by Mary Wood
‘How do you know all this, Mrs Tattumby?’
‘From a manservant – a horrible man called Horace Shepherd. He brought the baby to me, then disappeared. It was said that he stole a lot of the house silver and went off to America, but I know he was paid off. He did a nasty thing. He told me the truth about Jay’s birth.’
‘I think that was an honourable thing to do.’
‘I know it does sound that way, but he was meant to take the baby to an orphanage in London. He was given money to do so, but he said that he thought of me, and the child. He said he’d come to love the child’s mother, and he thought that one day the child should know who he was – and who his mother was. But he would never know, if he was dumped in an orphanage. Then he threatened me never to reveal the secret while the present lord was alive, or I would know the consequences. He suggested that I say the gypsies had left the child on me doorstep.’
‘Why did you keep it secret, after Lord Daverly died, Mrs Tattumby? Why did you accept the child?’
‘God forgive me, but you see, me and Mr Tattumby were childless, and I loved Jay on sight. I couldn’t let that Horace take him to no orphanage. After Horace left, me and Mr Tattumby talked and talked. Should we, shouldn’t we? In the end we decided we had no choice: we had to go along with the tale about the gypsies. It was convenient that they were in the area and disappeared overnight. Everyone accepted the story, and it gave me a reason to keep the baby I loved so much. And besides, the family would have denied it all and would probably have found a way of hounding us from the village and would have had the child taken from us and put God knows where. They were very powerful – they held positions in government and were known to be ruthless.’
‘So, what did Horace tell you?’
‘He told me that he had witnessed Lord Daverly and Lady Amelia together on many occasions during the time when Lady Daverly was still alive, but gravely ill. He knew what was going on between them. You see, it was well known that Lord Daverly was a womanizer, but it was said that Lady Daverly didn’t care as long as he was discreet. She was a funny one. Very cold-hearted. Everyone used to say she must have shunned his attentions as she only had the one child.’
Frustration at these digressions made Eloise want to ask Mrs Tattumby to please stick to telling her relevant information about Jay, and Jay only, but she let the woman continue without interrupting her.
‘Anyway, according to Horace, Lord Daverly was smitten by the young Lady Amelia, and she fell for him by all accounts. Then Her Ladyship died and the house was closed down. They brought most of the staff from London with them, when in residence anyway, but kept a few at the Hall – gardeners and such – to take care of the place. Horace was one of only two household staff retained at this time. The other was a maid, Betty Redhurst; she was something of a nurse, and had been with the family for years. Lived out her days in luxury, she did. Somewhere in the Stratford area, I heard.’
Eloise clasped her hands tightly, swallowed hard and steeled herself for what was to come. Keeping her voice steady she asked, ‘And so, how did it happen that Jay was born there?’
‘Horace said that one winter’s night Lord Daverly arrived with a small party. He and Betty were called into Lord Daverly’s office. They were told that there would be a guest arriving, but that her presence must remain a secret to all. And that they would be charged with looking after the guest. They were sworn to strict secrecy, on the promise that they would receive a payment that would set them up for the rest of their lives; and were given the threat that if they told anybody anything, they and their families would be out on their ears. Their guest was the pregnant Lady Amelia. For the next five months no family attended the house, other than Lord Daverly. He would arrive in the middle of the night, stay until the next night and then leave. Betty got a room in the attic ready for the confinement, but there were complications. It didn’t go well from the start, and Lady Amelia was very ill towards the end. About a week before the birth she was so distressed about having a bastard that a priest from Leicester was brought in and married her and Lord Daverly. The local doctor, Doctor Henderson, who is living in retirement in the next village, was witness to the marriage.’
‘What? They were married, but then why . . . ?’
‘Because it was done without her father’s consent. And think about it. There would still have been a terrific scandal to face. To all of society, Amelia was abroad for a year. She was meant to be in India. How would her family live down the lie? No, the plan was for the child to be given away, and for Amelia then to go to India for a few months, saying that she had extended her time there, and then to return and marry Lord Daverly officially. But she died giving birth, poor soul. She is buried in an unmarked grave in the churchyard. In the dead of night they buried her, with no family attending. And the next thing it was said in the paper that she’d contracted an illness in India, and had died and been buried there. The only decent thing was the memorial service in London for her. At least that put her to rest, poor soul.’
Stunned into silence, Eloise just stared at Mrs Tattumby. After a moment she could take in the sorrow of all that had happened. Poor Jay, denied his rightful place in life. ‘Did his father ever realize that the child you had adopted was the one he had instructed to be sent to the orphanage?’
‘There was one occasion. I was walking down the lane with Jay, when he was a toddler. His father was visiting your family estate with a shooting party. He was riding along with your grandfather, who was still alive at the time, when they stopped in front of us. Your grandfather only knew the gypsy story, and so remarked what a fine boy Jay was, and that it had been a wonderful day for me when the gypsies had left him with me. Lord Daverly looked astonished and asked to be told the story. He glared at me and looked intensely at Jay. He couldn’t have missed how like Lady Amelia the boy was, and is still. He spoke to Jay. Of course Jay just carried on playing with the stick he was waving about. “He is deaf,” I told Lord Daverly. At which he became very agitated, begged my pardon and wanted to leave. They rode off, and that was that. Lord Daverly was killed in a riding accident not long afterwards.’
‘Oh dear. Lady Muriel was taken to be the heir. She didn’t know any different. It was thought that there were no known male relatives of Lord Daverly, and so she inherited Hastleford Hall and all that went with it! What do we do now? I . . . I mean: what does Jay want to happen? Does he want to claim his inheritance from my aunt?’
As she waited for a reply, Eloise thought that the whole thing was despicable, and part of her felt glad that she was only related to her Aunt Muriel’s family by marriage, as what they had done was abhorrent to her.
‘I’m not sure. But before this whole situation, he wanted to let people know the truth, so that he could—’
‘Marry Andrina? Oh dear, it is such a tragedy. My dear sis – sister.’ The tears that had threatened to flow while hearing Jay’s story now spilled over. Sobs racked Eloise’s body. Two large arms encircled her, and although on any other occasion she would consider this inappropriate, she welcomed the comfort they gave, but did not miss the heaving of Mrs Tattumby’s big body as she joined her tears with those of Eloise.
As she laid her head on the soft cushion of Mrs Tattumby’s breast, exhaustion took over every bone in her body. How am I to deal with all of this? How can I put it onto my dear aunt and uncle at such a time? Does Aunt Muriel know of Jay? But then an even more disgusting thought entered her: Does my father know the truth? No, he couldn’t, could he? Then it came to her that this is what Father was referring to, when he said that Jay felt like family and that he’d had suspicions. Oh dear, it is all such a mess. Such a tragic, tragic mess . . . Andrina gone forever. Edith, God knows where – and even whether she is safe. And now Jay, desperately ill and having been forced to live a life that he was not born to; and all in a silent world.
‘Look, M’lady, it ain’t much, and it don’t condone what I did, but let me tell you: Jay has had a happier life w
ith me than he would ever have had in an orphanage – or with them lot, if I had taken him back to them. Even if they had accepted him, the moment they found out about his deafness, they would have had him committed to an institution and he would have spent his life locked up; he wouldn’t have had the life he was entitled to. And that Lady Muriel would still have inherited.’
Eloise hadn’t thought of this angle, but she could see it was a possibility. Many rich and powerful families did lock away any children who were crippled or maimed in any way. And, knowing Aunt Muriel’s family, this was most likely what they would have done with Jay, if confronted with who he really was.
The thought brought some comfort, and she realized it was probably behind Jay forgiving this woman. Well, she herself couldn’t forgive her aunt’s family, and something had to be done to put right the wrongs they had done to Jay. But she didn’t know what this would be, as she was not yet in control of her emotions – they were so swayed by her grief that they didn’t allow for decision-making.
For now, Eloise just wanted to stay encircled in the arms of this loving woman. For no matter what Mrs Tattumby had done, she was certainly that: a loving and kind woman, whose actions might have been misguided, but who had ultimately enabled Jay to be saved from what his own family might have done to him.
11
Edith
A deserted farm, France, mid-August 1916
Finding the depths of love
Despite her pleas over the last four weeks, Albert had refused to listen to her. It had been a gruelling journey, tramping miles and miles across fields, eating off the land, stealing from meagre crops and accompanying those with meat from any animal that Albert managed to trap or shoot.
Edith’s hair was matted and plastered to her head. Sores on her feet rubbed and oozed pus, her teeth were coated and her nails dirty. Occasionally they had washed in a stream, but her clothes were clogged with mud, and the tooth-powder and soap Albert had packed into his backpack had run out a few days ago.
‘We ’ave to keep to the fields, Edith,’ Albert had said on countless occasions, when she’d begged him to allow her to go into the nearest town. If only he would let her, she could try to access some money from her bank account and pay for a hotel and transport to the South of France. She was certain Marianne would help Albert to disappear, and her to get back to the hospital.
‘If we use the roads or enter a town, we may bump into soldiers returning from the front, or others going there. My description would ’ave been circulated by now, especially as they might think I kidnapped you.’
She had been tempted on more than one occasion to scream at him, ‘You did kidnap me! You used emotional blackmail. You dragged me away from my bed.’ But she didn’t. He had enough to carry on his shoulders, and seemed to her to be getting dangerously morose and paranoid. It was all she could do to keep his spirits up.
The sight of a farm in the distance gave her hope. Albert would break in and steal what they needed: food, soap, coffee – milk and eggs even. The thought of it took away any pangs of conscience she might normally have had at such actions. Tiredness seeped into her as they neared the building. Crouching low made her joints ache.
‘We will ’ave to lie low until darkness, Edith. Then I will see what I can get.’
‘Promise me you won’t hurt anyone. I couldn’t bear that, and could never forgive you for it.’
‘I promise. Now come on, let’s make it to that barn for shelter. We might even get some shut-eye while we wait for the owners to go to bed.’
Lying down didn’t give her any comfort. Over the days they had walked and starved, the flesh had dropped from her bones and it was now difficult to position her body without something digging into her.
Though they lay together for warmth and had done on many occasions, Albert had respected her wishes and had not touched her. These hadn’t truly been her wishes, as many times she had lain next to him aching for him to hold and kiss her, but she was afraid and unsure.
Sometimes she’d even dreamed of Captain Woodster, and woke up longing for everything he stood for. He was of her world; he thought the way she did, he loved the same things: medicine, and devotion to the care of others. His conversation was on her level . . . But then she would look over at Albert, curled up and sleeping next to her, and her heart would flip over and she knew he was much more a part of her than she really wanted him to be.
‘Wake up, Edith. Wake up.’
‘What? Oh, I – I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep. What’s wrong?’ A shiver that wasn’t just down to how cold she felt trembled through her.
‘Nothing – everything is right. The farm ’as been abandoned. And recently, if you ask me. I waited till dark, but no lights came on in the ’ouse and no smoke came from the chimney.’
‘But there’s lights and smoke now – look! Perhaps you were wrong, and perhaps we shouldn’t make so much noise.’
‘That’s my doing. I crept over there and found the house empty. Oh, it’s been ransacked, but I found stuff that made me ’eart sing. There’s canned food, a bottle of brandy and some wine in a flask; and, oh, soap and stuff. I’ve ’ad the water on the stove and ’ad a good wash down, and filled a tin bath for yer to soak in. Come on, and while yer ’ave a bath, I’ll make something for us to eat.’
His breath wafted to her the evidence of him having drunk some of the brandy already, but she didn’t blame him. Nor did she care. All she could think of was how what he’d described to her sounded like heaven to her aching limbs.
‘I must have been asleep for a long time?’
‘Two hours in all. I kept coming and checking on you. And I put that blanket on you.’
She hadn’t noticed the blanket, but now picked it up and wrapped it around her, trying to stop the shivering of her limbs as she walked with him to the farm.
It was all she wished it to be. A typically French farmhouse, just as she’d seen in pictures, and on her travels to Marianne’s. Built of grey stone, all of its windows had shutters on them; some were secure and closed, but a couple blew loose in the breeze and banged against the wall and then banged shut again, creating an eerie feel in the dusk of the evening. That feeling left her as she entered the kitchen. Albert must have worked hard in those two hours, as it was no longer ramshackle, as he described, but had an order to it. The long wooden table in the centre had been cleared and washed down, and now held a lit oil lamp in its centre.
The fire glowed from the grate, joining the flicker of the lamp and giving a romantic hue to the whole room. In front of the fire, and between two armchairs, was what she thought she’d never see again: a steaming hot bathtub. Her insides warmed at the sight of it, but her clothes and hair suddenly turned into sackcloth and straw, as her longing overwhelmed her.
Taking a swig from the bottle of brandy, Albert wiped his hand over his mouth. ‘Go on – it’s all yours. I won’t peep.’ A hiccup accompanied this and lit a tiny flame of fear inside her. If Albert gets drunk, will he be as much in control of his emotions as he has been? Oh God, she hoped so. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.
‘Will you go out of the room, Albert, please? Is there a sitting room or somewhere you can wait for me? I promise I won’t be long.’
‘If that’s what you want, but I ’ad in mind to prepare them salad vegetables I found in the greenhouse – there’s tomatoes and lettuce. Look, I’ll keep me back to you and work at the sink. I’ve opened a couple of tins, and found one contained some sort of meat. I’ll put that on the stove in some wine, with some of them bulbs hanging from the ceiling. They must be French onions or something.’
She giggled at this. ‘Just one clove of one bulb will be enough, Albert. They are garlic. They give a lovely flavour, but are very strong. Anyway that all sounds delicious, and I’ll even have a glass of wine with the meal. But you go easy on that brandy; when you are hungry and haven’t had a drink for a while, it can have a quicker effect on you.’
‘I’m all right – I can dr
ink most men under the table.’
Another hiccup set the nerves in her stomach fluttering, but she couldn’t wait any longer for her bath, so she didn’t argue. Taking off her clothes, she found that the luxury of dipping her toe in the water took away her concerns. Sinking her whole body into the water and caressing it with the soapsuds made her forget everything for a second – even her niggling worry over her health – for the trembling wouldn’t stop and the feeling of fuzziness in her head that she’d thought was down to having dozed off and being awoken so suddenly hadn’t left her. Relaxing back, she closed her eyes.
‘You’re beautiful, Edith.’ This had her opening them again, and relit the fear in her. Albert stood over her. His body swayed a little, his words slurred. ‘I slove you more thans anyshing.’
Her hands covered the tips of her breasts and she hoped the suds hid the rest of her. ‘Albert, you promised you wouldn’t look. You’re frightening me.’
‘Edith, oh, Edith, I can’t ’elp meself I want yer, Edith. Pleash come to me and let me—’
‘I’m not ready, Albert. I’m afraid. I’ve never . . .’
‘I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle. You’re a doctor, so you know what it’s all about.’
‘Of course I do. But that doesn’t make it any less frightening. Besides, I wanted it to happen when I was married. I didn’t want to do anything before.’
At this he turned and walked away, and her nerves settled down again. He wasn’t going to impose himself on her. But she would get out of the tub and wrap herself in the blanket as quickly as she could. She couldn’t dress, because all of her clothes were wet and filthy. But she would wash them in the tub and hope they would dry out in front of the fire.
Dinner was a quiet affair at first, as Albert seemed to be sulking, and Edith found it difficult to focus properly on any topic of conversation, as her head ached. When Albert did speak, it was about Jimmy.