by Janet Woods
But then, there were the latest rumours. Not that she paid any mind to them, but she kept her brother informed. She sighed, and biting through the thread, placed the shirt to one side and gazed up at him. ‘Gossip has it that Nick sailed to Boston with the younger Honeyman girl on board.’
He gazed sharply at her, said uneasily, ‘I’d told him not to take women on board Samarand. She’s jealous, and doesn’t like it. A woman was killed aboard her when she was new. The owner and his wife were looking her over when a marlin spike slipped from the sail rigger’s hand and skewered her through the head. And when you came on board you nearly slipped down a ladder.’
‘Because I wasn’t looking where I was going. Oh, you and your superstitions, Erasmus.’ Daisy began to laugh.
‘Is there any truth in the rumour? Did you ask Nick?’
‘I did. He roared with laughter then said that of course it was the truth. He’d taken Marianne Honeyman to Boston and he’d married her there.’
Erasmus grinned at that. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to do just that. It would serve that eldest girl right for leading him on all those years then slapping him down.’
‘Best you don’t put such a thought in his head. But I heard Mrs Hardy tell somebody that her younger sister had been ill and confined to her bed for several weeks. I saw the girl in church the next day. She looked fine and handsome to me.’
‘That one’s like her mother,’ Erasmus said softly and although Daisy gave him a sharp look, she said nothing.
It had taken several weeks for Charles Barrie to recover. His simple cold had developed into a severe infection on his chest, and he’d been ravaged by bouts of coughing that had exhausted him. But he’d noticed a longer period between coughing fits over the last couple of days.
His doctor smiled as he removed his stethoscope from his patient’s chest and straightened up. ‘If you keep this up you can get out of bed for a short while each day. I’ll leave a blood tonic and instructions with your man.’
‘Thank you.’ Charles shrugged. ‘May I have visitors?’
‘As long as you promise not to tire yourself. You need plenty of rest while you recuperate.’
‘Which will take, how long?’
‘As long as it takes,’ the doctor said smoothly. ‘Take my word for it, Charles, you’ve been seriously ill, and if you take things too fast you could quite easily suffer a relapse. If that happened I wouldn’t like to wager on the outcome. Count on being incapacitated for several more weeks. If you have any intention of going back to the bench this side of Christmas I suggest you put it aside.’
Charles sighed after he’d gone. He swung his legs out of bed and tested them. They felt as weak as new twigs, and could hardly take his weight, so he was forced to reach down to the bed and clutch the bedding for the support it offered. He managed to shuffle precariously along the bed to the more solid safety of the wooden bed end.
‘Ballam?’ he bawled, and immediately began to cough.
After a few moments his man came in. Ballam’s eyes mirrored his alarm when he saw him clinging precariously to the bed end, his shoulders shaking. His servant’s lips pursed after he got him back into bed.
When the coughing stopped Ballam said disapprovingly, ‘Sir, you should have waited for me to assist you. The doctor has given me strict instructions. Five minutes a day with my support until you grow stronger.’
‘Oh, don’t you give me a lecture as well, Ballam.’
‘No, sir.’
‘I want you to go to Edgar Wyvern’s chambers and tell him I’d appreciate seeing him.’
Before his current malady Charles had rarely suffered illness. Odd how his illness had visited just when he’d been about to seize his grandson, as if God had set out to prevent him from carrying out his plan. Lying in bed, beset by fever, joints aching and attacked by uncontrollable shivering, sometimes Charles had hardly cared if he’d lived or died. But in his more lucid moments he’d had time to think about his grandson and that had determined that he live.
According to the young agent he’d hired, the lad had a good home and he looked upon Seth Hardy as his father. If that proved to be true, then John would not thank him for being abruptly removed. Charles had reached the conclusion that Edgar had been right all along, and he’d been too hasty. He would not punish the soldier’s wife.
Still, Charles had every intention of retrieving his grandson and allowing him to take his rightful place in his family, as his heir.
He would give the soldier a chance to clear himself too . . . get Edgar to put the situation before him and listen to his explanation.
When Edgar arrived, Charles said, ‘I won’t be well enough to travel for some time. I would like you to go to Dorset as soon as possible, inform the soldier of my existence, put the matter at hand before him, and bring John back if you can. And Edgar, buy the boy a gift from me. A telescope would be suitable.’
Edgar presented himself to Harbour House the day after he arrived in Poole. He asked the cab driver to wait.
The wind had a chill to it, the late November sky was grey, but the day was dry. There was no sign of the boy, but Edgar heard the lusty cry of a baby from the upper reaches of the house.
He handed his card to the maid, who allowed him inside and showed him into the drawing room to wait after he’d stated his business. There was a fire burning, and he stood appreciatively before it, warming his hands as he gazed at his surroundings.
Apart from the beaded face screens in rosewood frames there was an inlaid writing desk and comfortable, but slightly shabby chairs. A games table doubled as a sewing table. The floors were covered in blue and beige patterned rugs. Against the wall stood an upright piano with a red velvet stool. There was a clutter of pictures and ornaments, and family treasures housed in a boule and ormolu cabinet, with a large gilt mirror over the top. Inside and out Harbour House had no pretensions to be other than it was, a comfortable family home. He crossed to the window. The view across the harbour was magnificent.
A draught alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone. He turned to face the young woman standing there. The mistress of the house, he supposed. She was lovely to look at, but there were lines of tension about her mouth. She glanced down at the card in her hand. ‘Mr Wyvern? I’m Mrs Hardy. I’m sorry to keep you waiting . . . the children, you know. They’re young and can’t be kept waiting.’
‘How many children do you have?’
‘Her face lit up with love. ‘I have two, a boy and a girl. They’re twins, and only two months of age. Then there’s John, of course. He’s our stepson.’
He smiled at the touch of mother’s pride in her voice. ‘They must demand a great deal of your time.’
‘Oh yes they do. The maid tells me you have some business with us. May I ask what it is?’
‘It’s with your husband, Colonel Seth Hardy. Is he here?’
The faint smile she gave wiped away the tension, as if it had been drawn there at an earlier time and her husband’s name erased it. ‘Seth is up at the clay pits. He should be home in about half an hour. Can I offer you some refreshment while you wait?’
‘Thank you, Mrs Hardy. I’d appreciate that. I’ll go and inform the cab driver that I’ll be longer than expected.’
‘The maid will do that. He can wait in the kitchen where it’s warm, and have some refreshment too. It’s a cold day.’
‘He’ll appreciate that.’ Ten minutes later Edgar was sipping tea. There were home-made scones with jam to go with it, just like his wife used to make when he had one. Edgar thought wryly that if the woman knew why he was here she’d probably withdraw her hospitality and order him out.
The sound of laughter came to his ears.
‘I won, Marianne.’
‘No . . . I did. I was at least an inch in front of you.’
‘But you cut the corner.’
‘And you leapt over the wall. So we both won, really.’ Her voice was raised, but it was still as breathless as a purr fr
om the physical effort she’d put in. ‘We’re back, Charlotte.’
Mrs Hardy smiled. ‘That’s my sister, Marianne. She’s been out on the heath with John. They’re constant companions when he’s home from school, and she teaches him about the heath birds and the nature of our environment. I’m in here, Marianne.’
The door opened and a boy’s head poked through the crack. ‘You’ll never guess, Mama . . . we saw a dead adder.’
‘Oh, my goodness! Are you sure it was dead?’
‘This is the wrong time of year for adders to be abroad, it’s too cold,’ he said knowledgeably. ‘It was on one of the rails and Marianne said a clay cart must have run over it because its head was parted from its body. It had been there a long time because it’s all dried up. I was forbidden to touch its head, though it was dead, because the venom was still there in the fangs, Marianne said. We dug a hole and buried the head and said a prayer over it.’ He laughed. ‘Though Marianne said we need only say a quarter of a prayer, because it was only a quarter of the snake, and she made me guess the words in a quarter of the prayer, and we worked the sum out on the way home so see who got it right first. And guess what?’
‘You won,’ Charlotte guessed.
John nodded. ‘We’ve brought the rest home. Marianne was nearly sick when she first saw it. I’m going to ask Pa to show me how to skin it. Marianne said if it doesn’t stink too much we might be able to make a belt out of it when we’ve cleaned the skin.’
‘Ugh! How could Marianne let you do such a horrid thing.’ Edgar tried not to grin. Clearly, Miss Hardy was more indulgent of the foibles of young males than her sister was.
Another head appeared. ‘Don’t worry, Charlotte, the snake couldn’t have been any deader.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, you have a visitor. I wondered why there was a cab outside, but it had no driver. I’m so sorry to interrupt.’
‘Mr Wyvern is here to see Seth,’ she said.
The door opened further and the pair advanced into the room, their faces glowing healthily from fresh air and exercise, but plainly curious to find a stranger in their home. And Edgar, who’d thought Charlotte lovely, was entranced by Marianne’s appearance when they were introduced. So delicate, Miss Honeyman’s features suited her dainty body. Together, the sisters were perfection.
As for Master John Hardy, Edgar smiled as he shook hands with the boy. There was no doubt in his mind that this was Charles’s grandson. The resemblance was unmistakable, especially his mossy green eyes. It would be a shame to take John away from this place, and from these people. The boy looked totally at home here, he thought.
Nevertheless, his thoughts had to take second place to the wishes of his client, and Charles Barrie, who for whatever reason had been denied access to his only grandson, had a strong case for custody of him. The friendly welcome he’d received from these people whose happiness he was about to destroy made him squirm with guilt.
The gate squeaked and Mrs Hardy rose. She sounded relieved when she said, ‘That must be Seth now. I expect you’ll want to speak to him privately.’
When he nodded, John and Marianne left the room with her.
Eleven
Seth was puzzled that a lawyer was here to see him. He had no surviving relatives, and couldn’t help thinking that the man had mistaken him for someone else.
‘Mr Wyvern?’ The two shook hands, ‘How can I help you?’
‘I’m acting on behalf of a client of mine, Sir Charles Barrie.’
Even more mystified, Seth gazed at him. ‘I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him. Are you sure you have the right person?’
‘Yes, Colonel Hardy. We’ve had you investigated.’
‘Investigated? I don’t understand,’ which was not to say he was happy about it. ‘Get to the point of your visit if you would, sir?’
‘I believe . . . know you have the child John Barrie living under your roof.’
‘There’s nobody living here under that name. My stepson is called John Hardy, now.’
‘It will go easier on you if you don’t deny it, Colonel. The boy’s mother was named Mary Barrie and he was named after his father. You formed a relationship with Mary Barrie in Tasmania.’
His brow creased, as though he was trying to remember something. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’
‘You deny being in Australia?’
‘Of course not. I was posted there with my regiment. But I married a widow called Mary Ellis.’
‘Her maiden name. She was actually married to my client’s son before his death. John Charles Barrie was the son they had together, and is the boy who is now living with you. It’s a waste of time denying it.’
‘Mary was ill . . . an ailment from which we both knew she’d never recover.’
‘Then why did you marry her, Colonel, for her property? Her husband had a legacy that would have been hers had she thought to claim it . . . and yours if she’d married you legally.’
Seth laughed, but without humour. ‘Mary had no expectations of legacy. She had nothing but the clothes she stood up in, and her son. Quite simply, I admired her courage and I fell in love with her. John took my name. And if there is a legacy from his father, then it belongs to John.’
‘Even while knowing she was living off her—’
‘Be very careful what you say, Mr Wyvern. If you offer one insult towards my late wife’s memory I’ll be obliged to take you by the scruff of the neck and throw you out, and to hell with the consequences. If you speak of Mary, do so with all respect.’
‘I beg your pardon. I’m not here to fight, but to exchange facts. There is no record of your marriage in the Hobart church.’
‘We said words over the family bible in front of witnesses. It was recorded inside. Mary and John took my name, and we made it legal. That’s all Mary would accept from me. She said she could never be a proper wife to me, and despite everything she’d been through, she wanted to honour her first husband, a man she’d loved with all her heart.’
Edgar gave a little murmur of approval.
‘I looked after her as best I could. She put her son in my care and I promised on her deathbed that I’d bring John up as my own. She asked me to bury her next to her first husband. I dug the ground myself, and left money for a cross to be placed on the site. She is buried as Mary Hardy. Now I know why the Barrie name seemed familiar. It’s on some drawings she had – her legacy for John.’
He blinked back his tears when the man asked, ‘How did you get John back to England without his name appearing on the ship’s passenger list?’
The investigator he hired had been thorough, Seth thought, and recalled a young man at the school with astute eyes. He shook his head to clear it.
‘It was accidental, not subterfuge. John was still being fed by his mother when she died. I hired an Irish woman who had just buried her youngest child. She had another child and they were booked on board a ship returning to England. They were not well off, so I hired her to look after John until we reached England and also returned her fare to her. By the time we got here she’d weaned him. After that we lived in Scotland.’
‘In Edinburgh, in the house you inherited from a relative.’
Seth was taken aback. ‘Your investigator was thorough. Yes, in the house I inherited. There, I hired a nursery maid to look after John until we were able to fend for ourselves.’
‘It didn’t enter your head that John might have family.’
Seth drew in a deep breath. ‘Yes, it did, but just before she died Mary told me her deceased husband had been disowned by his father, and he’d wanted nothing more to do with him.’
Edgar Wyvern winced. ‘That might have been true once, but Sir Charles changed his mind, and blood is thicker than water, after all.’
‘Is it, Mr Wyvern? In my experience, where money is concerned that isn’t always the case. Mary and John were left impoverished. Where was his grandfather when they didn’t have enough food to eat, when they were sleeping under the trees, and when a decent woman was o
bliged to beg on the street? Tell me about this man, and I’ll tell you if a man who treated his own son so badly is a man who can be trusted with John’s welfare. Sir Charles Barrie, I believe you said his name was.’
‘I beg you not to think too harshly of him. He recently lost his eldest son, then shortly afterwards he discovered that the younger one had also perished. He had no knowledge of the existence of John at the time.’
‘So having lost two sons, one of whom he’d previously disowned, he has now decided to take his grandson away from a happy home.’
‘Sir Charles Barrie is a judge. John is his only living kin. He intends that the boy be restored to him. In fact, he has instructed me to take John back to London with me.’
‘I think not, Mr Wyvern. At his mother’s request I’ve been a father to John for several years, and by the way, you can tell him I’ll be pursuing John’s legacy on his behalf. Why isn’t Sir Charles here pleading his own case?’
Wyvern’s eyes widened. ‘He’s been extremely ill, and has sent me to pave the way.’
‘You have done that, sir. I now know what to expect from him. I also know what I’m up against. Thank you for coming. This interview is now at an end.’
They both stood, and Wyvern said, ‘You know this is not the end of it, Colonel Hardy. Sir Charles will challenge your claim to John, and he will win.’
‘Not without him being shown up for the hypocrite he is. He’s not thinking of John’s welfare, only of his own.’
‘I can understand your anger, and sympathize with it. Think the situation over carefully and calmly. Discuss it with Mrs Hardy, a young woman who seems to have a sensible head on her shoulders. See if you can come up with an alternative plan I can put before Sir Charles. I’ll return tomorrow.’
‘It will be a waste of your time.’
‘Colonel Hardy, you’re not a child. Talking is never a waste of time. John Barrie is the sole heir to a fortune, and the legacy from his father is nothing in comparison. His grandfather is fifty-five years of age. All Sir Charles wants is to spend some time with his grandchild and heir while he still has time, and make amends for what has happened. Would you try and deny him that pleasure, and the boy his birthright?’