A Mother's Wish

by Dilly Court

  She walked back along the garden path, treading carefully so that she did not trip over broken roof tiles or get her skirt snagged on the brambles that rampaged around the house in wild profusion. Now that she could see it clearly in broad daylight, she observed that the half-timbered building was almost completely blanketed by ivy and briar roses. Crazy paving paths were half hidden by carpets of moss, while daisies and dandelions struggled for existence with tall grasses. It was difficult to imagine how the garden would have looked had any effort been made to prevent it from reverting to wilderness. Similarly with the house, Effie thought, as she entered the wainscoted hallway. The floor tiles were scuffed and dulled by many layers of dirt, and the oak staircase leading up to the first floor would have benefited from a thorough dusting and the application of beeswax polish. As Effie ascended the stairs, she trailed her hand along the banister. If she were the proud possessor of a home like this she would never allow it to fall into such disrepair and decay. She paused to straighten a portrait of a young man that hung askew and was in danger of crashing to the ground. She was about to walk on but she paused to look again at the eyes which seemed to follow her as she moved. Despite the dirt that muted the colours so that everything looked beige or brown, she was aware that the eyes were a singular shade of blue. The brass plate was inscribed A Portrait of Seymour Westlake, Esquire, 1845. It was not surprising, she thought, that the gossips pointed their fingers at Mr Westlake, accusing him of being Toby’s father. She wondered if Toby had ever stood before the painting and seen the likeness to himself. Or perhaps she was just being fanciful and had fallen under the spell of the old house which seemed to sleep, like the beautiful princess in the fairy story, awaiting a kiss from the handsome prince to awaken her.

  Startled out of her reverie by the sonorous tones of the long-case clock in the hall striking twelve, she hurried back to the Blue Room and found that Georgie was awake and staring at the patterns on the wall where the sun shone through the windows. She laid her hand on his brow and realised that his flushed cheeks owed more to the rash than to a high fever.

  ‘Mama,’ Georgie said, smiling. ‘Mama.’

  Effie picked up the green medicine bottle and kissed it. ‘Thank you, Grandmother Tapper,’ she said out loud. ‘Thank you for my son’s life.’ She scooped Georgie up in her arms and cuddled him. ‘My darling boy, nothing matters as long as you are safe and well.’

  With Georgie still poorly but out of imminent danger, Effie spent the rest of the day keeping him amused, venturing down to the kitchen to fetch food and drink only when absolutely necessary. She could hear Seymour roaming about in his room and his bell was constantly ringing. The sound echoed throughout the house and sometimes Nellie responded to it but more often than not she allowed it to ring unheeded. Effie was beginning to feel sorry for the man who was locked up from morning until night, and sedated by large doses of laudanum when he became too much of a nuisance. No wonder he was going out of his mind. She decided to speak to Toby about it when he returned, but although she waited until late in the evening there was no sign of him, and she began to worry.

  Georgie had taken a little food during the day and a cup of milk before he fell asleep while listening to one of his favourite fairy stories. Effie felt weak with relief as she crept out of the room taking care not to waken him. He was over the worst and she had no doubt he would make a full recovery. She found Nellie in her usual seat by the kitchen range with her feet up on a wooden milking stool and the bottle of Hollands at her side. She opened her eyes as Effie entered the room. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked in a gin-soaked voice. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Toby hasn’t returned,’ Effie said anxiously. ‘I’m worried.’

  Nellie took a pinch of snuff from the poke in her lap and inhaled it with a satisfied sigh. ‘You can’t keep a man like Toby tied to your apron strings. He’s a rover and always will be.’

  ‘I’m not making him do anything he doesn’t want to,’ Effie protested. ‘He offered to go in search of my brother.’

  Nellie pulled herself to a sitting position, eyeing Effie with a pitying smile. ‘He’s got more important things to do than waste his time looking for a runaway.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Look, ducks, I’ve known him since he was a boy. He’s here one minute and gone the next. That’s the way gypsies are. He probably got in with a harlot who’ll give him what all men want, or he’s gone chasing off after some valuable horseflesh.’

  Effie recognised a hint of the truth in Nellie’s words. When she had first met Toby at the Prince of Wales tavern he had come and gone like the will-o’-the-wisp. He had been there one day and off on his travels the next. She had thought nothing of it then, but now when she needed him most it seemed quite likely that Toby had abandoned her. She sat down on the nearest chair as the full impact of her situation hit her. She was on her own with a sick child. She had little money and she was stuck in this remote, crumbling manor house with a drunken woman and a madman.

  ‘That’s the way it is,’ Nellie said as if reading her mind. ‘He’ll come back in his own good time, or maybe not. Don’t get involved with a gypsy man, ducks. You might as well try to harness the wind.’

  ‘It isn’t like that,’ Effie murmured. ‘I’m not in love with Toby. He’s just a friend, but I thought I could rely on him, and now I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Have a nip of Hollands,’ Nellie said, offering her the bottle. ‘It’ll take your mind off your troubles.’

  Effie shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I need to keep a clear head in case Georgie needs me in the night.’

  ‘Go to bed then and get some sleep. You look done in and you’ll be no good to the boy if you fall sick.’ Nellie took a swig from the bottle and smacked her lips. ‘Don’t fret about Toby. He’ll come back when he’s ready, and in the meantime you can stay here. To tell the truth, I quite like having someone other than the master to talk to. Sometimes I think I’ll end up as mad as him.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ Effie said, rising to her feet. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t taken us in.’

  ‘Don’t talk soft. I’ll get me tuppenny-worth out of you yet. Now that the boy is on the mend you can start on the kitchen tomorrow and we’ll go on from there. There’s enough work in this old ruin to keep you in vittles for a year or more.’

  ‘Thank you, Nellie, but I don’t intend to stay any longer than necessary. I have to find my brother, and as soon as Georgie is well enough I’ll be on my way, with or without Toby.’

  Nellie shook her head. ‘I’ve known him go off for months on end, girl. I doubt if we’ll see him again before Michaelmas or beyond. He’s got too much of his mother in him for his own good.’

  ‘And his father?’ Effie left the question hovering in the air.

  Nellie’s face darkened. ‘Even if I knew, I’d say mind your own business. That’s what I’d say.’

  Her question had obviously hit a raw spot, and although Effie could see that she was upsetting Nellie she was not going to give up so easily. ‘I couldn’t help noticing the likeness between Toby and the portrait of Mr Westlake—’ She broke off as the Hollands bottle flew over the top of her head and landed on the table, smashing a pile of crockery.

  ‘You’re as bad as the rest of the gossipmongers round these parts,’ Nellie cried angrily. ‘Mr Westlake may be a bit eccentric these days, but he is a gentleman through and through. Mirella Tapper was anybody’s, and the master wouldn’t have lowered himself to have anything to do with a harlot like her.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Effie said, rising hastily to her feet. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you again, Nellie.’

  ‘Get out of my sight.’ Nellie seized the poker, wielding it above her head as if it were a broadsword. ‘Get out before I clout you for saying such wicked things.’

  Effie picked up her skirts and fled.

  Chapter Ten

  EFFIE HAD SUFFERED a disturbed night. Georgie was wa
keful and fractious, and even when he slept she had lain in bed worrying. In the creaking old house with the marsh winds sighing outside the windows like souls in distress, it was hard keep matters in proportion. She thought of her brother out there in the wide world, alone and defenceless. She could only hope that Toby had discovered the whereabouts of the Margaret and had gone in search of Tom, which would explain his continued absence. The picture of Toby’s character as painted by Nellie was not an attractive one. Effie did not want to believe the worst of him but she could not quite put the niggling doubts from her mind, and her most pressing worry was for her brother’s safety and well-being.

  In the long wakeful hours she remembered happier times, recalling with a shiver of delight how Frank’s kisses had made her feel young and alive again. Had be missed her and would he be content to let her slip away from him without putting up a fight? Was his loyalty to his family greater than his professed love for her? These were questions to which she had no answers, but her time spent with the fairground people was becoming distant and misty with a dreamlike quality, and she clung to it like a drowning woman. She would go back to them, she decided. When she had found Tom, they would seek out the fair and make a life for themselves amongst the travelling entertainers. They would be a family once again.

  She yawned and sat up in bed, taking care not to disturb Georgie. The early summer dawn was alive with birdsong, and the sun slanted through the leaded lights creating diamond patterns on the floorboards. Effie slid off the bed and went to the window. She gazed out at the dew-covered marshland beyond the garden, and strained her eyes to peer along the track that led eventually to the main road, but there was no sign of a horse and rider. It was the start of what promised to be a glorious June day, but as far as she knew Toby had not returned. That could be a good sign, she thought, more in hope than with any conviction.

  She dressed herself, and having checked to make sure that Georgie was still sound asleep, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen. There was no sign of Nellie, which was something of a relief as Effie had been trying to think how best to apologise for upsetting her, although the question about Toby’s parentage had been asked in all innocence. This was a strange house, she thought, as she searched the newly tidied cupboard for the sliver of soap she had discovered yesterday in what should have been a butter dish. She took a towel from the clothes horse and went outside to wash at the pump. The sun shone on the moss-covered cobblestones giving them the appearance of a croquet lawn rather than a working stable yard, and a door hanging on one hinge creaked as it swung to and fro in the gentle breeze. Taking a quick look round to make sure there was no one about, Effie stripped off her blouse and worked the pump handle. Water gushed into the stone trough below and she held her head under the ice-cold stream; it took her breath away, but was just what she needed to wash the away the imagined night terrors. She was drying her hair when Jeffries emerged from the tack room clutching an empty bucket.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am.’ He stood back and waited, staring down at his boots.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Jeffries.’ Effie covered her embarrassment by wrapping the damp towel around her shoulders. She stepped aside to allow him to fill his bucket.

  ‘It’s going to be a hot one today,’ he said, keeping his gaze averted.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Effie said, hastily slipping her arms into her blouse and turning away to do up the buttons. ‘Do you know if Toby returned last night, Mr Jeffries?’

  ‘I don’t think he did, ma’am. His horse isn’t in the stables.’

  A sudden thought crossed Effie’s mind, or rather a suspicion that she hardly liked to put into words. ‘And the mare?’

  ‘She’s ready for you to ride if you wants her saddled up, ma’am.’

  ‘No, at least not today, thank you,’ Effie said, breathing a sigh of relief. If Toby had been as untrustworthy as Nellie had made him out to be, he might have taken both horses and sold the mare for a tidy profit. There must, as she had thought, be another explanation for his continued absence. With a lighter heart, Effie made her way back to the kitchen. She had hoped to make a pot of tea and heat some milk for Georgie before Nellie was up and about, but as she entered the room she saw Nellie bending over the range, raking the embers into life. She turned at the sound of Effie’s footsteps pitter-pattering across the tiled floor, and her expression was not welcoming.

  Effie cleared her throat nervously. ‘I want to apologise for what I said last night. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Nellie shrugged her shoulders and went back to poking the fire. ‘Maybe I was a bit hasty, but I won’t have a word said against the master.’

  ‘No, of course not. I understand perfectly, and I won’t mention it again.’

  ‘The past is dead and buried,’ Nellie said tersely. ‘It looks as though you’re here for some time to come and so you’d best begin earning your keep. You can start by cleaning in here and work your way through the house, room by room. But you can have breakfast first. I don’t expect anyone to work on an empty stomach.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Effie said meekly. ‘I’ll do whatever you want, but Georgie is still quite poorly. I can’t leave him on his own.’

  ‘Then bring him down here. He can sit and watch his ma work, and you can keep an eye on him. That’s what I had to do when my nippers was young.’

  ‘You had children?’

  A glimmer of amusement flickered across Nellie’s thin features. ‘I weren’t always this old, and I was considered to be quite a catch when I was young. I could have taken my pick and my old man had to work hard to win my hand, but he was head gardener here and a handsome chap with winning ways. We had a cottage down by the marsh, but it’s crumbled into a ruin now, more’s the pity.’

  Effie digested this piece of information in silence as she cut slices from yesterday’s loaf.

  ‘I gave birth to five beautiful babies,’ Nellie continued sadly. ‘All gone now.’

  Perhaps that explained Nellie’s dislike of children, Effie thought, sympathetically. ‘You lost them all?’

  ‘Two taken by diphtheria before they’d reached their first birthdays. Then my Annie died in childbirth when she was just sixteen and the baby too. Bertie married a girl from up North and moved away, and Sidney, my youngest, got caught stealing and was transported to the penal colony in Australia. I doubt if I’ll ever see either of them again.’

  Stricken with remorse for judging Nellie without any knowledge of her past, Effie laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m truly sorry that I spoke out of turn last night. You’ve been good to me, Nellie, and I won’t forget it. Sit down and I’ll make a pot of tea and some toast.’

  Nellie shrugged her hand off. ‘I don’t need your pity, my girl.’ She snatched a toasting fork from its hook on the wall. ‘Stick the bread on here and put the kettle on. Like I said, the past is over and done with. We’ve got no choice but to get on with things. As for now, I’m gasping for a cup of tea. My mouth is so dry I can hardly speak.’

  Effie cut a slice from the loaf and handed it to Nellie. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and then I’ll go upstairs and fetch Georgie, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Do what you like. There’s no hurry since it seems that you’re going to be here for a long time.’ Nellie glanced up at the ceiling as the sound of rhythmic thumping echoed round the room. ‘That’s the master wanting his breakfast. Go and see what he wants, Effie.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d best go. I mean, he thinks I’m that other person.’ Effie avoided mentioning Mirella by name in case she upset Nellie yet again.

  ‘He’ll have forgotten about that now. The master won’t hurt you; he’s as gentle as a lamb when the drink and drugs wear off.’

  The thumping grew louder and more insistent and Nellie jumped to her feet, taking the kettle from Effie’s hand. ‘Damn it, girl. Anyone would think you was going to the gallows. Get on up them stairs and see what he wants for his breakfast. Tell him there’s cold mutton and beer, or toas
t and coffee if he ain’t feeling too well.’

  Effie could see that any attempt to argue would be futile. She hurried upstairs, checking first on Georgie. Satisfied that he had not moved and was likely to sleep on for a while yet, she made her way along the landing to the room above the kitchen where Mr Westlake slept. Opening the door, she stepped into a room that took her breath away. She had seen something very similar in a book she had found on the shelves in the pub. Ben Hawkins was an avid reader, and he had allowed her to borrow books and read them at her leisure. The particular edition that had caught her eye was called One Thousand and One Nights. The tales were told by an Arabian princess named Scheherazade, and these had enthralled her as had the illustrated colour plates. Seymour Westlake’s room could have come straight from the pages of that book. The ceiling was tented in crimson satin trimmed with gold braid. The walls were draped in rainbow-hued silk taffeta, and the bed was covered in quilted purple damask and half buried beneath tasselled cushions of all shapes and sizes. Oriental rugs were scattered about the floor and pierced metal lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a kaleidoscope of patterns on the walls and floor. The air was heavy with the scent of burning incense, which did not quite overcome the odour of a male body in desperate need of a bath.