A Mother's Choice

by Val Wood

  ‘So – what!’ Aaron leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘She’s not dead, is she? Not that young lass?’

  ‘No, no, she’s not. Some lad …’ She faltered. ‘Some lad took advantage of her, and … well, she got caught wi’ a child.’ She gazed straight at Aaron. ‘And when her ma and da found out she was expecting, they told her to leave; turned her out of their house.’ Peggy’s voice caught in her throat and cracked. ‘She called here one day; she must have wanted to talk to Jenny but she wasn’t here. It was during ’time she was studying in Hull.’

  Peggy took a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and wiped her eyes, and was about to continue when the hall door burst open and Molly rushed in brandishing a book.

  ‘I can read,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Will you listen to me?’ and without waiting for an answer she sat cross-legged on the floor, her skirt up to her knees and her drawers showing, and proceeded to read, slowly and laboriously, and Aaron and Peggy listened patiently until she got to the bottom of the page.

  ‘Well done, Molly,’ Aaron said kindly. ‘Can you learn ’next page?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Robin’s going to teach me.’ She got up and went back into the parlour, carefully closing the door behind her.

  ‘So where did she go?’ Aaron asked, continuing their conversation.

  Peggy shook her head. ‘I don’t know. But she had a son and that young son is now in ’parlour teaching our Molly to read.’

  Aaron got up from his chair and gazed down at the top of Peggy’s head. ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘Not long,’ she murmured. ‘When our Jenny came home last time and took Robin into Hull, do you remember? She said she was going to give him a present. She must have met Dorothy somehow or other and I don’t know all ’ins and outs of it, cos there never seems time to talk when she comes.’

  She looked up at him. ‘But Jenny told me that day when they came back from Hull that he was Dorothy’s child and that she, Dorothy, was at her wits’ end trying to find work and bring him up. Jenny was about to tell me more when you and Jack came in and she clammed up. She asked me to keep it secret for ’time being.’

  Aaron sat down again. ‘So ’Deakins don’t know owt about her or her bairn being in ’district?’

  Again Peggy shook her head. ‘No, and neither does she want them to know.’

  Aaron muttered beneath his breath. He didn’t often swear but she knew he was swearing now.

  ‘What would you like to do?’ she asked.

  He looked at her. ‘What do you mean, what would I like to do?’

  ‘I mean, does it make a difference as to how you feel about him being here with us?’

  Aaron contemplated her but seemingly without comprehending her words. Then he said, ‘Well, where else would he go? You’re not suggesting we tek him down ’track and leave him wi’ – with …’ words seemed to fail him before he stuttered, ‘that blackguard that we call a neighbour – or his wretch of a wife? No,’ he said fiercely. ‘He’ll stop here where we can keep him safe.’

  Which was exactly what Peggy expected him to say, but she still heaved a silent breath of relief now that she had told him.

  He sat staring into the fire, only lifting his head now and again to look at her, before saying softly, ‘So where’ve they been for ’last ten years? How has she managed? What kind o’ work has she been doing? Little lad’s been well brought up; good manners, polite. She’s done a good job on him – but has she had a man in her life to help her?’ His forehead creased worriedly. ‘Women can go to ’bad when they’ve been left in such a situation.’

  ‘They can, that’s true,’ Peggy admitted, ‘But I honestly don’t know, Aaron. I’m hoping that when Jenny comes again she’ll be able to tell us. If you’ll agree I’d like to invite her here to see us so we can talk things over.’

  ‘Invite …? You mean ’lad’s mother? Dorothy?’

  The door opened again. ‘Sorry for disturbing you,’ Robin apologized. ‘Is it all right to get some logs from the basket? The fire’s burning very low.’

  ‘Aye, yes, course it is.’ Aaron half rose from his chair.

  ‘It’s all right, Aaron, I can get them.’ Robin gave a merry grin and lowered his voice. ‘Molly’s doing very well with her reading, but I think she’s just remembering a lot of the words. She might have forgotten some of them by tomorrow.’

  Aaron nodded and watched him go into the scullery and come back with several logs in his arms. ‘Mebbe you’d mek a teacher when you’re grown?’ he suggested.

  ‘I think I’d rather be a fisherman.’ Robin paused, and then said seriously, ‘I used to think I’d like to be an actor, but I loved it out on the estuary this morning. I suppose I’ll know for sure when I’ve been out in rough weather.’

  When he’d gone back into the parlour, Aaron scratched his beard. ‘I’ll tell you what, Mother,’ he murmured. ‘No matter that I’ll never forgive that rogue Deakin for what he’s done, I’ll say this much: he’s a good sailor and fisherman, allus was and still is, and you can be sure that when he teks out a sailboat he’ll bring it safe home.’

  ‘What ’you on about, Aaron?’

  ‘Why, Deakin o’ course.’ He spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. ‘And that’s where ’lad gets it from. This morning I took him almost to ’mouth of ’Humber and although ’tide was strong he nivver turned a hair. Sailing or fishing, it’s in his blood. That’s for sure.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Giles said as he and Delia walked back to their lodgings after a show. They had left the theatre earlier than the other performers; Delia had no need to stay for a final bow and Giles had quickly put on his hat, coat and gloves. They had left by the stage door and were heading down Paragon Street before the audience came out.

  As it was almost midnight they avoided the darkened Princes Dock and passing by William Wilberforce’s towering monument crossed over Junction Bridge into Whitefriargate, where the shops were in darkness and the only light came from the flickering gas of the street lamps. It was quiet, save for the rattle of a brougham’s wheels as it passed on the cobbled street and the muffled ribald laughter coming from a nearby hostelry.

  Delia admitted that she was tired. But that wasn’t the sole reason why she was quiet. She had been pondering for a few days on what Jenny had said about her owning up about Robin and even confronting Jack. It seemed to Delia that Jenny was furious with her brother over his youthful behaviour and thought that his whole manner had been and still was despicable; it was as if she couldn’t wait to challenge and punish him on Delia’s behalf.

  ‘It will ruin his marriage,’ Delia had said to her. ‘His wife won’t ever forgive him if she learns what happened, and …’ She had hesitated. She always evaded arguments – perhaps because in times past she had expected a physical blow if she was too plain-speaking – and tended to step away from any confrontation. ‘I have Robin to think of.’

  And that was the root of the matter. She had seen for herself what a difference a settled existence had made to Robin; he had made friends and he seemed happy and that was what she wanted above all else. She didn’t want to disturb him, even though it broke her heart to be away from him. But the thought that she had abandoned him to the care of others worried her. That wasn’t what a good mother did. And if Jack Robinson should be told that his unknowingly begotten son was living in such close proximity, would he turn against him or even deny him?

  ‘You’re thinking about your son?’ Giles murmured as they turned towards Church Street and the chimes of midnight began to ring out.

  ‘I am,’ she admitted. ‘I want to see him. I want to be with him.’ Without any prior warning the situation suddenly became too much and she began to sob. ‘What kind of mother am I – what kind of mother can leave her child with someone else?’

  Giles took her arm and tucked it under his. ‘One who had reached rock bottom, perhaps, and couldn’t see a way forward? What would have happen
ed to him, or indeed either of you, if you hadn’t done what you did?’

  Delia fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief and Giles handed her a clean one of his own; she could smell the slight fragrance of eau de Cologne and realized it was the one he used when resting his chin on his violin during a performance. The perfume was comforting and soothing.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled. ‘The unknown! That has always been my greatest fear.’ She recalled so clearly her shock when her agent had said he had nothing to offer her for the near future, and suggested she took a break and came back to him in May, when he’d try to book her for a summer show; and her panic as she wondered how they would survive until then. She had watched her son down on the edge of the Thames play-fighting with the young London mudlarks and realized that although he could mix with adults he enjoyed the company of other children and she had to do something to change their lives.

  ‘I don’t generally offer advice, Delia,’ Giles said softly, ‘for I’m not in a position to do so, considering my own situation, but I think you’ll have to visit this family who are looking after your son. You must acknowledge your circumstances, and’ – he hesitated – ‘face up to the man who put you in this situation.’

  Delia swallowed hard. He was right; but she was afraid. Afraid of being turned away; she knew how that felt, but if she was turned away again her position would be even worse than it had been ten years ago; this time she would have not an unborn child but a young intelligent son who would be asking questions. And as for facing up to Jack Robinson – well, he might deny every word of her accusation.

  ‘I have no proof that he’s the father,’ she faltered. ‘How can a woman confirm who is the father of her children?’

  He steered her towards the lodging house; she was malleable beneath his touch, as if unable to move of her own accord. ‘She cannot,’ he answered ironically, ‘and yet she can claim, as indeed I’m sure my own wife will assert, if what I believe is true, that the child she carries is mine and not another’s; and although I can dispute it, there is no proof.’

  He opened the door and ushered her inside. ‘Go into the sitting room,’ he said, pushing her gently in that direction. ‘I have a small bottle of brandy upstairs and I think you’re in need—’

  ‘Oh, but I’m not,’ she began, but he waved her protests away and opened the door to the sitting room, which was still warm from the now extinguished fire.

  ‘Sit,’ he ordered. ‘I won’t be more than five minutes.’

  Delia sat as instructed. She seemed unable to help or think for herself; what on earth was the matter with her? How had everything become so impossible when she had such a short time and previously thought that there might be a solution? It had been Jenny, she decided. Jenny, who had always been so sure of herself, always able to make her own decisions, who had finally told her that she must face up to life, must show herself to the Robinson family, including the very man who had made her life so difficult.

  I will. She trembled at the mere thought of it, and couldn’t decide who or what she was afraid of. Humiliation? Being branded a liar? And if she did visit the Robinsons, what if she should by chance meet her own parents? Would they recognize her, and if they did, would they walk by? It would perhaps be best if they did.

  The door opened and Giles came back with two glasses, a small jug of hot water and the brandy bottle. ‘Here we are; just what the doctor ordered.’

  He pulled a small table forward and placed everything on it, then sat down to pour. He measured a generous amount of brandy into one glass, topped it up with hot water and handed it to Delia. ‘Drink up,’ he said, and then poured himself a smaller tot, but without the water.

  He lifted the glass. ‘Here’s to us and our predicaments,’ he said wryly, and as Delia lifted her glass she was surprised to find herself cheered by the thought of their shared dilemmas.

  She slept soundly until eight o’clock the next morning, Giles having topped up her brandy again, and roused herself with the decision that she would face up to her problem and go to Paull on the following Sunday. She wrote a postcard to Jenny telling her of her resolution and asking if she might be able to visit her family that day; she was unsure whether she could be brave enough to face them alone.

  As she dressed she saw that an envelope had been pushed beneath her door. She opened it; the note was brief, and from Giles.

  I have received correspondence from York, he wrote, and am leaving immediately as it seems there is some urgency which could precipitate any decision I might need to make. I trust you are in a more positive state of mind this morning?

  Yours most sincerely, Giles.

  I wonder what has happened, she thought. A telegram must have arrived.

  Her resolve over her decision began to waver. Can I get to the weekend without changing my mind, and must I be prepared to bring Robin back with me if the family refuses to have him any longer once I tell them who his father is? They will of course believe their son rather than me.

  There was no matinee that afternoon, which meant she had a whole day to kill before the evening performance. She couldn’t even take a leisurely breakfast, as Mrs Benson discouraged any lingering but swept, dusted and polished as soon as her lodgers had finished, and prepared the tables for the next meal.

  Delia went back up to her room, looked out of the window, and seeing that it wasn’t raining put on her coat, hat, shawl and outdoor boots and went downstairs again and out of the house.

  Her feet took her back through Trinity Square, and on impulse she turned towards the ancient church, walking up the path and finding the doors open as if expecting her. How beautiful it was, how calming, and she sat in one of the pews and folded her hands on her lap. For seven hundred years the church had stood on this site, and as she gave thought to all the people who had sat here before her, perhaps to give thanks, or, as she did now, to find some kind of peace or resolution, the sun came out momentarily, lighting up the stained glass windows and sending beams of colour sliding towards her, lifting the greyness of her mood. She had removed her gloves, and when she looked down at her bare hands she saw motes of rich blue, the gleam of gold, and splashes of opulent purple dancing on her pale skin.

  Her thoughts drifted from one thing to another, settling on her son and finally on his father. Did Jack Robinson ever wonder about her? Did he ever regret what he had done? Why had he behaved in such a manner if he was already planning to marry someone else?

  She gave a deep sigh. His actions didn’t make sense. He had always been friendly towards her when they were young, but never especially so; she suspected that like her he might have been shy. So what had got into him as a young adult to make him so shameless? Could she ever forgive him? Would she ever forgive him?

  I don’t know if I can, she thought as she rose to her feet; and yet – and yet … She looked towards the altar and felt her throat tighten and tears begin to well. I have a son whom I love dearly. Without him I would be nothing, just an empty shell, and in spite of my present dilemma I wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever imagine a life in which he did not exist.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jenny wrote back to Delia, congratulating her on her decision to visit her parents and suggesting they travel together on Sunday. She would write to her mother to tell her they were coming.

  I realize it won’t be easy for you, Delia, but I feel that you are right and that it is time you grasped the nettle. Even if nothing is resolved, you will know that there is no need to hide away any longer.

  Easier said than done, Delia thought on reading her friend’s reply. I don’t know how I’ll get through the rest of the week until Sunday. Giles had not yet returned from York so she couldn’t talk to him, and when she asked Mr Rogers when he was expected back, he told her that he had received a telegram to say that Mr Dawson would be away for an indeterminate time. ‘I have brought in a replacement violinist,’ he told her.

  Strangely, she found some relief from her anxiety when she was sin
ging, particularly as she was hidden in the wings and not on stage; there she was able to soothe her own apprehension by imparting more pathos and emotion to the Cinderella role. Her sincerity shone through, and during one interval Miss Stannard sought her out, finding her sitting quietly having a cup of coffee. ‘Oh, Miss Delamour, you have such a beautiful voice,’ she said. ‘It made me cry, just in the right place. Thank you so much.’

  Delia smiled and thanked her for the compliment. It was certainly much easier to convey great joy or sadness from the wings than it was to show it on stage in front of an audience.

  Sunday morning she dressed carefully, wanting to create a good impression on Mr and Mrs Robinson and show that she was neither a frivolous theatrical performer who had abandoned her child without a thought, nor a ruined woman with no means of looking after him. She chose her ankle-length navy blue fitted tunic dress with its high lace-edged collar and flounced hem, and only a small bustle; over it she wore her grey woollen coat which for the winter season she had trimmed with a fur collar, one she had found some years ago in a haberdasher’s shop. Her fur hat was trimmed with velvet, and looking in the mirror she saw a respectable young matron.

  She met Jenny at the Maritime Hotel, and they walked together to the Paragon railway station to catch a train to Hedon.

  ‘It’s a fine morning,’ she said nervously as they went. ‘The walk to Paull should be pleasant enough.’

  ‘Oh, I think my father will probably meet us in the trap,’ Jenny said. ‘I hope he will, anyway; it will give us more time to talk.’

  Delia turned anxious eyes to Jenny; she hoped Jenny wouldn’t try to take charge. This was her predicament and hers alone, and she must explain in her own way her reasons for leaving Jack with the Robinson family.

  Jenny must have understood Delia’s expression and immediately apologized. ‘I’m sorry, Delia,’ she said. ‘That’s what comes of being a teacher. You become used to being in control and saying what should be done.’