A Mother's Shame Page 3

  It was hard to concentrate at work the following day, and to make matters worse, Mrs Everitt was in a terrible mood.

  ‘Maria, watch what yer doin’!’ she ranted. ‘Yer were just about to fill the sugar barrel up wi’ salt.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Everitt,’ Maria apologised, as the small portly woman glared at her with her hands on her hips.

  Patting the tight grey bun that balanced precariously on the back of her head, the woman tutted her disapproval. ‘I don’t know what’s got into yer today,’ she complained. ‘Yer give Mrs Wilkes the wrong change not an hour since, an’ yer know how she of all me customers watches every penny.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Everitt.’

  ‘Will yer please stop sayin’ sorry an’ concentrate on yer work, girl! Are yer losin’ yer marbles or what? You’ll be a candidate fer Hatter’s Hall at this rate.’

  Maria shuddered at the thought. Hatter’s Hall was a mental asylum on the outskirts of Ansley Common. It was a dark forbidding place, shunned by the locals, particularly at night when the howls of the poor souls who had been committed there echoed eerily around the tall brick walls that surrounded it.

  As a child, Maria’s father would threaten her with Hatter’s Hall if she was naughty. ‘I’ll take you and leave you there if you don’t learn to behave,’ he would bellow, and even now the very mention of the place could strike terror into Maria’s heart.

  Luckily, the shop door opened just then and Mrs Everitt turned her attention to her customer, all sweetness and light.

  ‘Ah, Mrs James. An’ what can I be gettin’ yer, dear?’

  Maria scuttled away to compose herself and for the rest of the day tried to keep out of the older woman’s way.

  By the time the shop closed her nerves were at breaking point. She had hoped that Lennie might call in at lunchtime, but she had seen neither hide nor hair of him all day. Still, she consoled herself, no doubt he was telling his mother and making plans before he called on her father that night.

  When Edward Mundy did finally make an appearance that evening, he too was in a filthy mood, made worse by the fact that the meal was dry because he was late for it. The children were silent as they eventually gathered around the table for Grace, then their mother gallantly fought to scrape the dried-up hare pie from the dish as he glared at it in disdain.

  ‘Couldn’t we have some bread and dripping instead?’ Henry dared to ask as he eyed the shrivelled food with dismay.

  ‘You Godless ungrateful boy,’ his father shouted. ‘There are many sitting with nothing in their bellies tonight so just be grateful for what you have and let me hear no more.’

  The whole family made a valiant attempt to eat the meal in front of them but it stuck in their throats and Martha had to keep rising from the table to fill the water jug.

  At last the meal was over and Maria rose to help her mother clear the pots into the sink whilst Edward threw himself into the fireside chair.

  ‘May I ask what detained you?’ Martha asked tentatively.

  Edward sniffed. ‘I was called to Hatter’s Hall to say a few words over an infant that died there.’

  ‘How awful – the poor little mite.’ Martha’s kind heart was saddened at the news but Edward almost bit her head off.

  ‘Awful my foot! The child was a flyblow, born to one of the unmarried mothers there. It didn’t deserve to live. It was a child of sin. It will be buried in unhallowed ground within the confines of the Hall grounds. The only shame is that the mother didn’t die too.’

  The colour drained from Maria’s face and she had to hold onto the edge of the deep stone sink to keep from fainting with terror. This evening was definitely not going to be easy. Thank God that Lennie had promised to stand by her or it might have been her incarcerated in that dreadful place. Rumour had it that many of the inmates at the Hall were unmarried mothers – locked away there and forgotten for all time by families who could not bear the shame of what their daughters had done.

  Glancing at the tin clock on the mantelpiece, she offered up a silent prayer. Please come soon, Lennie, and get this over with. Turning back to the sink she then began to scrub salt into the bottom of the pots as if her very life depended on it.

  When her father began his Bible-reading at eight o’clock with still no sign of Lennie, it took every ounce of willpower Maria had to look as if she were listening to what he was saying.

  Her ears strained for the sound of Lennie’s footsteps approaching the door and she breathed a sigh of relief when her father eventually closed the Bible and yawned.

  ‘Away to your beds,’ he commanded, and his children immediately rose from their seats to do as they were told.

  Maria took Emma upstairs, and after tucking the child into bed she crossed to the window and twitched the curtain aside, fearfully gazing up the lane for a sight of Lennie. Seeing it was deserted, her spirits plummeted still further. What could have delayed him? Worse still was the fact that it was Saturday evening, which meant she would have no chance to see him now until Monday.

  Somehow, she knew that he wouldn’t be coming tonight, so after slowly undressing she slipped into bed beside Emma. Fretfully she stared up at the cracks in the ceiling until sleep eventually claimed her as the first cold fingers of dawn snatched at the sky.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Is Isabelle not joining us for breakfast again?’ Charles Montgomery barked as his eyes raked the dining room.

  His wife visibly quaked before forcing a smile and telling him, ‘No, dear. Isabelle is feeling unwell, so I told her maid to prepare a tray for her.’

  Charles raised his eyebrows as he strode over to the highly polished mahogany sideboard and proceeded to help himself to a generous serving of kidneys, sausages and bacon from the silver salvers that stood upon it. He carried his plate back to the table and scarcely had time to seat himself when the maid rushed forward with a silver teapot in her hand.

  ‘Tea, sir?’

  When he inclined his head, she swiftly poured some of the steaming liquid into a delicate china cup and saucer. She then lifted the cut-glass milk jug but he waved her impatiently away as he addressed his wife again, saying, ‘And what is wrong with the spoiled little madam this time?’

  His wife, Helena, dabbed delicately at her lips with a white linen napkin before replying timidly, ‘I fear she has come down with a cold, dear.’

  ‘Huh!’ he snorted, clearly not believing a word she said but he kept his thoughts to himself, for now at least. It would not do to give the servants anything to gossip about. He speared a sausage and began eating.

  Helena meantime found that her appetite had fled and looked glumly down at her plate as her husband ate his breakfast. They seemed to have done nothing but argue about Isabelle ever since she had been expelled from the finishing school she had been attending in France two months before. Helena knew that her husband had every right to be angry with their daughter, but even so she always tried to make excuses for the girl’s rash behaviour, which was stretching their already fragile relationship to breaking point. Isabelle was now eighteen years old, a year younger than her brother, Joshua. They were so alike in looks that they had often been mistaken for twins. Both had the same dark hair and green eyes that they had inherited from their father. But there, any similarity between them ended, for they were completely different in nature. Joshua was a kind-hearted, hardworking young man, keen to help his father in his many businesses, whereas Isabelle was somewhat selfish and wilful.

  Helena was painfully aware that this was mainly her fault. Never the strongest of women, she had almost died giving birth to Isabelle and the doctor had stipulated that there should be no more children. Until that time, if asked, Helena would have said that her marriage was perfect – but soon after Isabelle’s birth, Charles had moved into another room and from that day on Helena had spoiled her tiny daughter shamelessly. Now she was reaping the rewards and had no idea what to do about it.

  Glancing at her husband now from the corner of her
eye, she suppressed a sigh. Charles was still a very handsome man although his dark hair was now streaked with grey at the temples and above his ears. Strangely, this did nothing to detract from his looks. In fact, it made him look even more sophisticated. Helena had long harboured suspicions that he had a mistress tucked away somewhere, hence the occasional night when he failed to come home to Willow Park. But what could she do about it? And so she had put all her efforts into her children. There was little else for her to do in the house although it was quite huge. They had a very efficient housekeeper and enough staff to keep it running smoothly. All she had to do was plan the menus each week, and now that the children were older, time hung heavily on her hands.

  She had become so lost in thought that she started slightly when her husband repeated, ‘Did you hear me, Helena? I said that I may not be home this evening, so don’t wait up for me.’

  ‘Oh? Why is that, dear?’

  A look of annoyance passed fleetingly across his face but he answered politely enough. ‘I am travelling to my new factory in Leicester, so I shall probably stay in a hotel for the night.’ As he spoke he pushed his chair back from the table and rose, offering her his hand. She took it without a word, and after he had escorted her to the drawing room he made a little bow and departed without another word.

  Crossing to the window, Helena stood looking out at the front of the house, where one of the grooms was standing at the foot of the front steps holding the door of the carriage open for his master.

  She watched as it moved away down the drive, then sighed as she sank heavily down onto one of the brocadecovered chairs.

  In a way she was quite relieved that Charles was not coming home that evening. A good talk with Isabelle was long overdue and she would have more opportunity to do it with her husband out of the way. In fact, she decided, there was no time like the present, so standing again, she smoothed her skirts and swept from the room in a rustle of silk.

  On the landing outside Isabelle’s door she paused, then tapped gently. It was opened instantly by Polly, Isabelle’s maid, who informed her, ‘Miss Isabelle ain’t feelin’ so good, ma’am. She’s still abed an’ she refused to eat her breakfast again.’

  ‘Very well, Polly.’ Helena smiled at the girl. ‘Why don’t you go and have a cup of tea with Cook? I’ll see to Miss Isabelle.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ The girl bobbed her knee, then lifting her black serge skirt she scuttled away along the landing, glad of an excuse for a break.

  Once she was sure that the maid was gone, Helena entered the room and closed the door behind her. She could see Isabelle’s shape huddled beneath the bedcovers, so crossing to the velvet drapes that hung at the high windows, she swished them open.

  ‘Oh, Mama, must you?’ Isabelle groaned as the light made her blink.

  ‘Yes, I must,’ Helena replied firmly as she moved back across the room. ‘I think you and I are in need of a little talk, don’t you?’

  As Isabelle’s tousled head emerged from the sheets she stared at her mother cautiously.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh come, Isabelle! I am not a complete fool, you know,’ Helena scolded. ‘I have received a letter from the school, and in it Mademoiselle Bourgeois tells me of a certain young man that you had been creeping out of the premises to meet. Is this true?’

  Isabelle had the grace to flush as she sat up and folded her arms, and stared stubbornly towards the window.

  ‘What if it is?’ she replied sulkily. ‘I am not a child, Mama. I am eighteen years old.’ She threw herself back against the lace-trimmed cushions as her mother frowned.

  ‘I know you may think that you are grown up now, but you are still very young,’ Helena said softly. She could never stay angry with her headstrong daughter for long. Even now, with her thick dark hair tangled and a scowl on her face, she still managed to be beautiful – and sometimes Helena wondered how she had ever managed to produce someone so perfect – in looks, at least.

  ‘I suppose Papa has sent you to talk to me,’ Isabelle griped. ‘And don’t think I don’t know what he’s hoping for. He wants me to marry Philip Harrington, doesn’t he, and he’s boring!’

  Helena swallowed before saying tentatively, ‘But Philip is one of the most eligible bachelors in the whole of the county, Isabelle. And he’s very good-looking.’

  ‘Huh! What you mean is, his family are very rich!’ Isabelle said pettishly. ‘Papa would marry me off to Old Nick himself if he had enough money.’

  ‘That isn’t true,’ Helena answered sharply, but deep down she knew that there was more than an element of truth in what her daughter said. Charles had thrown Isabelle and Philip together at every opportunity ever since they were children, and the Harringtons had dropped enough hints to sink a warship about the compatibility of the two young people. They had even planned a summer ball and had openly said how delighted they would be if the young couple were to announce their engagement at the event. Helena had secretly hoped for a union between them too. Philip was a sensible young man with his feet firmly on the ground, whereas much as she adored her daughter she was forced to admit that Isabelle was a little wayward. But now, if her worst fears were confirmed, Helena knew that any chance of that happening was remote.

  Rising to her full height she braced herself to ask, ‘Have you had your monthly course, Isabelle?’

  ‘Mama! How could you ask such an intimate thing?’ Isabelle cried, but Helena saw the fear in the young woman’s eyes and her heart plummeted.

  ‘I can ask because I am your mother,’ she said in an uncharacteristically sharp voice. But before she could say another word, Isabelle suddenly clapped her hand across her mouth, then, throwing her legs over the edge of the bed in a most unladylike manner, she ran to the basin on the marble-topped washstand and was violently sick into it.

  When she eventually stood up and took a shuddering breath, she looked at her mother and saw tears streaming down the woman’s cheeks.

  ‘I knew it!’ Helena began to pace up and down the room, her skirts billowing about her. She was clearly very agitated and for once Isabelle said nothing but watched her guardedly.

  Eventually Helena stopped in front of her and asked, ‘Are you ready to talk to me now? This is not something that will go away.’

  Isabelle’s head drooped as she nodded miserably and muttered eventually in a small voice, ‘I met Pierre one afternoon when I and some of the other girls were out walking with our tutor and Mademoiselle Bourgeois in the park.’ Her lips formed into a smile as she recalled the occasion. ‘He was so handsome, Mama, and when he spoke to me I swear I felt my heart flutter.’

  Helena almost felt sorry for her. Once Charles had had the same effect on her – but that seemed in a different lifetime now.

  ‘Whilst our tutor was buying us cold drinks from a street vendor, Pierre spoke to me,’ she went on with a dreamy look in her eye. ‘And before I knew it, I had agreed to sneak out that evening and meet him.’ She quickly looked away from the disapproval on her mother’s face and rushed on: ‘It was quite easy to get away, and the other girls covered for me. But I wasn’t the only one that did it.’ She said this as if it would somehow make a difference, but Helena remained tight-lipped, so Isabelle went on: ‘We continued to meet each other for quite a few weeks, but then one evening I was caught slipping back into the school. The rest you know, I was expelled and now I shall never see him again.’ Her eyes filled with tears as her lips trembled, but Helena was finding it difficult at that moment to have any sympathy for her. How could her daughter have been so naïve and stupid?

  ‘And who is this Pierre and where does he live?’ she asked.

  Isabelle lowered her voice as she mumbled, ‘I don’t know where he lives but I know his father was a farrier.’

  ‘A farrier!’ Helena was horrified. Even if they could trace this Pierre, which she doubted, there was no way in the world Charles would ever allow his daughter to marry the son of a working-class man – so what was she t
o do now?

  She chewed pensively on her lip for a time before saying, ‘There is only one way I can see out of this. You will have to marry Philip, and as soon as possible. Then when the child is born we will tell everyone that you delivered it early.’

  ‘I will not!’ Isabelle’s eyes blazed with defiance. ‘I could never marry Philip, Mama. I told you – he’s so boring!’

  ‘He may well be, but can you see another solution to your problem?’ Helena snapped. ‘I have no doubt that even if we managed to find this Pierre, he would run a thousand miles once he heard about your condition. Heaven only knows what your father is going to say when he finds out about it.’

  Isabelle gulped, then after a few moments had passed, she whispered, ‘Could I not go away somewhere, have the baby and give it up for adoption, Mama? Then Father need never find out about it.’

  ‘Go where?’ Helena stared off into space as she tried to think of a way out of this, but her mind was a blank. Crossing to the window, she gazed absently out over the spacious lawns. Two of the gardeners were busily planting bulbs but Helena was so preoccupied that she didn’t even see them. ‘I need a little time to think,’ she said quietly, and then turning, she rustled from the room.

  Polly had come back up and was waiting patiently on the landing outside. Helena told her, ‘You may go in and help Miss Isabelle to get dressed now, Polly.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ The girl dropped a curtsey and Helena wearily made her way to her own room. Normally at this time of the morning she would sit downstairs and work on some embroidery, but right now she had no heart for it.

  Once Polly had finished helping her to dress and had left to attend to her other duties, Isabelle sat at her dressing-table and stared into the mirror as her mind tripped back in time. She could remember every second of the time she and Pierre had spent together, and even though she now found herself in this grave predicament she could not regret a moment of it. He had been so handsome and charming, quite unlike anyone she had ever met before. His face flashed in front of her eyes and her heart ached. She had had many mild flirtations before and enjoyed the way young men followed her about like adoring puppy dogs. She was beautiful and she knew it and loved to trifle with their affections – but she had been so heavily chaperoned at home that she had never gone beyond flirting and couldn’t have, even had she wished to. But something about Pierre appealed to her instantly, and when she saw him heading towards her she gave him her prettiest smile and batted her long eyelashes becomingly.