A Second Chance

by Shayne Parkinson

  Jimmy looked badly shaken. ‘The little bitch would do that to me? What sort of unnatural creature is she?’

  ‘Unnatural?’ Henry echoed, startled. ‘Whatever do you mean by that?’

  Jimmy paused for a moment as if deciding whether or not to speak, then his mouth curled into a grimace. ‘What else do you call it when a girl plots something like this against her own father?’

  Henry did not often find himself lost for words, but this was one such occasion. ‘You… you’re Sarah Millish’s father?’ he said at last. ‘I knew she was adopted, of course, but… you?’

  ‘Yes, though you’d hardly know it from the way she’s carrying on,’ Jimmy said bitterly.

  Henry gave his head a small shake in an attempt to clear his thoughts. ‘And may I ask who the unfortunate mother is?’

  ‘You met her when she was staying with the girl. Amy—Mrs Stewart, she is now.’

  Henry frowned, struggling to recall the name. ‘Mrs Stewart? You mean that sweet little creature from Ruatane, or whatever it’s called?’ The woman was surely a good deal younger than he was; she had looked far too young to be the mother of the self-possessed Sarah Millish. ‘How old was she, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  Fifteen. Laura’s age. Henry’s memory of the small figure from the yacht, tiny alongside Sarah, merged with Laura’s face to give him all too clear a picture of a frightened girl betrayed and abandoned. When old Mr Millish had spoken of the young girl who had been Sarah’s mother, Henry had known that the man involved must be a scoundrel. But he had never suspected it might be a member of his own family.

  ‘I wasn’t very old myself, you know,’ Jimmy said when he saw Henry’s expression. ‘It was that summer I went and stayed with Jack and Susannah. I was only twenty.’

  The mention of Susannah brought to mind further implications. ‘Good God, Jimmy, she’s your sister’s stepdaughter! She’s more or less your niece!’

  ‘Not by blood—we’re not related at all.’

  ‘You’re morally her uncle—if the concept of morality means anything to you. And I’m sure you were more than willing to take advantage of the relationship. No doubt it allowed you unsupervised access to her.’ He studied Jimmy, all sullen resentment and wounded dignity. ‘Why didn’t you marry the girl?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘And exactly what is ridiculous about marrying a girl you’d got with child?’

  ‘She had nothing, Henry! I could see that her father wasn’t in a position to help me get established. And Father would have made an awful fuss about it, with me getting her with child, and her being Susannah’s stepdaughter and all that. It would have held me back dreadfully—I’d already had the idea of trying my hand in Melbourne, but getting myself set up there with a wife and child in tow, especially if Father had decided to be difficult about it all… well, it just wouldn’t have done.’

  He glanced at Henry, who was making no attempt to hide his disgust. ‘It wasn’t an easy decision, I’ll have you know. I was very fond of Amy. I wish I could have married her—in fact I’ve sometimes wished I had, in spite of all the bother it would have caused me. I expect I’d have been a good deal happier than Charlotte’s made me. And I wouldn’t have allowed Sarah to turn out the way she has, if she’d been under my authority,’ he added grimly. ‘But it just wouldn’t have been sensible, not with my position at the time. I’d have been doing Amy no favours, either, dragging her up here for Mother to look down her nose at.’

  Henry did not waste his breath attempting to make Jimmy see the feebleness of his arguments. ‘I certainly hope that Stewart fellow she married treated her well.’

  Jimmy gave him a quick, suspicious glance, then looked away. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said with an unconvincing air of casualness. It was enough for Henry to see that Jimmy did indeed know something of the matter. He did not press the point, knowing that there was little chance he would be told the truth.

  He dragged his thoughts back to the present. ‘I find I must return to my original question—what made you suddenly decide to try and profit from your connection with Miss Sarah, after all these years?’

  ‘I had no idea she was my child. It was at your house that I found out, as it happens. When Susannah was staying with you, and you started talking about Sarah—about her being adopted, and her mother being a girl from the country. I put two and two together, especially when I saw that Susannah knew more than she was letting on. And I knew Amy had been staying with Sarah earlier in the year—I saw her one evening after a concert, and I managed to get her to meet me the next day.’

  ‘You met Mrs Stewart? Why ever did you distress the poor creature by doing that?’ Henry was rapidly replaying events in his head; no wonder, he realised, Mrs Stewart had become so suddenly shy on the yacht when they had discovered their connection.

  Again he saw Jimmy’s gaze shift away from his. ‘That’s none of your business. A fat lot of good it did, anyway—every time I tried to visit her after that, I’d get some maid telling me she was out, or indisposed, or some other story. Sarah must have poisoned her against me.’

  ‘I expect you did that without any assistance,’ Henry remarked.

  ‘Oh, don’t go thinking I forced her. She was a willing participant, I can assure you. Positively eager, in fact, once I’d introduced her to the pleasure of the whole business. Such an affectionate little thing she was,’ he said, smiling as he gazed into an invisible distance. ‘It really was a dreadful waste that I couldn’t marry her.’

  ‘You had a choice in the matter, unlike the poor girl in question. I daresay she believed marriage was a possibility when she allowed you to ruin her.’

  ‘Spare me the sermons. I’ve no appetite for them.’ Jimmy’s brow furrowed in thought. ‘I’ve a good mind to try it,’ he murmured. ‘That might give the little bitch something to think about.’

  ‘What idiocy are you plotting, Jimmy?’

  ‘I may just have a way to make Miss Sarah,’ Jimmy gave the title a scornful edge, ‘sit up and take notice. She might decide to think again about this whole business of pressing charges.’ He leaned forward eagerly. ‘Henry, if Sarah persists in this idea of a court case, how would it be if we were to threaten to call Amy as a witness?’

  ‘What in the world has Mrs Stewart to do with the matter?’

  ‘If we could find some way to get Amy involved in the case, it might be enough to frighten Sarah out of taking it any further. And if she did decide to go ahead anyway, for all she claims to be so fond of Amy, surely that would only help my case? It would all come out in court—about Sarah being my daughter, I mean. The chaps on the jury would think a girl owed her father something. They’d hardly find me guilty of some crime just for wanting her to show me a little proper respect. And I wouldn’t allow her to get away with painting me so very black regarding Amy, either. If it’s a matter of defending my reputation, I don’t see why I shouldn’t let slip a few details about Amy’s behaviour. That would show Sarah what comes of defying me. If they heard—’

  ‘Enough!’ Henry thundered. He rarely shouted, but he had a strong voice, and the room rang with it. Jimmy’s head jerked back, and he stared at Henry in shock.

  ‘I won’t listen to another word of such talk,’ Henry went on in a lower voice. ‘And I won’t attempt to appeal to your better nature, as I’d clearly be wasting my breath, so I’ll confine myself to pointing out the likely consequences of such actions. I said earlier I’d give you a low chance of success if it came to a trial. If you chose to divulge your link with Sarah Millish, and even more so if you chose to drag Mrs Stewart before the court, you’d change the outcome in only one way—you would make it even more certain that you’d be found guilty. And you’d impel the judge towards choosing the harshest sentence available.’

  Jimmy was frowning in confusion. ‘Why should that be the case?’

  ‘Because a good half of the men on the jury are likely to have daughters of their ow
n, and we’ve all spent our share of time worrying about some scoundrel getting his hands on our girls. They’d see their own daughters’ faces when they looked at little Mrs Stewart cowering in the witness box, with filth being spouted against her. And when they looked at Miss Sarah, they’d see the child you abandoned when you’d ruined her mother—the child you wanted nothing to do with until you saw that she could be of some use to you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked whether hanging was an option in this case. It’s not,’ he added, seeing the question on Jimmy’s lips. ‘Some people might say that’s unfortunate.’

  Jimmy was silent for several moments. ‘I suppose I’ll have to take your word for all that.’

  ‘Since there’s no way of allowing you to bring the well-deserved wrath of the court down on yourself without causing harm to innocent parties, then yes, I’d urge you to proceed no further. In which case, let us get on with making new living arrangements for you.’

  ‘Because the dear girl says I must leave Auckland.’ Jimmy scowled. ‘I must say I’m feeling no great affection for the place, with all the trouble I’ve had lately. I suppose I could try Wellington. Your boys seem to be doing well there, and I could probably get some sort of government job.’

  Henry shook his head. ‘No, Wellington won’t do. That would be far too comfortable an option. Miss Sarah was quite adamant it had to be a small place, somewhere out of the way. One with no scope for you to do further harm, because there won’t be much you can do there.’ He was relieved that there was no need to risk any close contact between his sons and their uncle; Jimmy’s was not an influence he would like to see them exposed to. ‘I went over several possibilities with her, and we settled on one that was acceptable.’ He patted a folder on his desk. ‘You’re to go and live in Russell.’

  ‘Russell!’ Jimmy looked stunned on hearing the name of the tiny seaside settlement. ‘I can’t go and live in Russell! Good Lord, I’m not sure I even know where it is.’

  ‘You certainly can’t continue to live in Auckland. Unless prison appeals, that is. And I’ll see that you find your way to Russell, you need have no fear on that score. It’s quite a distance north, but a boat goes there occasionally. I understand a good deal of fish is shipped out of Russell—I believe it’s the only real activity in the area these days—so it’s possible the boat may be somewhat odiferous, but that can’t be helped.’

  ‘And what am I supposed to do in a place like that?’

  ‘Oh, Russell has several advantages as a place to dispose of you. There’s a position vacant that Miss Sarah can use contacts she has in Customs to get you into. Nothing demanding—in fact it’s the sort of job that might normally go to a retired civil servant from one of the lower rungs of the public service. You’re to act as customs agent there, for the occasional boat that might require such offices. I understand there aren’t a great number, so you’ll have a good deal of free time to consider how matters came to such a pass. It’s better than prison, Jimmy. Some might say a good deal better than you deserve. Your daughter is a merciful young woman.’

  ‘My daughter is a spoiled little bitch.’

  ‘There’s even a house that goes with the position. Well, when I say a house… I understand there’s an office with a room behind it as living quarters. That should do you nicely. The remuneration is, of course, very small. But then I don’t suppose you’ll find much to spend it on in Russell.’

  ‘I… I won’t put up with it. What sort of place is that for a man such as myself?’

  ‘A quiet one. You’ll need to accustom yourself to a rather retired style of life from now on. But I imagine there are some pleasant walks, and perhaps you could take up fishing.’

  ‘Fishing! I hardly think so.’

  ‘Gardening then, if you prefer. It’s good exercise.’ Henry put the last few files still on his desk away. ‘You must excuse me, Jimmy, Constance will be thinking about serving dinner soon. I’ll need you to call in again tomorrow to finalise the arrangements.’

  ‘Ah, Henry… I don’t quite know where I’m staying tonight. I thought it might be best if I left Charlotte alone to calm down, and, well…’

  ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten Charlotte planned to evict you. Can’t you stay at the club?

  ‘I’d sooner not go to the club just at the moment.’

  Henry studied his expression. ‘I take it that means I can expect to see the club on your list of creditors?’ There was no response beyond a quick grimace. Henry sighed. ‘Oh, I suppose you can come and—’

  He stopped abruptly. ‘No, I’m afraid you can’t come home with me. In fact I don’t believe I want you in my house again. I have Laura to think of.’

  Jimmy looked puzzled, then indignant. ‘What are you suggesting? Good Lord, Laura’s my niece!’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ Henry opened a drawer of his desk and withdrew a card. ‘Here’s the address of a boarding house we sometimes recommend to clients who find themselves in sudden difficulties. The terms are most reasonable. I believe it’s very clean, though of course rather basic.’

  ‘A boarding house!’ Jimmy said in disgust. ‘One of those places with a hatchet-faced landlady, and everything smelling of cabbage?’

  ‘I haven’t met the lady in question, so I can’t comment on her physiognomy. And perhaps you could request a vegetable other than cabbage, though it’s wholesome enough. If it doesn’t match up to your standards, you can always find yourself a hotel.’

  ‘Well, that might not be possible just at the moment,’ Jimmy said, avoiding his eyes.

  ‘No, and I’m certainly not paying for you to stay in one. If the boarding house is beyond your means, I don’t mind helping out. I can hardly have you sleeping on a bench in the park—you’d only get picked up as a vagrant.’ He took ten shillings from his pocketbook and passed it to Jimmy. ‘Don’t book in for too long, we need to get matters settled soon. I don’t want to try Miss Sarah’s patience.’

  ‘Russell,’ Jimmy muttered. ‘I don’t know about that. I’ll go and see Charlotte again tomorrow,’ he said, brightening visibly. ‘She was upset today—that’s understandable, after the way Sarah spoke to her. She’ll calm down overnight. I’m not sure you’ll need to take this Russell nonsense any further, Henry—I expect I’ll be leaving for Melbourne soon.’

  Henry raised his eyebrows at Jimmy’s seemingly boundless capacity for self-deception, but made no answer. He strongly suspected that Jimmy would find the door of Charlotte’s house closed against him, with no response beyond being told that the mistress was “out”, but he would let Jimmy discover that for himself.

  He watched as Jimmy left the office. Organising the details of his exile to Russell was demanding a fair degree of time and trouble, but Henry considered it thoroughly worthwhile if it meant he would soon never have to see Jimmy again.

  20

  Late in January, Amy had a letter from Sarah that was as cheerful as she could have wished. Sarah wrote of tennis parties and of croquet on the lawn; of sailing on the harbour, and afternoon tea with friends. She mentioned in passing many of the people Amy had met while at Sarah’s. Mr Kendall, she said, had been particularly helpful recently. After her long silence on the subject, Sarah renewed her invitation for Amy to come to Auckland again, preferably to settle there this time, and pressed her to name a date. There would be concerts and plays, she reminded Amy. A new bookstore had opened, and Sarah was looking forward to taking Amy there.

  Do say you’ll come, and soon, Sarah wrote. Surely you need have no qualms about leaving David now that he has a wife to look after him?

  Towards the end of the letter Sarah added, as if it were a matter of no great consequence,

  You may be interested to hear that Mrs Leith’s brother, Mr Taylor, has left Auckland. He has chosen to settle in a secluded area, quite some distance north of here. I’ve heard it surmised that his health has obliged him to seek a retired life. It’s understood that Mrs Taylor has returned to Melbourne, and is paying an extended visit to her famil
y. Neither of them is expected to return to Auckland.

  Amy laid down the letter and pondered what might be behind Sarah’s words. Jimmy had looked well enough just a few months before, and she could not believe he would willingly choose isolation. However it had come about, Auckland seemed a more inviting place with the knowledge that it no longer held Jimmy.

  Inviting, but for the moment quite unattainable. In the privacy of her room, Amy took up pen and paper and began her reply.

  Of course I’d love to come and see you again, my darling, she wrote. And I will as soon as I can. But I don’t know when that’s likely to be. She paused, and chose her words with care. Beth’s rather poorly, you see, and I don’t feel able to leave her just now. Once she’s well again I can think about going away. But that won’t be for a while, I’m afraid. Not for a few months.

  Amy’s hand hovered over the page as she debated how much she should say. Her reference to Beth’s being “poorly” would probably mean little to Sarah. Should she tell her about the baby? Which was worse: to risk overstepping the bounds of propriety by telling an unmarried woman that Beth was with child, or to have Sarah think that perhaps Amy was making excuses to stay away from her?

  The answer was obvious. There’s to be a baby, you see. We’re all very excited about it, but things aren’t going quite as well as they could. Beth needs me here just now. Once it’s all over and I know she’s able to manage on her own, then I can think about coming back to you. I promise I will, my darling, just as soon as I can.

  She set the letter aside to give the ink time to dry, and left the room. She did not like to leave Beth by herself for too long, to make herself more frightened than ever by dwelling on what was to come.

  *

  With March almost over, Amy knew that Beth could go into labour at any time. She watched her closely for any sign of it. A day came when Beth was clearly even more restless and uncomfortable than usual. Amy went to bed that night fully expecting to be woken before many hours had passed.