Her Mother's Daughter

by Evie Grace

  She hurried away as quickly as she could, feeling sick and giddy, but something – sheer stubbornness and the will to survive – drove her on. Once or twice, she thought she heard someone following close behind her, but when she turned, there was no one there. She was tired and in shock, she thought. Her mind was playing tricks.

  She tried to obtain a room at the Rose Hotel, but the manager refused her admission.

  ‘We don’t have women like you here,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll have you know that my name is Mrs Faraday. I’m married to the heir of Roper House in Upper Harbledown.’

  ‘Really.’ The manager raised one eyebrow. ‘Pull the other one.’

  ‘But it’s true.’

  ‘Go away, miss. We run a respectable establishment. We don’t want you here, disturbing our guests. Try Nunnery Fields, where you belong.’

  ‘Where, sir?’

  ‘Nunnery Fields – the workhouse.’

  She might have been born in a workhouse, but she wasn’t going back there. She would rather die than stoop that low. Her mother had been so desperate to escape the degrading conditions that she had sacrificed the bond between her and her child. She had given Agnes to the Berry-Clays for the chance of a better life, and Agnes knew very well that her mother’s sacrifice would have been for nothing if she ended up back inside with the elderly, the infirm and the mad.

  ‘I’m sorry for bothering you, sir.’ She turned away and walked back along the street.

  The rain began to pour down, obscuring her vision and soaking through her clothes, as she wandered, looking for shelter. She was accosted by soldiers who mocked her appearance. She bought coffee and a roll with cheese from a costermonger, and ate it on the street without a thought about who might be watching. She had lost her pride, and been careless with her money. She could have drunk water from the public water cock near the court hall and saved a few pennies.

  She staggered on through the back alleys by the river, breathing in the foul odours from the tanneries and the glue factory. Night fell. She felt sick, weak and exhausted. Even the men looking for whores took one look at her and walked away.

  She had lost everything: her wealth, status and self-respect. At the foot of the Westgate Towers, she sank to her knees. She tipped forwards and lay with her head against the wall and her feet in the gutter. The passing carts and carriages ignored her.

  This was her darkest hour, she thought as she closed her eyes and begged the Lord to let her die quickly. The cold seeped into her bones. Her fingers and toes grew numb. The baby kicking inside her grew still. She must surely be dead, for when she opened her eyes there was no light, and the Hand of God was on her shoulder, shaking her, and saying, ‘Miss, wake up. Please.’

  She felt a pair of strong hands on her arms, rolling her on to one side until she could see the flickering lights of Heaven through her eyelids.

  ‘That’s her, sir,’ she heard a boy say. ‘I followed her like you said. She led me a merry dance all the way round Canterbury.’

  ‘Well, I’m very relieved that you stayed with her,’ said a man’s voice. ‘There’ll be another shilling or two in this for you, if you can help me assist her back to the house.’

  So it wasn’t God, then, she thought. The heavenly lights were the flickering flame of a lantern and there were two people – not apparitions – present.

  ‘She has opened her eyes,’ the boy said.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she mumbled. ‘I wish to die.’

  ‘You are young yet, and with child. Fight for the infant who grows inside you. You mustn’t give up. I won’t let you,’ the man added fiercely. ‘Come with me. I promise I won’t hurt you.’

  ‘Mr Cheevers is a good man, a gentleman of the first order,’ the boy’s voice rang out.

  ‘Thank you, Arthur. That will be enough comment upon my character.’ She thought she detected some humour in the man’s voice. She recognised him now. Oliver Cheevers. She wished she was already dead. What humiliation! Hadn’t she suffered enough without exposing her fall from grace to someone whom she respected beyond measure? ‘Arthur will accompany us – you have no reason to fear.’

  ‘No, sir.’ She coughed a racking, sobbing cough.

  ‘This isn’t done out of charity,’ Arthur said, ‘it’s done out of the goodness of ’is ’eart.’

  ‘I will stay here and accept my punishment. I have committed the most terrible sins.’

  ‘No,’ Oliver said, ‘you’ve suffered enough. We all have. Poor Arthur is shivering to death. I will hear no more of this nonsense. You will come home with me and we will sort out the whys and wherefores later. I will have to drag or carry you if you continue to resist. Arthur, help me lift her.’

  She drifted in and out of consciousness as the man and boy helped her to her feet. When she next came round, Oliver’s arms were supporting her as he carried her through the streets.

  ‘Run ahead of us with the lantern, boy, so that we can see where we’re going.’

  She must have been quite a weight, but Oliver didn’t complain once, although his breathing was coming hard and heavy by the time they reached Willow Place. She heard him grunt as he handed the boy a key to unlock the front door.

  The door latch clicked and Oliver carried her over the threshold into the house. He tried to let her down, but her legs trembled, unable to hold her weight, and he caught her up again and held her against him, her head against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady.

  ‘Light the candles. There are spills and matches in the box over there. We will take her straight upstairs – she can have Samuel’s room.’ He carried her up the spiral staircase to the top of the house and placed her gently on the bed. ‘Arthur, light the fire and fetch hot water from the kitchen. And find another blanket or two – they should be in the linen cupboard on the landing.’

  ‘Steady on, sir. I can’t remember all these instructions at once.’

  ‘One thing at a time, then.’ Oliver smiled. At least, Agnes thought he was smiling from the sound of his voice. As she sank back into the pillow, she felt the foot of the mattress sink too. She looked along the bed. Oliver’s hands were at her ankle, unlacing her boot.

  ‘Please, don’t,’ she said weakly. She might be dying, but she refused to die of embarrassment by revealing the sight of her flesh to him.

  ‘Your stockings are soaked through, and there is no woman in the house,’ he said matter-of-factly as she heard the boy strike the tinderbox.

  ‘Where is your housekeeper?’ she asked.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Hill has left.’

  ‘This is most improper, then. You have put yourself in a situation by taking me in. Your neighbours will talk.’

  ‘Let them,’ he said. ‘You aren’t the first waif and stray that the Cheeverses have taken in.’

  ‘But I’m the worst, the most immoral and dishonest.’

  ‘I’m not saying that I don’t care about my reputation.’ He placed her boots on the floor and moved round to the head of the bed. ‘But I’d rather be known for my compassion than a blind eye. I can’t let you back on the streets at this time of night and in your condition – I couldn’t have it on my conscience. You may leave in the morning, if you must, although you are more than welcome to stay on until you are well and have some means of supporting yourself. In fact, I’d recommend the latter course of action.’

  The scent of coal-smoke began to fill the room.

  ‘What would Marjorie say if she found out that I’d let you go?’ She felt fingers holding her lightly around one wrist. ‘Look at you – you have no flesh on you at all.’

  ‘How long shall I ’ave to stay?’ she heard the boy ask.

  ‘Oh, your ma will be wondering where you are,’ Oliver said. ‘Forgive me. I’d forgotten that she will be sitting up alone and waiting for your return. Why don’t you take some pie from the larder, and then make your way home?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. And the shillings?’

  He smiled softly. ‘I
t’s all right. I hadn’t forgotten.’ He slipped his hand into his pocket and took out a couple of coins which he dropped into Arthur’s outstretched palm. ‘Come back to the house first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll need you here, not at the yard.’

  Agnes didn’t remember much else from then on. She drifted off, then woke to find someone encouraging her to drink from a cup of warm, sweet tea, before she fell asleep again. The next time she woke, a searing daylight had found its way between the drapes. She turned away to face the wall and threw off the bedclothes as a wave of heat swept through her body. She felt the baby move inside her and knew nothing more until she heard voices. She didn’t know how long she had been lying there, insensible, but she was half awake now and aware that there were two people in the room with her.

  ‘What were you thinking? You should have left her – she’s too far gone.’

  ‘She was in a better state than this when I picked her up from the gutter,’ Oliver said. ‘She’s gone downhill since.’

  ‘She should be in the Kent and Canterbury hospital,’ came a woman’s voice. ‘They will take her if you agree to sponsor her.’

  ‘I was hoping that you would take it upon yourself to nurse her,’ she heard Oliver say. ‘I can’t do it myself, considering the circumstances.’

  ‘Indeed. You have got yourself into a bit of a bind, my dear brother. What were you thinking of? She’s a dirty whore.’

  ‘Temperance, I told you, this woman isn’t a stranger to us. She’s Miss Berry-Clay. Marjorie used to be her nanny. We saw her only recently, within the past year.’

  Agnes curled herself into a ball. Temperance was right. She had as good as sold her body, offering it up to Master Faraday in return for his love, and ultimately, his fortune.

  ‘Oh, her?’ Her tone was one of disbelief. ‘How can that possibly be?’

  ‘She’s fallen on hard times. I told you before – Arthur found her working for the Spodes.’

  ‘I don’t care what she was doing. What if this is cholera? There has been one outbreak after another. You have no right putting us all in danger by bringing her here.’

  ‘She’s half-starved and exhausted,’ Oliver argued. ‘She has caught a chill. She needs warmth, good food and a little compassion.’

  ‘You are a fool,’ Temperance said. ‘Nothing good will come of this.’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder how you can be my sister.’

  ‘You are too soft. She won’t appreciate your generosity. She’s been brought up a spoiled young woman.’

  ‘I will treat her like everyone else of our acquaintance – fairly and with kindness. She must be terrified, poor soul.’

  ‘She’s to blame for her situation. If I’d had money to give away and fine clothes, I’d have done everything to hold on to them. Look how she’s wasted the opportunities she’s been given.’

  ‘She must have had her reasons for choosing the path she’s taken. When she’s fully recovered, I’ll find her some kind of employment so she can get back on her feet and look after her child. It’s what our grandfather would have wanted – and expected.’

  ‘Then you are even more stupid than I thought.’

  ‘If you won’t help, then I’ll ask Arthur’s mother, Mrs Fortune.’

  ‘Oh no, don’t do that. I’ll do it in Grandpa’s memory, under sufferance.’

  ‘Thank you. Please, send the boy to fetch a doctor, and go out and buy the ingredients to make a gruel: a chicken and some carrots from the market. I’ll stay with her until you return.’

  Agnes heard the swish of her skirts as she left the room, but she was aware of little else that day. She had the vague impression of a doctor attending to bleed her, and of Temperance washing her face and arms to reduce her fever.

  ‘I’ve got better things to be doing than saving the life of a guttersnipe,’ she grumbled. ‘You’d be better off dead with a child on the way and no husband. I’ve told my brother – he’s wasting his time and money. Our money.’

  Agnes couldn’t bear to hear any more. She hadn’t chosen to impose on Oliver’s hospitality.

  She was grateful, though. It had occurred to her on the night that he and Arthur had rescued her, that she might have lost the baby, but since then it had kicked and squirmed inside her, an innocent child who deserved the chance of life. She began to pray that God would have mercy on her and the infant, and she would make a full recovery.

  Within three days, Agnes felt better. Her limbs were still heavy with the after-effects of the fever, but she was on the mend. She pulled herself out of bed with some difficulty. She was only about eight months gone, but she felt like a beached sea creature. She smiled to herself, recalling the natural history book from the library at Roper House, which had contained an engraving of an enormous blue whale. She wondered how the sisters were, and Felix. No, she wouldn’t let his legacy taint the rest of her life. She would make up for her sins, one way or another.

  Her clothes had been laundered and left on the chair beside the bed. She got dressed and then looked in the gilded mirror on the wall. Her reflection stared back.

  Mrs Agnes Ivy Linnet. A widow. Twenty years old. She ran her fingers through her long dark locks and put them up into an untidy plait.

  She pulled the curtains open and looked out at the sunshine and the weeping willows at the river’s edge at the bottom of the garden. There was a magpie sitting on the railings. One for sorrow … she thought. Then another landed beside its mate. ‘Two for joy …’

  She headed downstairs, hoping that she wouldn’t run into Oliver or Temperance.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  She stopped in her tracks when Oliver appeared in front of her in the hallway.

  ‘I’m going to get the money I’m owed from the Spodes. I owe you for my board and lodgings,’ she stammered. It was true. She’d been planning to drop it off at Willow Place before moving on.

  ‘You aren’t going anywhere. You aren’t well.’

  ‘I’m well enough.’

  ‘Besides, I have bad news on the Spode front – the day after the magistrate served the papers on them, they packed up their belongings and fled. They took a coach to London, I believe.’ He sighed. ‘I’m afraid they’ll set up another office there and go on as before. We did our best to stop them, but it wasn’t enough.’

  ‘I can’t stay here, Oliver, imposing on you and your sister. It pains me that I am a source of discord between you and Temperance.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said lightly, ‘there is nothing that we agree on.’

  ‘What I’ve done is unforgivable,’ she went on. ‘As I’ve said before, you’ve put your reputation at risk by letting me stay here.’ She gazed at him, her throat tightening with emotion. He was a good man, far too good for the likes of her.

  He chuckled. ‘And I’ve told you before that I don’t care what people think of me. My grandfather taught me that it doesn’t matter. Those that deserve your regard are those who in return have a high regard for you. To admire where admiration has not been earned is a waste of time and energy.’ He grew serious again. ‘Of course, it’s easier now that Temperance is married. I wouldn’t have wanted anything to affect her chances of making a good match.’

  ‘What about you? What about your chances of marriage? I think that your sweetheart would find it hard to accept that you have an unmarried woman living in your house.’

  ‘I have no sweetheart, more’s the pity. My grandfather once had his eye on a young lady for me, but there were too many obstacles in our way. She was set above me in society and we met rarely, only on a handful of occasions. I was – I still am – very fond of her and hold her in high esteem, but I have no idea how she feels about me. I don’t think that it would ever cross her mind that I’d be a possible match, considering the stink in which I make my living.’

  ‘I wish I had come back to see Samuel,’ she said softly.

  ‘I miss him. I try to think of his passing as a blessing – he was suffering terribly.’ His eyes
glittered with tears. ‘You could have come back,’ he said, recovering his composure. ‘Arthur said that he’d seen you in Can’erbury, but we didn’t believe him at first. He’s very fond of making things up. But when he said again that he’d met you at the screevers’ while he was running errands for Mrs Spode, I made some enquiries.

  ‘Everyone knew they were on the take. Everyone – except for my grandfather and the poor blighters who were being conned – turned a blind eye.’ Oliver frowned. ‘You’ve made mistakes. We all do that. It’s part of the human condition. If you don’t make errors, how can you learn to do things right? I’m grateful for what you did, signing that begging letter with your true name. It alerted my attention and gave me the proof I needed to take to the magistrate. My grandfather had railed against the Spodes for years, begged them and tried before to close down their business, or at least get them to resort to honest screeving to make a living.’

  ‘They’ve lived a comfortable life on their ill-gotten gains, and I’m sorry that I was part of it.’ Agnes hung her head. ‘I was taken in at first. It seemed an honest profession and one that I could take up.’ She looked down at her belly – there was absolutely no hiding it now, stays or no stays. ‘Within a day I’d realised my mistake. They asked me to fake a petition and scribe a begging letter copied out five times. I am ashamed that I continued working there so long, but – it is no excuse – I was trapped. I had no money, no resources to fall back on. The Spodes directed me to Mrs Hamilton’s lodgings and naively, I let her charge me over the odds. I didn’t know any better – I wasn’t brought up to be streetwise like the other tatterdemalions around here.

  ‘Oh, I’m not saying I’m better than them,’ she added quickly, in case he had misunderstood.

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  She gazed at him. His eyes were dark and soft. There had been a time when she would never have shared any personal details about her life, but she felt safe with Oliver because she knew that he would hold his tongue. She trusted him.