Obsession

by Claire Lorrimer

  Whilst Harriet was grappling with these distressing reflections, Felicity had been riding home with her groom. She, too, was trying to come to terms with the fact that, according to Ellen, Brook had spent the night in his wife’s bed and the couple were, presumably, reconciled. The thought was intolerable and was followed by another – Brook still loved Harriet; he still wanted to make love to her. Why else would he have suddenly returned to her bed if he had not forgiven her?

  By the time Felicity reached home there was a cold, hard place where her heart should be. This was the first time in her life that she had not been able, by some means or another, to get what she wanted. As a child, she’d only have to name it for her doting father to provide it whether it be a gown, a toy, a party, a horse – even her own phaeton. She had been allowed to eat only the foods she liked, attended only the lessons that interested her, to rise or to sleep only at the times she wanted. Even her brother, Paul, had come second in her father’s adoring eyes. Finally, although Paul thought the man she had married, Matthew Goodall, was unsuitable in many ways, not least because the fellow was even older than their father, the marriage had seemed to be a happy one, doubtless because the man indulged her in the same way her father had done. His untimely death had left Felicity an extremely wealthy widow with most of the world’s pleasures at her disposal. Thus it was that throughout the years of her life, she had had every desire fulfilled. All but one – she had not been able to get the man she wanted.

  Throughout the ensuing long afternoon and evening, Felicity gradually came face-to-face with the fact that, despite her patience and her efforts to become part of the couple’s lives, her employment of Ellen to spy on them and report any discord to her, Brook and Harriet were now reconciled. If she were not to face final defeat, she must risk one last chance of success.

  It was long after midnight when Felicity Goodall was ready to go to bed, by which time, she had finally devised a way to achieve her desire to win Brook Edgerton for herself.

  EIGHTEEN

  February, 1869

  ‘It has to have been something in the food she’s eaten, Mrs Barker,’ Harriet said to her cook when it had been reported that Annie, one of the maids, had been vomiting all night. The sixteen-year-old girl had, even more worryingly, lost control of her bowels.

  ‘If she is not better by teatime,’ Harriet continued, ‘I will ask Doctor Tremlett to call after surgery. It sounds to me very much like food poisoning.’

  The cook’s cheeks grew red and she drew in her breath before saying indignantly, ‘If that good-for-nothing girl stole something she wasn’t supposed to, it wouldn’t be anything I’ve cooked, madam. I’m most particular as to my cooking and …’

  ‘I know, Mrs Barker, nobody is questioning the hygiene in your kitchen,’ Harriet broke in quickly. ‘It’s just that I was wondering if Annie had found something leftover that you had put aside for Cripps to use for compost.’

  Slightly mollified, Cook said, ‘If’n she did, madam, she didn’t oughta have. She ate two helpings of the leftover cold veal-and-ham pie we all had for our tea yesterday, and then two slices of bread and treacle after. Eats like a horse, she does!’

  Harriet nodded. ‘Maybe it’s not food which has caused her upset,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you can get one of the maids to take up a jug of cordial for her, Mrs Barker. The doctor always recommends fluid to stop his patients becoming dehydrated.’

  She did not stay long enough to explain the meaning of the word, but hurried up to the nursery to reassure herself that Charlie and Bessie were in good health. She need not have worried, for they were putting on their outdoor clothes ready to go down to the lake to feed the swans.

  Harriet now suspected that Annie must have secreted something from the larder and, always hungry as she was, hidden it and not eaten until several days later, by which time it would have turned bad. However, when Harriet visited the girl again mid-morning, Annie vigorously denied doing such a thing, the words coming in a whisper between groans of pain as she clutched her stomach and finally vomited into the chamber pot beside the bed.

  Harriet went back downstairs to the morning room, wishing even more fervently than usual that Brook had not ceased to converse with her. He only ever did so now when a reply in front of the servants necessitated it. Since his return from London after a week’s absence, he’d made no reference to the night he had gone to her bedroom. He’d offered no apology, and behaved as if nothing had happened. Nor had there been any change to the distant relationship he had imposed upon them.

  The second half of the morning passed with a tiresome call from the vicar’s wife, who wanted her opinion on how the church should be decorated for a forthcoming wedding. She then made a polite request for any unwanted clothing or objects for next month’s jumble sale, and finally asked if Harriet would act as judge for the best flower display at the village fête in the spring.

  When at last she had departed, Harriet was approached by the footman saying that Thomas was waiting in the drive with the horses, and had she perhaps changed her mind about riding over to Melton Court?

  Harriet caught her breath. ‘Oh, dear, I’m afraid I had forgotten all about it, Albert,’ she said. ‘Please ask Thomas to give my apologies to Mrs Goodall. I will not be needing him again after all.’

  As a rule, she tried to ride out at least three times a week for exercise, more often than not doing so in company with Felicity. It made a pleasant way of passing the morning until luncheon, which they would eat together. Brook frequently absented himself on some pretext or another, only appearing briefly for the meal if Felicity was there.

  On those occasions he would converse almost entirely with Felicity, and would depart afterwards to his study, or to engage in some other private activity. He seldom reappeared until dinner time. Quite often now he stayed up in London, and Harriet was growing accustomed to eating on her own.

  A ride this sunny morning with Thomas would have been welcome in other circumstances, she thought now, but this morning she was feeling distinctly queasy and wondered whether she had caught the same infection as young Annie. Alternatively, it might simply be because seeing someone vomiting always made her nauseous. Even on the rare occasions Charlie was sick, she had to leave the room for fear of being ill herself.

  Harriet now decided to miss luncheon and go to her room to lie down. When she felt better she would write a long letter to Una, who had spoken in her last missive of coming to visit with the entire family at Easter, to make up for the disappointment of not being able to visit at Christmas. Easter was only five weeks away, she reminded herself, and she would have to think of an excuse, as she had at Christmas, to prevent her sister coming. The very last thing she wanted was for Una to see how very far from well the state of her marriage was. Una would want to know the reason why, and she could not bear to hear her sister’s reproaches for keeping secret from her the truth about Charlie’s parentage; for allowing her to assume the baby had been born in the convent and was hers.

  What a hopeless mess she had made of her life, Harriet thought unhappily – yet how could she wish she had never adopted the little boy she cherished? Was it possible that Brook, who had been so devoted to Charlie, was hoping if he forced her to choose between him and Charlie that she would send the little boy away? Surely he could not be so cruel … not only to her but to the little boy he had once loved?

  Annie’s condition worsened as the day wore on. When the doctor came, he informed Harriet that her indisposition was almost certainly caused by some form of poisoning. On hearing that Harriet, too, had been feeling unwell, he gave instructions that no uncooked food in the larder must be eaten, and that all drinking water must be boiled lest the well water had become contaminated.

  The following day, Annie seemed slightly better, but Harriet could still not eat any breakfast. Felicity came to spend the morning with her and comforted her with the news that one or two of her own household were also laid low. This seemed to prove to Harriet that, des
pite what the doctor suspected, there must be an infection flying round the neighbourhood in much the same way as the recent measles epidemic had spread.

  As had become Felicity’s custom, she never came empty-handed, and this morning she brought a pretty little circular box of violet cream chocolates tied with a violet ribbon.

  ‘It’s the very least I can do seeing how often I enjoy your hospitality!’ she said when Harriet protested at the frequency of her gifts. Settling down together in front of the fire in the morning room, she continued, ‘I managed to find these in Fortnum and Mason last week when I was in London. They come from France where they crush real violets for the flavour, which is what makes them rather special. I’m sorry the box is so small, but they did not have a larger size.’

  Harriet untied the ribbon and opened the lid. The smell of chocolate and violets filled the air around her. ‘Felicity, my dear friend, how kind you are!’ she gasped, trying to quell the onset of nausea. ‘If I may, I shall indulge myself after luncheon.’

  ‘Are you still feeling ill?’ Felicity enquired. ‘It certainly does sound as if you have the same infection as your maid. Fletcher told me when I arrived that the girl seemed to have turned the corner and was feeling a little bit better.’

  She put an arm round Harriet’s shoulders, adding: ‘Now promise me, dearest, that you won’t go handing round these chocolates to anyone else. I know how generous you are and I would really be most upset to learn you had shared them with others. The salesman in Fortnum’s told me that they were handmade, and they could not guarantee they would be able to obtain them again, so they are a little special.’

  As the little circular box they rested in was only large enough to contain six chocolates creams, Harriet understood Felicity’s persistence that she should not share them.

  At luncheon, Harriet could eat only a fraction of the venison pie Cook had made before the feeling of nausea returned. Excusing herself, she went up to her bedroom, leaving Felicity to be entertained by Brook who had appeared, belatedly, in time for the meal. Soon after it was over, Felicity went up to Harriet’s bedroom to announce that she and Brook were going to ride over to Melton Court to look at a newly born colt.

  For a brief while, Harriet slept, but whilst Charlie was having his afternoon nap, Bessie came down unexpectedly to see her. Standing at Harriet’s bedside, she looked at her white, exhausted face in dismay. ‘Oh, Miss Harriet!’ she said. ‘I do hope as how you haven’t caught Annie’s sickness! Has Doctor seen you? I doesn’t like to see you like this!’

  Harriet felt like crying. Bessie’s sympathy was undermining her resolve not to give way to depression. It was depression and not jealousy, she told herself, but it did upset her a little bit to observe how enthusiastically Brook responded to Felicity’s amusing banter: laughing at her jokes, his face alight with smiles. Harriet could not remember how long it had been since he had smiled at her.

  Time and again, she found herself wondering if it was Brook’s intention never to forgive her: to continue living with her in this limbo, acting only when they were in company as was expected of a husband. She hated the thought that he had told Felicity the truth about Charlie – about his subsequent rejection of the child and his alienation from herself. He had done so, Felicity had admitted, one evening when he had imbibed a little too much brandy.

  According to Felicity she had done her best to make Brook see things differently; had told him he should make allowances for the fact that Harriet had acted as much to make him as happy as herself.

  That conversation was the very reverse of what Felicity had actually said to Brook – namely that Harriet had thought she could get away with her lies, and had totally disregarded his feelings in order to satisfy her own desires; that such behaviour was not that of a loving wife but of a self-centred person wanting the best of both worlds. She had further suggested that Brook should tell Harriet to get rid of the child. He could then forgive her and all would be well between them again. If Harriet truly loved him, Felicity had remarked, she would get rid of the child she had tried to force upon him.

  Unaware of these damaging suggestions, Harriet felt increasingly grateful to the woman who was such a good friend, acting as a mediator in what had seemingly become an impasse. Felicity was nearly always a very welcome companion who helped to occupy her time, who was always ready to try and jolly her out of her depression. Another reason why she valued Felicity as a friend was because she was always amazingly kind to Charlie, spoiling him with toys and books and games, never arriving empty-handed. If she were in Harriet’s shoes, Felicity said, she would never dream of parting with such an adorable little boy.

  Harriet was aware that her devoted Bessie did not share her esteem for Felicity, although Bessie never revealed her feelings in words. It was not that Felicity was ever disagreeable to her when they encountered one another in the nursery. Perhaps, Harriet thought, Bessie sensed that Felicity considered it unwise of her, Harriet, to treat Bessie more as an equal than a servant. It was also possible that Bessie was a little jealous the amount of time she spent with Felicity, as a consequence of which she had far less time in the nursery.

  Harriet turned now to regard her servant, who was clearly concerned for her health. ‘I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow, Bessie, dear!’ she said reassuringly. An idea suddenly occurred to her. She reached out to the table and lifted the little violet-beribboned box. ‘Bessie, I would like you to take these,’ she said. ‘Mrs Goodall gave them to me this morning and I promised I would taste them after luncheon, but … well, I simply can’t face chocolates, or any other sweetmeat at the moment. I was asked not to share them with anyone as they are so special, but I simply can’t eat even one. If you would now take four of them for yourself, if Mrs Goodall comes upstairs again and looks in the box, she will presume that I have eaten them. I’m anxious not to hurt her feelings because she went to quite a lot of trouble to buy them for me. They were made in France.’

  Bessie nodded. ‘You can be sure I won’t say nothing, Miss Harriet. Now you look after yourself, seeing as I can’t do so what with that Ellen being your maid now …’

  ‘Shush, Bessie, I know you don’t like her, but she does her job very well so it wouldn’t be fair of me to dismiss her,’ Harriet said, not for the first time. She added truthfully: ‘Not that I don’t miss you very much, Bessie!’ She sighed and then added: ‘All the same, I wouldn’t want anyone else looking after Charlie. I know he loves you, and I couldn’t ask for a better nanny.’

  Looking happy with the compliment, Bessie took four of the chocolates from the box, tucked them into the pocket of her apron and, promising to come in again that evening after Charlie had been put to bed, she left the room.

  At the foot of the staircase leading up to the nursery floor, she encountered Hastings. Making sure there was no one in sight, the valet planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

  ‘Wish it was tomorrow!’ he whispered, knowing that they both had their half day off and there would be time then for a lot more kisses when he walked her up to the empty sheep-shearers’ sheds.

  ‘Me, too!’ Bessie whispered back. ‘Here …’ She took one of the chocolates from her pocket and gave it to him. ‘Came all the way from France, they did!’ she confided. ‘Poor Miss Harriet couldn’t eat them. Right poorly she is! If she’s not better by morning, I shall go myself to see the master and ask him to fetch the doctor to her.’

  For a minute or two neither spoke, then Hastings said, ‘As you know, Bess, I’ve never been one for talking about the master’s affairs, nor anyone else’s come to that, but I do have to say that I don’t care for what’s going on ’tween him and the mistress. ’Twas all right when she first came back from Ireland with Master Charlie, but it’s different now.’ He drew a deep sigh. ‘The master won’t tell me what’s up ’tween them. With just the two of us – him and me – when we wus in Jamaica he treated me almost like I was a friend – not that I ever overstepped the mark, mind you. He’s the master and
I’m his servant, and nothing can change that.’

  He drew a long sigh. ‘Maybe the mistress will tell you what’s up between them, Bess. The master’s not only right strange with her but with Master Charlie, too. Was a time when he couldn’t spend enough time with the little’un. Now …’ He broke off, giving a puzzled sigh.

  ‘I don’t get to see Miss Harriet that much these days,’ Bessie told him, ‘and when I do, well, that Ellen who I can’t abide – she’s always there in Miss Harriet’s room. Then, with me up on the nursery floor and Miss Harriet downstairs, it isn’t often we come across each other. I know as how she does spend time in the nursery with Master Charlie, but we can’t talk private like in front of the boy. If’n I do get a chance, Hastings, I’ll see if I can get her to tell me what’s wrong ’twixt the two of ’em.’

  Hastings was about to reply but they both heard footsteps further along the passage, so he planted another quick kiss on Bessie’s rosy cheek and they went their separate ways.

  Upstairs on the top floor, Bessie met the nursery maid, Jenny, about to come out of the nursery with the empty dishes from their lunch. ‘I wus comin’ to find you, Nanny,’ she said. ‘Master Charlie’s been asking where you was. I gotta go down now else Cook will have me guts for garters!’

  Bessie thanked the good-natured nursery maid who had been keeping an eye on her young charge whilst Bessie had been downstairs. She rewarded her now with one of Mrs Goodall’s chocolates, saying, ‘Made with real violets, they are!’ she said. ‘The mistress gave me them.’ She hustled the girl on her way, waving aside her thanks.

  When Bessie went back into the nursery, Charlie came hurrying towards her wanting to know where she had been. Seeing Bessie take the chocolate out of her pocket, he demanded to have one.