The Foundling’s Daughter

by Ann Bennett

  The conversation turned to a young private in the regiment, Bobby Daniels, whom everyone regarded as being extremely camp. When the army drama society puts on plays he always volunteers for the part of a woman or a pantomime dame, revelling in the attention, doing nothing to dispel the rumours about him.

  ‘I think it’s a disgrace,’ someone was saying. ‘To let him carry on like that. It’s against the law you know! The Regiment should do something about it.’

  I was getting fed up with their bigoted views, having just sat through a discussion about how dreadful Indian servants are, how untrustworthy and lazy, while the Indian barmen and bearers looked on in silence, my own toes curling in embarrassment.

  ‘That’s rather unfair, isn’t it?’ I said at last. ‘He isn’t doing anyone any harm, after all. Why not just let him be?’

  The room went silent. You could have heard a pin drop. I looked around at the other faces at the table, some were pink-cheeked with embarrassment, others refused to meet my gaze. Then one of the women piped up. Janet Biggins. She was a mousy little thing, who had been at the forefront of the vilification of first the Indian servants, then Daniels. I knew her to be very pious and very staid.

  ‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ she said. ‘We all know you’ve got a vested interest in these matters.’

  There was a murmur of shock at her words. I felt tears springing to my eyes. I had long wondered whether Donald’s indiscretions were known and whether I was the subject of ridicule behind my back. Here was my proof.

  I got to my feet and dashed out of the room. I ran along the passage to the ladies, leaned on the sink and stared at myself in the mirror. I took heaving great breaths to try to calm myself. I splashed my face with water in the basin, washing away the tears, biting my lip to control my anger and my shame.

  When I had calmed down a little I decided that the best thing to do was to go home. But to do so I would have to cross the room and go out through the main entrance. I resolved to hold my head up high and walk through as though nothing was wrong. I came out of the ladies into the passage and there stood Charles. Before I could say a word, he stepped forward and took me into his arms.

  ‘Anna, my love. I couldn’t help hearing what that dreadful woman said to you.’

  I tried to release myself from his arms, but he was holding me tightly.

  ‘I’m alright, Charles,’ I said. ‘I don’t need comforting.’

  He tightened his grip and tried to kiss me. Despite my resolve, a thrill of excitement went through me at the touch of his lips, but I turned my face away from his and tried to push him away.

  ‘Charles. Please don’t. It won’t do any good. You know I can’t do this.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t? To my mind you don’t have much choice.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I stared at him, aghast.

  ‘I know what that woman said was true. Everyone knows it. So you won’t be getting any love from Donald. You need to take it from someone who’s offering. And that someone is me.’

  He pushed himself closer, pinning me to the wall.

  ‘I can’t believe you said that!’ I said, stung by his words. Was that why he had pursued me from the start? All those words of love meant nothing. He just thought I would be ripe for the taking.

  ‘Get off me, Charles,’ I said, still pushing him away. ‘For God’s sake. Your wife is out there.’

  ‘She’s out of her mind with drink. What will she know?’

  But he let me go and I moved away towards the door.

  ‘You’ll be back. Begging for it. You mark my words,’ he said.

  I fled down the passageway towards the bar, not caring who saw my tear-stained face. I just needed to get out of there.

  Twenty-Eight

  Sarah

  Sarah awakens to sunshine streaming in through the bay windows of her bedroom. The first rays of spring. Even in that half-conscious state between sleep and wakefulness she’s aware that something happened last night to make her spirits sing. She feels it deep inside but for a spilt second she can’t place what it is. Then she rolls over and sees Matt lying there beside her, still asleep. A smile spreads across her face.

  He’d come round to the house after he’d closed the restaurant yesterday evening. They’d shared a bottle of wine in front of the living room fire and had talked for hours. She’d been surprised when he started to speak about Rosie.

  ‘You know it’s the first time I’ve talked about her properly to anyone,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t have to, if it doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘No. I want to. It’s been over two years. It’s time.’ He bent forward, staring into his glass, so that Sarah couldn’t see his expression.

  ‘There’s this temptation when someone dies, to put them on a pedestal, you know. To think that they were perfect, that they never did any wrong,’ he began.

  ‘I did that for a time. But Rosie wasn’t perfect. Far from it. She had a wild streak.’

  He took a sip of wine and smiled, his eyes far away, remembering. As he went on, at times it felt to Sarah as if he was speaking almost to himself; as if he’d forgotten she was there.

  ‘We met at school, you know. She was wild and beautiful. Hugely popular. A magnet for friends – boys and girls alike. It was because she was a rebel. A daredevil. People wanted to be like her, only they knew she was unique. All the same they tried to copy her and to take her lead. But she had a dark side too. She had black moods, deep, deep anger. She didn’t show that side of herself to everyone, not then at least, but she did to me. I wanted to protect her from herself, to help her, I suppose.

  ‘We started dating when we were fourteen and fifteen. Childhood sweethearts I suppose. It lasted all through school and college too. When we got married we were crazy about each other. We could only afford a tiny studio flat, but it didn’t matter to us as long as we were together. She worked in a gift shop in Weirfield and I worked in a hotel in Henley. After a few years the bistro came onto the market and my dad lent us the money to buy it. It was a struggle. You know what it’s like, Sarah. Difficult at the best of times. We pulled together, though. At first, anyway. But after a time I began to find I couldn’t always rely on Rosie. She often wouldn’t turn up for shifts. She would sometimes get angry with customers and make a scene if things didn’t go to plan. I began to suspect she was unfaithful to me too. That was devastating.’

  He frowned and paused for a while.

  ‘How awful for you,’ Sarah murmured, watching the flames leap in the grate.

  ‘When Simon came along, things got worse,’ he went on, ‘Rosie became severely depressed. Simon wasn’t an easy baby and she found it hard to cope, right from the time he was born. It feels disloyal to say this, and I’ve never told anyone before, but it was almost as if she rejected him. She was so preoccupied with her own unhappiness that she had no room to nurture a child. She left most of the caring to me. I didn’t mind that, but it worried and distressed me all the same.

  ‘Time went on. Years and years went by and Rosie’s moods grew worse. She was virtually no help at all in the restaurant towards the end, and I had to hire in extra staff to replace her. But she would resent that too and make life difficult for them, so several people left. I tried to get her to go for help, but she was too proud to do that.

  ‘‘There’s nothing wrong with me’, she’d say. I knew she was ill, but I couldn’t reach her. Then one day she disappeared. I thought she’d finally left me like she was always threatening to. We’d been arguing a lot just before she left so I assumed she’d carried out her threat. I left it a couple of days, hoping she’d be in touch, but one day the police came to the restaurant. I’ll never forget it. We had a full house and I was in the kitchen up to my ears in it. They told me that a man walking his dog had found a body in the spinney next to the river. It was Rosie. She’d taken an overdose.’

  Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh Matt! I’m so sorry. I had no idea she died like that.
’

  Matt had tears in his eyes. Sarah took his hand and he gripped hers as he went on.

  ‘It affected Simon really badly. He was supposed to be doing his A levels but he couldn’t face taking the exams. He’s never been outgoing, and he didn’t find school easy. But Rosie’s death knocked him sideways. He lost all his confidence. He tried retakes the following year, but didn’t do well at those. I gave him a job in the restaurant. I’m really trying to rebuild his self-esteem.’

  ‘It must have been so hard for you,’ Sarah said. ‘For both of you.’

  ‘Simon and I helped each other through it. Gradually, day by day things began to improve. But in truth, it was only when you came along, Sarah, that I started to have moments where I could forget and actually begin to feel vaguely human again. Because of you, I’m feeling happiness for the first time since I can remember.’

  Sarah slipped her arm around his shoulders and held him for a long time, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. After a time, he turned to kiss her, tentative at first, but she found herself responding, drawing him closer. Soon she was unbuttoning his shirt, running her hands over his chest, feeling the warmth and strength of his body against hers.

  They made love there on the floor in front of the fire, with the light from the flames flickering on their bodies. To Sarah, as they moved together gently and naturally, it felt as honest and as familiar as coming home; as if they’d known one another for a lifetime, and as if she already knew and loved all the contours of his body, and as if the movements they made together were as practised as if they’d been lovers since the beginning of time.

  Now, she watches him sleeping in the pale light of the morning, and thinks about his words. About how he’d only begun to feel happiness again since she’d been in his life. She realises that the same is true for her. That it is only through him and through her work in the bistro that she has begun to get over the blow that Alex dealt her. She often goes hours now without even thinking of Alex, and she can even admit to herself to feeling her own glimmers of happiness, although her father’s illness has cast a shadow over that.

  At the thought of her father she gets up, kissing Matt’s sleeping eyes, she pulls on her dressing gown and goes through to the bathroom.

  She knows what she must do today. Time is running out for Dad. This week she has to take him into the hospital for further treatment. The doctor told her quietly that the treatment will take it out of him, and despite that, might not be successful. Sarah knows she owes it to him to pursue the truth as far as she can.

  She showers quickly and dresses in the bathroom. As she goes through to the bedroom, Matt is stirring. She sits down beside him and strokes his hair.

  ‘Why are you up so early?’ he asks, his voice bleary with sleep.

  ‘I’m going round to Fairlawns this morning to see Connie Burroughs.’

  He puts his arms around her and pulls her to him.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No. Not because I don’t want you to. But I think the best chance I have of Connie speaking to me is if I go on my own. She wouldn’t tell me anything before, but she’s had a shock now. I know she wouldn’t talk to the police, but now she knows me a bit she might talk to me.’

  ‘Well good luck,’ he props himself up on this elbows and kisses her ‘Let me know what happens.’

  ‘You don’t mind if I go now, do you? I’d like to try to speak to her before Dad goes into hospital. It might give him some hope if I manage to get some information about his mother.’

  ‘Of course not. Shall I let myself out?’

  ‘Yes. Just slam the back door behind you.’

  She bends to kiss him again. ‘Thank you for last night, Sarah,’ he says, looking up into her eyes. ‘It was wonderful.’

  Anna’s Diary

  November 10th 1933

  I hoped it wasn’t true but I’m afraid that it is. Another three weeks have passed and still my monthly bleeding hasn’t happened. My breasts are tender to the touch and I feel a new and strange heaviness in my legs and abdomen. This morning I couldn’t face my breakfast and I had to rush down to the bathroom to bring up what little porridge I had eaten. When I came out of there, Manju was standing outside watching me with fear and anxiety in her eyes.

  What am I to do? I cannot pretend this baby is Donald’s. There was only that one time on the train with him and that is far too long ago now. I dare not even go to the cantonment doctor, because I know an army wife’s medical record is not confidential as far as her husband is concerned.

  I have thought about doing a dreadful thing and ridding myself of this trouble. Manju discreetly told me about a woman in one of the villages in the mountains who can perform miracles like ‘making babies disappear’. She was watching me carefully when she told me that. Neither of us had even acknowledged my predicament. Her words sent a chill right through me. I thought about it, and I considered it, but I quickly realised that I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t get rid of another human being no matter how inconvenient and how inauspicious the circumstances of its conception.

  There is only one thing I can do. I have resolved to go to Charles and ask him to help me. I haven’t seen him since that night in the club three weeks ago and I haven’t wanted to, but now I need to tell him this. He’s the only person who might be able to help me. And in any case, I will explode if I keep it to myself any longer.

  November 12th 1933

  This morning I spoke to Charles. I rang the club, found out the telephone number of Government House and called him at his office. He sounded surprised to hear my voice and a little put out at first that I’d called him at work. I told him I needed to see him urgently. I detected a note of triumph in his voice, though, as we agreed that he would pick me up in his car at lunchtime.

  As I got in, he took my hand and pressed it to his lips.

  ‘I knew you’d come back to me, Anna,’ he said, looking into my eyes. ‘It was only a matter of time.’

  ‘I haven’t come back to you, Charles. There’s something I have to tell you.’

  ‘Well, go ahead, then.’

  The driver pulled out of my road and was heading towards town.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘I thought we could go for lunch at the Maybelle hotel.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit public?’

  ‘There’s a private room on the first floor. I sometimes hire it for discreet work meetings. How about that?’

  I agreed because I didn’t particularly want to speak in front of Charles’ driver, even though the driver must already know more about me than was comfortable. I didn’t want him knowing this.

  At the hotel we were ushered in through a rear entrance, avoiding the bar and the main restaurant. The bearer took us upstairs to a back room with glass doors which opened out onto a balcony overlooking the colourful exotic garden. A table for two was already set with linen, silver and cut glass.

  I was relieved as I took my seat. Driving here I’d imagined the worst: a sumptuous suite set out with a double bed, champagne on ice. I wouldn’t have put it past him.

  ‘I think we’ll go native if you don’t mind,’ Charles said, examining the menu. ‘They do a frightfully good Kashmiri rice and chicken here. I prefer to eat Indian in these establishments. Indian cooks always make such a hash of British food.’

  I smiled agreement.

  ‘Champagne? We need to celebrate our reunion,’ he said.

  ‘No thank you,’ I said, going pale at the thought. ‘I’ll stick to water.’

  He clicked his fingers and the bearer brought water for us both.

  ‘Bring me an ale if you would please,’ he said.

  When the man had gone, I said, ‘It’s not a reunion, Charles. I wanted to talk to you because there’s something you should know.’

  He frowned. ‘Go on.’

  I looked straight into his eyes. ‘I’m expecting a baby.’


  His eyes widened and the colour drained from his face. He put his glass down.

  ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ I whispered.

  He was silent for a moment. I could see from his eyes that although he wasn’t speaking, his mind was working quickly.

  ‘Look. How do you know it’s mine?’

  I stared at the tablecloth, my cheeks burning.

  ‘Because as you so cruelly pointed out recently, nothing of that nature happens between me and Donald. It has to be yours.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ he muttered.

  We sat in silence as the bearer and two assistants brought our food, setting it out laboriously on the table, ladling rice and chicken onto our plates, refilling our glasses.

  ‘There’s simply no choice, Anna. You’ll have to get rid of it,’ he said once they’d gone. ‘I can’t afford any scandal.’

  Tears sprang to my eyes at the brutality of his words.

  ‘I won’t do that, Charles. I came here for your help, to ask you what to do, because I’m desperate. I’ve already decided that I can’t do that. Perhaps… I know it sounds crazy, but perhaps I could go and live somewhere, up in the hills or something. Far away from here. I could have my baby and perhaps you could send me money to live on. It’s the only thing I can think of.’

  He blinked angrily.

  ‘You don’t seem to realise my position here, Anna. Do you know who I am? What I do?’

  ‘You’re the District Officer, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m much more than that. I’ve got a special role in peace negotiations with the Indian Independence movement. I’ve been appointed for this district by the Viceroy as his eyes and ears on the ground. It’s dangerous and sensitive work. I have to be seen to be exemplary in my conduct or I won’t be trusted by either side to negotiate. I’d be seen as a security risk.’