Colonial Daughter

by Heather Garside

  ‘Well!’ Mrs Ashford surveyed her daughter. ‘I found it hard to credit Charles with the truth at first, but I can scarcely disbelieve the evidence of my own eyes! How many people have seen you in this disgusting condition?’

  Louise flinched. ‘Only Mrs Souther, the companion Charles engaged for me, and the stewardess who came to my cabin aboard ship. And the doctor, of course. I was careful to keep my cloak wrapped about me whenever I had to appear in public.’ She heard the defensive note in her own voice and despised herself for it, so added derisively, ‘So with any luck you may yet be able to keep this dark family secret. The Ashford skeleton in the closet, no less!’

  Her sarcasm did nothing to improve Mrs Ashford’s humour. ‘Louise, did it ever occur to that rebellious head of yours that being allowed to stay behind in the colonies was a privilege? Did it ever occur to you that perhaps you shouldn’t have abused that privilege? No, I suppose not,’ she continued when Louise made no reply. ‘But having put Charles and the Barclay family through a great deal of anxiety and inconvenience–to say nothing of us, when we finally heard from Charles–and having found a responsible position with a hopefully respectable family, need you then have acted like a woman of the streets? Charles says your lover was a humble selector of convict stock! An Irish Catholic, no less! One could be forgiven for thinking you were deliberately trying to hurt us and dishonour the family name!’

  Her words were meant to sting and sting they did. Louise was mature enough now to see the truth of them and to appreciate her mother’s point of view. Yet it was Mrs Ashford’s contemptuous dismissal of Lloyd that fired her anger.

  ‘No, I wasn’t deliberately trying to hurt anyone,’ she retorted through set teeth. ‘I merely fell in love with a man who is honest and decent and loving in spite of his origins. If Charles had let me alone we would be married now and my baby would have a father and a name. That is all I have to say for myself.’

  ‘It won’t be enough to satisfy your father, young lady! He was too angry tonight to even think of seeing you. You say this man was decent, but your relationship obviously went beyond decency. You may be thankful if your father ever forgives you.’

  ‘His forgiveness or otherwise is a matter of complete indifference to me. Now if you please I wish to retire to bed.’

  ‘I wish instead you would learn some respect,’ Mrs Ashford snapped. ‘How a daughter of mine could grow into such a tramp I shall never understand! You look a disgrace–where on earth did you get that terrible gown? At least you used not to be a sloven. You look as if you haven’t been eating properly–but if the baby is sickly and doesn’t survive it will be a good thing. Now, don’t answer me back; I’m tired of your impertinence. Your father will be up to see you in the morning.’

  With that she left, closing the door none too gently behind her. It was an indication of her state of mind, for normally any lapses in good manners were unknown to Mrs Ashford. Louise guessed that the shame of her predicament was hitting hard at her mother’s pride. She supposed she should feel sympathy for her, but the callous reference to the baby’s health made that impossible.

  The interview with her father in the morning was no better. Her hands were already shaking when she opened the door to him. He was the same as ever, large, grey-haired and swarthy with the tan of Queensland summers that so far the English climate hadn’t managed to fade. He looked angry and forbidding, his expression hardening even further as he took in her appearance.

  ‘I have very little to say to you, Louise,’ he stated grimly. ‘But I would like to make two things clear. First, that the only two members of the household who are to know of your condition will be Mrs Evans, the housekeeper and Brown, your mother’s maid. Mrs Evans will bring you your meals and Brown will attend to your clothes and any other personal needs. You will remain in your room except for occasions when it can be arranged for you to walk in the grounds without being seen. The remainder of the household will be told and must believe that you are ill.

  ‘Secondly, you must know what is to be done with the infant. The coachman and his wife have no children. If they show interest in adopting a child, it can be arranged without them knowing whose it is. Jones is a trustworthy fellow and would keep his silence even if he suspected. The child could grow up as the Jones’s own and need never know differently. Hopefully it will be born before Christmas so you are free to join the family festivities. Then at Easter we will go to London for the Season and you and Caroline will be presented.’

  Louise laughed bitterly. ‘I’m to be presented? Dressed in purest white to make my curtsy to Royalty? What a sham!’

  ‘You will do as you are told,’ Harry Ashford snapped. ‘Think yourself lucky we’re doing this much for you, for I can assure you that you don’t deserve even the roof above your head! I should have laid my whip about your sides when you were younger, instead of leaving you to the discipline of that foolish governess. If you make any sort of marriage at all you should be thankful. And stay away from Caroline, do you hear? The less she knows of this the better.’

  Louise didn’t answer and he glared at her in silence before turning on his heel and leaving the room. Louise flung herself across the bed, raging silently.

  ‘Oh God, I hate him. I hate him. They shan’t take my baby away from me!’

  But in her heart she knew they would and even that it was the only solution.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the next day Louise was stricken with a severe head cold. Charles, who had visited her briefly the previous day, stayed away and she saw only Brown and Mrs Evans, the maid and housekeeper who had been assigned to look after her.

  When her health improved she asked Mrs Evans to obtain some cambric and lace so she could fill the tedious hours by sewing for her child. If this was the only thing she would be able to do for the poor little mite, at least he or she wouldn’t be foisted onto the world without a wardrobe. It gave her a sense of purpose into the bargain. She stitched until her fingers were sore and her eyes smarted, but she was very proud of the resulting, beautiful collection of gowns and bonnets.

  She didn’t see her sister Caroline for two weeks. Finally she encountered her one day when returning from her walk in the grounds via the little-used back stairway.

  Louise, her pregnancy disguised by the cloak, paused and looked at her startled sister without speaking. Caroline would now be almost seventeen. She was both the fairest in complexion and the smallest of the three siblings, resembling their mother rather than the Ashfords. Her soft brown hair and wide-eyed, pink-skinned prettiness would win her many admirers when she made her come-out next season. She was plumper than Louise, with a softer, rounded figure. Louise begrudged her that.

  ‘Louise...’ Caroline hesitated and then spoke with a rush, her words tumbling over one another. ‘I would have come to see you, but Mama said not to since you were ill and she thought it might be contagious. Are you feeling better now?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Louise’s tone was dry. ‘It seems a long time since I saw you last. Quite grown up, aren’t you?’

  ‘Mama is presenting me next season, as I suppose you know. I can hardly wait. Mama says you will be making your come-out, too.’

  They spoke of trivialities for a few moments before Louise pleaded exhaustion and made her escape. Caroline was obviously ignorant of her situation and she wondered if her sister would be gullible enough to swallow her mother’s excuses for keeping them apart for the next two months. Probably; she was a simple-minded, obedient girl, nothing like her brother and sister.

  ~*~

  One cold, frosty night in early December, Louise went into labour. She was attended by a doctor from Exeter, a taciturn bachelor who Harry Ashford knew and trusted. Louise found herself in a terrifying world of fierce contractions, seeming to merge into each other until there was no respite. She hadn’t known it was possible to endure such pain. The doctor refused to administer chloroform, even though Queen Victoria had made the use it of fashionable.
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br />   ‘God intended women to suffer in childbirth,’ he said. ‘Why should you be the exception, young lady?’

  When at last it was over and Louise heard the infant’s cry, she was trembling with exhaustion. Somehow she mustered the strength to query its sex and Mrs Evans, who was aiding the doctor, smiled at her compassionately.

  ‘It’s a boy and a fine, healthy lad at that. It’s surprising, Miss, considering how poorly you’ve been much of the time.’

  Louise lapsed against the pillows and after a moment whispered, ‘Can I see him, please?’

  The housekeeper looked at her doubtfully. ‘I don’t know that it’s for the best, Miss.’

  ‘Please! I must see him.’

  Mrs Evans reluctantly carried the little, blanket-wrapped bundle to the bed and laid him beside her on the pillows. The infant’s face was red and wrinkled, his head covered in a shock of dark-coloured hair. Louise could detect no likeness to either his father or herself in his tiny, unformed features. Opening the blanket, she assured herself of his perfection and that he was indeed male.

  ‘Are they usually so small and wrinkled?’

  ‘Why, aye, Miss.’ The woman sounded surprised. ‘He’s a fine-looking little chap and a lusty set of lungs he’s got, too. I’ll take him away now so you can get your rest. It’s better so. We can’t have you getting attached to him.’

  Louise was too exhausted to protest. She dropped off to sleep, awakening at last to find Brown sitting beside her bed, mending a torn stocking. The maid declined to bring the baby to her and when Mrs Evans was summoned, she also refused to yield.

  ‘We’ve had our orders, Miss Ashford. You’re only torturing yourself. You couldn’t possibly keep him, you know. This is the best way for everyone. We’ll be taking him away tonight to a wet-nurse in the next village. He’ll stay there until a home’s found for him.’

  Louise berated them, but to no avail. They left her sobbing in her pillow, desolate and bereft, her arms aching to hold that tiny bundle. The focus of her emotions had changed. Her yearning for Lloyd was quite overtaken by this fierce, unfulfilled desire to hold and suckle Lloyd’s child.

  It was even worse when her milk came in on the third day. Mrs Evans bound her breasts, yet the pain was excruciating. She became feverish and at one stage hoped she might die and so find an escape from her suffering. It was only milk fever, Mrs Evans told her, dosing her with a herbal infusion. The medicine relieved her symptoms and at last her body seemed to comprehend that there was no infant to nourish. As her milk dried up the swelling and pain in her breasts began to ease. Her torn body was also healing, but the depression didn’t leave her.

  She kept asking the housekeeper about the child, but the woman could only tell her that, the night after his birth, Charles had driven herself and the baby in the landau to the next village. The wet-nurse with whom he’d been left was a woman whose good character had been recommended.

  ‘He’s safe there and well-looked-after. Never you fret now. You must be after putting this behind you.’

  And then Mrs Ashford came to see her.

  ‘We decided you should know what is to be done with the child,’ her mother informed her briskly. ‘Your father mentioned his hope that Jones, the head coachman, would agree to take him. Jones and his wife are childless and although they are now middle-aged they are delighted with the scheme. Your father has told them the child was born to a cousin from Somerset. There is no need for them to know the truth. However they will give out the story that the mother was a niece of Mrs Jones, who died during childbirth. The Joneses are kindly people who will care for the child just as they ought. You need have no fears on that score.’

  Louise merely nodded and turned away. She was seated on a chair by the window, a robe over her nightgown. It was her first day out of bed and she knew she looked dreadful, her eyes circled with dark shadows. At least once she began to go about in the normal way, her appearance would lend credence to the story that she was recovering from an illness which had confined her to her bed for the last three months.

  ‘I assume you will shortly be fit to leave your room. You may do so openly now, of course, but you must create the impression that you are convalescing. You need not come down to meals for a week or so yet. We must be careful that your recovery doesn’t appear to coincide too closely with the infant’s arrival at the Joneses’, or people may put two and two together.’

  Mrs Ashford’s tone was coldly unemotional. Louise said, ‘Yes, Mama,’ and resumed her contemplation of the scene outside her window. She thought she would almost prefer her father’s anger to her mother’s lack of warmth, but Harry Ashford hadn’t been to see her since that first time.

  Charles had visited her twice since the birth. In her desolation she’d reached out to him, the only member of her family whom she held in any degree of affection. Her brother’s casual, shallow attentions and the kindly concern of Mrs Evans were all she had to sustain her.

  As the weeks went by Louise’s physical health improved, but she continued to be depressed and lethargic. In keeping with her “convalescence”, she began to assume the normal life of a young English lady living in the country. The approach of Christmas had Caroline and her mother decorating a huge tree and directing the servants to hang holly and mistletoe. A light snowfall made the manor and the village look like the pretty Christmas cards they had used to send people back home, incongruously, while heat shimmered the brown paddocks of Central Queensland. Christmas dinner was more appropriate to the climate than it had ever been at Banyandah; the sweet mince pies, the roasted goose and joint of beef and the heavy, rich plum pudding with brandy sauce were a welcome defense against the cold. Louise participated in it all but her mind and heart were with a man far away in Australia and a baby close by in the coachman’s cottage.

  Louise made her first public appearance on Christmas morning, accompanying her family to the village church. She endured the curious, yet friendly stares of the villagers and her father’s tenant farmers, conscious of her own and her family’s hypocrisy as they piously sang carols and offered praise to the Lord. She was no longer an unthinking girl just out of school and she realised as never before that not one of the Ashfords in reality practised the Christian faith.

  They had been joined by Mrs Ashford’s brother, his wife and two daughters for the Christmas season. Louise was not in a convivial mood. Her cousins obviously thought her a little odd, the outcome, no doubt, of living all her life in the colonies. Charles behaved in his usual selfish manner, charming them and ignoring them in turn, according to his whim. Caroline, whom they already knew, was the only one with whom they seemed at ease.

  It was a relief for Louise when the festivities were over and the visitors left. Now that she was sufficiently healed she took comfort in the stables, riding every morning when the weather permitted. Sometimes she was accompanied by Charles and Caroline, but more often she rode alone when Charles was otherwise engaged and Caroline wasn’t inclined to brave the cold. Yet she was never completely alone, for a groom would be expected to accompany her. Young ladies didn’t go about anywhere in England without a chaperone of some sort.

  In the afternoons she was expected to rest for two or three hours, reading, writing letters and playing the piano. This was the worst part of the day, when boredom overtook her and allowed her too much time for reflection. It was better when she retired to her bedroom to begin the critical business of dressing for dinner. Then Jane, the cheerful maid who had been assigned to her, would chat and laugh with her as she laced her corset and arranged her hair.

  Dinner itself was always stiff and formal, as relations with her parents were strained. Her father ignored her completely and her mother was coldly distant. Only Charles was able to keep the conversation flowing, but he was seldom present and Caroline seemed to have nothing of importance to say. Louise applied herself to enjoying the rich, plentiful food, the like of which she’d never seen before, even at Banyandah.

  ~*~


  It wasn’t only the horses that drew her to the stables. There was also her desire to know Jones, the coachman. To her relief she found him to be a gentle, friendly man, patient with the horses he obviously loved and admired by the grooms and stable boy in his command. Jones was particularly courteous towards her and she wondered if he’d guessed she was the mother of the child he and his wife had fostered. Louise knew she must never mention the infant, but it tormented her to have her babe so close, yet so inaccessible to her.

  She had yet to meet Mrs Jones, although she’d seen her at a distance, working in the garden of the little thatched cottage where she and her husband lived. Mrs Evans had described her as a kindly soul and Louise wanted very much to believe that, knowing the welfare of her son was in her hands.

  ‘They’re having him christened at the village church next Sunday,’ Mrs Evans told her. ‘Matthew Stephen, they’re calling him. They’re naming him for Mrs Jones’s grandfather, or so she told me.’

  ‘And what are the gossips saying?’

  Mrs Evans chuckled. ‘She’s a wily one, is Mrs Jones. She’s not mentioning the baby’s father, so they’re all putting two and two together and guessing her poor dead niece was an unmarried mother. That’s enough scandal to keep them happy and they’re not looking further than that.’

  Certainly not to the occupants of the Manor, who managed to absent themselves in Exeter at the time of the christening.

  ~*~

  It snowed in earnest after Christmas, after a week of heavy frosts that set the ground hard underfoot. The weather kept all but the farm workers indoors, heavily clothed against the cold winds that penetrated the draughty corridors of the old house. The snow was enough of a novelty to Louise to intrigue her at first. She stirred herself to make a snowman with Caroline and they even threw a few snowballs at each other, but she quickly lost interest. Once the novelty of looking at the pristine landscape wore off she grew restless at the enforced inactivity. Having contracted another of her head colds, she spent much of the time rugged up in the chair beside her bedroom window with a book, snuffling and sneezing, while a fire crackled in the grate and roared up the chimney.