Every Mother's Son

by Val Wood

  ‘So.’ Signor Orsini took a sip of coffee, whilst Milo poured for the guests. ‘You are in search of your ancestors?’ He looked directly at Daniel. ‘And your name is Orsini, yes? You perhaps do not know that once there were many Orsinis; some in years past were popes or cardinals and in time their lines disappeared, but others, they intermarry with other noble Italian families and the lines were split into many others.’ He shrugged. ‘I ’ave not ever heard of an Orsini marrying into an English family.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t, of course, enquire any more. I lead a very quiet life.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘As a young man I was more adventurous.’ He raised his dark eyes towards Milo, who wasn’t sitting but standing to drink his coffee. ‘As Leo once was, also.’

  Daniel answered nervously, ‘I’m trying to find out about my grandfather. My English grandmother bore him a son. She knew his name was Orsini, but she wasn’t sure where he came from. When I was very young I promised her that one day I’d try to find him for her.’ He thought affectionately of Granny Rosie. ‘She expects nothing from him, but only wanted to know if he’d had a good life, and I suppose to tell him about ’son she bore him – my father Noah,’ he added. ‘Who, sad to say, I don’t remember, as he died when I was an infant.’

  ‘Ah!’ Signor Orsini exclaimed. ‘You never knew him? That is most unfortunate. Every son should know ’is father, as a daughter should know her mother.’ He lifted his hand towards Milo. ‘Leo’s daughter doesn’t remember her mother either. She ’as aunts but it is not ze same, especially when they live so far away.’

  He sat silently, shaking his head and sighing. ‘I ’ave no sons or grandsons, but,’ he lifted his head, ‘I ’ave Leo who is as good as a son to me.’

  Daniel nodded. ‘I have a stepfather who is ’same as a father to me; he’s ’onny one I’ve ever known. But I’ve never known a grandfather either, so I don’t know what it’d be like to have one, but I want to do this for Granny Rosie, if I can – if it’s not impossible, which I think mebbe it might be. But it’d make her very happy.’ His voice dropped, and he flushed slightly. ‘He was her one true love. She’s never forgotten him, even after so many years.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  A poignant silence descended as Daniel finished speaking. Signor Orsini appeared to be sunk in contemplation, but after a moment Milo said, ‘My daughter will be here soon. She’s looking forward to meeting you and speaking English. Sometimes I forget to speak my own language and it’s important that she doesn’t forget that she has English roots, even though she’s never been to England. Last time I was there was well over twenty years ago, before she was born.’ He seemed nostalgic. ‘Like you, Daniel, I was trying to find my family.’

  He shrugged in the Italian manner as his father-in-law did. He seemed more Italian than English, even rolling his R’s like the Italians, and yet they could all hear a slight Yorkshire accent.

  ‘And did you?’ Beatrice asked. ‘Find them?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I left my home town when I was very young and went to seek my fortune.’ He grinned. ‘Many young men were doing that; I suppose they still do. I went to sea for quite a few years, going home from time to time, but then decided to go to America.’

  Daniel nodded. That was what Fletcher did before he married my ma.

  ‘And how did you come to be in Italy?’ Charles asked. ‘It’s hardly a short cut to America.’

  ‘I did go to America and worked there for several years, but I had the wanderlust and decided to travel back to Europe. I went to New York and signed up with an Italian freight ship – I was a seaman, after all – and after about a year calling at various ports we docked in Sicily.’ He smiled at his father-in-law. ‘And it was there that I met ’Orsini family.’

  ‘We were visiting our daughter Giovanna; she is married to a Sicilian,’ Signor Orsini explained, and flourished a hand for Milo to continue his story.

  ‘I met, by chance, and fell in love with Signor Orsini’s youngest daughter, Francesca,’ Milo went on. ‘She was only sixteen, but I knew she was ’onny one I’d ever love.’

  ‘And …’ Beatrice asked softly.

  ‘I followed them back to Italy and stayed here, learning ’language, learning about Italian culture – because I wasn’t an educated man – so that in time I could ask her to marry me.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘My wife died after giving birth to our daughter,’ he continued, his voice low. ‘She was nineteen.’ He seemed to give himself a mental shake. ‘But here I am, telling you about myself, when we are here to find out about this young man’s relative. Where do we look, Babbo?’ He addressed his father-in-law. ‘How do we start?’

  ‘I am just thinking about it,’ Signor Orsini said vaguely. ‘Where did you say your grandmother was from?’ he asked Daniel.

  ‘She came from Hull and then went to live in Brough, further up on ’Humber estuary.’

  ‘And how old is she, your grandmother?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Daniel said. ‘She said she was young when she gave birth to my father. She’s probably about sixty-three or four; I don’t really know. She doesn’t like to talk about that time, because she wasn’t married, you see. She thinks it’s a blot on her character, but,’ he spoke firmly in her defence, ‘she was very young when her parents died and she was left destitute.’

  ‘Leo,’ their host said abruptly. ‘Help me inside, per favore. I must speak to this young man alone. And where is Calypso?’ he added impatiently. ‘Why is she not here to entertain our guests?’

  ‘She’ll be here soon. She had to visit someone in Prevo.’ Milo spoke kindly and calmly as he helped Signor Orsini out of his chair and gave him his stick. Daniel cast a puzzled glance towards Beatrice and Charles, and followed Milo and Signor Orsini into a light and airy room with large windows overlooking the terrace. Milo drew up a chair for his father-in-law.

  ‘Ci lascia, per favore, Leo, leave us, please,’ the older man said. ‘I need to know more. I need to know more about this Granny Rosie.’

  As the others disappeared into the house, Beatrice and Charles wandered across to the rail and gazed down the mountainside.

  ‘There’s something—’ they said simultaneously, something that they did occasionally, tuning in to each other’s thoughts.

  ‘Did you notice—’ Beatrice said.

  ‘Yes,’ Charles answered, even though Beatrice hadn’t finished speaking. ‘I did. The way Milo blinked when Daniel mentioned Hull.’

  ‘He’s from there, I’m sure of it,’ Beatrice agreed. ‘He has the same accent as Daniel.’

  ‘He’ll tell us eventually,’ Charles said, and they both turned as they heard running feet coming up the steps just as Milo came back out again.

  A girl of about seventeen ran breathlessly on to the terrace. She was small and petite, and her hair was dark, shiny and straight, hanging down almost to her tiny waist. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, Papa. I ran all the way.’ She turned as her father indicated they had guests and went towards Beatrice and Charles. The two young women smiled and dipped their knees, but Charles stood as if struck dumb, his blue eyes gazing into her dark brown ones.

  Beatrice nudged him, and recovering, he put his hand to his chest. ‘Forgive me, signorina. Charles Hart.’ He turned to Beatrice and opened and closed his mouth.

  She arched an eyebrow. ‘Beatrice,’ she whispered wryly.

  ‘Ah, erm – yes. May I introduce my sister, Beatrice?’

  ‘This is my daughter Calypso,’ Milo said. ‘Beatrice and Charles Hart, visitors from England.’

  Calypso laughed, glancing at Charles. ‘I am very pleased to meet you. You are twins, yes?’

  ‘We are,’ Beatrice answered, since her brother seemed to have lost all power of speech. ‘Charles is the elder by about fifteen minutes.’

  ‘I have never met any twins before.’ She spoke good English with an attractive lilt.

  ‘Calypso is a lovely name,’ Beatrice said as they walked towards the chairs to sit down. ‘Is it Latin or Gr
eek?’

  It was Milo who answered. ‘There are many stories about Calypso, but I think that ’best one tells of the Greek goddess who entranced and captivated Odysseus, and that’s what our newborn child did to us.’ He smiled tenderly at his daughter. ‘She’s named Calypso, but also Francesca after her mother and Maria, which was my mother’s name.’

  They sat talking and answering Calypso’s eager questions about their journey, and their home and family in England. Beatrice moved to a seat under an umbrella as the sun became hotter, and Calypso took a fan from her pocket and passed it to her.

  ‘Calypso helps at the village school in Prevo,’ Milo said. ‘She teaches the children basic English.’

  They chatted for about twenty minutes or so, and then Daniel emerged from the doorway, blinking in the bright sunshine. He was introduced to Calypso, Milo giving her full name of Calypso Francesca Maria.

  ‘One of my sisters is called Maria after my mother’s mother,’ Daniel murmured vaguely. He pressed his fist to his lips; he seemed confused and emotional. ‘And – and it seems …’ He stopped for a moment and glanced at Beatrice and then at Charles, before his eyes alighted again on Calypso and he went on in a choked voice, ‘It seems that we share a grandfather. We – that is, Marco …’

  Calypso was puzzled. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Marco Orsini hobbled out of the house. ‘I have asked Sophia to bring out Prosecco. We must have a toast.’ He looked at Milo. ‘It is a most amazing thing, my dear Leo. It seems that I had a son after all. Rosie, whom I met when I was …’ he shrugged, ‘when I was only a boy. Perhaps the age of these young men.’ He glanced at his granddaughter and Beatrice, and intuitively they realized that what he was about to say was not intended for their tender ears. They drifted away to the terrace wall, murmuring softly as Beatrice told Calypso the whole story.

  Marco was helped to sit, for he seemed quite shaky and unsteady. ‘It was my first time with a woman,’ he whispered to the men. ‘Rosie too was just a girl, too young to be in such an establishment, but it was as Daniel has said, she was desperate, poor and homeless.’ He clasped his hands to his head. ‘I cannot believe that I left her to such a fate.’ He looked up imploringly at Daniel and Milo. ‘Believe me, I meant to go back, for I was quite – quite besotted with her, but when I returned to Italy my parents had arranged a marriage for me. It was the way it was done in those days.’ He heaved a breath. ‘I never went back to England. Had I known – but then, what would I have done?’ He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  Daniel sat down close by him and put his hand on his arm. ‘History would’ve been changed if you’d gone back,’ he said softly. ‘My father, Noah, wouldn’t have met my mother, who gave birth to me; he wouldn’t have drowned in ’estuary, Ma wouldn’t have met my stepfather and I wouldn’t have had any half-brothers or sisters. It would’ve been a different life for everyone.’

  Marco gave a winsome smile. ‘How blessed am I? My grandson is a philosopher, and my granddaughter is beautiful.’

  Sophia brought out glasses and olives and bread, returning with the chilled wine, and they all sat together in the sunshine and raised their glasses. Daniel was shocked and astounded at the swift discovery of his grandfather, finding him so easily after a mere mention of the name Orsini to a Genoese waiter. He kept glancing at Marco and then at Calypso, who he supposed was a cousin of some kind, and thinking that it was too far-fetched and extraordinary to be true.

  She too kept looking at him, and then leaned towards him. ‘You are my only male relative,’ she murmured. ‘Both my aunts have daughters. Aunt Giovanna has two, and Aunt Amalia has one.’ She gave a dimpled smile. ‘It is so good to meet you. Perhaps now my papa will bring me to England as he promises always to do.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Daniel replied. He felt dizzy, unable to comprehend what had happened. ‘And then I can introduce you to my family.’

  Beatrice began to speak. ‘This is so extraordinary. Incredible, even. And I’m also intrigued, Signor Milo. You told us that you were from the county of Yorkshire, as we are, and Charles and I think we can guess from which area. We think that you were from a port town not far from where we live.’

  Daniel looked at Milo and nodded. ‘I think so too. My ma has a similar accent and it’s a bit different from other parts of Yorkshire.’

  ‘Well then I’ll tell you,’ Milo said. ‘It’s no secret. I’m not Signor, but plain Mr, and I was born in ’town of Hull.’

  ‘There!’ Beatrice was triumphant. ‘That’s just what we said, isn’t it, Charles?’

  ‘We’re all from the East Riding of Yorkshire,’ Charles grinned.

  ‘So we are,’ Daniel agreed, adding jokingly, ‘except that you’re both gentlefolk, not a man of the soil like me.’

  ‘Daniel!’ Beatrice objected, and turning to Milo she said, ‘But Leo Milo is not an English name.’

  ‘It isn’t ’name I was given,’ Leo said, ‘and I’m a plebeian too, but not a country one like Daniel. I was born in ’back streets of Hull where we had to eke out a living ’best way we could, which was why I went to sea as a young lad, as my father and brothers and so many men did before me, and lost their lives into ’bargain.’

  ‘And still do,’ Daniel told him. ‘There are still many fishermen who go down wi’ their ships. My ma’s father and brothers were lost at sea.’

  All but one, he was going to say, but was suddenly struck by a thought that sent hot and cold shock waves jangling throughout his body and he heard Leo’s voice as if through a November fog. He gazed at him, dumbstruck, until his senses slowly returned.

  ‘And so,’ Leo was saying, ‘when my wife and I married, Marco began to call me Leonardo instead of Leonard, which was then shortened to Leo.’ He laughed, ‘and my surname, Milo—’

  ‘Had been Miles,’ Daniel finished for him.

  All eyes turned to him and he stood up, his face flushed. ‘Mr Miles,’ he croaked. ‘Leonard. My middle name is Miles. My mother Harriet gave me her family name so that it wouldn’t die out. She told me about her brothers who were lost at sea and one, Leonard, who went to America and never came back. She named one of her sons after him.’

  Daniel’s eyes were moist. ‘Was it you? And if it was, why didn’t you get in touch with them? My ma and her mother were destitute, and then her mother died just before she married my father. She’s allus wondered what happened to her favourite brother.’

  The colour had drained from Leo’s face and he gave a small gasp. ‘Harriet? My sister Harriet is your mother? O mio Dio! I can’t believe it.’

  Calypso left her seat and knelt by her father’s side. ‘What does it mean, Papa?’

  Leo put his hands to his face, covering his brimming eyes. Then he took a breath and gazed at his daughter. ‘It means, cara mia, that you have another aunt and,’ he looked across at Daniel and gave a hesitant trembling smile, ‘more cousins.’

  He went across to Daniel and clutched his shoulders with both hands. ‘I did go back,’ he said urgently. ‘Back to ’same house where we’d once lived, but they’d gone. I asked a neighbour, who told me that my mother had died only a few weeks before, but she didn’t know where Harriet was. Didn’t know her, she said.’ He gave a grim laugh. ‘Harriet had lived there all her life but her neighbour said she didn’t know her. Frightened of who I was, mebbe. I enquired at ’flour mills and other workplaces, hostelries, inns – so many of them – and then finally at ’workhouse, but she wasn’t there either. And so I left. I’d been offered a ship and I daren’t miss it, but …’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I always meant to go back and try again, but once I met and married Francesca, and then lost her, I never did.’

  He put out his hand. ‘Will you shake my hand?’

  Daniel swallowed hard and did so. ‘I’m so glad to have found you, Uncle Leonard.’ He gave a watery grin. ‘A grandfather, an uncle and a double cousin in ’space of a couple of hours.’

  Marco struggled to his feet and Charl
es dashed to help him. ‘Well,’ Marco said. ‘Who would have thought it: la famiglia. We are all related.’ He looked at Charles and Beatrice. ‘And you, fair young Englishman and lady. Are you also related to ze Orsinis?’

  Charles gazed adoringly at Calypso and from beneath her eyelashes Beatrice glanced at Daniel. ‘Not yet,’ they said in unison.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Harriet knew something was wrong as soon as Fletcher came through the door. His face was grey beneath its tan.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she said, and Maria, rolling out pastry, put down the rolling pin and gazed anxiously at her father. ‘Was your ma angry with you?’

  Fletcher shook his head and sat down by the fire, putting his hands to his face. He said nothing for a moment, as if composing himself.

  What’s she said to upset him this time? Harriet thought. Or mebbe Christopher Hart was there at the same time and there was a confrontation between the three of them. But Fletcher cleared his throat and stood up.

  ‘Ma’s dead,’ he said flatly. ‘She must’ve fallen into ’Haven.’

  ‘Oh, dear God.’ Horror shot through her. Had Ellen taken her own life? She put out her hand to him. ‘She didn’t – did she drown?’

  ‘No.’ He heaved a breath. ‘She was alive when I got there. She was lying on ’floor at home but soaked through as if she’d fallen into ’water. There was no fire. She must’ve been there all night.’

  ‘Oh, Da.’ Maria came and put her arms round him but he just stood there stiffly. She began to weep. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry if I was rude to her.’

  He kissed the top of her head, then moved her gently away from him. ‘You weren’t rude, you were sticking up for your ma. My ma often said things she shouldn’t, though I must not speak ill of …’ He turned and walked towards the window that looked over his farmland. His land and Harriet’s and his friend Tom’s too. Land that one day would belong to his children, for Tom had none. Yet his mother had never asked about it, never shown the slightest interest; had never come to look at how successful they had been in developing a thriving farm by the strength of their own hands.