There would be plenty from other quarters, though, Harriet thought to herself. Condemnation, gossip, outrage and animosity, all facets of the disgrace that would undoubtedly ensue, once the facts became known. And what people didn’t know they would make up, and take great delight in doing so. But things wouldn’t be as bad as they would have been before the war; even the most notorious scandals were short-lived in comparison. This would be a nine-day wonder at best.
Esther stirred at the side of her, raising her head to say, ‘And he – Theobald – he never suspected anything? Not even a bit?’
It wasn’t lost on Harriet that Esther already didn’t refer to him as her father. ‘No, not for a moment. You look similar to his mother – that’s the thing. The same dark hair and eyes. She was a handsome woman, and he’s always taken a perverse delight in pointing out that there’s nothing of me in you.’ It was one of the many ways in which Theobald had attempted to wound her.
‘Oh, Mama.’ Esther stroked her mother’s thin veined hand. ‘I would like nothing more than to be like you: you’re the sweetest, kindest person I’ve ever known.’ And that was true, but it made it all the harder, and hurt even more, that her mother had kept the truth from her for so long, even though she understood what had driven her to behave so. Her mama, her darling mama, was no relation to her at all. She couldn’t believe it. She needed to be on her own and think. Kissing her mother’s brow, she said softly, ‘Go to sleep, and don’t worry.’
Harriet’s eyes had filled with tears again and they hugged before Esther left the room. The landing was dark and the house was silent, but once in her room there was a glow from the dying fire, and the white world outside the windows. The baby objected to being put down until Esther had put her to the breast again, where she guzzled happily for a few minutes before falling asleep. Once she was in her crib, Esther stood looking down at her for some moments, filled with a love so extreme it was almost frightening. Harriet had told her that it had been Ruth who had chosen her second name, and the reason for it, and now she murmured, ‘My Joy.’ She and Monty had decided on Christopher for a boy and Adele for a girl, but now she knew that her daughter’s name was meant to be Joy.
Monty . . . She closed her eyes for a moment, unable to believe he had walked away from her when she had needed him most. But he would be back, she told herself passionately, and once he held his daughter everything would be all right. It was the shock, as Rose had said. But he would come back and take her in his arms, and together they’d face what needed to be faced.
Monty came back to the house the following afternoon, and his parents came with him. The events of the previous night – and not least Esther’s long labour and the birth itself – had caught up with her, and she had slept on and off all day, rousing merely to feed and change the baby when little Joy demanded it. At over eight pounds, she was not a small baby and seemed to have settled naturally into being fed every four hours, working so vigorously at the breast to sate herself with the thin milky secretion that precedes true mother’s milk that Esther’s nipples were already more than a little sore. But she didn’t mind; the bond between mother and child was already so strong that she tended to wake a few seconds before the baby began to grizzle.
Theobald met Monty and his parents in the drawing room, and what was said between them, Esther and Harriet did not know. Harriet could guess, though; when Theobald brought the three of them to her quarters their faces were grim, and Clarissa’s pale-blue eyes were like chips of ice. It was she who spoke first, after ordering Rose from the room. Her thin chin wobbling with outrage as she glared at Harriet, propped against a pile of pillows in the bed, she ground out, ‘Have you any idea what you’ve done?’
Harriet had always known how Clarissa viewed the marriage of Monty and Esther, and the reasons for her reluctance to the match; she did not consider them acceptable in-laws or, to be more precise, Theobald an acceptable member of her family. Harriet’s own parents had made little attempt to hide their contempt for Theobald’s lack of breeding, but as it had suited them to have their spinster daughter taken off their hands, they’d suffered him with aristocratic forbearance. Clarissa had done the same, but her barely concealed distaste had intimidated and often embarrassed Harriet in the past. Now that feeling was gone.
Harriet looked at the woman she’d never liked and saw her clearly for what she was, but then, as her gaze moved to Monty’s young face and she saw the pain it contained, she moderated her reply. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Clarissa. I was hoping you would try to understand, even if you couldn’t forgive.’
‘Understand?’ Clarissa was beside herself. ‘Oh, I “understand” perfectly. You encouraged the match, in order to get your mongrel married off into a noble family—’
‘Mother.’
Clarissa swung round on Monty as he spoke, her face venomous. ‘What else can you call her? Your supposedly wonderful wife? For goodness’ sake, face the facts, Montgomery.’
‘I don’t want you talking about Esther in that way. This is not her fault.’
‘Her fault or not, the situation is insupportable. You at least see that, don’t you?’
When Monty didn’t answer, merely staring at her miserably, Clarissa made a sound in her throat that could have meant anything, and again turned to Harriet. ‘A divorce must be arranged, quickly and quietly. And if any news about the child gets out, Esther will say she had an affair with one of these American people, which resulted in a baby. Do you understand?’
Harriet’s heart dropped like a stone. Staring at Monty, she said, ‘Is that what you want?’
‘Of course it is not what he wants; it’s not what any of us would choose, but it is the lesser of two evils, and Monty sees that,’ said Clarissa tightly.
Harriet glanced at Theobald, but his face could have been set in stone. And Hubert, as usual, was saying nothing and was doing as he was told. Appealing directly to Monty again, she said, ‘But you love Esther, and she loves you, and the baby is yours – your daughter, Monty. Surely you are not going to abandon them both because of this? I cannot believe it of you.’
‘You talk of not being able to believe it.’ Clarissa was almost choking in her rage. ‘You tricked my son, you tricked all of us; but I, for one, am not at all sure that Esther didn’t know the full story.’
‘Of course she didn’t, Mother,’ Monty protested. ‘I’ve told you: Esther had no idea.’
‘You’ve told me.’ Clarissa’s voice dripped scorn. ‘And you expect me to put any store by your judgement after this?’
Harriet’s voice shook, in spite of all her efforts to control it, as she said, ‘Esther has always believed Theobald and I are her natural parents, Clarissa. Always.’
‘But you are not, and that is the end of the matter. I will not have our bloodline diluted by this . . . this—’
‘Don’t say another word.’
No one had noticed Esther appearing in the doorway of the room, but now, as they stared at her white face and blazing eyes, it was clear she had overheard enough of the conversation to gather what was being said.
Harriet made a strangled sound in her throat, her hand instinctively reaching out, but Esther’s gaze had moved to her husband, and it was to Monty that she said, ‘You are in agreement with your mother? You want me and our child out of your life?’
‘Esther . . . ’ His voice trailed away.
‘I see. Perhaps I should have known, after last night.’
‘Esther, please don’t look like that.’ Monty’s voice cracked. ‘I do love you, that hasn’t changed, but . . . ’
‘You don’t want our daughter.’
‘Perhaps if we arranged for the baby to be taken care of somewhere, in a different part of the country?’ Monty was speaking wildly, his gaze flashing from one to another. ‘We could say it was stillborn – something like that – and we could carry on together. No one would have to know.’
Again Esther interrupted him. ‘And what of any future children?’
she said with expressionless calm.
‘There are ways to prevent that happening. You could have an operation, so we’d be sure there’d be no mistakes.’
‘Please leave, Monty, and take your parents with you.’
‘Esther . . . ’
She faced him proudly, her head up and her eyes dark pools of pain in the chalk-white of her face. ‘I don’t want to see you again, ever.’
‘You don’t mean that.’ And then, as Clarissa went to take his elbow, Monty shook his mother off, saying again, ‘Esther, you don’t mean that. I know you don’t. We could adopt. You could still have a family, like we’d planned.’
‘I don’t think I have ever meant anything more in my life. And let me make myself plain. I don’t want anything from you, Monty. Not a penny piece, all right? From this moment it is as though my daughter and I have died, because that is the way I will think of you from now on.’ Rose had come up behind Esther as she had been speaking, the baby in her arms, and now Esther said, ‘Mr Grant does not want to see the baby, Rose. I was mistaken. Take her back to my room.’
‘Esther, wait.’
Ignoring Monty’s agonized voice, Esther swept round and, pushing Rose ahead of her, shut the door behind them. For a moment all was quiet, and then Clarissa said tightly, ‘It is for the best, Montgomery.’
‘For whom?’
‘Don’t speak to me in that tone. I am not responsible for what has taken place over the last twenty-four hours.’
‘She is your grandchild, Clarissa,’ said Harriet, her voice low but penetrating, and then she shrank back against the pillows when it appeared that the other woman was about to spring on her, so great was her rage.
‘If you are wise, you will not repeat that.’ Clarissa breathed deeply, then continued, ‘Hubert and I are not without influence, remember that.’ Turning to her son and husband, she said coldly, ‘There is nothing more that can be accomplished here today, so I suggest we take our leave.’
‘Monty?’ Harriet tried one last time. ‘You will regret it, if you let Esther and the baby go. It’s not too late. If you go to her now, you can make it right.’
He stared across the room at her, indecision clear in his face, and then, as his mother said sharply, ‘Montgomery, did you hear me? We’re leaving,’ his eyes dropped, his shoulders slumped and he followed his parents out of the room.
Harriet sank back against the pillows once she was alone, the pain in her chest gnawing at her, as it was wont to do when she became upset or anxious. Guilt and remorse were weighing heavy, but she still couldn’t believe that Monty wouldn’t go to Esther. He loved her – she knew he loved her. This couldn’t be the end. He would stand up to Clarissa; he had to.
When the door was thrust open some moments later, she thought it would be Monty come to say he had changed his mind, but it was Theobald who walked in, quietly locking the door behind him. He hadn’t said a word the whole time Clarissa and the others had been in the room, and she hadn’t seen him since the evening before, until he had brought them to see her. Now he stared at her, his heavy-jowled face mottled with the temper he was controlling, and still he didn’t speak. It was Harriet who said, ‘Have they gone? Has Monty gone?’
He didn’t answer this. What he did say, and very softly, was, ‘I could kill you for what you’ve done. They could ruin me, the Grants. Do you know that? They might not have much in the way of wealth, apart from that decaying estate of theirs, but who they know is invaluable to me. And now you’ve ruined everything. They’ll never allow Monty to link his name with mine.’
She didn’t plead with him or try to excuse her actions, for she could tell by his face it would be useless.
‘Monty had already agreed to come in with me, after the war, and with him at my side all kinds of doors would open, but now you’ve made enemies of them.’
‘Is that all that concerns you? What the Grants think?’
‘Don’t take that tack. Not after what you’ve done.’ He moved closer, his eyes like two bullets as he ground his teeth. ‘Useless, you’ve been, from day one. Dropping my sons before time one after another – nothing could thrive in that scrawny body of yours. Do you know what they’d do to a mare that couldn’t breed? Shoot it, because it’d be no good to God or man. All I wanted was one son to bear my name, damn you.’
She was frightened now. There was murder in his maddened gaze. ‘I knew how much you wanted a child, that’s why I did what I did. We both knew there could be no more babies.’
‘So it was all for me? A dutiful, loving wife giving her husband what he wanted?’ He gave a bark of a laugh. ‘Except that you’ve never been loving, have you, Harriet? In bed or out of it. Oh, I’ve known you’ve always despised me at heart, like your dear parents and the rest of them, but no one else was going to offer you marriage, were they? Not looking like you do. A dried-up stick at twenty-odd – that’s what you were. I should have known, damn it. I should have seen what was in front of my eyes. A dockside whore as a wife would’ve been better than you.’
He had reached the bed, and as her hand fluttered to her chest, he stared down at her, seeing her fear. ‘You’ve made a monkey out of me, presenting that half-breed bastard as mine, and there’s not a man worth his salt who would blame me for what I’m about to do.’
Before she realized his intent, he had whipped the stack of pillows supporting her thin frame to one side so that she thudded flat on the bed, and as she opened her mouth to scream, he pressed one of the pillows over her face. She barely struggled, her worn-out heart seizing up almost immediately, but he kept it in place for some minutes, more for the satisfaction it gave him than for anything else.
After a while he removed the pillow and looked down at her. She looked peaceful, serene even, and he felt a moment’s anger that she hadn’t suffered; but then, he reasoned to himself, it was probably for the best. This way no one would assume anything other than that she had passed away in her sleep.
Methodically he arranged the pillows as they had been when he came into the room, and settled Harriet against them, smoothing her hair and placing her hands together on top of the counterpane. Then he walked across the room, unlocked the door and left the room without a backward glance.
PART THREE
Caleb
1944
Chapter Nine
In the fourteen months that had passed since Joy’s birth, Esther had not once regretted returning to Yew Tree Farm the day after Harriet had been found dead in her bed. She would have liked to have stayed for the funeral, but in the circumstances that was impossible, as Theobald had made abundantly clear. She’d left the estate with Joy in her arms and in just the clothes she stood up in, and with Theobald’s curses ringing in her ears.
She had arrived in Yorkshire not knowing if Farmer Holden and his wife would take her in, but there had been nowhere else to go and – heartsore, exhausted and at the end of herself – she had returned like a damaged fledgling to the nest where it had been safe. And there she had told her story to the farm’s occupants, sitting in the kitchen while a blizzard raged fiercely outside and the wind howled and moaned. But inside there had been warmth and kindness and acceptance, from the five women at least. Farmer Holden had been a little stiff and taciturn, but his wife had clucked around Esther and the baby like a mother hen, and Priscilla, Beryl, Vera and Lydia – although shocked and amazed at the turn of events – had rallied round and, as one, supported their friend in her hour of need.
Inevitably there had been gossip among the folk in the nearby village, once they had seen Joy, but Esther refused to hide her baby away as though she was ashamed of her. She knew she had done nothing wrong. Foreign servicemen from all over the Empire might have arrived in the British Isles, but she had not been unfaithful to her husband and she wasn’t going to act as though she had been. The people who mattered to her knew the truth; the others could – as Priscilla put it – take a running jump. But . . . it still hurt, as she had confided to her friend.
&n
bsp; ‘Don’t you dare let anyone make you feel bad,’ Priscilla had said fiercely, her heart going out to Esther; she knew she had been so looking forward to the birth of her child and was deeply in love with her husband. ‘None of this is of your doing, darling. You remember that. And Monty might come to his senses, when he has had time to think things through.’
Even as Priscilla said it, part of her was thinking that Monty wasn’t good enough for Esther. If he couldn’t support her now, when she needed him most, how did that bode for the future? Esther was still the same Esther, and Joy was the sweetest baby imaginable. Didn’t he realize that all this had been as much a shock for Esther as for him? Not only that, but Esther had lost the woman she had always thought of as her mother, and was coping with that grief too. And he had simply walked away.
As Priscilla hugged her friend, she wished she could have ten minutes alone with Monty – preferably with a sledgehammer in her hands. And next in line would be his hateful mother.
‘If you could have seen Monty’s face when he looked at the baby,’ Esther whispered brokenly. ‘I don’t understand it, Cilla. He knows she is his, and yet he let his mother dictate to him like that. He . . . he was ashamed of her, and me.’
Priscilla didn’t understand it, either, but then she had never understood racial discrimination. She’d had a fight with her own father about it, before she had left to join the Land Army. They’d been having dinner and she had made a comment about Hitler’s cruelty towards the Jews. Her father hadn’t exactly condoned Hitler’s prejudice, but he’d made a remark about there being two sides to every situation. During his time in India, he’d said, a daughter of one of their close friends had actually become ‘close’ to a young high-ranking Indian who was a Hindu. Of course her parents had been horrified when they had discovered the affair, and had her shipped off to her grandparents in England post-haste.
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