Every Mother's Son

by Val Wood

  ‘But you must still be careful,’ Signor Rosso told them. ‘Keep under cover. Now,’ he said, ‘I will tell you where to find ze Orsini palace, because you must excuse me, I go now home to rest.’

  Of course they quite understood, and they thanked him sincerely for the meal and his company and hospitality. Rosso shook hands with Daniel and welcomed him into the Orsini family, shook hands with Charles, bowed and kissed Beatrice’s hand.

  ‘Arrivederci. Come back to Roma again,’ he said. ‘It ees your ancestral home, Daniel. Always you are welcome.’

  ‘Arrivederci. Thank you,’ Daniel said fervently. ‘Mille grazie.’

  None of them felt like going very far after the meal they had eaten, so they walked slowly, Beatrice holding the parasol to shield her face. Within fifteen minutes they came to the rear of the Colosseum, where they saw ancient statuary, ruins of antiquity and vestiges of old walls with orange trees growing between them, and what looked like another smaller Colosseum with open ruined walls and arches and stone columns, except that another occupied floor had been built on the very top. They could see the windows dressed with curtains and flower pots on the sills.

  ‘This is like an ancient arena,’ Charles said, looking round the vast area surrounding them.

  ‘Or an auditorium,’ Beatrice added. ‘Perhaps it was used for music and entertainment.’

  ‘Or gladiatorial battles,’ Charles said, his eyes gleaming.

  But Daniel had his eyes glued on the edifice before him. ‘And this,’ he said quietly, ‘is the Orsini Palace, home of the Roman Orsinis.’ He took a huge breath and exhaled. ‘I’ve seen enough,’ he said. ‘Now I want to go home.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Stephen sat silently, not asking any questions as his mother explained the connection between his father and Fletcher Tuke. She concluded by saying, ‘Ellen Tuke died not long ago. Her funeral was last week.’

  ‘So was that when it all came out?’ Stephen asked. ‘Did no one know about it before?’ He wrinkled his heavy eyebrows. ‘I can’t believe that no one knew, not in such a small community as this.’

  ‘Fletcher and Harriet Tuke have known for over twenty years, and I – I guessed that … yes, I did harbour suspicions that … that …’ How to say to your son that you suspected your husband had had a liaison with a servant girl who had given birth to an illegitimate child? ‘… that Fletcher Tuke looked very much like your father when he was a young man.’

  ‘So did my father support her and the child?’ Stephen’s voice was brisk and quite grown up. ‘And why didn’t he confide in you before you were married? Or perhaps he thought you wouldn’t marry him if you knew.’

  ‘He didn’t support her because he didn’t know,’ she replied softly. ‘And she never asked for anything, or accused him. It seems that your father was probably the last person to know. She – Ellen Tuke – passed off the child as her husband’s until she decided to tell.’ When it suited her, Melissa thought bitterly. She bided her time for greater effect and in the hope that Fletcher would inherit the estate; for I am certain that is why she did it.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Stephen said with the wisdom of youth. ‘How could he not know?’

  But then he became silent again as he remembered he was speaking to his mother, and then the implication seemed to hit home and he muttered, ‘So Fletcher Tuke is my half-brother, is that what you’re saying?’ He looked down at his feet. ‘And does that mean … as the eldest son …’

  ‘No,’ his mother said. ‘Let’s be quite clear on that. He will not inherit, and more to the point, Stephen, he doesn’t want to. He’s quite determined about that. He’s a self-made man, a farmer who has succeeded without the help of anyone else. I’ve had conversations with him and Harriet, and I have asked him if he will assist us on the estate, show you the ropes so to speak, until such time as your father recovers and we can employ another bailiff, which is proving difficult at the moment. I’m assuming that you are still intent on attending farming college? And if you are,’ she said, as Stephen nodded in assent, ‘then we need to have a discussion with Charles when he comes home.’

  Stephen mulled it over. ‘I’ve always liked Fletcher Tuke, but now, well, I don’t know if I can see him in the same light.’

  ‘It’s not his fault.’

  ‘I know,’ Stephen acknowledged. ‘But there’s something else to be considered.’

  Melissa shook her head. She had known the subject would be mentioned. Stephen was a straight-talking boy – no, young man, she thought. But he was young, young enough to recover.

  ‘You know what I’m going to say?’ His voice faltered and cracked a little.

  ‘Yes,’ she said sadly, ‘and I’m sorry, Stephen, but you must now consider the Tuke sons and daughters as your nephews and nieces.’

  *

  He was shocked when he went up to see his father. A fire had been lit in the bedroom and he was sitting in an armchair with a blanket over his knees. His face was grey, as if the colour had leached out of it. He seemed to have aged by years.

  ‘Stephen!’ he said croakily. ‘Are you home already? Has term finished early?’

  ‘Mama sent for me, Father. She seemed to think you needed some company and help on the estate. It’s only another week to the end of the term in any case.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense.’ Christopher made a stab at being positive. ‘I’m just a bit down at the moment. Things don’t always go well when you’re running a place this size.’

  Stephen sat on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s all right, Father. Mama has explained everything.’

  ‘Has she?’ Christopher answered quietly. ‘No, I don’t think she has. She can’t explain why a young man such as I was, shy and reserved, could get into a situation like this. Or how an incident nearly fifty years ago could cause such a reverberation.’

  ‘An incident!’ Stephen said incredulously. ‘Surely it was more than just an incident?’ I might be young, he thought, but I’m not totally naive. I know how these things can happen.

  Christopher sighed. ‘I wish I could explain it,’ he said, ‘but I can’t. I remember Ellen Tuke very well. We were about the same age and I was often in the kitchen chatting to Cook and the other servants, and I admit I was at fault in making a friend of her. I was lonely, I suppose,’ he said softly. ‘But I’m as much a victim of circumstance as everyone else, and I’ll speak frankly, Stephen, man to man, when I say that although it should have been a momentous and profound experience for me as well as for her, I can’t recall a damned thing about it!’

  *

  The next day, Stephen saddled up his horse and rode off towards Elloughton Dale, ostensibly to meet Fletcher Tuke face to face so that there was no embarrassment between them when they started to work together. His mother had explained what she had agreed with Fletcher, and his father had said he knew nothing about the arrangements but would go along with whatever Melissa had decided. He’d added that he and Fletcher had had a discussion to clear the air before Ellen Tuke had died, but he hadn’t seen him since.

  But Stephen’s visit was really to see Maria. He had admired her and thought her a sweet girl when he’d met her at the twins’ party all those years ago, and on subsequent occasions when he’d seen her at the Tukes’ house. He remembered the time he’d gone especially to see her and found that she had left home to work in Brough. He’d thought it odd at the time, for surely she hadn’t needed to work elsewhere, but now he wondered if the Tukes had sent her away deliberately so that they wouldn’t meet.

  He knocked on the door but no one answered; he tried the sneck and looked in. A fire was burning merrily and there was an appetizing aroma of meat and onions, but no one was there. He tied up his horse and went looking for someone, and heard men’s voices from far down a field. Haymaking, he realized. Then he heard the clatter of a metal bucket from one of the sheds and followed the noise.

  ‘Hello,’ he called. ‘Is anyone there?’

  ‘I’m in ’cowshed,’
a female voice called back. ‘I can’t stop, we’re in full flow.’

  He put his head round the door; there was a sweet smell of hay and milk and Maria was sitting on a low stool with her back to him milking a cow, the milk flowing in a fast stream into a white bucket.

  She half turned towards him. ‘We can’t stop, as you’ll see. Who is it?’

  Stephen quietly stepped inside, not wanting to disturb the cow. ‘It’s me. Stephen.’ He moved so that she could see him. ‘I didn’t know you could do that.’

  She gazed up at him from beneath her lashes. ‘Been milking for a while,’ she explained. ‘Ma showed me how. She said it might come in useful one day, if I ever …’ Her voice tailed away. ‘Are you looking for my da?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said, continuing to watch her as she rhythmically squeezed the animal’s teats. ‘I was looking for you.’

  He saw alarm shoot across her face. ‘It’s all right,’ he said quickly. ‘I know – about what’s happened.’

  A slow flush crept up his neck and he saw that Maria’s cheeks flushed too. ‘I, erm, I just wanted to ask if we could still be friends, you and I, even though …’ He shrugged. ‘I mean, just because we’re – well, sort of related …’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I’d like that.’ She kept her face turned away from him, her head bent against the cow’s belly as she concentrated on the milking. ‘I’d like that very much. To be friends.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ he said. ‘That’s good. Thank you. I was hoping that’s what you’d say. All right, I’d better go and look for your father after all, so – well, goodbye then. I’ll see you again soon, I expect?’

  ‘Yes, I expect so,’ she said softly, her eyes on his. ‘Goodbye, Stephen.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said, and afterwards wondered how he had plucked up the courage, for the first and probably the last time, to bend down and kiss her gently on her cheek.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Beatrice and Charles were in agreement with Daniel about going home. Beatrice felt that she should return soon and face her parents after having taken the unprecedented step of coming on this momentous tour with her brother and Daniel without their approval or permission.

  ‘I don’t know if they’ll be angry or not,’ she said, as they walked back to the lodging house. ‘But I do know that I would not have missed this experience for anything.’

  ‘And I must go home and tell Father that I definitely won’t be going to university in England, but mean to study in Italy,’ Charles said uneasily. ‘We’ll have to have a discussion about the estate too, of course. I hope there won’t be too many complications, because I’m fairly sure that Stephen will be pleased to take over the running of it in time, though not yet of course. And, I don’t know whether or not to tell Mama that I’ve fallen in love and want to get married.’

  ‘They’ll say you’re too young,’ Beatrice told him. ‘You’ll have to wait until you’re twenty-one in any case, because that’s when you’ll get your inheritance, unless of course Papa disowns you,’ she said smugly, raising her eyebrows, which made Daniel hide a smile and mouth Cruel.

  ‘He won’t, will he?’ Charles said anxiously. ‘Of course, he’ll see things differently because he’s from another generation entirely. He married his first wife because it was expected of him, not because he loved her but because she was suitable.’ He sighed dramatically. ‘He will probably think that Calypso is totally unsuitable, being foreign.’

  ‘Here, hold on,’ Daniel said in mock severity. ‘You’re speaking of my cousin, old chap.’

  Charles glanced at Daniel, ready to apologize until he saw his lips trembling with laughter, as were Beatrice’s. ‘Gosh, yes.’ He grinned. ‘Do you realize, Daniel, that when Calypso and I are married, you and I will be related?’

  ‘Yes,’ Daniel agreed, ‘I had realized that, but have you thought that you haven’t asked her yet?’

  Beatrice didn’t comment, but her sharp mind was busy calculating, assessing and planning.

  They spent two more days in Rome looking at the ancient sites, admiring St Peter’s from afar, gazing through the locked gates of the Vatican where the Pope and his cardinals had resided since the unification of Italy; they visited museums and the Colosseum and read some of the history; but as there was so much and it was so hot and Beatrice and Charles had to take cover so often, they decided that it was time to move on.

  ‘When I come to live here,’ Charles said, fanning himself with his hat, ‘you’ll be able to come and stay for a longer period during, say, spring or autumn.’

  Daniel laughed. ‘Thank you, Charles,’ he said. ‘How very kind of you. But you’re assuming that I’ll have no work to do, and will be able to take time off whenever I want to.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Charles said, glancing lazily at Beatrice. ‘Yes, sorry, so I was.’

  They had taken a unanimous decision that as they had money left to travel by train they would do so for part of the journey, take a coach at other times, and occasionally, when the mood took them, walk. They all had good walking boots and Beatrice wore her divided skirt, which she said was comfortable for walking in as well as riding. They all wore hats, Beatrice carried her parasol all the time, and both Daniel and Charles acquired stout sticks for walking.

  Their first train journey was to Florence, the city of art and culture, where they spent two days. They were able to get about quite easily, as it appeared that the locals took to the hills in the summer to escape the heat, and so they visited the Duomo, walked across the medieval Ponte Vecchio, where Beatrice stopped to gaze into the enclosed shops selling gold and silver, and viewed the art galleries, where they stood in awe before the paintings and sculptures of Michelangelo and da Vinci.

  The next rail journey took them through Genoa on the way to Turin, and Daniel gazed out of the windows down towards the Mediterranean, wishing that he might have seen his grandfather just once more; he wondered what he was doing, inspecting the grapes or the olives and assessing the quality, or sitting on the terrace drinking coffee with his straw hat over his eyes.

  From Turin they took the coach to Bardonecchia and up to the entrance of the Fréjus rail tunnel, which would carry them through the Alps and into France. Beatrice was nervous and said she didn’t like to be enclosed. The alternative would be to travel by coach, a perilous journey on the narrow and steep roads over the Alps, hire horses, or walk, all of which would take them much longer.

  ‘It’s up to you, Beatrice,’ Daniel said. ‘We can walk or ride, which we’ve done already, or we can take a short cut through the Alps, and even then we still have a long journey ahead of us.’

  ‘All right, I’ll be brave,’ she said. ‘I’ll close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. But you must both hold my hands.’

  ‘Gladly.’ Daniel smiled. That would be a bonus, he thought, for he was longing for the experience of travelling deep below the Alps on a railroad that had only been built ten years before.

  As it happened they were all very tired after the days of travelling, and as the train entered the tunnel and the sunshine disappeared, with Daniel and Charles sitting on either side of Beatrice holding her hands as promised, one by one they fell asleep, Daniel gently stroking Beatrice’s hand with his thumb as she slept and thinking he had never been happier.

  They awoke as the train rumbled to a halt in the border town of Modane. The sun was still shining but it wasn’t as hot as it had been in Italy; the clusters of houses were painted in bright colours and potted plants adorned the balconies.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Beatrice said. ‘Shall we stay a day or two?’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea,’ Daniel agreed. ‘We could rest and then mebbe walk a while down the valley. ’Weather’s good for walking.’

  They could also write postcards home, they all agreed, and let everyone know they were on the homeward journey.

  After two days they ventured forth again and rode for many miles through the mountains on hired horses; they caught local
omnibuses or rode in carriers’ carts from village to village and finally decided to travel by train to Lyon, then by boat down the Loire from Roanne, spending lazy days gazing at the châteaux and wildlife along the banks. Daniel and Charles in the prow steered the barge under the casual eye of the accommodating captain, or drifted slowly along the canals while Beatrice lounged in a deck chair in warm sunshine with a hat over her eyes and wrote a letter home to her mother, until they reached Orléans ten days later.

  They shook hands with the captain, who had sung in a hearty voice for most of the journey, had fed them on French bread and ham and strong local wine, and spoke no English, so that they had once more had to rely on Beatrice to translate. He wished them a cheery au revoir et bonne chance, goodbye and good luck, as they set off to catch the train to Paris and Le Havre on the final leg of their journey.

  The sight of the English Channel both cheered and deflated them. All three knew that their freedom would be curtailed once they returned to a normal life. Daniel was eager to see his family again and pass on the messages from Leo and Marco. Yet it all seems like an improbable dream, he thought, and once I’m back working on ’farm again it’ll seem as if it happened to somebody else. I’ll miss those lovely ponies too, and much as I love my Shires I wish I could have brought the Haflingers home.

  His thoughts were also on Beatrice; he knew full well that she would be lost to him once they were home. She would live a life that wouldn’t include him. She would do whatever a young woman of her status did, which was unknown to him; visiting other young women, he supposed, going to parties and balls, meeting eligible young men who might seek her hand in marriage. He was not a contender for that, the son of a small farmer, a ploughman who knew nothing but farming, horses, farrowing, sowing and reaping.

  He swallowed hard and leaned on the ship’s rail, letting the cold wind blow into his face as if it could prepare him to accept his lot. Come on, he told himself, you’ve had ’pleasure of her company, heard her laughter, held her hand; nobody can take that away. And surely he would still have her friendship, the friendship they had shared from childhood.