Salting the Wound

by Janet Woods

  But Nick had asked Aria not to tell anyone about their marriage until he got back. And he knew she wouldn’t break that promise, unless she’d needed to. Aria wouldn’t give up hope on him. She’d wait for him forever, he was sure of that.

  He pressed his palm against the locket, now safely pinned inside his new waistcoat, and his palm beat steadily against it. The thought of her was so warm and poignant that he couldn’t wait to get home and see her.

  The woman opposite him had a practised smile, but underneath he could see her weariness. He pushed a couple of coins across the table. ‘Not tonight, love. Go and buy yourself a meal.’

  Finishing his ale he went to his room. The mattress was too soft after his bed of bark. There were no stars above him on the yellowing ceiling, and the room smelled of tobacco rather than fresh air. Closing his eyes he imagined a dark velvety sky full of stars and Aria with her head heavy against his shoulder, and breathing gently into her ear. He smiled, wondering what she was doing at that particular moment. Watching the bracken unfurl its green fronds on the heath perhaps . . . or suffering through Sunday high tea with the redoubtable Misses Stanhope . . .

  Nick had no way of knowing how right he was – or how wrong!

  ‘The youngest Honeyman girl married his nephew, and without them telling anyone. Erasmus Thornton himself announced it from the pulpit,’ the elder Miss Stanhope said, her eyes glittering with excitement.

  ‘I’m surprised the reverend let him into the pulpit.’

  ‘Oh, Erasmus has been friends with the reverend for years. You could tell the sermon was planned in advance, with all that lecturing about rumour and innuendo being a sin. And Daisy Thornton was there, as bold as brass, though she never usually goes to church. There’s no smoke without fire, is there, now? There’s something going on there with Reverend Phipps, you mark my word.’

  One of the teatime guests cried out, ‘I’ve never seen the like of it. Charlotte Hardy tackled Captain Thornton after church, demanding to see the certificate. He told her, I saw the marriage register with my own eyes, and if that was good enough for me, it should be good enough for you. I’m not about to satisfy your curiosity, woman.’

  Another took up the tale. ‘Near scratched his eyes out she did. She called the captain a liar and worse.’

  ‘Then he told her to sail off to Boston and see for herself . . .’

  ‘So she said she wouldn’t step aboard one of his stinking ships. He told her he wouldn’t allow her aboard if they were in the middle of the Atlantic and she was drowning, since she was so puffed up with her own pride that she wouldn’t sink anyway. What a to-do.’ The guest fanned herself.

  The beady eyes of Agnes Stanhope’s sister glistened, and she lowered her voice to a death knell. ‘Mrs Hardy called Thornton a murderer, accused him of causing her mother’s death. Only she said it under her breath. Captain Thornton heard her though, and so did some other people.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing new. Nearly everyone knows Erasmus Thornton and Caroline Honeyman were once lovers. His face was flushed with anger, and I thought he was going to strike her. Then her husband arrived with their gig. When the Colonel realized what was going on he went over to her, took her elbow in his hand and marched her off.’

  Lucy Stanhope gave a bit of a neigh. ‘Charlotte was probably jealous. Everyone knows that she intended to marry Nicholas Thornton and he expected to marry her. She turned him down in a fit of pique after an argument, and she married the next man who came along, just to spite him.’

  ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure, they say.’

  ‘He deserved better. A nicer man you couldn’t wish to meet is Colonel Hardy. There was always scandal about the Honeyman family. As for the younger daughter, it’s like mother, like daughter. God help the child when it’s born. I wonder if they’ll give it away and put it about that it died at birth, like the last time.’

  The younger women tittered. ‘Now, now, Agnes. We don’t know for sure that the first one was sent to the orphanage.’

  ‘You might not,’ Agnes retorted, ‘but I happened to be doing my day of charity work there at the time. Helping those less fortunate than oneself is so satisfying. I do know that a newly born infant was brought in, and I saw who brought it. Constance Jarvis gave the girl special attention and her own family name. Serafina Jarvis she called her.’

  Eyes agog, Lucy stared at her. ‘What happened to the child?’

  ‘I don’t know. She was gone the following week. Mrs Jarvis said she’d been sent out to a wet nurse, but I couldn’t see any record of it. Later, when I enquired, Constance Jarvis told me the girl had died. But somebody else told me they’d heard she was bringing the girl up herself.’

  ‘Goodness, all this intrigue. Why didn’t you tell me before now?’

  ‘You were a child at the time and it slipped my mind. Besides, one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Oh, my goodness. I won’t forget today’s church service in a hurry. I hope it doesn’t reach the ears of the bishop.’

  ‘No, indeed. Do you think Marianne Honeyman is really married to Nicholas Thornton?’

  ‘She calls herself Mrs Thornton and she wears a wedding ring.’ Agnes gave a thin, malicious smile and folded her arms on her chest. ‘Some man put that child inside her, and at about the time she went missing, and she’s strutting about like the strumpet she is. They said she’d been visiting friends at the time. Then they said she’d been taken ill and was confined to bed. But before that there were rumours that Captain Nicholas Thornton had taken her to America with him.’

  ‘Besides, it’s hardly likely that her sister would throw her out if things were above board. I’ll give Charlotte Hardy her due. She might not take any nonsense, but she’s a decent woman for all that. As good Christians, we should call on her and offer her our support in her time of trouble, Lucy.’

  ‘Quite. After all, her sister’s infant must be due any day now . . .

  Sixteen

  It was Edgar Wvyern who posted bail to free Seth from his filthy prison cell.

  Seth told him exactly what he thought of Charles Barrie. ‘He’s self-absorbed, full of deceit, and a liar. I’m outraged by his behaviour. As for Adam Chapman—’

  ‘A clever young man, but blameless in this affair. I’ve sent word to him and said we will call on him later in the day. We’ll meet with him later and discuss what can be done about the situation. I’ve made it clear to Sir Charles what I think of him, Captain Hardy. I’ve come to apologize for his behaviour, and for my part in the situation, though I acted in good faith. I have informed him, and will now inform you. I’m prepared to offer my services to you free of charge should you wish to take the matter to court.’

  ‘Will taking it to court make any difference now Sir Charles has been granted custody of John?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. All it will achieve is to expose his complicity and his questionable ethics in the matter. If your motive was revenge, it would be a perfect vehicle with which to embarrass him in front of his peers. However, I’ve persuaded him to drop the child-stealing charge. I do know he would not welcome the publicity the case would generate, or the stain it would leave on his character. For that reason I think the matter can be reconciled by reason and negotiation. Nevertheless, he’s kin to the boy, and he has been afforded custody. You must reconcile yourself to that.’

  ‘So, it seems that all I would stand to gain would be the satisfaction of a temporary revenge for something that would soon be forgotten. If I wanted to get John back I imagine I’d have to take a leaf from Sir Charles’s book. I should abduct the boy and remove him to Van Diemen’s Land, where I do have custody.’

  Wyvern’s eyes came up to his. ‘That would be one way, I suppose. Not the step I’d expect, and advise you to take.’ He shrugged. ‘But then, I’ve been disillusioned quite often by my own judgement of late.’

  Seth chuckled. ‘You and me both. Rest easy. I’m not about to take such a drastic action, mainly because I’m sure that John will
be well cared for with Sir Charles, despite being taken from a family he loves.’

  ‘Good. I didn’t think you were that much of a fool.’

  ‘He must think I’ve abandoned him. Can I, at least be allowed to see John before I go home? I don’t want him to think I’ve deserted him.’

  ‘Sir Charles will not allow it at the moment. He wants time to get to know the boy and to gain his trust. Perhaps later. Be patient, Colonel.’

  ‘Trust is something he’ll have to earn with John now. The boy’s no fool and he saw me dragged into the police cart outside the house. He’ll be scared on my behalf, and mistrustful of his grandfather, because he knows he was responsible.’

  ‘If I see John I’ll tell him you’re all right. Write him a note if you will. I’ll make sure he gets it.’

  They met with Adam at his office, a rather grim-looking place with damp patches clinging to the walls. He shrugged an apology. ‘It’s all I can afford, I’m afraid, but at least it’s central.’

  Edgar smiled. ‘We’ll find you better premises when you decide to accept my offer. In London success is often measured by a man’s accommodations, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Some readjustment of the contract terms will have to take place. First and foremost I’m my own man, and will take cases, or not, according to my own conscience and discretion, though at the moment I’m seriously doubting my own ability.’ Adam held out a hand. ‘I’m so sorry about what has happened, Seth. I was hoping we could build on our tenuous relationship and remain friends.’

  ‘We can. I don’t regard this issue to be your fault, any more than it was mine. You’re welcome in my home any time . . . both of you are.’

  It was with a heavy heart that Seth returned to Poole. Charlotte’s face reflected her worry. ‘Where’s John?’

  He told her. ‘Sir Charles tricked us all. He obtained a court order for custody and refused to hand John back. He had me arrested for child-stealing, but later had a change of heart.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth and she breathed, ‘Oh, Seth . . . how could he do such a terrible thing. You’re the most honest person I know.’

  She came to him then, slid her arms about him and laid her head against his shoulder, the first time she’d offered him any comfort. He savoured it when she said, ‘I’m so sorry, Seth. I know how much your promise to John’s mother meant to you. What will we do now?’

  He hadn’t given his promise to Mary much thought over the last few days, and felt a twinge of guilt. He tipped Charlotte’s chin up and kissed her mouth, relishing this softer side of her nature. ‘We’ll have to put up with it. The most we can hope for is to be able to see John now and again.’

  She grew angry, her gestures animated, her eyes sparkled with indignation and her cheeks glowed apple red. ‘He had family here, a brother and sister, and parents who loved him. What can an old man offer John? He’ll be lonely without us. I’ll never forgive him.’

  Another man on her hate list? ‘Hush, Charlotte. His grandfather will give him the best money can buy, and I know John won’t forget us.’

  John certainly didn’t forget what he’d seen. He didn’t like his new life and reacted accordingly by setting out to make his grandfather’s life as uncomfortable as possible. ‘When is my pa coming for me?’ he said to him one day.

  ‘Your father is dead, John.’

  ‘That was my first father, Jonathan Barrie. I can’t remember him. I mean Colonel Seth Hardy. He is my father now.’

  His grandfather didn’t answer. Instead, he said, ‘Try not to whistle in the house, please, especially so early in the morning. It’s annoying.’

  His grandfather became irritated very quickly. John thought that if he made him really angry, the man might send him home to his parents.

  ‘I want you to write to my pa and my mama, and tell them to come and fetch me,’ he said on another day. ‘And I want to go to my proper school.’

  ‘You have a tutor.’

  ‘But I miss my friends. And I miss my sister and brother.’

  ‘Stop this complaining at once, John. Those children are not your brother and sister. You’re not even related to the Hardy family. The only blood relative you have is me.’

  ‘You promised me a dog.’

  ‘I don’t like dogs. They leave hair on the furniture and will make the house smell.’

  Something came over him one day and he pulled all the books out of the bookcase and piled them into a heap.

  ‘What did you do that for, John?’

  ‘I was looking for the book I made you. Did you like it?’

  ‘What book was that?’

  ‘The one with the heath birds in.’

  ‘It’s in the cupboard in the schoolroom, I expect. I haven’t had time to read it yet. ‘Now, you can put those books back on the shelves. You’re not a baby, and if you do that again I’ll tell your tutor to cane you.’

  ‘My pa would never have caned me.’

  ‘No wonder you have such appalling manners. You need discipline, young man.’

  John hated his tutor, whose name was Mr Hagman. He spelled his words and did his sums wrong on purpose. He began to whistle every time he went up and down the stairs.

  As he’d promised, his grandfather instructed his tutor to discipline him. A cane was used and it stung. He cried himself to sleep. He hated his tutor and he hated his grandfather.

  Mr Hagman began to use the cane more often for discipline, and his grandfather didn’t seem to mind. Some days he didn’t even see him.

  John stayed in his room as much as he could. When he was trotted out for his grandfather’s friends he hardly spoke. The only one he liked was Mr Wyvern, who told him his parents sent their love, then whispered that they’d bought him a puppy for his eighth birthday.

  ‘He’s a terrier, white with a brown patch on his back, and his name is Scrap. They said you can have pretend adventures with him.’

  ‘I want to go home,’ he said. ‘Will you take me there?’

  ‘Much as I’d like to, I can’t, John.’

  John went to sleep that night imagining himself with his dog Scrap, with his ears pricked up, running across the heath. He even spoke to him when he was sure nobody else was listening, and could feel his body pressing warmly against his knees under the quilt at night.

  One day he found Mr Hagman with the book he’d made with his Aunt Marianne, for his grandfather – the one that he’d never had time to read. John challenged him with, ‘Excuse me, sir, but that’s my grandfather’s private property. I made it for him.’

  The man was in a bad mood, and thrashed him, leaving him with stinging welts across his back and bottom. Later that evening John was looking in the book of birds and wondering why his grandfather hadn’t bothered to look at it, when he came across the exercise book with the map in that his pa had made for him of the journey to London.

  Although he couldn’t read the longer words without trouble, he had a good memory, and remembered the name of all the towns. The yearning to see everyone he loved and to see his new puppy was overwhelming. All he had to do was get on a train at Waterloo Bridge station, go to Southampton, than get on another train to Poole. Then he could walk across the heath.

  Remembering his manners, and wishing to leave a good impression, John wrote his grandfather a note.

  Dear Grandpapa,

  Thank you for your hopspitality.

  I am going home to my dere papa. I do not want Mr Hagman to eat my brains or beat me any more. You may visit me if you wish to. I will show you the real birds of the Heath. They are much better than the drawings in the book I made for you. I’m sorry you didn’t like them.

  Please don’t put me in prison, like you did my papa.

  Your grandson,

  John.

  John had some money that he’d received for his birthday, and some sixpences and shillings that his grandfather’s friends slipped into his hand now and again. There were several florins from Mr Wyvern and a guinea from his grandfather. Al
l were saved in his money box. John waited until Saturday morning, because his tutor didn’t come on that day.

  After breakfast he said, ‘Goodbye, Grandfather,’ and he wanted to hug him. But his grandfather didn’t look up from his newspaper, just grunted.

  John then waited until after breakfast when his maid took him to the park for a walk. She joined the group of governesses who were out taking the air with their young charges.

  It was a nice day to travel, the air was June soft and filled with flying blossoms. The sky was a busy expanse of fluffy clouds and birds. On the heath the heather would be coming into bloom, and the gypsy caravans beginning to arrive, he thought. He felt ill with longing for home and the people he loved, that night.

  It was easy to escape, since the maid wasn’t watching him. John simply walked away from her, out through the gate and to the end of the road, where he knew an omnibus stopped. He’d been on an omnibus once before with his tutor, when they’d visited the British Museum to see the Elgin marbles.

  John had enjoyed it at first, until he’d mentioned that some of the people curved into the frieze had their heads missing. Mr Hagman had slapped him around the head. He’d said it was a pity that John’s head wasn’t missing, too, and he might put a rat in his ear when he was asleep, and it would pull his brains out and eat them. John had tried to stop going to sleep in case he did, and he imagined his pillow covered in blood, and his brains spilling out and Mr Hagman eating them.

  He’d been sick with relief when he woke up the next morning, but at night he found it hard to settle to sleep, and he missed Aunt Marianne or his pa telling him a story.

  He sniffed back his tears as he joined the omnibus queue, jingling his money in his pocket.

  The conductor held out his hand for the fare and John put a sixpence in it. He followed a man in front of him up to the seat on the top, where he clung on as the sturdy horses plodded along the street with its burden of humans. The horses reminded him of the ones that tilled the fields near his home, big, gentle beasts of burden that dragged the plough behind them all day to crumble the soil ready for planting the next season’s corn crop. John was glad he wasn’t a horse.