A Mother's Wish

by Dilly Court

  ‘You’re right, of course, and I should know better.’ Seymour shook Frank’s hand. ‘Will you join me for breakfast? I’d like to hear what you have to say.’

  ‘Aye, sir, I’d be honoured.’

  ‘I could light a fire in the morning parlour if you want to talk privately,’ Effie suggested, hoping that Seymour would opt for the kitchen where she could hear their conversation without eavesdropping. There were many questions she wanted to ask but they would have to wait until Frank had left the house.

  ‘We’ll eat in the kitchen,’ Seymour replied, shrugging off his greatcoat and dropping it on the oak settle by the door. ‘I’m chilled to the bone and the ride from Bow has given me an appetite.’

  Effie stared at him, her curiosity aroused. ‘You came from Bow?’

  Seymour smiled and his eyes crinkled at the corners. She could almost imagine that it was Toby standing there in the dimly lit hallway and her heart gave an uncomfortable thud against her ribs. But if Seymour noticed her discomfort he gave nothing away by his expression. ‘It was too foggy to find my way home so I put up at the Prince of Wales. Your friend the innkeeper was only too pleased to tell me all about your heroic efforts to keep the wolf from the door. I’m proud of you, Effie, but I’m home now and you don’t have to bear the burden of my run-down estate any longer.’

  His reassuring words came as a relief after months of hard work and worry, and she did not know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Let me go into the kitchen first. You might give poor Nellie a heart attack if you walk in unannounced.’

  Nellie’s reactions were predictable. She scolded Seymour, she cried and then she laughed, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him as if he were one of her errant sons returning home after years of absence. Frank stood back, twisting his cap awkwardly between his hands, and Effie could see that he was eager to get away from what he obviously considered to be a madhouse. She served them with their breakfast of porridge, and she sat by the fire toasting bread while they ate and talked about the evidence Frank would give at Toby’s appeal. Georgie sat quietly on his stool by the fire, eating buttered toast and eyeing the men warily, while Nellie flitted about keeping their mugs filled with tea. Each time she passed Seymour she touched his sleeve or his shoulder as if to make sure that he was real and not a figment of her imagination.

  Finally, shaking hands on their arrangement to visit the offices of the solicitor in Lincoln’s Inn Fields in two days’ time, Seymour insisted that Jeffries should drive Frank back to Bow.

  Half an hour later in the lane at the front of the house, Frank took Effie’s hand and squeezed it gently. ‘We was good together for a time, girl.’

  ‘It would never have worked, Frank, and you still have a wife who might come back to you one day, and a child who needs its father.’

  He leaned over to brush her cheek with a kiss. ‘I won’t forget you, Effie. And if you ever change your mind . . .’

  ‘Take care of yourself, Frank, and give my love to Leah and Zilla and everyone. Tell them I’ll come and see them as soon as the weather improves.’

  Frank smiled, tipped his cap to Seymour and climbed up on the driver’s seat beside Jeffries. Effie shivered, wrapping her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. The fog had lifted but a damp, grey mist hung over the marshes and the only sound apart from the rumble of the cart wheels and the clip-clopping of Champion’s hooves was the mournful cry of a curlew.

  ‘That was some homecoming,’ Seymour said, relaxing at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. ‘It’s lucky I walked in when I did, Effie.’

  ‘I don’t think Frank would have harmed me,’ Effie said stoutly. ‘He’s not a bad man, but he lets his feelings get the better of him at times.’

  ‘Well, he’s doing the right thing by Toby, so I’ll have to let him off.’ Seymour put his tea down and bent over to ruffle Georgie’s curls. ‘Have you forgotten me, young man? I’m going to be your grandpa.’

  Nellie uttered a screech that might have been of pleasure or pain. ‘I never thought I’d live to hear you say that, master.’

  ‘It took me long enough to acknowledge my own flesh and blood, and Effie is going to marry my son, so I hope I may fill that gap in Georgie’s life caused by the loss of his grandfather.’

  His words made her happy, but even so tiny fingers of doubt clutched at Effie’s heart. ‘Toby may have changed. He might not want to marry me now.’

  ‘Nonsense, girl. What a lot of balderdash you talk at times. Why would he not want a woman like you? You’re beautiful and clever and you’ve struggled to keep your family together. Why, if he won’t marry you – I damned well will.’ Seymour threw back his head and laughed. ‘Don’t look so alarmed, my dear Effie. I’m teasing you, of course.’ He rose to his feet, holding his hand out to Georgie. ‘Come and help me find my travelling bag, young man. I’ve brought you a Christmas present.’

  Shyly, Georgie slipped his small hand into Seymour’s. ‘Grandpa?’ he murmured.

  ‘What a bright little fellow you are,’ Seymour said with obvious delight. ‘Grandpa it is, my boy. Now let’s go and get your present. There might be one for your mama and for Nellie too.’

  Effie watched them leave the kitchen with a lump in her throat. It was hard to believe that Seymour was the same man who had terrified her by his drunken and drugged attentions when she first arrived at Marsh House. She had fallen in love with Frank, but he had turned out to be quite a different person from the man of her dreams. Then there was Toby, the friend who had always been there for her in time of need; the genie of the lamp who had appeared when matters were desperate. She had taken him for granted then; accepting him at face value as an amusing libertine and a gypsy rover, when she now knew he was none of those things. Or was he? Would his time of incarceration in that dreadful jail have changed him? Would he still want to settle down with a ready-made family when he was released? She could not be sure of anything, but she managed a smile as Georgie raced into the room clutching a wooden horse, beautifully carved with a real horsehair mane and tail. ‘Gee-gee,’ he chortled. ‘Mama, gee-gee.’

  Effie bent down to examine it. ‘He’s beautiful, darling. What are you going to call him?’

  ‘Champion,’ Georgie said without a moment’s hesitation.

  Seymour had followed him more slowly, and he presented Effie with the most exquisite shawl she had ever seen. The black, gossamer-sheer material was embroidered with crimson roses nestling amongst green leaves and edged with a pure silk fringe. ‘For you, Effie,’ he said simply. ‘I believe it’s Spanish. I saw ladies wearing similar shawls on my travels. I fell in love with Argentina the moment I set foot on land.’ He wrapped another and far more practical shawl around Nellie’s thin shoulders. ‘This will keep the winter chills from your bones, Nellie, my dear.’

  ‘It’s like a cobweb, master,’ she whispered, rubbing her cheeks against the deep blue lacy folds. ‘It’s the best present I ever had.’

  Effie fingered the embroidery on her shawl. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Seymour,’ he said softly. ‘How many times have I got to tell you that, Effie?’

  ‘I’m sorry – Seymour. I’ll try to remember.’ Effie sat down beside Georgie, who was totally absorbed in his new toy. ‘Tell us what happened in Argentina. We’d almost given you up for dead.’

  ‘I’m not much of a hand at letter writing, and I’m afraid Toby takes after me in that respect. You haven’t heard from him, I suppose?’

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘He might not be allowed to write letters, but all that will change soon.’

  ‘You have funds to pay for a lawyer, sir? I mean, Seymour.’

  ‘My friend Forster had invested my money and his in a silver mine. It had taken some time to get the operation going but now the mine is beginning to show a profit. I’m not a wealthy man, but I can afford to hire one of the best lawyers in London to put Toby’s case for an appeal.’

  ‘You will stay at home though, maste
r?’ Nellie peered over the edge of her shawl with an anxious frown. ‘You won’t go away again?’

  ‘I shall stay until matters are settled here, but then I intend to return to Argentina. The life out there suits me and I find I am accepted as a human being and not as some freak with a pockmarked face.’

  ‘But what about Marsh House?’ Effie could hardly frame the words. ‘Will you sell your home?’

  Seymour shook his head. ‘I’ll return every now and then, but I intend to sign over the deeds to my son. I can’t make him legitimate, more’s the pity, but I can make certain that Toby gets what is rightfully his. You will be mistress of Marsh House, my dear Effie.’

  ‘Maybe, or maybe not,’ Effie said slowly. ‘None of us knows what Toby feels and you haven’t even thought to ask him whether he wants to settle down here. People change, as I’ve learned to my cost. I’ll only believe that Toby still wants to marry me when I hear it from his lips.’

  Seymour put the wheels in motion for an appeal and there was little they could do other than wait for the case to be heard. Effie busied herself with brewing and selling ale, and the cider that Toby and Jeffries had made having resurrected the old cider press. Seymour was impressed with their efforts and he was generous with his praise. He applauded Tom for the energy he had put into growing crops and he gave him permission to work the land as he saw fit. The days of pleasure gardens had gone, Seymour said regretfully. Times were hard in the country and every acre of land should be utilised for the production of food. He suggested that they should rebuild the old pigsty and keep a pig or two as well as the goats, and perhaps add a cow to their livestock in order to provide milk, butter and hard cheese. If things went well they might even hire a dairymaid.

  To Effie’s intense surprise, Seymour seemed keen on returning the land to farming and Tom was delighted with the idea. She said nothing; if Tom was happy then so was she, and more food on the table with surplus to sell could only be a good thing. She went about her daily tasks with renewed vigour, and she was filled with nervous anticipation when, at the end of February, a letter came from Seymour’s lawyer to announce the date of the court hearing.

  Next morning Seymour left for the city, where he intended to lodge in a hotel near the law courts until the case was heard. He kissed Effie, promising her that he would return bringing his son with him. ‘You will be a spring bride, my dear,’ he said, taking out his wallet. ‘Have a new dress made, and I don’t mean a drab everyday gown. You must have something to bring out the colour of your eyes and that glorious sunshine hair.’ He pressed a crisp five-pound note into her hand. ‘It will be your wedding dress, my dear brave girl. I couldn’t wish for anyone better to be my daughter-in-law.’ Without giving her a chance to answer, he mounted his horse and rode off towards town.

  Effie could not settle. She immersed herself in her work, going out alone on the cart with her barrels of ale and cider while Tom worked hard tilling the fields and sowing seeds. When she was neither brewing nor selling, she threw herself into the spring cleaning. She wanted everything to be perfect when Toby came home and she did her best to make the house into the sort of home he remembered as a boy, and one that he would never want to leave. She ordered a new gown from a dressmaker in Bow that Betty recommended, but being thrifty by nature Effie chose taffeta rather than silk and English lace rather than the more expensive variety imported from Brussels. She spent the rest of the money in the saleroom, purchasing furniture to fill the empty bedrooms and comfortable chairs and a sofa for the drawing room. Everything was second hand, but Effie was not proud and she was happy with her choices.

  When the news finally came that Toby’s case was to be heard next day Effie’s nerves were as taut as the strings on a violin. She had kept herself busy at home until now, but she had suddenly felt the need for company and, using the excuse that she was going for the final fitting for her new gown, she drove the cart to Bow. Ben was in the stable yard when she arrived and he waved to her, giving her all the encouragement she needed to brave Maggie’s displeasure by visiting the tavern kitchen. Having confided in Betty and taken comfort from her commonsense approach to all things, Effie was surprised and pleased when Ben joined them, but his expression was serious.

  ‘Take care when you leave, ducks,’ he warned. ‘Sal Salter’s in the bar and she’s three sheets to the wind and spoiling for a fight with anyone connected with the court case. Her old man’s been arrested for perjury and his ill treatment of Mr Grey, and she blames you for tricking him into admitting his guilt. Frank and Jed’s evidence could send Salter to jail for years, so be careful when you go. You don’t want to catch her in this mood.’

  Effie left the pub soon after Ben’s warning and she thought she had escaped Sal’s notice, but as Champion plodded steadfastly along the riverbank a scuffling sound beneath the folded tarpaulin in the back of the cart warned her that she was not alone. She turned her head in time to see Sal lunge up at her with a knife in one hand and a cudgel in the other. Effie opened her mouth to scream but Sal was too quick for her. She brought the heavy wooden club down hard on Effie’s skull. Effie felt a dull thud, and tumbled into darkness.

  When she came to her senses she was aware only of a splitting headache and terrible cramps in her limbs. She tried to move but she was bound hand and foot. It was dark and she could just make out a chink of moonlight through a gap in the roof. There was an overpowering smell of charred wood, soot and paraffin fumes. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light she realised that she was in the burnt-out cabin of a narrowboat. She could feel the rise and fall of the water beneath the hull, and it gradually dawned on her that this was no ordinary barge. Unless she was very much mistaken, it was the hulk of the Margaret. She tried to sit up, but her hands were tied behind her back and cramp had set in. She groaned with pain and the sound had barely passed her lips when the swaying glow of an oil lamp preceded Sal Salter’s huge bulk as she appeared in the open doorway. She leaned against the charred lintel and her face was ghostly in the lamplight.

  ‘Gotcha, Effie Grey. I got an old score to settle with you and a new one coming up.’

  ‘What do you want, Sal?’ Effie did not waste time asking her the reason for her capture. It did not take a genius to work out that in some twisted way Sal thought that by imprisoning her she could free her villainous husband.

  ‘I want to see you suffer for putting the finger on my old man, and I ain’t letting you go until they set him free.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ Effie protested. ‘I can’t do anything to help him.’

  ‘You don’t have to, ducks.’ Sal set the lamp down on the few planks of decking that had not been burnt away in the fire. ‘I sent a messenger to old Westlake telling him to call his lawyer off. If your didicoi lover goes free, my man will end up in clink. I ain’t having it, Effie Grey. I’ll send you to the bottom of the River Lea first.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ Effie cried angrily. ‘You’ll end up in jail with your wretched husband.’

  Sal reached for a knife that lay on what was left of one of the bunks. For a moment Effie thought her end had come, but Sal seized a lock of her hair and cut it off with one swipe of the blade. ‘There, missis. That should convince them that I mean business and that I have you here where no one will find you.’

  Effie was shaken but determined. ‘And where are we?’

  Sal hesitated and then she smiled. ‘It won’t do you no good, but Salter had the barge towed to the backwater. Old man Grey willed it to us and Salter says it can be rebuilt. We’ll be king and queen of the river yet.’ She backed out onto the open deck, her large figure silhouetted against the night sky.

  Effie leaned against the bulkhead, staring up through the open roof at the stars twinkling above her head. She had no idea of the time or how long she had lain unconscious on the deck, but her stomach growled reminding her that she was hungry and her mouth was dry. She would have called asking for water but she could hear Sal’s footsteps
crunching the gravel on the towpath as she strode off into the distance. Effie could only guess that the trap was waiting for her in a lane close to the creek and that Sal would take Champion and drive away. She shifted to a less uncomfortable position and closed her eyes, thinking of Georgie and hoping that Nellie would make up a convincing story to explain his mother’s failure to return home. She could only hope that Tom would come looking for her, although he would have no idea where to start and the last place anyone would think of would be the charred shell of the old narrowboat.

  She tried to sleep but thirst was worse than hunger and her lips were cracked and dry. In spite of everything she must have drifted into a fitful doze. She awakened suddenly to find her face moist and the sky showing the first greenish light of dawn. She opened her mouth and gulped down the sweet-tasting rain. She closed her eyes and held her face up to catch every last refreshing droplet, but the shower was soon over and her feeling of euphoria ended abruptly as the bitter cold penetrated through her wet garments, chilling her flesh and causing her to shiver uncontrollably. She shifted her position, wincing at the pain in her cramped muscles, but she knew she must keep moving somehow or she would perish from the cold. The ropes that bound her wrists and ankles chafed her skin and every movement hurt, but she dared not give up her attempts to keep warm.

  Minutes seemed like hours and the hours felt like days. She had no idea of the time and the only sounds she could hear were birdsong and the musical murmur of the water beneath the hull. They must be in a little used part of the backwater, she thought miserably, and if anyone should happen to be passing they would take little notice of the abandoned hulk left to rot amongst the reeds. A light breeze that began by tugging playfully at her hair had gradually strengthened into a blustery wind. The vessel rocked gently at first, and as the playful March wind grew more blustery in nature it bobbed up and down like cork floating on the water. Then, just as suddenly as it had sprung up, the wind died away and a watery sun forced its way between silver-tipped clouds. Effie raised her face to its welcome warmth and her wet clothes began to steam gently.