The Foundling’s Daughter

by Ann Bennett

  ‘So why didn’t you think of that before you seduced me?’

  ‘I thought you would have more discretion Anna. Really. We’re both grown-ups. I had no idea you would let this happen. It’s bad enough having a drunk for a wife, but people turn a blind eye to that because of her family connections. But this as well. If anyone found out, if you left Donald and people realised I was the father of your child I’d be ruined. It would be the end of my career!’

  He tucked his napkin into his shirt collar and started eating. The high emotion of the situation obviously hadn’t dampened his appetite. I watched him devour his plateful of rice, but I could hardly touch mine. I wasn’t sure exactly what sort of help I’d been looking for from Charles, but the conversation wasn’t going as planned. In fact, the more I spoke to him, the more I realised how little I really knew him. How could I have let this vain, self-centred man anywhere near me, let alone make love to me?

  ‘Aren’t you eating?’ he asked, pausing and noticing me.

  ‘I can’t. I don’t feel hungry.’

  He finished his food, pushed his plate away and lit a cigarette.

  ‘There is one solution,’ he said, blowing smoke rings into the air. ‘It’s the solution of last resort if you won’t take the obvious route. If you can get away to England, I know someone there who could help. He’s done it for a number of chaps I know in the ICS and in the Army. Are you able to get away on home leave?’

  ‘I suppose so. But what is this? I’m not getting rid of the baby, even in England if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘No. This fellow offers a very discreet service. I’ll write to him today, see what his terms are.’

  ‘But what is it? Who is it?’ I asked, alarmed.

  ‘He’s Ezra Burroughs. The Reverend Ezra Burroughs as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Reverend? How do you know him?’

  ‘He used to be a missionary and a preacher here in Kandaipur. In fact, he was once the minister at that abandoned church we met at that first time. Do you remember?’

  ‘Of course. Is it the one who left in a scandal? You never did tell me what that was all about. I don’t like the sound of it, Charles.’

  ‘I really don’t see that you have much choice. He will help you. I’ll have to pay, of course. Pay handsomely. But he’s completely discreet.’

  ‘But what does it involve? What will happen to my baby?’

  ‘Rest assured, the baby will be well cared for. You won’t have to worry on that score. As I said, Burroughs has helped out a couple of chaps I know in the ICS who’ve found themselves in an equally embarrassing situation. It’s all worked very smoothly. Before you know it, you’ll be back home in Kandaipur as if nothing’s happened.’

  Later, at home, I mulled over what he’d told me. I really wasn’t sure that I could go through with what was proposed. I would have to travel to England when I was around six months pregnant. Until then I’d have to hide my condition as best I could. Then I’d have to stay somewhere until my time comes. I’ll have to stay with Mother and I’m not sure I can face that.

  In fact, the more I think about it, the more doubts I have about the whole thing. Tomorrow I’ll go to Charles and say that I’m not sure I can go through with it.

  November 13th 1933

  I waited for Charles outside his office today and as he came out of the building at lunchtime and walked towards his car I went up to him. He looked none too pleased as his syce was holding the car door open for him and the sun was baking hot.

  ‘Charles, I need to talk to you about what we discussed yesterday.’

  He looked irritated, but having cast his eyes around to see if there was anyone about, he said, ‘Hop into the car, I was going to the club, but we can go for a drive instead.’

  I got into the back and he asked the driver to drive out of town to the nearby lake.

  ‘What’s the matter? I thought everything was sorted out yesterday. I’ve already written to Burroughs.’

  ‘I don’t think I can go through with it, Charles. I don’t think I’ll be able to give up my baby when the time comes.’

  ‘But you agreed. It’s all sorted out now, Anna. It’s by far the best thing all round. I’m sure you’ll see that if you give it some careful thought.’

  ‘I don’t think so Charles. Perhaps I should just stay here in Kandaipur. Let nature take its course. Explain things to Donald.’

  ‘I don’t know where you’re getting these ridiculous ideas from. That would be a very dangerous thing to do and the best way to start a scandal.’

  I could see he was irritated, a vein pulsed in his neck and red was creeping into his face.

  I fell silent. I felt so utterly abandoned and alone and as if all my choices were being snatched away from me. I felt a tear form in my eye and roll down my cheek. Instead of softening him though, this seemed to harden Charles’ resolve.

  He turned towards me with a look of determination in his eyes.

  ‘I know more about you than you think, Anna,’ he said with quiet venom. ‘I happen to know that your father has been staying at His Majesty’s Pleasure for the past few years even though you’ve never breathed a word of it to me. I also know that he is soon to be considered for early release. Now, if you don’t go to Ezra Burroughs and do what I say, I’ll personally see to it that that doesn’t happen. There are even ways of extending sentences if you’ve got the right influence. And believe me I certainly have the ear of the Home Secretary.’

  I stopped crying instantly. It was as if I’d been slapped hard across the face.

  ‘Stop the car,’ I said shaking. ‘I’ll get out right here.’

  ‘As you wish. But think about what I’ve said, Anna. I think you’ll find I’m a man of my word.’

  We were on the edge of town in a deserted area. The car sped away in a cloud of dust and I set off towards home. I’d walked for a good half hour in the baking heat before a rickshaw came pedalling along beside me and I climbed gratefully into the seat. I felt drained and beaten. I could hardly think straight, but I knew Charles had the upper hand. I couldn’t fight that.

  I came home and took a long bath, then went to lie on my bed. I realise now that I have no choice. I could not bear my father to be in that place for a moment longer than he has to be. And perhaps Charles is right after all, even though I find it hard to accept. If I want to give my baby a chance at life perhaps it is the only thing I can do. It’s impossible for me to look after a baby either here or in England. So, I find myself reconciled to Charles’ plan. It will tear my heart out, I know, but I will go through with it.

  February 1934

  It is a long time since I sat down to write this diary. I have been so busy with my preparations for my return to England, but also in such a turmoil that I haven’t wanted to commit my thoughts to paper.

  It is all settled and there’s no going back. Charles wrote to the Reverend Ezra Burroughs and agreed terms. I believe Charles sent him some money too. I’m not happy about what I’m about to do, but it is the best, and indeed the only thing I can do in the circumstances.

  A letter arrived from Ezra Burroughs himself last week. It gave me directions to the station in his home town, Weirfield on Thames in Berkshire. I could tell his letter was meant to reassure me, but I felt far from reassured. Just the sight of his flamboyant writing makes a chill run through me and the hairs on my arms stand on end. I have packed the letter into the trunk along with everything else I have to take with me. Clothes and books. Presents for Mother and Cedric with whom I’ll be staying for a few weeks. I’m not looking forward to that at all, Mother is always tiresome company, but it is the pretext for me going home to England whilst Donald is on the North West Frontier. I’ve also packed the gifts that Charles insisted I take for the Reverend Burroughs. A sumptuous smoking jacket, run up by the friendly tailor, some cigars and some whisky, and a cheque.

  Donald has been home for two short spells of leave since I last wrote in this book. Things were just the same
between us; awkward and formal. Although he was on leave, he still rose early, put on his uniform and went into the Army HQ each and every day. He didn’t seem able to give up his routine. The evenings were just the same as before too. He was often out until all hours and would return home unsteady on his feet and go straight to bed, tended to by Ali. I think it was a relief for both of us when his leave was over and he had to return to Quetta.

  Donald didn’t notice my thickening frame, and since the closest he came to me was to give me a peck on the cheek he was not likely to. Fortunately, no one else has either; except Manju of course who knows everything about me, and possibly the friendly tailor who has expertly and discreetly let out my dresses under Manju’s supervision. Luckily my condition is not too noticeable and I haven’t put on weight elsewhere on my body.

  Tomorrow I go on the morning express train to Bombay. At Donald’s instruction I asked the transport officer on the military station to book my passage. I am travelling first class on the train, which will take twenty-four hours. I also have a first-class cabin booked on the ship, the SS Neuralia. Now I am all packed, I’m anxious to be on my way, and have been pacing around the house like a caged lion.

  Although I have no wish to see Charles, I thought that he might come to say goodbye, but he hasn’t done that. He has distanced himself from me since our last encounter and has only communicated by note. I’ve caught sight of him a couple of times in the club, but he has avoided my gaze and taken care not to speak to me. It pains me that he cares so little for me and for the baby that we made together that he doesn’t at least bid me goodbye, but it is only to be expected. I only hope that he is right and that the Reverend Burroughs is trustworthy and will be able to help me in the way he promised.

  Manju has been looking at me with sorrowful, soulful eyes since I told her I was going to England.

  ‘You will be careful, memsahib,’ she keeps repeating. I haven’t told her why I am going but I’m sure she suspects. ‘You will come back to Kandaipur, won’t you?’ she has asked on a couple of occasions.

  ‘Of course, Manju,’ please don’t worry. But nothing I say seems to console her.

  I must stop writing this now and try to get some sleep. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. In two days’ time I will be sailing away from this continent that I’ve grown to love. How it has changed me. How much has happened to me in those two short years since I arrived!

  * * *

  Sarah stops off at the florist on the high street and buys a big bunch of white lilies for Connie. When she arrives at Fairlawns and asks to see Miss Burroughs, the receptionist calls Matron.

  ‘I’m not sure she’ll want to see you, Mrs Jennings,’ Matron tells her. ‘She’s had a dreadful shock, what with the police calling round the other day and questioning her. She hasn’t got over it yet.’

  ‘I understand. That’s partly why I called. I thought she might want to see a friendly face. If she’ll see me I’ll try not to tire her.’

  ‘Wait there. I’ll go and have a word.’

  Sarah waits in the reception area, pacing the floor while Matron bustles away. She is still glowing from her lovemaking with Matt. She feels alive for the first time in years. Even so, she is plagued with sudden doubts. What if Connie refuses to see her? And even if she does agree, what if she won’t speak?

  But Matron is back in a matter of minutes, striding towards her. She is smiling.

  ‘She’ll see you, Mrs Jennings. Go on through. But please don’t stay too long. She isn’t strong, you know.’

  As Sarah enters, Connie looks tired and drawn. She’s in bed with a knitted blanket drawn up around her. Her face has a grey, pallid look that Sarah hasn’t noticed before. But her eyes light up as she sees Sarah.

  ‘Oh. You’ve brought me flowers again. How thoughtful!’

  ‘Shall I put them in water? I know what to do now.’

  ‘If you don’t mind. You have such a knack for arranging them.’

  Sarah goes to the sink in the corner, takes a vase from the cupboard underneath and fills it with water.

  ‘I’m sorry that you had such a shock last week,’ she begins, turning to look at Connie. Connie remains silent, picking at her cardigan. Sarah starts to arrange the flowers on Connie’s table.

  ‘The police said that they spoke to you and that you didn’t know anything about what we found in the conservatory.’

  She glances at Connie, but Connie doesn’t reply. Her bony fingers move up to her chain. Sarah starts to think Connie is never going to speak when she looks up and bursts out, ‘I wasn’t going to tell them anything. It’s all so long ago now. No good can come of raking up the past.’

  Sarah moves towards her and looks into her eyes.

  ‘But that poor baby, Connie. The one that was buried. Don’t you think you owe it to that baby to tell what you know? You know something about that baby’s bones, don’t you?’

  Connie is shaking her head now, very slowly, and her eyes have filled with tears. She rubs them with the back of her hand.

  ‘Perhaps, for that poor baby’s sake, you’ll tell me about what happened back then?’

  Connie doesn’t respond, so Sarah persists.

  ‘I’m going to hold a funeral for the baby, Connie,’ she says gently. ‘Perhaps you could come along, if you’re feeling well enough?’

  Connie stares at her. ‘No! No, I couldn’t do that.’

  Sarah leaves the vase of flowers on the table and goes to kneel on the floor in front of Connie’s chair. She looks up at the old lady.

  ‘You know, my own father was a foundling at the orphanage.’

  Connie purses her lips and looks away.

  ‘I mentioned it before, but you said you didn’t remember. I’d really like to find out anything I can about that time.’ She leans forward, looking into Connie’s eyes.

  ‘He’s dying, Connie. He really wants to know about the circumstances of his birth before he goes. So, I owe it to him to ask you, and you owe it to him too, to tell me what you know.’

  Connie remains silent, she fiddles endlessly with the filigree necklace around her neck. But Sarah senses that her words might have hit home. She leans forward and tries again.

  ‘Please tell me what you know, Connie. My father has never forgiven his mother for abandoning him. He came back here to find out the truth, but he’s drawn a complete blank.’

  Connie remains silent, her fingers still working on her necklace.

  ‘You know,’ Sarah goes on, ‘I found a couple of things in the old bureau that I can’t make sense of. I was wondering if you might know anything about them?’

  ‘What things? All my father’s things went to the archives at Cartwrights’. There shouldn’t have been anything left.’

  ‘There was a secret drawer under the bureau. Terry found it when we moved it to decorate.’

  Connie is sitting up straight now, her back rigid. She’s staring at Sarah. And more than ever before Sarah is convinced that Connie does know something.

  Sarah gets up from the floor and delves into her handbag and takes out the sheaf of blank birth certificates and the ledger. She hands them to Connie. Connie takes them and stares at them for a long time. She turns the pages of the ledger over and over, running her hand down the columns, puzzling over the entries.

  Suddenly she looks up and her expression has changed. Her mouth is set in a determined pout and in her eyes gleams a look of defiance.

  ‘All right. I will tell you what I know,’ she says. ‘I heard something yesterday that made me very angry with my father. I always tried to defend his memory, to remember the best side of him and to put everything else aside. I thought that was the right thing to do. But now I’m not so sure.’

  Sarah sits down on the chair opposite Connie, her heart beating a little faster.

  ‘But before I begin I want someone else to be here.’

  ‘Of course. Is it Matron?’

  ‘No, not Matron. It’s another resident. His name is Tommy Br
aithwaite. We knew each other when we were young. He’s the only person I thought about telling these things to back then. I nearly did a few times, but I was too afraid of the consequences. I only wish I had done… but I wasn’t strong enough.’

  ‘How extraordinary that he’s here! Shall I go and ask someone to fetch him?’

  Connie nods. ‘Perhaps you could ask them to bring a tray of tea too. It might take some time to tell you everything.’

  It takes the woman on reception a while to find Tommy. He’s out strolling in the garden, getting some fresh air. When he enters Connie’s room he looks flushed and healthy. Sarah notices the old light back in Connie’s eyes when she looks at him.

  ‘Sit down, Tommy,’ says Connie. ‘This is Sarah Jennings. She’s the owner of Cedar Lodge now. She’s been asking about what she found in the conservatory and I’m going to tell her what I know. You deserve to know it too, Tommy. I wanted to tell you all those years ago. If only I’d had the courage…’

  ‘I always knew there were things you were holding back,’ he says. ‘I thought you’d tell me in your own time, Connie, but in the end you never got the chance.’

  Tommy shakes Sarah’s hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ he says. His grip is strong and firm and his eyes steady.

  Connie turns to Sarah. ‘Tommy used to work for my father. He and I were close. But Father forced him to leave one day and we never saw each other again.’

  ‘But why? Why did he have to leave?’ asks Sarah.

  ‘I’ll explain that later. But it all ties in with what I’m going to tell you.’

  Erica comes in with a tea tray and Sarah pours, passing cups to Connie and Tommy. Then she sits down and waits for Connie to begin.

  Connie takes a deep breath and starts to speak.

  ‘It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when I started to question some of the things that happened around me as I was growing up; things that Evie and Mother and I never spoke about.