The Wrong Side of Happiness

by Tania Crosse

  She knocked loudly on the front door and waited. Nothing. That was strange. She knocked again, but still there was no answer. Then she heard, very faintly through the open upstairs window, a thin wail of anguish.

  She didn’t know that inside the room Tresca was attempting to drag herself across the floor to the window to try and attract someone’s attention. She felt so weak, the agony tearing through her almost constantly, blood still trickling down her legs and leaving a scarlet trail across the floorboards.

  Vera desperately tried the door but it was securely locked. An instant later, she threw her umbrella aside and was flying down the hill, her feet hardly touching the ground.

  Morgan paced grimly up and down, his heart screwed in anguish. Doctor Greenwood had been with Tresca for nearly three hours now and had sent for another physician to assist him. Vera, bless her, had found her way around the kitchen in Mrs Lancaster’s absence and had supplied the two doctors with everything they requested.

  The door opened and Dr Greenwood stepped into the room, rolling down his shirtsleeves as he came. There was a smear of dried blood across his snowy shirt-front that had seeped through the boil-washed apron he had worn, and Morgan’s heart crashed to his feet. God Almighty. He hadn’t heard a sound from upstairs apart from footsteps. No cry of a newborn infant. Surely it didn’t mean both his darling Tresca and her child were . . . were . . .

  ‘Your wife is very poorly,’ William Greenwood announced gravely. ‘The placenta separated and she lost a great deal of blood, but we seem to have stemmed the flow now. She is still very weak and isn’t out of the woods yet. But God willing and with careful nursing, she has a chance of surviving.’

  Morgan felt the life force draining out of him, just as it had from his wife, and he collapsed into a chair, dropping his head into his hands. Oh, God, he had looked forward so very much to being a father, and now this. ‘And . . . and the child?’ he stuttered.

  ‘A boy. A big boy, too large for his mother. I had to use forceps, and even so, it wasn’t easy. We had to revive the child, but he is holding his own. He will need a wet nurse, though. Hopefully we can keep Mrs Trembath’s milk stimulated until she is strong enough to feed the child alone. But in the meantime – and I must reiterate that we are talking about if they both survive – the child will need supplementary feeding.’

  Morgan nodded, on the verge of tears. ‘Anything you say, Doctor.’

  ‘I have someone in mind. And a nurse. And I would suggest a personal maid for the future as well. Your wife will need constant care. What I can’t understand is why she was left alone when I had expressly told your mother to send for me the moment there was any sign of labour.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ Morgan murmured. ‘I was at work, of course. I left Tresca with my mother and our housekeeper, but I understand from Miss Miles that they both went to the ceremony for the opening of the new railway, and as you see, they have not yet returned.’

  ‘Well, because of them, your wife nearly died,’ Dr Greenwood said, arching an eyebrow. ‘So I suggest you employ someone more dedicated to her care in future.’

  ‘Oh, I will, you can be sure of that!’ Morgan told him, his voice vibrant with determination.

  ‘Dear Lord, what on earth is that?’

  ‘Mother, this is Lucy and she’s coming to live with us.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Morgan, take it back to whatever gutter you found it in. You can’t bring every waif and stray off the—’

  Morgan’s hands balled into fists. The anger he had felt over the birth of baby Callum had taken hold with a force that astounded him, and he had found it increasingly easy to stand up to his mother. Now it felt almost alarmingly satisfying to interrupt and even defy her.

  ‘I didn’t find Lucy in the street,’ he told her coldly. ‘She happens to be a friend of Tresca’s and she’s going to be her personal maid.’

  ‘Personal maid?’ Charity scoffed. ‘I hardly think she’d be suitable. Look, she’s a cripple, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘Lucy is quite capable of serving my wife and of helping her with Callum. And of protecting them from yourself and Mrs Lancaster, following your heinous conspiracy the other day. And I might have been employing another lady as well, a seamstress, if she hadn’t already been employed in the Duke’s summer residence at Endsleigh. If these people are good enough for aristocracy, then they will certainly be good enough for us.’

  ‘Well, I can see the trollop upstairs really has turned your head.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t call my mistress by such a name, if you pleases, ma’am,’ Lucy piped up, taking Morgan’s lead, for really this kind gentleman, who had rescued her from the workhouse and was apparently Tresca’s husband, was like a god in her eyes. She had, though, taken an instant dislike to Charity Trembath and was willing to put herself on the line to defend Tresca from her. Tresca, whose stay in the ‘house’ had provided the happiest time of her life.

  ‘And on the contrary,’ Morgan continued, ‘Tresca has made me realize what a fool I’ve been all my life. If I have any further trouble from you or Mrs Lancaster, you will be the ones out on the street. Indeed, if I suspect the slightest action against Tresca, the baby or Lucy here, I will not only turn you out, but I will go to the constabulary. I’m sure there must be some law you can be prosecuted under for the way you put Tresca’s life at risk, and both Miss Miles and Dr Greenwood would be witnesses to your felony.’

  His voice had risen with barely contained fury, every word as clear as a bell to Tresca as she sat upstairs in bed, feeding Callum the little milk she had before passing him to the wet nurse’s brimming breast. Morgan’s raised voice filled her with guilt, for hadn’t she destroyed his peaceful life? But then a wryly approving smile tugged at her lips. With each day that passed, Morgan was growing in her estimation – and in her affections.

  Twenty-Six

  The thunderclap exploded over the sleeping town like a roar from hell, and Tresca sat bolt upright in bed. At nearly seven weeks, Callum was going through the night, not demanding his morning feed until six o’clock. As her strength had returned, so Tresca’s milk had become more abundant and they had been able to dispense with the wet nurse. Lucy slept with Callum in the spare bedroom that was now called the nursery, and would bring him into Tresca and Morgan’s room whenever necessary.

  Tresca had soon become used to feeding the baby in Morgan’s presence. It was such a natural thing to do and it really felt as if they were a family. Like the true gentleman he was, Morgan would always avert his eyes, and on the couple of occasions he had accidentally caught sight of her, she was so enraptured in her child that she hadn’t felt embarrassed. And after all, once Callum had latched on to her nipple, there was very little to see.

  Now, though, it wasn’t Lucy knocking on the door, was it? Dawn was breaking, so, being July, Tresca judged it was much too early for Callum’s feed. Then a blinding flash tore through the room, flickering several times before it plunged the room back into gloom and another deafening crash made the windows rattle.

  Morgan stirred and lifted his head just as the room lit up like a beacon again before another ear-splitting boom broke overhead.

  ‘My, that’s a storm and a half,’ he declared, realizing Tresca was awake. ‘Not frightened, are you?’

  ‘No. But it is terrific, isn’t it? I wonder if Lucy’s all right.’

  ‘I’m sure she’d come in if she needed to. We’d better try to get back to sleep. The little fellow will be wanting his feed in an hour or two, and I’ve got work in the morning.’

  But it was so hot and sultry, and with the storm continuing to rage it was impossible to sleep. Then a deluge of rain began clattering on the roof and noisily overflowing the gutters, keeping them awake until it was light and Lucy finally brought Callum in for his feed.

  ‘It’s still coming down in stair rods,’ Morgan reported from the window. ‘The street’s a river. I’m glad we live up the hill. If it’s been raining like this on t
he moor, the Tavy will burst its banks by the time the water reaches the town.’

  ‘You don’t think there’ll be flooding?’

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me. I’ll go in early in case there are any problems.’

  Tresca looked up sharply. ‘You will be careful?’ she said in alarm, and realized in a blinding flash how much Morgan meant to her.

  When he left shortly before eight o’clock, the rain had stopped and the street was full of people hurrying down to see if the unprecedented storm had produced any effect in the town. Tresca sighed. If there had been flooding, people would be suffering and she had seen enough of that. Bella, Assumpta, the workhouse inmates who had fallen on hard times – to say nothing of her own anguish. Losing her dear father had been hard enough, but for Connor to have disappeared at the same time had been crucifying. But even if he returned tomorrow, they could never be together. She was married to Morgan and she would remain faithful to him.

  He seemed more confident now, though, she mused, and happier for it. Since his ultimatum, Charity appeared to have changed, too. At first she had showed grudging acceptance, but she had gradually softened, even becoming pleasant over the weeks. Oddly enough, she seemed to have succumbed to Callum’s charms, handling him with a woman’s natural care when Tresca – hawk-eyed – had allowed her to hold him, cooing at him, apparently besotted. Nevertheless, Tresca ensured Callum was never left unattended. Morgan, too, doted on the infant and guilt pricked Tresca’s side as she watched them together. Morgan had done so much for her, and yet what had she done for him in return?

  Her ponderings were brought to an abrupt end by a commotion in the hall below. She scooped Callum into her arms and, exchanging glances, she and Lucy hurried down the stairs.

  Morgan and two other figures were coming in the front door while Charity and Mrs Lancaster arrived from the dining room. For once, they all shared the same feelings of astonishment as the three drowned rats dripped puddles on to the floor. Their soaked clothing was smeared with mud and some oily substance which looked to Tresca suspiciously like the peat residue that sometimes floated on the surface of water on the moor. Morgan was ushering the two strangers inside, grey-haired women who stared about their surroundings in utter bewilderment.

  ‘River’s burst its banks,’ Morgan explained briefly. ‘Forty foot of wall was washed away and Brook Street and Duke Street are flooded. I helped rescue several elderly people from Paull’s Buildings. Including these two. They’ve lost everything. Not that they had much to lose in the first place,’ he concluded under his breath.

  Tresca bit her lip. Paull’s Buildings were known to house some of the oldest – and poorest – residents of the town, many of them widows just managing to survive outside the workhouse. Unless the townspeople rallied to their help, they would doubtless have to end their lives, as Emmanuel had done, in the institution. Tresca shuddered at the thought.

  ‘Come into the kitchen,’ she said at once, meeting Charity’s gaze. Her mother-in-law was clearly still shocked, but made no objection to having the strangers in the house. Tresca wouldn’t have cared if she had. She was mistress of the house now, not Charity, and she would look after these two poor souls, no matter what.

  ‘Mrs Lancaster, some large towels,’ Charity amazed Tresca by demanding. ‘Make some tea and I’ll find them some clothes. They look about my size.’ And with that, she followed Morgan who was making his way upstairs.

  Tresca was totally taken aback. She couldn’t believe this was the same Charity who had so recently wished herself and Callum such ill. But Callum was a little love and seemed to be weaving a spell over everyone, so all Tresca had left to do now was offer the two women reassurance.

  She encouraged them to strip off their sodden clothes, have a swift wash and then be wrapped in warm towels. The shorter of them introduced herself as Madge. She was much quicker to accept the kindness she was being shown, and was soon sitting down at the table – dressed in some old clothes of Charity’s, but still far better than anything she had ever owned – and sipping a hot cup of tea.

  ‘Proper ’ero your ’usband were,’ she declared. ‘Water came swirlin’ in, it did, just like that. Knocked Beryl yere off ’er feet. Then your ’usband appeared at the door. Us might’ve drownded if it weren’t fer ’en. Riskin’ ’imself, he were. But where us’ll live now, I doesn’t know.’

  She glanced purposefully around the room and Tresca sucked in her cheeks. She would run upstairs and ask Morgan if they could offer the two women a temporary home, but, incredibly, Charity beat her to it.

  ‘You can stay here,’ she announced. ‘One of you can share a room with my housekeeper and the other with our nursemaid, if you don’t mind sleeping with my grandson.’

  Her grandson? Tresca met Lucy’s glance. Had Charity really changed so much in so short a time? It would certainly seem so.

  ‘I’m just going up to my husband,’ Tresca murmured, and hurried upstairs in a state of confusion.

  Without thinking, she went into the bedroom without knocking. Although Morgan was dressed only in a clean pair of drawers, he didn’t seem at all abashed, but Tresca had long realized there was an intimacy developing between them. Morgan was not unattractive, and Tresca recoiled from the spark of excitement that flashed inside her.

  ‘It’s chaos in the town,’ Morgan told her, shrugging into a clean shirt. ‘A crowd of people were on Abbey Bridge watching the water and they had to run for it when a tidal wave came down the river. I’ve never seen anything like it. The bridge withstood it, but the buildings either side were engulfed in seconds. People were crawling along planks from upstairs windows to escape, but if they’d fallen in the water, they’d have been swept away. The footbridge at the foundry went and a five-ton boiler was carried some distance downstream. So you can imagine how bad it is.’

  Tresca had been watching him as he dressed, but her mind was only on the horrific conditions he was describing a hundred yards or so away. In his heroism, Morgan could have gone to a watery grave. In a sudden flood of emotion, Tresca stepped up to him and kissed him full on the lips. When she pulled back, Morgan blinked at her, a wry smile pulling at his mouth.

  ‘I wish you meant that,’ he mumbled.

  Tresca’s heart turned a complete somersault. Connor’s disappearance over eight months ago had opened a bottomless chasm in her soul, and without Morgan she was sure she wouldn’t have survived. But could he ever fill that gaping hole inside her? Did she want him to? She was still steeped in grief, so how could the thought of loving another even enter her head?

  Oh, Connor, my darling love, where are you? Her heart cried out in despair as the broken turmoil swirled in her breast.

  ‘I still doesn’t trust ’er,’ Lucy pronounced pointedly as she changed Callum’s napkin one crisp December morning. Despite her crooked left hand, she managed such tasks admirably, even when Callum playfully kicked his sturdy little legs in the air.

  ‘But she’s changed completely since Callum arrived,’ Tresca replied pensively. ‘She plays with him all the time and yesterday she were feeding him bread soaked in milk. It were going all over the place but she were laughing like a drain. She were telling him all about Christmas, not that he understands a word.’

  ‘I still thinks you’m too trustin’,’ Lucy grumbled, ‘lettin’ ’er take Callum out in his perambulator.’

  ‘People can change, you know. Look how she were with Madge and Beryl.’

  ‘Only cuz it made ’er look charitable, like.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. They could’ve gone somewhere else while their home were being repaired, but she insisted they stayed here.’

  ‘Well, I thinks you sees too much good in people. Not a bad fault, but you should be careful.’

  Tresca gave a light chuckle. Lucy was apt to speak her mind and wouldn’t have got away with it with most mistresses! She was about to tease her over it when she heard someone at the front door. Going out on to the landing, she heard Vera’s voice talking
to Mrs Lancaster in the hall and called her upstairs to the nursery.

  ‘Good, I can have a hold of my godson, then,’ Vera grinned as she bounded up the stairs. ‘But first I need a word with you in private,’ she added, dropping her voice. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  Tresca’s heart sprang into her throat. Was it to do with Connor? With a trembling hand she opened the door to her bedroom.

  ‘W–what is it?’ she stammered, ushering Vera inside.

  ‘It’s your mother-in-law,’ Vera began warily.

  ‘Charity?’ Tresca exclaimed, almost relieved. ‘We were just talking about her. How she’s changed. Lucy doesn’t believe it’s genuine, but I do. Perhaps it’s having a baby around again. Morgan says she doted on him as a child and he thinks she resented him growing up.’

  ‘Maybe. What I’ve found out could explain a lot, too.’

  ‘Found out?’

  ‘Yes. I was helping the reverend sort out some old parish registers and I found myself glancing through some of them. You’ll never guess what I came across.’

  Tresca’s brow wrinkled with curiosity. Vera had said it was something to do with Charity – but what?

  ‘The entry for Charity’s marriage,’ Vera nodded. ‘Morgan was born in November 1862, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He were twenty-eight on his birthday last month.’

  ‘I thought so. But his parents were only married in the July.’

  ‘What!’ Tresca’s eyes might have popped out of her head. ‘You mean—’

  ‘There’s more. Charity was a domestic servant. And the space for her father’s details was blank.’

  ‘So . . . ?’

  ‘I worked out roughly when she was born, and I found that entry as well. She was illegitimate. Father unknown.’