A Mother's Shame

by Rosie Goodwin

It was Isabelle who broke the silence when she said, ‘I think the best thing we could do is keep silent for now. You are so slim it is likely the child will not even be evident for some time. Once it is . . . well, we will cross that bridge when we come to it.’

  For the first time, Maria found herself liking Isabelle. Beneath her airs and graces and her hoity-toity ways, she was only a girl like herself, after all.

  ‘If you are quite sure,’ she said hesitantly. She had no wish to get Isabelle into trouble.

  ‘I am quite sure. Now come, read some more of David Copperfield to me. We must devise some ways of passing the time or we shall both end up as mad as some of the lunatics in here.’

  In that instant, a friendship was forged, one that gave each of them comfort. Their relationship had changed dramatically, and for the better.

  For the rest of that week, Isabelle was far calmer. Each morning she allowed Maria to help her dress and she even had a kind word or two for Kitty when she delivered their food and the logs for the fires to the rooms each day.

  Kitty had obviously taken a shine to Maria. After all, she was the first person to ever go out of her way to talk to her and she began to linger for as long as she dared whenever she had an excuse to visit their suite of rooms.

  It was one morning when she had carried Maria’s breakfast into her room that she commented, ‘It don’t seem fair to me that Miss Isabelle dines off the fat o’ the land while you an’ me ’ave to make do wi’ lumpy porridge.’

  ‘It’s always been that way, Kitty. One rule for the rich and another for the poor.’ Maria grinned as Kitty chewed on her lip, obviously wanting to say something more but not sure if she should.

  ‘But what if you weren’t really poor?’

  Maria sat down at the table to eat her breakfast. The waistband of her long skirt felt a little tighter than usual but she was trying not to think of it.

  ‘Whatever do you mean, Kitty?’

  ‘You are Maria Mundy, ain’t you? The daughter o’ the local preacher?’

  ‘You know I am. What of it?’

  Kitty licked her lips before whispering, ‘Well, I over’eard Cook an’ Miss Belle talkin’ in the kitchen t’other day, an’ Cook were sayin’ that Miss Isabelle is Master Montgomery’s daughter from Willow Park. An’ she also said—’

  ‘Kitty! Whatever are you doing loitering about up here? Cook is waiting downstairs for you. Away to your duties at once, girl!’

  Kitty almost jumped out of her skin as she glanced around to see Mrs Bradshaw standing in the open doorway of Maria’s room.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She scuttled away like a cat with its tail on fire and once she had gone Mrs Bradshaw shook her head before saying, ‘Oh, that dratted girl. She can be such a trial. But never mind her for now. How is Miss Isabelle? Things certainly seem to have been a little quieter up here for the last few days. And I also notice that you have managed to persuade the young lady to get dressed.’

  Maria nodded as she lifted a spoonful of the fast-cooling porridge to her mouth. ‘Yes, she has been calmer and she has even allowed me to read a little to her,’ she agreed.

  The Matron surveyed her thoughtfully, wondering if any of the rumours that were flying around about Maria were true. She had thought from the first second she saw her that this girl was a cut above the rest in the village, and as the days had progressed she had been proven right. The girl’s skin was clear, not pock-marked or roughened by outdoor work, and her eyes were bright and intelligent. Her back was straight and she carried herself well, a sign of a reasonable diet no doubt, and her hands, the older woman noted, were soft and white, free of the usual calluses.

  Maria, meanwhile, was studying her. She had never really taken much notice of the woman before, but now as she looked more closely at her she imagined that Mrs Bradshaw must have been a very handsome woman in her younger days. Her hair, although greying now, was still sleek and her teeth were excellent, even and white. When she walked she held herself regally and Maria briefly wondered where Mr Bradshaw might be and why the woman had chosen to become Matron in such a place as Hatter’s Hall. But then she supposed it was really no business of hers at the end of the day. As she was fast discovering: in this place, everyone had their own story to tell.

  Chapter Ten

  Joshua placed his knife and fork down, then looked across at his mother and father, who had breakfasted in complete silence.

  Since his sister’s hasty departure more than a week ago, a pall seemed to have settled over the house. His parents did not appear to have exchanged more than a dozen civil words, and then only when it was absolutely necessary.

  ‘Have you heard from Isabelle about how her friend is yet, Mother?’ he asked now, hoping to start a conversation. In truth he did not believe a word of the story his father had fed him. He knew that Isabelle would never have simply taken flight without taking him into her confidence. Something was wrong, he just knew it.

  Before Helena could reply, something akin to a growl issued from Charles Montgomery’s throat. Pushing his chair back, he stood and strode out of the room with a face as dark as a thundercloud.

  Helena’s eyes fluttered nervously after him before coming again to focus on her son. ‘No, dear, I have received no word from her as yet but I am sure we shall do so in due course.’

  ‘I see.’ Joshua frowned. Isabelle was a spoiled little minx. She had always been the bane of his life and yet for all that he had a great affection for his little sister. It was he who had taught her to ride her first pony, spending hours leading her on a guiding rope around the level field adjoining the stable-block, alternately encouraging, or scolding her when she did not do as she was told, which tended to be often. It was he who had taught her to take her first steps in the nursery and he who would sit each night and read fairy stories to her until she fell asleep when she was a child. At one stage she had followed him about like a shadow until he had been close to screaming at her to leave him alone. And yet now that she was gone, it was as if the sunshine had gone out of the house, and without her cheerful chatter about inconsequential subjects that held absolutely no appeal to him, he found that he missed her.

  Joshua had always been the total opposite of his sister in nature. He took a great interest in his father’s many businesses, especially the ribbon-weaving ones, aware that one day he would inherit them, and he was well liked by all Charles’s work staff, for he was not afraid to get his hands dirty and wished to learn everything from the bottom up. Although they did not always see eye to eye, he had a grudging admiration for his father; Charles Montgomery had not been born into the gentry, but was merely an ambitious man who had achieved his current status through sheer hard graft and determination. Now there was scarcely a man, woman or child in the whole of the county or even beyond who had not heard of the name Montgomery – and Joshua had always striven to be a son of whom Charles might be proud. He felt he owed him that at least.

  Now as he glanced again at his mother he saw that she was twisting her fine lawn handkerchief between her fingers, a habit she always adopted when she was nervous; it was as if she had forgotten his presence. Joshua saw from the exquisite French ormolu clock that stood on the mantelpiece that he must leave soon or he would be late at the new ribbon factory his father had recently acquired in Abbey Street in Nuneaton. Old George, the foreman there, was going to give him another lesson on working the looms today. The women who worked them made it look so easy, but Joshua had already discovered that there was great skill to becoming a good weaver.

  ‘Mother.’ His voice brought her thoughts back to the present and she smiled at him falteringly. ‘Are you quite sure that there is nothing wrong? You have not been yourself at all since Isabelle’s departure.’

  Her lips worked soundlessly for a time as if she was wrestling with something she wished to tell him, then clearly making a decision she lowered her voice and said, ‘There is something I need to speak to you about, Joshua. Will you come to me in the drawing room and hav
e coffee with me after dinner this evening when your father has retired to his study for his port and his cigar?’

  ‘Of course I will.’ He rose and bent to kiss her cheek, and it struck Helena how handsome he was and what a young gentleman he had become without her even noticing it. Her son was tall and lean, and his hair was a deep brown, with hints of copper running through it that turned to gold in the summer. His eyes, like Isabelle’s, were green and they glittered if he was angry, which Joshua often was, for like his father he did not suffer fools gladly. And yet he could also be very kind and patient, traits she liked to think he had inherited from her. His silk patterned waistcoat was immaculate, as were the shirt and cravat that he wore beneath it, and his legs were clad in fine tweed breeches that disappeared into high leather boots. However, Helena knew that this would be due to his manservant, for Joshua had never been a slave to fashion and by the end of the day would no doubt probably be covered in lint from the looms.

  She watched him leave with a feeling of regret. She had always planned to have a houseful of children and it had broken her heart after Isabelle’s birth when the doctor had sternly told her that any more children could well be the death of her. Her life had changed from that day on, for Charles had taken the doctor’s warning to heart. They had been very much in love back then, and Charles had said he would never be able to live with himself if he should lose her in childbirth. And so he had left her bed never to return, and for a while the loneliness had been hard to bear. But then, she consoled herself, she did have two healthy children and so she had poured all her love into them. Now look at the result. Isabelle would soon be a mother herself and Helena would be a grandmother, but she would never even get to hold her first grandchild in her arms. Sighing heavily, she hurried away to check the post just as she had every day since Isabelle’s departure, even though she knew that it was far too soon to expect a reply to the letter she had written.

  It was Saturday evening and once again Maria was looking forward to seeing her family on the following afternoon. Isabelle’s mood had remained calm, although she was still prone to severe bouts of depression, when she would sit and sob. Maria could sympathise with this. There were times when she herself would have loved nothing more than to weep at the injustice of it all. But of course, she knew that it would have been pointless. As she had told Kitty, there was one rule for the rich and one for the poor, and she was just going to have to get on with it.

  Kitty had taken away the remains of the evening meal and now Isabelle was sitting with her feet on a small pouffe in front of a roaring fire sipping hot chocolate. Suddenly there was a commotion on the landing outside and the girls stared at each other in dismay.

  ‘Stand aside this instant, woman, or by all that is holy I swear I shall knock you out of the way!’

  Recognising her mother’s voice, Isabelle banged her chocolate down on the side table so hard that the delicate china cup overturned and the chocolate began to form a pool on the fine carpet.

  ‘Mama!’ She was out of her chair and across the room in a flash as the door opened inwards, and then Maria saw her fling herself into a woman’s outstretched arms as she started to sob.

  ‘Shush, darling. I am here now,’ the woman soothed as she stroked the stray curls back from Isabelle’s forehead. They stood like this for some time as Maria silently looked on, and then the woman turned to Mrs Bradshaw, who was appearing mightily distressed, and told her: ‘Leave us, Matron. I shall ring for you when I am ready to leave.’

  ‘But madam, this is most improper. Your husband expressly instructed us that no one – no one – should be allowed to visit Miss Isabelle.’

  Mrs Bradshaw’s face was so suffused with colour and distress that Maria feared that she was about to burst a blood vessel.

  ‘Your husband is the main b-benefactor of this establishment,’ Mrs Bradshaw stammered, ‘and should we incur his wrath—’

  ‘Oh, just be quiet and go away!’ Helena responded furiously. ‘I am not just any visitor, I am this poor young girl’s mother! Now leave us, and believe me, should my husband ever get to hear of this visit, I shall see to it that you never get another penny from our family – or elsewhere!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Mrs Bradshaw bobbed her head and hastily backed out of the room. When she was gone, Helena shook off the hood of her warm cloak and peered closely at her daughter.

  Maria meanwhile peered closely at her. She had only ever seen Mrs Montgomery briefly as she passed through the village in her carriage on her way into the town, but now she could see how alike she and her daughter were.

  ‘How are you, darling?’ the woman asked now.

  Isabelle broke into a torrent of weeping. ‘Oh, Mama, please don’t leave me here any longer,’ she implored.

  Helena shook her hands up and down gently. ‘Now listen closely,’ she began, and then as she became aware of Maria she stopped talking abruptly.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Isabelle assured her. ‘You may speak normally in front of Maria. She is my maid and perfectly trustworthy.’

  ‘Oh.’ Helena looked mildly concerned but knowing that it would not be wise to linger any longer here than was necessary, she went on, ‘I am going to get you out of here, darling.’

  ‘Really?’ Isabelle wiped her eyes and took a long, shuddering breath. ‘But when? And how?’

  ‘I have written to your Uncle Freddie in Tasmania and told him to expect you. Sadly I can dally no longer waiting for his reply. Of course he will have no idea when you will be arriving, but I know that he will not turn you away!’

  ‘Tasmania!’ Isabelle looked dumbfounded.

  ‘Yes. Joshua will accompany you and remain with you until after the child is born. I have already spoken to him about it, and although he hates to let his father down he has agreed to go. Now all I have to do is find a suitable lady’s maid to accompany you and a servant to see to Joshua’s needs, cleaning his cabin and attending to his laundry and so on. I am afraid it is a rather long journey, but at least you will be safe there once you arrive, and it would be better than having to stay here. I had thought of asking Polly to go with you, but I am afraid it would cause too much gossip amongst the staff.’

  ‘Maria could come with me,’ Isabelle said calmly as Maria gawped at her speechlessly. ‘And there is another girl here, Kitty, who I fancy would jump at the chance of getting away from this place.’

  ‘Really? And are both of these girls trustworthy?’ Helena glanced at Maria apologetically as she asked the question.

  ‘Yes, they are,’ Isabelle answered firmly.

  ‘In that case I can go ahead with booking your passages on the ship if they are agreeable to the idea.’

  ‘But won’t Felicity mind Joshua going with us? And how long will it take?’ Isabelle questioned without waiting for a response from Maria.

  Her mother rose and began to pace the floor as she answered. ‘Joshua will tell Felicity that he is going abroad on business but not until the day before you leave. We have already discussed it. And I should be able to ensure that you sail by the end of next week. Now this is how we are going to get you out of here; you must have all your things packed for Tuesday evening. Can you do that, my dear?’ She addressed Maria now and when the girl, who was wondering who Felicity was and still reeling from shock, nodded, Helena turned to Isabelle again and went on, ‘Your father is in Manchester on business for a couple of nights next week, so if we can get you away on the day he leaves, it will be the perfect opportunity and you will be long gone before he returns.’

  ‘But Mrs Bradshaw will never let you take us out of here.’ Isabelle’s eyes were wide with fear.

  ‘You just leave Mrs Bradshaw to me!’ Helena said forcefully, then pulling the hood of her cloak up she said regretfully, ‘I must go now. It would not do for your father to come home and find me missing. Just be brave, my love, and you will be away from here before you know it. And do not mention a word of this until I come for you. It is imperative that Mrs Bradshaw does
not find out what we are planning.’

  Crossing to the bell, she yanked on it – and the instant Mrs Bradshaw appeared, she left with a last smile for her daughter.

  Once the two girls were alone again, Maria looked at Isabelle, aghast. ‘I cannot possibly come with you,’ she told her.

  ‘Why ever not?’ Isabelle challenged as she flounced about, her skirts twirling.

  ‘You know full well why not,’ Maria sighed. ‘I am with child too, or had you forgotten?’

  ‘No, I had not forgotten, and that is all the more reason why you should come. Don’t you see? This is the answer to all your prayers. If you come with me, we will be far away before your child is even properly showing. Once we arrive in Tasmania we can tell everyone that you are a widow and no one will know the turth. And it goes without saying that Kitty will jump at the chance of escaping this place.’

  Maria stared thoughtfully into the flames that were roaring up the chimney. Isabelle was quite right, of course. But it was such a big step to take – and what about her mother? How would she cope without her support and her wages? And yet she knew deep down that Martha would see this as a resolution to her problem. At least if she was well out of the way her mother would not have to face the shame of having an illegitimate grandchild, and Maria would escape her father’s wrath. She had a sneaky feeling that he would like to see her on the other side of the world. For some reason he had never shown her any affection.

  ‘Do you really think Kitty would agree to come with us?’ she asked now. Hurrying across to the bell that connected to the kitchen, Isabelle rang it.

  ‘I’m almost sure of it, but there is only one way for us to find out and that is for us to ask her – and there is no time like the present,’ Isabelle declared. ‘I shall tell her that we need some more logs bringing up for the fire as an excuse to get her up here, and that will give you a chance to speak to her. But do you think we can trust her to hold her tongue? If she should speak to Miss Belle or Mrs Bradshaw, we are done for.’