A Mother's Shame Read online

  ‘You will come to meet me ’ere tonight?’ he had whispered in broken English as he had strolled past her, and keeping a close eye on Mademoiselle Bourgeois she had nodded as colour flamed in her cheeks and her companions giggled beneath their parasols. And so their affair had begun, and in no time at all Isabelle could not get enough of him.

  The other girls had thought it highly romantic and covered for her when she slipped away to meet him, eagerly awaiting her return when she would tell them of Pierre’s passionate kisses and the whispered words of love he would pour into her ear. But soon stolen kisses were not enough and she thought back now to the first time she had given herself to him.

  It had been a warm balmy evening and when he led her into the shelter of the trees in the park she had gone willingly.

  Almost before she knew it, he had laid her on the soft grass, and his kisses had become more urgent. She had known that what they were doing was wrong and yet she felt powerless to stop it. In fact, she had been as eager as he was, as feelings she had never known before enveloped her. And then he had slipped her dress from her shoulders, and the combination of the soft breeze and his strong fingers caressing her bare breasts had driven her into a frenzy of desire and she had arched her back towards him as she kissed him hungrily. In no time at all their clothes had been strewn about on the grass around them, and for the first time she had lain in a man’s arms completely naked and revelled in the feel of his muscular body hard against hers.

  ‘Are you sure you want this, mon amour?’ he had gasped eventually as he rolled on top of her, and she had nodded as her hands played across his taut buttocks. There could be no going back now. She knew that from that moment on, she would be his for all time, just as it was meant to be. And then she knew a moment of intense pain as he pushed into her, before pure pleasure took its place.

  Her thoughts returned to the present and tears traced down her cheeks as her hand played across her stomach. If only she hadn’t been found out . . . if only she hadn’t fallen for a child. But it was too late for ‘if onlys’ now, and she dreaded what would happen when her father learned of her condition.

  It was almost a week later when Charles learned the truth – and it was quite by chance. He had come down with a heavy cold, and fearing that it was the lead-up to the terrible influenza that was decimating the town, Helena pleaded with him to stay at home for that day at least. She knew how ill he must be feeling when he agreed with very little argument. She had his manservant serve him breakfast in bed but by ten o’clock Charles was bored and decided to get up, put on his dressing-gown and go down to his study.

  It was as he was passing Isabelle’s bedroom door that he heard something that sounded like someone being violently sick. He tapped at the door and without waiting thrust it open, only to find his daughter leaning across the washstand.

  ‘What is this? Are you still no better?’

  Isabelle stared at him fearfully – and suddenly he knew; his feverish cheeks reddened still further as his hands curled into fists.

  Isabelle promptly burst into tears and he had his answer. ‘Does your mother know about this?’ He took a menacing step towards her and Isabelle nodded quickly. Then without another word he turned on his heel and stormed from the room, leaving the door to swing closed behind him.

  He found Helena in the drawing room as he had known he would. She was sitting in the windowseat with her embroidery frame on her lap, but her hands were idle and she was staring from the window.

  ‘I have just come from our daughter’s room.’ His voice was so cold that it made her shiver, and as she looked into his face she saw that he knew.

  ‘How long have you known?’ he growled.

  ‘Since just last week.’ There seemed no point in lying. Charles was not a stupid man.

  ‘My God, we shall be ruined if word of this gets out.’ When he began to pace up and down the room like a caged animal, Helena felt a moment of bitterness. How like Charles it was to worry more about their reputation than the condition their daughter was in.

  ‘Who else knows?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘No one,’ his wife answered him. Then, ‘Oh Charles, I have been beside myself with worry. What are we to do? I suggested that we should announce her engagement to Philip and marry them off as soon as possible, but Isabelle flatly refuses to even hear of it.’

  ‘Oh, does she now.’ He snorted with disgust. ‘I would have thought in the condition she is in, she would be glad of any man who was prepared to make an honest woman of her.’

  When Helena began to cry his tone softened. Deep down, he still nurtured fond feelings towards his wife even though they had not lain together in the marital bed for many years.

  ‘You must leave this with me,’ he told her, and with that he turned abruptly and left the room.

  Late that evening, as Helena lay propped up against the pillows in her bed reading Jane Eyre, there was a tap at the door and Charles entered the room. He looked remarkably handsome in his tails and his smart waistcoat, and Helena blinked with surprise.

  ‘I have come up with a solution to Isabelle’s problem,’ he announced.

  She stared at him hopefully. ‘Oh really, Charles? What is it?’

  His tongue flicked out to moisten his dry lips. He knew that his wife would not approve of what he was about to suggest, but after spending the whole day racking his brains it was the only idea he had managed to come up with.

  ‘We shall send Isabelle away until after her confinement, then once it is over we shall get someone to take the child.’

  ‘And where shall we send her?’

  Avoiding her eyes he sat down on a small gilded chair that Helena had had shipped across from France.

  ‘I thought the safest place for her would be . . . in Hatter’s Hall.’

  ‘What!’ Helena’s face was horrified. ‘But you couldn’t do that to her, Charles! The poor girl would suffer terribly if you incarcerated her there. It is a lunatic asylum!’

  ‘Not all of it,’ he denied. ‘And I should know – I am the main benefactor. You would be surprised how many of our neighbours have placed their daughters there for exactly the same reason – and they pay well for the privilege, let me tell you. There is a separate wing that is quite luxurious and she would be safe there away from prying eyes.’

  Helena shook her head dazedly. ‘She would never agree to it in a thousand years.’

  ‘I’m afraid in this matter she won’t have a choice.’ He stood and glowered at his wife. ‘For once our dear daughter is going to have to do exactly as she is told. It’s for her own sake. Think of it, woman. What man will ever want her if word gets out that she is having a bastard? She will be destined to become an old maid.’

  ‘B-but the child will still be our grandchild,’ Helena said falteringly.

  Charles rolled his eyes in frustration. ‘You must get that idea out of your head immediately,’ he scolded. ‘The child will be taken away the minute it is born. I shall see to it all, so you may as well get used to the idea. I will have no flyblow laying claim to what I and my father before me have worked years to establish.’

  Seeing that Helena was close to tears, he then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He had said what he had intended to say; now he would leave her to come to terms with the idea.

  Just as Helena had feared, Isabelle screamed in protest at her father’s suggestion. ‘I won’t go!’ she raged, folding her slender arms across her chest. ‘How could you even think of locking me away with a load of lunatics? The idea is preposterous!’

  ‘What is even more preposterous is the idea of you thinking that you can bring a bastard brat into this house,’ her father retaliated. He was sitting at his desk in his study and staring at her steadily, but she turned about and slammed out of the room with her blue silken skirts swirling before he had the chance to say as much as another word.

  As she exploded from the room, Isabelle almost collided with her brother Josh, who had just com
e in after a gallop across the countryside.

  ‘Whoa there!’ He grinned as he caught her elbows and drew her to a halt but she shook him off, her mouth set in grim lines.

  ‘Oh, just leave me alone, Joshua,’ she hissed and raced away as he scratched his head in bewilderment. He stood and watched her flounce away up the stairs for a moment then shrugging he continued on towards the kitchen to persuade the cook to part with a slice of her excellent fruitcake. He knew to steer clear of his little sister when she was in one of her moods.

  Alone again in his study, Charles rose from his desk and crossing to the tasselled bell-pull that hung at the side of the fireplace, he yanked on it viciously. Almost immediately there was a tap at the door and his manservant Jacobs appeared. Jacobs was a small portly man with thinning hair and faded blue eyes. He had served his master faithfully since Charles had been scarcely out of short trousers, and now he bowed before saying, ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Jacobs, I have a small errand I wish you to do for me.’ When he had finished explaining to the man what he wanted, he added, ‘And could you tell Miss Isabelle’s maid that I wish to see her before you go?’ When Jacobs left the room, Charles went to stare down into the flames that were roaring up the chimney. He did not look forward to what he was planning, but there seemed no other option open to him. There was another tap on the door and this time Polly appeared.

  ‘Ah, Polly.’ Charles gave her a rare smile. ‘I’ve seen how hard you have worked since Miss Isabelle came home from school, and I think you have earned a night off.’

  Polly’s mouth fell into a gape but she shut it hastily as the master went on, ‘Why don’t you go home and see your family this evening after you have prepared Miss Isabelle for bed? You may spend the night with them, but be sure to be back here bright and early in the morning.’

  ‘Why . . . thank yer, sir.’ Polly could hardly believe her luck. She bobbed her knee and scuttled from the room before he could change his mind. The master must be mellowing in his old age. Normally she only got one Sunday afternoon a month off!

  Charles then strode around to the stable-block where he had a hasty word with Hoskins, the head groom. Like Jacobs, the man was completely trustworthy. And then he went back to his study. All he could do now was wait.

  Dinner was a somewhat strained affair that evening despite Joshua’s attempts to start a conversation. Isabelle was obviously still in a sulk over something or another, while his mother seemed to be a bag of nerves. Although the young man did his best to lighten the atmosphere, even his father only spoke when spoken to, so eventually he gave up.

  Following dinner, Charles went off to his study, Helena retired early pleading a headache, and Isabelle went off sulkily to her room. Joshua shrugged and left them all to it.

  Chapter Four

  That evening, as the grandfather clock in the hall chimed eleven, Charles rose from his desk and straightening his cravat, he strode towards the door. Just as he had instructed, Jacobs was there waiting for him in the hallway.

  ‘Did you get it?’ Charles asked tersely and the man held up a small corked bottle.

  Charles nodded. ‘Excellent, and is Hoskins at the front with the carriage?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Ready and waiting.’

  ‘Good, then follow me, and be quiet about it.’

  Side by side the two men climbed the sweeping staircase and once on the galleried landing Charles took a large white handkerchief from his pocket and shook it out, muttering, ‘Give me the chloroform.’

  The servant did as he was told, and holding the handkerchief at arm’s length, Charles liberally tipped some of the contents of the bottle onto it.

  ‘Now wait here until I call you,’ he ordered when they reached the door to Isabelle’s room, and Jacobs shrank back into the shadows.

  Quiet as a mouse, Charles inched the door open and peered inside. Isabelle was asleep with one arm flung above her head and her luxuriant hair spread in a fan across the pillow. The room was in darkness save for the glow from the fire, but that was sufficient to guide him to the bed. He knew a moment of deep sorrow as he stared down at his daughter. She was truly beautiful, and had she not got herself into this mess he had no doubt she could have had her choice of husband. But then he consoled himself, all was not lost. If he could just keep her hidden until the child was born, no one need ever be any the wiser – and in the not too distant future she could resume her life.

  Bracing himself, he leaned forward and quickly pressed the chloroform-soaked handkerchief against Isabelle’s nose. Almost instantly her eyes flew open but he increased the pressure, efficiently holding her down with his other hand. She panicked and her hands began to flail wildly in the air, one of them catching him a sharp cuff on the cheek. Charles gritted his teeth and continued to hold her down . . . within seconds her efforts to escape became weaker and her eyes fluttered shut as her hands dropped limply to her sides. When Charles was quite sure that she was completely unconscious he released his hold on her and straightened. Then crossing to the door he opened it and beckoned Jacobs inside.

  ‘Help me wrap her in this blanket,’ he hissed, stripping one from the bed. ‘And then we must get her down to the coach.’

  Grim-faced, Jacobs did as he was told without question. He knew better after all his years of service than to question his master. Isabelle was as slim as a reed but because she was a dead weight both men were panting by the time they had got her to the bottom of the steep staircase. It had started to snow as they hefted her out onto the steps and they both shuddered as they manhandled her towards the carriage where Hoskins had the door open ready. When Isabelle was lying comatose on the seat, Charles said breathlessly, ‘Take us to Hatter’s Hall, Hoskins.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Hoskins touched his cap as Charles climbed in beside Isabelle and soon the carriage was bowling down the long drive.

  Some minutes passed, and then they were drawing up at the gates of Hatter’s Hall. A night watchman hurried from the shelter of a small wooden hut to swing the big gates open. He too touched his cap when he saw who was inside the carriage and then Hoskins whipped up the horses again. At the huge wooden doors to the asylum, two burly men were waiting with a stretcher. Once they had lifted Isabelle onto it they hurried inside and began to carry her along a number of twisting corridors until they came to a staircase that led up to the first floor. A severelooking woman in a starched white cap and a long grey serge dress with a lace collar was waiting for them there and Charles instantly enquired, ‘Is all in readiness, Mrs Bradshaw?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mr Montgomery,’ the Matron assured him. ‘I myself shall be seeing to Miss Isabelle’s needs personally until someone trustworthy can be employed to look after her.’

  Charles glanced at his daughter, who thankfully was still out cold. ‘It is imperative that no one knows she is here, so you will have to be most careful whom you employ,’ he warned.

  The woman clasped her hands together and simpered, ‘Of course, sir.’ It was Charles Montgomery’s donations that mainly kept the asylum running and she had no intention of upsetting him. Their footsteps echoed on the cold tiles as they trooped along, with Mrs Bradshaw hurrying ahead to lead the way – but eventually she paused and took a key from a bunch suspended from a chain about her waist and unlocked a door.

  ‘In here,’ she directed the two men who were carrying the stretcher.

  Charles followed them into a room that was warm and comfortable. It was by no means as luxurious as Isabelle’s bedroom back at Willow Park, but he was pleased to see that it was more than adequate.

  Whilst the two men lifted Isabelle’s inert figure onto a large four-poster bed that stood against one wall, Mrs Bradshaw opened another door. ‘This is her private sitting room,’ she said. ‘And she will have her own dressing room here,’ she assured him, opening a third door. ‘Hot water will be carried up here from the kitchen so she should be perfectly comfortable. There is a separate room for a lady’s maid.’

  His lips compresse
d, Charles nodded then turned and went back into the bedroom to examine it properly. A large marble fireplace had a fire roaring in the grate, and a comfy chair was placed against the high bay window. The curtains were closed now, but he imagined there would be a good view during the daytime. A bookcase contained a fair selection of books, and there was also a matching suite of dressing-table, wardrobe and chest of drawers in mahogany. Bright Persian carpets were thrown down on the floorboards and all in all Charles was satisfied that his daughter’s comforts would be seen to for as long as was necessary.

  As the Matron opened the door to usher out the porters, a wail from one of the inmates floated along the corridor, and Charles started in shock. Mrs Bradshaw hastily closed the door.

  ‘One of our patients having a bad night,’ she said, and he could not suppress a shudder. It was then that Isabelle groaned softly, and as they looked towards the bed, her eyes opened blearily.

  ‘Wh-where am I?’ Panic appeared in her eyes as she found herself in strange surroundings.

  ‘It’s all right, my dear,’ Charles soothed as he hurried to the bed and gripped her hand reassuringly. ‘You are somewhere safe until after the ba— Until the confinement is over.’

  ‘What?’ Isabelle struggled up onto her elbow, and as she looked about her she began to cry. When her eyes fell on the stern face of Mrs Bradshaw she cried even harder.