Her Mother's Daughter

by Evie Grace

  ‘I’m nannying for a family in Whitstable. The children are still very young, but I’m enjoying the sea air. We walk along the clifftop every day.’ Marjorie sat down on the bedside chair.

  ‘When did you leave Windmarsh?’

  ‘Not long after you did. My services were no longer required when your mama sent Henry off to school. Miriam and I have corresponded since.’

  ‘Everyone is well?’

  ‘Your mama is even more reclusive and the house is neglected because she doesn’t give the servants any guidance. Henry is growing up to be a fine boy – he looks more like your father than ever. He used to speak of you – we used to say you had sailed away and we would wave at the boats in case you were on one of them.’

  ‘Wasn’t that rather cruel, to raise his hopes and dash them?’

  ‘I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth. I may have been in the wrong, but I think he coped with the loss of his sister better that way. He still had hopes that you would return one day.’ A shadow of regret crossed her face before she continued, ‘Miriam is just the same.’

  ‘And Philip? Did you hear anything more of him?’

  ‘He got his way. He’s taken up his studies in medicine.’

  Agnes fell silent, happy that her cousin had been able to follow his dream.

  ‘Listen to me – I’m wearing you out with all this talking.’

  ‘We have so much catching up to do.’

  ‘And you need to sleep,’ Marjorie said firmly.

  Aching and exhausted, Agnes tried to doze off with the baby in the crib beside her – Oliver had brought it in from the shed outside. It had been his and Temperance’s when they were babies, and his grandfather hadn’t been able to bring himself to give it away when he’d cleared their parents’ cottage. She felt compelled to keep checking on her daughter. Was she still breathing? Was she too hot, or too cold? She reached over and touched her cheek. She snuffled, opened her eyes and closed them again.

  ‘Oh, my darling Rose,’ she whispered, overwhelmed with love.

  A little while later there was a knock at the door.

  ‘It’s me, Oliver.’

  ‘Come away from there right now.’ Agnes smiled as she heard Marjorie’s voice on the landing. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Arthur and I wanted to meet the new arrival,’ she heard him say.

  ‘You must be patient. Mother and baby need to recover their strength before they receive visitors.’

  ‘I’d like to see her too,’ Evie’s voice joined in from the other side of the door.

  ‘No, absolutely not.’

  ‘Oh, Marjorie, you are cruel.’

  ‘I’m being cruel to be kind. I’ll let you know when you can visit.’

  It was three days before Nanny let Oliver and Arthur meet the baby. Agnes remained confined to her room, but that morning, Evie helped her dress to receive her visitors. She brushed her hair and checked her reflection in the mirror on the dressing table. She pinched her cheeks to give herself some colour, then smiled at her vanity.

  The door burst open.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ma. I couldn’t wait any longer.’

  ‘Oh, Arthur,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Is she sleeping?’

  ‘She is awake,’ Marjorie said.

  Agnes glanced towards Oliver, who had followed Arthur into the room. He smiled as Marjorie showed them to the crib where Rose gazed up at them.

  ‘She’s gorn squinty-eyed,’ Arthur said in an awed whisper.

  ‘Look at all that hair.’ Oliver turned to Agnes. ‘Can I hold her? Is that allowed?’

  Agnes leaned into the crib and picked the baby up. She placed her in Oliver’s arms and showed him how to support her head. His fingers caught hers very briefly. She glanced up. He did the same, caught her eye, and as if he felt guilty for doing something that he shouldn’t, he looked away.

  Her heart melted as she watched him bend down to give Arthur the chance to stroke the baby’s head.

  ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ Oliver whispered.

  ‘She’s very pretty,’ Arthur breathed. ‘I can’t wait for ’er to grow up and be a proper sister. I’ll be able to take ’er outside and show ’er the ducks.’

  ‘It’s going to feel like an awfully long wait,’ Oliver said, grinning.

  Agnes swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat. She wished that the next months and years weren’t quite so uncertain. What did the future have in store for her and Rose?

  It was one evening in late September, long after Marjorie had returned to her employment. Evie had gone out walking with her young man, and Agnes had made sure that Arthur had washed and retired to bed before she fed Rose. She put her in her crib upstairs with the door open so she could listen out for her cries, but she was a good baby. She already slept through the night, possibly exhausted by the entertainments that Arthur provided, showing her pictures, singing to her and reciting rhymes, some of which were suitable for the nursery and some of which were not. Rose entertained him in return, smiling when he shook her coral rattle in front of her. When he dropped it, it would go rolling across the sloping floor of the room in the black and white timber-framed house.

  Agnes and Oliver were alone together in the parlour, sitting side by side but apart on the chaise to make the most of the heat of the fire. Some apple wood was burning in the grate. Every so often a log spat, sending a glowing ember on to the rug in front of the fireplace, at which Oliver would reach out one foot and stamp on it before its flame could take hold.

  ‘Shall we play cards tonight?’ Agnes asked him. He had taught her the principles of whist and draughts, and how to play Old Maid.

  ‘Not tonight,’ he said. ‘I thought we could talk. We don’t often have the opportunity …’

  ‘What would you like to discuss?’ she asked.

  ‘The future.’

  She felt apprehensive. Was he beginning to tire of her presence? She wouldn’t blame him. Perhaps she had outstayed her welcome.

  ‘As soon as I’m able, I’m going to start paying my way,’ she said. ‘I’ll advertise as a teacher for boys and girls up to the age of ten.’ She felt confident that she could teach the basics to that age group, rather than have to undergo the trials of teaching rebellious and privileged young ladies the accomplishments required for them to shine in the drawing rooms of great houses. ‘I’d make places available for children like Arthur who wouldn’t otherwise receive an education.’

  ‘That is admirable.’

  ‘I have to do something useful. I cannot be idle.’ She could see too that she and Rose were a considerable extra burden on the household. ‘Nanny – I mean, Marjorie – taught me well. Circumstances forced me to find out what I was truly capable of, and I’ve proved that I can teach. Oliver, I’ve found my calling, and I wish to pursue it.’

  ‘Do you mean that you want to set up a school?’

  ‘Eventually, I hope. I’ll have to start on a small scale – I can’t afford to rent a suitable site yet.’

  ‘I can help you with that. One of the cottages opposite the tan-yard is empty. It needs a little work.’

  ‘Oliver, I can’t possibly accept. You’ve done more than enough for me already.’

  ‘No, this is something I’m interested in doing.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Agnes, you show great restraint when it comes to expressing your wishes and feelings, but I wish you’d let me into your heart.’

  It was true. She had built a wall around her from the bricks and stones of suffering and betrayal.

  ‘I notice that you’re wearing some jewellery,’ Oliver said.

  ‘I wear it all the time. Why haven’t you asked me about it before?’

  ‘I thought it might be a gift or memento from Rose’s father. I didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘Oh, Oliver.’ She showed him the half a sixpence on the chain around her neck. He leaned in close. She could smell his breath, fresh and warm. She could feel the glow of his skin close to hers.
‘Marjorie returned it to me. It’s all I have left.’ She forced a smile. ‘The rest of my jewellery was stolen from me when I arrived in Canterbury. Not that it matters. Gold and silver have lost their shine for me.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘It’s half a sixpence, given to me by my mother, the woman who gave me up.’

  ‘Do you recall your true parents?’ he asked.

  ‘My mother gave this to me when I was buying dresses for my nineteenth birthday – that’s the only time I can remember meeting her.’ How foolish she felt, thinking of the scarlet dress and how proud she had been to order it. She didn’t care now for silk parasols and ostrich-feather fans, or black lace mantillas and reticules decorated with silver beads. They were fripperies.

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘She seemed pleasant, rustic.’ She remembered her long dark hair and tear-filled eyes, and her joy at seeing her. ‘My father …’ she hesitated ‘… he was falsely convicted of the terrible crime of murder and transported to the other side of the world. I should have liked to have known more about him, but I dismissed her in a hurry because I was in shock at the sudden discovery of my lowly start in life. I regret that now.’ She sighed. ‘She told me that the half a sixpence was a good luck charm, and a memento of my father. Someone out there – my father, perhaps – has the other half. I wonder if he may return to find me one day, if he is still alive. I won’t hold my breath, though.’

  ‘What a strange story,’ Oliver said.

  ‘I don’t think it’s any odder than the way that I’ve ended up here with you. And Arthur, of course,’ she added quickly, her cheeks warm at the idea that he might draw the wrong conclusion. She bit her lip, suppressing her emotion as Miss Treen had taught her to do. She didn’t deserve Oliver’s affection, even if she was more than willing to return it.

  ‘I found you intriguing from the very start when I met you as a boy of – what was I? About sixteen?’ he said.

  ‘It feels like a lifetime ago,’ she observed.

  ‘It wasn’t until the last time you visited Willow Place that I felt attracted to you, but you were betrothed by then to your cousin.’ He shrugged. ‘I knew anyway that I didn’t stand a chance.’

  She frowned as he went on, ‘Times have changed, though, and I’d be honoured if you and the children would take my name. That way, we can have Rose baptised – and Arthur as well. His ma was a God-fearing woman, but I don’t think she would have had her boys christened.’

  ‘It’s a generous offer, Oliver,’ she began. She had led an unconventional life up until now, but she wasn’t sure that she was prepared to change her name for a second time. ‘However, I do have my pride, and I don’t want you to do anything that will jeopardise your chances of marrying in the future.’

  ‘You are too kind.’ Was she imagining it, or was his tone laced with irony? He stood up and paced the room, then stopped in front of her. ‘I’m not going to rake up the past. It is dead and buried as far as I’m concerned. But, Agnes, be honest for once. What are you feeling? Right now? Sometimes you are a complete mystery to me.’

  She took a moment to collect herself, then realised that this wasn’t what he was asking for. He wanted her to let go of her self-restraint.

  ‘Please,’ he begged, his eyes dark with emotion.

  ‘I feel—’ she began. ‘This is hard for me. I’ve been brought up not to reveal my feelings.’

  ‘But you do feel something? Affection? Regret?’

  ‘I feel happiness – I’ve never been as happy as I have been staying here with you, Rose and Arthur. And Evie, too.’

  ‘And?’ he pleaded.

  ‘I feel a great fondness towards you, dear Oliver.’

  He blushed and her pulse fluttered. She had grown fond of him, fonder than she would admit. She thought of the way he lined up his cutlery at dinnertime and stacked his papers on his desk – he could be quite particular at times. She smiled.

  ‘Then you have given me hope, dear Agnes,’ he said, going down on one knee.

  ‘Hope?’ She hardly dared to breathe.

  ‘That one day we will become man and wife,’ he said simply.

  She glanced down at the half a sixpence that glinted from her breast. It had brought her good luck after all.

  ‘What do you think? Please, don’t keep me in suspense.’ He paused, then blundered on, turning away to put another log on the dying fire. ‘I am being too forward. It is too soon. That’s fine. I can wait. Or maybe you can’t find it in your heart to accept me as your loving husband?’

  ‘Oliver, slow down. This declaration has come as a shock to me. I have never allowed myself to think that I could ever be more than a friend to you. I came here a fallen woman with an illegitimate child. You picked me up from the gutter. How can you possibly wish to marry me?’

  He turned back to face her. ‘Because in spite of all the possible obstacles in our way, I’ve fallen in love with you and nothing will change that. I don’t care about your past.’

  ‘Oh,’ she whispered. ‘It is a miracle.’

  ‘We are well suited, equals in every way. You are a wonderful mother to Rose and Arthur, and I hope that one day they will both call me Father. I already think of the boy as my son. Our son. We are a patchwork family, stitched together by circumstance, but there’s nothing wrong in that.’ He frowned. ‘What is your answer, my dearest woman? Will you marry me and be my true and proper wife and companion in life, and in my bed? Will you make me the happiest man who’s ever lived?’

  ‘Yes, my darling, of course I will. Yes.’

  ‘We shall be inseparable, like our beloved Queen and her prince. We will hold our heads high and promenade along the Dane John with the best of them.’ Smiling, Oliver got to his feet, then sat down beside her with his arm around her shoulders. The log in the grate smouldered and burst into flame. Agnes turned to her dear friend and husband-to-be, her hero, and smiled back softly. His love and kindness had made her half a heart whole.

  Acknowledgements

  I should like to thank Laura at MBA Literary Agents, and Viola and the team at Penguin Random House UK for their enthusiasm and support. I’m also very grateful to my friends and family for their patience while I’ve been researching and writing Agnes’s story.

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9781473538313

  Version 1.0

  Published by Arrow Books 2018

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  Copyright © Cathy Woodman 2018

  Cover image © Larry Rostant

  Cathy Woodman has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain by Arrow Books in 2018

  Arrow Books

  The Penguin Random House Group Limited

  20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London, SW1V 2SA

  www.penguin.co.uk

  Arrow Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781784756239

 

 

 
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