by Erica Brown
She poked at the contents. Her fingernails were black and her hands grubby. ‘This is nice,’ she said, fetching out a silver locket that held a small miniature of Blanche’s mother painted by a local artist.
Blanche grabbed it back. ‘Not that,’ she snapped. The moment she did it, she had second thoughts. She needed the money. She had to get away. Sighing, she dangled it reluctantly and said, ‘I suppose it has to.’
‘I think I’d like that for myself,’ Tom said in a gruff voice she hadn’t heard before. ‘Here. Four sovereigns.’ He took it and placed it round his neck. ‘P’raps Aggie will give you enough so that you can buy it back off me.’
She saw him put something in it before clamping it shut, but gave her attention to Aggie, who was choosing what she’d buy.
‘This, this and this,’ she said having chosen two brooches; one of coral and the other green stone set in silver. The last was a single pearl pendant on a thin gold chain. ‘I’ll give you ten sovereigns, more than enough for your trip home.’
Blanche couldn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the jewellery box. All it now contained was a pair of earrings with red stones. They were a little duller compared to the other items. Perhaps that was why Aggie didn’t want them, thought Blanche.
As if reading her thoughts, Aggie suddenly said, ‘The earrings look to be glass, though I can manage another sovereign for them if you want me to take ’em off yer hands.’
All I have left of my mother, thought Blanche, her heart almost breaking at the thought of it. ‘No,’ she said, and snapped the lid shut. ‘I’ll keep them.’
‘Not stolen, are they?’ asked Aggie.
‘No. They were my mother’s,’ Blanche said quietly. ‘I want something to remember her by.’
Aggie scooped up the jewellery and shoved it down beneath her grubby neckline.
Blanche watched guiltily as Aggie counted out the money. What would her mother think of her? What would she have done in the circumstances?
If one man don’t want you, there’s sure to be another that will.
She could feel Tom looking at her and turned to face him. ‘I had to do it,’ she said, her voice trembling a little.
He smiled at her and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘I know,’ he said softly, as though he really did. ‘I know.’ He nodded at the money. ‘Do you want me to look after it for you?’
‘It’s all right,’ she said, putting the money into the shell-covered box with the earrings.
Aggie straightened on her stool and offered Blanche her hand. ‘Glad to ’ave bin of some help.’
Blanche shook it.
Aggie offered it to Tom, who hesitated as Aggie’s loose lips tilted in a lop-sided smile. Grotesque as Aggie was, Blanche thought it only polite that Tom should shake her hand. When he did slide his hand into Aggie’s, she understood the reason for his hesitance. Aggie promptly pulled him forward at the speed of lightening and planted a sloppy wet kiss on his mouth.
Drinkers of every age burst into ribald laughter. ‘Put ’im down, Agg. Ain’t you had anything to eat today?’
Blanche laughed too. Aggie was disgusting. No man in his right mind would want to kiss her. And she doubted whether Aggie made a habit of kissing men in dockside taverns. Tom, she decided, was the obvious exception. Men seemed in awe of his physical presence and treated him with respect, as though he were a storm waiting to break. Women adored him, not that she’d seen him in the company of many. She could only judge by the way she herself was responding to him. In the absence of Nelson seeking her out, it was easy to do.
* * *
Conrad Heinkel sat smoking his pipe, his feet resting on a footstool, a brandy in his hand, and a tureen of beef stew sitting on the table whetting his appetite and making his stomach rumble.
The clock in the hall struck eleven o’clock just as Tom Strong arrived. As he’d already sent the servants to bed, Conrad got up and answered the door himself.
‘Tom!’ he cried, throwing his arms around him.
It was like being hugged by a bear. ‘You’re breaking my arms,’ laughed Tom. He was glad when Conrad let him go, but less so when he saw the way he looked at Blanche.
‘The kite lady!’ Conrad exclaimed delightedly.
Blanche found herself blushing as Conrad bowed and kissed her hand. She hoped he didn’t notice the musty smell of Edith’s cloak and wished she’d given it more attention before accepting it. She also hoped it wasn’t riddled with fleas. Not content with nipping her, they’d probably colonize her companions too.
‘Let me take your coats,’ Conrad said.
‘Someone lent it to me,’ Blanche said as she passed the cloak over, just in case their host had an acute sense of smell.
Tom felt a need to explain Blanche’s presence. ‘Blanche had an errand, which needed my assistance. I hope you don’t think it an imposition…?’ Tom stopped as he saw the beaming smile spreading across Conrad’s face and realized that Blanche’s presence was far from being an imposition. He instantly felt jealous, an emotion he’d seldom felt before.
‘I have supper for you,’ Conrad said. ‘Eat.’ He pointed his pipe at the tureen.
It was late when they’d finished and Conrad had given them two or three brandies.
Blanche much appreciated the warmth it gave her and felt happier than she had for a long time. Tom seemed less so.
With her permission, Tom had told Conrad about selling the jewellery so Blanche could go home. Conrad’s jovial smile seemed to falter.
‘But why?’ he asked in a sad, strained voice that reminded her of a child told to go to bed.
Perhaps it was the brandy, but more likely a combination of that and her kindly companions, but Blanche told everything that had happened, even her conviction that her father was Otis Strong.
Conrad shook his head. ‘That is wrong. Bringing you over here as a servant.’ He turned his eyes on Tom, whom he knew was a member of the Strong family in name only. ‘What do you think, Tom?’
Tom had drowned the last of his brandy and was sitting forward in his chair, elbows resting on knees, hands clenched tightly together. He was staring at the floor, though not seeing it. In his mind he saw Jasper half buried among fallen debris.
‘At least you don’t have anything to prove,’ he said.
Blanche stiffened. ‘Of course I do! I have to prove who my father is, that I’m a Strong.’
Tom jerked his head up and glared at her. ‘And I don’t,’ he said resolutely. ‘Well, that’s true at least.’ He reached for the brandy and filled his glass to the brim. ‘I replaced a dead boy. I’m second best. Always will be.’ He swigged the brandy down in one gulp.
Blanche exchanged a concerned look with Conrad. She sensed he was thinking the same; that there was more to these maudlin comments than met the eye. This was a different Tom to the confident, charismatic man they’d both come to know.
Conrad sighed and put his empty glass on the table. ‘You are a good man, Tom. Jeb made a wise decision.’
Tom smiled sardonically, his mouth tilting up at one side. ‘Did he? I wonder what he’d say if he knew that Jasper did not drown. What would he say if he’d known that his dear son had been in the house all this time, close but silent and dead?’
Astounded by the implication of what he was saying, Blanche started to rise from her chair. ‘Tom—’
Conrad’s voice was as warm as the firm hand he placed on her shoulder. ‘What do you mean, Tom?’
As Tom buried his head in his hands, the whole story came out. Blanche sat mesmerized, barely aware that Conrad’s hand was still on her shoulder. She’d heard of the boy in the chimney, but like everyone else, had presumed it was the sweep’s boy. Now it seemed otherwise.
Tom took the locket he had bought from Blanche out from his shirt and clicked it open. He showed them the lock of hair, the piece of material. He smiled at Blanche. ‘A little bit of your past, and a little bit of mine – both together.’
Both Conrad and Blanche stared
at it, lost for words. At last Blanche asked, ‘How did he get there?’
Tom shrugged. ‘I don’t know. None of the servants presently in the house were there then. Servants don’t stay at Marstone Court for too long, besides, they were all gathered in the same place as members of the family when Jasper went missing. An old gardener who lives in the village told me the name of someone who might shed some light on it, though I did hear he’d gone abroad. But I’ll do what I can,’ he said, adding grimly, ‘I’ll damn well find him.’
Chapter Fifteen
From early the next day, Tom and Conrad were kept busy at the refinery, so Blanche was taken back to Marstone Court in Conrad’s carriage and in time for tea.
After taking the stairs two at a time, she went straight to her room and began to hurl clothes into the musty sea chest that had once belonged to her grandfather.
Busying herself helped keep myriad misgivings at bay. She had the money to go home, but still had a nagging doubt about doing so. If only Nelson had sought her out, things might have been different.
Edith was supposed to be overseeing the children’s tea in the nursery, but couldn’t resist clumping up the stairs to ask Blanche whose coach she’d come home in, and where she had been.
‘Servants aren’t supposed to stay out all night. It’s not good for their moral health,’ said Edith as she bundled her cloak over her arm and checked its condition in case Blanche had made it worse than it already was.
‘That won’t matter for much longer,’ said Blanche, smoothing out her own clothes so they would lie flat on the transatlantic voyage home.
‘You got the money?’ asked Edith, her eyes wide with admiration.
Blanche beamed with satisfaction. ‘I did.’ Her smile disappeared as she thought about Nelson and her disappointment at coming all this way and not seeing him. And she wouldn’t even be saying goodbye to him. But she’d say goodbye to Tom, Conrad and the Strong children.
‘Who’s with the children at present?’ she asked.
Edith blushed. ‘They’re all right. They’re eating.’
A burst of sunlight suddenly lit the budding trees and green parklands, which made the room they were in look even colder in its northern light.
‘Have they been for a walk today?’ Blanche asked. The children loved playing beneath the trees and running through the grass.
‘Well,’ Edith began, ‘Mrs Grainger said—’
Blanche grabbed her one and only warm cloak and a pale green bonnet with pink roses at the side. ‘Mrs Grainger saw no need to go for a walk? She hates exercise of any description, which is why she has such a wide derrière!’
Edith burst into laughter.
The children should have been sitting around the table in the nursery, but when they got there, they were in a huddle in the middle of the floor. A lot of laughter and chuckling was going on. They sprung apart the minute the door opened, their frightened expressions melting away when they saw it was only Edith returning and that Blanche was with her.
‘Goodness,’ said Rupert. ‘We thought it was the Gorgon.’
Blanche clasped her hands before her as she announced, ‘I hear you have not taken your exercise today. Therefore, if you can find our kite…’
She had fully expected them to go rushing off for the kite and their outdoor clothes. Instead they all stood there, silently grinning.
Blanche looked from Caroline to Rupert to Arthur and then to George, whose smile was too wide to control.
‘George!’ Blanche exclaimed. ‘You’re wearing breeches!’
The little boy seemed to swell with pride. ‘I’m nearly four,’ he said happily.
Edith, never too keen on exercise, decided to stay in the nursery and polish off the jam roly poly and custard that the children had left.
Running and laughing, Blanche led the children around the side of the orangery towards a hillock that shielded the main house from a broad meadow, which led towards a style and a footpath to the village.
The hillock proved a wonderful place for launching the kite. The children took it in turns to run down, but there was little wind so the kite did not fly as high as it could.
‘Let me,’ said Blanche. Laughingly, she ran down the hillock, the kite soaring high above her as she raced through the long grass, the hem of her skirt sodden, her shoes soaking, and the evening air turning her cheeks crimson.
She handed the kite over to the children and turned her gaze to the setting sun that glowed a burning orange in the western sky.
West to Barbados, she thought to herself, and remembered how warm the sun had felt on her skin, how the breeze had blown her hair as she’d ran along the beach.
Suddenly, she began to run towards the setting sun, foolishly thinking that if she ran fast enough, she would get home without a ship. It was pure fantasy, but the joy of running was very real. She didn’t care about her wet shoes, her damp dress; she was running like she used to.
Exhilarated by the evening air, she ran on, skirted the hillock, raced towards the stile. Bypassing where the children played with their kite, she ran towards the orangery, her hair flowing over her face, pretending it was a warm wind when the truth was very different. Scooping her hair back from her face, she noticed a figure standing in the orangery door, watching her, his hands resting on the hips of his beige trousers, his hair turned to gold by the setting sun.
It was Nelson.
She slowed and came to a standstill.
He was smiling, his eyes bright with longing. ‘You still run like the wind, Blanche.’
Heart palpitating and too breathless to speak, Blanche stared at him with undisguised delight. ‘You’re here!’ she said at last.
‘Of course I am.’
He held out his arms as if it were only right that she should fall into them.
‘Where have you been?’
His arms dropped slowly to his side and his smile stiffened.
‘I’ve been ill. I had to see a doctor.’
‘Why did you leave Barbados? Why did you send me no word?’
She couldn’t help being angry with him. He should have been more considerate, otherwise how could she believe that he loved her?
‘I was engaged to be married. The family insisted I go home and fulfil my obligations. When I got here, I called the marriage off.’
Blanche was overwhelmed with relief, but she wasn’t going to let it show, and besides, just because that particular engagement was terminated, didn’t automatically mean that the family would approve of him marrying her.
He stood to the side of the orangery door and spread one arm in invitation. Blanche glanced over her shoulder. The children were playing. She followed him and he closed the door.
‘I’m not going to run away,’ she said hotly.
‘I’m not going to chance it,’ he replied.
He looked so handsome, so well groomed, and so… smug. Well, thought Blanche, I’ll show him!
‘I’ve arranged to go back to Barbados,’ she said. She brushed the dust off the leaf of a large tropical plant.
He spread his arms, amazed. ‘Why would you do that?’
Blanche grimaced. Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he see?
‘I have been brought here as a servant, Nelson, to be a nurse to your stepbrothers and sister.’
‘Ah yes,’ he said, thoughtfully tapping his chin as he considered the implications. ‘And this is England.’
She wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. Despite herself, a thrill ran through her as she looked again on his fine face and fair hair. Even the way he stood brimmed with confidence and invited attention.
Sighing, Nelson laid his hands on her shoulders and smiled down into her face. ‘England is so…’ He seemed to search for the right word, and finally said, ‘different. Social niceties and moral rules are more lax in the colonies than they are here. I’m sure you’ve noticed that.’
‘I’ve noticed a lot of things,’ she replied hotly, but didn’t voice them. Children
strapped to chairs and seeing little of their parents was cruel. Being wealthy was all very well, but there were other, more important things in life.
It was impossible to dwell on them. Nelson attracted her still. Just his touching her, made her legs feel as though they’d turned to water.
He ran his fingers down her cheek then took her chin in his hand, raised her lips to his and kissed her as lightly as a butterfly landing on a flower.
‘We’ll both go to Barbados,’ he pronounced. ‘It’s the only way.’
* * *
Edith insisted on helping her, scuttling around her like a bantam hen searching for her eggs. Her pale blue eyes were almost popping out of their sockets with a mixture of fear and excitement as she ventured a host of excuses as to why Blanche couldn’t leave. On the one hand, Blanche was her dearest friend. On the other, she’d prefer to have Tom to herself, no matter how frail her chance of capturing his affection.
‘You can’t leave without properly giving in your notice,’ she said, folding clothes and handing them to Blanche for packing.
Stays, shoes and underwear went into the chest, followed by a handful of muslin sachets one of which broke, leaving the scent of dried lavender heavy on the air.
‘Yes, I can.’
‘How will I cope with that old cow Grainger and the baby when it comes?’
Blanche ignored her and went on packing.
Edith continued. ‘And how are you going to get into Bristol? The coachman won’t take you. He’ll be afraid of losing his position here, which comes complete with his home above the coach house.’
Blanche tutted disdainfully. ‘Two rooms to house a wife and four children; is that too much to lose?’
She smiled as she thought of Nelson’s plan. He was going to bribe the coachman and the captain of the next ship to Barbados. And when they got there, they would throw themselves on the mercy of his Uncle Otis, and categorically accuse him of being Blanche’s father. How could he possibly refuse a marriage between cousins now that Nelson was free? Even Otis’s shrewish wife would be loath to object. Slowly she folded a shawl, put it in the chest on top of the other clothes – a rainbow of blues, mauves, yellows and greens – then remembered the English weather and took it out again.
