by H D Coulter
“Bea?”
She didn’t know what to say. The perfect heaven on earth they had created was crumbling under their feet, and she didn’t want to be the one to tell him. That her actions were about to create more pain for him, that the biological father of the child he was holding was here to claim his precious daughter.
The vicar gestured to the four of them to take their seats once more. Bea closed her eyes as Joshua turned round to face the congregation. She felt his body tighten against hers as realisation seeped in, and as she opened her eyes, she saw a smirk across Hanley’s face as he nodded once at Joshua before slipping back into the crowd.
Chapter 21
Hanley made his way swiftly out the side-door and collected his horse from around the back. The snow was coming down heavy and fast now. How much he wished he could observe their party as it returned home; to listen to the conversation that would begin tearing them apart. Their bright alternative world wasn’t so safe anymore. Another thought flashed into his mind, that of him holding the child, watching her smile up at him, like she had for Bea, but he dismissed the notion as quickly as it had appeared. He wasn’t here merely to take charge of the infant; he wanted to break the both of them, once and for all.
The idea of returning to his suffocating room at the boarding house while he was riding out such a high did not seem appealing. He needed to celebrate; drinks, cards and a woman or two.
He made his way down the south side of the slope, in the direction of the harbour, and towards his usual boarding house. He passed the black community, a cold comparison of his actual home, and then the newly formed Irish community, who were taking a lot of the labour jobs at the harbour. Past them were to be found the brothels, the slums, and the poor of every colour, crammed together in a squalid perimeter of blocks, a square of Boston where nobody felt at home - except him. Most of the buildings were wooden, with the few brick-built structures looking even more hazardous than their timber counterparts. With one match he could bring this entire community to its knees, and not a soul alive one would miss it; quite the contrary, in fact. But he would never do such a thing; Boston needed this dark corner. He needed it, a stark reminder of the real filthiness of humanity lying beneath the shine of moral society.
He had been hiding in Boston for months, following one Mason and then the other go about their days, obsessing over the tiniest of details, and contemplating various avenues of action. They had thought they were free; they had thought their life was perfect away from Ulverston and the chaos they had left behind. But what would their new friends think if they knew the truth? He had followed Bea on her small trips to the shops, seeing that she had money to spend within their modest income. He could have given her that; all she had now, she would have had with him... what had made Joshua so much more desirable to her? He noticed how happy she looked every time she bent down over the pram. A girl; he had never seen himself fathering a girl before, only a boy, and with a boy he would have known what to do. But a daughter... He had seen her face only a few times, and though she looked almost the miniature of her mother, with barely a trace of his own features visible in her own, he knew Joshua Mason had no right to father his child. When he had sex with Bea, she had been a virgin; he had felt it, and therefore this girl, Grace, well - she had to be his, and only his.
Goldstein had told him of the Christening at one of their meetings at the club. Instantly, he knew it would be the perfect setting to make himself known to them once again. To wait until they had reached their ideal happiness, as the boy ready to claim his child in front of their pitiful community. Only for him to step forward amid their pride and security, and to witness, just for a moment, their fear.
Bea looked like one of them now, but no matter how far she ran, she would always belong to him.
HE DROPPED OFF HIS cold horse in the nearby stables, and covered her in a warm blanket, settling her with a nosebag of fresh straw. His feet sank into a fresh pile of deep snow outside the stables before stepping into the usual grimy slush running down the main street; a mixture of household waste, mud, soot, and cold water. He strutted passed the bodies of a few frozen animals, mostly rats, with the odd dog or cat, all having been unable to find shelter before death set in. Most homes around here were themselves unable to afford wood or coal for their fires. The only surplus was the mouths waiting to be fed, and the only comfort, a few moth-eaten blankets. He passed a couple of men fighting over a discarded wooden crate, with the potential to provide one family with heat for a couple of hours, and possibly a warm meal. After a single punch, the slimmer of the two landed in the freezing sewage water at the edge of the road and stared up at the winner, clutching tight onto his meagre prize. Hanley watched the despair in both faces, as each party dragged themselves in opposite directions off down the street, thinking that although many aspects of rural life were difficult and degrading, at least out in the countryside, families might find enough kindling from fallen trees and sticks to store away for the winter, or burn peat dug out from the fells to keep themselves warm. City living for the poor turned them into the animals, scavenging for scraps whilst mothers watched their children starve. Hanley kept his head down after that and slipped down one of the side alleys. The metropolis for him was a place for visiting, not living; give him a ship or a country house was his kind of home. A dishevelled man approached him as he turned down a dark alleyway, chancing his luck. But the figure stepped back quickly, both arms raised, relinquishing his attempt, when he beheld the identity of his supposed victim. There was a dull flash in the dark as he slipped his knife back into its sheath within his jerkin.
“Afternoon Ranford,” muttered Hanley.
“Ah – yes... Sorry, Captain.” Ranford stood to one side, his head bowed low, allowing Hanley to pass. He still bore the scar on his left forearm from his first and only attempt to part the Captain from his purse.
Hanley could smell the smoke billowing out the various chimneys and welcomed even the thought of heat. The building stood strangely in its surrounds, the only Georgian house amongst the wooden houses built up around it, like a stark stone angel bedded in the dark, makeshift forest. With its six bedrooms and large parlour, Hanley wondered how it came to be here; whether it had once been the house of a gentleman, or if the men on the north slope had built it themselves as a place of refuge, away from their cold, unaccommodating wives. Inside, the house exhibited some of its former glory; the faded bespoke wall paper showing off exotic animals and birds, and the peeling paint around the gilded rose work on the celling, now streaked with sooty lines from the cheap candles constantly burning.
An older lady dressed in a blue silk gown glided towards him from the side room. Her dress hinted at temptation, but she wasn’t for sale. She was in charge. Her painted face gave visitors a glimpse of past beauty, equal to any of her girls twenty years ago.
“Hanley, we have missed you. It disappointed me greatly to receive your note informing us you were staying elsewhere. I thought we had offended you somehow. Tell us, how can we make it up to you?” She stepped forward, close enough so that he could smell her perfume.
“Afternoon Madam. Not at all. Your establishment could never disappoint. I had business in the North slope, but I am returned now, as you see.”
“Excellent! So now, what do you desire? We have a hot table in the back room. A drink in the lounge, and then a bath upstairs? Your usual room is free.”
“A bath to start, then an evening of cards and pleasure. Is Mai available?”
“Of course – and I believe she is, I shall make her aware of your happy arrival.” She smiled before walking down the corridor toward the back rooms as Hanley made his way upstairs.
He sat in front of the fire, his back against the base of the bed. He pulled his sodden shoes off slowly, allowing his feet to dry and the sensation to return to his toes. He watched the flames flicker like a magic lantern, and his mind wandered back once more to the morning’s events. His grin returned as he pictured the
babe in Bea’s arms, kicking out with vitality and strength: his daughter. What would he do with her?
A small knock came at the door as two girls brought in a squat copper bath and placed it in front of the fire. He stood to attention as Mai entered behind them, her silk shift flowing delicately over her body, resting tentatively on her breasts and hips, transparent against the firelight. She muttered something to the girls before they left and closed the door quietly. Then without a word, she placed her arms around his neck and kissed him, awakening his body, and prompting an image of Bea to spring, ghost like, into his head. He wrapped his arms around her waist, the smooth, firm flesh of her buttocks warm beneath his fingers, and instantly gave in to his fantasy.
Chapter 22
“Beth, please could you take Grace upstairs whilst Bea and I talk?” Beth nodded her head and walked over to Bea, who was still holding tight to her sleeping child.
“Bea, dearest... may I take baby? Just for a little while, upstairs?” There was something void in Bea’s eyes; she wasn’t present in the room.
“I... I must protect her. He is out there. He can’t have my baby.” muttered Bea indistinctly.
“I promise to protect her,” Beth whispered in return. “Please?” Beth reached out and eased the sleeping baby out of her sister’s grasp.
Joshua was pacing the still-decorated sitting-room, and Sarah had made her way to the kitchen.
After the service, Hanley was nowhere to be seen, and Joshua had made excuses to their guests. Explaining that Bea wasn’t feeling herself, and they would have to defer their celebrations to another time.
“What is the devil doing back here? I should have killed him when I had the chance. How on earth did he find us?” He continued to pace the length of the room, his tight fists at his sides.
Bea stood in the centre staring at the pattern rug. “I... don’t know...”
“And what was he doing at the Church - that stance, that gesture? Does he... does he want Grace? My child?”
Bea backed away from Joshua’s increasing temper. The world around her was swirling, making her dizzy and disoriented. How? Why? Had she not suffered enough? Her legs gave way as she crumpled to the floor. She hadn’t seen him since the trial, and the moment they told her she would die. It was that smile, the same one that was smeared across his face today. A smile that rejoiced in her pain.
Joshua stopped pacing and watched the life evaporate out of his wife once more.
“Bea? Please...”
She shuddered at his touch and shuffled backwards between the armchair and the wall. She said nothing.
“Bea, come back to me? Bea, I need you... I’ve only just got you back, I can’t lose you again...” Her eyes were closed, battling between being back in her former cell and the person she was now.
“BEA!”
Running footsteps came from the kitchen. “Sir?” Sarah saw him standing in the middle of the room, his back arched, staring into the corner with his clench hands turning white. She took a step to the side and saw Bea hiding by the wall, and knew that image all too well. “Sir, may I?” Sarah took another step towards Joshua, who looked completely bereft.
“Bea it’s Sarah. Can you talk to me? Can you tell me how I might help?”
The wave of emotions built up inside Bea until she couldn’t cope. She opened her mouth and let out a sharp, piercing scream, followed by a wave of silent tears. An act she hadn’t done since the days in the dark, godforsaken cell. An act no one knew about.
Joshua said nothing, but stood there in shock and cried at his wife’s pain.
“Bea?” Sarah gave her no choice and threw her arms around the ball. Bea fought her at first, but as Sarah squeezed harder, she resisted less and less until she was just a sobbing, trembling mess in Sarah’s arms.
They said nothing, because there was nothing to say. Sarah knew that pain. She had witnessed it before, and she had felt it before. The room fell silent as they held each other.
“Sarah, could you – would you mind - some tea?” Joshua whispered.
“I will be back,” Sarah muttered into Bea’s ear.
She shuffled out as Joshua took her place and threw his arms around Bea as another set of emotions hit her at her husband’s touch. They both wept together.
Sarah watched, and it reminded her of her past, the night she had lost everything, and Hercules had placed his arms around her as she had wept, and screamed up to the sky with pain. She sent out a prayer as she made her way back down the stairs, rubbing her arms as though the air was cold.
“I’m sorry, I am so sorry.” Bea’s voice crackled into his wet shirt.
“I love you. There is nothing to be sorry about. This - he - is not your fault.” He tried to lift her head up to him. “Look at me.” She peeled her eyes open. “We are in this together now.”
He kissed her softly. Her body eased.
“I love you... I am so sorry!” She lent her head against his chest, her body vibrating against his as another wave of terror and grief hit her. Knowing the future pain this man can cause.
Chapter 23
Drayton Hall, 1819
JESSIE HAD SPENT THE last month questioning Gabby about the mysterious man of whom she had spoken to, and what exactly he had said, never allowing her far out of her sight. She found out he was in fact another conductor of the underground railroad route, based twenty miles away, but that by day, he worked as a carpenter. Once a month, in a little valley at the intersection of three small neighbouring plantations, most local slaves came together for an evening church service. It was where husbands met wives, fathers, mothers and children, and where future relationships began. The plantation staff allowed it to happen because it brought a sense of peace to their workers, a chance of normality for a few hours, and to be amongst friends and music; this all curbed any small instances of unrest. They would sing their hymns and their workers’ songs together, share skills, and swap stories. Jessie watched, and waited, and made new acquaintances, and one day, her chance came along once more.
“Are you Elijah? Miss Gabby, the lil’ one, from Drayton, told me of your knowin’ a certain road; of your knowin’ a way... to another place?” The man standing alone next to the campfire, tapping his foot to the song being played, had on the green cap Gabby had told her about. She also noticed the strange mark down one side of his face, a mark she had seen plenty of times before, and guessed the hat was there to hide a missing ear.
“She shouldn’ ha’ done that, so she shoul’ not.” He moved away from her.
“I understand. I ‘ave heard of it. A few years past on another plantation. The railroad.” The last part came as a loud whisper.
He paused, looked at her properly for the first time, then back at the fire. “Come child, come o’er here fo’ me.” He reached out and took her hand, leading her away from the music to a nearby tree; far enough away so that any listening birds might not sing songs back to their master.
“I have told no one, and I shall not tell it, never.” She held her hands up as though he were a drunk overseer aiming his gun around, fearful of what he might do.
He stepped closer and yanked her hands down. “What do you mean you ‘ave heard it before?”
“One state over I believe, my husband was- my late husband, they approached him, we...”
“I understand. And you’re still willing, missus?”
“Yes. But, why haven’t you... taken the road?”
“My job is to recruit, child.”
“You stay here, in this place, just to tell others? That don’t make no sense!”
“I will travel that way myself, once it is time, but for now, I keep my head down; do my work, and once a month, I tell someone new, see if they have what it takes.”
“It would mean death for her. She is but an innocent – trust me.” Jessie raised her eyebrows and gave him a knowing look.
“She brought you to me, did she not?”
“It could cost us both dearly.” She shrugged h
er head away from his stare.
“But you missus, you is willin’ to do it again?”
A sudden image of Hercules smiling at her in encouragement made her catch her breath for a moment. “Yes.”
“I wouldn’ do it alone, missus, you be safer in a group.”
“Better if it’s just me – I’m sure, I know it,” she replied in a stern, determined voice.
He held his callused hand out to her. “Meet me back here next month; I’ll have what you need.”
“A month? Can’t you tell me now, sir?” She went to pull him back, but her hand missed his sleeve.
He stopped and leaned back towards her. “I need to speak to another, to take time over it, set up a route for you. Caution, and quiet is best, missus.”
They heard the goodbye song ring out amongst the community groups and knew it was time to leave.
“Under this tree at the next meeting. Your name?”
“Jessie.” He gave her a swift nod before turning back to the congregations, leaving Jessie nursing a dark hope that this time she would outrun them all.
SHE FOLLOWED ELIJAH’S advice and kept her head down, picked the cotton, and lay silent as the master visited her room, ignoring the smell and the damp of his broad frame pressing down on her, and his musk-scented chestnut hair covering her eyes; she had made herself disappear before she had even left. A month passed, and she walked out the door of her hut to the September church service with a firm tread. She waited under the large tree, looking out at the cotton fields, grateful for the shade. The summer heat was bearing down, with no let-up from even the night sky as the dark, sticky heat clung to her skin.
She paced on the spot, listening to one song after the other. Maybe he wasn’t coming, maybe he had betrayed her, or worse; maybe he had been caught. Then she saw the green hat in the distance, accompanied by another man.
