by Pat Herbert
“So it’s you that’s got her!” she spat at him, struggling in his grasp. “I was right. I thought so. You let me go!”
“Only if you promise to behave,” said Charles sternly.
She wriggled free from him but made no further attempt to physically attack him. “You’d better give her back to me or else I’ll tell your wife just who’s the father.” She stopped suddenly and stared closely at him. “I get it now,” she went on. “You’re Mr Edward’s brother. You’re as like as two peas in a pod.”
Charles was about to deny it, worried because now Lily would know his last name. Then he realised there was no point. Even if he denied the family connection, it was too coincidental that Edward had given the baby to him, of all people. Lily wasn’t a fool, he knew that only too well.
“So now you know, Lily,” said Charles with a sigh. “But at least you know your baby’s going to a good home, and isn’t it better for your little baby that she’s with people who can really care for her properly? And I can assure you she will be well-looked after, especially as you know I’m her real father. Doesn’t that allay your fears a little?”
Lily’s eyes became slits. “You bastard!” she yelled at him. “You didn’t want to know when I told you I was going to have your baby. Now you take her away and give her to your soppy wife who can’t conceive one of her own. It’s not fair!”
Charles, sensing there was no point in trying to console her, took out the locket and handed it to her. “Maybe this will help a little. Here – take it.”
“What is it?” she asked suspiciously. “I don’t want nothing from you, just my Mary Josephine.”
“Mary Josephine? They’re pretty names,” said Charles. “Would you like us to continue to call her that, Lily?”
Lily held the locket in her hands and stared at the sepia photograph of her darling offspring. Tears started to flow down her cheeks.
“Mary Josephine, my Mary Josephine,” she said in a whisper.
She passed her fingers over the little portrait. Was this all she was doomed to have of the child she once held to her bosom?
“What is it, Charles? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost?”
“Not exactly, but close.”
Charles had retreated from Lily’s room to the relative safety of the library where he found Edward immersed in some boring-looking novel.
“What do you mean, brother?” Edward put his book aside at once.
Charles slumped in a nearby chair and put his head in his hands. “Oh, Edward, what have I done? What have I done?”
“What’s the matter? Have you changed your mind? Do you want to give the baby back to Lily? If so, I can’t refund your money –”
“Stop blabbering!” exclaimed Charles. “I haven’t changed my mind. Far from it. In fact, I’ve just found out the child is genuinely mine.”
“What on Earth do you mean?”
Charles began to explain, falteringly at first, but managed to get out his confession at last. “I know you’ll think badly of me …”
If he was hoping his brother would say it was all right, his hope was dashed.
“How could you? How could you deceive Daphne like that? And with a prostitute! I thought better of you, Charles.”
“I know. I thought better of myself,” he said, his tone contrite. “But it is important, now, that I keep the child, although it must never know I’m its real father. And Daphne must never know, either. Please say you’ll keep my secret. Please …”
Edward played with the cover of his book, seemingly mulling this over. Then he looked at his brother squarely.
“I must tell you I don’t approve of your behaviour, and I never will. But, for Daphne’s sake, I will keep your secret.”
“Thank you, Edward, thank you!”
“Don’t thank me. I am only doing what you wish because of Daphne. She deserves better than you.”
“I know, I know. But, Edward, you’ll still talk to me, won’t you? I mean, we won’t lose touch over this, will we?”
“I don’t know, I really don’t know.”
“Daphne will be unhappy if we become estranged. And suspicious. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“Don’t add emotional blackmail to your sins, Charles.”
“I – I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Whether you did or not, that’s what it amounts to. However, no, I don’t want to lose touch with you. You’re my older brother and I love you.”
“May we shake hands?”
“Very well,” said Edward.
They stood and held out their hands to each other.
“I said I loved you, Charles,” said Edward, still holding his brother’s hand. “But, at this moment, I don’t like you very much.”
Chapter Eight
Daphne had managed to secure the services of a young nursemaid without much difficulty. After several interviews with various applicants, she had settled for the young Miranda Miller who, to Daphne’s way of thinking, was just the right sort of girl for her baby. Meek and polite, well-scrubbed and, although extremely young, she had had much experience of looking after a small child, having brought up her younger sister following the death of their mother. Miranda, at the age of barely seventeen, was now free of that responsibility as her sister had died of tuberculosis, and her father had no interest in Miranda’s welfare, even though she was now his only daughter. Thus, she was able to take up the position of nanny without delay.
When she had looked at the baby lying in the crib, it was love at first sight, and it was obviously mutual. The child gave her young nanny a gummy smile and wriggled and giggled with pleasure as Miranda tickled her tummy. Although it pleased Daphne to see the baby so happy, she couldn’t help being a little put out that the child had never responded to her with quite such delight. She was lucky if the baby stopped grizzling long enough to feed her. Miranda was obviously a natural.
Daphne, therefore, had her leisure time back. She only needed to look into the nursery as and when she felt like it and, in the meantime, was free to resume her shopping trips and lunches with Cynthia, much to Charles’s displeasure. His plan to keep his wife from spending his money had backfired. The baby had proved a diversion for a while but, with the advent of the nanny, Daphne had seemingly lost interest.
She was deeply grateful to her brother-in-law for the baby, even so, as her status in the circles in which she moved had gone up several notches. No longer would she have to endure the pitying looks and sympathetic words from her friends because of her childless state. When she told them she had a child at last, she said she had kept her pregnancy secret until she had been sure it would go full term. No one questioned this; on the contrary, they seemed to understand her position completely.
Her happiness was complete, so she sat down one morning at her husband’s desk to write Edward Moreland a thank you letter. She and Charles had at last settled on a name for the child, and she was delighted to tell him all the news of the baby’s progress. Sealing it up, she sent for the housemaid to post it directly.
Later that evening, after she had made her nightly visit to the nursery to see that all was well, she told Charles about the letter, but, to her surprise, he didn’t seem pleased at the courtesy she had afforded his brother. In fact, he seemed almost angry. She had noticed that, ever since his visit to the baby’s natural mother, he had seemed nervy and on edge, and this seemed like a further manifestation of his bad mood.
“But Charles, dear,” she said, astonished. “Why should you be so cross because I have written to Edward to thank him? I thought it only polite to do so and to give him some news of the child.”
Charles paced up and down the room, slapping his hands behind his back as he did so.
“You should have told me what you were intending to do before you wrote to him,” he snapped. “I’ve thanked him on both our behalves and paid him well into the bargain. I doubt he would require anything more.”
“Ma
ybe he wouldn’t ‘require anything more’ as you put it, but I wanted to let him know how grateful I am to him. Surely there was nothing wrong in that? I don’t understand what has got into you lately, Charles.”
Daphne dabbed her eyes with her lace hanky, ready to cry if he carried on being so brutal to her. She knew he couldn’t deal with her tears.
“Now, don’t start,” he grumbled, noticing his wife’s quivering lips and moist eyes. “Don’t turn on the waterworks. The thing is done, so let there be an end of it.”
Daphne put her hanky away but still looked ready to cry. Charles continued to pace up and down the room.
“What notepaper did you use to write your silly letter?” he demanded.
This was a question she had not expected. What difference did it make? She thought for a moment before answering.
“I think it was your gold embossed, dear. I thought it was better than my lavender. Besides, yours has our address on it, and mine hasn’t.”
“I see.” Charles’s face was grim, and he was frightening her now.
“Was that wrong also?” she asked, a quaver in her voice. She reached for her hanky again.
“It doesn’t matter,” replied Charles in a resigned tone. “No doubt if you’d used your own notepaper, you would have written our address on it.”
“Well, of course I would. Why shouldn’t I? Did you not want him to know where we live? As if he didn’t, anyway.”
“Of course, he knows where we live, you silly woman. But what if that letter gets into other hands?”
“What if it does? It doesn’t contain any state secrets.”
Charles sighed with impatience. “Think for a moment, Daphne,” he said. “What if the mother of our baby sees that letter and sees where we live?”
Daphne stared at her husband, still not comprehending. “Why should she? It’s private. Anyway, why shouldn’t she see it?”
Charles raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. “Because, my dear one, she could come here and cause trouble. Do you understand now?”
Daphne looked down at her hands and muttered under her breath. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Light dawns at last,” said Charles sarcastically.
“But, surely, she won’t see it unless Edward shows it to her? And he wouldn’t do that, he’d have no reason to. It would only cause upset.”
“Quite. I don’t think Edward would do so voluntarily, but letters have a way of getting about. He could leave it lying around, or it could fall out of his pocket. Anything. I need to make certain that it doesn’t.”
With that, he took up his hat and quit the parlour, leaving his poor wife in a turmoil of emotions. But she supposed Charles was right when it came down to it. If the mother got hold of the letter, she could come and cause a scene. Still, she thought, her husband was taking it all much too seriously.
But, then, she didn’t know the half of it.
Chapter Nine
“Can I come in, Lily?”
“No – go away!”
“Please, love, I want to talk to you. I’ve got something to tell you. It’s important.”
“Have you found out where my baby is, then? That’s the only important thing as far as I’m concerned!”
“Just let me in and I’ll tell you.” Rose Jones stood outside Lily Martin’s bedroom door, resolute on gaining entry. “You’re not the only one with troubles, you know. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”
Slowly, the key turned in the lock and the door opened a fraction to reveal one of Lily’s blue eyes staring at her. “Oh, Rose, it’s you. I thought it was one of the others, or Lydia with another of her endless cups of tea.”
She opened the door wider and allowed Rose to pass through. She sat on the bed next to Lily and took her hand gently.
“Still no news then – about your baby?”
“What d’you think?” Lily’s eyes welled with tears. “Don’t start me off, Rose. I’ll think of something. I know who’s taken her, anyhow.”
Rose looked at her in astonishment. “You do? You never said.”
“No, well, I’m biding my time. I know who’s got her, but I just don’t know where yet.”
Lily withdrew her hand from Rose’s and stood up. She went over to the small latticed window and looked out onto the rain-soaked garden below. She seemed lost in thought, and Rose began to think she had forgotten she was still there.
“Well, any help you need, you know I’ll do all I can. So will the others. We’ve told you, Lily. So don’t worry.”
“Yeah, well, thanks.” Lily sat back down beside Rose. “Anyhow, Rose. You said you had something important to tell me?”
Rose looked sheepish. “I have, and you’re the first to know.”
“All right. Tell me.” Lily seemed to be making an effort to concentrate on her friend, not entirely successfully.
“I’m going have a baby,” said Rose, matter-of-factly.
Lily was aghast. “Really? Oh dear! Are you pleased? Who’s the father?” This time her interest wasn’t feigned.
“Three guesses, love. And, yes, I am pleased.”
“You don’t mean .....?”
“Bullseye! Mister Edward, of course. And I’m going to get him to marry me.”
“Get away with you! Toffs like him don’t marry women like us. Take it from one who knows. He’ll deny he’s the father, for a start.”
“No, I don’t think so. Anyway, I’ll make him marry me, or I’ll tell everyone about what he gets up to. Not just with me, but with some of the others, too. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried it on with you, Lily. After all, you’re the prettiest.”
“Let him just try it and see what happens!” declared Lily vehemently.
Rose laughed. “You’re a caution, and no mistake,” she said. “But how are you going to stop him trying to make love to you, if he wants to?”
“Because I know something he doesn’t.”
“What’s that?”
“You know I said I know who’s taken my baby?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it’s his brother.”
“His brother? Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure. He as good as admitted it.”
“Goodness, Lily. That’s a turn up.”
“And he’s my baby’s father – his real father.”
Lily waited a moment for the full import of this statement to sink in.
“You mean, you saw the man who took your baby, and he’s the one who got you up the duff in the first place?” Rose’s eyes were like saucers.
“That’s right, and it’s my betting Mister Edward don’t know nothing about what his brother’s been up to. Fine, upstanding citizen, my foot. They’re both as bad as each other, if you ask me. Here’s us all thinking Mister Edward’s a blinking saint for saving us from the streets, when all the time he’s just saving us for himself!”
“Gawd!” exclaimed Rose. “What a pretty kettle of fish, all-round. So you haven’t told him yet about his brother?”
“No, not yet. But I don’t suppose he’ll be so shocked now, seeing as how he’s up to the same thing himself. Men! They’re all the same.”
Rose squeezed Lily’s hand. “Don’t you wonder if Edward has known all along, anyway?”
Lily shrugged. “I suppose so. They’d stick up for each other, whatever they’ve done. Blood’s thicker than water.” She looked defeated.
“One thing’s for sure, though,” Rose said. “Mister Edward ain’t going to take my baby away from me. I’d kill him first.”
“You’ll have to get in the queue behind me, then,” replied Lily.
“So, you at least are talking to me, are you?”
Edward Moreland looked at Rose Jones with suspicion. She had a plain name, but she was far from plain herself, and he had enjoyed a few tumbles with the buxom creature since she had come to stay under his roof. He had found her hanging around Charing Cross Station almost a year ago to the day, looking
cold and bedraggled and stinking to high heaven, but she had scrubbed up well, he’d say that for her.
“What do you want, Rose? You’re here to plead Lily’s case, I suppose.”
“Nah, Lily can look after herself,” she replied, putting her hands on her hips in a defiant gesture. “But I will say you done wrong by her. She’s breaking her poor heart up there.”
“I’m sorry, but the baby’s gone to a good home. I don’t know how many more times I have to say it.”
“By a good home, I suppose you mean your brother’s.” It wasn’t even a question.
“How do you know that?”
Edward was shocked. It seemed it wasn’t to be such a well-kept secret, after all. Still, it was Charles’s problem now. The matter was out of his hands.
“Never mind how I know. That’s not what I want to talk to you about.”
“Oh? Well, won’t you sit down, at least? You make me nervous, standing there like that. You look as if you’d like to hit me.”
“Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn’t,” she said with a glint in her eyes, sweeping up close to him and seating herself in the chair indicated. “I’ve more on my plate than Lily’s baby, if you get my meaning.”
Edward began to fidget, fingering the antimacassar on the back of Rose’s chair. “I don’t think I do, Rose. I think you need to explain yourself.”
“It’s as plain as a pikestaff to anyone with eyes in their heads,” she said, plainly enjoying his discomfort.
“Is it something I’ve done, Rose?”
“You could say that, yes.”
“All right, out with it. I haven’t got all day.”
“Very well. I’m up a gum tree without a paddle and no mistake. What have you got to say to that?”
“Are you sure?” He had no doubt what Rose’s mixed metaphor meant.
“Well, I ain’t seen no quack as I can’t afford their fancy prices, but my stomach’s sticking out like Brighton pier and my corsets don’t go near me no more. So, it’s a pretty good guess, don’t you think?”
