Every Mother's Son

by Val Wood

  He swallowed tears of anger and sadness and struggled to stop them overflowing into a flood. Why, he thought. Why-why-why? What revengeful parasite had burrowed its tortuous being into her spirit to inflict such malevolence, such hostility on everyone she knew, even her own family? He thought of poor sad Noah, and Nathaniel the angry man he had known as his father, until she had told him otherwise.

  Harriet came to him. Standing behind him and putting her arms round his waist, she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘She’s at peace now, Fletcher,’ she murmured. ‘Her anguish, all her disappointments, are at rest. Think of her kindly.’

  He turned to face her, and looking into her eyes said harshly, ‘How can you say that, Harriet, you of all people, who took the brunt of her hatred without just cause?’

  She put her hand against his cheek. ‘She had plans for you,’ she said, her voice low. ‘And I got in ’way of them.’

  Tears ran down his face and this time he was unable to stop them. ‘She was fooling herself! All those years since ’day I was born or even before, she was scheming and plotting, fantasizing and imagining a situation that would never happen, not in a million years.’ He rubbed his nose on his sleeve and gave a sobbing derisive laugh. ‘She thought that one day I’d be ’lord of ’manor! That’s what it was all about. Ha! I think Christopher Hart barely remembered her from ’old days.’

  ‘Was he there?’ Harriet asked, and glanced at Maria, indicating that she should make tea.

  ‘Yeh.’ He took a large handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. ‘We arrived at ’same time. Went in together and found her. He’s all right. We met at ’top of ’lane and he told me he was sorry, that if he’d known he would have supported her. I think he would have done, if onny she’d told him. Ha,’ he said again. ‘Everybody knew but him.’

  Harriet nodded. She had heard years ago and believed it. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I think that everybody probably did. But no one would have thought of telling Christopher Hart. Not even his wife.’

  The three of them sat and drank tea, and then Fletcher said to Maria, ‘Will you fetch Lenny in, and Tom too if he’s about? We’ll give Joseph and Elizabeth ’news about Granny when they get home.’

  Maria slipped out, giving her father a sympathetic pat on his shoulder.

  ‘She’s a good girl, isn’t she?’ he said. ‘She’s like you. No fancy airs or graces, no yearnings for things out of reach, not like Dolly.’

  ‘Oh, I think she might have had yearnings,’ Harriet said, thinking of her talk with Maria about the implications of Christopher Hart’s being Fletcher’s father. ‘But she’s strong enough to resist them.’ She smiled. ‘But she’s also like you. She’s kind and forgiving.’

  ‘I’m not forgiving,’ Fletcher said bitterly. ‘I can’t forgive my mother. I don’t mean for having a child out of wedlock, but for blaming everyone but herself; and for her malicious hypocrisy towards someone like Rosie, who gave Noah up because she thought he’d have a better life.’

  Harriet recalled Ellen’s bitter and scathing remarks about Noah’s unwed birth mother; remarks from a woman who was living a double life with a child that wasn’t her husband’s.

  ‘You must try to forgive and forget,’ she said softly. ‘In time perhaps you’ll realize that she thought she was doing it for you.’

  Melissa Hart had paced about her sitting room for nearly an hour. What was keeping Christopher? Had he and Fletcher and Ellen Tuke had an argument? What are we going to tell the children? she fretted. Should we tell the children? Is there any need? But if we don’t tell them, are we being dishonest?

  She walked to the window and was reassured to see the carriage coming up the drive, but it stopped short of the house and Christopher got out before it continued round the back towards the stable block. She watched as Christopher walked across the lawns to the rose beds, stopping now and then as if examining the blooms, which was strange, for he rarely took an interest in them. Then she saw him look towards the house and she drew back so as not to be seen.

  Whatever is he doing? Should I go down, or wait? Shall I ring for coffee so that it’s here waiting for him if he is in need of it? But as she continued to watch from behind the curtains, he straightened his shoulders and drew himself up, and as if he’d made a resolution he strode towards the front door and a minute later she heard the peal of the door bell.

  She made herself sit down and picked up her sewing, trying to appear quite calm as he entered the room, but then she saw his face.

  ‘My goodness, what’s wrong? Was it so dreadful?’ He seemed to be sunk in misery. Or was it regret?

  ‘It is dreadful, but not in the way you might think,’ he said wearily, sitting down opposite her.

  ‘Did you see Fletcher?’

  ‘I did. We met on the river bank. We were both on the way to his mother’s cottage.’ He paused. ‘He seems a decent fellow,’ he muttered, and Melissa’s lips twitched. That’s because he’s like you, she thought, and nothing like her.

  ‘I told him I was sorry to hear of the claim his mother had made against me and that I would have supported her, had I known.’ Christopher put his hand to his forehead. ‘But that’s not the worst of it,’ he faltered. ‘She’s dead. We found her lying on the floor. There was no fire in the grate and she was soaked to the skin, but still breathing. But only just. I went off to fetch Chambers, but by the time we got back she was gone. Pneumonia, I suppose.’

  Melissa flinched and licked her lips. ‘But what had happened? Had she fallen in the Haven? Is the cottage close to the water – or had she …’ The question remained hanging on her lips. Was Ellen capable of taking her own life?

  ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘She was covered in mud and algae. She must have hauled herself out of the water and managed to make her way back.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘There’ll have to be an inquest,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d never gone. I’ll have to be there as a witness.’

  It’s my fault, Melissa thought uneasily. I suggested he should go back. But then, if he hadn’t, he would have regretted it for the rest of his life. ‘It was just as well you did,’ she said. ‘It would have been dreadful for her son to find her on his own.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Christopher murmured. ‘At least I was able to fetch the doctor, even though it was too late. I don’t know what to do or say,’ he admitted. ‘I feel to blame somehow.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ his wife said sharply. ‘You mustn’t think like that and certainly never say it. Ellen Tuke, it seems to me,’ she added bitterly, ‘was the maker of her own misfortune.’ She frowned in thought. ‘Do you think that her mind was wandering? Because it seems so very odd that she chose to wait all these years before making accusations against you. I’m not suggesting that she was lying, but why wait?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said again. ‘Perhaps she felt that her days were numbered, as we all feel as we get older.’ Melissa held back a gasp of concern as he went on, ‘Perhaps she wanted to have everything out in the open before it was too late.’

  Melissa had held lunch back to await Christopher’s return and a maid knocked to ask if they should serve it now. Melissa gazed at her husband and made a decision.

  ‘Tell Cook I’m so sorry, but Mr Hart is unwell. He’s caught a chill, we think, and is going to bed. Would you serve him a light lunch on a tray? A bowl of soup and whatever meat is prepared. It’s ham today, I think, is it not? Yes, so that and some thinly sliced bread and butter, please, and a pot of coffee. And yes, I’ll have mine in here on the small table.’

  That done, she rose to her feet. ‘Come along, my dear. You’ve had a shock. Don’t think about anything now. Have your lunch and a sleep and we’ll talk everything over later.’ She held out her hand and dutifully he got up and kissed her cheek.

  ‘What would I ever do without you, Melissa?’ he said. ‘I am so very tired. Everything seems to be going wrong. The bailiff leaving, this business over Ellen Tuke. I don’t want to think about anything.’


  ‘You don’t need to,’ she said softly. ‘It will all be resolved one way or another.’

  She saw him to bed and sat with him while he ate his luncheon, and leaving him to sleep she went back to her sitting room to have her own. However, she found she wasn’t very hungry, and although she finished the soup she only picked at the rest of the food.

  She was worried about Christopher, and although she didn’t think he needed to see the doctor, she did feel that he needed to rest. It was disheartening that their bailiff was leaving, but she didn’t consider that he could be asked to stay on when he wasn’t well enough to do the job, and so far there hadn’t been much response to the advertisement that had been placed in the newspapers and farming journals. It will be November before anyone remotely suitable will be available to change their employment, she thought, so will we be able to manage until then? Are there any problems at the moment? The rent for the tenanted farms and cottages will be up to date, I expect. Perhaps I will ask Thompson before he finally leaves if that is so, and ask him too if there is anything outstanding or urgent that needs to be done.

  If there isn’t, then we have a breathing space, and if there is, well … She poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned back in her chair. She had never had to know about the accounts or the farms and Christopher had rarely discussed the estate with her, except in general terms. But if there is anything to deal with, she decided, I’m quite sure that I am perfectly capable of attending to it myself.

  Upstairs, cosy in the bed that had had the warming pan swept over it and with a fire blazing in the grate, Christopher had pretended that he was sleepy in order to mollify Melissa, but in fact his mind was running amok as he thought about the events of that morning. What on earth had possessed Ellen to make such a claim against him? And then, because he had denied it, she had … had she … Had she walked into the water in her distress? And then had she changed her mind when the water began to close over her? Or had she walked along the path and slipped, dragged herself out and gone home to think things over? But if so, why didn’t she build up the fire and get dry?

  He gave up. There were so many possibilities that he couldn’t solve. But, even so, the accusation was there. Her son had known about it but hadn’t confronted him with the knowledge. He closed his eyes and thought of his childhood. He hadn’t made many friends at school or among other landowners’ sons when they had occasionally met on social occasions; he had been more at ease with the kitchen staff. Most of them had known him from the time he was an infant, when the nursery maid or his nanny had taken him downstairs for some company, and he had continued to visit the kitchens until the time he was sent away to school. Mrs Marshall the cook, he remembered, had wept when he went down to say goodbye, dressed in his new grey uniform and a white wing-collared shirt. What was it she’d said? Something strange – poor bairn, she’d said. Fancy sending away a young bairn like that, and some of the kitchen maids had laughed, for they didn’t think I was at all poor.

  He began to feel sleepy; but Ellen, he thought, became my friend when she came to work here. We used to ride together on my new horse, Sorrel, when no one was looking. He smiled as he huddled under the blanket. It was a secret, he remembered. We thought it exciting to trick Cook and the other servants. We were not much more than children and yet I would have been admonished had we been found out, and she would have been dismissed.

  Am I as strict with my children, he wondered. Am I a stern father? I think perhaps I am. There are so many responsibilities when you’re caring for a family. Melissa is such a good mother, he mused; she loves our children. She’s much better than mine, who didn’t really know me.

  But as he slipped into sleep, he recalled other things: a shadowy memory of Ellen baking him a cake, and on the night before his birthday being found lying drunk on the lawn, and Ellen’s white face as she slipped away into the darkness as somebody half carried him back across the lawn and helped him upstairs to bed so that his parents wouldn’t know. And then, some months later as his engagement to Jane was about to be announced, Ellen telling him she was going to marry Tuke.

  He breathed deeply and evenly. So was that it? he reflected. If it happened at all, was it on that night, as Ellen had said? He tried to add up the years from his coming of age, but he couldn’t, as slumber took hold of him and gently bore him away.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Daniel woke the next morning with a hangover; they had consumed copious bottles of wine as they celebrated the reunion of families. The sun was already hot and shone brightly through his window. He looked out and saw that Marco, Leo and Calypso were having breakfast on the terrace below; they appeared to be talking seriously.

  I wonder if Marco is having second thoughts about Granny Rosie and me, he considered. After all, it seems incredible, impossible even, that I should turn up out of the blue and he’d agree that we’re related. Yesterday they had planned visits, and although Marco had said that he wouldn’t be able to come to England as his arthritic legs couldn’t withstand the long journey and the English weather was too cold and damp for him, he’d suggested that Daniel might come back and bring Rosie.

  Leo had said that he and Calypso would come to England but that they couldn’t leave Italy until after the grape and olive harvest, which began in mid-September, and that would mean travelling in the winter months.

  Daniel washed and dressed and marvelled at the luxury of this lovely old house. It had been a fortified castle, Marco had told him, and he had bought it forty years ago for his wife and himself and their daughters when they were infants. Over the years he had extended and transformed it from a rather gloomy place to the beautiful home it was now, building the terrace on the rocky mountainside, widening windows to catch the sun and fitting wooden shutters and marble floors to keep the house cool in the heat of the summer. Daniel tapped quietly on Charles’s bedroom door, which was next door to his, but on receiving no answer he went down the stairs and outside to the terrace.

  Marco was sitting alone, and after greeting him jovially he told Daniel that he had just missed Leo and Calypso, but that Calypso would be back soon. Leo had gone up the mountain to check on the grapes and would be home for lunch.

  ‘We are up early at this time of the year, before it becomes too ’ot,’ Marco explained and rang a small silver bell to summon Sophia. ‘But you are a farmer, you will know ’ow it is.’ His English wasn’t quite so good this morning and Daniel guessed that he needed to speak the language more often, as he had done yesterday, to be more proficient.

  He sat down at the table facing Marco and with his back to the door. ‘We’re always up early,’ he told him. ‘But not because of the heat.’ He grinned. ‘That’s hardly ever a problem for us, but when it is hot we have to move fast to bring in ’harvest. Have you heard ’saying, make hay while the sun shines?’

  ‘Ah, yes, I think so.’ Marco invited Daniel to help himself to some thinly sliced ham as Sophia came out with a pot of fresh coffee that was hot and strong. ‘Or fruit,’ he suggested. ‘The melon is good. In Italy we do not eat much breakfast. Per’aps you like a brioche or sweet croissant?’ He spoke swiftly to Sophia before she went away, and then added, ‘What you eat for breakfast in England?’

  Daniel laughed. ‘Porridge, to start with, then mebbe bacon and eggs with bread. And a big pot of tea, very strong. We have to eat well in a morning, especially in winter when it’s cold.’

  ‘Of course,’ Marco said. ‘I do not ’ave to rise so early now, although when the grapes are ready for picking I go along to watch, and also I like to be sure that they are ready. Old ’abits, you know.’

  ‘I hadn’t realized that you were a wine maker,’ Daniel said, sipping his coffee. ‘I’ve always thought of you as a seaman.’

  ‘No, no. I ’ave never been a seaman.’ Marco put his face up to the sun as he contemplated. ‘When I left school I asked my father if I could travel to England and learn English before joining him as a vintner – a wine maker. It
takes a long time to learn about wine, and although my father was well known in the business and had brought me up to know some, I felt, like many young men, that I should see something of the world before I, ah, settled down, you know.’

  Sophia brought out some fresh sweet bread and placed it in front of Daniel, who said a shy ‘Grazie’. She smiled, and patted the top of his head, murmuring, ‘Prego, bell’uomo,’ which he didn’t understand.

  Marco glanced up at her, raised his eyebrows and then continued, ‘He agreed that I could, and as he know ze captain of a ship, he arrange the voyage and say I must work my passage – you know the meaning of this, yes?’

  Daniel nodded that he did.

  ‘But I was not a good sailor,’ Marco said, and demonstrated being sick by holding his stomach and blowing out his cheeks. Daniel laughed. He knew just what he meant.

  Marco poured them both more coffee. ‘So we sailed to the south coast of England and then to the north, and the seas there were much worse, very rough, and ze captain he took us to the port of Hull, which you know very well, and ’e told some of the other seamen to take me ashore and come back in three days.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know where we were or ’ow we got upriver, but these men,’ he looked around him and lowered his voice, ‘they took me to a house where there were lots of young women – you don’t mind me telling you this? It is no – what you say, reflection on your grandmother.’

  Daniel didn’t; whatever Marco said, Granny Rosie would still be, in his opinion, the best grandmother anyone could have.

  ‘And I met Rosie,’ Marco said softly. ‘She was so lovely, and very shy, which was surprising for ze kind of place she was in, and I vowed I would rescue her.’ He sighed. ‘I went back ze next day, but I know – knew no English and so I couldn’t tell her. The day after, we had to leave to catch ze ship and sailed back to the London docks, and then we left to come back to Italy.’