Her Mother's Daughter

by Evie Grace

  ‘How can that be?’ Agnes’s hands were shaking. ‘That can’t be right. She is dead. Papa says so.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have no doubt that the woman who wrote the letter is telling the truth and she is who she says she is.’

  ‘Papa wouldn’t lie. He is an honest man.’ He was her hero, her protector. He adored her. It wasn’t possible.

  ‘I’m sorry, this must be a terrible shock to you, but I assure you that it’s true.’

  ‘Is this why you went to so much trouble to get me here? You planted the idea of a party in Mama’s head and offered to chaperone me? I can’t believe it. I didn’t think you were capable of such a devious and underhand plot. How could you? I am …’ Agnes touched her mouth ‘… speechless.’

  ‘Oh dear, this seemed so straightforward, but now we are here … I wish that I’d burned the letter and kept my silence.’

  ‘So do I,’ Agnes said bitterly.

  ‘I have searched my conscience many times since she made contact with me,’ her governess continued, ‘and decided that it was right that you two should meet, albeit briefly.’

  ‘But why? What good will it do?’

  ‘I lost my dear mama and I wish for you to know yours. Your mother wrote such a sweet, considerate letter, and it revived my guilt for my part in what happened. Let me tell you the story—’

  ‘Is this the truth or more lies?’ Agnes interrupted, the words grating in her throat.

  ‘I was looking for a position with a respectable family,’ Nanny went on. ‘There was an advertisement in the newspaper asking for an educated, well-mannered young lady of Christian beliefs and good moral standing to take up the position of nanny. I answered it. Your father interviewed me, and having decided that all was in order, he introduced me to your mama, who gave her approval for me to look after their child. They didn’t send for me straight away. They paid me a retainer for about a month before they contacted me again to inform me that they had hopes of adopting an infant.’

  ‘That was me?’ Agnes said.

  ‘Yes. I tore you from your loving mother’s arms when you were no more than eight months old. The look on her face as you screamed for her will haunt me for ever. I hope that arranging this meeting will go some way in making amends.’

  ‘Isn’t it rather too late for that?’ Agnes felt numb. ‘Why did she contact you now? Why not years ago if she felt so much love for me, her child?’

  ‘I’m sure she will be able to explain.’

  A horse and cart passed by laden with baskets of oakum caulking, and a young man in dirty clothes with a tattoo of an anchor on his arm sauntered along, whistling out loud.

  ‘Where did Papa meet my mother?’

  ‘She was one of the inmates at the Union.’

  ‘The workhouse?’ Agnes bit back tears. How could that be? There was only one explanation. She had come from lowly stock. She was not descended from a baronet or even a country squire. Papa had misled her in more ways than one. She had thought herself above Nanny and the servants at Windmarsh Court, yet here she was in reality brought lower than anyone she knew by her birth.

  How could she now be a person of consequence, knowing her true origins? How could she walk the drawing rooms of society with confidence? How would she ever marry a prince?

  ‘You know that your father is on the Board of Guardians,’ Nanny went on.

  She nodded.

  ‘Your mother was young and unmarried, and she applied for the Union’s support – your papa authorised it.’

  So he had taken pity on her out of kindness, but it wasn’t a kind thing that he had done, Agnes thought. She was devastated.

  ‘You were the prettiest child with a sunny disposition in spite of the trials you had been through. Once I’d spent a while consoling you over parting from your mother, it soon became clear that you were willing to love and be loved, which is exactly what Mrs Berry-Clay desired at the time, having been unable to produce a child in the first years of her marriage.’

  ‘Which is strange, because I can’t remember her ever showing me any affection,’ Agnes observed.

  ‘She adored you at first. She took you in her arms and wouldn’t let you go, but after a few months, she returned to her old self,’ Nanny said. ‘I have great respect for her, but I can’t help thinking that she’s incapable of deep and lasting affection. The novelty of having a daughter wore off. She couldn’t love a child who wasn’t truly hers. I don’t blame her – I believe she was brought up in a very strict household.’

  ‘Stricter than Windmarsh?’

  ‘Oh yes. Your father once mentioned when he was giving me instructions on the methods of discipline he wanted me to employ with you, that the nanny there used to tie the children to their chairs and lock them in cupboards to punish them for the most minor misdemeanours. Your mama’s nerves never recovered.’

  What else was her beloved governess going to reveal today? A storm of confusion and resentment raged inside Agnes’s mind. It seemed that she had been rejected twice – by her true mother first, and then by Mama. It was all too much for her to take in.

  ‘I want to go home,’ she decided. ‘I have no wish to meet this woman.’

  ‘You can’t blame her. This situation was not of her making.’

  ‘She wasn’t married,’ Agnes said. ‘That makes her a whore, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That is a wicked judgement to make. I’m disappointed in you.’

  Agnes recalled the last time she had fallen in Nanny’s estimation. She remembered Oliver and the boy at the tannery, and how one’s fate was not always of one’s own making.

  ‘I’m sorry. You’re right, but it makes no difference,’ she said.

  ‘I realise this is rather distressing for you, Agnes—’

  ‘I will not meet her,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Please keep your voice down and your emotions in check. Don’t make a scene.’

  Agnes hadn’t realised that she had raised her voice. She glanced around her, obedient to her governess from force of habit. One of the boat builders had paused with a hammer in his hand, but otherwise from where she was, everyone appeared to be carrying out their business in a normal manner. Why should they notice her? She was nobody.

  ‘I promise that she would have kept you if she could,’ Nanny whispered.

  ‘How do you know that?’ Agnes said hotly.

  ‘I saw the look in her eyes. She could hardly bear to let you go.’

  ‘Oh?’ Agnes wasn’t sure how to respond. The stench of fish filled her nostrils. A boy was washing fish guts and scales from the deck of a barge moored alongside. A young woman ran by, dressed in a tattered yellow dress pricked out with pink flowers, a shawl and grubby shoes.

  Nanny took a firm grip on Agnes’s arm.

  ‘Walk this way. Briskly. There are things that are not suitable for a young lady’s eyes.’ Nanny caught her breath. ‘What is he doing here? Don’t tell me he is here carrying out charitable works.’

  ‘Who? Who is it?’

  ‘Hush. Turn your face away.’

  Agnes was about to disobey, but there was something in her governess’s voice that stopped her. She looked down at her feet, but not before she caught sight of her uncle, dressed in a hat and long coat, and carrying his stick.

  ‘I expect he came to take the air. Yes, I’m sure that’s it,’ Nanny said. ‘I don’t believe that he saw us. Our secret is safe.’

  Agnes wasn’t sure from the tone of her voice that Nanny was convinced, but, she reasoned, her uncle was supposed to be at the brewery with Papa, so he might not wish to reveal his whereabouts by exposing theirs. If they could leave now and return to Windmarsh without anything more being said, she might be able to forget this episode and the circumstances of her birth, even if she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive her governess for putting her into this situation, and Papa for lying to her. The fact that he had hesitated over Mama’s suggestion that they should invite the gentlemen of the Board of Guardians made sense now. He didn
’t want to be reminded of where his daughter had come from.

  ‘Let us go home,’ Agnes said quickly, but Nanny ignored her, her eyes on the figure of a woman who had slipped out of the shadows cast by the barge.

  Agnes tried to get away, but her governess had caught her behind the elbow, pinching her fingers into the soft flesh there to cause her maximum pain as she had when Agnes had been younger and about to blurt out something unwanted in front of her parents.

  ‘You will stand here and meet your mother,’ Nanny said through gritted teeth.

  The figure approached, her face shaded. She stopped in front of them and pulled the hood of her cloak back to reveal her wavy dark hair. She was almost as tall as Agnes, and – she had to allow – quite handsome, although her complexion was weathered and her hands were chapped and swollen with chilblains. She was a countrywoman, Agnes thought, unable to stop staring at the stranger who seemed somehow familiar. There was no doubting her identity. She saw the shape of her cheekbones and curve of her chin every day in the mirror in her room at Windmarsh Court.

  The woman turned to Nanny who seemed overwhelmed at the sight of the two, mother and daughter, together.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Treen,’ she said softly. ‘I remember you.’

  ‘As I do you.’ She held a handkerchief to her nose. ‘I shall keep watch at a distance.’

  ‘No, you will wait here,’ Agnes said, but Nanny had already taken up a position a short distance away.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to meet me,’ the woman said.

  ‘I did not choose to do this. Make it brief,’ Agnes said curtly.

  ‘I’m sorry for your inconvenience.’ A shadow crossed the woman’s eyes. ‘Let me take your hands and look at you awhile. Let me absorb your features into my memory.’ ‘I’ve dreamt of this moment every day since we were parted,’ she went on in a coarse Kentish accent.

  ‘I don’t know you.’ Agnes took a step back, afraid of getting her new kid gloves dirty. She thought of Papa and how she would have to lie to him. ‘I shouldn’t be here. It is a mistake. My governess has made a terrible error of judgement.’

  The woman’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘I won’t keep you for long. I have just one request – in a few days’ time, it will be your nineteenth birthday.’

  Agnes nodded.

  ‘I have something for you—’

  ‘I don’t want anything from you.’

  ‘It is a memento of your true father.’ The woman’s voice quavered. ‘It holds the deep sentiments of the man who loved you before you were born. I’ve held it on his behalf until now, but it’s time I passed it on to you. You can decide when to hand it on to your children in turn.’

  ‘I don’t want anything of yours, thank you, Mrs—’ Agnes pushed her hand away.

  ‘My name is Mrs Carter, Mrs Catherine Carter.’ She grasped Agnes’s hand firmly and pressed a small object into her palm. ‘You must take it. I insist.’

  Agnes stared at it as it glinted in the pale winter sun. It was a roughened and stained piece of a coin, not a whole sixpence, just half of one, set on a silver chain.

  ‘What would I want with that?’

  ‘Your father gave it to me – he must have cut the original coin in half when he was on the ship, waiting for passage. It is yours, my dear Agnes. It belongs to you.’

  Agnes trembled uncontrollably as the woman continued, ‘The half a sixpence is a lucky charm. Promise me that you’ll keep it safe to keep the memory of your loving father alive.’

  ‘I shall not promise anything,’ Agnes said stubbornly. ‘This man of whom you speak is not my father, just as you are not my mother.’ She didn’t mean to sound so disdainful, but she was still reeling with shock at discovering her deceased mother was actually alive, and that she had been born out of wedlock to a woman who had been forced into the workhouse by poverty. It was all too much.

  ‘I can’t – I don’t expect you to feel fondly towards me, but your true father was a good man. We were about to be married, but on our wedding day, he was arrested and charged with a crime he didn’t commit. I expect you have heard of the battle of Bossenden’ – she pronounced it Bozenden – ‘your governess will have taught you about it. It happened in the year you were born.’

  In spite of her determination not to be drawn into further conversation, Agnes shook her head. She hadn’t heard of it. Why had Nanny deemed the history of Italy more important than local events?

  ‘Sir William Courtenay, also known as plain Mr Thom, was a liar and a lunatic who led a gang of farm labourers into an uprising near Dunkirk. He persuaded them to fight, promising them riches when they had defeated the wealthy farmers and landowners who were the cause of their oppression. It didn’t end well.’

  ‘What happened to my father?’ Agnes asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

  ‘He was convicted of murder at the Maidstone Assizes and transported to the other side of the world.’

  Agnes felt her blood drain to her feet. On top of everything else, she was the daughter of a convicted murderer?

  ‘He was innocent. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ The woman caught Agnes by the arm. ‘I’m sorry, but I thought you should know.’

  ‘Is he still alive?’

  ‘I did hear from him once – he had served his sentence and was making a life for himself in Tasmania. He asked me to join him, but it was too late.’ She took a moment to regain her voice. ‘You look very well. I did right by you even though it was against my instincts. And now – well, I made a promise that I wouldn’t try to find you – I have already breached it by coming here. Remember, my darling daughter, I have never stopped loving you.’ She reached out and brushed her fingers against Agnes’s cheek. ‘Always and for ever.’

  She pulled up her hood, turned and hurried away, leaving Agnes standing on the wharf, her mind welling up with questions, and her eyes filling with tears. She glanced down at her clenched fist and opened her palm. The half a sixpence glittered.

  She raised her arm to throw it into the water, but something stopped her: the image in her head of a young man about to become a husband and father, shackled and imprisoned. Even then in his despair, he had thought of his family and created the love token, because that was what it was. It was worth nothing, yet it had meant everything to him.

  She slipped the half a sixpence and chain inside her glove.

  ‘You look very pale,’ Nanny observed as she returned to Agnes’s side.

  ‘Oh, leave me alone.’

  ‘You know I can’t do that. Come along now. Let’s go to the inn to recover our wits.’

  ‘I have not lost my wits,’ Agnes protested.

  ‘Wipe your eyes.’ Nanny tried to give her a handkerchief, but Agnes refused to take it.

  In that morning, her true mother’s revelations had dragged her from her privileged and rather dull existence and forced her abruptly into adulthood. She was not an orphan. She did not hail from the higher echelons of society. She was the illegitimate daughter of a countrywoman and a man who had been transported to the other side of the world for a crime he hadn’t committed.

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand why I brought you here. You may never understand, but to know yourself, you need to know where you came from. One day, if by some mischance you find yourself facing adversity, you’ll be able to look back and think of your mother and remember how she had the strength to carry on and come through hard times. She is no longer in the workhouse. She is married and living quietly in the country.’

  ‘She looked quite unkempt. Didn’t you notice her clothes? The mud on her boots? The way she spoke …’ Agnes felt a little sorry for being so abrupt with the poor woman now.

  ‘She is comfortably off, I believe,’ Nanny said. ‘Didn’t you want to ask her more questions? Weren’t you curious?’

  ‘No,’ Agnes said firmly. ‘I want nothing more than to put this behind me. I will not hear any talk of this again.’

  ‘That’s very wise.
’ Nanny cleared her throat. ‘You will be sure not to say anything? If your father finds out that I have betrayed his trust after all these years, I will lose my place. You will have your dresses and your party. Who knows what will happen to me?’

  ‘I won’t betray you.’ Who had comforted her when she had woken from a nightmare? Who had read to her and mopped her brow when she had been sick? Who had taught her to draw and paint? Her governess was more of a mother to her than anyone else. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Then I’m most grateful.’

  ‘Just one thing,’ Agnes said. ‘Did you know of my true father’s fate? Is that why you were so determined that we wouldn’t study Australia and Tasmania?’

  ‘I had an inkling,’ Nanny admitted. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t want to expose you, an innocent child with a sensitive nature, to the subject of criminals and imprisonment.’ She forced a smile. ‘When you were young, you were terrified of the idea that the spirits of the smugglers from long ago were haunting the house. I didn’t want to add to your anxieties, or remind myself of mine. When I attended the school for the daughters of distressed gentlefolk, one of the teachers would threaten us with transportation.’

  ‘How cruel!’ Agnes exclaimed.

  ‘I never forgot it.’ Nanny changed the subject. ‘Let us look forward, not back. We will make our way to the Ship Hotel to take refreshment.’

  They walked back into the middle of the town and made their way to the hotel where the landlord showed them through to a private room and arranged for them to be served a dish of roasted lamb and vegetables.

  ‘That was a most enjoyable luncheon, even more so as your father is paying,’ Nanny said, wiping her mouth delicately with a napkin.

  Agnes looked down at her dish – she had hardly touched her food.

  ‘It seems a shame to waste it when it costs all of one shilling and six. May I?’ Without waiting for permission, Nanny exchanged their dishes, and continued to eat. It appeared that the meeting with Agnes’s true mother had settled her conscience and revived her appetite, because by the time they arrived back at the brewery to meet Papa, her health seemed fully restored.