by Cathy Sharp
Hetty laughed. ‘You surprise me, Arthur. I thought you a man of business affairs.’
‘Oh, I enjoy working with my hands at times,’ he said. ‘If I can start up a pottery here I might try my hand at throwing a pot when I visit.’
‘You intend to visit regularly then?’
‘We shall want to keep an eye on things,’ he said. ‘I trust George and his wife – but I do not intend to be a patron in the background only. Complacency leads to carelessness.’
‘I should like to visit sometimes,’ Hetty said wistfully.
‘When we are wed you have only to ask …’
‘Arthur …’ Hetty paused as Marta entered the room.
‘Oh, Hetty, I wondered if you could come,’ she said. ‘The children are quarrelling over who sleeps where and I know you said where they should be and Mary says I’m right but two of the girls have fallen out and …’
‘Yes, I will come,’ Hetty laughed. ‘There are bound to be squabbles until they settle down. It is only natural. They’ve never had so much freedom and personalities are coming to the fore!’ Freedom brought a different kind of problem, which was why there still had to be certain rules and regulations.
Arthur sighed as Hetty was taken away to perform yet another task. There were half a dozen jobs he had seen needing a man’s attention and he might as well get on with them. Moving so many people into a new home was a huge undertaking and there were bound to be sparks flying until it was all settled again.
It was after they had dined that Arthur finally found time to be alone with Hetty. He went outside to smoke a cigar and stroll on the lawn and she came out to him, a warm shawl about her shoulders because the air had cooled once the sun had gone. It was not yet warm enough to be strolling at night and she shivered in the night air.
‘A busy day,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘Are you tired, my dearest one?’
‘Yes, a little – as you must be. I’m sure I saw you chopping logs just before supper.’
‘Tom was showing me the correct way to split them,’ Arthur said and grinned. ‘He is a countryman and we’ve had some interesting talks.’
‘I think you already knew, did you not?’ Hetty looked at him in amusement.
‘Perhaps, but it does no harm to listen to sage advice,’ Arthur said and smiled.
‘You’re a kind man, Arthur Stoneham.’
‘Am I?’ he said huskily and moved closer to her, throwing his cigar into the earth. ‘Kind enough for you to marry, Hetty?’
‘I love you,’ she said simply and smiled as he touched her cheek. ‘You only had to ask me enough times – though I do not think I shall make a grand society hostess.’
‘Nor will you be asked to attend the kind of affairs that would make you unhappy,’ he said softly. ‘Would you live in the country with me, Hetty, devoting our lives to our family and to those we choose to take in and care for?’
‘Here?’ she asked but he shook his head.
‘George and Betty will take care of our people here and we may visit as often as we like. I meant at my estate in Devon. It is much larger, the house too big for one family, which is why I never bothered with it. With some thought, it could be both our home and another place like this – with children, elderly folk, working families and craftsmen in one wing. We will build cottages there too so that families can stay together. Everyone will work together and we will have a pottery, a carpentry shop making special furniture – and other trades. It will be like the manor here but we shall take it further.’
‘Oh, Arthur …’ Hetty’s eyes lit up. Arthur’s smile told her that he thought her lovely and she felt his love as their lips met in a kiss of sweet passion that held them fast until they were trembling with love and desire. ‘You have just offered me heaven on earth!’
‘I’m going to ask Bella and Hannah to visit with us for their holidays, but they will go to school – and they will become whatever they wish. I think Tom might like to come with us to our home, because we have become friends, but everyone else will stay here. We shall take in those in need locally when we are settled and ready.’
‘What of the refuge in London?’ Hetty asked, for it had been her task to care for the inmates there.
‘It will continue with Ruth and Lil, and my Cousin Matthew will oversee it for me. His daughter, Lucy, has written to tell me of her hopes for the future and I believe she may wish to help others less fortunate. She might help to run the refuge for she could still do her sewing – and teach others if she chose. We shall stay in town from time to time, for I think you would like to visit the theatre and the shops, but I believe I shall sell my father’s London house and buy something more suited to my lifestyle. The money can be used for better purposes, helping to support the manor, perhaps, though I hope it will become self-sufficient in time.’
Hetty looked at him. ‘You do not have to give up all your pleasures for me, Arthur. What of Toby and your other society friends?’
‘Toby will be living with Meg and we might buy something near them for our visits to town – and my true friends will visit us wherever we are, my darling. I do not intend to give up my campaign to improve the lot of the poor of London, for there is much to do there. What we can achieve, even if we devote our lives and fortune to it, is a mere drop in the ocean. Reform is needed so that children do not go hungry and are not abused, and the elderly must be treated with dignity and understanding. I shall lobby those in power to use their influence towards improving the lot of the destitute.’
‘You hope for Utopia,’ Hetty said and smiled up into his loving eyes.
‘Yes, I strive for it but know I can never achieve it,’ Arthur admitted ruefully. ‘I will do what is in my power to help all those I can in whatever way I can – and that is all any man can do, my darling.’
‘Yes,’ she said and kissed him. ‘And I love you for trying … it is all anyone can ask.’
‘I love you, Hetty. Can you forgive me for not knowing it years ago? I have wasted so much time!’
‘No, never wasted,’ she said. ‘We have been friends and we have both learned. Until we came here I did not know what would truly make me happy, Arthur.’
‘And now you do?’
‘Yes – but there is one more thing we both need before we can be truly content …’
He looked into her eyes. ‘You mean Eliza, don’t you? You think I should tell her about Sarah and why she was left at the workhouse.’
‘She has a right to know, Arthur – and unless you tell her, you will never be at peace, my love. Speak to her, if not for your own sake then for mine.’
‘How wise you are for one so young and beautiful …’
Hetty laughed and shook her head. ‘I am not truly young, Arthur, but I do love you and I hope that we may have children of our own – although I know that if we do not we shall have others, all those lost and lonely little ones that we can rescue …’
‘Your daughter, Hetty, mine, Bella and Hannah …’ he said softly. ‘And so many others …’
CHAPTER 23
‘I am glad to have caught you,’ Toby said as Arthur was about to leave his London house. ‘I wanted to tell you my news.’
‘From your expression I would judge it to be good news?’
‘The best,’ Toby said. ‘My agent discovered the whereabouts of Meg’s husband – and it is a churchyard in Winchester. Meg’s father lives there and her husband had an estate close by. Apparently, this past winter, her husband caught a putrid chill and died in his bed.’
Arthur arched his brow. ‘Is that the truth or what you will tell Meg?’
Toby frowned. ‘I swear it is the truth,’ he said. ‘I will not lie – had I found he was alive and still looking for her I might have killed him, but it seems the bitter winter did it for me. I consider it justice for all he made her suffer.’
‘So now you may make Meg your wife?’
‘Yes, if she will have me,’ Toby said and then swore. ‘God forgive me, I know I should
not rejoice in another’s death – but I cannot help it. Had that devil lived I know she would always have feared he would come for her.’
‘You have my blessing, my friend, and I wish only happiness for the both of you.’
Toby’s face lit with a genuine smile. ‘I must go and tell Meg my news – but I wanted you to know …’
‘Go with my good wishes,’ Arthur said. ‘I have things I must attend to.’
Eliza was busy mixing a remedy for the rheumatics. Miss Edith had shown her that there were different kinds of ailments that people grouped as rheumatics or the agues, and they each required a different herb to be effective. She had carefully measured and chopped and now the herbs were soaking in pale natural vinegar that would draw out all the healing properties.
Miss Edith was sitting in the chair by the fire, dozing. Her chest had been bad this past winter and Eliza worried about her cough. She did not want the woman she loved almost as a mother to die, and sometimes, when Edith was very ill, she feared that the time was creeping closer.
‘Eliza, there’s a gentleman asked to see you. He said is it all right if he comes through?’ Bess, the little serving girl they’d taken on to help in the shop, came through to the kitchen.
Eliza glanced up and saw the man standing just behind Bess. A little jolt of surprise made her cry out as she saw it was Mr Arthur Stoneham.
‘Yes, of course, sir,’ she said. ‘Go back to the shop, Bess. In half an hour you may go home. Let me know and I will come and lock the door after you.’
‘You are very busy, I see,’ her visitor said and advanced into the kitchen. He looked a little nervous and Bella wondered at it, because although she had not often seen him these past months he had regularly sent her hampers of lovely things for her to share with her beloved Miss Edith. ‘What may I do for you, sir?’
‘Have you time to sit and talk with me for a few minutes, Eliza?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She glanced at Miss Edith but she was fast asleep. ‘If we go a little further away we shall not disturb her.’ They retreated to the far end of the kitchen and he sat down at the table.
‘Is she no better?’ he asked and Eliza shook her head sadly. ‘If there is anything I can do …?’
Eliza shook her head again. ‘She is comfortable and I care for her.’
‘You love her.’
‘Yes, very much. She took me from the workhouse and gave me a home – but more than that, she taught me to read and write, she showed me how to make herbal preparations that ease pain – and she taught me to drink tea!’
Eliza’s eyes sparkled with mischief at that last remark and Arthur felt a pang of recognition. She had his sense of humour and that look of mischief in her face was his own. If he had ever been unsure, he knew now that Eliza was his daughter with Sarah, the girl he’d loved as a young and headstrong man.
‘I never know why folk like tea,’ Arthur said. ‘I prefer wine or ale.’
‘I prefer a cup of good ale,’ Eliza admitted. ‘A bad habit I learned in the workhouse, I imagine.’
‘Yes …’ Arthur sobered immediately, his conscience smitten by the memory of what she had endured there. ‘You should never have been there. Forgive me for all you suffered, Eliza. I shall never forgive myself but I hope you will at least understand when you know the truth.’
‘I fear I do not know of what you speak,’ Eliza said puzzled. ‘I was abandoned by my mother and left there years before you knew of me.’
‘Not by your mother. She died and someone else took you to the workhouse and gave you to that foul woman.’
Eliza stared at him in silence, her eyes widening in disbelief. ‘How could you know?’ she asked but her voice was no more than a whisper. ‘You know of my mother?’
‘I knew her, Eliza,’ Arthur said, and she saw that he too was much affected. ‘When I first discovered you in that place I had no idea whose child you were – nor even that Sarah had had a child. I learned it a few months back, because I made it my business to … and it is a strange and involved story. One that leaves me culpable, though I vow I never knew of you until recently.’
Eliza’s hands were trembling. She sat down abruptly in a wooden armchair and stared at him, clasping her hands to stop them shaking.
‘Sarah died with only strangers to care for her and that is a bitter thorn that pricks me endlessly, for I did love her. But I was a young, heedless creature and cared too much for my own pleasure. Eliza … Eliza, I seduced Sarah and then I left her but I swear that I did not know she carried my child.’ Arthur paused to let her take it in. She nodded, her face expressionless, and he continued, ‘Her brother kept the truth from me for years. I learned of my child only when it was too late – and I did not know that both Sarah and my child had lived until I met you and saw this – and then I searched for the clues that led me to the truth.’
He held out a trinket that sparkled. Eliza took it wonderingly. It was a halfpenny set in gold and ringed with diamonds and had once been his watch fob. ‘Ruth, who looked after you, kept this for you when she found it in your shawl when you were brought to the workhouse. She wanted to give it to you when she knew you were safe here, but she dropped it in my presence and I saw it. I knew at once it had been mine, and Ruth guessed what it was from my reaction when I first saw it and she waited to ask me for permission to give it to you. I persuaded her to let me give it to you.’
Eliza was still bewildered, unable to take in more than the knowledge that he had not only known her mother, but was her father, here to declare it to her. The rest concerning the shawl and the trinket hidden in it went over her head for it was too much to absorb and she would need to ask Ruth for the details when her head was clear. For the moment emotion gripped her, bringing her close to tears and she could hardly believe that she had heard aright.
At last she spoke again, ‘Her brother denied you the chance to give Sarah love and make amends. Do you not think that he deserves much of the blame?’ Eliza’s eyes never left his as she waited for his answer.
‘Sarah’s brother John was angry, because he felt that she had shamed his name, though I think after her death he may have blamed himself – yet I know that I alone must bear the blame and I know that you must hate me for my spineless desertion of your mother – thereby condemning you to years of hurt and pain.’
Eliza was silent, looking at him thoughtfully as she saw the emotions working in his face and felt his tension. It was true that his careless treatment of a young gentlewoman had caused much distress, but he had suffered for it. She saw the deep sorrow in his eyes and found there was no anger or bitterness in her.
‘It hurts me that she died alone and believed herself abandoned,’ Eliza said at last. ‘Yet I do not think you can blame yourself for her death – had her brother not forced her from her home she might never have taken the fever – and as for the rest, anger and blame will not bring her back from the grave nor will it give me the mother I never knew.’ Eliza held the halfpenny, which hung from a clasp, clutching it tightly. She looked at it, thoughtfully. ‘It is a gentleman’s watch fob, I think.’
‘Once mine, thrown away in anger, found and taken up by your mother and concealed in your shawl – and now yours. It was the clue that led me to the truth of Sarah’s death and your fate.’
Eliza looked at the trinket in silence, then, ‘There was a time when I might have sold it to buy food but now I shall keep it to remind me of my mother …’ She slipped it into her apron pocket and then gazed calmly at him. ‘Do you not think you should tell me all of it?’ she asked, and so he did.
Arthur described the complicated story of how she had been given to a childless couple, who longed for a babe of their own, but the husband had died and the woman had decided she could no longer cope with caring for her.
Eliza repeated the tale in wonder. ‘I was given to a woman who longed for a child but her husband died of a fever and so she was forced to give me up …’ She looked at him strangely. ‘Without this trinket yo
u would have had no clue, so are you certain that I am your child, sir? Could it not have got into my clothing some other way?’
‘Until today, Ruth’s testimony was the closest I could come to certainty,’ he said, ‘but now I know that you are my daughter.’ He smiled. ‘It is a certain expression in the eyes; a way you have of laughing that reminds me of myself – and also of your grandmother, my mother. You are a little like her in looks, though thankfully not in nature. Forgive me, Eliza. I should have told you the truth as soon as I discovered your story, but I did not know what to do for the best. I did not want you brought up by servants as I was, unloved, neglected and yet given every material comfort.’
‘Is that how you lived as a child?’ She looked at him curiously.
‘Yes – but I do not say it for sympathy, merely for understanding why I did not tell you as soon as I discovered the truth of your birth and the reason you were given to the workhouse.’
Eliza was silent, gazing at him in wonder and disbelief. Could it really be true? For all her life she had been a nameless brat with no mother or father, and although Ruth had cared for her and Miss Edith loved her, there had been a huge gap in her past that left an empty space inside her.
‘I have a father – and a mother who loved me and would have kept me had she not died?’ He inclined his head, his eyes filled with tears that spilled over and trickled down his cheeks. Eliza looked at him and realised that she was crying too. ‘Thank you – thank you so much for telling me of her!’ She smiled through her tears. ‘I have known love from Ruth in the workhouse and from Miss Edith – but now I know my mother loved me too.’