‘It’s no use, Mama.’ Victoria glared at her defiantly. ‘You can burn all the papers you like, but the captain has recorded our marriage in the ship’s log. I am, and always will be, the legal wife of Peter Latham. He’s coming back for me one day, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life at sea with him, sailing the world, seeing the wonders—’
‘Noooooo!’ Lady Mary’s screams reached a pitch that brought the butler and a footman bursting into the room in time to see their mistress swing her hand and strike Miss Victoria hard across her face.
‘Get out of my sight, you wanton! Get out!’
The heavy blow threw Victoria off-balance and sent her stumbling backwards. She was forced to grasp the edge of a table to stop herself from falling when her father stepped aside and turned his back to her. His rejection hurt even more than her mother’s blow had done.
‘Papa, please, please don’t do this to me! Hear what I have to tell you. You’ve always listened to me!’ But he remained slumped in his chair with his chin on his chest and his shoulders shaking.
The startled servants rushed forward in time to support Lady Mary as her legs began to buckle.
Victoria stiffened her spine and clutched the remnants of her dignity as she walked silently from the room, trying to ignore the stinging pain in her cheek, as well as the pain in her heart.
Her night was filled with a sense of unreality. How could her life have been turned so completely upside down within the space of half an hour? When she closed her eyes, the appalling scene with her parents in the drawing room triggered old images of the day that she and her sisters had been travelling with their governess in a carriage which broke a wheel and overturned on a country lane. She recalled the terrifying feeling of helplessness as the vehicle tipped further and further, throwing them all around the interior, together with baskets, boxes, rugs and books.
They’d been frightened and bruised, but they’d scrambled from the upturned vehicle and, after sitting by the roadside for a few hours, the wheel had been replaced and they were on their way again.
She saw a moral in there somewhere. Life as she’d know it had just be turned upside down, but before the next day dawned, she’d reached a decision about how to set it back on course while she waited for the Fortitude’s return.
She packed a portmanteau, left a forwarding address with the footman and caught the first train to Somerset. Emily and Martin were away on their honeymoon, but Victoria knew that they’d offer her refuge at Cloudhill while she waited for Peter to come back.
CHAPTER FIVE
When the door of Cloudhill was opened to Victoria’s knock, the butler’s long face broke into a smile. ‘Why, Miss Shelford, how good of you to come so soon! Mrs Frost is airing your room at this very moment.’ His glance quickly slid away from the bruise left by her mother’s blow on her cheek last night.
The man’s greeting puzzled her. She’d sent no message to inform Martin’s household of her uninvited arrival, but at the sound of voices in the hall, Mrs Frost, the housekeeper, came hurrying down the stairs with a welcoming smile.
‘Ah, Miss Shelford. I’m sure the mistress will be delighted to find her sister already here when she arrives.’ She too, seemed careful not to stare at the bruise.
Victoria strained to make sense of whatever was happening. ‘I understood that Mr and Mrs Clifford were not due back from Italy for another month or so.’
Mrs Frost nodded. ‘Yes, of course, but the honeymoon has had to be cut short because travelling becomes such a misery at a time like this, doesn’t it? My own poor daughter suffered the same sickness – morning, noon and night – when her first baby was on the way. Mr Clifford and the mistress are expected back any day now, and the master informed us that he was about to write and ask if you’d be able to come to be with Mrs Clifford. It’s extremely kind of you to arrive early.’
Emily! Victoria’s heart melted at the thought of little Emmie becoming a mother.
‘Perhaps, Miss Shelford, you would like to be shown to your room and—’
Victoria interrupted. ‘Mrs Frost, I must tell you that I’m no longer Miss Shelford. I was married a month before my sister and Mr Clifford, though ours was a very small wedding.’ She pulled off her glove to show the ring. ‘I am now Mrs Peter Latham, and my husband is abroad on business – maritime business.’
The housekeeper expressed her delight at the news, and so did Emily and Martin when they arrived home three days later and heard the full story of her time in Devon. ‘I knew that neither Mama nor Papa would be delighted to hear that I’d lost my heart to Peter Latham, but—’ She heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Well, Mama has destroyed my marriage certificate, but I absolutely refuse to let her destroy my marriage.’
‘Oh, Vicky, dearest,’ Emily said weakly, as she settled back on her pillow following another bout of nausea, ‘your Peter sounds perfectly wonderful, and how romantic to think that you’ll be sailing away beside him one day. Yes, I know you’re going to be so happy. As happy as I am.’
‘Yes, I will – some day.’ But for the time being, Victoria was glad to settle into a routine that revolved around Emily’s care and comfort. The doctor confirmed that the baby was progressing well, but no matter what was tried, nothing seemed to relieve her bouts of sickness. Whenever her strength permitted it, Emily asked to be taken to the greenhouse to be with Martin while he tended his plants, and Victoria soon found herself making most of the day to day domestic decisions at Cloudhill.
‘I hope I’m not seen to be interfering in your excellent management, Mrs Frost,’ she said, after she’d signed the monthly household accounts and checked the kitchen orders. Tomorrow morning she was to interview a local girl for the position of parlour maid. ‘I’m sure it won’t be long before my sister is well enough to take on her duties of mistress of this house.’
Sporadic correspondence arrived at Cloudhill from Caroline and Hedley in America, amusing letters describing how the couple were unashamedly playing their British aristocrat roles to the hilt and being entertained in high style everywhere they went.
Hedley and I have concocted various little English scenes which are very popular when we perform them at house parties. It’s hilarious to give the impression that we attend court regularly, and then to observe the enthusiasm of our republican hosts as they watch us demonstrate the correct protocol to be followed when meeting the Queen.
My dears, you would die laughing if you could see them practising how to bow and curtsy without wobbling.
Christmas arrived, and with Emily still unwell, it was Victoria who took on the role of hostess when the usual collection of Clifford aunts, uncles and cousins of all ages descended on the great house for the family’s traditional Yuletide celebrations.
It was a busy time for the household, but as long as the kitchen staff kept up a supply of splendid food, the relatives were perfectly able to organize their own entertainment. Victoria found them a pleasant, easy-going group who were happy to play charades, billiards and cards, or sing popular songs around the piano. They went for long walks and danced in the evening, and sat for hours drinking tea by the fire while they exchanged an endless supply of family gossip.
Emily came downstairs to join the company whenever she felt sufficiently well, and she was fussed over by them all.
As Victoria stood on the steps and said farewell to the Clifford relatives, she thought that this had probably been the jolliest Christmas she’d ever spent. No commotions, no formality.
‘Emmie, have you heard from Mama and Papa?’
Emily shot a glance towards Martin. He frowned. ‘Victoria, I invited your parents to join us here, but they declined. They’ve leased the house in Hanover Square to some family from York, and are taking a villa in the south of France. Permanently.’
Victoria’s happiness soared when mail from Peter began to arrive – first, a bundle of letters that he’d posted from Cape Town. He reported that he and his uncle were in the best of health, the Fortitude was sa
iling splendidly, and a later he was able to describe the splendid trading opportunities they were discovering in Burma, Siam and Java. Perhaps her happiest moment came when he confirmed that he had collected all her letters that were waiting for him at the British Consulate in Singapore.
My dearest, when I held them in my hands, I could almost imagine that it was you I was holding. And, yes, of course I took them to bed with me – not that they could ever truly replace the joy we shared. By the way, you’ll be delighted to hear that the carpenter has already widened the bunk and it’s waiting for you – for us, my darling Vicky.
In May, Victoria wrote to him with the news that Emily had produced a healthy baby boy and named him Tobias: Emily and Martin are happy for me to make my home here with them until that wonderful day when you come back and take me on board the Fortitude. That’s where I truly belong.
It wasn’t long before Emily began to feel unwell again and the doctor confirmed that there was another baby on the way. ‘Vicky, I’m so glad to have you here with me still. What would I do without you?’ she said, placing Toby in her arms. At six months he was a happy, alert little fellow who sat gurgling contentedly on her lap and tugging at her necklace.
‘Well now, Master Toby,’ Victoria said, trying to distract him for a moment while she released his grasp, ‘you and I have much to talk about because Christmas is fast approaching and the puddings are hanging in the pantry. Your dear mama has asked me to arrange the festivities here again, so we’ll decorate the house with holly, have the piano tuned, and ask cook how many geese we need to prepare. Oh, little one, I wonder where your Uncle Peter and the captain will spend their Christmas this year?’ She hugged him tightly and spun in a circle. ‘Soon they’ll be sailing back to England! Soon, soon, very soon you’ll meet your Uncle Peter.’
She sat down at the kitchen table with Mrs Dobson, the cook, to discuss menus for the guests. Where will I spend Christmas next year? she asked herself and went upstairs to checked the visitors’ bedrooms, and then down again to talk to the staff who were rearranging chairs in the drawing room and setting out extra card tables. Will I be aboard the Fortitude next year, sailing across some great blue ocean? Will we be eating bananas and coconuts on a white beach beside a coral lagoon?
With Emily’s wretched sickness sometimes confining her upstairs for days, it was Victoria who again took on the role of mistress of the house, greeting the relatives, allocating bedrooms, arranging the seating at dinner.
Martin never failed to kiss her cheek and thank her at the end of each day. ‘I don’t know how we’d have managed without you, my dear sister.’
It wasn’t a burdensome job; in fact, she enjoyed it. But nevertheless, she was bone weary by the time the last party had been waved off and the staff began the task of restoring order in the old house. She was on her way upstairs to gossip with Emily when a footman hurried after her. ‘A letter just come by special delivery for you, ma’am.’
She frowned at the handwriting on the envelope and continued to walk slowly upstairs as she ripped it open. At first it was impossible to comprehend the words on the paper, written by a shaking hand and signed Henry Latham. Her eyes skimmed the pages again in disbelief. No! This had to be some mistake; it could not be true. It couldn’t be! Peter could not have become so ill that he died out there in the Indies. So suddenly! So far away.
The pain inside her was beyond tears and she was suddenly swamped by a huge, cold and angry emptiness. Her heart thudded and she gasped for breath. Why was the captain telling her that Peter had been stricken with a tropical fever in the Celebes, just when she had begun to count the weeks till they’d be reunited? Peter had said that he’d soon be on his way back to her. Of course he was sailing back for her. She was waiting for him, wasn’t she? He’d promised that he would come back.
Her whole body began to tremble and she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe as she burst into Emily’s room to stand panting at the foot of the bed, ashen-faced.
‘Oh, Vicky, what is it?’ Emily threw off her covers and held out her arms.
Victoria rushed into her sister’s embrace while a silent scream of agony caught in her throat. She felt her heart shatter as her world was tipped off its axis. Oh, Peter! My Peter! No, no, no! Don’t leave me. You promised to come back for me and I promised to wait for you. I am waiting, see? I will always be waiting. Peter, come back, please come back.
‘Poor Victoria – Ah! To be widowed so young.’
‘Poor Victoria, such a tragedy. But just look how bravely she’s holding up,’ the neighbours and relatives whispered to each other when they called at Cloudhill to offer their condolences.
Each morning she woke with the feeling that she’d been hollowed out in one vicious scoop by some malevolent force. While in company she resolutely hid behind a mask of calm civility to cover the rage of grief tearing at her insides night and day. She endured the platitudes delivered by well-meaning people who called in a seemingly never-ending stream and referred to her constantly as poor Victoria. She cringed inwardly, but sent the good people away with the impression that poor Victoria was bearing up to her loss remarkably well.
No one was aware of the nightly dreams in which Peter called to her with an urgency that left her in tears when she woke. Neither did they notice how her breath caught and she tensed with anticipation whenever footsteps were heard approaching the house, or a shadow appeared on a wall. Twice she’d called for the carriage to stop when she thought she’d glimpsed him amongst the crowd of shoppers at the markets in Wells. Her head told her that it could never be Peter returning, but her heart refused to abandon hope.
‘I doubt that poor Victoria will remain a widow for long once she comes out of mourning,’ the ladies said over their teacups, whenever they tallied the names of eligible gentlemen who began calling at Cloudhill.
But Emily and Martin sensed the depth of her grief when they saw her setting out for long, solitary walks into the countryside, or spending her days in a whirlwind of unimportant domestic activities. Toby occupied hours of Victoria’s time, too, as she played with him on the nursery floor or took him out into the garden on a sunny day.
She maintained a correspondence with Captain Latham, but he spoke of no plans to sail back to England yet as he’d found a lucrative market in San Francisco. His first letter only hinted at the grief torturing him when he described Peter’s sudden illness and his burial three days later on a remote island in the Java Sea.
I am devastated that when the fever struck I was helpless to save him, even though he was dosed with every drop of quinine we had on the ship. When he knew that he was dying he instructed me to write his Will, and asked for all your letters to be placed with him in his grave. The last words he spoke were of you.
When she was alone, Victoria sobbed her loneliness and heartbreak until she could cry no more. In company she continued with the pretence that her pain was easing.
Emily’s confinement came on the September day that was expected, and another baby boy, Harry, was delivered safely into the Clifford family. Amidst the joy and congratulations, Victoria put aside the letter from London which had come that morning, and it wasn’t until Emily had been comfortably settled for the night and baby Harry was feeding, that she went to her room to open it.
The contents left her puzzled. It came from Mr Horace Bartley-Symes, a solicitor of Oxford Street, stating that he had been given the honour of handling the Last Will and Testament of her late husband, Captain Peter Latham, and that she, Victoria Latham née Shelford, had been named as sole beneficiary of her husband’s estate. This comprised a half-ownership of the barque Fortitude, as well as the late Peter Latham’s share of the profits accrued in recent business enterprises, namely £9367. Would Mrs Latham, at her earliest convenience, be so good as to notify the lawyer how she wished to receive her bequest?
‘Oh, Martin! I can’t possibly claim half the ship. The Fortitude belongs to Uncle Henry and I don’t feel I have the right.’
/> ‘Vicky, m’dear, Captain Latham is quite aware of your husband’s bequest. He was the one to write the will for Peter, remember?’ He lay a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘Your husband has made you a wealthy lady, and in leaving you his share of the ship, he’s made sure that your fortune is going to increase. My recommendation would be to invest your inheritance in the Fortitude’s future ventures.’
But Peter’s money could never fill the emptiness in her heart. For that to happen she needed to find some purpose in life. But where should she turn when she left Cloudhill? Even though Emily and Martin had made it abundantly clear that they considered her to be part of their family and urged her to stay, Victoria felt a growing restlessness. She needed to find a path of her own. But where did it lie?
Caroline and Hedley remained in America and their letters invariably raised laughter around the family table.
Darlings, you’ll never guess what Hedley and I are doing now! We have become actors – professional thespians, no less. A gentleman who saw us putting on one of our funny little scenes at a party in Philadelphia, has written a wonderfully romantic play for us, and we are now performing it in a theatre here in San Francisco. We even sing and dance on the stage. The newspapers are saying the most flattering things about us and money is simply rolling into our pockets! Now we’ve been booked for a season in Boston, and perhaps New York after that.
Vicky, darling, why don’t you come over and spend some time with us?
She thought about it for weeks. Was Caroline’s invitation the lifeline that she was looking for? Was sailing across the Atlantic to a new country the direction she should consider taking?
Echoes of a Promise Page 6
