A Mother's Wish

by Dilly Court

  Seymour was seated in the middle of all this faded, moth-eaten but still exotic splendour on a chair carved out of dark wood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. He was wearing a flowing crimson velvet robe and his head was covered by a jewel-encrusted silk turban. He glared at her with no hint of recognition in his speedwell-blue eyes. ‘Who the devil are you?’

  ‘Effie Grey, sir.’ She bobbed a curtsey. ‘Mrs Halfpenny sent me to see what you want for your breakfast.’

  He eyed her up and down. ‘I don’t know you, Effie Grey.’

  ‘No, sir. I’m staying here for a while and helping with the cleaning.’

  ‘I can’t afford to pay for more servants. You’ll have to leave immediately.’

  ‘I’m not being paid, sir. And we don’t eat much.’

  ‘We?’ Seymour said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Are there more of you?’

  ‘Just me and my son, Georgie. He’s just a baby and he’s been ill, which is why I can’t leave right away, although I can assure you we’ll be off as soon as he’s well enough.’

  Seymour raised his hand, closing his eyes. ‘Stop chattering, woman. I really don’t care. Just fetch me a pot of coffee, and tell Nellie that I want to speak to her.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Effie backed towards the door, eyeing him warily. He seemed to be quite normal today, and nothing like the madman who attempted to get into her bed under the misconception that she was his long lost love.

  ‘Go now,’ he said without opening his eyes. ‘Hurry.’

  Effie left the room feeling dazed and slightly sick. The smell of the incense had been quite overpowering and there were overtones of odours that she could not identify. She returned to the kitchen to relay his request to Nellie, who appeared to have anticipated her master’s request and had made the coffee. She placed a bone china cup and saucer on a tray. ‘Was it just coffee he wanted?’

  ‘Yes. That’s all.’

  ‘Take it up then. It won’t walk upstairs on its own.’

  ‘He wants to speak to you.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll come when I’m ready.’ Nellie sat down in her chair and sipped a cup of tea. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? He was all right, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He seemed quite normal, apart from that strange room. I’ve never seen anything like it, and the smell in there is very odd.’

  ‘That would be the incense and opium,’ Nellie said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘The master travelled a great deal in his youth; he brought back many souvenirs from far countries.’

  ‘But opium,’ Effie said, shocked. ‘That’s bad.’

  ‘It ain’t good, but you’ve seen what he’s like when he can’t get any. Without it he acts like a lunatic. When he’s got it he’s almost normal again. I know which I prefer and the doctor says as his mind is wandering anyway, the opium does him no harm.’

  Effie knew almost nothing about the drug, apart from the fact that there were places in the worst parts of the East End where men went to smoke opium and send themselves into oblivion. ‘The doctor gives it to Mr Westlake?’

  Nellie snorted and almost choked on a mouthful of tea. ‘That’s a laugh. Nothing in this life is for free, Effie. A country doctor don’t earn much, and this one makes his money by charging a pretty penny for keeping the master and others supplied with their needs, whether it’s opium or contraband spirits. Don’t look so shocked, girl. It’s the way of the world. Now take the coffee up to the master and then you can start on the cleaning. Like I said, nothing is for free. You’ll start paying for your keep right now.’

  All morning, Effie scrubbed and cleaned the kitchen. Before she could start she had to heft sackfuls of rotten vegetables, mouldy oats and flour crawling with weevils to a rubbish heap on the far side of the stable block. Bluebottles feasted and multiplied, turning a small mountain of waste into a moving mass of maggots. The stench was terrible but she did not tarry long enough to be sickened by the smell. She had had to leave Georgie in Nellie’s care while she left the kitchen, but today he seemed a little better and in between naps he played with a small wooden horse that Nellie had unearthed from a cupboard somewhere in the depths of the house.

  ‘My Bertie used to love that toy,’ Nellie said, looking up and smiling as Effie entered the kitchen. ‘I’d forgotten all about it until now.’

  Georgie looked up at his mother and grinned. ‘Gee-gee,’ he said, holding the toy up for her inspection.

  ‘Well, I never did,’ Nellie said, gazing at him in wonderment. ‘He spoke. There’s a clever boy. You’re all right, you are, Georgie Grey.’

  ‘Gee-gee,’ Georgie responded, chuckling.

  Nellie leaned over and lifted him onto her lap. ‘We’ll soon have you running about again, young Georgie.’ She looked over his head and smiled as she met Effie’s anxious gaze. ‘He’s over the worst, but he needs rest and quiet and good food. Do you know how to milk a goat?’

  ‘No,’ Effie said, horrified by the idea. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘Then you’d best learn. We’ve got a couple of goats and some kids. I’ll show you what to do and then you can manage on your own. In fact, when you’ve finished the kitchen you could make a start on clearing out the dairy. We haven’t had our own butter and cheese since the last maid left and I’ve a fancy for warm bread and goat’s cheese for my supper.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Effie protested. ‘I can’t do everything and I don’t know how to make butter and cheese, even if I could learn to milk a goat.’

  ‘But think what good it will do the boy. He’ll get better all the sooner if he has good nourishing food.’ Nellie dandled Georgie on her knee. ‘Who’s a fine boy then? You’re just like my Bertie. He was a lovely baby and Nellie is going to make sure that you grow up big and strong, just like him.’

  Effie felt a shiver run down her spine at Nellie’s assumption that they were here for the foreseeable future. She was beginning to wonder if Nellie was not a little mad like her employer. Mr Westlake had appeared to be sane enough at breakfast time, but when she had taken him a cup of tea mid-morning she had found him lying in a stupor on his bed. Effie frowned as she watched Nellie plant a kiss on Georgie’s head and set him back on the floor, smiling at him as if he were her own child. Alarm bells were ringing in Effie’s brain. This really was a madhouse, and as soon as Georgie was fit enough to travel they would leave here with or without Toby, although she had not entirely given up hope. He might walk through the door at any moment; she prayed that he would.

  The rest of the day passed without any word from Toby, and the next. A week went by and in that time Effie had learned how to milk a goat, although catching the nanny was more difficult than the actual milking. The billy goat proved to be a problem in that he seemed to resent her presence and tried to butt her out of the way when she approached the female. After a few painful encounters with the aggressive billy, Effie found a way to distract him with crusts of stale bread, and while he gobbled them up she was able to lure the nanny goat away to be milked. The dairy had been scrubbed clean and Effie churned some of the rich milk into butter, although there had not yet been enough to make cheese. She had also taken over the bread making, which was something she could do well having been taught to bake in the workhouse.

  At the end of the second week at Marsh House, Effie had worked her way through all the rooms with the exception of the long disused attics. She had scrubbed floors, polished wainscoting, and dusted furniture. She had cleaned out grates in the dining hall, the morning parlour, the drawing room and the small study. She had taken threadbare carpets outside and hung them on a washing line, beating them until the dust fell in showers onto the ground below. Cleaning the seven main bedchambers had been easier as she was not allowed to enter Mr Westlake’s room, and the one she shared with Georgie was the only bedroom left furnished. Nellie slept in a small room off the kitchen, and no one other than herself was allowed to step inside.

  Nellie’s attachment to Georgie was becoming more of a worry for Effie. He seem
ed to have taken the place of Nellie’s children, and sometimes when she had been drinking heavily she even called him Bertie. Effie kept Georgie with her whenever possible, but it was obvious that Nellie’s delusions were increasing with each passing day. As Georgie’s health improved, Effie made her plan of escape. She intended to take Toby’s mare in the dead of night when no one was about. She knew that Jeffries was hard of hearing, so there was little fear of waking him, but she had to wait until there was a full moon as it would be madness to attempt to cross the marsh in total darkness.

  In the meantime, Effie tried to avoid Mr Westlake as much as possible. He only left his room on rare occasions and then usually at night. During the day he seemed to spend most of his time smoking a strange-looking pipe, an event that Effie had witnessed one day when she had taken him his midday meal. He had seen her incredulous look and had smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen one of these contraptions, Effie?’

  She set the tray of food down on a brass table in front of him. ‘No, sir.’

  He sucked on the pipe and the water bubbled as he inhaled the smoke. ‘It’s called a hookah, and it came from Morocco, where I spent several years in the British Embassy as a very junior clerk.’ He exhaled smoke through his nostrils. ‘I fell in love with that country, as you can see.’ He waved his hand, encompassing the dramatic and exotic furnishings and fabrics. ‘I was happy then, before I lost my beloved Mirella.’ He leaned forward so that the light from a small oil lamp reflected the deep pockmarks on his face. ‘This is my legacy of the disease that robbed me of my beautiful gypsy girl. When I slide into oblivion I am reunited with Mirella.’ His smile faded and he glared at Effie. ‘Go away, girl. I don’t want anyone to pity me.’

  Effie fled from the room, terrified by the sudden change in his demeanour. After that she was extra vigilant when she took him his food. Nellie admitted that the master suffered fits of deep depression when he refused to eat or drink anything other than wine or brandy. At these times she waited on him herself, refusing to allow Effie anywhere near his room. Effie could hear him pacing the floor when she was downstairs in the kitchen, and at night he roamed the house, opening and closing bedroom doors as if searching for someone or something. She had taken to sleeping with the washstand pushed against the door so that it jammed the handle and prevented anyone from entering. Sometimes she heard him moaning as if in pain, and at other times she heard him laughing, but it was a mirthless, hollow sound that made her shudder. Only once since their first encounter had Mr Westlake mistaken her for Mirella, and that had been one evening when she had taken him his evening meal. He had been drinking steadily all day, having had a keg of brandy delivered to the door by a pair of shifty-looking men who, Nellie had said with a chuckle, had managed to slip past the excise men, bringing contraband from France. As Effie put the tray on the table at his side, Mr Westlake reached out to grasp her wrist. ‘Mirella, my love. Why do you leave me so long without your company? Have I done something to offend you?’

  Terrified, Effie tried not to panic. Nellie had told her that if it ever happened again she should play along with him, pretending to be Mirella until she could slip away without upsetting him further. ‘Don’t anger the master,’ Nellie had warned. ‘Smile and make him think that you are who he wants you to be, then get away and come for me. I know how to handle him.’

  ‘No, sir. Of course not,’ Effie said, attempting a smile.

  He pulled her onto his lap, stroking her hair, but as he twisted a flaxen curl around his finger his expression changed. He threw her to the floor. ‘You are not Mirella. My love has hair the colour of a raven’s wing. Who are you? Why do you come here to torment me?’

  Effie scrambled to her feet. ‘I’ll get Mirella for you, sir. Be patient for a moment longer and I’ll fetch her.’ She ran from the room, and raced down the stairs as if the devil were after her. She burst into the kitchen and collapsed onto the nearest chair.

  Nellie looked up with a startled expression on her lined face. ‘What’s happened now?’

  ‘Mr Westlake is having one of his strange turns.’

  Georgie had been sitting on Nellie’s lap and his mouth drooped as he registered his mother’s distress. Nellie set him down on the floor. ‘I’ll go to him,’ she said briskly, rising to her feet. ‘You’d best keep out of his way until this passes. He’s always worse when there’s a full moon.’

  As she whisked out of the room, moving with uncharacteristic speed, Georgie toddled over to his mother, holding his arms out to her. ‘Mama.’

  Effie bent down to pick him up. ‘It’s all right, darling. Mama’s here.’ She closed her eyes as she held him close. ‘It’s a full moon tonight, Georgie. It’s high time we left this madhouse.’

  It seemed to Effie that she had done this before, only last time she was escaping from her father-in-law’s clutches and now, in the dead of night, she was leaving Marsh House. She crept through the silent corridors and tiptoed down the stairs with Georgie in her arms. She paused as a floorboard creaked beneath her feet, holding her breath and praying that she had not disturbed Mr Westlake. She stood statue-still, but the only sound she could hear was the thumping of her heart and Georgie’s soft breathing as he snuggled up to her and went back to sleep. She was trembling with relief as she slipped out through the scullery door and crossed the stable yard to the stall where the mare welcomed her with a soft whinny of pleasure. Effie had packed her few belongings in a saddlebag earlier that day and she set Georgie down in the straw while she saddled the horse. Jeffries slept above the tack room next door and she hoped that he was a heavy sleeper as she lifted Georgie onto the saddle and led the mare out into the yard. The thick coating of moss on the cobblestones muffled the sound of the horse’s hooves and Effie concentrated on keeping Georgie from falling off as she walked the animal away from the house.

  A full moon shone down from a cloudless sky and myriads of stars twinkled against a background of indigo velvet. The marsh was lit by a silver sheen and the track twisted into the distance like a glossy satin ribbon. Effie used the crumbling brick wall at the front of the house as a mounting block, and settled Georgie comfortably on her lap. Awakened from his slumbers he was still drowsy but the rhythm of the horse’s steady gait soon lulled him back to sleep. Effie allowed the mare to walk on at her own pace. There was no hurry now. Even if their absence was noticed at daybreak, there was no one to chase after them. Glancing over her shoulder, Effie took one last look at Marsh House silhouetted against the flat skyline. It looked dark and foreboding, and not a little sad in its isolation. She could understand why Toby was reluctant to return to the place of his birth with all its painful memories, but she found it hard to believe that he had callously abandoned her. She had put her trust in him and it had apparently been misplaced. Her feelings were mixed as she rode towards the River Lea. Her plan was to cross the river at White Bridge and to take Temple Mill Road, which would lead her to the canal. She would be in familiar territory once she came to the towpath, and she could then make enquiries as to the whereabouts of the Margaret. It was a slim hope, but she tried to imagine what Tom would have done when he failed to find Toby, and each time she came to the same conclusion: Tom would try to find her.

  She rode on for what seemed hours, half asleep herself, and allowing the mare to have her head. The damp air rose from the marshes and Effie wrapped her shawl around Georgie, but that left her shivering in the chill east wind that whipped across the flat land even in midsummer. The track seemed to go on forever and she was just beginning to think that they were lost and going round in circles when she saw a pinprick of light in the distance. At first she thought it was the infamous will-o’-the-wisp, but it proved to be constant and as she drew closer she realised it was a lantern hanging inside a farm outbuilding. The soft lowing of cattle made her want to shout for joy as she realised it was a milking parlour, and there were other human beings close at hand. If there was a farm it meant that she had reached the edge of the marsh and she w
as getting close to the river.

  Wide awake now, she rode on with renewed enthusiasm. There was a soft shimmer of light to the west where the streetlights of east London sent up a warm glow, and the great bowl of the sky was cracked by a silver line to the east as dawn broke. It was a new day and Effie’s spirits rose as she anticipated her reunion with Tom. She urged the mare to a trot and Georgie opened his eyes, smiling up at her as though it was quite normal to wake up on horseback. ‘Gee-gee,’ he murmured sleepily.

  Effie dropped a kiss on his upturned face. The world was coming alive again and the early morning sun rose in a burst of scarlet and orange. Its rays warmed her chilled body and the mist curled away, dissipating into a clear sky so blue that it almost hurt her eyes to look up. She was excited now and even more so when they reached Temple Mills and the White Hart inn, where she dismounted and paid the stable boy a penny to feed and water the mare and give her a well-earned rub down. She took Georgie into the inn where the landlady fussed over him. She insisted on feeding him bread and milk while Effie breakfasted off freshly baked bread spread with lavish amounts of butter and washed down with hot coffee. It was obvious that not many travellers passed this way, and judging by the woman’s open curiosity it was almost unheard of to find a young woman travelling alone with a small child. Effie parried the landlady’s questions with a vague story of having become separated from the travelling fair, and saying that she was on her way to re-join them. This unlikely tale seemed to satisfy the woman who tut-tutted sympathetically and took Georgie off to change his soiled garments, replacing them with clothes outgrown by her own children. Effie’s offer of payment was firmly rejected. ‘I won’t hear of it, my dear. I’ve had five of my own and it’s nice to have a little one to fuss over.’ She pressed a bundle into Effie’s hand. ‘Take these, ducks. I’d rather the sweet boy had them than some of the filthy little urchins that come across the river for nothing better than thieving and shouting abuse at their betters.’