‘The child’s not yours, Richard,’ she sobbed.
‘D’you think I don’t know that!’ Grasping her by the shoulders, he hauled her to her feet. ‘Who’s the father?’
She shook her head wildly, her face contorted with sobs. ‘I won’t name him, Richard. I don’t care what you threaten me with—I won’t name him!’
‘You will!’ Richard’s fingers bit into her shoulders. He knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. ‘Tell me who the father is!’
‘No-oo-oo!’ The word fragmented into three as Richard gave her shoulders a hard shake.
‘Tell me!’ He shook her again.
‘Richard, please, stop it. You’re hurting me!’ Whimpering like a small animal, she pushed her hands against his chest, struggling to get free. ‘Please. Please. Let me go.’
Afraid he really would hurt her, he released his grip and stepped back, breathing heavily. ‘You will tell me, Eliza!’ he said in a voice so charged with emotion that it shook.
She backed away from him, sobbing uncontrollably, and fled into the bedroom. A moment later, he heard the key turn in the lock.
Richard closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay where he was until he brought his anger under control. His heart was thundering in his chest, and he was shaking, partly from shock, partly from anger, and partly because for the first time in his life he had hurt a woman. He hadn’t hurt Eliza badly, only bruised her shoulders, but he had frightened her. Frightened himself, too. He had never handled a woman roughly like that, despised men who did, and he knew he’d come very close to being even more violent, come close to striking Eliza.
Who had fathered the child she was carrying? Seduced her? Who? Who? Who? He opened his eyes and started to pace up and down, trying to come up with some names, but he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think straight. His mind was in a turmoil: one minute he was trying to think who the father might be; the next minute, he was thinking of stupid, unimportant details like why she’d told the doctor she wasn’t pregnant. The reason, he supposed, was because she didn’t want the doctor to be the one to break the news to him, knowing the reaction it would get.
Why had Eliza done it? Why? That was the other question rattling around in his head. He could scarcely believe she was capable of adultery. And who had she committed adultery with? Quarter of an hour later, he hadn’t come up with even one likely candidate. He had thought of a way to get the truth out of Eliza, though.
It was another quarter of an hour before he felt sufficiently in command of himself to go and knock on the bedroom door. ‘Unlock the door. Let me in, Eliza,’ he ordered in a firm voice. He stepped back and waited.
There was a long silence.
‘I’ll wait one more minute,’ he said at length. ‘Then I shall go for the axe.’
Ten seconds later, he heard the sound of Eliza’s footsteps approaching the door. The key turned in the lock and she slowly pulled the door open. She looked dreadful. The whites of her eyes were red, her dark lashes were glued together with tears, her dress was all crumpled, and her breath was coming in hiccupping gasps. She had obviously spent the last half hour lying on the bed, sobbing her heart out.
Richard stepped past her, with his hands clasped behind his back, where he intended to keep them.
‘Richard…I never meant it to happen,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘I was lonely, depressed. If you’d been here more, if you’d been a proper husband to me, I’d never have—’
‘You dare to accuse me of not being a proper husband to you!’ he cut in, raising his voice enough to make Eliza take several hasty steps back. ‘I may not be here as much as you’d like, Eliza, but I’m faithful to you, which is more than can be said for you!’
‘I was depressed! You don’t know what it’s like, sitting in an empty house night after night!’ she returned in a shrill voice.
‘You obviously didn’t spend all your nights alone,’ Richard replied.
‘Once! Once! It only happened once, Richard, I swear it.’ She bit her lip, trying to stop it from trembling.
‘So that makes it excusable, does it—the fact that you fornicated only once?’
‘It wasn’t like that! It wasn’t lust! It was…’ She lifted her hand and with trembling fingers wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘I was miserable. He was comforting me.’
Comforting? Richard clenched his teeth. Did Eliza really expect him to believe that! What kind of fool did she take him for? He let it pass, however. He was more interested in finding out who had done the bloody comforting.
‘When did this “once” happen?’
Eliza clutched her hands tightly in front of her chest. ‘In October. I’m nearly three months gone.’
‘Does he know you’re pregnant?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And does he intend to support the child he’s fathered?’
Silence.
‘Well? Does he? Or am I expected to support his bastard?’
Eliza’s eye’s brimmed with tears, which in itself was an answer.
‘Is he married or single?’
She looked away, avoiding his eyes. ‘Does it matter?’
‘I imagine it will matter to his wife, if he is married,’ he returned.
‘What do you intend to do, Richard?’ She glanced back, looking marginally more in control of herself.
‘Take you back to England,’ Richard replied without hesitation. ‘I can’t leave you here, living in the same town as the man who supplies you with home comforts while I’m away.’
‘It happened once! Once!’ Eliza said vehemently, regaining some of her old fieriness. ‘It will never happen again. He regrets it as much as I do.’
‘I’ll bet he regrets it!’ Richard said.
‘But you don’t, do you! You don’t regret anything! All the months away at sea—you’ve no regrets about that! No regrets about leaving me to fend for myself as best I can,’ she countered.
‘Don’t try to lay the blame for this at my feet, Eliza!’ he roared. Aware that his temper was approaching a rolling boil again, he took a steadying breath. ‘You knew I’d be away a lot when you married me—I told you very plainly that you’d spend long periods on your own—so don’t throw that in my face. You didn’t have to marry me.’
‘I wish I hadn’t!’ she said loudly. ‘You’ve never loved me.’
‘Love? Love?’ he repeated in amazed tones. ‘You’re a fine one to talk of love! You—who’ve committed adultery!’
She whirled away from him and ran across to her dresser. A second later her hairbrush came flying across the room. It flew wide of Richard’s head, hit the far wall, and landed with a soft thud on one of the pillows.
‘Don’t throw anything else,’ Richard warned in a low voice. He was in no mood to tolerate one of Eliza’s temper tantrums. He paused, waiting to see if she would fling anything else, then said in a carefully controlled voice, ‘As I said, you will be leaving Lyttelton and going to England. You’ll sail with me when I leave port.’
She wound her arms across her middle, her face still flushed with anger. ‘Where in England? To Southampton?’
He nodded. ‘You can live with your parents. If they’ll take you in.’
‘What do you mean—if they’ll take me in?’ Eliza looked at him uncertainly. ‘You surely don’t mean to tell my parents I’m—’
‘Pregnant with another man’s child. Yes, I do mean to tell them,’ he said, interrupting her. ‘I’ll support you. And the child. But I will not allow the child to carry my name. They can put in the church register “father unknown” or whatever phrase they use to indicate the child is a bastard. You can live in the shame you deserve, Eliza.’ He gave her a long, hard look.
Eliza swayed slightly, then slowly turned away, bowed her head, and broke down in heart-rending sobs.
Richard watched her in stony silence. The threat of a ruined reputation, of being shamed before her parents, was the only way he would extract a name from Eliza.
‘Tell me who the father is,’ he said in a clear voice. ‘If you do, I’ll say nothing to your parents and I’ll give the child my name.’
She turned to face him, gulping back sobs, her cheeks drenched with tears. ‘If I tell you who he is, will you give me your word that you won’t hurt him?’
‘No,’ he said definitely.
‘Then I can’t tell you,’ she wailed, breaking down in sobs again.
‘It’s your choice,’ Richard returned.
He walked over to the door. ‘You’ll find me in the parlour. I’ll give you until nine o’clock, Eliza. After that I’ll make no bargains with you about anything. You can take your lover’s name to the grave with you, if you wish.’
Chapter 20
William raised his glass and held it out across the table. ‘Happy Christmas, my dear,’ he said warmly.
Smiling, Charlotte lifted her own glass and the rims chinked musically as they brushed against each other. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she returned.
William leaned back against his chair. He had the air of a man who was thoroughly contented. He’d just eaten a very good dinner, he had a glass of his favourite wine in one hand, a cigar in the other, and his wife-to-be sitting opposite him at the table. ‘Will you miss me?’ he asked quietly.
‘What would you do if I said no?’ Charlotte asked, taking a sip of wine.
William shook his head, smiling. ‘I confess, I don’t know. So I suggest you say yes.’
She laughed. ‘We’re only going to be apart for ten days, William. And, if you want a truthful answer, I think I shall be far too busy to even give you a thought.’
William gave an amused chuckle.
The day after tomorrow he would be travelling to Dunedin, to spend Christmas with his father, while Charlotte would be leaving with George, to spend Christmas at the farm. Ann and young Charles were already there. As for where Richard and Eliza would spend Christmas, that would depend on how Eliza was.
‘Dare I ask how the wedding dress is coming along?’ William enquired.
‘Very nicely,’ she said. ‘The lace that I was waiting for has arrived, so I’ll take it to the farm with me. Ann said she’d sew it on. She’s as clever with her fingers as any professional seamstress.’
‘Speaking of lace, I think I may have a buyer for the haberdashery,’ William remarked.
‘Oh, do you? Who?’ She smiled, trying to look pleased, even though the truth was she would miss the haberdashery dreadfully. But as William had pointed out after examining her ledgers, it didn’t make a huge profit.
‘A ship’s captain, as a matter of fact,’ he replied. ‘A Captain Reynolds. He’s retiring in February and wants to invest in a property with an income.’
‘Oh,’ she said, brightening. ‘He’ll probably want someone to manage it for him, then. What did he say about the possibility of employing Rose?’
William shook his head. ‘I didn’t mention it to him.’
Charlotte frowned at him. ‘You didn’t mention it? Why not? I told Rose we’d make every effort to see that she keeps her position. You know I did. I told you I did.’ She set her glass down on the table and waited for him to reply.
‘Charlotte, she’s been in prison,’ William replied. ‘You seem to forget that the girl has a history of theft.’
‘She stole once, William. I’d hardly call that a history,’ she returned.
‘She stole, which means she’s a thief, Charlotte, and I could not in all conscience recommend her to a prospective buyer. Now, let’s say no more about it. Come—it’s Christmas and I don’t want to spend my last evening with you arguing.’
She made a point of letting him see her disappointment, but she knew very well that there was no point in discussing it further. It would be equally fruitless to tell William that, unprompted, a month ago, Rose had told Charlotte that she was not a thief and had no idea where the missing money had gone. Rose had pleaded guilty to a crime she hadn’t committed because the constable who interrogated her had informed her that the magistrate would be far more lenient if she admitted her guilt and showed some remorse. Charlotte had no doubt in her mind that Rose was innocent, but William would not be so easily convinced.
‘Your father will be pleased to see you,’ she said, changing the subject.
‘Yes, he will,’ William agreed as he topped up his glass. ‘I’ll take you to meet him next year, perhaps around Easter time. Hopefully, next year will prove a better year than this one.’ He was alluding to the large losses that the insurance company had incurred over the past few months.
‘Let’s hope so,’ Charlotte agreed. She paused, then said quietly, ‘William, is the situation still quite serious? I know you told me that the finances are all right now but…well, George is worried. I can tell he is. He looks quite strained.’
William smiled. ‘George has a tendency to worry unnecessarily. It’s his nature.’
She smiled back, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. The trouble was, neither William nor George were willing to discuss their business concerns, except with each other. Quizzing them was pointless and she sometimes wondered why she bothered. All she ever got from either of them were superficial answers.
Seeing a frown still lodged between her brows, William reached for his glass. ‘Come, let’s drink a toast! To us, and to the future,’ he proposed.
Whatever that holds, she thought, as their eyes met.
A visitor by the sound of it. Someone was knocking on William’s front door.
‘I wonder who that can be,’ William said, craning his head over his shoulder in the direction of the noise. ‘Oh well, I suppose I’d better go and see,’ he said and deposited his cigar in the glass ash tray.
Feeling slightly sleepy from the wine, Charlotte closed her eyes. The clock in the hallway was just striking the hour. Eight o’clock. She listened to the chimes, mentally counting them, heard William open the door at the seventh, then all hell broke loose.
Her eyes flew open as a violent crash sounded. William cried out in pain, there was another loud crash, and then to her astonishment she heard Richard’s voice. More crashes, then another cry of pain from William.
Overturning her chair in her haste to get to her feet, she ran into the hall to find William, sprawled full-length on the floor, with blood streaming from his nose. Richard was crouched over him. His fist was clenched and he looked as if he had every intention of using it. ‘Richard!’ she screamed. ‘What are you doing?’
Ignoring her, Richard hauled William to his feet, slammed him against the wall, then swung his fist and punched him as hard as he could in the stomach. William’s eyes creased with pain as he gave an involuntary gasp and crumpled to the floor.
‘Richard! Stop it! Have you lost your mind?’ Charlotte shouted.
Pushing past him, she crouched protectively over William. He had drawn up his knees and was clutching his stomach and coughing violently. She was shaking like a leaf. She’d never seen any man look as furious as Richard.
‘Move aside, Charlotte,’ Richard said in a low, threatening voice. ‘I haven’t finished with him yet.’
‘No, I won’t move aside!’ she returned shakily. ‘Why have you done this to him? Because of me?’
‘Because of what he’s done to my wife, that’s why!’ Richard snapped. ‘He’s committed adultery with her and got her with child! She’s carrying his bastard!’
Charlotte’s mouth dropped open in shock. She turned instinctively to look at William. He was as white as a sheet. Turning back to Richard she said in a faltering voice, ‘There…there must be some mistake.’
‘Eliza is pregnant and she’s named him as the father!’ Richard bellowed. ‘I think my wife should know who fathered her bloody child, don’t you?’
She looked at William again, then rose unsteadily to her feet and stepped away from him.
‘I’m not the father,’ William said hoarsely, finding his voice at last.
Richard glared at him. ‘My wife seems to th
ink you are.’
Clearly in considerable pain, William arched his back and gave a loud groan. ‘She’s lying,’ he said, forcing the words between his teeth.
Richard’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s you who’s the liar, Fairfield! You won’t admit what you’ve done because you know that your bloody reputation would be ruined, not to mention your plans to marry Charlotte! Well, you’ve ruined my wife’s reputation! And her marriage, you swine!’
Breathing heavily, he turned to Charlotte and said angrily, ‘Eliza was lonely and she was jealous of you! I imagine she found it very satisfying, having your fiancé as her lover. As for opportunity, well there were plenty of those with me away at sea. How many times has your fiancé seen my wife home from George’s house, Charlotte? Eliza made a point of telling me how entertaining his conversations were. He bloody well entertained her all right—in my bloody bed!’
He wrenched the door open and left, slamming it behind him. The reverberations were still rattling the leaded side-panes when William stirred himself.
‘Help me up,’ he said in a muffled voice. He had managed to get a handkerchief out of his pocket and was holding it against his bleeding nose. The flesh around his eyes was already turning purple from the blow from Richard’s fist. He had hit him squarely in the middle of his face. An inch lower and William would have been spitting teeth into his handkerchief.
She reached down and helped him to his feet. Wincing with pain, he gingerly straightened and took a deep breath. As she took his arm to help him into the parlour, William looked at her over the top of his blood-stained handkerchief. ‘Well, which one of us do you believe, Charlotte?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Eliza or me?’
She gave him a long, searching look. One of them was lying. As to which one…she had an awful feeling that it was William. He had made no bones about the fact that he thought Eliza was very attractive, and he’d seen her home from George’s house umpteen times. God knows, he’d had plenty of opportunity to become amorous with her. But she could scarcely believe that William would be this foolish, and he’d never made any premature advances towards Charlotte. Whatever urges he had in that direction, he’d kept them well under control. But Eliza had named him as the father. Oh God, she thought—who am I to believe?
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