by Valerie Wood
Betsy smiled up at Luke in the darkness of the copse. ‘I’ve missed you, Luke. I have to admit it.’
He grinned down at her. ‘Tha misses what I do to thee. Go on, say it. Tha likes what I do.’
She sighed and drew him closer. ‘Yes. I shouldn’t, but I do.’ She nibbled his ear. ‘My da told me again, we can court if we want. Do you want?’
He pulled away. ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve told thee afore, I’m not ready to settle down. I’ve no money for one thing.’
‘But we could have an understanding, like people do, until you were ready.’
Luke gazed at her anxiously. ‘Is that what tha wants, Betsy? I never thought that tha did.’
She sat up and brushed the grass from her skirt and contemplated. ‘No. It isn’t. I’m fond of you, Luke, but I don’t think that I’m ready for settling down either.’
He put his arms around her and squeezed her. ‘Tha’s best thing that’s ever happened to me, Betsy. I’m greedy for thee. I can never wait to see thee and hold thee.’ He ran his big hands so gently and sensuously over her. ‘You’re beautiful; so round and soft. I could eat thee.’ He kissed her passionately on the mouth and she pulled him down towards her. ‘Maybe one day, eh? Maybe one day we’ll get wed, and then we can do this all ’time.’
‘But then we won’t want to, Luke,’ she mumbled beneath his lips, and eased herself slightly to move his crushing weight from her. ‘I don’t think married folk do.’
Sammi sat by her window, red-eyed and drained of weeping tears which she had held back until she reached the sanctity of her own room. It was all so familiar and well loved, and it was only now that she realized how much she had been missing her home. She had missed, without realizing it, the spaciousness of the rooms, the sweep of the wide staircase, the smell of polish on the floors and furniture and the soughing of the sea which was so constant. And yet there was a turmoil inside her, an emptiness and unhappiness which wasn’t wholly the fault of James, who had so cruelly and decisively told her that Adam was most definitely not his and he could not therefore accept any responsibility towards him.
‘But how do you know now, James, when you didn’t know before?’ she had asked, as with a terrible understanding, she realized that if James had been duped and Adam wasn’t his, then no-one else would claim responsibility for him.
‘I can’t possibly tell you that, Sammi.’ A blush had come up on his face. ‘But I know.’
As they came back into Aunt Mildred’s house from the garden, she had seen Tom standing on the steps by the door and he had looked angry about something. And if it hadn’t been for that intense expression on his face and realizing that he had some troubles of his own, she would have confided in him; it had been on the tip of her tongue to do so as she sat beside him.
She had wanted to cry when she left the mill house. Uncle Thomas had patted her hand and although Tom hadn’t said much, she wondered if he would miss her not being there. I do hope so, she’d thought as they’d driven away, and she’d turned to see him standing at the gate, with Betsy and George waving at the door, for I shall surely miss him.
How foolish I am, she pondered as she leaned on the window-sill and breathed in the sharp salty air and felt the breeze ruffle her hair. I shall see them all again in only a few days, but it won’t somehow be the same.
* * *
Sammi tiptoed into Victoria’s bedroom early the next morning. A kettle of water on a burner at the side of the bed was steaming gently to help her breathe. Victoria was hot and restless, her chest heaved and sighed in an effort to draw a deep, satisfying breath.
‘I need some sea air,’ she heaved. ‘It’s the only thing to cure me.’
Sammi got up and opened the window wider; Victoria always said that when she was ill, but, she thought, we can’t get any nearer to the sea than we are. We’re practically sitting in the water now.
‘I wish Grandmama Sarah was here. She would know what to do.’
Sammi turned at her sister’s breathless words. Victoria had always had a special empathy with their grandmother, who made up her own potions and medications for anyone – villager or landowner – who was sick, and her reputation was widespread. When she had died, Victoria, more than any of them, was devastated and took to long solitary walks where, she said, she felt she could be close to her once more.
‘I’ll take you for a walk along the sands,’ Sammi promised now. ‘Just as soon as you are feeling better and able to get up.’
‘Sammi?’ Victoria whispered. ‘Will you bring Adam that I might see him?’ Their mother entered the room as she spoke and Victoria gave her a weak smile. ‘I would like to see him.’
Sammi and her mother exchanged glances and Sammi felt her heart sink. She would have to tell her what James had said. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise. ‘Yes,’ she answered dully. ‘I will bring him.’
‘Mama!’ Victoria held out her hand to her mother, who sat beside her and bathed her forehead with a cool cloth. ‘Mama! If I should die, will you let Sammi bring Adam here to take my place?’
Their mother gave a start and put her hand to her mouth; Sammi felt tears welling up beneath her eyelids and spill over and down her cheeks.
‘I’m quite serious, Mama, and you must try not to be sad. I shall be with Grandmama and she will take care of me. And it will be good to know that Adam is with a family who will love him rather than with strangers.’
Sammi watched with streaming eyes as their mother, too choked to speak, patted Victoria’s hand and murmured something.
‘But you’re not going to die, Victoria.’ Sammi, her lips trembling so much that she could hardly speak, knelt by the bed. ‘We won’t let you. Will we, Mama?’
Her mother got up and walked across to the window and looked out as she sought to overcome her emotion. Then she turned back to the bed and with bright eyes and a cheerful manner, said, ‘Of course not, Victoria. You mustn’t think such morbid thoughts.’
‘They’re not morbid, Mama, but I must plan, just in case.’ Her face was pale and her hair hung in strands around her thin cheekbones, but her eyes were wide and determined.
Her mother didn’t answer for a moment, then she said, ‘This has gone on long enough. You mustn’t worry about Adam, either of you. It will be resolved.’
29
During the course of that morning, Ellen’s housekeeper, her lips in a tight thin line, asked to speak privately to her. Martha drew herself up straight and folded her hands in front of her. ‘It’s like this, ma-am. And it’s better it comes from me as knows it isn’t true, as for you hear it from some busybody.’
‘Very well, Martha,’ Ellen sighed. ‘If it’s something I should know, you’d better tell me.’
‘Folks are talking in Tillington, ma-am. Tongues have been wagging ever since Mrs Bishop took ’child on, but since Miss Sammi went to stay at ’mill house with ’Fosters it’s got worse, and it’s just come to my notice, for nobody would have dared say such a thing to my face, that now they’re saying that ’bairn is Miss Sammi’s and his fayther is Master Tom Foster.’
‘Surely no-one would think such a thing!’ She was shocked and angry, her worst fears realized.
‘Folks can be very petty when they want to be, ma-am, particularly if they see somebody set above them succumb to ’perils of ’flesh.’
Martha, who had never been married or strayed from the path of virtue, set her lips even more firmly together; Ellen thanked her for her confidence and loyalty, and hardened her resolve to visit Gilbert the very next day.
As Martha turned to leave, Sammi appeared in the doorway. She moved aside for Martha and then said, ‘Mama. I need to speak to you.’
Her mother stretched out her hand to invite her in to her sitting-room, which everyone referred to as ‘Grandmama’s room’, even though Sammi’s mother had now claimed it as her own. It was the room in which Grandmother Sarah had been born and which she used to say was a special place that held many memories. It ca
ught the morning sunlight and, although they had moved out the old tester bed and replaced it with an upholstered sofa, some of the old chests of drawers and wooden chests were still there, gleaming with beeswax polish which the maids so assiduously applied, and smelling of lavender and rosemary which still lingered within the drawers.
‘Yes, we need to talk, Sammi.’
Sammi leaned on the window-sill and looked out over the garden towards the sea. The day was bright and the sea, with its glistening wave crests, appeared to be just below the paddock where Boreas was grazing. ‘It’s getting nearer, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Sometimes I don’t notice it, and then suddenly I realize that the band of water below my window is wider than it was and that means that more of the cliff has gone over.’
Her mother came and stood beside her. ‘Field House is right on the edge. Your father told me and I went to look at it the other day. It will go over this winter.’
Sammi felt so sad. Field House had been the home of Grandmother Sarah’s parents, the Fosters, when they had first come out to Monkston from Hull. It had been empty for years, but she and Billy and Victoria used to play in it when they were children. They would pretend that it was their own house and furnished it with discarded furniture and wooden boxes, and once Billy made a fire in the grate and burnt his hand. Then they were banned from using it, their father saying that it was no longer safe and that he would lock the door on the memories and keep them fast.
‘Mama. I have something to tell you.’ Sammi clasped and unclasped her hands. ‘It’s about Adam – and James.’ She took a deep breath and said huskily, ‘Adam isn’t James’s child! He told me most emphatically that he wasn’t. Therefore he said that he couldn’t be expected to contribute towards him. Not that he has anyway,’ she added. ‘Not a penny piece!’
‘I know,’ her mother said quietly.
‘You know? How can you know? I have only just found out – James told me at Uncle Isaac’s funeral. He hasn’t told anyone else!’ Sammi stared at her mother incredulously.
‘I, er, I said I knew, yet I haven’t any proof. I mean, I guessed as much. Almost from the beginning.’ Her mother fingered the collar of her gown.
‘But why didn’t you say? You let me become fond of him when all along you thought that he didn’t belong to James!’ Sammi’s voice rose and she couldn’t hide the anguish at her mother’s seeming insensitivity.
‘What was I to do, Sammi? Throw the little mite onto the care of the parish? Send him to the workhouse? You had already left home because of him.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Sammi bent her head. ‘I’m so miserable, Mama. I just don’t know what to do.’
‘People are talking,’ said her mother. ‘They are saying that the child is yours. The matter has to be resolved!’
A flush came to Sammi’s cheeks. ‘Gossip isn’t worth listening to!’
‘It is if it affects your life! Your chances of a good marriage are already diminished, you must realize that?’
‘I would not consider marrying a man who did not trust or believe in me,’ Sammi said hotly. ‘I will stay single for ever if a man cannot take me as I am. And what choice have I?’ she demanded. ‘James has disowned him. I can’t abandon him now. You said yourself—’ Something occurred to her. ‘But, but – if you guessed that he didn’t belong to James, then does that mean you know who the father is?’ She gazed blankly at her mother.
A hesitation showed briefly on her mother’s face. ‘I have no proof as yet. It is merely a suspicion, therefore,’ she added swiftly, as Sammi opened her mouth to respond, ‘therefore it would be unfair to voice my supposition. I will tell you when I am certain.’
Sammi sat silently as she absorbed this revelation. ‘It still doesn’t help the situation, does it? Whoever it is, if he hasn’t been brave enough to admit responsibility before, he’s not going to want to take Adam now. He’ll probably just pay for him to be put somewhere.’ She shook her head and whispered, ‘He will be out of our hands. He maybe won’t live in the cellars like Billy’s children, but he’ll still go to strangers.’
‘I don’t know, Sammi,’ said her mother. ‘I just don’t know.’
Ellen told Sammi that she was going to Hull the next day. ‘We need new linen and a few other things,’ she explained and was taken aback when Sammi said she would like to come, too, as she wanted to see Billy. She couldn’t think of any reason for refusing her. Victoria was up and dressed and said she would be perfectly all right without either of them, and she reasoned that, if Sammi was meeting Billy, there would be a legitimate reason for calling on Gilbert. She had told Gilbert at his father’s funeral that she would be calling on him, and he had stammered that he would be glad to see her as soon as he had sorted out his father’s affairs.
Well, he has had time now. I’m quite sure that Isaac would have left everything in order, she thought, as she waited to be shown into his office.
Billy had taken Sammi off to a coffee house, so Ellen arranged to see her later in the day. ‘When I’ve finished all my calls, Sammi,’ she said. ‘There’s no rush.’
‘Aunt Ellen. Please come up,’ Gilbert greeted her from the top of the stairs. ‘How good of you to drop in.’ He kissed her on the cheek and complimented her on how nice she looked.
What a charmer you are, Gilbert, she mused. We can’t help but like you. You mean so well and can’t help but get into scrapes and muddles. ‘How is Harriet? And your mother?’ she said pleasantly. ‘And have you heard from James?’
‘We haven’t heard from James, but Harriet is very well indeed, and Mother seems to be improving daily, she is much more positive than she was. She has asked if we would like to live out at Anlaby with her and Anne. The house will be too big for her if Anne should get married, but although Mother promised to keep herself quite separate, Harriet is not so very keen on the idea.’
‘I should think not, indeed,’ Ellen murmured. ‘You have a dear little house of your own, and so handy for the company.’
‘It’s just the expense, Aunt Ellen,’ he said with an imploring look. ‘You have no idea how expensive it is setting up a home these days.’
She smiled. ‘It always was, Gilbert. But you are surely in a better position now than you were previously?’
‘I shall be,’ he said. ‘Just as soon as the bank situation has been attended to. We are changing our banker. I have discussed it with Uncle William and Arthur. I have been dissatisfied with the previous bankers for some time; we are going to use Billington’s bank. We shall get a good deal from them!’
So, new brooms sweep clean, she thought. I hope it bodes well for us; our fortune is in your hands too, Gilbert. ‘You know, of course, why I have come, Gilbert?’ she said directly. ‘It was not to discuss business.’
For a moment she thought he was going to deny her, then he shifted his gaze away from her and looked down at his desk. ‘I can imagine why you have come.’
‘I have waited, Gilbert, for an approach from you,’ she said, a hint of reproach in her voice.
‘I know. I have put it off. There has been so much to do; Father’s illness, our marriage, then the funeral—’
‘I do understand.’ She was calm and patient, but determined. ‘That is why I haven’t pressed you. It hasn’t been easy for you, I know. We all make mistakes in our lives, everyone of us, but we sometimes have to acknowledge them. You do not deny, then, that Adam is your son?’
Gilbert took a deep breath and then looked up at her. There is no denying it, she thought. It is so obvious that I don’t understand why I am the only one who sees it.
‘No, Aunt. I do not deny it. He is mine.’
There was a silence between them; it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted and the problem beneath it could now be examined and resolved.
‘But I don’t want Harriet to know,’ he pleaded. ‘I can’t bear to think that she might turn against me. I will support him as soon as I am able – if we could find someone who wants a child, I would do all I could to
help them.’
‘Would you want to see him?’
‘I do want to see him.’ He stared into space. ‘Please don’t imagine that I never think about him, for I do; ever since the day he was brought to our home, on that very first night when I heard him cry. I went to Sammi’s room,’ he said quietly and candidly, and she wasn’t shocked. ‘And I saw him there, and I knew that he was mine, and I remembered his mother and how beautiful she was.
‘It wasn’t shameful or sordid, Aunt Ellen. I loved her that night, and I think that she loved me.’ He lowered his head and whispered, ‘I looked for her, but I couldn’t find her. I don’t know what I would have done if I had, for I was promised to Harriet; yet I felt bound to her.’
‘I’m so sorry, Gilbert. So very sorry.’ Her heart went out to him. He is not bad, she thought, merely weak.
‘But I know that although I might want to see him, I cannot; if he is to have a life without me then I must deny myself that pleasure.’
‘So you will look for a foster home for him?’
He looked at her in alarm. ‘But then it will get out! If I start making enquiries here in Hull everyone will know.’
She watched him steadily. ‘So what do you propose?’
‘Well, I thought that perhaps you might …? What about the woman who is nursing him now?’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘He has to leave Holderness. Rumours are flying that he is Sammi’s child.’
He looked shocked. ‘Oh. I’m sorry. I never thought—’
