A Mother's Dilemma

by Emma Hornby

  ‘Mr Roland’ll never be tethered down, I don’t reckon,’ Maria had told Jewel. ‘Likes the lasses too much, aye. And they like him, though I can’t say I blame them. Handsome divil, he is. He’s allus off gallivanting with Lord only knows who and coming home at all hours; not until the following day, oftentimes. Mind, his father must be weary of covering for him at the bank – he’s away from his work more than he’s in. Whether he’s tried curtailing his son’s antics or no, I can’t say. In any case, it don’t appear that Mr Roland is for changing his ways any time soon.’

  Jewel wasn’t overly shocked at hearing any of this. Hadn’t she witnessed with her two eyes his flirtatious manner with Maria, and suspected that was his way with women in general? And she herself had seen him slinking home early morning from a night spent goodness knew where. Nor did Maxwell tolerating such behaviour surprise her. He was a kind and decent man, and clearly a dedicated parent. No doubt he disagreed with Roland’s antics and hoped he’d soon curb them. However, he’d never cast him out or turn his back on him – Jewel knew this instinctively. She’d never met a father quite like him; he seemed to live and breathe for his children.

  Despite what she knew, she couldn’t dislike the wayward Birch. She could see it to be a weak and immature trait he possessed rather than intentional badness. It appeared he couldn’t help himself where the fairer sex was concerned. Some men were like that, God only knew. Thankfully, he hadn’t turned his attentions in her direction. Besides the occasional lingering look and his overfamiliar habit of calling her ‘little nightingale’, he’d so far left her be. He’d do well to make sure it stayed that way, too.

  After supper, when Jewel had tidied and swept the dining room, she closed the door with a thankful sigh. It had been a long and emotive day. She couldn’t wait to drop on to the lumpy mattress and rest her body and mind.

  Crossing the hall towards the kitchen stairs, she caught sight of Maxwell at the opposite end, busy battening down the hatches for the night. He’d already extinguished the lights, bar the single gas lamp left burning whilst he completed his task, and his tall figure cast its shadow, like a pool of shimmering smoke, across the tiled floor. She watched through the amber glow him reach up to fix the bolt in place then, changing his mind, open the front door wide. His head swung left and right along the street; then, sighing, he stepped back inside and secured the lock in place.

  He must have been checking if his son was on his way home, Jewel thought; she’d seen Roland exit the house shortly after the evening meal. She’d been right, then, in her assumption that his lifestyle wasn’t something his father bore without disapproval.

  Anger that his selfishness was causing unnecessary concern for the older man sparked inside her. It was no doubt one more worry Maxwell could do without.

  Not wishing to startle him, she cleared her throat softly – nevertheless, he turned sharply and she flashed an apologetic smile. ‘Goodnight, God bless, sir.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Jewel had reached the top of the stairs when she heard him call her name. She glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Aye, sir?’

  ‘What you said earlier about Constance … and myself … my abilities as a father …’

  ‘I meant it. She’s fortunate to have thee. As is Roland,’ she hastened to add.

  Maxwell’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I never really knew my own father. He died afore I’d time to store any real or lasting memories.’ She spoke just as quietly, surprised at herself that she was revealing this to him and not knowing why, other than having the strongest urge to reassure him that, as a new widower, he was handling life, his family, just fine. Also, she knew, it was this man’s way again, making you want to open up, that sense of trust he exuded. ‘But sir,’ she added, tone dropping further still, ‘if I had known him … I’d have wanted him to be just like thee.’

  Leaving the admission hanging between them, she smiled, turned and continued on her way to the kitchen.

  Snuggled beneath the bedclothes minutes later, Jewel was on the cusp of unconsciousness when Maxwell’s image flitted on the outskirts of her mind. She watched him draw closer, saw herself move forward to meet him. What she pictured next caused a frown to accompany her on her sleep’s final journey. For despite what she’d told her employer in the hall, the kiss he gave her – and that she returned with full fervour – was anything but that from a father figure.

  Chapter 10

  JEWEL HAD CALCULATED that the child would be due in early March. By November, she’d never felt so thankful for anything as she was for the oversized apron.

  She’d been steadily loosening her corset for weeks and, only yesterday, the laces had reached their maximum length – she’d known panic at the realisation. She couldn’t hide her condition for much longer, and then what would she do? The neat globe was certain to expand significantly over the coming months and no amount of apron material would conceal that. Folk were bound to start noticing any day now. She was done for.

  What would happen when the child actually made an appearance, she’d steadfastly refused to dwell upon. Terror of the unknown had seen her bury her head, for it was easier that way. Would she go along with Benji’s suggestion that she was attacked by a stranger, hadn’t revealed her condition through fear and shame? Would people believe any of it? And if they didn’t? If Mam chose to disown her, what then?

  She couldn’t stay on at the Birch household, that much was clear. What would she do should she find herself destitute? How would she and the child survive with no dwelling, brass or support from a living soul? It would be the workhouse for the both of them, for sure. And she’d rather be gone from this world, once and for all, than that. Imprisonment in those harsh and heartless institutions was a fate worse than death and she’d make sure she didn’t mess up the second attempt.

  The time was approaching noon. Though several more hours of daylight remained, already winter’s fingers were stroking the light grey sky, and the diluted sun seemed to shiver with the rest of them.

  Soon, the frost would come and the town’s poorer inhabitants would struggle still more than usual. With little or no money for coal and a daily hot meal, droves wouldn’t last through to spring. The sick and weak were particularly susceptible. Friends and neighbours, though having next to nothing themselves, would make it their mission to keep a caring eye to the more vulnerable, sharing what they could, when they could. It was the same year in, year out. The lower class, above all others, looked after their own – an unwritten rule that most adhered to with unshakeable belief.

  Ignoring her aching back, Jewel bent again to rinse out her cloth in the pail of water by the front door. She had just reached up on tiptoe to get at the window’s corners when hands on her shoulders from behind had her jumping out of her skin – she turned with a squeak.

  Maria could barely get her greeting out through her snorts of laughter. ‘By, your phizog! I only nipped across to say hello. Did I fricken thee so bad?’

  Jewel forced down her annoyance. Building worry and lethargy had of late brought brooding black moods she found increasingly difficult to shake. She gave her friend a rueful smile. ‘Aye, you swine. I didn’t hear your approach; tha near caused me a mishap there.’

  ‘So I see.’ Maria nodded down to Jewel’s apron, where soapy water had splashed when she’d squeezed her wet cloth in her fright. ‘Come here, daft ha’porth.’

  ‘Nay! Don’t!’ Seeing the maid’s hand going to her midriff to wipe at the suds, panic filled Jewel and, without thought, she smacked it away fiercely. In the ensuing seconds, as Maria rubbed her stinging fingers, they gazed at one another in shocked silence. Jewel recovered sooner. Swinging her head slowly in horror, she stammered, ‘Maria … I, I’m sorry—’

  ‘No harm done.’ But the maid’s tone held a stiff note. ‘Well. I’d best get back to my own duties.’

  ‘Please, wait.’ Jewel caught her sleeve as she made to leave. ‘Eeh, Maria. What
am I to do?’

  ‘Do? ’Ere, what’s the matter?’ she added with concern, seeing that Jewel’s eyes had pooled with tears. ‘Lass?’

  After glancing around, Jewel smoothed her apron against herself, revealing the outline of her bump. ‘What am I to do?’ she repeated in a fearful whisper.

  ‘Mother of God …’ The words fell from Maria’s lips on a sorry sigh. ‘You bloody idiot, Jewel. How’ve you found yourself like that?’

  ‘How d’you think?’

  Again, Maria sighed. She scratched her head then her chin. ‘Is it Roland Birch’s doing?’

  Jewel was aghast. ‘Nay, nay. It … you don’t know him. A mistake occurred and … I’d rather not talk of it. I need your help,’ she finished, a lone tear escaping to splash to her cheek. ‘I’m that frightened, Maria.’

  ‘That cousin of yours, him you’ve spoken on afore. This is his doing, in’t it?’

  ‘Aye,’ Jewel whispered after some moments, feeling the weight of the crippling secret ease somewhat from her shoulders at the admission.

  ‘Bastard.’

  Dropping her gaze, Jewel shook her head. ‘Nay, not that. May God forgive me, I consented. I – we – were full of ale. Nonetheless, why I allowed him … I’ll never know. To top it all, he’s denying all involvement.’

  ‘They allus do. Eeh, lass. Does anyone else know about this?’

  ‘Nay. Norra soul.’

  ‘When’s it due?’

  ‘Around March. What am I to do?’ she beseeched yet again.

  Maria’s eyes softened. She reached for her friend’s hand and Jewel gripped it. ‘That depends on thee, lass.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Is tha for keeping the child?’

  ‘What choice have I?’

  The maid lowered her voice. ‘There’s allus a choice, lass.’

  For the first time in many months, Jewel knew a stirring of hope. ‘There is?’

  ‘Not here. Meet me the morrow at the park. We’ll talk on it more then. And Jewel?’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘You’re not to fret no more, you hear? I’m here for thee now. All will be well, you’ll see, lass.’

  She could barely speak past the lump of relieved emotion in her throat. ‘Thank you.’

  Maria gave her hand a last supportive squeeze then hurried back to her own residence across the road.

  For the remainder of the day, Jewel could think of nothing but their conversation. Had she done the right thing in confessing? she agonised continually. By, but it had felt good to share the burden. What suggestions would her friend come up with tomorrow? Was there really a way out of this hell? Maria had seemed quite convinced there was.

  Following that first Sunday off, her afternoons had been incident free. Mercifully, Benji appeared to have got the message – she’d encountered him no more when visiting her mother. It was lovely to spend time with Flora again, just like the old days – albeit for a few short hours and always, at the back of Jewel’s mind, with the fear her mother would notice her growing stomach, though she did her utmost to casually conceal it with her shawl. Hopefully, her cousin would continue to steer clear of her; for this, she prayed daily.

  What excuse she’d give Mam for missing tomorrow’s visit, she hadn’t the strength to think on right now, would cross that bridge when she came to it. She must meet Maria, had to hear her apparent solution. Her future – her whole life – depended on it.

  That night, she took her time completing the last of her duties; anything to prolong the inevitable sleepless hours tossing in bed with worry that she knew were to come.

  Maxwell had already locked and bolted the doors, and he and his son had retired to their beds some half an hour before. The house was still, the dying kitchen fire bathing the room in cosy pink light. Forcing her mind on the present – were she to allow it to stray to thoughts of the next day, her heartbeat would quicken painfully – she softly hummed a childhood song.

  From its bed of clouds, the arch of silver moon peering through the narrow kitchen window followed her as she pottered about wiping and tidying the already clean and neat space. Though her newly swollen ankles ached, she ignored them – just one more result of her pregnancy that she’d now become adept at pretending wasn’t occurring. Gritting her teeth, she trained the cloth on the sink and gave it a thorough wiping. She’d just rinsed it and laid it over the sink’s stone rim to dry when she sensed she was being watched. Frowning, she turned towards the stairs leading to the house – and let out a loud gasp to find Maxwell standing staring down at her.

  ‘Jewel—’

  ‘God in heaven above! Sir, tha startled me.’ She crossed towards him. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, I … Forgive me for the lateness of the hour. You must be tired. Would it be too much trouble to ask for a last pot of tea?’

  She blinked, surprised. ‘Nay, sir. Course not. I’ll brew a fresh sup now.’

  To her confusion, he didn’t instruct her to fetch the beverage to the drawing room or some such then return upstairs. Instead, he remained exactly where he was, saying nothing, whilst she moved around the room seeing to the kettle and fetching a cup and saucer.

  Should she enquire after his health? she asked herself, glancing furtively at him once or twice. His behaviour was out of character – never had he sought her out in the kitchen late at night before. He appeared … She couldn’t put her finger on it. Not ill, in any case. And not so much troubled, more distracted. As though in a world all his own. Before she had the chance to decide, he broke the silence:

  ‘You visit your mother every Sunday afternoon?’

  Jewel looked up from the table slowly. His face was unreadable in the dim light and guilt whizzed through her, making her dizzy. Why ask such a thing? What concern was it of his how she chose to spend her days off? Unless … Her eyes widened. She swallowed hard. Surely he didn’t know, hadn’t somehow heard …? Was he aware of her planned meeting with Maria tomorrow instead? And the reason for it? But how? Her friend wouldn’t have breathed a word to anyone. Would she?

  How well did she know the girl across the street? The sudden thought brought panic to her veins. She’d spilled to her her innermost secrets, blindly trusted her in the hope she’d help, when all the time … Dear God! She’d kill her for this! She would, she’d—!

  ‘Jewel?’

  ‘Hm?’ She licked her dry lips. ‘Sorry … Aye, I do. Mostly, aye. Why … why d’you ask, sir?’ she forced herself to say, her cheeks growing hot with dread.

  Maxwell was quiet for a moment, then: ‘Tomorrow would have been my wife’s birthday.’

  ‘Oh.’ What’s that got to do with anything? she stopped herself from adding just in time, confusion still holding her in its grasp. ‘Oh,’ she repeated, this time with more feeling, glimpsing the hollow sadness in his eyes. ‘You must miss her terribly, sir.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Again, silence fell between them. Quickly, she finished making the tea and went to collect a tray. So this was the reason behind his nocturnal wanderings, she realised. Memories of his poor wife were keeping him from his sleep. On significant dates, her absence must, after all, sting especially so. She swallowed a sorry sigh for him and his suffering, couldn’t imagine his hurt. Yet why his question as to her habits in her free time? What had that to do with his wife?

  ‘Thank you.’ Maxwell took the tray she held out to him.

  Jewel waited with bated breath but, when no more from him was forthcoming, she murmured, ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes?’

  She had to know. ‘Why did you ask about my visits to Mam?’

  ‘Ah. Yes. Well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s silly, really. Please forget that I asked.’ He flashed a half-smile. ‘Well. Goodnight.’

  He was walking away. But … Wait! She had to know.

  ‘Has Maria said summat?’ she blurted to his retreating back. ‘Is that it, sir?’

  ‘Maria?’ He was staring at her in puzzlement over his sh
oulder. ‘Maria?’ he repeated.

  ‘The … maid, from across the street. I … thought …’ She rummaged around inside her head for something to fill the agonising silence. To think she’d believed her friend capable of revealing her secret; her paranoia was skewing her judgement. Oh, she was wicked-minded, didn’t deserve Maria’s kindness. ‘I – Maria and me, that is – have planned to meet the morrow, sir, forra walk in the park is what I meant. I’m for giving a visit to Mam’s a miss this week.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Maxwell’s face relaxed in understanding, then his brows drew together and, again, he cleared his throat. ‘As a matter of fact, the park was the reason I enquired about your plans, I … Well …’

  ‘Aye, sir?’

  He smiled self-consciously and looked away. ‘I was going to ask whether you would like to accompany Constance and me tomorrow.’

  ‘To the park?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Me, sir? Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said again, quieter this time, and Jewel felt a queer warmness flow through her. ‘Several hours away from this house and the memories it holds will be beneficial to my daughter and me, I believe,’ Maxwell added. ‘However, please don’t give it another thought – like I said, it’s silly, really—’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  He raised his brows slowly. ‘You would? But your plans—?’

  ‘Maria won’t mind,’ she cut in again, at the same time asking herself what the hell she was playing at. She had to see the maid, didn’t she? Her friend had vowed to help her, and Lord did she need it. Yet here she was instead, speaking these words to this man, without a clue as to why. What she did know instinctively was that it wasn’t out of pity for him that she’d accepted his invitation. Nor was it from a sense of duty.