Ursula's Secret

by Mairi Wilson

  I can’t bear to live if

  He does love me. I know it.

  He must.

  I feel hollowed out and empty and that’s the very thing I am not. One minute I’m filled with wonder at this miracle we have begun, the next I’m crying again like the fool I am.

  He needs time. He’ll come back.

  Perhaps I could have told him more gently, but I was so excited. Perhaps he’s worried about what people will say, but it’s not so unusual, during the war it was

  and if we marry soon

  We might even disguise it, premature baby or

  Some of them will enjoy it if they

  My reputation will help us.

  No one would ever suspect me, Sister Reid, of something like that. We could hide the dates after and oh I don’t know but something. Impropriety. Scandal. How strange to think those words might be for me. Matron Proudfoot is unlikely to approve. And she’d know. She I’ll lose my position. But I could we could go away. I could work in another hospital. Maybe I won’t work after the baby and Cameron looks after

  He called me a stupid girl. Didn’t I know how to take care of things, he said. Surely with all my medical expertise And he laughed. But not how I’d hoped he would. Then he left.

  He’s not coming back.

  What am I going to do?

  Cape Town, September 11th 1949

  Another sleepless night. One I want to remember. The last under the velvet African sky. For some time at least. Perhaps forever. I can’t imagine returning to life in Blantyre. I am not the woman I’d wanted the world to believe me to be. I am a fallen woman. An abandoned one. No better than a Leith slut. About to become a deceiver, a liar, too. My friends as well, to save me.

  These last few days have gone by so quickly. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to write, but now I don’t know where to start. So much has happened. I see it all so clearly in my mind but don’t think I can bear to see it on the page in front of me, permanent. Real. And after all, what is there to say? I’d try to find excuses, justifications. No point in that.

  Evie left us yesterday and Helen is asleep in the bedroom behind me, so I’m finally alone on this narrow, flowerless balcony looking out over a dark sea. Tomorrow we embark. Then Scotland. Home. Only I’m not sure it will feel like that any more. If it ever really was. And we sail on the Aurora again. Full circle. Back to where I started, no better for my journey.

  Upper Shire River Mission House

  November 28th 1949

  Dear Ursula,

  I can’t tell you how pleased I was to hear from you, to know that you and Helen are safe and well and haven’t frozen to death back in the chill of our Scottish Highlands. You are both – or should that be all? – in my thoughts and prayers every day. It’s good that you have each other, but I miss you desperately. I wish I could be there too, to help and support, although pregnancy is something none of us knows much about, and even as a doctor’s wife, my exposure to childbirth is limited by the misplaced sense of decorum of the Mission clinic’s doctors. Idiots. Women need women around them at times like that. Still, you at least are a nurse so the medical aspects I’m sure will be familiar to you. Let’s all be thankful for that.

  I smiled when I read about the morning sickness on the boat – how fortunate it was deemed nothing but seasickness by the ship’s doctor, although rather worrying in a broader sense that for all that time at sea one’s health might rest in the hands of someone who doesn’t recognise a pregnant woman when he sees one! Helen, no doubt, had plenty to say about that, and would have found it hard not to say it in public, I’m sure.

  Reading your letter made me quite homesick, even though we only ever visited my mother’s croft for two weeks each summer. I used to love long walks on that beach as a child and then later as a newly married woman pining for my absent husband. I’d allow myself a little melodrama. I’d walk the shoreline in all weathers, letting the sea spray sting my face and the wind pull my hair and loving the way it made me feel so alive, so connected to myself, if that makes sense. What a place to be born.

  Gregory was here last week for the Mission meetings. He was beside himself with happiness. He couldn’t stop talking about his plans for Helen and the child – he is, of course, convinced it will be a boy, so heaven only knows what will happen if it’s a girl. Although a man with Gregory’s capacity for love will adore and cherish whatever he is given. His face when he talked of it!

  He will make an exceptional father, Ursula, my dear; you mustn’t ever worry about that. And he is utterly convinced by our subterfuge. I did feel guilt tug a little at my resolve, but really, I found myself wondering, does it matter so very much? Your child will be dearly loved. Gregory and Helen are desperate for a child and have not yet been blessed – and at the risk of sounding a little indelicate, it’s clear to look at them that their love is such it will not have been for want of trying! Such a gift this child will be, to us all.

  Gregory was full of news from Blantyre and Zomba, but little of it really merits repeating. The Clubs continue, the gossip comes and goes, the trade fair for the Missions a huge success – clearly went a good way to alleviating any concerns the recent rumours may have caused as to Buchanan’s probity. The sooner Cameron’s association with the company is forgotten the better.

  Dear Gregory works so hard. He is personally visiting each of the Missions to reassure them that everything is above board and that their trust in Buchanan’s is justified. And he looked so much better than when last I saw him. I put that down to the news of the baby. So we must, after all, be glad that business concerns keep him here because if he could, there is no question he would be on the next passage home to be with his beloved Helen and his unborn child – oh Lord, forgive us our deception.

  So, we must be strong, all of us, and we must be silent on the truth of it. Helen will love your child as if it were her own and you will be godmother, as much a part of your child’s life as it’s possible to be, as anyone would expect one of the mother’s closest friends to be. And that too is something that gives me great pleasure, dear Ursula. Whatever the circumstances of the child’s conception, this child will be loved by us all, and it is through love of that child already that the rift between you and Helen has been mended. My two dearest friends, dear friends themselves again. How could we not love the child that’s brought us that?

  Gregory did bring some less pleasant news which I feel I should impart to you, and I’m not sure he will have shared this with Helen. Indeed, I can see he is ashamed, but really it is nothing to do with him and we all know that. Cameron and his new wife are under investigation and she has started proceedings for divorce. It appears that Gertie’s husband’s death may not have been straightforward. Some talk of poisoning, or incorrect dosages of some sort with his medication. There is rather a lot of money at stake, and it seems there is a son from the man’s first marriage who has raised concerns over his father’s death and a new will made shortly before his demise, leaving everything to Gertie. Cameron has been interviewed by the police, I believe, and told not to leave Johannesburg, which can only be good news, as anything that keeps him as far from us as possible would be. I know this must be painful for you to hear, and truly my heart aches for you, Ursula. For all his wickedness, I know you loved that man, so I tell you this only to help you steel your heart against him, and if nothing else, it may make the prospect of returning to us a little less daunting, knowing he will not be here. Fear not, however. That man has more lives than a cat, and I am sure no harm will come to him. I cannot believe even Cameron would have a hand in murder. And in any case, that Chakanaya man is with him, and if anyone knows how to get around the authorities, it’s him.

  Of life here at the Mission clinic, I have little to tell you. The orphanage continues to thrive, the clinic to be well attended and the new church is almost complete – how lovely a place it would be for a baptism! But enough – I’m getting ahead of myself. We hope to be here for a few more weeks, then
return to Blantyre so will be there to celebrate your return in the autumn.

  Stay safe in your Highland hideaway, dear Ursula, stay well. Know that I am with you in my heart and you are with me in my prayers.

  Your loving friend,

  Evie

  Glasgow, May 21st 1950

  She’s gone. He’s gone. I stood at the dock and waved, smiled, as if I were happy to see them go. Helen. Once again I find myself overwhelmed with jealousy for her and yet I should be so very, very grateful. But she again has what is dearest to me. Only this time it isn’t the love of a scoundrel, it’s my son. My son! Dear God, how could I have agreed to this? How will I live with it?

  She expected me to return with her, and in truth, I believed I would too. It was only yesterday, as we made the final preparations, that I realised I couldn’t. I couldn’t watch her take my son to Gregory, tell him my boy is hers, his. I couldn’t watch them become the happy family I thought might have been mine if Cameron had really loved me. If Cameron had had an ounce of honour in him. Honour. There’s a thought. Hardly for me to cast that stone. Not me, a coward of the highest order, not even brave enough to keep her own son. I can hardly cast aspersions on another’s behaviour. But it wouldn’t work, even if I had more courage. How could I keep my baby and my job, and if I didn’t work how would we survive?

  And now I have neither. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Where I’m going to go. I’ll have to work. No reference from Matron Proudfoot will make it hard to find a position. She won’t have forgiven me for my abrupt departure. And too late I remembered she would know my ailing mother was a lame excuse. It would have been on my records, of course. No parents. No family as next of kin. Orphan. Dr Campbell, dear Douglas, might help me I suppose, if Evie asks.

  But I can’t think of any of that yet. I have abandoned my child. Given him away. What kind of a woman does that? I’m every bit the monster Cameron is. What chance would any child of ours have? Better to be with Helen and Gregory – the faultless, perfect couple. They will give him a far better chance than he would have with me. And this pain, this wrenching ache, so raw, so … this is my penance. I don’t deserve to forget. I won’t forget. The curling grip of those small fingers, the perfection of his tiny toes! The soft warmth of his breath on my cheek as I held him against my heart, the gentle rise and fall of the coverlet as he slept. Oh dear God. There can be no forgiveness for what I’ve done, but please don’t let him be punished, my beautiful, beautiful boy, for the sins of his shameful mother.

  Taigh na Mara, July 29th 1950

  I won’t come back here, again, despite Evie’s generosity: her insistence on signing it over to me, that it should be my home. I don’t deserve it. I’m going to leave all of it behind me. Lock it up and keep it from seeping its poison into my new life. Perhaps I should throw away the keys and just leave it all to rot. A derelict memorial to my sinfulness.

  But that’s an indulgence I can’t afford. The cleaning and clearing has been therapeutic in a way, and knowing that someone new will live here, someone who has no idea of the agonised ghosts that haunt its walls, will help. The solicitors said it will take time to find someone who wants to live out here, but that’s good. It will give the ghosts time to settle, move on, find me in Edinburgh. I could sell it, of course. But something holds me back. I don’t quite know why. Perhaps because it would seem ungrateful to Evie. Or perhaps because it feels too final to do that. Maybe, just maybe, one day things will be different. I’ll bring him here and show him the place where he was born and we’ll laugh and cry about it together. And heal. Oh that we might!

  Helen sent me a picture of him. I know she means well, keeping her promise to share every step with me as best she can. But I can’t help myself. The jealousy runs so deep. And now too I am beholden to her for life. His life. A debt I can never repay and which makes me hate her.

  Blantyre

  September 27th 1950

  Dear Ursula,

  I write this in haste at Helen’s request and will write a fuller account later. We both want this to reach you as soon as it can, though. Such news – Helen is pregnant with a child of her own! Soon your dear boy will have a sibling, a playmate, someone to look up to him and love him as much as we all do. Oh, you can’t imagine how happy they all are – Gregory and Helen are wonderful parents and now with another child on the way it will make our secret all the safer. With children of their own, our little honeybird is less likely ever to be found out.

  And fear not, my dear friend. Helen loves that boy of yours as if he were her own, as does Gregory. She promises me she will love him no less when her child is born, and such is the size of that woman’s heart, we know she will be true to her word.

  I know there will be a small part of you that this news will hurt, but Ursula, what’s done is done and your boy really couldn’t be happier or better cared for. You wouldn’t want him to grow up a lonely child, I’m sure, so try to rejoice at this news. It will be good for him to have other children around him.

  More next time, I promise. Till then take care, and know we think of you often.

  Much love,

  Evie

  PS: Do so hope the Edinburgh position is turning out well for you. Douglas was sure you’d be perfect for it and was glowing in his reference – of course!

  16

  Blantyre Hospital, June 14th

  Lexy had slept little so was at the hospital earlier than planned, thinking to have a coffee in the hospital canteen or a walk in the grounds until her appointed time with Evie. Her head was swimming, though, with what she had learned from the tea folder, and it had driven her back to the photo albums, where she’d scrutinised the faces of the women, the men who’d played the central roles in the drama that was unfolding in Ursula’s documents. It was so hard to reconcile what she was reading with her memories of the staid, respectable Edinburgh matron of Lexy’s childhood. With the warmth and love there had been for Izzie and Lexy herself, whenever they visited. That Ursula had been a caring, loving mother in everything but name to Izzie was evident. So how could that same woman have given up her own son, given him away to another woman … or was it because she’d abandoned one child that there was such an outpouring of affection for another?

  Such an outrageous plan, and yet one, it would appear, that had succeeded. And Evie had been the one to suggest it. Ursula’s son had grown up loved and wealthy, so did it matter to the child? Had he known? The payments. Surely that was why … But when had he found out, and how? And how did it make him feel? Lexy’s own sense of betrayal, her anger at her mother withholding information from her paled into insignificance in the light of what Ursula’s son must have felt when he discovered his birthright, his true identity, had been stolen from him. And yet, he’d grown up more comfortably than he ever would have had his birth mother kept him. But Lexy couldn’t help but feel it was fundamentally wrong to lie, to deceive, and particularly about something as central to a sense of identity as the circumstances of one’s birth … and yet … and yet …

  By the time she reached the hospital her impatience had gained the upper hand. She struck a deal with herself. She could go straight to Evie’s room and if the old woman was awake and would see her, so be it. But Lexy had to keep tight control of her emotions, remember that Evie was about to have major surgery and that whatever had happened all those years ago, Lexy couldn’t begin to know the full circumstances, or the toll it might have taken on all three women then and through the years that followed. In short, she must not judge. She would listen with an open mind, gather information impartially, academically. Danny would be proud. If she succeeded, that is.

  As she walked down the corridor towards Evie’s room she could see that the door was ajar. Raising her hand to rap her knuckles lightly on the wood, she was surprised to hear Evie’s voice, just catching a few words before the door swung open at her touch.

  “Remember what we agreed. Nothing about—”

  “Hello?” Lexy’s smile stalled
and she felt a lurch in her stomach as she realised Robert was in the room. Yesterday’s humiliation came flooding back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting?”

  “Lexy, dear, you’re early.”

  “Yes, I know. I was … I can come back?”

  “No, no. Not at all, do come in child. Robbie boy, jump to it. Clear that clutter away and let the dear child have a seat.”

  “Thank you, but really I can come back—”

  “Nonsense. Robbie doesn’t mind sharing me. Now, how are you, dear? Why, you look exhausted. Our Malawian sun perhaps too much for you?”

  “No, not that. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “Really? You’re not ill are you, my dear? Robbie could give you something if—”

  “No!” Lexy was appalled at the thought of Robbie tending to her, was beginning to wish she’d mastered the art of patience and was sitting sipping coffee downstairs. “I mean, thanks, but really I’m fine. It was just that I was thinking about what you’d said, Evie, and looking through the photos and reading more of the folder I found under Ursula’s chair and … well, it was quite overwhelming really. And then I was trying to put it all together with what the lawyers said and make sense of it, but I just kept coming up with more questions, and I … So that’s why I couldn’t sleep and then I didn’t know if you’d have your operation scheduled yet or not so thought maybe if I came earlier you’d be able to rest more before it because I really appreciate you seeing me at all when you … but I’ve so much to ask you and I’m sure you have the answers …”

  Lexy drew breath, looked up at last, saw their faces still and watchful. “Sorry. I’m gabbling, and I know you have your operation on your mind, but it’s just so— Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry, dear. I’m not the frail old stick Robert would have you believe, and I’m only too happy to have something to take my mind off the operation.”