The Foundling’s Daughter

by Ann Bennett

  I was about halfway home when I heard the roar of an engine and a motor car drew up beside me. I looked up and stopped walking. The window was pulled back and Charles Perry put his head out.

  ‘We meet again,’ he said, an amused smile spreading over his face. ‘Wherever have you been, Mrs Foster, out all alone at this time?’

  ‘I just needed a walk,’ I said.

  He opened the door. ‘Why don’t you hop in? I’ll drop you back home.’

  Wearily I got inside the motor car. It was pointless protesting, and anyway a blister was developing on my heel that I’d been trying to ignore.

  ‘You look very beautiful tonight. Have you been somewhere?’

  I shook my head and stared down at my lap. I couldn’t reply, because I knew that if I started to speak, I would probably burst into tears.

  ‘Is something wrong, Mrs Foster?’

  ‘I’m fine thank you.’

  ‘Drive on please. To Foster Sahib’s house, Connaught Lodge,’ he tapped the partition with his cane and the car began to move.

  ‘Are you quite sure you’re alright? You look as if you’ve been crying.’

  I looked up at his face and he was looking at me intently, his eyes full of genuine concern.

  ‘If there’s anything I can do to help you. You seem very… well, very alone and lost, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ I said, but the tears were already falling. My shoulders were shuddering and I couldn’t hold back the sobs.

  I felt his arm slip around my shoulders and he was holding me tight against his body. It was wrong, I knew, but it felt wonderful to be held close by another human being, to feel the warmth of his body and the beating of his heart. I felt his strength and the power in his touch.

  But still the tears came.

  ‘Hush, Anna. Things will be alright. I will take care of you,’ he whispered, and he was kissing my hair and the back of my neck and his lips were moving around my throat. A thrill went through me but I knew it must stop.

  ‘Please. Don’t do that!’ I said, moving away from him.

  ‘Why ever not? I’m sure you want me to really.’

  ‘Of course not, I’m married. And so are you.’

  He gave a short, sardonic laugh, but he removed his arm from around my shoulder.

  ‘As you like it,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But I know you want me as much as I want you. I’ve seen it in your eyes.’

  I was thrown into fresh turmoil at these words. Was it true? Was that confusion and discomfort I felt in his presence actually desire?

  We sat in silence on the back seat of the car and when we arrived outside my bungalow a few minutes later, he helped me out.

  ‘Until next time, Mrs Foster,‘ he said, kissing my hand and looking into my eyes. ‘And please, do take care of yourself.’

  Twenty-Four

  Sarah

  Sarah and Matt sit opposite each other at the kitchen table, waiting for the police to arrive. They are drinking strong sugary tea. Matt had insisted it would help get over the shock. They sit in silence. There had been no need for a debate about what to do.

  ‘We’ll have to call the police, won’t we?’ Matt had said. Sarah had nodded, her heart sinking.

  ‘Do you want me to do it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes please. If you don’t mind.’

  Now, sitting waiting at the table, Sarah’s experience of the police during her last days at Taste comes back to her; the intrusive questions, the strange hands rifling through the files, opening private drawers, searching the premises.

  The sound of a vehicle pulling into the drive breaks the silence. Car doors slam.

  ‘That must be them now. Do you want me to answer the door?’

  He must realise what I’m feeling, she thinks, getting up from the table.

  ‘No. It’s fine. Let’s speak to them together.’

  ‘You sure? You looked really shaken for a while. I thought you were going to faint.’

  She nods. ‘Of course. But thank you, Matt,’ she says, looking into his eyes. ‘I really appreciate your support.’

  ‘Don’t thank me! I feel responsible for all this. If I hadn’t suggested taking those tiles…’

  ‘It was me who suggested taking up the last one. And anyway, if it hadn’t been you it would have been Terry on Monday.’

  The doorbell rings and Sarah goes to open it. She can feel Matt behind her in the passage.

  Two uniformed policemen stand on the doorstep. They have walkie talkies clipped to their uniforms. They are holding their caps.

  ‘Mrs Jennings?’ says the taller one who looks the more senior of the two. ‘Is Mr Drayton here? I understand you’ve reported a suspicious finding.’

  She nods.

  ‘It’s out in the back. We left it where we found it. I’ll show you through to the conservatory.’

  ‘Why don’t you sit down here in the kitchen? We’ll take it from here. If you’re feeling up to it later, I’d like to take a statement from you. Now, when exactly was it that you moved in to Cedar Lodge?’

  * * *

  Later, she and Matt watch from the conservatory window as two new policemen patrol the garden with sniffer dogs. They have already been through the house with the dogs, encouraging them to sniff in the cupboards, along the floorboards, up the stairs, but they found nothing. A little earlier, after they had both given their statements, Sarah and Matt had watched the first policemen remove the box and the remains of the baby into a police van.

  ‘We’ll be doing an autopsy,’ the senior one had explained. ‘That should give us a rough date to work from.’

  Sarah shudders.

  ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she says now.

  Matt shakes his head. ‘It’s bloody bad luck.’

  ‘What will Dad say?’ she says suddenly. ‘I’ll have to go to him. I don’t want him to find out from someone else. He’s not strong.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK to drive?’

  ‘Of course. I’m fine.’ She glances at her watch. It is four thirty. ‘It will be getting dark soon. I said I’d go over at six. But I might go a bit earlier.’

  ‘I could always drive you over, if you like.’

  ‘It’s fine, Matt. Really. Won’t they be missing you at the restaurant?’

  ‘Yes. You’re right. I suppose I’d better get back there.’

  She watches him go, then locks the house, gets into the car and sets off towards her father’s house on the darkening roads. As she drives, images of the gruesome remains of the baby keep dancing in front of her eyes. She remembers the strange feeling of dread and despair she got in the coach house, and the sense of unease that had descended on discovering the bureau was still there. She thinks about the strange hold the past had seemed to have over the house when she’d looked round it that first time. She remembers too her restless first night there, how the dream that someone was pinning her down to her bed had felt so real. She shudders, realising she is not looking forward to spending the night alone.

  She’s suddenly filled with anger and disappointment. Buying Cedar Lodge was meant to be a new start, something positive and exciting in the midst of her troubles. But finding those remains in the box today has changed everything. She has a creeping realisation that she’s beginning to regret her purchase. At this moment, the place feels like a millstone around her neck; a burden rather than a pleasure. She’s beginning to wish she hadn’t ever set eyes on the place, let alone taken the foolhardy step of buying it.

  She swings into her father’s drive and parks the car. The front door is locked and she fumbles for her own key, beginning to panic. Has he gone out, forgetting that she was coming over? Has he had a fall? She lets herself into the hallway and switches on a light.

  ‘Dad?’

  She waits, and after a few seconds her heart starts beating again when she hears his voice; thin and weak, coming from the back of the house.

  ‘Is that you, Sarah, love?’
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  ‘Are you OK?’

  She finds him lying in darkness on the settee in the sun room.

  ‘I must have dropped off,’ he says, blinking as she switches on the light.

  ‘Are you alright, Dad?’ she notices with alarm his pale, sweaty face, his bloodshot eyes full of pain.

  ‘Blinding headache, that’s all. Could you get my pills?’

  ‘Of course,’ she goes through to the kitchen and finds his prescription painkillers in the cabinet. She fills a glass of water from the tap and takes it to him. She kneels down beside him and watches him take the pills and raise the glass to his lips with trembling hands.

  ‘Bad day, Dad?’

  ‘Not so good I’m afraid,’ he replies with a weak smile, ‘What about you?’

  As she smiles at him and squeezes his hand, she knows that she can’t tell him what happened today. It will have to wait, and she will just have to pretend that her day was a good one. She also knows that it won’t be long now, a matter of days perhaps, before the doctors insist on Dad being admitted to hospital for some heavy-duty treatment. A lump rises in her throat at the thought, but not wanting to alarm him she chatters away, telling him about her day, about how Matt brought lunch round, and how he was taking the tiles to the restaurant to put in the courtyard.

  Her father can’t eat much supper, and can hardly keep his eyes open. There are no card games or chess this evening. He hasn’t even the energy to watch television. She helps him upstairs to bed at around nine o’ clock. As she does so she has a fleeting memory of all the nights that he sat on her own bed patiently reading bedtime stories when she was small. How things have come full circle!

  A feeling of trepidation steals over Sarah as she heads back along the river road towards Weirfield. She realises her palms are sweating at the thought of spending the night alone in the house. She even thinks about turning back and staying the night at Dad’s instead. But she doesn’t want to wake him, and she doesn’t want him to suspect anything is wrong.

  ‘You’ll just have to tough it out,’ she says aloud, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, but the feeling of dread only gets worse as she gets closer to the house. How will she sleep? How will she last the night? She even thinks fleetingly about checking into a hotel.

  She swings into the drive and pulls up beside the back door. Then she sees the other vehicle parked beside the coach house, and her heart leaps. ‘Matt!’

  He’s sitting on the back doorstep with a small backpack by his side.

  ‘I thought you might appreciate some company tonight,’ he says getting up.

  ‘I’m so pleased to see you!’ she says, unlocking the back door. ‘I was dreading being alone, I have to admit.’

  ‘Is the sofa the best place?’ he asks, making his way through the passage. She watches him go and pauses.

  An impulse takes her. ‘I’d prefer it if you kept me company upstairs. I mean, it would be nice if you could sleep up there with me… just sleep, I mean… that’s all.’

  He turns and she can already feel the colour rushing into her cheeks. ‘What I meant was…’

  He comes back down the passage and takes her hand. ‘No need to explain, Sarah. We can sleep upstairs together.’ He strokes her hair and looks into her eyes. ‘Nothing need happen. No strings attached.’

  Later, in the dark, in her double bed, he lies on the other side away from her. There’s at least a yard between them. She can hear his steady breathing. She’s wide awake. The lights of passing cars cross the ceiling like searchlights.

  ‘Matt? Are you awake?’

  ‘Yes. Just dozing.’

  ‘Could you hold me?’ She yearns for the feel of warm arms around her.

  ‘Of course.’ He edges closer and slides his arms around her body. She can feel his warmth and his breath on her neck. The images of the day slowly fade from her mind and she drifts off to sleep.

  Twenty-Five

  Anna’s Diary

  November 1932

  I got down from Charles Perry’s car, my nerves a-jangle, my emotions in turmoil. The driver shut the door, returned to the cab and started the engine. I could sense Charles watching me from the back window as the car pulled away, but I didn’t look back. Instead I went on up the steps of the bungalow and let myself in. His words were ringing in my head... I know you want me as much as I want you. I’ve seen it in your eyes. I wanted to scream out loud for it to stop.

  It was dark in the living room, and I expected it to be stifling hot, but strangely the punkah wallah was still sitting on the veranda pulling the curtain, back and forth across the ceiling, so there was at least a faint breeze wafting over the room. I began to make my way across the room towards my bedroom door.

  ‘You’re back then?’ Donald’s voice made me freeze. There was a lamp on a table near where I stood, so I switched it on. What I saw made waves of shock run through me.

  Donald was slumped in one of the armchairs, in his shirtsleeves. His face was red and he glistened with sweat. He held a glass unsteadily in his hand, but the decanter was on the table beside him. It was nearly empty and I could have sworn that it had been nearly full earlier in the day. He must have downed almost half of it while I’d been out of the house.

  I stared at him. I’d never seen him drunk before and to see him like that troubled me deeply. Most of the times we’d been out together he’d hardly touched a drop. In fact thinking back, apart from this evening, the only time I had ever seen him drink anything were when we’d got engaged, at the wedding, and at our homecoming in the club. Each of those times he’d had a single glass of champagne and hadn’t even finished that.

  I’d asked him about it once.

  ‘Oh, I like to keep a clear head,’ he’d replied.

  ‘But I thought all Indian Army officers were hard drinking.’

  He laughed. ‘Well that’s where I have the edge on the rest of them, Anna my dear,’ he replied and I thought nothing more of it.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he asked now, his voice slurred.

  ‘I just went out for a walk. I needed some air.’

  ‘You shouldn’t walk around alone in the dark out here. You should have taken one of the servants.’

  ‘It seemed perfectly safe.’

  ‘I heard a car. Did someone bring you back?’

  ‘Yes. It was Charles Perry,’ I cast my eyes down and could feel my cheeks grow hot.

  ‘You should watch that one,’ said Donald. ‘He’s a ladies’ man.’

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to pursue the matter. I’d seen Charles at the club enough times surrounded by simpering women to understand where that reputation might have come from. But Donald’s tone made me uncomfortable.

  ‘I think I’ll go to bed now, Donald,’ I said.

  ‘No. Come and sit down for a moment. I want to talk to you.’

  I went and sat in the chair opposite him, dread in my heart.

  He reached for another glass on the table and poured me a shot. He held it out.

  ‘Here. Have a drink.’

  I didn’t feel like it, but took it anyway. I didn’t want to argue with him.

  ‘I might as well tell you now. You might as well know,’ he said.

  ‘Know?’ I asked, my feeling of trepidation increasing.

  He took another swig. ‘That question you asked me earlier. About why I needed a wife.’

  ‘Oh. Yes.’

  ‘Well, you might as well know now. Someone will tell you eventually, if I don’t.’

  I stared at him. I’d been desperate to find out, but now it came down to it I was dreading hearing whatever he had to say.

  ‘Well, don’t you want to know now?’

  ‘Of course I do, Donald. Please go on,’ I said, but still I couldn’t meet his eye.

  ‘Well it’s like this. I can’t take my drink, you see. I have a drink problem. I used not to be able to face the day without half a bottle of brandy or whisky inside me.’

  ‘Oh, Donald…’
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br />   ‘It got so bad that I was missing parade. I couldn’t think straight, I was a liability. And when I did make it, I wasn’t fit to appear in front of my men.’

  ‘But… but how did it start?’

  He shrugged. ‘The army is everything to me. I was brought up expecting to get to the top. But the trouble is, I’m not like other men. I’m not sociable. I like my own company. I don’t like all the hearty, back-slapping socialising that goes on. I didn’t find it easy to live the life of an officer in the mess. I found social occasions difficult. And when you live in the mess as I did, every single evening is a social occasion.’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘But I found that the booze would help me cope with all that. With a few shots of spirits inside me, the bonhomie didn’t seem so difficult anymore. At first it was fine. It was under control. No one noticed and I didn’t drink more than any of the other officers. But as time went on I needed more. I needed that Dutch courage to face the world. Without it I was nothing.’

  I stared at him, trying to take in what he was saying. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘I used to go on regular benders. Sometimes I would get into arguments. Once I got into a fight with one of the other officers, and there was a lot of damage done in the club. Colonel Smethurst had a stern word with me then. Said if I didn’t go on the wagon he would transfer me to another regiment.’

  He paused and I sensed the pain he felt remembering. He went on, staring at the floor.

  ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of that. I went on the wagon, but of course it didn’t last. That happened three or four times. The last time, Smethurst got the General involved. The General came up to Kandaipur to talk to me. Said I needed a wife to settle me down. That I must go down to Bombay on my next leave and find someone. If I didn’t I’d be on permanent desk duty. And that would mean I’d never get the chance to command the regiment.’