my arm.’
‘I’d sooner move into hell and live with the devil.’
‘When living in my house would give you access to the boy all the time? I think not. You’d have your own rooms, of course.’ He shrugged. ‘And I’d turn a blind eye to any extracurricular enjoyment you wished to indulge in, though I might want to witness it from time to time. A man of my age can’t stand the excitement of having a young woman constantly in his bed.’
How disgusting a creature he was. ‘I have access to my son all the time now, so no thank you.’
His eyes hardened. ‘My dear, it would be simple to arrange matters so you had no access to your son at all. Your romantic shipboard marriage to Alexander Morcant was not legal and binding, as could easily be proved in court. Pretending to be a widow for gain carries some penalty, I should imagine. As does withdrawing a large amount of capital from the company.’
Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘A thousand guineas, wasn’t it?’
‘The company belonged to me, then.’
‘Ah yes, a legacy from your first husband. One can’t help but wonder what further investigation of the unfortunate demise of Tobias Darsham might uncover. As a matter of interest, what did you do with the money?’
She couldn’t tell him she’d given it to that first husband – a man who was supposed to be dead. Hoping she wasn’t as pale as she felt, she said, ‘What has it got to do with you?’
‘I’m just curious. You might as well know that I’m now the owner of the Morcant Shipping Company – though it’s now known as the Durrington Line.’
‘Since you are old and have no heirs, why do you need a shipping company?’
‘Tobias will inherit it, of course, as his father had intended him to, I imagine.’
‘As long as you have control of him, you mean. Go to hell.’
His mouth tightened. ‘Let’s return to the one thousand guineas. If fraud were to be proved it migh
t mean a spell in prison – or transportation to the western region of Australia, a particularly hot and isolated part of that continent, I believe. What would happen to your son then?’
‘The only fraud was committed by you –’ Joanna suddenly remembered James Stark’s advice – ‘and the thief who robbed me of the money when I stepped ashore in Melbourne, of course. It was you who conspired with Clara Nash to ruin us all, though. Much joy may it bring you. You’re not getting my son.’
The door to the twins’ room was flung open. ‘And since we’re Toby’s aunts, we would look after him if anything happened to Joanna,’ Irene cried out with great passion. ‘And we’d tell the court what a vile and depraved person you are if you try to steal him.’
‘Your reputations are already beyond redemption. Several witnesses would testify that the pair of you are exactly like your mother – sluts. As for you, Joanna, others might testify that I’d actually fathered the boy. I might even be able to present evidence of a marriage between us, and a birth certificate with my name on to the court.’
This time Joanna did shudder. Lord Durrington smiled when the three of them fell silent and gazed at him with horror in their eyes.
‘I can see you need to think this over,’ he said, his voice so gentle it contained a menace all of its own. ‘I’ll leave the papers for your perusal, but my verbal offer still stands. Let me know your decision as soon as possible. I advise you to be sensible, for I won’t let the matter lie indefinitely. In fact, I might take it into my head to remove the boy from your care by force, and take him to London to live with me.’
Toby must have instinctively sensed the family resemblance to Alex in the peer, for he suddenly smiled at his grandfather and shouted out, ‘Papa!’
Lord Durrington smiled back. ‘I’m so glad you think so, young man.’
After Lord Durrington had gone there was silence, except for Toby, who now he’d found a word had decided to practise it. Beaming a proud smile around at everyone, he said, ‘Pa, pa papa papa pa pa.’
‘Do we have a cork to stick in his mouth, or shall I use needle and thread?’ Irene said. Lydia stood up, shaking out her skirt and saying brightly, ‘I think we need a cup of tea. I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’
Filled with dread, Joanna put her head in her hands. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
The girls’ arms came around her in a hug. ‘Oliver will be back soon. We’ll ask him.’
But Oliver had been at the end of his tether when he’d departed. Joanna was beginning to doubt if he’d come back at all, since there had been no news from him. It was an added worry.
She drew in a deep breath to hold back her tears. What type of man would remove a son from his mother’s care? Toby was part of Alex, a child born of their love. Lust, really, she amended, her sudden objectivity shocking her all the more because of its easy admission. She’d deliberately seduced Alex at the time of Toby’s conception, then had sailed off on the Joanna Rose hoping he would prove his love for her by chasing after her – which he had, for when she’d signed over the company to him she’d given him no choice.
Handing her precious son over to a stranger to raise was a last resort. Joanna had always been practical, though. If the only way to ensure Toby’s survival was to become Durrington’s companion, she’d do it, no matter how distasteful such a liaison would be.
At least she wouldn’t have to accept him as her lover, for he’d stated he’d be unable to father a child of his own now.
It seemed as though the air in the room had closed in on her with cloying intensity, as if the presence of Lord Durrington had somehow soiled it.
She needed to be alone, to think. ‘I’m going out for a walk before dusk falls.’
‘We’ll look after Toby.’
‘Lock the doors in case Lord Durrington comes back.’
She found a quiet spot sheltered by a wall, where she could gaze out over the sea. Just in front of and beneath her, the cliff face was a pale gouge of tumbled spoil from the quarries. Quarrying uncovered the fossils of the ancient sea creatures that had created the rock from which the island was formed. The moulds of ancient gastropods kept many a cottage door propped open to the breezes in the summer, and there was a profitable trade for children who sold the Portland fossils to visitors.
Evening was lengthening the shadows. The March wind had lost its bluster and low grey clouds banded across the sky, releasing fine drizzle to drift in undulating curtains.
To Joanna’s left, the fishing lerrets were being escorted home on a pewter sea by a noisy, low-flying crowd of wheeling seagulls.
Soon the clouds would drift lower to release the mist, which would pour over the hill to engulf her inside its clinging wetness. Joanna was suddenly overcome by a strong sense of nostalgia for the simplicity of her childhood. Here she’d grown up, part of the island and its ways. The stone she sat upon could have been cut by her pa before it had so cruelly crushed him into the earth.
But Joanna realized there had been a subtle shift inside her. She was not like Tilda, who, now she was home and living with a husband she loved and respected, seemed to have settled happily into her allotted place once again. Contented with her life, and pleased with the elevation her marriage had provided, Joanna had the feeling that it wouldn’t bother Tilda if she never left the island again. But she still refused to visit her mother, who’d been moved into a cottage at Southwell with a carer to look after her. Tilda was finding excuses not to visit, and Joanna didn’t blame her for not yielding to the pressure her husband’s act of kindness had placed on her.
But she was pleased that her friend had found happiness here. Tilda knew exactly where and to whom she belonged. She’d fitted back into the island like a piece of lost dissection puzzle that had suddenly turned up. Joanna had not.
A seagull drifted up from the cliff to float on ghostly white wings within the gloaming light. It made soft noises in its throat, as if it were trying to communicate.
‘Somebody pulled up my roots and I’m drifting on the wind like you,’ she told it, wishing she could fly – like the clipper ship Joanna Rose, her sails joyously pouched with wind and slicing through an ocean of dark blue sky.
When had Portland changed for her? When had she become an outsider, or a Kimberlin as strangers were called by the islanders? Inside her was a strong feeling that she’d been brought here to rest and to heal, before moving on to some other destiny.
The island had once been a Saxon settlement, from which attacks on mainland Britain were launched. It had been the Saxons who’d named the place as one of the ancient Royal Manors, whose court governed local affairs. They had also established the methods of agriculture that were still used by their descendants.
Portland was the first entry in the Doomsday Book and Joanna had grown up with its long, and sometimes bloody, history all around her. But although the blood of the original inhabitants didn’t flow in her veins, she sensed the place would strengthen her spirit before it sent her on her way.
She rose to her feet, brushing dust from her skirt and drawing that strength into her body as she set off back to the cottage with tendrils of mist clutching at her heels.
The light in the window was a welcome sight, as was the sleepy and rather demanding welcome from her son.
As Joanna hugged him tight and his mouth sought the comfort of her breast, Jane Tremayne came into her mind. She hoped Jane’s infant had been safely delivered, and wondered if the child had been a boy or a girl.
Gabriel Tremayne doubted if he’d ever get used to being a shopkeeper, though the business was proving to be lucrative. He was now looking for premises in which to open a ladies’ fashion emporium.
He’d already bought another small shipping agency to merge with his own, and had moved into larger offices near the harbour. This had caused much satisfaction to his head clerk. Samuel Stitch would no longer have to share his office with bucket, brooms, shovels and the other implements needing storage space. Indeed, Samuel Sti
tch had developed an altogether superior manner of late, and was well respected by the clients. Gabriel had recently raised his salary in appreciation.
Grinning to himself, he gazed up at the new sign going up over the door. Gold on olive green. Gabriel Tremayne & Son. Melbourne. Established 1857.
Jane joined him, laughing as she teased, ‘What if the next one is a boy?’
He gazed at the slight swell of her stomach and took Christopher from her arms. The boy had inherited his own grey eyes and looks, he thought with smug satisfaction. ‘I’ll add an S to make a plural.’
Add an S. His grin faded as a memory came of a windswept cemetery on the island of Portland, where the body of his first wife lay under the tough coastal grasses. They had mistakenly buried a boy baby with her – named him Ross. He had asked the stonemason to rename the infant Rose. Not that Gabriel begrudged the boy child his place in Honor’s arms. But for twenty years he’d thought his daughter had perished with Honor, and he’d needed mother and daughter to be together. It had been a shock to discover that Joanna Rose was very much alive.
Honor Darsham didn’t come into his mind very often now, but the daughter they’d produced and the miracle of her survival did. More so now the news of Alexander Morcant’s death had reached him, an event that had signalled the end of the shipping company Gabriel had spent his life building up. He’d grieved for the young man, for he’d mentored and loved Alex Morcant since boyhood. How would Joanna and his grandson manage now?’
Jane laid a hand on his arm. ‘You’re thinking of Joanna, aren’t you?’
‘Aye.’
‘I only knew her for a short time, but I formed the impression of an enterprising young lady with a lot of inner strength. I’m sure she’ll be all right. In her letter, your mother said Joanna had gone back to Portland to live.’
He nodded. ‘There’s that. Joanna has a roof over her head, and she’ll be able to survive there, for that’s the way she was raised. No doubt my mother will help her out, if need be.’