When Paul awoke next morning, it was to the awareness of a very unpleasant hangover which he must overcome before he met his French demoiselle for luncheon at her aunt’s house. Then, as so often in the past, he pushed all thoughts of his sister to the back of his mind – the only place where his fears could be forgotten.
ELEVEN
1867
Harriet sat on the flagstone terrace in the autumn sunshine embroidering a new, prettily-frilled collar for the blue-and-white-striped frock her little boy was wearing. It was one of several Felicity had bought for him, and Harriet sighed as she recalled how upset Maire had been at the time. As a rule she made Charlie’s clothes, and she had been quite put out when Felicity had ordered three fashionable outfits to be made for him by her own dressmaker. Pretty as they were, they were not nearly as practical as his usual workaday attire.
On the lawn below the terrace, Harriet could now see Brook with the little boy. It was warm enough for him to have removed Charlie’s woollen jacket, which now lay discarded on the lawn along with his sailor hat. Harriet smiled happily, thinking how it had now become habitual for Charlie, whenever he espied his father, to run as fast as his little legs could carry him, calling, ‘Papa! Papa! See horsey!’ As now, Brook would stop whatever he was doing and take Charlie down to the stables to see the horses. She should, she supposed, smiling, be jealous of the fact that Charlie’s speech, which had developed so remarkably quickly, was nearly all words he needed to converse with his father.
Felicity had remarked that Brook was without doubt in danger of spoiling him, an observation with which Harriet could not disagree. In truth, it was a matter of great joy to her, tempered with relief, that Brook doted on Charlie, sometimes almost excessively. Whenever he had been away from the house, his first enquiry was for Charlie’s well-being even before hers! Seeing the two most precious people in her life so united, she told herself, had finally removed the last vestige of fear that she might have done a terrible thing allowing Brook to believe he had fathered the little boy.
Father and son now disappeared round the side of the house in the direction of the stables and Harriet told Maire there was no need for her to wait for them to return; she would bring Charlie indoors in due course for his tea. As Maire disappeared, it struck Harriet not for the first time that Una’s recommendation of the young Irish girl was in no way misplaced. When they had first arrived back at Hunters Hall, Maire had been no more than a nursery nurse but she had proved so capable in every respect, and Charlie seemed so contented and thrived so well in her care, that she, Harriet, had promoted her to the superior position of Nanny. Harriet’s thoughts now turned to Felicity. In the past six months, she and Felicity had become even closer friends than before, despite the almost ten-year difference in their ages. She never objected when the older woman offered her advice, and Felicity had become like an older sister to her. That was not to say they always agreed. One difference between them was Brook’s habit of putting Charlie’s demands on his time before their own.
It was simply not normal, Felicity would reiterate, frowning, for a gentleman to behave in such a way, putting a baby’s interests before that of his guests, even such a frequent one as herself. Still less that a man should bother himself with children as young as Charlie. She had been hard put to conceal her irritation when she and her brother had invited Brook to attend an important horse sale they knew would be of interest to him, and he’d declined the invitation for no good reason. He had arranged to see his father’s carpenter, he told her, who was making a Noah’s Ark and miniature carved animals to go inside it for Charlie’s birthday. As she remarked to Paul, Brook could perfectly well have seen how the man was progressing on a different day!
She had sounded so vexed, Harriet had laughed. Felicity could not understand it.
‘I would have thought, Harriet,’ she remarked, ‘that knowing how you adore your husband, you would resent his preference for the boy’s company to yours! I most certainly would be jealous!’ Which she already was, Felicity had told herself, even though she was not Brook’s wife but merely a friend.
All too often of late, she had lain awake at night imagining that one day … one day in the future, if she could find a way to make Brook fall out of love with Harriet, he would turn to her for consolation. She had only to bide her time before an opportunity arose for her to find or fabricate a reason for him to turn against his wife.
For the time being, Felicity lived in hope that sooner or later the maid, Ellen, would report some discord between husband and wife – one she would quickly magnify until such time as it became a serious rift in their relationship.
It was usually after a day spent in Brook’s and Harriet’s company that Felicity was beset by such thoughts. There had been men in her past to whom she had been attracted. After her marriage to a husband the same age as her father and partially impotent, she had taken the occasional lover, but more for entertainment than because she enjoyed their physical attentions. Ever since she’d first seen Brook’s tall, handsome figure across the room, watched the habitual, slightly quizzical smile light up his face, she had realized that this was a man she instantly desired.
For a while, Felicity had tried ineffectually to ignore such hopeless yearnings, but it soon proved impossible to subdue her longings, which now seemed to intensify every time she saw him. The desire he had woken in her had become an obsession, dominating her thoughts as well as her actions.
Assured of her welcome, Felicity went more and more frequently to Hunters Hall, compelled by her need to be in close proximity to Brook. Whenever she was near him her heart would double its beat, her legs tremble and her whole body ache with the desire to be in his arms, to be a part of him. She wanted his kisses, his touch, to be naked in his embrace. Most of all she wanted to feel him deep inside her – for him to belong absolutely to her and her alone. She ceased making any effort to subdue such feelings. The need to be near him was, she sometimes thought, as compelling as opium – a drug in which she sometimes indulged.
Over a year ago, Felicity had told herself that provided she could force herself to be patient, in time she could achieve her desire. Adoring as Brook found his charming, pretty wife, she had learned that men could tire of a willing consort when the delights of those first early years of marriage had worn off; and that they would go looking for fresh conquests. When that happened with Brook, she reassured herself, she, Felicity, would be there.
Felicity was fully aware of Harriet’s past miscarriages, and how disappointed Brook had been not to have the son he wanted: to not be able to enjoy the start of the large family he and Harriet had planned. It had not then escaped her mind that if Harriet remained childless Brook might well decide his marriage had been a mistake. Although realistic enough to appreciate that even if Brook did divorce his wife, he might not consider marriage to someone of her lower origins, she would be willing to accept second best, she admitted, simply to be his mistress. Her frustration had grown as time passed with no sign of Brook’s discontent.
When Harriet had returned from Ireland with the baby which no one had known she was carrying, Brook had become even more what she, Felicity, chose to describe as besotted with his wife. At first his interest in the child did not much differ from the ordinary behaviour of a father, but gradually, as the baby had become a little boy, Brook had become captivated by him.
Felicity was forced to consider that not only was Charlie a very pretty child, he was always cheerful, happy and positively adoring of his father, and Brook spent more and more time with him. Consumed with jealousy, Felicity determined to find a way to put a stop, by some means or another, to this increasingly idyllic marriage.
She had pinned her hopes of finding those means when she found the new maid who would act as a spy for her, but now, over eight months later, she was losing patience. She started to wonder whether there was some other way to achieve what she wanted. Somehow, she kept telling herself, Harriet must go, and make way for her in Brook
’s arms and in his bed.
Blissfully unaware of the intentions of the woman she looked upon as her dearest friend, Harriet was enjoying the sunny afternoon in the garden, watching happily as Brook disappeared with Charlie towards the stables. She was also unaware of the significance of what was about to occur and the effect it would have upon her life as she laid down her sewing and went with Maire into the house to fetch a length of embroidery silk with which to edge the collar she was making. Maire disappeared up to the nursery and Harriet, having found what she wanted, was on her way back out into the garden when she was approached by Albert.
‘Excuse me, madam,’ he said, ‘but a lady has come to the house asking to see you. I told her I was not sure if you were at home and she said the matter she wished to discuss with you was of the greatest importance. Begging your pardon, madam, but I took the liberty of showing her into the morning room as she sounded quite respectable although she declined to give her name.’
Harriet sighed. It was probably one of the ladies from the village dame school committee to ask for her patronage, or her assistance with a forthcoming fund-raising function, she thought, but as Albert had reported the matter to be discussed was of singular importance, she followed him across the hall to the morning-room door.
When she went in, the visitor was standing by the window with her back to the room. She was staring out at the beautiful flowerbeds bordering the lawn and the huge copper beech tree glowing red in the sunlight. Hearing the door open, she swung round and lifted her clasped hands to her face as if in surprise. She appeared to be speechless.
Harriet took a step towards her. As she did so, she had the strangest feeling that the stranger was known to her. Her features looked oddly familiar but she could not recall her name, or where they might have met.
The woman held out her hand. ‘Mrs Edgerton, I hope you will pardon me for calling on you without invitation, but I knew if I did not do so today I might never have the courage again.’ She paused for the fraction of a second before adding to Harriet’s bewilderment. ‘Please, don’t be afraid. I am not here to make trouble for you. On the contrary, I have come to offer my help should you require it. My husband insisted I should do so. He said …’
She got no further before Harriet turned so white she looked about to faint. She stared unbelievingly at her visitor who she had suddenly recognized – it was the widow with all the children on the ferry to Dublin – Mrs Lawson, the woman who had given Charlie to her. Her fear of what the woman was about to say was so intense she felt physically sick. She even remembered her Christian name – she was Mrs Joan Lawson, Charlie’s real mother, who must have come to ask for her son back!
The woman took a step forward and put a hand gently on Harriet’s arm. ‘Please!’ she said. ‘Please do not look so distressed. There is no need. I am not here to cause any difficulties for you.’
With an effort, Harriet pulled herself together as yet another wave of fear gripped her. At any moment, Brook might return to the house with Charlie and demand to know who the stranger was and why she was here.
‘We cannot talk here,’ she said quickly. ‘Will you be so good as to accompany me to the conservatory. It is the one room in the house where we are unlikely to be overheard and …’
‘Do not be concerned, Mrs Edgerton. I do assure you I am not here to cause any problems for you; rather, I am here to solve a problem for myself.’
Too worried about the possible appearance of Brook and Charlie to register what her visitor was saying, Harriet led her quickly through the hall and out into the conservatory. She pointed to one of the cushioned basket chairs and, seating herself opposite, said, ‘Do sit down, Mrs Lawson,’ adding as she did so, ‘I cannot believe that I am talking to you of all people in the world. When we last met I did not give you my name, nor did I give you my address, so how did you find me? That day …’ her voice faltered for a moment ‘… that day when you left your baby with me . . . . I never expected to see you again …’ Her voice broke. ‘I cannot bear it if you have come to take Charlie from me. I will not let you do so! He is …’
‘Please, Mrs Edgerton,’ the woman interrupted again, ‘there is no need for you to distress yourself. I have not come to take him from you. Will you permit me to explain how and why I am here?’
Still fearful as well as incredulous, Harriet nodded. She was finding it difficult to reconcile this respectably attired gentlewoman, looking in excellent health, with the thin, exhausted, bedraggled woman who she had befriended on the ferry; the widow with so many children and who had been unable to feed her new-born baby, to whom she herself had given money for food and milk.
As if mirroring her thoughts, the woman said, ‘That day we met, Mrs Edgerton, you looked so ill, so lonely! You told me how the nuns had befriended you, nursed you through your miscarriage; how they had provided you with clothes and the means for you to reach your sister in Dublin, but you made no mention of this – this beautiful home you have and, if I may say so, your affluence. However, it was clear to me that you loved children, that you were a natural mother, and that having recently lost your own baby, you might find comfort with the one I could not keep.’
She paused briefly to draw a photograph from her small bag, and before handing it to Harriet, continued, ‘After I had abandoned you in the waiting room, the good Lord had mercy on me, my father allowed me to return home on the condition I had my children christened in the Catholic faith. In due course, I came to know our next-door neighbour, a Mr Peter Bates, a widower with two young children. His wife had died in childbirth and Mr Bates asked me to marry him a year later.’
She then held out the photograph for Harriet to see. ‘My husband is fifteen years older than I am,’ she continued yet again, ‘but he is a very kind, good Catholic man who found it in his heart to forgive me when I confessed I had left my fifth child with a stranger. However, he insisted that I should make such amends as was possible: that I must try and discover who you were … find you, and find out whether you kept my baby or placed him in an orphanage.’
Momentarily, her expression became one of anxiety. ‘He made a further demand – that I should relieve you of the baby if all was not well with you or the child. He insisted I discover which orphanage you placed him in if you had not kept him, and that I take him to live with us.’
She looked anxiously at Harriet as if for understanding as she said, ‘I used to cry out in my dreams: confess that I had committed so great a sin in the eyes of God that He might never forgive me. Only this way, he maintained, could I right the wrong I did when I gave my child away.’
She finally stopped talking and, seeing that Harriet looked on the point of tears, she continued quickly, ‘You will not believe how difficult it was for me to find you. You had told me only your Christian name, Harriet, and that you were visiting your sister who lived in Ballsbridge Street. There were several large houses in that street and I enquired in every one of them if the lady of the house had a sister called “Harriet”.’
She gave a brief smile as she said, ‘I was losing all hope when, at the very last house, the butler who opened the door to me asked me did I mean Mrs Brook Edgerton whose Christian name was Harriet. I thought it almost certain this was you and I asked to see you, but he told me you did not live there and had long since returned to your own home in England. He then, at my request, gave me your address so that I might write to you.’
‘I had no letter!’ Harriet said huskily.
‘Because I did not write. My husband said I must call and see you in person, or else you might reply to a letter saying you did not wish to see me and I would not then know whether you had kept the baby or if he was in an orphanage.’
With great difficulty, Harriet forced herself to speak. ‘Are you trying to tell me, Mrs Bates, that now you are happily married you are able to take care of your child? That you want me to give him back to you?’ Her voice broke and immediately the woman rose to her feet and went to put an arm round Harriet’s
shoulders. ‘Since meeting you today, hearing you speak, seeing the look in your eyes when you first recognized me, I do not need to be told you have kept the baby, that you love him very much and …’ she smiled, ‘… might even fight to keep him had I asked for his return. Please believe me! You have no need to be afraid.’
‘My husband!’ Harriet whispered. ‘He believes Charlie is his son. I, too, am guilty of sinning. I lied to him, told him I had had the baby when I was in the convent after being attacked, not that I had had yet another miscarriage. He loves Charlie … dotes upon him, as does his grandfather, his nanny, the staff and I …’ She broke off, too emotional to continue.
‘Then please, dear Mrs Edgerton, forget I ever came to see you. Your mind, like mine, can now be at peace. I want nothing from you, not even to see for myself if he is well and happy. I know that he must be so.’ She paused and, in a quieter tone, said, ‘I do have one request – a request my husband thought I should make lest in future I started worrying about my … my cruelty in giving my baby away. That is … could you … would you consider writing to me once a year? To let me know that all is well with him and all your family? I know it is a great deal to ask and you must refuse if you think it so …’
Such was Harriet’s huge feeling of relief that she quickly interrupted, saying that of course she would write. She needed only to know Mrs Bates’ address. And that if Mrs Bates wished, she would send a photograph of Charlie …
At that point, it was her visitor’s turn to interrupt. ‘I know you must think me cruel and uncaring to have left my baby to someone almost a stranger,’ she said, ‘but such were my dire circumstances when we met, I could not keep him. I loved all my other children dearly, but … well, I could not have left him with you that day had I felt any love for him. Perhaps now, if I saw any likeness to my first husband, I might have some maternal feeling, but I do not wish for such a thing. My four children are thriving and give me great joy, and I also care for my husband’s two motherless children. No, I want nothing more than a letter every year – and I confess that this is at my husband’s request rather than my own.’
Obsession Page 13