by Emma Hornby
‘I couldn’t keep thee,’ Jewel whispered into the sheets. ‘But know that I love thee, oh, I do, and that I’ll think of thee always, every minute. I don’t care how you were begot. That matters not a bit any more. You were perfect, lass, a true angel. Please, forgive me—’
‘May I speak with you, Jewel?’
‘Oh, sir!’
Maxwell came down the remaining stairs with his hands held high, but his sheepish smile and apology for startling her died to see her tear-streaked face. He lowered his arms slowly, brows knotting in a frown. ‘Jewel? You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?’
‘Nowt, sir, honest. Really, I’m fine,’ she assured him, scrubbing at her eyes and cheeks with her sleeve. ‘I’m happy to be back is all.’
‘May I?’ He motioned to the bed and, when she nodded, sat on the edge. Head lowered, he glanced up at her then looked away again quickly. ‘I’d … like to ask you something, Jewel.’
‘Aye, owt. What is it?’
‘Are you …?’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘What I mean is, do you …?’
‘Aye, sir?’
‘Forgive me. I’m loath to embarrass or upset you further. However, I must ask.’ He dropped his tone. ‘Are you in the black place, like before?’
‘The black place?’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry, sir, I don’t know what—’
‘Do you have the urge again to do yourself harm? Only you don’t seem yourself at all. The moment you returned, I detected a sadness about you and I thought—’
‘Well, tha thought wrong.’ Anger and shame and sorrow and suffocating grief were swirling inside her like a bowl of ingredients taking a thrashing from a wooden spoon. She dug her nails into her palms, terrified she would explode.
‘I understand, you know.’
His gentle tone did nothing to quell the flames. ‘How could you possibly understand?’ she murmured with bitter incredulousness.
‘I know my sister asked you to look after me.’
A little of her frown melted. She blinked in confusion.
‘Did she, or did she not?’
‘Aye, but—’
‘I attempted self-murder a number of times following my wife’s death.’
His confession knocked the wind from her sails. She gasped. ‘Sir?’
‘I never anticipated finding love again after Roland’s mother. Therefore, when Mary was taken from me … I could think of no way to continue living without her. It was like a darkened shroud had wrapped itself around me, obscuring the light. Nothing and no one could penetrate it for many months, during which I …’ Maxwell paused to look at her. ‘Well. Let’s just say I was unsuccessful, and that I thank God on my knees each night for sparing me. So you see, Jewel,’ he added, hesitantly reaching out and cupping her face, ‘I do understand.’
Silent tears were coursing down her face. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Talk to me,’ he whispered. ‘A problem shared is a problem halved.’
‘I … can’t, sir. Though please know I’ve no intention of doing owt daft to myself. I promise thee, I haven’t, I just …’ She heaved a shuddering breath. ‘Please don’t fret over me. I’ll be all right.’
He was staring at her intently. Though he didn’t speak, slowly his thumb moved to caress her cheek.
Jewel’s heart tripped over itself in two or three hammering beats. Their heads were no great distance apart and, as she locked eyes with him, she sensed him move closer just a fraction.
‘If ever you need to speak to someone, Jewel …’
‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘That offer also holds for thee.’
‘I’m glad you’re back.’
Though the words of Maria’s sister from earlier whispered in her mind of him merely having missed her servanting skills, the corners of her mouth lifted nonetheless. ‘And me. I … missed you, Mr Birch.’
His eyes darkened with feeling. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead it was Roland’s voice that broke the silence:
‘Father? Are you down there?’
They sprang apart as if they had been scorched.
Maxwell stood quickly and cleared his throat, and there was a definite flush to his neck and jaw. ‘Yes, son. I’ll be with you in one moment.’
She felt shaky with confusion, embarrassment, euphoria; though all emotion seeped from her, leaving her dead cold inside, at Maxwell’s next words. Turning to her, it was as though he had to force his eyes to meet hers:
‘I’m so sorry, Jewel. I don’t know what I was … I must go.’
‘Sir, wait.’ She reached out to touch his sleeve, but he sidestepped her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured again. ‘I can’t, I … I’m utterly mortified.’ With that, he almost sprinted up the stairs.
Jewel stood gazing at the door above for an age. Prickles of heat spread across her body; she thought she would die from the shame. What had just happened? She’d felt something then, between them. And she’d liked it, she had. He was mortified? Humiliation burned. He’d remembered her lowly station too late, was that it? He was angry with himself – with her – that the boundary had been crossed? But she … Oh, she really did … I like thee, sir, she said in her mind. I care for thee.
‘I … love thee,’ she said out loud to the emptiness.
God help her, she did.
*
‘Your mother must be glad to have you home?’ Roland smiled at Jewel across the dining table.
‘Aye, sir,’ she lied quietly, whilst praying he wouldn’t ask her more regarding Flora. Fortunately, he didn’t:
‘As are we, little nightingale,’ he continued instead. ‘Isn’t that so, Father?’
She glanced up tentatively from the tray she carried when silence greeted them. Maxwell’s full attention was on his food, though he hadn’t touched a morsel.
‘Father?’ Roland laughed.
‘Hm?’
‘Are you with us this evening?’
‘Yes, of course. Sorry, I – I’m rather tired.’
Jewel willed him to look at her but his eyes remained firmly on his plate. Biting back hurt, she dragged her feet back downstairs.
Since the incident in the kitchen a few hours ago, she’d mulled over every detail, again and again, until the last of the day’s light had scattered from the sky and her head ached. Still, it made little sense to her. What had it meant? The way they had looked at each other. The way it made her feel.
She was no stranger to what she perceived as love. Jem Wicks had awakened the first flush of attraction in her, and she recognised the signs once more now. But this was different, she saw it instinctively. The intensity was crushing, the yearning of her body for Maxwell’s like hot gushes through her veins that left her almost mad for the touch of him, his kiss. And her heart, it, too, was experiencing something altogether new, for the depth of her feelings went beyond mere carnal urges.
She cared for him fiercely, wanted only the best for him, his happiness. What he’d revealed to her about his own dangerous melancholy had struck inside her chest like a blade. The thought of him hurt or sad made her want to cry, and she longed to protect him, shield him from the bad things that life had a habit of throwing in your path, never wanted him to know a moment’s sorrow ever again. And that’s how she knew: it was love. Genuine, pure, cut-glass-clear love. She wanted no one else, either today or any other. It was all him.
Yet he’d been mortified at the slightest prospect, and that was that. Her fantastical thinking was hers alone, and would remain so; must, for both their sakes.
Busying her physical form with her chores did nothing to distract her obsessive brain – and she knew it would only worsen once she retired to bed. The quiet darkness had a way of suspending a troubled soul in relentless, regurgitated thought, broken only by either sleep or the rising of a new sun – she knew which it would be for her tonight – and she was dreading it.
Would she ever know peace of mind again? she wondered fleetingly as she climbed the stairs to the house, to ask of th
e family if they required anything else for today. Could she cope with these ever-occurring difficulties, and the heartache with which they went hand in hand, for a whole lifetime? The answer came to her immediately. No, she couldn’t. She’d already endured enough for anyone – thrice over.
Upon entering the hall, she encountered Roland on his way to bed. Her surprise that he was forgoing his usual late-night rendezvous must have shown, for his handsome face spread in a grin.
‘It’s old and boring I’ve become, little nightingale. Ah-ha, but for very good reason. Yes, indeed.’
‘Oh?’ she allowed herself to enquire, her curiosity winning through.
‘It just so happens that, whilst you were away, I met a pretty young filly for whom I’ve fallen hook, line and sinker.’ His delight grew. ‘We’re engaged to be married.’
‘Eeh, Mr Roland, sir. I’m that pleased for thee.’ And she meant it. Perhaps now, the strain of his wanton behaviour on his father would lift, and not before time.
Roland continued on his way, whistling merrily, and Jewel was still smiling as she went to knock at the drawing-room door. Receiving no answer and assuming Maxwell had already retired for the night, she entered with the thought of tidying the space before heading back to her kitchen. However, she quickly saw that he wasn’t in bed at all but fast asleep at his desk. She paused for a moment. Then, biting her lip, she crossed the floor towards him.
The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled to the elbow, his collar loose. Head on his arms on the desk, he was dead to the world. Jewel’s eyes softened.
‘You work too hard,’ she whispered with a light stroke of his hair. She turned and padded back out.
After undressing and climbing into bed, she lay staring at the ceiling. She pictured Maxwell up there, oblivious to everything, to her and her feelings, and ached to return to him. Of course, she resisted. But his image stayed stubbornly at the forefront of her mind.
Tomorrow, she would go to see her mother. Her guts churned at the prospect. What would she hear? Was Minnie Maddox somehow mistaken, as Maria had suggested? She clung to the possibility like her life depended on it, which it did, then quickly evicted the matter from her head.
A porcelain face with rosebud mouth and light blue eyes soon swam in to take her thoughts’ place, and she closed her eyes on the sear of pain. ‘My own babby,’ she told her over the miles. ‘Please be well and happy.’ I beg of thee, merciful God, love and keep her in my place, always.
The last words Sarah had uttered to her before leaving for Minnie’s called to her from somewhere far away, and Jewel’s lids fluttered open. ‘Be strong.’ She smiled sadly. The woman had been a tower of strength over the last few months. Jewel missed her calm, unassuming presence already. Her failure to say goodbye to her at least, she knew she’d always regret.
To Jewel’s surprised relief, tiredness descended on her. Before it consumed her completely, the vague memory of Minnie making mention of Sarah before she fled the house came back to her, to linger unclear on her mind’s outskirts. A frown accompanied her to sleep.
Chapter 22
‘YOU BE GOOD for Lizzie. I’ll see thee soon, there’s a good lass.’ Jewel handed Constance over to her nursemaid then donned her shawl. ‘I shan’t be long,’ she told the domestic, ‘I just have an errand to run.’
Assuming she was off to purchase foodstuff for the family’s meal later, Lizzie nodded and waved her on her way, and Jewel reluctantly set out to visit her mother.
Terror-induced sickness washed over her every step of the way and she was forced to stop several times to regain her composure. By the time she reached the house, her nerves were shot to pieces. As she’d done yesterday, she paused outside, unable to knock. And yet at the same time, she longed to see the woman beyond the door. She’d missed her something awful, had yearned for her during those difficult months – none more so than when in the throes of her agonising labour. And now here she was, actively prolonging the separation because of what after all might be one old woman’s incorrect rambling. This hope Jewel clung to out of sheer desperation. Though, deep down, she knew the truth of it.
Then, suddenly, another notion occurred to her and her eyes narrowed in thoughtful interest. What if she said nothing? The idea sounded ludicrous at first, but the more she mused on it, the more its appeal grew. Say she simply pretended nothing had happened, erased from her mind all she’d discovered – what then? Everything would stay exactly the same, wouldn’t it? Life could return to normal and no one would be any the wiser.
Could she do it? Jewel gnawed her lip in contemplation. Bury down inside the secret she was now privy to and just carry on as before? Was it possible? Would it eat away at her until she spoke out, or could she really try to forget about it? More to the point, did she want to?
‘Aye,’ she heard herself say. ‘I do.’
To live a lie seemed, in her mind at this minute, the lesser of two evils. The reality of what exposing her knowledge of her parentage would mean filled her with such horror it left her gasping for breath. She could lose her mother. It would rip an irreparable hole in their relationship that could never be mended. How could something of that magnitude ever be repaired? It was impossible, surely?
‘Just say nothing, then?’ Jewel asked herself. ‘Let the whole thing go?’ For all our sakes, her inner voice added, and a little of the torment lifted.
She nodded once, twice. Then she grasped the handle and opened the door.
‘Lass?’
‘Hello, Mam.’
‘Oh, my bonny girl, come here!’
Jewel walked into her mother’s waiting arms. As she’d feared, a sense of awkwardness marred the overdue embrace; she stiffened slightly at the woman’s touch, though she did her best to ignore it.
Flora kissed her brow then motioned to a chair. ‘Sit thee down, lass. By, it’s blessed I am the day. How’ve you been?’
‘Well and good, ta. You?’
‘Not too shabby, aye. Mind, I’m all the better for seeing thee. We must never be parted again, you hear?’ she scolded with mock-sternness. Then, smiling, she passed Jewel a cup of tea and sat down facing her. Her soft gaze lingered about her face. ‘You sure you’re all right?’ she asked, and a slight frown appeared. ‘You seem … different somehow. I don’t know, can’t put my finger on it. All the bloom’s gone from your cheeks. You sickening for summat?’
‘Nay, nay.’ Jewel cursed inwardly as heat crept up her neck. ‘Mebbe I’m tired is all. You not in work the day?’ she added quickly to change the subject.
‘This afternoon, aye. ’Ere, why not slip across with me – if you’ve the time to spare, that is? Your uncle and aunt and young Benji would be pleased to see thee, I bet.’
‘Aye, we’ll see.’ This was a lie. She’d make some excuse later, had no intention of showing her face in that shop again if she could help it. Though she had to ask: ‘How is Uncle Bernard?’ After all, he was the only member of that family she held any real feeling towards.
‘Ah, the usual. Hen-pecked to buggery and none the worse for it, you know?’
Jewel chuckled. ‘Aye. He must love her a lot, you know – Aunt Esther.’
‘Oh aye. Eeh, but rather him than me. That gob on her … talk about bleeding earholes.’
Nodding, Jewel laughed quietly again. A thaw was setting in and she welcomed it wholeheartedly. She’d missed this: her and her mam’s easy chatter, putting the world to rights.
Mam.
The warmness dimmed somewhat in remembrance and she beat the thoughts back with a feeling of panic. Forget it, forget it. It matters not. It doesn’t …
‘What’s to do, lass?’
Flora’s words came to her as though from a distance. She couldn’t move, speak. For her eyes had strayed to the mantel top and the sight of the familiar piece had seized her in a hypnotic trap.
Following Jewel’s gaze to the candlestick, Flora’s voice was light with amused puzzlement: ‘Lass? You gone daft?’
; She couldn’t uphold this pretence, had been foolish to think she could. It wouldn’t leave her, not for a second, was killing her inside … She brought her stare back to her mother, and the name fell from her lips: ‘Minnie Maddox.’
‘Eh?’
‘Minnie Maddox,’ Jewel repeated, louder now.
Time seemed to halt in its tracks. Flora’s cup slipped slowly from her hand and smashed on the hard, flagged floor. Eyes huge, she shook her head.
‘She told me everything,’ Jewel murmured. ‘I know you’re not my mam.’
‘Lies. It’s all, all lies—!’
‘Nay. It ain’t. Why didn’t you tell me?’
The woman released a pent-up sigh. Her shoulders drooped and the corners of her quivering mouth followed. When finally she spoke, her tone was hollow. ‘I’ve allus loved thee.’
‘So it is true?’
‘You’re my lass!’
‘No, no, no, no, no!’ Panting with dumbfoundedness, Jewel swung her head. ‘I’ve prayed ’til I ran out of words, convinced myself it were a mistake. But I knew. Deep down, I did. Your child, Flora and Fred Nightingale’s long-awaited miracle … she died. Mrs Maddox passed me off as her, and you knew. You knew and said nothing.’
Hanging her head, Flora burst into tears.
‘Who was I? One of Mrs Maddox’s waifs? An unwanted she could do with as she liked, for there was no one to question my true whereabouts, miss me, care? Is that it?’
‘I’ve allus loved thee,’ repeated Flora brokenly, then winced when Jewel thumped the tabletop in fury.
‘I was second best. I am second best. The one whose place I stole, she’s from your flesh, the one you wanted. She’s your daughter, not I—’
‘Stop! I’ll not hear that, for it’s false, it is!’
