by Dilly Court
'Don't you like it, ma'am?' Mabel asked anxiously.
Eloise searched for a handkerchief and found she had none. Her mother's words came back to her, and in her mind's eye she could see the tender smile on her mother's lips as she had passed her a handkerchief, saying that she had never known her to have one when needed. It was these little flashes of memory that were so poignant, but also acted as a painful reminder of their enforced separation. Eloise swallowed hard and dashed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. 'It's beautiful, Ted. It's absolutely splendid and you are so kind – I don't know what to say.'
'Steady on, ma'am,' Ted said, blushing to the roots of his hair. 'It's only a cart made out of old crates.'
'And if I fetch a cushion and some blankets, it'll be comfortable enough,' Mabel added hastily.
Lost for words, Eloise hugged Mabel, and to Ted's obvious embarrassment she took him by the hand and kissed him on the cheek. 'You are the kindest boy I have ever known,' she murmured, smiling through her tears. 'If Mabel will be good enough to get something to sit Beth on, we'll go for a lovely long walk.'
Mabel scurried off into the house and Ted backed away with a sheepish grin. 'Glad to be of service, ma'am. It were only a few bits of wood, after all, and I like working with me hands.' A shout from Riley in the stables made Ted hurry back to work and Mabel came scurrying from the house with a crocheted blanket and an old cushion covered in cat hairs. Eloise made Beth comfortable and they set off for their first proper outing since they arrived in Yorkshire. After that she took the children out as often as the variable weather conditions allowed, and with fresh air and exercise she found that her spirits began to revive.
In the evenings, after the nightly ordeal of a meal with Hilda and Joan in the dining room, Eloise would put the children to bed and sit by the fire in the nursery, writing letters to her mother or reading old copies of The Young Ladies' Journal, which she knew that Hilda and Joan studied avidly, although neither of them seemed to have profited from their reading. It was on one of these evenings, when the wind was soughing round the house and rain was lashing at the windows, that Eloise was startled by the sudden opening of the door as Ada erupted into the room, gasping for breath as if she had run all the way from the far corner of the house. She closed the door and stood mutely, shivering in her thin nightgown and clutching a book to her bosom.
Eloise put aside her writing case and smiled, holding out her hand. 'Come and sit down by the fire, Ada. You look perished.'
Ada came slowly towards her, holding out a dog-eared copy of a book of fairy tales. 'My book,' she murmured as she knelt down by Eloise's side. 'Pretty pictures.'
Eloise studied the crumpled illustrations and she nodded her head. 'Very pretty, Ada. Do you like fairy tales?'
'Dunno,' Ada said, staring at her blankly. 'I can't read. My mama used to read to me until she fell asleep and didn't wake up again.'
Eloise reached out tentatively to brush a lock of mouse-brown hair back from Ada's forehead, and her heart swelled with pity for her. 'Would you like me to read to you, dear?'
Ada nodded eagerly and settled down at Eloise's feet to listen to the story of Cinderella with rapt attention. She sobbed brokenheartedly when the Ugly Sisters were cruel to Cinders and she clapped in childlike glee when the glass slipper fitted Cinderella and she married her prince.
After this, Ada brought her books to the nursery every evening and she would sit, warming her bare feet by the fire, listening to Eloise as she read her tales about beautiful princesses and handsome princes. She showed such enthusiasm that Eloise began teaching her to read, and to her surprise, Ada was an apt pupil. Although Eloise could elicit very little more about Ada's childhood, apart from the fact that she had been born and raised in Bridlington, any mention of Joan and their relationship upset her so much that Eloise thought it best to let the matter lie.
Every evening, after Ada had gone back to her room, Eloise would spend an hour or so writing to her mother. The only address she had was of the mission headquarters in Mombasa, but she hoped that they would forward the letters to wherever it was in the depths of Africa that her parents had been sent. It was too much to hope that she would receive news from Mama in the near future, as mail took many weeks to arrive, but it gave her comfort to put pen to paper. She wrote mainly of the little milestones that Joss and Beth had passed. Beth had cut another tooth and Joss had drawn a picture on his slate; it might look like a squiggly line to anyone other than a doting mother, but Eloise could see quite clearly that it was meant to be a puppy just like the one that Mabel had smuggled into the nursery. Joss had fallen totally in love with it and had cried bitterly when the puppy had to be returned to its mother in the kennels where Mr Cribb kept his hunting dogs, but Mabel had promised faithfully to bring it to the nursery whenever possible.
One day, Eloise thought, as she folded the letter and tucked it into an envelope, we will have a home of our own again. Joss and Beth will have a puppy and a kitten too if they want one. She sighed. It was just a dream, but holding on to it was the only thing that kept her from despair. She addressed the envelope and placed it in a drawer out of sight of Nancy's prying eyes. Eloise suspected that Nancy reported everything that was going on to the servants below stairs, but by the same token Eloise knew that she could trust Mabel. Tomorrow she would give the letter into Mabel's hand and she in turn would give it to Ted, who would take it to the post office. He always travelled on the box with Riley when he drove Mrs Cribb on her frequent shopping expeditions to Scarborough, and since Riley was not as agile as he had been, Ted would run errands for Hilda, carrying her purchases or holding the horses' heads while Riley popped into the pub for a beer and Hilda met friends for afternoon tea. Sometimes Joan went on these outings, but Eloise was never invited.
April came, bringing with it skies of a peerless blue as winter gave way to spring, but the weather was capricious and sudden showers could come from nowhere, along with blustering winds that swept across the wolds, bending trees and cutting through outer garments to chill the unwary walker to the marrow. On fine days, Eloise still took the children out into the grounds, but Harcourt was no gardener and he had put all his money into the building of the house. Although trees had been planted in order to form a windbreak, they were still little more than saplings and the rest of the land had been put down to lawn. Sheep grazed on the grass, keeping it short, but this was not the sort of garden that Eloise remembered from her childhood in the gently rolling countryside of Dorset.
As the weather improved, Eloise put the children in Ted's cart and ventured outside the walled perimeter of Cribb's Hall to the open countryside where swathes of yellow daffodils grew wild on the hillsides, and the hedgerows were softened by a haze of green buds. Eloise had discovered a pleasant walk by the river, which was overhung with catkins dangling from willow trees and its banks were studded with primroses. On one of these outings in late April, when the sun shone brightly and there was no hint of rain, Eloise made the bold decision to take Ada with them on their walk. Hilda and Joan had gone off in the carriage to Scarborough for luncheon with friends and a shopping expedition. It would be teatime at least before they returned.
With Mabel's assistance, Eloise managed to get Ada dressed in outdoor clothes borrowed from one of the taller housemaids, who just happened to be one of Mabel's many cousins, and could be trusted not to tell. Mid-afternoon was always a sleepy time in Cribb's Hall, when the maids had a couple of hours' rest before starting up again later with preparations for dinner, lighting fires and turning down beds. It had been relatively easy to smuggle Ada out of the house unnoticed, and Eloise felt a degree of elation and a sense of triumph in her achievement. She could not openly defy her mother-in-law or Joan, but at least she could do something to alleviate the tedium of Ada's dreary existence. As they came to the riverbank, Eloise was rewarded by Ada's sudden outpouring of joy as she began to gambol about as crazily as any of the spring lambs that could be seen in the distant fields.
Her ungainly limbs seemed quite out of control as she waved her arms above her head, raising her pale face to soak up the warmth of the sun. Eloise was afraid that Ada might tumble into the fast-flowing river, but she could not help laughing as she watched her antics. Joss ran about too and Beth sat up in the cart chuckling and clapping her hands. It was such a happy scene that Eloise felt her spirits rise. The harsh reality of the winter seemed far behind them at this moment, and she experienced a surge of optimism which was not entirely due to the freedom of being outside Cribb's Hall, or the beautiful spring weather. She pulled the cart over to a tree stump and she sat down to reread the letter from her mother, which had arrived only that morning.
It had been posted in Gibraltar not long after the start of her parents' long journey. It was a determinedly brave missive, filled with love and hope that their enforced separation would be short, but there were water marks where Eloise could only guess that Mama had shed a few tears, as she had herself when she had first read the letter. She read it and reread it, closing her eyes and trying to picture the cabin, which Mama said was dreadfully cramped, and the bunks which were hard and too narrow, but apparently her father was in his element. He held services on board every Sunday and was convinced that he was following his true calling. He could not wait to arrive in Africa and begin his work as a missionary. Eloise folded the letter, raised it to her lips and kissed it before tucking it away beneath her stays, close to her heart.
Joss chose this moment to take a tumble and began to howl, but before Eloise could get to him, Ada had picked him up and was cradling him in her arms. 'Poor boy,' she crooned. 'All better, Joss. Kiss it better.' She angled her head and kissed his sore knee.
Eloise approached her slowly, not wanting to alarm her, but Ada was teetering very close to the water's edge and in her concern for Joss she was quite unaware that one step backwards would send them both tumbling into the rushing waters of the river. Joss had stopped crying and was smiling up into her face as he tugged at a lock of her long, lank hair.
'Ada, dear,' Eloise said softly, 'bring Joss over here.'
'My baby,' Ada said dreamily. 'Joss is my baby.'
Moving as stealthily as a hunter, Eloise reached her just as Ada swayed backwards and she grabbed her by the arm, dragging them both away from imminent danger. 'Don't be frightened, Ada. You were too near the riverbank, my dear.'
Ada glanced over her shoulder and her lips trembled. 'She pushed me into the sea. The water came over my head.' She thrust Joss into his mother's arms. 'Joan pushed me into the sea.'
Horrified, Eloise cuddled Joss to her breast. 'No, she couldn't have done such a thing, Ada. It must have been an accident.'
Ada shook her head and tears spurted from her eyes. 'No, she wanted me dead. She took my baby and she wanted me to die.'
Beth had begun to cry and clouds had obscured the sun. The snow melt running off the hills had turned the river water to a milky grey and the willows swayed in the wind. Eloise bundled a protesting Joss into the cart beside Beth and she took Ada by the hand. 'Come, dear. I think it's going to rain. We'd better hurry home.' For a moment she thought Ada was going to rebel, and Eloise realised with a tug of dismay that there would be little she could do if Ada refused to accompany her back to Cribb's Hall. She might have the mind of a child, but she had the body of a fully grown woman and the advantage of height. Eloise gave Ada's hand a comforting squeeze. 'If we go home now I'll get Mabel to bring us cake for tea, and this evening I will read Alice in Wonderland to you.'
'I'd like that,' Ada said meekly, and she allowed Eloise to lead her back the way they had come.
By the time they reached Cribb's Hall, dark clouds had obliterated the tops of the hills and the first drops of rain were beginning to fall. They were only halfway along the gravelled carriage sweep when Eloise heard the rumbling of wheels and the pounding of horses' hooves. There was nowhere to hide and even if there had been she was hampered by the cart's small wheels and by Ada, who had been walking slower and slower as they approached the house. She stopped dead, refusing to budge. 'Won't go back to my room. Don't want to.'
'Now, Ada, dear Ada, don't be difficult,' Eloise said breathlessly. The carriage was drawing closer every second. 'We need to go indoors or we'll get wet, and you'd like a slice of chocolate cake, wouldn't you? It's your favourite.' Eloise tugged at Ada's hand, but she had a set stubborn look on her face, and Joss was trying to climb out of the cart, which had set Beth off and she was howling.
The carriage had slowed down as Riley drove it through the great wrought-iron gates, but the pair of matched greys could move much faster than she, and Eloise could only drag Ada out of the way and pull the cart to safety. A screech from Joan confirmed her worst fears – they had been seen. Obeying orders, Riley drew the horses to a halt. Ted leapt from the box to open the carriage door and put down the steps. He cast Eloise an anxious and apologetic glance over his shoulder as he helped Joan alight quickly followed by Hilda.
'I knew it,' Joan shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Eloise. 'You evil little bitch. What in hell's name do you think you are about?'
Hilda pushed Joan aside. 'You've done it this time, lady. I'll get Mr Cribb to sort you out once and for all, but I'm telling you now, it'll be the workhouse for you. If I have any say in the matter, you will leave Cribb's Hall today and never return.'
'I will go,' Eloise stormed. 'And gladly. I hate this place and I hate both of you. I'll take my children and we'll never ever set foot in this place again.'
Hilda's small eyes glittered with malice. 'Oh, you'll go all right, lady. But our Ronald's children will stay here with us, where they belong.'
Chapter Five
In the small room that her father-in-law called his study, but which Eloise had always suspected was a bolt-hole where he could hide from the women in the house, Harcourt stood with his back to the fire looking distinctly put out. Eloise could not tell whether he was angry or merely embarrassed as she stood before him, waiting for the promised tirade to begin. She knew that the version of events as told by Hilda would be biased against her, and Eloise held herself stiffly erect. She cleared her throat as a nervous tickle made her want to cough. 'There's no need to say anything, Mr Cribb. I know where I'm not welcome and I will be leaving this house first thing in the morning.'
'Nay, lass. I know things haven't been easy for you, but I didn't want it to come to this.' Harcourt held his hand out in a tentative gesture and then let it drop to his side. 'Won't you reconsider? I mean, a few words of apology to Mrs Cribb would go a long way to heal the rift.'
Eloise shook her head. 'You know nothing of what has been going on, sir. I don't want to speak ill of Ronnie's mother, but Mrs Cribb and her sister have made it plain from the start that I am unwelcome here. They want to take Joss away from me and bring him up as a substitute for his father. Well, I won't have it. Joss isn't a carbon copy of Ronnie and I will take him away from this place and bring him up as I see fit.'
'But, lass, how will you live? Where will you go?'
'I have friends in London,' Eloise lied. 'I will find work.'
Harcourt's expression softened. 'Bravely said, but what could a slip of a girl like you do to earn a living?'
'I can teach. I've had a good education and I can pass it on to others.'
'I don't doubt it, lass. But who will care for the little ones while you are working? Why not leave them here with us, at least until you are settled?'
'Never!' Eloise backed towards the doorway. 'I would sooner leave them outside the doors of the Foundling Hospital than leave them to the tender mercies of Mrs Cribb and her sister.' She stopped, biting her lip. 'I'm sorry if I offend you, but if you'd seen the way that poor creature upstairs is treated you would be ashamed, really ashamed. Her mother would be turning in her grave if she saw how Ada was locked away out of sight and beaten for the slightest reason.'
'Nay, I won't have that. It's true Ada has to be kept away from the rest of the household, but that is fo
r her own safety as much as anything, for who knows what the simpleton would do if she were allowed to wander free.'
'Whatever the reason, I am sure her mother would not want her to be treated in this way. Your hunting dogs are better cared for, Mr Cribb.'
A wry smile curled Harcourt's lips. 'Quite probably, lass. It's said that I have the finest pack of fox hounds and beagles in the county. I may not be gentry, but I enjoy riding with the hunt.' His smile faded and was replaced by a worried frown. 'But that's by the by, and you are misinformed about Ada's mother, she is certainly not dead, and she would not deliberately mistreat her own daughter.'
Jolted out of her anger, Eloise stared at him in surprise. Had she heard him correctly? 'You say her mother is not dead?'
'She were very much alive half an hour ago.' A flicker of humour momentarily lit Harcourt's blue eyes. 'Ada is our Joan's daughter, born out of wedlock more than twenty years ago. It's not something that we like to dwell on, but I'm sure that the servants have told you all about Joan's unfortunate past.'
'They said she was jilted, but no mention was made of a child.'
'That's because it isn't common knowledge. All families have their secrets and skeletons in their cupboards. When the truth came out about the man she was due to marry, Joan went to live with her Auntie Mary in Bridlington to escape from the gossips. When it turned out that she was in the family way, it was thought best that she stayed on after the child was born. My sister, Mary, had been recently widowed and Ada grew up thinking that she was her mother and not our Joan. Then five years ago Mary died, and there were no one to look after Ada, so we brought her here.'
Eloise could hardly believe her ears. She stared at Harcourt in disbelief. 'Why are you telling me this now?'
'Knowing the truth of the matter might help you to understand our Joan a bit better, and you really should not judge her too harshly. She only did what she thought was best for Ada.'
