Her Mother's Daughter

by Evie Grace

  ‘Come and sit down in my grandfather’s study. We can talk,’ he said, and she followed him into the room where he plumped up the cushions on the window seat. ‘Sit down.’

  She took her place in the window. The sunshine streamed through the glass, and a duck quacked outside.

  ‘Tell me more,’ he said, turning the desk chair round to face her and sitting down.

  ‘I wish I’d looked further for work. By the time I’d paid Mrs Hamilton for board and lodging, and bought the materials I needed from the Spodes, I had little left over.’

  ‘I understand your reasons for doing what you did. You are with child. You would do anything for the infant’s sake.’ Her eyes flooded with tears as he continued, ‘I believe that the love a mother feels for her child is one of the most powerful feelings in the world.’

  ‘I don’t deserve your forgiveness, sir.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, call me Oliver. Let’s have no more of this “sir” business.’

  ‘Thank you. I brought this all upon myself. When I left Windmarsh, I thought I was making the right decision—’

  ‘Marjorie came to stay with my grandfather, if you recall. She told us a little of why you were leaving – that you’d left Windmarsh because you had been betrothed against your will to your cousin.’

  ‘Philip wished to become a doctor and it would have been a torment for both of us to have been forced into being husband and wife according to his father’s wishes. I had no choice but to walk out on my old life. Nanny was a good friend to me. She found me my place at Roper House.’ It was ironic to think that she could also have been the means of her leaving it through the letter she’d sent, if Agnes hadn’t become involved with Master Faraday. ‘I let her down with my subsequent actions, which were entirely of my own free will.’

  ‘You did take up the position of governess?’ Oliver said. ‘I saw the advertisement – my aunt didn’t keep anything from us.’

  Agnes nodded. She was even more ashamed when he continued, ‘I remember that day when you refused to acknowledge me. You were walking through Can’erbury with two young ladies—’

  ‘Yes, my charges,’ she cut in.

  ‘And two rather obnoxious gentlemen,’ Oliver added.

  She blushed. ‘I’m sorry for my rudeness.’

  ‘I’m sure you had your reasons.’

  ‘I’ve been very stupid. I allowed … the young master … to seduce me. I knew it was wrong, but I thought it was love. Alas, it turned out not to be on his part. He offered marriage – I thought I was promised to him – but when he discovered I was with child and my true identity, he cut all ties. He promised me the earth and gave me nothing but grief. He has betrayed me and disowned the child.’ She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. ‘I must apologise for my weakness, in revealing too much of myself.’

  ‘You’re still fond of this man,’ Oliver said gently.

  ‘No, not after what he’s done to me. I’ve been a fool, but I thought … Oh, what’s done can’t be undone. I shouldn’t have been so frank with you. I can see that you are disgusted.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m rather disturbed that there are men out there who purport to be gentlemen yet turn out to be cads. It gives us all a bad name. You aren’t the first to be deceived and you won’t be the last by a long way.’

  ‘Nobody is perfect,’ she said.

  ‘That’s true. When I first saw you as a girl with my cousin, and dressed all in white, I thought you must be the sweetest, most generous person, incapable of having a single bad thought, but’ – he smiled wryly – ‘your attitude to Bert, Arthur’s brother, soon disabused me of that idea.’

  ‘I harboured wrong inside me. I blamed the poor for their poverty. I despised them for their dirty hands and faces, and their ragged clothes. And I’m truly repentant now, because I know what it is like to have nothing. I’ve lived from hand to mouth. I’ve mended my own clothes.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to be critical. What I was trying to say is that you’re right. Everyone has their imperfections. That’s what makes us human.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It’s our differences that make us … well, endearing, I suppose.’

  ‘You are too good, Oliver.’

  ‘I’m an ordinary man,’ he said.

  Far from it, she thought. He was special. He wasn’t some shallow young gentleman, only interested in his own pleasures, like Felix had been.

  ‘You must stay and rest some more,’ he went on. ‘There is food in the larder. Treat my house as your home for a while longer.’

  ‘I’m very grateful, but what can I do in return for your hospitality? I have to do something.’

  ‘Not today, Agnes. You mustn’t think of lifting a finger until you are fully recovered. Put your child first.’

  Oliver turned and left, closing the door behind him. She looked out of the window at the neatly trimmed lawns, the borders filled with daffodils and hyacinths, and the painted veranda with the clematis coming into bud. She couldn’t take advantage of Oliver’s gallantry for much longer. He had more than enough to do, running the house and the tannery, and continuing his grandfather’s charitable works. In the meantime, she had to make a plan, but the longer she sat there, the more hopeless her prospects seemed to become.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  One for Sorrow, Two for Joy

  One thing was certain – she wouldn’t depend on Oliver Cheevers for any longer than necessary. The next day, Agnes slipped out after he’d left for the tannery. She tied the ribbons on her bonnet and made her way down to the gate and on to the street where the overnight rain had washed away some of the dirt and filth. She had nothing, neither money nor anything else to exchange or barter with, and as she continued along St Peter’s into town, she couldn’t find anything she could pick up to sell.

  She looked in the shop windows for work. There was one place for a baker, but when she walked in to apply, the owner laughed in her face. Shaking her head, she left and walked back along the river, hardly noticing the stench as the noxious gases bubbled up through the silt. She felt restless – no longer did she yearn to live a life of quiet repose. She wanted – no, needed – to keep busy. She was a young woman who had much to give.

  Returning to Willow Place, she hesitated at the tannery gates.

  She spotted the boy, Arthur, helping one of the workmen haul a heavy hide out of the pits. He looked small, scrawny and hungry, she thought. When the hide was submerged in the next pit along, he came over to her.

  ‘Hello, missus,’ he said, shading his eyes from the sun. ‘You look better.’

  ‘And it’s thanks to you,’ she said. ‘I know that you followed me that night and that you ran back and told Mr Cheevers of my plight. But for you, I would have died in the gutter. One kindness deserves another, but I don’t know how to reward you.’

  ‘A shillin’ would be useful,’ he said hopefully. ‘I ’aven’t had anything to eat since last night.’

  ‘I have no money, but I’m sure Oliver won’t mind if I bring you some food from the house.’ At least, she hoped not. She would pay him back as soon as she could.

  ‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t like you to get into a bind.’

  ‘I’ll be back shortly.’

  Agnes went back to the house and looked in the larder. Finding a plate and a knife, she cut off a hunk of bread from the loaf and a slice of ham from the joint, and made tea, then carried the provisions back to the tan-yard. She waited for Arthur as he helped drag another hide from one pit into another. When he saw her, his face lit up, and he came running over, splashing through the black puddles. Eyes glinting, he couldn’t wait. He snatched the bread from the plate and stuffed it in his mouth.

  ‘Arthur, where are your manners?’ she scolded.

  He put the bread back on the plate, crumbs spilling from his mouth.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about them now. You’re starving. Ugh, and your hands are filthy.’ She held the plate towards him. ‘Here, take it.’


  He wolfed the rest of the bread and cheese, gulped the tea, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Thank you, missus. I’m much obliged.’

  ‘Go back to your work,’ she said, allowing herself a smile. Perhaps there was still a little happiness to be found.

  She went back to the house and washed the plate, knife and mug in the scullery sink. Then she found a broom in the adjoining closet, and swept the floors, before retiring to the window seat in Oliver’s study.

  She heard him come in at the end of the day.

  ‘Agnes?’ he called. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, heading out to the hallway to greet him.

  ‘The fairy godmother has visited, I see,’ he said. ‘You have done the floors.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I have to do something. I have a confession to make – not only do I owe you for my keep, but I fed the boy, Arthur, this morning. He was starving – he hadn’t eaten since last night. Oh, Oliver, I’m sorry. I raided the larder.’

  Oliver smiled gently. ‘Don’t worry – that was a kind thing to do.’

  ‘I think he and his mother must struggle very much.’

  ‘I send our laundry to her, and I employ the boy as far as I can. His brother – Bert – has gone to work elsewhere, to seek his fortune in London as a bricklayer’s apprentice, according to Arthur. They have lost his support.’

  ‘How could he do that? How could he abandon his family?’

  ‘I believe he got himself into some kind of trouble with some petty thievery. I don’t think it was entirely his fault – he got in with the wrong crowd, hoping to make some extra money to help his mother.’

  ‘I see,’ Agnes said. ‘Under the circumstances, he had no choice.’

  ‘Indeed. I wanted to help him, but he was too ashamed to look me in the eye. He left without a word to me, which is a pity when he’d worked here for so long. Listen, I’d be grateful if you would give Arthur food every morning.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What will he do when I’ve left Willow Place?’ she said.

  ‘Agnes, without pride, one would lie down and give up,’ Oliver said, sounding exasperated, ‘but you can have too much of a good thing. There is nothing wrong with taking on an offer of help until you’re back on your feet.’

  ‘It is my fault that I’m in this position. I don’t deserve your charity.’ She grew tearful. ‘You are too kind.’

  ‘Please don’t think of it,’ Oliver said. ‘I’m a busy man. I work at the tannery every day of the week, supervising the workers, the operation of the tan-pits and the milling of the oak bark. I don’t have time to look after the house, and I’ve been thinking – I’d like to offer you some work, a position as housekeeper. It’s been hard since Mrs Hill left – she couldn’t bring herself to stay on after my grandfather passed away. She was very fond of him. They had an understanding, so to speak.’

  She bit her lip. What was he saying?

  ‘They weren’t married, but they had a deep attachment to each other. Oh, Agnes, you make out that you’re such an innocent. What I’m saying is that they shared a bed.’ He glanced up towards the beamed ceiling. ‘There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? The sky hasn’t fallen in. The world hasn’t come to an end. You see, my grandfather wasn’t perfect either.’

  ‘But it didn’t matter because he loved her all the same,’ she said.

  ‘He left her a tidy sum of money and some jewellery which belonged to my grandmother. Anyway, that’s by the by now,’ he sighed. ‘What do you think of keeping house for me?’

  She blushed nervously. What was he suggesting?

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean—’ he said quickly. ‘I’m not saying that we should share a bed.’

  Of course not. She was carrying someone else’s child. She was a fallen woman and Oliver Cheevers was, and always would be, far too good for her.

  ‘I’d love to work here, but it won’t be long before—’ She glanced down at her swollen belly.

  ‘I’ll ask Temperance to send her maid in to help with the chores while you’re temporarily indisposed.’

  ‘I don’t believe that I’d make a good housekeeper,’ she said. ‘I can’t cook or launder. I’ve always depended on others to do those activities. We had servants, a cook and then a French monsieur in the kitchen.’

  ‘You aren’t stupid, though – I’m sure you can learn the basics.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ She stood up and brushed down her skirts, and straightened the antimacassar.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To make a start.’

  ‘No, please sit down. I should like to continue our conversation for a little longer.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like me to fetch you some tea? Have you any darning you would like me to do?’ Her questions seemed to irritate him.

  ‘You are here to keep house, not wait upon me hand and foot. I’ve managed without a housekeeper for some time now. Mrs Hill spent most of her time in recent months caring for my grandfather, rather than dealing with the other day-to-day activities.’

  She sat down and rested one hand on her belly, feeling the baby move beneath her fingers.

  ‘I’m sorry for coming between you and your sister.’

  ‘Temperance has aspirations to a better life – it didn’t help when she first met you because your situation was exactly the one she wanted for herself. The trouble is that her ambitions have made her bitter and dissatisfied with her lot. She has a loving husband who works for me at the tannery as our clerk and treasurer. Unfortunately, my sister has been married for several months and there is no sign of a happy event.’

  ‘That isn’t long. My adoptive mother took many years until a miracle happened.’ Agnes wondered how Henry was. ‘Temperance would have had good reason to envy me once, when I was a young girl and the apple of my father’s eye. I was adopted by the Berry-Clays as an infant, as you likely know from Marjorie.

  ‘Papa was a charitable gentleman. He was on the Board of Guardians for the workhouse and gave snuff and oranges to the inmates every Christmas, but he also flaunted his wealth. Mama was profligate with Papa’s income from the brewery – she allowed the servants to misspend it right under her nose. Papa spoiled me with presents, and I’ll never forget how he once rented a pineapple to show off to his guests on the occasion of my brother’s christening.’ She couldn’t help smiling. ‘What would I do to have the money that he spent on it now? What a terrible waste when there are families like Arthur’s suffering here without proper housing, clothes and food.’

  ‘You’ve changed, Agnes. You speak from the heart.’

  ‘I’ve been told that I have but half a heart.’

  ‘That isn’t true,’ he said, his eyes seeming to gaze into her soul. ‘You are kind and compassionate, even though you’ve been through so much.’

  ‘It’s because of it,’ she corrected him.

  ‘Let me continue to help you, at least until the child is born. I don’t see it as an imposition. It is something I wish to do.’

  She glanced away at the clock on the mantel.

  ‘I’ll make a start on the dinner,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘There is a book on the shelf in the kitchen on domestic management. I believe it has many chapters on how to prepare and cook meals. You will have to make do with what’s in the larder tonight, but when you are more confident, we can send out for other ingredients. We will keep to a budget, though.’

  ‘Of course.’ She stood up and made her way to the kitchen, where she put on the apron that she found hanging on the hook behind the door. Where on earth should she begin? She thought back to the elaborate dishes she’d eaten at Windmarsh and Harbledown. Some of them had taken the cooks hours to prepare. She had no time to do one of those now. She looked in the larder and found a bag of flour with a few weevils in it, some salt and a block of lard that was melting around the edges. She had an idea that she could make a pie, but what to fill it with?


  There were cold meats – some ham and beef – along with apples and some rather rubbery carrots. She pulled the book off the shelves and opened it up, searching through the index for recipes. She followed the instructions for making pastry to create some semblance of a pie. She filled it with slices of cold meat, then put it in the oven, having fed the range with more coal. She left the pie to cook for an hour then opened the oven, releasing a plume of black smoke.

  She took her handiwork out quickly and placed it on the side.

  It didn’t look pretty, but she thought it might do. She trimmed off the burned rim of pastry and, realising that she’d forgotten to cook anything to go with it, she chopped up a carrot and dropped the pieces in boiling water.

  ‘Is it ready?’ Oliver asked, coming to the kitchen door. ‘I wouldn’t normally rush you, but I have a meeting to go to later.’

  ‘You are going out again?’ She wiped her hands on her apron.

  ‘I’m expected to join the trustees of one of the charities my grandfather set up before he passed. He was Chair of the Sanitary Society.’

  ‘Go and sit down at the table then,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring your dinner.’

  ‘You are going to join me?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ she said, feeling a little awkward. ‘I’m not sure where I stand,’ she went on. ‘Am I not your servant?’

  His brow furrowed. ‘No, of course you aren’t. You’re my guest,’ he said, putting her at ease.

  She delivered the plates of food to the dining room and placed Oliver’s in front of him.

  He looked at it.

  ‘That looks … interesting and very accomplished for someone who has no idea how to cook. It’s beautifully arranged on the plate.’

  She sat down and picked up her knife and fork after he’d said grace. She watched him saw into the pie, open the crust and manfully force the prongs of his fork into the filling, sending a piece of carrot flying across the table. With a faint splosh, it came to rest in his beer.