Obsession

by Claire Lorrimer

  Harriet was hardly able to contain her excitement as she was helped into the beautiful coral and green glacé silk gown she had last worn on her honeymoon. Round her neck she wore the gold and coral heart-shaped locket which Brook had given her on her nineteenth birthday, and Mrs Fraser fastened a coral brooch on to the velvet ribbon tying back her hair.

  Finally, satisfied that she looked her best, Harriet went up to the nursery to ascertain that Maire and Charlie were happily settled before going down to the drawing room to await Brook’s return. She welcomed the fact that, during the ensuing hour before he came home, she had time to consider how best she could break the news to him that they now had a baby son. She would inform him that he was upstairs with his nurse, probably asleep by now, and that Brook could see him in the morning.

  Her excitement at the thought of being reunited with him after so long was tempered by fear of his reaction. Just for this evening, she told herself, nothing must cast a shadow on their reunion. Although Brook might rejoice that he was now a father, she dreaded the many questions he would be sure to ask; and which would necessitate her telling him a whole sequence of lies.

  Her resolve to tell those lies gave way momentarily to a desire to tell him the truth in the hope that he would agree to raise Charlie as his son, or even as a foundling like Hastings, but she knew in her heart that he would not do so. He had spoken so often of ‘heritage’ and his ancestry, family traits when they had discussed the children they would have. He’d even confessed he longed for a daughter as well as a son, who would remind him of the little sisters who had died in his youth.

  She had been wrong, she told herself, ever to have pretended Mrs Lawson’s baby was her own. Now it was too late – she had come to love him as if he was indeed hers and she could not contemplate parting with him.

  To tell Brook the truth was to risk never seeing or holding Charlie in her arms again. If Brook insisted she part with him, to lose the two-month-old baby boy would break her heart. Her thoughts went to the little boy in the muslin-draped bassinet she had prepared for her own babies, his eyelashes lying like two tiny fans over his cheeks, which were rosy with health after Nanny’s weeks-long care, and knew that she now loved the infant every bit as if he was indeed her own. It was then that she knew without a doubt that she dared not risk Brook’s refusal to keep him. Nothing – but nothing – must mar their reunion. She would this very minute give all the staff strict instructions that there was to be no mention under any circumstances of Maire and Charlie, that she wished to be the one to surprise the master, who knew nothing of the baby’s birth. This evening, she told herself, she wanted Brook and his attention all to herself. If he had missed her even half as much as she had missed him, their reunion was going to be more wonderful than any moment as yet in their married life.

  Thinking now of the night of love which was to come, Harriet wondered if it would result in her conceiving another baby such as the one she had miscarried in Liverpool. The thought reminded her of what she must later tell Brook, another lie: that Charlie must have been conceived just before he had gone to Jamaica, and that had she and Bessie not been beset by the fire and then attacked by robbers, she might not have given birth so soon. If questioned further she could tell him that, thankfully, the premature baby had progressed under her old Nanny’s expert care, and was now a healthy, happy infant of whom they could both be proud.

  All such thoughts and anxieties vanished instantly as Brook came into the room. Disregarding the presence of the footman and Fletcher who was hovering to see whether his master required refreshment, Harriet abandoned decorum and ran into his open arms. For once, Fletcher, too, abandoned decorum and allowed himself to exchange smiles with the footman as they backed quietly into the hall and quietly closed the door.

  Brook paused only briefly between his hungry kisses to murmur: ‘You cannot know, my darling, how terribly I have missed you!’ He did not even allow her a chance to tell him how unhappy she had been lying night after night alone in her bed missing him. It was almost as if they were back on their honeymoon and so much in love that they were unwilling to be beyond touching distance of each other.

  Brook’s arms moving to her waist, he led her to one of the big sofas where, still kissing, they lay entwined. Smiling happily, Brook confessed that were it not for the imminent arrival of one of the servants to announce the readiness of their evening meal, he would undress her and make love to her then and there.

  Looking at his flushed, handsome face, his dark eyes seeming to caress her, Harriet knew that nothing and no one in the whole world mattered to her more than her husband. They were home together at last, and even now he was vowing huskily that he would never go anywhere without her again.

  Fletcher knocked discreetly on the door and came in to announce that Cook had planned to prepare a cheese soufflé – Brook’s favourite dish – to precede the roast pheasant for dinner that evening, and wanted to know what time he and the mistress wished to dine. Brook rose to his feet, his eyes dancing as he told Harriet he would make haste changing out of his riding clothes and hopefully manage to match her elegance at the dinner table in half an hour’s time.

  When he returned looking immaculate in his black dress coat and trousers, white waistcoat and bow tie, he took her arm in his and led Harriet into the dining room, where Cook’s perfect soufflé followed by roast pheasant was served to them. As they ate, Brook wanted an account of Harriet’s activities whilst he had been away. Sadly, he said, he had had no news since her letter, which he had received soon after his arrival in which she mentioned her intention to visit her sister.

  She told him truthfully about the journey by coach to Liverpool, the fire, how Bessie and she had been attacked and robbed, and that, horrifyingly, Bessie was missing, at which point in the story, she stopped, saying, ‘Please don’t ask me to talk anymore about it now, Brook. I will tell you the whole story tomorrow …’

  Brook’s face became a mask of concern. ‘My darling, I had forgotten selfishly that you have only today reached home and that you must be quite exhausted. Let us finish this delicious Charlotte Rousse and then we will retire.’ He regarded her anxiously. ‘Who is attending to you, my love, now that Bessie is not here to do so? We must find you a likeable lady’s maid as quickly as possible.’ His brow cleared. ‘I know just the person to find a suitable replacement quickly,’ he added. ‘Do you recall when we last dined at Melton Court last year, Mrs Goodall kept talking about the success of their new cook who she and her brother had obtained from a London domestic agency – I think she called it – which had started a business in Leicester. That quail pie the woman cooked was quite memorable, so perhaps you might find a replacement for Bessie there quite quickly.’

  Although Harriet was grateful for Brook’s possible solution to the problem, she knew she would have difficulty in choosing anyone who could take her dear Bessie’s place. Often she would think of her faithful maid, wonder if she was still alive or a prisoner, perhaps, of the evil men who had robbed them. Perhaps it would be a good idea if she let the capable Mrs Felicity Goodall engage a new maid for her if she offered to do so because, of a certainty, she would not be able to do so herself impartially.

  But even Bessie slipped to the back of her mind when, their meal finished, Brook declined his usual glass of port and drew back his chair, telling Fletcher he would not be needing him any more as they were now about to retire.

  It was not long before Harriet had completed her night-time toilette with Mrs Fraser’s assistance, and climbed eagerly between the linen bed sheets, which had been warmed by the stone water bottles the maid had put there earlier. Comfortable as Harriet had been in the large feather bed in Una’s house, she thought that there was nowhere on earth she would rather be than back in her own bed, waiting for Brook to appear from his dressing room.

  The maid left the room, the fire burning brightly and the candles glowing and, unbidden, Harriet’s fears returned. How could she be risking the loss of Brook�
��s love? No matter how much she had grown to love Charlie, he was not her baby, or Brook’s baby. Was she wicked to be lying to him on so vital an issue?

  Guilty as she was feeling at the deception she had planned, she knew without doubt she must go ahead with her plan. Her thoughts took another, optimistic turn: surely, even if Brook were to discover the truth, he would understand her need to keep the baby and allow her to do so? Harriet lay there in turmoil, her head spinning.

  Then Brook came into the room and she forgot everything but the joy of knowing she would be back in his arms again.

  Tired though Harriet was after her journey – the first she had ever undertaken on a steam train – when the moment came to do so, she responded to Brook’s love-making as eagerly and ardently as he could have wished. They had been without one another far too long, he said, his arms tightly around her, his body pressed to hers; he would never leave her side again. Nothing, short of death, he vowed, would part them.

  ‘I love you – love you with all my heart and soul!’ he told her. Then added: ‘If no further good fortune should ever come my way again, I would still feel God had blessed me well enough the day he sent you into my life. You are my life …’ This time, he made tender love to her until they both fell into an exhausted sleep.

  They slept late next morning. Harriet was the first to awake. A pale February sun was slanting in between the heavy damask curtains. Seeing Brook’s eyes still closed, she lifted her head gently from his shoulder and lay looking at him, her heart filled with tenderness and passion lingering from the night before. She had dreamt so often at Una’s house of the joy of their eventual reunion, but had never imagined it could be so idyllic. Her love for him was so intense that the emotion she felt brought tears to her eyes.

  Then, she remembered the baby … wondered how well he had passed the night after their long journey home from Ireland. She desperately wanted for him to look well, to smile when Brook first saw him. She must no longer delay telling him that he had a son the first moment he awoke.

  Fear returned and filled her whole being. Suppose Brook refused to believe Charlie was his child? She had no proof to support the lie. Suppose if she confessed the truth he were to demand that she took the baby to the nearest orphanage as his mother had suggested? Could she bear to be childless once again after these past two months of holding him, feeding him, falling in love with him? It had seemed the most natural thing in the world to allow Una’s delightful children to believe he was their cousin; to take turns rocking his cradle or helping Nanny bath him as the older girls had once bathed Cedric, Clifford and Colin. She had never felt so fulfilled. The love she shared with Brook was a different kind of love, she realized. He made her feel complete as a woman, whereas the baby who she now called hers made her feel complete as a mother. Somehow … somehow, when Brook awoke, she must find the strength to tell him the lie that she prayed would make their marriage complete.

  She slipped quietly out of bed and, pulling her warm Paisley shawl round her shoulders, went to sit by the fireside. The embers were still glowing, allowing a little warmth to come into the room. Nevertheless, she shivered with apprehension knowing that at any moment Brook would wake.

  Almost at once she saw him stir, open his eyes and turn to look for her. Seeing the space beside him was empty, he sat up quickly, looking round the room in alarm.

  ‘My darling, what ails you? Are you unwell?’ he demanded anxiously when he saw her by the fireside.

  Harriet attempted a smile before saying, ‘No, Brook, I have been waiting for you to awake. I have a surprise for you; one I believe will give you great pleasure.’

  Brook held out his arms. ‘Come back to bed, dearest. No surprise could afford me greater happiness than to have you in my arms!’

  Harriet made no move and forced a smile to her face. ‘I think what I am about to tell you will please you even more than I could,’ she said. Taking her courage in hand, she added softly: ‘We have a son, Brook, a little boy. He is upstairs with his nurse. As soon as we are dressed, I will take you to see him and …’

  She got no further before Brook was at her side. There was a look of utter amazement on his face as he said incredulously, ‘A son? A baby? You have had a child? But how so, Harriet? Why did you not write and tell me? When …? How old …? I cannot believe this. Have my ears deceived me? You said we have a son?’

  Harriet’s hesitation was so slight as to be imperceptible, but she could not voice the lie a second time, so she nodded, saying quickly, ‘I must have conceived the baby before you departed to Jamaica. I had not fully realized it when I decided to visit my sister. Unlike those occasions when I miscarried the other babies, I felt so well this time I supposed I had simply put on a little weight when I made the decision to travel to Ireland. Were it not for the attack upon Bessie and myself, I think I may have carried Charlie …’ she used the name unconsciously, ‘… for the full nine months. As it was …’ She paused, and Brook, wide-eyed, urged her to continue.

  ‘I was hit … rendered unconscious by the villains I told you about who attacked Bessie and me,’ she said, her voice firmer now that she was telling the truth. ‘When I regained my senses, Bessie had vanished and I was in a convent being cared for by nuns. It was there the baby was born … far sooner than he should have been.’

  Seeing the look of amazement on Brook’s face, she added quickly: ‘The nuns took the greatest care of us both, and when I finally reached my sister’s house, we were so spoilt by Una and my old nanny that it was not long before both the baby and I were in the best of health. I … Una and the children … all of us, that is … called him Charles after my father, but if you do not care for the name …’

  She got no further before Brook was lifting her from her chair and covering her face with kisses. ‘You suffered all that without me by your side!’ he exclaimed huskily. ‘Oh, my darling, if I had known …’

  This time it was Harriet who interrupted. ‘There was nothing you could have done to protect or assist me from so far away, which was why I did not write and tell you this in a letter,’ she whispered. ‘But now that is all behind us, Brook. I know that you will have to tell Hastings that Bessie is missing, but otherwise I really would prefer not to talk or think about it. Charlie is thriving, as you will see for yourself as soon as we are dressed.’

  Brook’s expression changed from one of anxiety to one of pure joy. He kissed her again and again, his eyes shining with excitement and happiness. ‘You are the bravest, kindest, most wonderful wife a man could have!’ he told her, his voice choked with emotion. ‘A son, Harriet – the child I longed for! When we lost the others, I knew you were as saddened and disappointed as I was, but I did not want to add to your distress by telling you that I felt my life would never be complete if I did not have a least one boy to carry my name.’

  He kissed her yet again, and continued joyfully: ‘Now … now I shall not mind even if we never have more children … although, as you have now proved the doctor’s fears were unfounded you might well give me a daughter next time who will look like you.’ He laughed delightedly, then looked down at Harriet as a thought struck him. ‘Why did you not tell me this last evening, my darling? How could you have kept such a wonderful surprise a secret from me?’

  Harriet caught her breath, dismayed by the fact that she must tell yet another lie – or at least not confess the true reason, that she had been afraid he might question the lie she had told him.

  ‘I instructed the staff to remain silent, Brook, because I wanted to be the one to tell you; and as it was quite late and Charlie would be asleep, I decided to wait until now when you could go straight to the nursery to see him.’

  The questioning expression on Brook’s face gave way to one of adoration. ‘Only you, dearest, could have such consideration for my happiness. I shall go at once and impart the wonderful news to Hastings whilst he dresses me, but before I do I will have to tell him the very distressing news of Bessie’s disappearance. I shall give h
im as much time as is needed for him to travel to Sussex and see her family.’

  With a last loving look at Harriet, he turned and flung his brocade dressing gown around his shoulders and left the room. Harriet remained seated, staring into the fire, and wondered which of the emotions she felt was uppermost – relief that Brook had not doubted her, or shame that she had so successfully deceived the husband she loved.

  NINE

  1867

  Harriet sat facing Felicity Goodall on the opposite side of the fireplace in the drawing room of Hunters Hall. The February afternoon was chilly, and a cold draught was managing to find a way through the mullion windows – a problem which always occurred when the wind was in the east. Their chairs were therefore pulled close to the cheerful blaze.

  Brook had gone out after a quick luncheon to see to a problem on the estate, and the two women were on their own.

  Harriet, of course, had no idea of the ugly thoughts going through her friend’s mind. This past year Felicity had been devastated that Harriet had given birth to a live child. She had been living in ever-increasing hope that Harriet’s marriage would collapse if Brook did not get the heir he wanted.

  It was now twenty years since one rainy afternoon when she had sat on a footstool at her paternal grandmother’s feet and listened to the former chorus girl’s advice for ensuring that she only accepted a marriage proposal from the right man.

  ‘Who is the right man?’ she had asked.

  ‘One who knows when to be strong and when to be weak; when to be kind and when to be severe; when to be inflexible and when to be yielding and when to disregard both your “no’s” and your “yes’s”.’

  Felicity had not really understood at the time, but even at a young age she used her grandmother’s maxim for judging her would-be suitors, and so it was not until she met the eighteen-year-old Brook Edgerton at her brother’s twenty-first birthday party that she’d known what her grandmother meant. Throughout her girlhood she had scorned all the eligible young men her father and brother had introduced her to and had refused several proposals of marriage. But she had known then, when she had first met Brook, that she should be married to him. But her father had persuaded her to marry his friend, the wealthy George Goodall, and she had been totally distraught when, as a widow, she had discovered Brook was marrying pretty, young Harriet Drake. As soon as was possible, Felicity had befriended the girl, thus ensuring she was able to remain close to Brook. The fact that he clearly doted upon his young bride was almost as distressing as was the euphoria she always felt when she was near him. And the more intense her feelings grew, the greater was her determination to be both friend, confidant and counsellor to the younger girl. Brook’s lengthy absence in Jamaica had furthered her encroachment into Harriet’s life and thus Brook’s.