by Anna Jacobs
The daughter had clearly rebelled against her strict upbringing, not that you could blame her completely, given the circumstances, but she was bound to be even worse than gossip had painted her.
Once she had taken her decision to save her son from that woman, and even from himself, if necessary, Celia made some specific plans. Now was the time to face that woman with her unsavoury past, while she was heavy with child and therefore at her most unattractive.
Her son must be forced to see the error of his ways before he did anything irrevocable. The mere thought of her poor dear Daniel being entrapped into an unsuitable marriage with Charles Carnforth’s widow was giving his mother the most dreadful nightmares, not to mention headaches and megrims.
It took her a while, however, to persuade Edward Merling, who seemed to be the sole surviving member of that woman’s immediate family, that it was his duty to speak out, but Celia did it. Oh, yes, she made the brother see the necessity to take action in the end!
And now that she was quite ready to make her move, she arranged to hire a carriage, not wishing to borrow one of her son's and thus inform him in advance that she was going to see him, risking him carrying out his threat of absenting himself if she tried to go to Ashdown. Surprise was essential.
In his shock at hearing the truth - for she intended to reveal all, sparing nothing - Daniel would understand at last that a Carnforth born and bred could not ally himself with the widow of a common actor, a woman who had, moreover, been cast off - and rightly so! - by her own family for gross immorality.
Happy in her cosy world, busy helping others and impatient now for the birth of her second child, Helen had no idea that the gossip was so widespread, or that it was still painting her in such very dark colours, until Harry came home one day with a black eye, a split lip and his clothes all torn.
She caught him sneaking up the stairs . ‘Harry! What's happened?’
‘Oh, nothing, Mother. Just a - a disagreement.’
‘Come down at once.’ She led the way into the parlour. ‘This has gone on long enough. I insist on knowing why you’ve been fighting.’
He stared down at his feet, avoiding her eyes.
Fear settled in her belly like a heavy stone. ‘It's not - about me again, is it?’ Surely that nonsense had all died down by now?
‘It was just a chap I know. We disagreed about - about something we read in Horace.'
But he couldn’t meet her eye. He was definitely lying. Helen stared at her son. ‘I shall not let you go till you tell me what you were fighting about. I mean that.’
‘Mother, it's nothing. Really.’
‘I shall sit here all night, if necessary, until you tell me.’ She folded her arms.
Harry's resolution, at first firm, began to falter. He wasn’t used to defying his mother, but he couldn’t tell her what they were saying, he just couldn’t.
The minutes dragged past. Half an hour of cold silence from her was as much as he could bear.
He gave a sob and flung himself down with his head in her lap, begging her not to make him tell.
She stroked his hair. ‘Harry, I must know. How can I help you, if I don't know what's wrong?
This isn’t the first time it's happened, after all!’
‘Please, Mother! It's better not to talk about it.’
‘I think it must have something to do with me, then. Is that what it is, Harry?’
Silence. But a sob betrayed him.
She sighed and stroked his head. Why would people not leave them alone? ‘Darling - what are they saying about me now? Let's face up to it, as dear Charles would have told us to do.’
He looked at her miserably. ‘They're making jokes about you - and - and rhymes.’
She stiffened. ‘Go on. What exactly are they saying?’
‘They - they're talking about who your third husband will be. They say you've had him picked out for a while and that,’ he gulped, ‘you'll have the knot tied as soon as the baby is born. And -
they say things about the baby, too - who its father was. Some people are even betting on when you'll re-marry. But I smacked Frank on the nose, so he won't say anything about you again. He bled all over his shirt.’
‘Thank you for hitting him, darling. It serves him right! Who - who do they say I'm going to marry?’
He wriggled uncomfortably and her hand tightened on his shoulder. ‘Who, Harry?’
‘Mr Carnforth.’
Until that moment, Helen hadn’t faced up to all the social implications of her feelings for Daniel. She realised she’d been drifting along, oblivious to the world around her, secure in her own little cocoon of warm happiness. Oh, she knew that the baby had caused some talk, but she thought if she lived quietly and decently, it would soon pass - was actually passing already.
Now she realised abruptly that this hadn’t happened, that her reputation, however unfairly earned, was likely to damage several lives. Her son's. And Daniel's, too. She couldn’t bear the thought of people ostracising Daniel because of her. But it was even harder to face a separation from him. He had become so much a part of her life in the past month or two. There was nothing she'd like more than to marry him and spend the rest of her life with him, and although he hadn't actually asked her, she knew he would do after the child was born. And she’d intended to say yes.
She didn't love him in a gentle, fond way, as she had Charles; she loved him deeply and desperately.
Too much to ruin him!
How dared people make that love the subject of bets! She stared unseeingly into the fire. It was no use. She had to face facts. Nothing would more surely damage Daniel in the eyes of the world than to marry the widow of a common actor, a woman with a bad reputation.
With Charles, it had been different. His life had been nearly over and he didn’t live in England.
But Daniel was younger. His life lay before him. And if he wouldn’t think of himself, then she must. She swallowed hard, to prevent herself from bursting into tears.
‘Mother, are you all right?’ Harry's voice was gentle beside her. He was looking at her with such concern in his poor battered face. Another one who was suffering because of her.
‘Are you all right?’ he repeated. ‘You don't look all right. You look unhappy again. I didn't mean to make you unhappy. Why did you make me tell you?’
‘What? Oh, yes dear. I'm sorry. I was just - just thinking what to do. I - we have to - to face things.’ However unpalatable. ‘So leave me to think, and go and get some supper now. We'll talk about this again tomorrow.’
He left, but reluctantly. And ate so little supper that Becky gave him a sound scolding, then wormed out of him what was wrong.
When he’d left, Helen pulled her shawl around her and sat on by the fire. It didn't take much thought to make her tentative decision a firm one. She must act in such a way as to persuade Daniel she didn’t love him and never could. Or perhaps she could convince him that she didn’t want to re-marry?
And - however much it hurt - she must make him see that the best service he could do for her and her son was to find himself a nice young wife, one of unimpeachable respectability. Only then would these dreadful rumours about her die down. Only then, could she and her two children live in peace. She put one hand protectively on her belly. Two children to think of now. Oh, please, little one, be a daughter!
It took her the rest of the evening to compose a letter to Daniel, and then she had to write it out again, because of the tear smudges on the first copy.
She must, she decided bleakly, get everything settled as quickly as possible, for Harry's sake.
And for her own. A clean break was kinder. And if a letter wasn’t enough, if he insisted on seeing her, then she mustn’t weaken. She loved him far too much to let him ruin himself.
Mrs Carnforth presents her compliments to Mr Carnforth and begs that he will abstain in future from calling upon her. In view of the rumours currently circulating around the neighbourhood, and bearing in mind her so
n's future and that of her unborn child, she believes it best to give the gossips no further fuel for their speculations about her plans for the future.
Those plans are, and must remain, to devote herself solely to her children. They do not include any possibility of remarriage.
Only then did she go to bed. But she found it very hard to sleep for long and spent most of the night tossing and turning. She would have got up again if she didn’t fear that Becky, also a light sleeper, might hear her and come to scold her. Goodness, the baby was as active as her mind tonight, and all she could do was doze uneasily until she realised suddenly that the house was full of the sound of servants starting the day and that her bedroom was filled with the cold grey light of a dreary winter morning. She was relieved to see the sky lighten. Things never seemed as bad in the clearer light of day.
When Becky popped her head in to see if she was awake, Helen forced a smile and agreed to a breakfast tray in bed.
‘You'm near your time now,’ Becky said abruptly, coming over to pat her hand, not deceived by this assumed cheerfulness. ‘So stop that worriting! You need to think of yourself now, yourself and the baby. Never mind the rest of ’em.’
‘Yes.’ But try as she might, Helen could only think of Daniel. ‘I wonder if you could ask Briggs to deliver this letter for me? As soon as he can, please.’
Becky took the missive, put it in her pocket, frowned at her mistress, then left to get the breakfast tray. Something had upset Helen Carnforth. It was more than Harry's fight of the previous day. It was something very serious indeed.
‘She don't deserve it,’ Becky grumbled. ‘Times like this, a woman deserves cosseting. Poor lamb. I better keep my eye on her.’
When she gave the letter to Briggs, he frowned. ‘What does she need to write to him for? He was over here only yesterday morning.’
‘That’s what I thought. So you ask to see him when you take this over, Alfred Briggs, and tell him from me he's not to do anything to upset her. She's near her time now, I'd stake my life on it.
So tell him straight out. Whatever it is, he's to stop it upsetting her until after the baby’s born.’
Then she went back into the house, grumbling about the effects of cold weather on old bones, and the way folk wouldn't let other folk live in peace. ‘She don't deserve any more trouble. She surely don’t,’ she told Susan, then snapped her great-niece’s head off for responding to that remark and daring to make a comment on her betters.
Susan rolled her eyes at cook and got on with her work in silence.
Upstairs, Helen crumbled one of the slices of toast, threw the pieces out of the window for the birds to dispose of.
Chapter 20
Briggs went off to deliver the letter, fretting about his mistress and what Becky had said.
Harry, sternly forbidden to get into any more fights, whatever the provocation, went off to his morning lessons at the parsonage, but had difficulty concentrating on his work.
When she got up, later than usual, Helen decided to spring clean the dining-room and rearrange the furniture, to take her mind off the aching misery her decision to break with Daniel had caused her.
Becky looked at her a little strangely when she announced her plans, but did nothing to stop her, only made her promise to get help before she moved anything heavy.
When, at two o'clock on a cold grey afternoon, Lord Northby's carriage drew up, Helen was busy pulling all the silver out of the massive sideboard. She knew nothing about the unexpected arrival until Susan rushed into the room and gasped, ‘It's a visitor, m'lady. Lord Northby, he says he's called. We've put him in the parlour. Becky says to come quick!’
Helen stood up so quickly it gave her a stitch in the side. She stood still until it had passed, then pulled off her apron, tidied her hair in the mirror, pulling a face at how swollen her belly looked.
As she went to greet her guest, she wondered what on earth Lord Northby wanted? She had written, out of courtesy, to inform him of her return to England, but had expected that to be the end of it. She hadn’t even written to Roxanne yet, because she didn’t want to face her friend until matters were settled.
Basil Northby heaved himself to his feet as she came into the parlour. He remembered a diffident young girl, quite pretty in a subdued sort of way. He was confronted by a stunningly beautiful woman in an advanced state of pregnancy and could only stand and gape at her for a moment.
‘Good afternoon, Lord Northby. How kind of you to call on me! Do, please, sit down.’
He resumed his seat, refused an offer of refreshments and tried to approach the matter delicately.
‘So - you are a widow now, Helen my dear? For the second time, I believe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Twice married, eh?’ he repeated.
She stiffened. ‘'Yes. Twice.’' Was it possible that he too had heard the gossip? Could it have spread so far afield? She felt quite sick at the thought.
Lord Northby cleared his throat. When she refused to come with him, his wife had said it'd be difficult and she was right. ‘And - er - how is your son?’'
‘He’s well, thank you.’ Helen waited, offering him no help. Let him speak first, reveal why exactly he’d come. She’d done nothing to be ashamed of and would accept no criticism, whatever gossip had said about her.
Before he could continue, there was the sound of another carriage drawing up.
He stood up and went to stare out of the window. ‘Expectin' someone, are you?’
‘No.’ She joined him, but was too late to see who had called. Not Daniel, that was sure, for this was a hired carriage by the looks of it. Who could be visiting her? She wished they would all leave her alone. There! Standing up quickly had pulled her side again. She rubbed at the stitch absent-mindedly, bracing herself mentally to receive more callers.
A moment later, Helen and Lord Northby exchanged surprised glances as an altercation broke out in the hallway.
Becky hadn’t liked the tone in which Mrs Celia Carnforth demanded to see her mistress. She wasn’t having her lady upset, not with the birth due any moment, by the looks of it. When Celia pushed her way into the hall, Becky pushed right back.
‘’Tis no time to be callin’. You can leave your card.’ She failed to push the caller out of the front door again, but still managed to bar the way to the parlour. She’d never liked Mrs Carnforth, whose main pleasure in life seemed to be stirring up mischief. ‘Go back to Bath and pay your dangy visits there!’
‘Well!’ Celia glared at Becky. ‘How dare you speak to me like that, woman! Get out of my way at once.’
‘My mistress is busy. ’Tis you who should get out of our way.’
Helen, who had just sat down again, for she was feeling strangely weak today, threw an apologetic look at Lord Northby and struggled to her feet again. Before she could move towards the door, it flew open and Celia Carnforth burst in, followed by a plump, pasty-faced gentleman in clerical garb, with Becky hovering disapprovingly behind them.
‘I told her you were busy, but she would push her way in. I don't call that good manners, I don't indeed.’
‘Aha! There you are!’ exclaimed Celia, fixing Helen with a cold stare of triumph. ‘I knew you were in!’
Helen sighed. No avoiding this meeting now. ‘You may go, Becky.’
Becky eyed her mistress narrowly and shook her head. ‘Send her away. ’Tis no time to be callin', but she wouldn't be told.’
‘Becky, please!’
The nurse left the room, but stayed in the hallway, unashamedly eavesdropping. She would be needed before too long, she could tell that.
‘Unhappy woman, all is discovered!’ Celia announced, in a throbbing, dramatic voice.
For a moment, Helen could only goggle at her. Had Daniel's mother taken complete leave of her senses? She didn’t know whether to laugh or to grow angry at this stirring entrance, so reminiscent of the New Moon Theatre.
Lord Northby's mouth also dropped open in astonishment. He began
to wonder whether the woman who had just arrived was deranged and decided he might have to protect Helen if the woman attacked her. What was the world coming to when a gentleman couldn’t make a call without the house being invaded by lunatics?
‘Has my son, my poor deluded boy, arrived yet?’ demanded Celia, pressing one hand against her scraggy bosom and looking round as if she expected to find Daniel lying dead beneath the table.
‘No.’ Helen was beginning to recover her powers of speech and feel angry. ‘And I'd like to know what you mean by . . . ’
‘He will not be long. He will not refuse a mother's plea. And when he comes, I shall reveal everything to him! You cannot escape your past! I shall not let you harm him.’
‘Woman's mad as a hatter!’ stated Lord Northby, who’d been observing Celia closely. He turned to the clergyman who’d accompanied her. ‘Shouldn't be allowed out and about. Why did you let her come here? Damme, you should have stopped her.’
‘I - really I . . . ’
‘A mother dares all for her child!’ announced Celia, moving to strike another dramatic pose rather closer to the fire, for it was a cold day.
Helen suddenly experienced a strong desire to laugh and it was a moment before she could control it enough to speak. Just as she was opening her mouth to ask what Celia meant by this intrusion, Daniel strode into the room, having entered the house from the rear.
His eyes met Helen's across the room and the amused glances the two of them exchanged were so shockingly intimate, that Celia could only gape at them for a moment. Then she pulled herself together, drew a deep breath and prepared to launch her attack at once.
‘Good afternoon, Mother,’ said Daniel, but his eyes were still on Helen and he had a half-smile on his lips. ‘I got your message and came at once. Good afternoon, Mrs Carnforth. I hope I find you well. Pray introduce me to your other visitors.’ His tone was affable in the extreme, as if this were an ordinary social visit, and it threw his mother out of her stride again.