A Mother's Shame Page 6

  Once she reached the house, she climbed the steps leading to the enormous double doors and tugged on the bell-pull hanging at the side of them. The snow had muffled all other sounds and the clanging of the bell within the Hall seemed very loud.

  There was the grating of heavy bolts being drawn and a young girl in a mob cap opened a door and peered out at her.

  ‘I have come to apply for the position that is vacant,’ Maria told her with her head held high.

  ‘Then you’d best go round to the servants’ entrance. The housekeeper will see yer then.’ The young woman, who looked very pale, waved her hand in the general direction Maria was to take before closing the door firmly in her face without another word.

  Maria began to walk around the outside of the house. At the back of it was a large stable-block and a dairy, and eventually she spotted what she hoped was the kitchen door.

  This time when she knocked it was answered by a stout rosy-cheeked woman, and when Maria explained what she was there for, the woman ushered her inside immediately, saying, ‘Why, you must be froze through, lass. You are brave to venture out on such a day. I’m the cook by the way, Mrs Bunting, but it’s Miss Belle you’ll be needin’ to see – she’s the Housekeeper.’ Then, turning to a young girl who was scrubbing a mountain of dirty pots in a huge stone sink, she told her, ‘Nancy, run an’ fetch Miss Belle. She should be in her sittin’ room.’

  ‘Yes, Cook.’ The girl, who was painfully thin, instantly swiped her hands down the front of her apron and scuttled away as the cook waved Maria towards an enormous scrubbed table that stood in the middle of the room.

  ‘Sit yerself down, she shouldn’t be too long,’ she told Maria pleasantly enough, then lifting a large knife she went back to peeling a huge pile of vegetables. Maria took the opportunity to look about her. The kitchen was the size of her own home all put together, she was sure. Great gleaming copper pans hung above a large cooking range but other than that there were no homely touches about the place. But then she supposed that was to be expected. She was in an asylum, after all, not a coaching inn.

  ‘Do you happen to know what the job I am applying for entails?’ Maria asked after a time.

  The cook raised an eyebrow. The lass was nicely spoken, there was no doubt about it. She glanced towards the door before answering in a hushed voice, ‘I heard as there’s a new resident on the east wing as needs a lady’s maid.’

  ‘A lady’s maid?’ Maria was puzzled. ‘But I thought this was a lunatic asylum?’

  ‘It is, but there’s more to this place than meets the eye.’ The cook paused. ‘The east wing is reserved for gentry, an’ not all of them are loonies if yer get me drift.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

  The cook sighed. ‘Well, let’s put it this way then. There are certain young ladies that find themselves in . . . shall we say a certain condition – an’ o’ course it wouldn’t do fer them to have a child out o’ wedlock, so their folks pay fer them to come here till the birthin’ is over. I have to prepare special meals fer them, though the rest o’ the poor sods have to eat what’s given to ’em, an’ between you an’ me it ain’t much better than pigswill. Not that many of ’em know the difference.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Maria had sat there for some minutes mulling over what the cook had told her when the green-baize door suddenly opened and the young maid reappeared, closely followed by a middle-aged woman with a stern face. The woman was tall and thin, smartly dressed in a full-skirted pale grey bombazine dress that matched the colour of her hair, which she wore in a tight bun on the back of her head – a style that did nothing to enhance her appearance. Maria thought briefly how colourless she was; even her eyes were grey and they were now raking Maria from head to foot.

  Nancy returned to washing the pots and the cook kept her head down as the woman spoke. ‘I believe you have come to apply for a position?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Maria stood up and gazed back at her solemnly as the woman continued to stare at her.

  Could Maria have known it, Miss Belle was actually quite pleased with what she saw. The girl looked clean – well, cleaner than most from these parts – and although she was wet with snow, the woman could see that she was tidy. The last girl she had employed from the village had been infested with headlice, which had led to many of the inmates having to have their heads shaved.

  ‘Have you had any experience of working in places such as this?’ she enquired now.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Maria admitted. ‘I have been working in the post office in the village.’

  ‘And may I ask your name, girl?’

  ‘My name is Maria Mundy and my father is the preacher at the chapel in Chapel End.’

  ‘I see.’ The woman stared at her thoughtfully, then lifting her skirts she instructed her: ‘Come through to my sitting room and we will continue this conversation there.’

  She moved away and as Maria followed her, the cook gave her an encouraging wink.

  Maria soon found herself in a room that appeared to be almost as bleak as the rest of the place, save for a fire in the grate and a comfy chair at the side of it. A bed, which was neatly made, stood in one corner and there was a small table and chair where Miss Belle sat to read and eat her meals. On another wall stood a plain wardrobe and a chest of drawers. There was also a well-stocked bookcase but Maria noted that the floor was bare, and despite the fire in the grate the room felt cold.

  ‘Now then,’ Miss Belle said when she had closed the door. ‘Let me tell you about the job. First of all, I would have to have your solemn promise that you would never speak to anyone outside these four walls about anything or anyone that you see here. Would you feel able to do that?’

  When Maria nodded solemnly she hurried on, ‘We have a certain new er . . . resident who is expected to be here for a few months. The lady in question is of good family and therefore she will need the services of a lady’s maid to assist her with dressing, bathing, et cetera. Again I must stress that your discretion would have to be without question. Your wage would be eight shillings and sixpence per week and you would get free meals. You would also be issued with a uniform. You would be given each Sunday afternoon off, but other than that you would not be allowed off the premises. How does that sound to you?’

  ‘It sounds perfectly satisfactory,’ Maria assured her calmly. She had only been paid five shillings per week at the post office, and had to go home for her meals.

  For a moment the woman surveyed her thoughtfully. Then, making a decision, she told her, ‘Very well, I am happy to offer you the post. If you are agreeable to the terms, I will ask you to sign the employees’ register.’

  Maria nodded as the woman marched away to return with a large ledger.

  ‘Put your mark there. A cross will do,’ she instructed, dipping a quill into a small inkpot that stood on the table and handing it to Maria.

  Maria took it from her, and as she neatly wrote her name the older woman’s eyes stretched.

  ‘You can write!’ Her voice betrayed her amazement.

  ‘All of my family can write – my father taught us,’ Maria answered proudly. ‘Now when would you like me to start?’

  ‘Would tomorrow morning at seven o’clock be convenient?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. It would.’ Maria rose from her seat then, leaving Miss Belle slightly nonplussed as she watched her go. She just hoped that the girl would be as confident once she had met her new charge, since Isabelle Montgomery, as Mrs Bradshaw had informed her, was proving to be somewhat of a handful – to put it mildly.

  Chapter Six

  Charles and Helena Montgomery were at breakfast on Monday morning when there was a tap at the door. Charles frowned with a mixture of irritation and anxiety. Joshua had already left for the ribbon factory and the staff knew better than to disturb him and their mistress whilst they were eating, but he guessed who it would be. No doubt Polly would have returned to find that Isabelle was missing by now.

  ‘See who it is,’ h
e instructed the young maid who was hovering at the end of the table.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She bobbed her knee and hastened away, only to return almost immediately to tell him, ‘It’s Polly, sir. She says she has to speak to the mistress on a matter of some urgency.’

  ‘Can it not wait?’ he snapped.

  ‘It’s all right, Charles,’ his wife assured him as she rose gracefully from the table. ‘I shall soon see what the problem is. Perhaps Isabelle is unwell again.’

  She moved past him leaving the scent of rose petals in her wake, but she had barely reached the door when he said anxiously, ‘Actually, I believe that Boyd has come to tell you that Isabelle is not in her room.’

  ‘What?’ Helena stared at him blankly then with a wave of her hand she dismissed the servant.

  ‘So where is she then?’ she asked bluntly once they were alone.

  Shame-faced, her husband avoided looking at her. ‘Let’s just say that since I learned of our daughter’s . . . condition, quite by chance some days ago, I have taken steps to ensure that she will not ruin the rest of her life.’

  The colour drained out of Helena’s face and she leaned heavily on the edge of the table. Surely he could not have carried out his threat to place their child in Hatter’s Hall. He could never be so cruel . . . could he? Especially as he knew how strongly she had been against the idea.

  ‘Surely you realised that we had to address the problem?’ His voice was loaded with accusation now, and lowering her head she nodded miserably.

  ‘Of course I did. But what have you done with her, Charles?’

  ‘I have placed her somewhere where she will be safe and well cared for until after the birthing.’ His eyes dared her to argue with him. ‘You must see that I had to do something before her condition became common knowledge.’

  Helena could not argue with that. Hadn’t she been thinking along the very same lines? But even so, she had to know where her daughter was.

  ‘Is she somewhere local?’ she asked in a trembling voice.

  Charles stared back at her. ‘It should not concern you where she is,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I have told you she is safe and that is all you need to know. You will see her again when this whole sorry mess is over with. As soon as the child is born I will find someone to foster it and no one need be any the wiser.’

  ‘B-but the baby will be our grandchild,’ Helena objected, as she had done before. ‘And what will we tell Polly and the rest of the staff? They will find it strange that Isabelle left so quickly.’

  ‘I have already thought of that.’ Charles strummed his fingers on the table, a clear sign that he was agitated. ‘We shall tell them that a schoolfriend of hers has taken ill and Isabelle has gone back to France to stay with her for a few months. But as for your remark about a grandchild, you must rid yourself of that notion immediately! How could we possibly have the child here without setting the tongues wagging? The staff are not completely stupid, you know!’

  Composing herself as best she could, Helena took a deep breath. ‘And how is Isabelle supposed to manage if she has none of her clothes with her?’ she asked in a voice that was as cold as the snow outside.

  ‘You may tell Polly to pack her trunks and have them placed by the front door. I shall get Jacobs to have them delivered to her.’

  ‘Very well.’ Her heart was pounding now. If Charles was sending his manservant with Isabelle’s things then that must mean she was not that far away. But where? Could he really have carried out his threat? Her mind was working frantically as she considered the other places he might have taken her to. It was all very strange though. Why hadn’t Isabelle said goodbye to her – and why would she have left without her clothes and her possessions?

  As she headed for the staircase, Helena had to accept the fact that Charles must have removed Isabelle from the house by force. But where could she be, other than at Hatter’s Hall? There was no way that Helena was prepared to wait until after the child’s birth to see her daughter again. Somehow she was going to have to find out where Charles had taken her. The way she might do this occurred to her as she climbed the stairs. But first she would instruct Polly to pack Isabelle’s possessions as Charles had requested.

  As soon as she had spoken to Polly, she hurried back downstairs. Opening the green-baize door at the end of the long hallway, she strode through the kitchen, causing Cook’s mouth to drop open as she hastily stood up from the table where she had been enjoying a cup of tea following the breakfast rush. It was a rare thing to see the mistress in the kitchen apart from when she came to discuss the menus each week.

  ‘It’s all right, Cook, do carry on,’ Helena told her as she let herself out into the snow in the back yard. She then lifted her billowing skirts and daintily picked her way across to the stable-block where Hoskins was busily rubbing down one of the horses.

  ‘Is your Steven about?’ she enquired without preamble and Hoskins scratched his head.

  ‘Aye, ma’am, he is that. He’s up above wi’ his mother.’ He pointed to the crude wooden staircase at the end of the stable-block that led up to the living quarters he shared with his family.

  ‘Then would you be kind enough to tell him that I wish to see him immediately?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Right away.’ Hoskins shot off to do as he was told as Helena stood there tapping her foot impatiently. The horses whinnied and scratched at the straw-covered floors of their stalls, but at that moment Helena was oblivious to them.

  Young Steven Hoskins came down the staircase looking anxious. ‘’Ave I done summat wrong, missus?’ he asked, full of concern.

  ‘Oh no, not at all,’ Helena assured him with a smile as she took his hand and led him to the other end of the stable-block where they could not be overheard. Steven was eleven years old. A good, hard-working lad already and Helena had a soft spot for him.

  ‘I would like you to do a little errand for me if you would,’ she told him.

  He nodded instantly. ‘O’ course I will, missus, if I can.’

  ‘Good boy. Now here’s what I want you to do . . .’ Helena leaned down to him and after a whispered conversation he nodded.

  An hour later, Jacobs loaded the trunks containing Isabelle’s possessions into the carriage and climbed inside, and as Hoskins urged the horses on, Helena watched from the drawing-room window as young Steven slipped from the shelter of the stables and leaped up onto the back of the carriage.

  A pang of guilt sliced through her. The poor boy. The weather conditions were appalling and she just hoped that he would be able to hang on long enough to report back to her where Isabelle was. If he could manage to do that, she would see that he was well rewarded, but for now all she could do was wait for his return.

  Two hours had passed when the maid came to inform her, ‘Young Steven is here, ma’am, and he says he needs to see you.’

  ‘Send him in please, Rose.’

  The maid looked mildly surprised but went to do as she was told and the boy came into the room holding his cap respectfully as he peered about him in awe. He had never been further than the kitchen before, and the house beyond the green-baize door was even grander than he had imagined.

  ‘So, Steven, did you manage to do what I asked of you?’ Helena’s nerves were taut and she spoke more harshly than she had intended to. The poor child looked frozen through.

  ‘Yes, missus, I did.’ He shuffled from foot to foot for a second then went on, ‘I clung onto the back o’ the coach fer dear life an’ luckily me old man didn’t spot me. Then when it stopped at some big gates I realised it was goin’ to go through ’em so I jumped off an’ hid in the bushes.’

  ‘And where were these gates?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘They were the gates leadin’ to Hatter’s Hall, missus.’

  Helena suppressed a shudder at the thought of her daughter being confined in such a place, and her worst fears were confirmed. How could Charles have done such a wicked thing? But she forced herself to say calmly, ‘Are you quite sure,
my dear?’

  He nodded vigorously. ‘Oh aye. An’ when the coach went in I legged it back ’ere in case me da spotted me.’

  ‘You have done very well,’ she told him, pressing a number of coins into his hand. ‘Now there is just one more thing I need you to do for me. I want you to promise me faithfully that you will not speak of this to anyone.’

  ‘Yes, missus.’ Steven was staring down at the coins in his hand in wonder. The mistress had given him a whole shilling and already he was wondering how he was going to spend it.

  ‘Very well, off you go then. And thank you, dear.’

  He made a slight bow before turning and skipping from the room like a spring lamb.

  Once left alone, Helena gave way to her emotions and tears trickled down her cheeks. Her poor girl. She would become as mad as the other afflicted souls who were incarcerated in that dreadful place if she left her there for long. But what could she do about it, and where else could Isabelle go? As she paced restlessly up and down the fine Turkish carpet, her mind sought a solution – and finally it came to her. Without wasting another second, she hurried to her little writing table and began to pen a letter.

  Once the letter was sealed, Helena pushed it deep into the pocket of her billowing skirts. On the hall table was a silver tray where Charles placed the mail that he wished to be posted. Normally she would have added hers, but today she had no wish for him to know who she was writing to, so for the second time that day she went to the stable-block again in search of young Steven.

  Cook was kneading dough at the table and again her mouth dropped open as the mistress appeared.