Knight's Acre: Till Death Do Us Part

by Margaret Brazear

“I want to make sure there’s no one here who might recognise me,” she said.

  “There won’t be,” said Catherine. “The people you know hardly leave the village, except the Earl and, according to you, he already knows.”

  There were steps up to the front door and Jessica stood and read the painted words over the porch. Magpie House, Salvation Army Mother and Baby Home. Her heart sank.

  “Look at that, Catherine,” she said. “That makes it real.”

  Catherine climbed the steps, took hold of the massive knob and tried to turn it. The door was locked. Jessica knocked with the heavy, brass knocker and they waited until, after a few minutes, a maid came to open the door. She was only about twelve and was dressed for the part, with a black dress and white, frilly apron, a frilly cap covering her light brown hair.

  She didn’t ask their business, only opened the door wider and stood back to let them pass. They stepped into a large lobby, lined with oak panelling with portraits of dour looking, bearded men in business suits. The whole atmosphere reminded them of a museum they had once visited, except here it was empty. They were afraid to raise their voices louder than a whisper, but what caused that fear they couldn’t have said.

  There was a large, highly polished table in the corner of the lobby and now they noticed movement from that direction. A woman was standing behind the table, a tall, heavily built woman wearing a grey dress, buttoned up to her throat and a white cap like a nurse over her hair. She moved stiffly because of the corset beneath her dress, and her expression was not welcoming.

  There was a label attached to a pin on her breast. It declared her to be the Matron, Miss Jensen.

  The Matron allowed her eyes to sweep over both girls until at last they rested on Jessica.

  “I take it you have got yourself in trouble,” she said harshly.

  “I am with child, if that’s what you mean,” said Jessica firmly.

  “That is precisely what I mean,” said the Matron. “You’d better come with me.”

  Catherine made a move to follow, but Miss Jensen blocked her way.

  “This is a private meeting,” she said.

  “I want my friend with me,” said Jessica.

  Miss Jensen smiled, but it was a nasty little smile, not a smile of joy.

  “I think you’ll find that what you want is of little importance here,” she said.

  Jessica grabbed Catherine’s arm and held onto her. She would have loved to tell this superior woman that she had changed her mind, would have loved to have some alternative. But she had none and her only choice was to follow this woman and get through the next few months the best way she could.

  Catherine sat outside the door, close enough to hear what was being said, while Jessica followed Miss Jensen into the office. The Matron sat herself behind a huge oak desk and opened a large ledger type book, while Jessica sat opposite and put her bag down at her feet.

  “How far gone are you?” said the Matron.

  “Five months,” said Jessica.

  The Matron slammed her ledger shut.

  “You’re too early,” she said. “Come back when you’re six months. We don’t take anyone earlier than that.”

  She leaned back in her chair and rested her folded hands on her desk, but Jessica was trying to keep back those wretched tears.

  “But I’ve nowhere else to go,” she said.

  “If I break the rules for one,” said Miss Jensen, “I’ll have to do it for everyone. Then where will we be?”

  Closer to Jesus? Jessica thought but didn’t voice her thoughts.

  She was already big for five months and knew that by the time six months came around, everyone would be able to see.

  “If I wait another month, it will show. My father is ill; I don’t want him to know anything about this.”

  “You should have thought about that before you let some man do what he liked with you,” said Miss Jensen harshly.

  Jessica swallowed hard, refused to allow the tears to win this fight. She was certain that if she let them fall, she would garner no pity from this woman, only more condemnation. At last she found the confidence to speak without a catch in her voice.

  “We were engaged,” she started to explain. “I loved him and he loved me. We were going to be married.”

  “And as soon as he’d had his way, he ran off and left you to face the consequences,” said Miss Jensen. “Don’t think I haven’t heard this tale a hundred times. A man might tell you he’ll look after you, but once you give him what he wants, he starts to wonder how many others have been there before him.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” protested Jessica.

  Miss Jensen huffed loudly.

  “I’ve heard that a hundred times before as well,” she said. “I suppose you don’t know where he’s gone. He’ll have run off to find another naïve young girl to persuade that he wants to marry her.”

  “He didn’t run off,” said Jessica.

  She was scarcely holding on now. She had no idea it would be like this, but then she hadn’t really considered what it would be like.

  “Oh, so I suppose he’s still saying he’ll marry you, is he?” said Miss Jensen.

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so,” said Miss Jensen. “It’s the same old tale, over and over. And it’s your own fault. Did your mother never tell you that a man doesn’t keep a cow if he can get the milk for free?”

  The same words her father had spoken and she had thought how crude they were, but it seemed he was not the one who had dreamed up that particular distasteful phrase.

  “You should try to track him down,” said the Matron. “You’ve got another month. He might be made to marry you yet.”

  “I know where he is,” said Jessica. “He didn’t run off. He died.”

  That seemed to get through to the woman, seemed she did have a heart in there somewhere.

  “Oh,” she said. “Sorry to hear that. You still should have made him marry you, though.”

  She wasn’t going to back down and admit she might be wrong sometimes, but at least she softened enough to open her ledger again.

  “As this is a special circumstance,” she said. “And you promise me you have nowhere else to go, I’m prepared to make an exception this time. But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want them all thinking they can get themselves pregnant, then just come here.” She picked up her pen and wrote the date in her ledger.

  “Thank you,” said Jessica.

  “You’ll have to work, though,” said Miss Jensen. “Don’t think you can come here and just lie about. There are always chores to do. Now, first of all, what is your name?”

  “Jessica Milligan,” said Jessica.

  “And your address?”

  “Why do you need that?” said Jessica.

  Miss Jensen’s eyes met hers for a few seconds, her mouth twisting thoughtfully. She obviously wasn’t accustomed to being questioned.

  “It’s just a formality,” she finally replied, then she drew a deep breath and went on. “It is in case things don’t go to plan,” she said.

  Jessica caught her breath. She hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t considered that she might not survive the birth. Women died in childbirth all the time, had done for centuries, but it had never once occurred to Jessica that it might happen to her.

  She muttered her address in a low voice and watched as Miss Jensen wrote it down. There were more questions, her age, her place and date of birth, the father’s name and place of birth, although Jessica couldn’t answer that last.

  Eventually, Miss Jensen put down her pen, rolled her blotter over the writing, and closed the ledger.

  “You will stay here until the birth,” said Miss Jensen. “You will carry out whatever work is assigned to you, without argument, and you will attend morning and evening prayers every day.”

  “Every day?” asked Jessica.

  “Certainly every day,” said Miss Jensen. “Nothing else will save your soul, will it? You need to seek forgiv
eness for your terrible sin.”

  Jessica cast down her eyes. She still didn’t think she had committed any terrible sin and the idea of attending prayers twice a day made her shudder. She had only attended church services every Sunday in the village to still gossiping tongues, not because it meant anything.

  “Can you pay?” demanded Miss Jensen.

  That was something Jessica hadn’t thought about and now she rather regretted giving the Earl back his jewellery.

  She shook her head.

  “I’m afraid not,” she said. “I didn’t realise… I mean, I thought… “

  “You thought we’d keep you for free?” said Miss Jensen. “You thought that, despite having no sense of morality, you could be fed and kept free of charge?”

  Jessica got to her feet, wanting to ask why she had to go through this humiliating interview if she was going to be rejected in the end anyway. Why didn’t the woman ask if she could pay before putting her through all this?

  “Where are you going?” demanded Miss Jensen.

  “I cannot pay,” said Jessica. “So I assumed you would not let me stay.”

  Miss Jensen waved her hand at Jessica.

  “Sit down, sit down,” she said. “We’ll work something out. Can you sew?”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “Good, then you can do some of the mending that comes in from outside. That will earn your keep, or at least part of it.” She glanced at Jessica’s bag. “What have you got in there?”

  “A change of clothes,” said Jessica. “Underwear, a couple of dresses.”

  “You can keep the underwear, but you won’t need the dresses; you can send those back with your friend. We have a uniform that you’ll be required to wear at all times, except when you’re in bed of course. For that we have our own nightdresses.”

  “But, supposing I want to go out,” said Jessica. “Everyone will know where I came from, what I’m doing here.”

  Miss Jensen glared at her, a little sneer curling her thick lips.

  “Yes, they will,” she said. “You’ll learn what it means to break God’s laws when you find the whole town staring and condemning. Some shops might refuse to serve you.”

  “But I’m not a criminal!” cried Jessica.

  “No,” said Miss Jensen. “You’ve done nothing unlawful, only immoral. Now, take your underwear out of the bag and give the rest to your friend to take home with her. She can bring them back when you leave after you’ve had the baby and signed the papers to arrange the adoption.”

  “Adoption?” said Jessica.

  “Yes, adoption. You surely didn’t expect to keep it, did you?”

  Jessica made no reply. She hadn’t thought about giving up her child, but now she wondered what on earth else she could do. She touched her abdomen gently.

  “This is Simon’s child,” she said. “It is all I have left of him. I’m not giving it away to strangers.”

  The Matron didn’t argue, only let her eyes meet Jessica’s, as though she had just remembered that the father of this child had prematurely passed away. But there was no way she could keep the child, even so. She was an unmarried mother, the child a bastard and that was a stigma that could not be overcome.

  “We’ll see,” she said. “Now, take out the bits you need and give the rest to your friend. I only have two other girls here at the moment and one of those is near her time, so I have room. I’ll call Barbara to show you where to go.”

  “Tell me something, Madam,” said Jessica. “Why is it called Magpie House?”

  “Please don’t call me ‘madam’,” said Miss Jensen. “This is not a knocking shop, despite its inmates.”

  Jessica gasped at the woman’s words; she would not have expected that from her.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Why Magpie House?”

  “Have you never heard that it is unlucky to see just one Magpie alone?” said Miss Jensen. “That’s because the Magpie has lost its partner, just like the girls who come here.”

  “Oh,” said Jessica.

  “I’ll send for Barbara,” said Miss Jensen.

  Barbara turned out to be the young girl in the maid uniform who had opened the front door for them. Clutching her folded underwear in her hands, Jessica followed Barbara out of the office and passed the travelling bag to Catherine.

  The two girls hugged.

  “I’ll come and visit,” said Catherine. “If that’s allowed.”

  She had been listening and had caught the gist of the interview, but the question of visitors had not been raised.

  “You can have one visitor on Sunday afternoons,” said Barbara. “As long as it’s not the babe’s father. They’re not allowed unless they come with a marriage licence. No males allowed otherwise, except your father, if he should feel like visiting.”

  “That won’t happen,” said Jessica.

  “Your father’s going to ask me if I know where you are,” said Catherine. “What shall I tell him?”

  “Plead ignorance,” said Jessica. “Tell him you don’t know.”

  “What about if he gets worse?” said Catherine. “He took to his bed weeks ago. Nobody expected him to last this long.”

  Jessica was thoughtful for a moment. She hadn’t expected him to last this long either, and she knew he would soon recover now she was gone. But she couldn’t tell Catherine that, couldn’t tell her best friend that she knew perfectly well why Jack Milligan had taken to his bed.

  “He’ll be better soon, I expect,” she said. “At least I shan’t be there when he finds out I was never engaged to the Earl.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Truth is Revealed

  When Catherine arrived home, still worrying about her friend, it was to find Mr Jameson making himself comfortable at the table. Her mother was fawning over him, making a fool of herself in Catherine’s eyes. She was simpering like a schoolgirl with a crush, as she ladled stew into his bowl.

  “There you are,” she said when Catherine appeared. “You almost missed supper. Where have you been?”

  Her expression told Catherine she wanted to ask about Michael again, but didn’t want to mention him in front of her visitor. After all, she had no wish for Mr Jameson to know that Catherine might have a love interest.

  “Mr Jameson tells me our next door neighbour is doing the bookkeeping for the Earl,” said Mary Simmons. “What do you think of that?”

  She filled Catherine’s bowl and her own as she spoke as well as her father’s, although he was nowhere to be seen. He must be here somewhere, thought Catherine. Her mother would never be alone in the house with a strange man, despite being twice his age. That wouldn’t be proper at all.

  Tom Simmons appeared then from the back garden. Catherine smiled; he had obviously been banished to the back yard to remove his boots before he was allowed inside.

  “Well?” demanded Mary as Catherine slid into her seat. “What do you think of that? He told us he had independent means.”

  “Did he?” she replied. “I don’t remember that. I remember someone saying the estate manager was going to be doing the Earl’s accounts, but I don’t remember Mr Stanley saying anything of the sort.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No,” said Catherine. “In fact, his only comment on any subject was that he had a serious trust fund and that he used to work for Prince Albert, helping him with his plans for the railway. He couldn’t have been more than ten when the Prince died, but I think I was the only one who noticed that.”

  Mary paused with her fork half way between her plate and her mouth; she blushed then carried on eating.

  “Tell me, Mr Jameson,” she said, not wanting to admit her mistake, “how are His Lordship’s wedding plans coming along? Everyone is eager to see the big day.”

  Now it was Catherine’s turn to pause and her heart sank. Now it would come out, now they would all discover the truth and her mother would start in again, trying to throw her in the direction of Lord Harrisford.

  She held her breath
as she waited for Mr Jameson to tell her he knew nothing about a wedding. But his answer came after a moment’s thought and was not what she expected.

  “I think preparations are progressing as expected,” he said. “There is a lot to do, lots of invitations to send out and you know, he rarely has people at the Castle, so that needs a lot of organisation.”

  Catherine kept her head down; she didn’t want her expression to show and she did wonder if the Earl really was engaged to be married or whether this man had been trying to save face. He should know if his cousin was about to marry and he didn’t, so he pretended to go along with it.

  She hid a smile behind her napkin.

  ***

  Sunday afternoons was the only day Catherine had to meet with Michael; it was also the only day Miss Jensen had told her she could visit Jessica. So on the following Sunday she set out with Michael to visit her friend.

  “It’s a bit of a dour place,” she warned him.

  “I expect it is,” he replied. In the privacy of the bus, he slipped his arm around her. “Society tends to blame the girl for being with child out of wedlock.”

  Michael’s dark eyes were kind and Catherine really believed he had sympathy for her friend’s predicament. She hadn’t told him about the ring and brooch, stolen from the Earl. She didn’t Jessica wanted anyone to know about that.

  She reached up and ran her fingers through his dark hair; she was so lucky to have him, so fortunate that he had fallen in love with her despite her parents’ every effort to scare him away.

  “I don’t know what I expected,” she said. “But I thought there might be some sympathy. The Matron softened a bit when Jessica said the baby’s father had died.”

  “I should hope so, too,” he said. “But he might have married her before he gave up the ghost.”

  “That’s what I think, but she won’t have a word said against him.”

  When they arrived, Catherine lifted the heavy door knocker. The same little maid came to the door; her eyes widened when she saw Michael.

  “We’ve come to see Jessica Milligan,” he said.

  Miss Jensen appeared behind the maid and glared at him with a thunderous expression.