‘But she’s carrying Martyn’s child,’ said Nicolas, looking at him as if he’d just sprouted a second head.
‘Well, as Armstrong told me Martyn will be dead by the end of the week, he’s in not going to be in any position to claim it, is he?’ reasoned Mr Hatton. ‘And, besides, it is well known that many first-born infants perish before their first birthday. I’m sure within a few short years you’ll have a nursery full of Paget offspring.’
‘Are you seriously suggesting,’ said Nicolas, a look of astonishment on his sharp aristocratic face, ‘that I go through with the marriage?’
‘Indeed,’ said Mr Hatton, seeing a satisfactory light appearing at the end of this sordid tunnel. ‘After all, didn’t you say yourself that you had cherished Charlotte?’
‘I did, but—’
‘And she is fond of you,’ interrupted the rector. ‘I’d even waive the allowance you so kindly offered me. I would gladly suffer the hardship to see dear Charlotte happily settled. What do you say?’
Nicolas looked baffled. ‘What do I say?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Hatton offered his hand. ‘Can we agree as gentlemen?’
Nicolas stared at the offered hand for a long moment, then his pale eyes returned to the rector’s face.
‘I say,’ he replied, with fury distorting his features, ‘that from this moment your daughter is nothing to me and so it is you, Reverend Hatton, who must bear the shame of her sin.’ Standing to attention he bowed slightly. ‘As a gentleman I will not add to her disgrace and yours by giving my reasons for breaking my engagement to your daughter but, from this Sunday onwards, I will be attending St John’s.’
Chapter twenty-five
Charlotte walked as silently as she could down the ward towards Josiah’s bed. As she got nearer Ezra, who was perched on the chair beside his brother’s bed, stood up.
Charlotte forced a smile and Ezra did the same.
‘Is there any change?’ she asked.
Josiah’s brother shook his head. ‘The doctor said it be a miracle ’e’s still alive but it’s only a matter of time.’
Charlotte looked down at the man she’d loved and pain like a wide-toothed saw cut deep through her heart.
It was three weeks since the accident and she had been into the hospital as often as she could get away without raising suspicion. She spent the hours in between her visits on her knees pleading with all the saints in Heaven for his life.
And she wasn’t just asking for herself, although God himself only knew how she would be able to face life without Josiah at her side, but for his unborn child growing within her. By her own calculation she was almost into her third month now and although her stomach was still as flat as a table, it wouldn’t remain that way for much longer. Charlotte hoped the queasiness would settle soon as it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide it each morning. Twice the week before she had only just managed to remove her china overnight bowl from under the bed before Mrs Norris appeared around the corner. Putting aside her worries for now, she turned her attention back to Josiah.
He lay quite still with his hands at his sides above the covers which were tightly folded across his chest and seemed to anchor him in the bed. He was motionless and only the slow rising and falling of his chest indicated he was still in this world. It was as if his soul had already departed but his body wasn’t yet aware of it.
A man coughed behind her. Charlotte turned to find Doctor Munroe.
‘He seems peaceful today and the cough has abated. Perhaps there is still hope?’ she said, willing the young doctor to agree with her.
The doctor shook his head and gave her a sad smile. ‘I wish I could say so, Miss Hatton. The cough was a sign that his body was trying to clear the infection whereas its absence indicates that the body is overwhelmed. I was hopeful when he was admitted that, being young and well-nourished, Mr Martyn might defy the odds but I am afraid it seems not. I know you have a great…’ he cleared his throat, ‘pastoral concern for Mr Martyn and I am truly sorry.’
‘Thank you, doctor,’ she said, blinking away the gathering tears. ‘I know you’ve done your best.’
Doctor Munroe ran his hands through his fair hair. ‘I wish I could have done more, Miss Hatton. Perhaps you’d like to sit and talk to him for a while. Hearing is the last sense to leave us and I have noticed that Mr Martyn is comforted by your presence.’ He moved away.
Although she and Ezra were forced to keep up the charade that her visits to his brother were purely pastoral, it was clear that Dr Munroe and the nurses understood the true nature of their relationship.
They stood together listening to Josiah’s laboured breathing for a moment, then Ezra took his cap from his coat pocket.
‘I’m on shift at midday so I ought to be getting back,’ he said.
He gave her a sorrowful look, then headed towards the door.
Taking the seat Ezra had just vacated, Charlotte took off her gloves and cradled Josiah’s hand in hers.
The strength was missing. His face, that could change expression in a blink of an eye, was now just a mask of skin stretched over cheekbones and nose. The dark, expressive eyes that sent shivers through her at a mere glance now lay hidden under translucent lids in dark, sunken sockets. His beard now covered his cheeks and jaw giving her the glimpse of the Josiah in the years to come. The Josiah who would have fathered her children, who would have come home to her each night and who would have loved her and no other. The Josiah she would now never see.
Although she wanted to throw herself on his chest and weep, she could not, so she contented herself by running her hand up his arm under his nightshirt, feeling the soft hair under her fingertips.
‘Josiah,’ she whispered, willing him to open his eyes so she could see the love in them again.
Her eyes searched his face for a movement, anything that might indicate that he felt her touch. But there was nothing.
One large tear escaped, and she let it roll unwiped down her right cheek.
This will be the last time I will ever see him this side of Heaven, I know it.
They had had so little time together – a few snatched hours and one night of unbelievable pleasure – but, really, from the first time she saw him hauling on that huge metal wheel, there had been love. She hadn’t recognised it at first but every look and word that had passed between them had been loaded with it. It always would be. In the long years that stretched ahead of her there would always be Josiah’s love surrounding her, warming her soul and locked in her heart. And when her life came to an end, he would be there, too, just on the other side, waiting for her with that smile of his. But there was this life to live before that day.
With tears collecting on her lower lids she stretched out and moved a stray hair off his forehead.
‘Josiah, my most precious love. My husband,’ she whispered close to his ear. ‘The doctor said that you might still be able to hear so before you go ahead of me to your rest I want to tell you just how happy you have made me and how very much I love you. I have railed against God for taking you from me, but I have now seen that he has given me what some people search a lifetime for and never find, true love. I am afraid I have to do something that is very wrong, but I have no choice.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I have to marry Nicolas, Josiah, because I am carrying our child and I have to keep them safe.’
***
Josiah was floating amongst lights and noise in a place he didn’t recognise or understand. It was like a chamber but with no walls, open to the sky and tapered away towards a blinding light at one end. He didn’t know how long he had been there, but he did know that the brightness was drawing him ever nearer. He was happy that it was. Although he couldn’t touch it he knew that within its brilliance was peace and no pain.
From time to time he was startled by hands touching him and he’d awaken from a foggy type of slumber to the sound of voices echoing around him. He was not alone in the strange luminance but although others gathered around him he couldn�
��t see their form, only feel their presence. He was still alive because from time to time a sharp pain sliced through his chest but somehow Ma was close by, as was Little Gran, who had died when he was just a boy. He could hardly remember her, but she was close by, cooing over him and helping him make his way toward the white radiance.
Charlotte was there, in the light too, and for that reason alone he was eager to lose himself in it. But somehow, in a way his brain couldn’t fathom, Charlotte was in the world of pain, too. He could hear her voice and feel her so close that she was almost a part of him. He couldn’t see her face but the beauty of it still took his breath away. Her love, enveloping him, warmed his soul and soothed his pain. He turned towards the light and it expanded. He was almost there. His mother and gran hovered near to guide him, he was close to the threshold, ready to cast off all worldly cares when Charlotte’s voice drifted into his consciousness. He couldn’t understand the actual words, but he could feel her love in the tone. Then she said something that disturbed his sense of well-being. He strained to hear. There was a jumble of words and then Charlotte’s voice spoke through the fog and luminance.
‘...because I am carrying our child,’ she whispered.
Josiah’s senses burst back into life and pain. The light drew him still but his eagerness to be at one with it had vanished. He had to use his last ounce of strength to escape the pull of the radiance and return to Charlotte.
***
Charlotte barely noticed the passing wagons and carts rolling over the manure-splattered cobbles as she made her way back to the rectory. Although she’d left word she would be back mid-morning, it was now just before noon. After leaving Josiah’s bedside she had gone to the small hospital chapel to pray and, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to leave. But in the quiet solitude, instead of seeking God’s mercy on his soon-to-be departed soul, her mind drifted back to their first kiss. Resting her head on the hard wood of the pew in front of her, she felt only his strong arms around her.
Charlotte finally left the chapel as the large hospital clock chimed midday. She caught a wherry back to Rotherhithe, getting off at Queen Street where the market was still in full swing. The whiff of fish drifted over her and her stomach rebelled again. Swallowing hard, Charlotte pressed on through the crowds.
A carriage rolled by and an image of Nicolas flashed into her mind. Guilt jabbed at her but Charlotte shoved it aside. Wrong though it was to marry Nicolas, there was no other way. No other way to protect Josiah’s child.
Charlotte slowly mounted the four steps to the rectory door and put her hand out to knock. The door flew open and a frightened-looking Ellie stared at her.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ Charlotte asked, as she crossed the threshold and handed her bonnet and gloves to the girl.
Ellie glanced fearfully over her shoulder. ‘Oh, miss. Captain Paget was here and—’
The study door flew open.
Her father, resplendent in his black cassock and white flap collar, filled the doorway. His eyes bulged unhealthily from their sockets and a mottled, liver-coloured flush dappled his throat and jowls. Charlotte took an involuntary step back as the fury on his face hit her.
‘Father, what—’
‘If you please,’ he ground out, small flecks of spit dappling the starched wings of his collar.
Taking a firm grip on her terror, Charlotte walked past him into his study.
He slammed the door behind her and marched to the fireplace. He stood with his back to it, glowering at her.
Forcing her racing heart to calm, she clasped her hands in front of her and waited.
‘I had Nicolas Paget banging on my door at first light,’ he said, his jowls quivering slightly.
‘Did you?’ she replied, hearing the slight wobble in her voice.
‘Yes, he was in a state of some agitation.’ A chilly smile lifted her father’s lips. ‘He received an anonymous letter at breakfast regretting to inform him that not only have you debased yourself by taking Josiah Martyn as your lover, but that you are carrying his bastard child.’
Although her heart crashed in her chest, Charlotte somehow managed to maintain her composed expression.
‘I’m sure Nicolas would have consigned it to the fire,’ her father continued, his hard eyes holding hers, ‘if this had not accompanied it.’
Shoving his hand in his pocket, he drew out a pale-pink sheet of paper.
For a second the carpet beneath her feet rose up to meet her as she recognised her note, but Charlotte forced the dizziness away.
A sudden calmness descended on her and she squared her shoulders.
‘I am sorry you had to find out like this, Father,’ she said, holding her father’s flint-like gaze. ‘And I am sorry for not being honest with Nicolas, but—’
‘Whore!’ he bellowed, crossing the space between them.
His hand collided with her cheek sending her staggering. With her head buzzing from the blow, she retched.
Her father grabbed her hair. Charlotte cried out and put her hand to her head to ease the pain. He yanked her face close to his and shook her.
‘I ought to throw you out in the clothes you’re standing up in and there’s not a man in the land who would call me wrong for doing so!’ he shouted. His stale breath wafted over her face. ‘But I’ll not have the sight of you and that base-born villain’s brat swelling your belly add to my shame.’
He shook her again, causing stars to burst at the corner of her vision, and then released her hair. She stumbled forward but he caught her arm and pulled her up upright.
Dragging her behind him, he marched to the door and, flinging it open, propelled her across the hall and towards the stairs.
‘It would seem I have ignored the scriptures by sparing the rod,’ he yelled at her as he dragged her up the steps behind him.
As they reached the landing, Charlotte tried to twist out of his grip, but he yanked her towards him and she collided with the top of the banister, knocking the breath from her.
With her shoulder aching and her face throbbing, Charlotte stumbled after her father towards her bedroom.
Opening the door, he flung her into the room. She tripped and crashed in a heap on the scrubbed wooden floor.
A hateful expression spread across her father’s face as he stood, feet apart and fists on his hips, in the doorway.
‘Thankfully I have Nicolas’s word as a gentleman that he will not breathe a word of your disgraceful behaviour to a living soul but until I have decided your future, I’ll let any who enquire know that you are confined to bed with a chill.’
His cold eyes ran over her as she lay on the floor at his feet then, with a swift move, he lashed out with his foot.
Charlotte instinctively rolled away to protect the baby as pain shot the length of her right leg.
Her father’s eyes flickered down at her hands as they covered her stomach. He sneered. ‘Most women in your situation would count the miscarrying of a bastard a blessing,’ he said.
He turned and slammed the door behind him. The lock clicked.
Lying with her forehead on the hard floorboards, Charlotte listened as his footsteps faded down the landing.
Grabbing the footboard of her bed, Charlotte dragged herself upright. She slumped onto her pink and blue patchwork bedspread, curled herself up in a ball and wept.
***
Running his finger over the page of the large concordat Mr Hatton then scribbled a note in the margin of his sermon. He chewed the end of his quill and underlined the text. One Corinthians chapter 6: “Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither Fornicators, nor...”
He glared at the portrait of Charlotte hanging to the left of the fireplace. She smiled down at him with an innocent smile playing on her lips.
His mouth pulled into a hard line.
Innocent! Lewd fornicator, more like. Any other father would have cast her out into the street by now instead of just locking her in her b
edroom.
A sharp pain jabbed at him just below his breastbone and he belched.
How could a man with such a daughter not have dyspepsia? he thought as his stomach gurgled under the chain of his fob.
His ran his eyes over the portrait again and then his attention shifted across to the oak-carved Hatton family crest nailed above the study door. How could she tarnish our noble ancestors by casting her eyes in Martyn’s direction, let alone getting herself caught with his peasant offspring?
If it wasn’t enough that his entire routine had been disrupted, he couldn’t step out of the house without some dirty beggar asking after her. It didn’t help that the servants knew the truth and were no doubt gossiping about rectory business in the markets. However, all would be well once he heard back from Edmund.
Dipping the quill nib into the ink pot, he turned his attention back to the sermon he was supposed to be writing. He’d just re-read the verse when there was a knock at the door.
He threw down his pen and shot a spurt of ink across the open Bible.
‘Come!’ he barked.
The door opened, and Ellie came in.
‘Yes,’ he said, glaring at her.
She dropped a curtsy. ‘Begging your pardon, reverend, but Mrs Palmer is here to see Miss Hatton.’
‘Haven’t you told her she’s indisposed?’ he asked.
‘I did and that you were working in your study,’ said Ellie. ‘But she said she’d heard that Miss Charlotte was poorly and was concerned.’
‘Very well,’ he said, closing the heavy leather-bound book in front of him with a thump. ‘Tell her I’ll be with her presently and tell Mrs Norris to send up a tray of tea.’
Leaving his study, he crossed the hallway. Pausing by the parlour door he glanced at the long mirror at the end of the hall and smoothed his hair flat. Satisfied, he grasped the brass handle and entered the parlour.
Mrs Palmer was sitting on the sofa wearing a most becoming gold and brown day dress with puffy sleeves and an extravagant plumed hat.
‘Mr Hatton,’ she said, rising to her feet as he entered and offering her hand.
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