Her Mother's Daughter

by Evie Grace

  ‘I would very much like to speak to you about that as soon as she is revived.’ Agnes rushed back along the landing to the library, where she handed the vinaigrette to Elizabeth. Charlotte was sitting on a chair with her head back against the antimacassar. Felix had obtained a fan from somewhere and was waving it in front of her face.

  ‘Open it and place it under her nostrils so she can inhale the vapours.’

  Gradually, as Charlotte breathed in the astringent scent of hartshorn, the colour began to return to her cheeks.

  Agnes, seeing that her charge was going to make a rapid and complete recovery, hastened back to the parlour. She had nothing to lose. Felix followed close on her heels, then pushed past her and rushed to his mother, falling dramatically to his knees at her feet.

  ‘Mama, I wish to say as your loving son, that whatever Miss Linnet alleges I have done, I am wholly and completely innocent.’

  ‘Really, Felix. What is this all about? First I hear that Charlotte is having a fainting fit, then that you are claiming not to have done something you are accused of, which usually means quite the opposite.’

  ‘Not in this case. I shall not accept responsibility for Miss Linnet’s condition. She is only trying to put the blame on to me so she can extort money and sympathy.’

  Lady Faraday, her face lined with concern, turned to Agnes.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t listen to her,’ Felix interrupted. ‘She has been lying to you all along.’

  ‘As you have to me, your mother,’ she said. ‘Pell gave me your sordid little love letters. I didn’t read them – I had them burned.’

  ‘Mama, how could you?’ he stammered.

  ‘He warned me of your dalliance. You’re an impressionable and impulsive young man – I knew it wouldn’t last. I was only hastening the inevitable. As it is, it seems that my interference wasn’t necessary.’ She turned back to Agnes, who was trembling. ‘When Pell came to me before with his doubts as to your identity, I was prepared to ignore them because you were so sweet and kind to my daughters, but I cannot see past this. You seduced my son.’

  ‘He seduced me,’ Agnes protested. A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I thought he was fond of me. He was – until I found out I was carrying his child.’

  ‘Well, that makes it ten times worse. I’m shocked and deeply disappointed.’ Lady Faraday held up her hand. ‘No, let me speak. I have no desire to hear the details. You must pack your belongings – I shall call one of the maids to help – and leave forthwith. You will not say goodbye to anyone, least of all my daughters.’

  ‘But what will you tell them?’ Agnes pictured their distress when they found out that she had gone.

  ‘I’m not sure yet. I shall either hold you up as an example of how easy it is for a woman to fall from grace, or make some excuse that you have had to return to your family, whoever they are. Your character was a forgery – a good one, but a forgery all the same. It’s all right. I suspected that you were too good to be true. Don’t expect me to write a reference for you after this. I will make sure that you never work as a governess again.’

  Agnes made one desperate last attempt to appeal to her employer.

  ‘This is your grandchild, your own flesh and blood. Have you no compassion?’

  ‘Not one shred. To think that I entrusted someone like you with my daughters’ moral education! As for you, Felix, let this be a lesson to you too. I shall keep silent on this matter from now on and you would be wise to do the same. Please ask Pell to see Miss Linnet to her room.’

  Agnes was sick with shame and anger. Felix had let her down. Her cheeks burned as the butler escorted her to her room in silence. She walked past him and stood waiting for him to close the door behind her.

  What had she done? She had been too open, too trusting and ridiculously naive, measuring the depth of Felix’s love by the force of her own passion. She had thrown caution to the wind out of her affection for him along with the expectation she had been brought up with: that she would marry well. She had gone against every principle that she had instilled in the young ladies, and she had lost everything.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, keeping her face averted.

  ‘Afternoon, Miss Linnet.’ She turned at the sound of Evie’s voice. ‘I’ve bin told I ’ave to help you pack your belongings. Oh, what is wrong? Of course, they ’ave found out?’ She walked across and hugged Agnes, wiping away a tear with her handkerchief. ‘It is all over the house that Felix has gone out riding in a temper, even though the groom has told him not to because the ground is ringing. I pity the partridges today.’

  ‘He is upset?’ Agnes asked.

  ‘I think he is truly shocked.’

  She hoped that he felt something – remorse for leading her on and letting her down, and regret for what might have been.

  ‘Thank you for not saying I told you so.’ Agnes forced a brief smile. ‘It is possible that Felix will call after me. He could neither say nor do anything in front of his mother.’

  ‘Listen to me. You need to face up to the facts. Master Faraday can’t do anything to help you. He’s the only son of a wealthy family, and you’re just a governess. He cannot marry you. It’s the way it is.’ Evie’s voice grew soft. ‘Now you ’ave to make the best of a very bad business.’

  ‘Oh dear, you are such an optimist. There is nothing left to make the best of. Don’t you see? I am ruined. I shall never be a governess again. Lady Faraday will make certain of it.’

  ‘It may be that you will find yourself employment in Canterbury. If not, you’ll ’ave to call upon the parish for help.’

  ‘Not the workhouse,’ Agnes said with a shudder. She thought of her true mother, who had loved her father, who in turn had loved their child even before she was born. ‘No, I’m sure it won’t come to that.’ Felix wouldn’t allow it. He would have some respect for her and their unborn child, surely?

  ‘Where are your bags, miss?’

  Agnes pointed towards the bedstead and Evie dragged them out. She put them on the bed and opened them up.

  ‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘Pull yourself together and fetch your things. What are you waiting for? I’m your friend, not your servant.’

  ‘Oh, Evie, I wasn’t expecting you to …’ Agnes bit her lip until she could taste blood. If the truth be told, she had slipped back in time to her previous existence when everyone had served her every whim. Slowly, she took down the clothes that were hanging on the back of the door, and the garments from the trunk beside the dressing table and began to pack them. She rolled up her jewellery in a pair of gloves. All she had left was a necklace, ring and bracelet. She would pawn them to pay for lodgings if necessary. She had a little money saved – three gold sovereigns and a few shillings. It wouldn’t last long, she suspected – and she doubted that Lady Faraday would offer to pay her outstanding wages.

  ‘Evie, you have been a good and loyal friend to me. I was so caught up in trying to be part of the family that I was inconsiderate to you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Agnes, please don’t worry about me. I am anxious for you and—’ She stopped abruptly.

  ‘The infant,’ Agnes finished for her. ‘It’s all right – I can acknowledge it. I have no choice.’ She checked the drawers in the mahogany chest and gazed at the luggage on the bed. There was no way she could carry everything with her to Canterbury in one go.

  ‘I expect I could ’ave them sent on after you,’ Evie said. ‘If you can let me know a forwarding address …’

  ‘I don’t know where I will end up.’ She felt another rush of panic.

  ‘’Ave you anyone you can stay with? I wish I could ask my family on your behalf, but—’

  ‘It’s all right, Evie. I understand. They struggle as it is. I couldn’t impose on them.’

  ‘They would put you up if they could.’

  ‘I know. Thank you. You don’t know how grateful I am for your kindness.’ Sh
e was a maid from a poor family, and she was offering to do all that she could, while others who had the means to help her stood back, ignoring her plight.

  ‘What about the friends you mentioned? The ones at the tannery?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly.’ Agnes was too embarrassed. ‘They aren’t really more than acquaintances. I only know them through my former governess.’

  ‘Surely, they would offer you a room for a night or two at least?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I would not bring my shame to their door. They’re respectable people, and Mr Cheevers is unwell. No, I’ll leave you some money to cover your costs, and send word with the address when I know where I’m staying.’ She wondered briefly about calling at Windmarsh Court, but she knew that it was no use in applying to Mama for help.

  ‘I shall look after your belongings as well as if they were my own.’ Evie gave her a warm hug.

  ‘Thank you, my dear Evie,’ Agnes said tearfully.

  She picked up a bag and a small suitcase. That was all she could manage.

  Pell entered the room without knocking.

  ‘You have outstayed your welcome. I have my instructions from Lady Faraday to see you off the premises forthwith,’ he said abruptly.

  Agnes lugged her bags down the stairs and past the rest of the staff, who were watching from the servants’ hall, to the rear entrance of Roper House. She struggled to open the door while Pell looked on, with Evie standing behind him.

  ‘Farewell,’ Evie called. ‘Please take good care of yourself, Miss Linnet.’

  ‘Hush, child,’ Pell said. ‘There’s no need to make a scene. This is what happens when a young woman takes a wrong turn. She deserves her punishment.’

  ‘But it is so very cold and dark out there,’ Evie protested.

  Agnes closed the door behind her. What next? she wondered. Where should she go?

  She scurried past the side of the house and along the drive in the shadows of the trees. When she reached the gatehouse where the drive met the road, she turned and looked back at the house, which stood out against the pale lemon moon. She had been happy there. She had stood on her own two feet and made her way, albeit with a forged reference. She had proved herself.

  The two Misses Faraday had blossomed under her tutelage, but now they would remember her for all the wrong reasons. As for Felix – the tears streamed warm and wet down her cheeks, because in spite of what he’d done to her, her love for him still pulled at her insides.

  She blamed herself. She had been a victim of her own feverish romanticism. Hadn’t he told her that she had the radiance of an angel and was the queen rose in a garden of ordinary blooms? He had wanted to unwrap her body from the layers of her clothes and release her from the hoops and stays that restrained her curves. She had let him. She had fallen into his arms and she had enjoyed it.

  One wasn’t supposed to find pleasure in the congress of a man and a woman, but she had. She had fallen in love with him and then he had rejected her in the cruellest of ways at a time when she had needed him most.

  She forced herself to concentrate on each step, as the road was rough and slippery with ice, but she couldn’t suppress the turmoil of her thoughts. What chance was there that he would remember her? Would he ever wonder what had happened to her and the child? Would he even care?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It’s an Ill Wind that Blows No One Any Good

  Agnes walked slowly as the bitter wind blew the clouds across the moon and snuffed out the remaining light, along with any optimism she’d had that Felix might have a change of heart. She struggled to find her way past the cottages and down to the crossroads where the road joined Watling Street.

  Something rustled in the underwood. She stiffened and held her breath. Who was it? What was it? A shadowy creature passed by.

  ‘Pull yourself together,’ she muttered to herself. ‘It’s only a deer.’

  She made her way into the woods and sat herself down on one of her bags at the base of a chestnut tree, where she shivered and shook – and prayed – until dawn crept through the sky, slowly revealing her hiding place. She dragged herself up and set off again. What would she have given for a pitcher of hot water and the luxuries of her dressing table? It was not that she cared what she looked like, but simply for comfort. She was lucky she hadn’t frozen to death.

  She picked up her bags and slid down the muddy bank on to the road. A horse and cart trotted past, and an elderly couple walked arm in arm ahead of her. She took one last look behind her in the direction of Roper House. Her heart lifted as she caught sight of the Faradays’ carriage.

  He had come for her after all.

  ‘Felix,’ she gasped, but the carriage continued past and she realised that she had been mistaken. It was the family’s transport, but if Master Faraday was inside it, he’d had no intention of stopping to rescue her.

  She cursed the Lord above. Had she not prayed long and hard enough? Was this His retribution for her pride and arrogance, her blithe thoughtlessness and refusal to obey Mama and marry Philip? He had taken Papa, her protector, up to Heaven and forced her to part from Nanny whom she loved and missed more than anyone. Why had God not seen fit to grant her any mercy?

  She had lost Felix, along with her hopes and dreams of restoring her fortunes. She had held those in a social position equal and superior to hers in high esteem, yet at Roper House, she’d learned that the possession of wealth and a certain level of class wasn’t enough to inspire her regard. She felt more respect for hard-working Evie who had been kind to her than for the man who had let her down.

  Her faith in love had been destroyed. She recalled the touch of her lover’s hand against her face, how he had cupped her chin so tenderly and planted that first kiss on her lips. She had loved him and now she regretted her folly and grieved her loss. She hated him for what he had done to her.

  In despair, she trudged on to Canterbury, towards the cathedral that rose up from the plain below as though in judgement on her. She continued through St Dunstan’s and past the Westgate Towers as far as Mercery Lane, where she had once strolled with Nanny. She wondered about stopping for sustenance, but she felt too unkempt to enter the eating house, so she bought a pie and hot tea from one of the market stalls. She tucked the pie inside her cloak so as not to be seen eating on the street. She still had standards, after all, she thought bitterly.

  She stood on King’s Bridge over the Stour, in front of the weavers’ house with its blacked timbers and mullioned windows. A ducking stool jutted out over the river from the side of the building. Nanny had once told her that it had been used in the olden days for scolds who talked too much and for women suspected of being witches. If they drowned, they were innocent.

  She felt uneasy in the crowd of people with grey skins and greasy hair, who passed by in their unwashed clothes. She had a sense that she was being followed, but when she looked around to check, she saw nothing suspicious. She felt for the purse at her waist, and the sovereigns tucked in a handkerchief inside her coat.

  She wandered the streets, looking for ‘Wanted’ adverts in the shop windows, and then, when she had exhausted those, she started knocking on doors, but the answer was the same wherever she went. A supercilious stare, a smirk or a look of horror as if she was the plague itself.

  What could she do? How on earth was she going to support herself and the child? She couldn’t possibly apply for a situation as a governess in her condition. She wondered about taking up lodgings and advertising that she could provide tuition to young ladies, but she was about to give birth out of wedlock. Who would entrust their daughter’s education to someone like her?

  She didn’t dream of riches, of white kid gloves and hot chocolate, of elaborate French dishes and scarlet dresses. She dreamed of a modest, yet comfortable home with her own privy and enough money for food and clothing. She prayed for the safe delivery of her child, her health and some kind of peace of mind. She wasn’t sure about happiness. That
was a dream too far.

  Someone pushed past her, knocking her off her feet. She went flying, falling with a bump into the gutter. Her first thoughts were for the safety of her child. She stroked her belly and pulled her skirts back over her ankles.

  ‘I’m sorry, miss,’ a man’s voice said.

  She looked up into the dazzling winter sunlight. She could just make out the figure of a gentleman dressed in a long coat and top hat.

  ‘Let me help you.’ He offered his arm.

  She took it, and let him assist her on to her feet. As she straightened, his hands were on her cloak.

  ‘Look at you. Your clothes are dirty and it’s my fault. I was in too much of a hurry—’ He smiled, showing his teeth and gums, like a snarling dog.

  ‘Don’t worry, sir.’ She stepped away from him. ‘There are no bones broken.’

  ‘Thank goodness. I would hate to think that I’d caused you any harm, Miss Berry-Clay.’

  ‘Who? How do you know my name?’

  ‘Ah, we have a mutual friend in Mr Pell. He said to wish you the worst of times on his behalf in return for the harm you’ve done to the Faraday sisters. He will never forgive you.’ The man slipped one hand inside his coat pocket and touched his hat with the other as he wished her good day.

  She watched him turn and walk away, his footsteps quickening as he disappeared around the corner into Bargate. How dare Pell send a messenger to scare her witless! What did he think to achieve by it?

  She rearranged her coat. Something was missing – the gold sovereigns. More than that. The gloves containing her jewellery were gone as well. The encounter had been a ruse. She broke into a stumbling run. Where was he? Her heart hammered and her lungs hurt as she checked the streets and side turnings, but it was too late. Pell’s associate was long gone, and so were her valuables.

  Agnes cursed beneath her breath, using words that she’d heard Felix use. She should have been more careful.

  She began to cry, then remembered one of Nanny’s sayings – it’s no use crying over spilled milk – but it didn’t help. She cried some more as she walked along looking for a policeman. She had to ask for help from a boy who was pushing a ‘barrer’ along the pavement, and he gave her directions to the police station on Pound Lane beside the Westgate Towers. Here the police constable, assuming that she was a lady of some consequence from her refined speech, called for the superintendent, who asked her many questions. What was she doing alone in Canterbury? Where was she staying? Where was her evidence of her identity? What proof did she have of the existence of the valuables she claimed to have been carrying?