A Mother's Shame Read online

  A Mother’s Shame

  Also by Rosie Goodwin

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  The Bad Apple

  No One’s Girl

  Dancing Till Midnight

  Moonlight and Ashes

  Forsaken

  Our Little Secret

  Crying Shame

  Yesterday’s Shadows

  The Boy from Nowhere

  A Rose Among Thorns

  The Lost Soul

  The Ribbon Weaver

  A Band of Steel

  Whispers

  The Misfit

  The Empty Cradle

  Tilly Trotter’s Legacy

  The Mallen Secret

  The Sand Dancer

  A Mother’s Shame

  Rosie Goodwin

  Constable & Robinson Ltd

  55-56 Russell Square

  London WC1B 4HP

  www.constablerobinson.com

  First published in the UK by Canvas,

  an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2013

  Copyright © Rosie Goodwin 2013

  The right of Rosie Goodwin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental

  All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication

  Data is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-4721-0169-3 (hardback)

  ISBN 978-1-4721-0499-1 (ebook)

  Printed and bound in the UK

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Jacket images: Richard Jenkins/Alamy/Arcangel Images; Jacket design: debbieclementdesign.com

  Welcome to the world Layla Rose, born 5 May 2013. A very

  welcome, long-awaited and precious little granddaughter!

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to the wonderful team at Constable & Robinson; to my great editor, Victoria; my lovely PR Laura Sherlock; the wonderful Joan Deitch, my copyeditor; and of course my brilliant agent, Sheila Crowley. Many thanks to you all for your support and encouragement.

  Chapter One

  Nuneaton, Warwickshire, January 1857

  ‘I feared as much. Is there something you need to tell me, Maria?’

  The girl’s startled eyes flew to the doorway of the outside privy, where her mother stood wringing her hands together.

  She forced a smile in the woman’s direction.

  ‘No, no, I’m all right, Mother . . . honestly. I think that rabbit stew you did us for tea last night must have disagreed with me, that’s all.’ Swiping the back of her hand across her mouth, Maria lurched unsteadily to her feet.

  Running her hands down the front of her plain calico apron, Martha Mundy frowned. The girl looked dreadful. The bags beneath her eyes were so large that Martha thought she could have done her shopping in them, and her face was the colour of bleached linen. She seemed to have been in and out of the privy being sick for days – but then, Martha told herself, her suspicions must be wrong, Maria was a good girl. She had never been any trouble to her. Not like her younger brother Henry, who was always up to some mischief or another.

  ‘Well, if you’re quite sure that’s all it is.’ Her voice was still heavy with doubt. Nobody else in the family seemed to have suffered any ill effects, and they had all eaten the same the night before. Maria pushed past her into the tiny yard, nearly colliding with the tin bath that hung on a hook outside the back door.

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’ Maria’s voice carried across the yard, before it was whipped away by the biting wind. Then: ‘Come on, Mother,’ she urged lightly. ‘Let’s get in out of the cold, eh? Father will be home from chapel soon and all hell will break loose if his dinner isn’t on the table, as well you know.’

  Sighing deeply, Martha followed Maria into their tiny cottage. Wet washing was strung on lines suspended from the ceiling from one end of the beams to the other and Maria had to duck her way through it to get to the easy chair at the side of the roaring fire.

  ‘I’ll just put my feet up for a few minutes and then I’ll help you dish the dinner up,’ she promised.

  Once her mother had bustled away to stab at the cabbage that was bubbling in a pan on the range, Maria screwed her eyes tight shut to stem the tears that were stabbing her – like sharp little needles at the back of her eyes.

  She felt so ill that just to stand was an effort, but worse than that was the fear that was growing daily. Her monthly course was way overdue, and with each day that passed she felt worse. Even now, the smell of the meal that was cooking was making her stomach revolt. Thankfully, Emma, her little sister, who was playing with her peg dolls on the rug, took her mind off her predicament for a second.

  ‘Maria, will you make me some more new clothes for my dollies soon? Mother’s got some scraps of material left over from the dress she made me for Sunday school and I was thinking you could perhaps use them?’

  Maria smiled fondly as she stroked the girl’s fair hair back from her pale face. Emma had never been a robust child, in fact, she might have been termed sickly, but Maria had doted on her from the moment she was born. She could still remember that day eight years ago, and the terror she had felt as she huddled in the kitchen listening to her mother’s screams as the doctor battled to bring the child into the world in the bedroom above.

  Now she promised, ‘Of course I will, sweetheart. At the weekend when I have more time we’ll set to, eh?’

  Contented, Emma turned her attention back to her dolls as Maria flashed a glance at the tin clock that stood on the mantelpiece. It was almost six thirty, which meant that at any second, her father would be back from the chapel in Chapel End where he was a minister. Heaving herself from the chair, she dragged the table from the wall at one side of the kitchen across the red quarry tiles, and after lifting the wooden slats to open it out, she threw a snow-white tablecloth across it and began to set out the cutlery.

  Just as she finished, the door banged inwards, making the fire roar up the chimney – and Edward Mundy barged into the room, large as life and twice as nasty.

  Thankfully, tonight he seemed to be in good spirits and they all heaved a sigh of relief as he sniffed at the air appreciatively. ‘Is that a steak and kidney pie I can smell?’

  Martha nodded as she wiped a strand of faded fair hair back from her face. She had been a good-looking woman in her day, but living with a bullying husband and sheer hard work had made her old before her time. Although she was only in her mid-thirties she could have been taken for fifty at least. Turning away from the stove, she wearily poured the kettle of hot water she had ready into a tin bowl for him to wash in.

  Slinging his coat across the back of a chair, Edward, a great bear of a man, placed his Bible down on the sturdy oak sideboard and plunged his huge hands into the water.

  ‘Have you had a good day, dear?’ Martha ventured timidly.

  ‘Huh! How good can a day be when my parishioners are dropping like flies?’ he retorted. ‘The flu epidemic that has spread from London is getting worse by the minute. Word has it that fifty a day on average are dying there. Three little ones drew their last breath here today and two more men from the pit cottages in Chapel End. The undertaker is having to work through the
night to keep up with the demand for coffins.’

  Martha chewed on her lip as she handed him a rough towel that no amount of boiling would ever get white again, then turned away to drain the cabbage into the deep stone sink.

  When Edward had finished his wash and was drying himself he glanced around the kitchen before asking, ‘Where is Henry?’

  ‘Oh, he er . . . just ran an errand for old Minnie Hickman,’ Martha lied glibly rather than tell the turth and provoke his wrath, but underneath she made a mental note to give Henry an earful when he did finally put in an appearance. Their son had been working down one of the local pits for three years now and hated every single second of it. Martha wished there was some other job he could do that would allow him to be out in the open air, but jobs were scarce and the whole town relied on the ribbon-weaving factories and the pits for their survival. It was mainly Henry’s wages that kept their home afloat. Edward’s stipend as a preacher was barely more than a pittance, augmented by modest donations from his parishioners. Sometimes she despaired, wondering how they would ever manage when Henry was of an age to wed. Even now he was certainly never short of admirers. Still, Martha had decided that that was a problem she would face when she came to it.

  Henry was never on time for anything, and his mother feared he would be late for his own funeral – an event that would come sooner than he expected if his father ever got to know of even half of the pranks he got up to. Henry would sneak off and go poaching on the local squire’s land when he finished his shift down the pit each evening, and Martha was painfully aware that should he ever be caught, they would be thrown out of their cottage. But then the rabbits and pheasants he caught came in more than handy. And at least Edward seemed to be in a good enough mood tonight, so she quickly carried the pie to the table as he took a seat, and thanked the Lord for small mercies.

  Once everyone was seated, Edward clasped his hands and bowed his head as a hush fell on the room. ‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen,’ he muttered, and then he fell on his food as if he hadn’t eaten for a month. Maria kept her eyes averted and tried desperately to swallow something, aware that her mother was watching her like a hawk. Luckily, Henry barged in only minutes later and Martha’s attention turned to him as she flashed him a warning look.

  ‘Did you manage to get what Minnie wanted from the shop, son?’

  ‘What? Oh er, yes I did, Mother.’ As he slithered onto a seat he gave her a grateful smile, glad that his father was too intent on eating his meal to have noticed his hesitation. At fifteen, Henry was a tall lad with huge brown eyes and hair as black as coal, and his mother adored him – although the same could not be said for his father. The two were as different in nature as chalk from cheese. To the outside world beyond the cottage walls, Edward Mundy was a fine, godfearing man. But within the walls he was a domestic tyrant, ruling his wife and family with a rod of iron. Henry on the other hand was gentle-natured, if somewhat mischievous, with a heart as big as a bucket. Many a time he had stepped between his parents when his father raised his hand to his mother, and Martha had long since given up hoping that the two of them would ever get along, although Edward was far more lenient with his son than he was with Maria. The two girls took after their mother, being blonde and blue-eyed, though Martha’s hair was now prematurely streaked with grey. Sometimes when Martha looked at them, particularly Maria, she could see herself as she had once looked: young and light-hearted in the days before family life had taken its toll on her.

  Her life with Edward Mundy had not been easy, yet for all that she still tried hard to be a good wife to him. Deep down she knew that she had never truly loved him, but she had envisaged a life of ease when she had married him. After all, how hard could the life of a minister’s wife be? At first, she had felt fortunate – but she had soon learned differently. In many ways it was true: they were better off than most of the village people. They had their own small terraced cottage in Coleshill Road for a start, and woods and fields surrounded them rather than the tiny cramped yards that many of Edward’s parishioners were forced to share. But money had always been short, and with five young children to feed it had been hard to make ends meet, which was why she had begun to take in washing some years back from the wealthier folk who lived on the outskirts of the town.

  Sadly, only three of the couple’s children remained alive. They had lost their four-year-old old twins, Samuel and Daisy, to a measles epidemic that had swept through the village some years back. Following their deaths, the financial situation had eased. But not so Martha’s heartache, and anyone who knew her would have said that she had never been the same since. The twins had been just a year younger than Maria, and were the apple of her eye; even now, not a day went by when Martha didn’t still feel their loss.

  That was probably part of the reason why she was so protective of the three children she had left. Many was the time she had stood in the way of the belt and taken the brunt of the beating their father was administering to them. Like Henry, she could not tolerate his cruelty.

  Now, as she glanced across at Maria picking at her food, every maternal instinct she had was screaming at her. And if the suspicion she had should prove to be correct . . . then she shuddered to think of the consequences. Unconsciously, she peered at Edward and a ripple of pure terror flowed through her veins, robbing her of her appetite.

  Maria was just seventeen years old – young, beautiful and spirited. Unbeknownst to her father, a boy from the village had been trying to court her for some months now, but as far as Martha was aware, Maria had flatly refused to walk out with him up until now. And even if she had relented, surely she wouldn’t have been foolish enough to let him put her in the family way? She had always been such a sensible girl.

  Throwing his knife and fork down onto the empty plate, Edward brought her thoughts sharply back to the present as he demanded, ‘So what’s for pudding then?’

  Scraping her chair back from the table, Martha answered, ‘Spotted Dick and custard. It’ll take me but a few minutes to dish it up.’

  Sighing with satisfaction, the man ran his hands across his bloated stomach, but then as his eyes came to rest on Maria and he saw her pushing her food around her plate, he snapped: ‘What’s the matter with you then, miss? That meal cost me hard-earned money, as well you know. It’s a sin to leave good food when there are starving people in the village. Are you sickening for something? I hope you haven’t been in contact with anyone who has this flu.’ Edward took every opportunity he could to pick on Maria.

  ‘Sorry, Father. I’m not feeling too well at present but I’m sure it isn’t the flu,’ Maria blustered. ‘Could I be excused? I think I might go up and have a lie-down for a while if you have no objection.’

  Pulling her plate towards him, he intoned: ‘Waste not, want not. That’s what my dear old mother always used to say, God rest her soul. The trouble with you is you’ve had it too easy. Go on – away with you. But I shall expect you down in time for your Bible reading. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’ Scrambling away from the table, Maria lifted her drab calico skirts and headed for the stairs door, beating a hasty retreat whilst the going was good. She clattered away up the threadbare carpet runner and didn’t stop until she had closed her bedroom door firmly behind her. Then, sinking onto the end of the bed that she shared with Emma, she dropped her face into her hands.

  Eventually she rose and crossed to the small window that looked down onto the Coleshill Road.

  Why hadn’t Lennie been waiting for her for the past few weeks when she finished her shift at the post office in Chapel End? For months he had been there as regular as clockwork, the second she set foot out of the door, but now it was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth, ever since the night he had taken her.

  Her mind raced back to the night he had led her into the churchyard behind the chapel. Her heart had been in her throat. What if her father was to find them there? But then Lenni
e had chased all her fears away when he told her that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and how much he loved her. Her heart had soared. This was Lennie making a promise to her, surely? Why would he have said those things otherwise? And life with him would be so different from the humdrum life she had known so far. There would be no scrimping and saving and having to make every penny count with Lennie. He always had money aplenty and was not afraid of spending it. And then he had kissed her – but the kiss tonight was different. There was an urgency about it and she had become alarmed when his hands began to wander to places they should not go.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he had told her as his large hand found its way beneath her blouse and squeezed her nipple. Before she knew it he had her pressed against the church wall and then his fingers were stroking her thigh and pulling her drawers aside. ‘I love yer, Ria,’ he had gasped as he hastily undid his breeches.

  It was then that she had begun to struggle. As much as she loved him she knew that this was wrong. Kisses and cuddles were one thing, but this was something that only married couples should engage in.

  ‘Lennie . . . no!’

  His hand clamped across her mouth and now she was terrified. But it seemed that the more she fought him, the more determined he became to have her, and suddenly, as he forced himself into her, she knew a pain the like of which she had never imagined. It felt as if he was ripping her apart and she was helpless to stop him. After it was over she could remember crying softly and the tender way he had held her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he had told her. ‘You’re my girl now. I was only gettin’ it out o’ the way. You’ll grow to like it, you’ll see.’

  Thoughts of him lifted the corners of her mouth into a rueful smile. She knew that her mother didn’t approve of him, but she loved him so much she could even forgive him for forcing himself upon her. He was so different from anyone else she had ever known. Oh, she knew he had a reputation for being a bit of a Jack the lad. But then who could blame him for not wanting to work down the pit like most of the other men in the village? As Lennie had told her, he wanted better, and if doing business deals here and there got it for him, then so be it. ’You stick wi’ me an’ you’ll have it all, gel,’ he had told her, so where was he now when she needed him most? He had avoided her like the plague ever since the night in the churchyard, although she had looked out for him every single day. He must have been busy, that was the only explanation for it. He loved her, didn’t he?