Past Remembering

by Lyn Denison

  “No. Not strictly a coincidence. It was—” Rosemary gave a shake of her head. “I should explain. How much did your stepmother tell you about?” She hesitated. “About that time in her life?”

  Asha knew Rosemary was choosing her words carefully. “I know she had a child, if that’s what you mean.” She held Rosemary’s gaze. “And I know the circumstances.”

  Rosemary nodded again. “So she told you who the father of her child was.”

  “I really don’t think we need to dredge all this up again,” Asha said levelly. “Mum certainly doesn’t need any reminders of it.”

  “No. I agree. It’s a sensitive subject.” Rosemary ran her hand through her hair. “As you’ve probably noticed by now, my mother rarely mentions my brother. My brother, Nicolas, that is.”

  Asha remained silent. So Rosemary knew Nicolas Chaseley was the father of her stepmother’s child.

  “When I found out your stepmother had been pregnant, Mother told me the baby was put up for adoption. I just wish I’d known …” Rosemary sighed. “Nicolas should have gone to jail for what he did to Laura,” she said with feeling.

  Asha looked at Rosemary. Her subtle change of tone when she said Laura’s name was illuminating. Asha’s mind spun. Could she have imagined it? Her mouth went dry. Her stepmother had said she had loved someone but that it was unacceptable, that it would never work out. Asha also suspected Rosemary was a lesbian. Was it possible? Could Rosemary have been her stepmother’s lover?

  But Asha had never considered the possibility that her stepmother was a lesbian. Wouldn’t she have told Asha when Asha had unburdened herself the other day? Why would she? Asha asked herself. Laura West had kept secrets for over twenty years. Perhaps this was something she could never tell.

  To Asha’s knowledge, her stepmother had never been involved with anyone since her divorce from Asha’s father. She belonged to a number of clubs and she sang in a women’s choir. She had a large circle of friends. But all of her friends were women, Asha realized.

  Asha thought back to the day her stepmother had discovered she was working for the Chaseleys. She’d been totally shocked when Asha had come out as a lesbian. Then she’d gone so white when Asha told her she was living with the Chaseleys that Asha had thought she was about to faint. But what had her stepmother said about Rosemary Chaseley? She’d asked Asha about Rosemary, of that Asha was certain.

  “Does your mother know who I am?” Asha asked.

  “I’m not sure. She doesn’t care for subterfuge, so I would say not.”

  “Will you tell her?”

  Rosemary moved her shoulders slightly. “I don’t know. Probably. But it doesn’t affect all this.” She waved her hands at the work on the desk. “We think the job you’ve done on our research is wonderful.”

  “But—”

  A knock on the door interrupted them and they both turned as Vivienne peeked around the door. “I suspected I’d find you here, Rosemary.”

  “And I thought you were having a rest, Mother,” Rosemary said lightly and Vivienne shook her head.

  “I was, but now I’m miraculously revived. Have you got a moment to look at the swatches I’ve chosen for the new living room curtains?”

  Rosemary smiled. “Sure, Mother. As long as you’re not leaning toward green. I never did like those green curtains Dad chose.” She turned back to Asha. “We’ll see you a little later, Asha,” she said, and then they were gone.

  Alone again, Asha turned over in her mind all the information she had about her mother and the Chaseleys. Could she ask her stepmother or Rosemary about her suspicions? Of course she couldn’t, she told herself. And she had nothing more than a momentary flash of intuition to base those suppositions on, if the truth be told.

  With a sigh, she turned back to her computer and exclaimed when her server came up. Now she could distract herself by checking the census returns for the Chaseleys. She logged onto the site she used to search the English census returns and went into the 1851 census. Richard Chaseley would have been about a year old. Only two possibilities came up, and only one Richard Chaseley was born in Sacriston, Durham. She smiled as the family appeared, living on Ninth Ave. The father, Michael Chaseley, was a coal miner, and he and his wife were born in Northumberland, as were Richard’s older brother, Michael, and sister, Mary.

  She then checked the 1861 census, knowing Richard’s brother, Georgie, would now be about eight years old. The family had apparently moved back to Benwell in Northumberland.

  Some time later, Asha reached excitedly for the old photograph that had been with Georgie’s journals. She carefully set it under the light and lifted her magnifying glass. Yes, there was the Chaseley family in 1867. Michael, the father, was by then a widower. And there stood Richard Chaseley with his older brother, Michael, who was killed later in the same mining accident as his father. And young Benjamin, also killed in the mines.

  Asha moved her magnifying glass to the daughters. Mary in her wedding dress. And the other sister, older than Benjamin but younger than Mary, Michael and Richard. She carefully set the old family photograph beside the wedding portrait of Georgie Chaseley and Margaret Gaines and excitement clutched at Asha. The features were the same. Georgie Chaseley was, in fact, Georgina Chaseley, Richard’s younger sister. Asha hurriedly scanned and repaired both photographs before she printed them out and examined them again.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she delved into Church Records. Then she searched the Births and Deaths registers. There was no recorded birth or death for George Chaseley in Durham or Northumberland, but there was a birth recorded for Georgina Chaseley in the second quarter of 1852 in the right registration district.

  Fragments of Georgie’s journals flooded into Asha’s mind, and the whole thing fell into place. She sat looking at the fine features of Georgie Chaseley and she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

  She printed out all the relevant information and hesitated. What was she going to do with it? Should she tell Vivienne Chaseley? She was an elderly woman, from an earlier generation. Could she cope with this particular secret?

  Asha swallowed nervously. Perhaps she should broach the subject of Georgie’s gender with Rosemary before she spoke to Vivienne. Maybe Rosemary would be able to decide how much Asha should tell her mother.

  Although she sensed that Rosemary may be a lesbian, Asha wasn’t confident enough to take it for granted. She knew she’d have to tread carefully over this difficult subject. She walked downstairs in search of the mother and daughter and found them in the morning room, the material swatches abandoned on the coffee table.

  “Any success?” Asha asked, indicating the patterns.

  “All done.” Vivienne chuckled. “And not a smidgen of green to be found.”

  Rosemary smiled as Asha sat down.

  “So you’ve started reading Georgie’s journals?” Asha asked, indicating the typed pages also resting on the coffee table.

  “Yes. I’m halfway through the second one. I can’t seem to put it down.” She glanced longingly at the remaining pages in her hand.

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Asha said hurriedly. “And I’ll avert my gaze if you have a little weep at the end.”

  Rosemary nodded sheepishly. “I’ve been close a couple of times.”

  “It made me quite bleary-eyed, not to mention playing havoc with my sinuses.”

  Asha and Vivienne talked quietly about the new curtains while Rosemary finished the journal. Eventually she gave a little cough and wiped her eyes, setting the pages aside with a sigh.

  “That’s unbelievable,” she said reverently.

  “Compelling reading, isn’t it?” Asha said, worrying again about what she was going to tell them and if she should. If only she could speak to Rosemary on her own.

  “Such a hard life they had,” Vivienne said, “compared to our creature comforts.”

  “Yes.” Asha bit her lip and her fingers moved restlessly on the folder on her knee, the folder containin
g the census printouts and the copies of the photographs.

  “Is something bothering you, Asha?” Vivienne asked. “You seem a little concerned.”

  Asha came to a decision. It was Vivienne’s project, after all. “Actually, I do need to talk to you about something I think I’ve uncovered. About the Chaseleys.” Asha swallowed. “It’s something you may or may not want included in your son’s book.”

  “Something unsavory, you mean?” Vivienne frowned. “I can’t imagine what it could be. What is it, my dear?”

  “It’s a little difficult to explain,” Asha began and paused.

  “Concerning Dickie’s grandfather, Richard Chaseley?” Vivienne asked.

  “No. It’s not Richard. It’s about Georgie,” Asha said quickly.

  “Uncle Georgie?” Rosemary sat forward.

  “What could there possibly be about him?” Vivienne asked. “My memories of him are of a kind, generous man who adored his wife and son.”

  “Has this got anything to do with Margaret’s husband, Will Gaines?” Rosemary asked and Asha shook her head in surprise.

  “No. Not at all. Why do you ask?”

  “In the journal, it was plain no one liked Margaret’s husband, and I wondered if someone had killed him and put him in the abandoned mine shaft.” Rosemary shrugged. “He was certainly a drunk and a wife beater.”

  “You think Georgie killed him?” Vivienne asked in amazement before she turned to Asha in horror.

  “No.” Asha shook her head. “It’s not that at all. I did suspect Will Gaines was murdered, but I don’t think Georgie had anything to do with it.”

  Vivienne shook her head. “No, I don’t see Georgie as a murderer either. He was such a gentle man. You should have seen him with us as children. He’d do magic tricks and smuggle us sweets while Margaret admonished him about them rotting our teeth. Grace and I loved him so. Why, he taught us to ride on the old carthorse he kept in the paddock.

  “Grace said her mother had told her that when Robert, her father, was killed in the Great War, they had great fears that it would kill Margaret and Georgie. Then to lose Bobby, their grandson, in World War Two, they were devastated. Georgie was in his nineties and worried so about Margaret. I really feel if they hadn’t had Grace, Bobby’s twin sister, they would never have coped.”

  Asha glanced at Rosemary and back to Vivienne. She had taken a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

  “Perhaps you should just tell us, Asha,” Rosemary said quietly.

  “Well, I checked the census returns in Durham, where Georgie and Richard were born, in a mining town called Sacriston. The family left there between eighteen fifty-two when Georgie was born, and 1856, when their brother, Benjamin, was born in Northumberland.

  “You see, in the eighteen fifty-one census, Michael Chaseley and Mary Nolan were married and had moved to Sacriston, Durham. Michael, the head of the family, and a coal miner, was born in Newcastle-upon-Tyne in eighteen twenty-six. Mary was born in Hexham in eighteen twenty-nine. The first two children were Michael, born in eighteen forty-six, and Mary, born in eighteen forty-eight in Newburn. Richard was born in Sacriston in eighteen fifty.”

  Asha passed Vivienne the census printouts and Rosemary moved to look at them over her mother’s shoulder.

  “Georgie doesn’t appear until the eighteen sixty-one census,” Asha continued. “The family had moved back to Northumberland by then. Mary, the mother, had passed away, and Michael was a widower. It all fits in with Georgie’s journals.” She paused. “The children are listed as Michael, Mary, Richard, Georgina and Benjamin.”

  “But where was George?” Vivienne asked. “He would have been about nine years old in eighteen sixty-one, wouldn’t he?”

  “The Chaseley’s didn’t have a son called George.” Asha looked at Rosemary and away again. “But they did have a daughter, Georgina, born in eighteen fifty-two.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Georgina?” Vivienne said and then realization dawned. “But Georgie said he was Richard’s brother.”

  “I know.” Asha nodded. “But I believe Georgie had disguised herself as a man. She was Richard’s sister, and I think some of the cryptic things she says in her journals prove that.”

  “Georgie was a girl? But she married Margaret and—” Vivienne turned startled eyes to her daughter. She closed her eyes for a moment, and a fleeting expression of pain passed over her face. “Oh, dear God,” she said softly before turning back to Asha. “Are you saying Georgie was a lesbian? And Margaret?”

  Asha knew a flush washed her face. “I think, reading the journals, that they were,” she said as evenly as she could. “I’ve ordered some certificates, but I’m sure I’m right.”

  No one said anything for long, tension-filled moments.

  “But why would Georgie disguise herself?” Vivienne asked as Rosemary checked the 1861 census and then the birth record printouts Asha handed her.

  “I can’t know for sure.” Asha shrugged. “Richard and Georgie were all that was left of their family. As single people, they would have been separated on the ship coming out to Australia, Richard with the men, Georgie with the single women. Maybe Richard felt it was the only way he could protect his younger sister. Just reading the journals makes me think Richard took his responsibilities as the older brother very seriously.”

  “But when they arrived in Brisbane, surely Georgie would have—” Vivienne shook her head and Asha picked up the typed transcript and turned to one of the entries she’d marked.

  “For example, Georgie says, ‘I can say I have never felt such freedom, and I enjoy it so. At such times I am much convinced Richard and I have made the best choice.’ Then, ‘After much quiet discussion, Richard had finally come to see that it is best to keep up our story,’ and, ‘I am wont to say I have almost forgotten my life before we left for the new land. I am sure I am living the life I was meant to live.’ I think Georgie valued the freedom of being a male in what was certainly a man’s world.”

  Vivienne was silent.

  Rosemary had quietly crossed to the open windows to stand with her arms folded across her chest, her back to them. Was she upset? Asha wondered. “As I said, Vivienne, I can leave all this out of the book if you prefer,” she said, feeling as though her mouth were filled with ashes.

  Both Vivienne and Asha turned as Rosemary gave a soft exclamation. She’d turned back to face them now. “Don’t, Mother! Don’t leave it out. Please. It would only negate Georgie’s wonderful life.” She held her mother’s gaze, and Asha sensed their emotions ran deeply.

  Then Vivienne sighed. “I know it would,” she said thickly. “And I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again,” she added softly. “But I suppose I deserve that you think I would.” She dabbed at her tears with her handkerchief.

  Rosemary went to her, then leaned down and held her. “I’m so sorry, Mother.”

  “Don’t ever be that, darling.” She looked up at her daughter. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” She patted Rosemary’s cheek. “I’m far better informed than I used to be. But the most important thing is that you’re my daughter and I love you. If I denied Georgie’s life it would be like denying my daughter again.”

  Asha watched them, feeling like an intruder, not knowing what to say as her mind slowly turned over the conversation between mother and daughter.

  Rosemary hugged her mother again and then straightened, turning to Asha with a crooked smile. “I suppose you’re wondering just what’s going on. So, it appears the time is right for me to tell you why I feel so strongly about Georgie’s life. I don’t hide the fact that I’m a lesbian, but I don’t exactly shout it from the rooftops.”

  Vivienne squeezed her hand. “And, I’m ashamed to say, in my ignorance and small-mindedness I almost lost my daughter because I couldn’t accept that was who she was.”

  “Mother,” Rosemary said gently. “There’s no need to—”

  “Yes, there
is.” She turned to Asha. “When Rosemary told me she was in love I immediately saw a grand white wedding, a beautiful bride and a handsome groom.”

  “Mother!”

  “When she told me she was in love with a woman, I behaved very badly, in the worst possible way. So badly, in fact, that Rosemary decided to leave home. And I didn’t stop her.”

  “There was more going on than just that,” Rosemary said gently. “We were all caught up in an emotional turmoil. We were all overreacting. With hindsight, I see I should have known the timing wasn’t right. The situation was so painful for all of us.”

  Vivienne glanced at Asha. “We’re being rude, speaking of family things in front of you, but we were all going through a bad time. Which doesn’t excuse the choices I made.”

  “Mother! Don’t!” Rosemary put in quickly. “You’ll only upset yourself.”

  Vivienne looked at Asha and quickly away again. “Perhaps you’re right, dear. But I feel so responsible for your unhappiness.”

  “It was all a long time ago,” Rosemary said tiredly.

  Asha saw the pain on Rosemary’s face and suspected it wasn’t so long that she’d come to terms with it. Had Rosemary’s broken heart never mended? She thought again of her stepmother, sure now that it was Rosemary that Laura had been in love with all those years ago.

  “I know it was a long time ago. But I sometimes think she— that you—I’ve so wished to see you settled with someone who cares for you.” Vivienne’s tears fell again, and Rosemary held her.

  “Mother, I’m fine. I’ve had a wonderful job and life. I’m not complaining.”

  “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am, Mother.” Rosemary turned back to Asha. “Did you have any ideas about how to present Georgie’s story?”

  “No, not really. I wanted to check with you first.”

  “Oh, dear,” Vivienne said. “We’ve forgotten something here. This isn’t just our family’s secret. Georgie’s wife, Margaret, was Grace’s grandmother, and Peri’s great-great-grandmother. They should be consulted, too, don’t you think?” Vivienne pushed herself to her feet. “I should go and ring Grace, although she won’t have received the copy of the journals yet. I have their mobile phone number, and it’s to be hoped they’re within reception range. I’ll leave you and Asha to tell Peri.”