‘Because I say so,’ retorted Jessie, with arms folded and shoulders square. ‘This is my chance to put things right, and I will not be silenced any more.’
Maggie returned to her chair, and experienced a surge of warmth as Sam forgave her outburst and held her close. She took a deep breath. Perhaps it didn’t matter that she’d been used as a means to an end, she thought through her pain. It was now that mattered, and the bright, hopeful future she would have with Sam. Yet the knowledge of Jessie’s revelations would remain with her always, and she would have to bury it deep if it wasn’t to destroy her.
‘Strikes me you’ve said enough already,’ she muttered. ‘Irene’s plotting obviously didn’t work, otherwise I wouldn’t have ended up in that orphanage.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Not only was I rejected by my mother, but my father obviously didn’t give a damn either.’
Jessie shook her head. ‘I’m so sorry, Maggie. I haven’t expressed myself very well at all, and now I’ve simply made things worse.’
Maggie stilled. ‘How the hell could they be worse?’ she asked.
Jessie sat back down, her chin dipping to her chest. It was as if she was bereft of the spirit that had brought her this far, and she seemed to shrink and grow even older. ‘It didn’t happen like that at all,’ she said softly.
*
Eva could bear it no longer. The baby’s crying was breaking her heart. She climbed from her sickbed, bent over the cradle and picked her up. ‘Poor little mite’s wet and hungry,’ she murmured. ‘She shouldn’t be left to cry for so long.’
Irene shrugged as she studied her reflection in the mirror. ‘So feed it,’ she said as she smoothed her hands over her hips and admired her restored figure.
‘She isn’t thriving,’ said Eva. ‘You should be feeding her yourself. There’s no substitute for a mother’s milk.’
Irene curled her lip. ‘It’s bad enough being trussed up like a turkey without stinking of milk as well.’ She pinched her cheeks to bring more colour to her face and tweaked a curl into order. ‘Get Jessie to clean her up, there’s plenty of milk in the kitchen. And hurry. He’ll be here soon.’
Eva eyed her daughter and wondered how such coldness was possible. She carried the baby into the kitchen, and while Jessie warmed the milk, she changed the sodden napkin. The baby gurgled and kicked her chubby legs. She was such a sweet little thing, with big brown eyes and a head of rich brown curls. How could anyone fail to love her?
Jessie handed her the bottle in silence, their eyes meeting across the table in mutual despair as Eva fed the child. If only Irene would take an interest in her, Eva thought, she might come to realise the enormity of what she was planning.
‘I told you to leave her to Jessie,’ said Irene as she came into the kitchen. ‘I need you to help me get ready.’
‘She’s nearly finished,’ said Eva softly as the baby’s lashes feathered the delicate cheek and the eyes drooped in sleep.
‘Now, Mother.’
Eva noticed the high spots of colour on Irene’s cheeks and the glint of determination in her eyes. Irene was so used to being the centre of attention she obviously couldn’t bear taking second place. Even to her own child.
Eva gently handed the sleepy baby to Jessie. ‘You appear to be dressed,’ she said to Irene. ‘What’s so urgent?’
‘My hair,’ snapped Irene. ‘I need you to do something about the way it falls at the back.’ She turned to Jessie. ‘When it’s finished puking, dress it in those new things Mother brought up from Melbourne.’
Eva could see nothing wrong with Irene’s hair, but followed her into the bedroom anyway. For the baby’s sake, she wished she hadn’t set eyes on Bluey MacDonald, or given him the money. The day would not turn out well if her judgement of him was accurate, and she feared for the little one’s future. Yet she maintained a silence, for Irene must learn for herself what kind of man she’d got entangled with.
Lunch was eaten in silence, the tension growing as the hours ticked by and still there was no sign of their visitor. Jessie cleared the plates and brought coffee into the parlour as Irene began to pace.
Eva longed to shed the stiff, formal dress and return to her sickbed, but she sat with a book in her lap, watching her daughter tear herself apart. She finally gave up on the book. She couldn’t concentrate enough to read, and found she was listening out for the baby. She was restless and uneasy and wished for anything to break the awful silence, and lift the heavy air of despair that seemed to be affecting all of them. She glanced up at the ornate clock on the mantel. It was getting late.
‘He’s been delayed,’ snapped Irene. ‘He’ll be here. He promised.’
‘Irene,’ began Eva. ‘Don’t you think …?’
‘What?’ Irene whirled from her station at the window.
Eva looked at her daughter and saw the stark realisation in her face that he wasn’t coming. Her heart went out to her. ‘Darling,’ she murmured. ‘I’m so sorry.’
There was a rap at the front door and Irene swiftly turned. ‘He’s here,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I told you he would come.’ She hurried out of the room and bumped into Jessie, who’d emerged from the kitchen, the baby in her arms. ‘Give it to me,’ she demanded.
Eva’s hands trembled as she watched from the doorway. Irene grabbed the baby and draped the fleecy shawl more attractively over her arm. She made a lovely picture, with her high colour and the dark, curly–headed baby in her embrace – but if that really was Bluey at the door, he had more nerve than she gave him credit for.
Irene opened the door with a flourish.
‘Mrs Hamilton? Got a wire for you. Sign here.’
Irene took a step back. ‘No,’ she breathed.
Eva took the telegram, signed for it and closed the door firmly in the gawping face. She took the baby and handed her back to Jessie before steering Irene into the parlour. Sitting her down, she looked at the brown slip of paper. It was from a Melbourne solicitor.
‘What does he say?’ asked Irene. Her face was white, her tone clipped and anxious.
‘Client denies all involvement. Court order issued this day against Irene Hamilton approaching client or his family again. Further suit will be made if Irene Hamilton persists in her claim for paternity. This is final warning.’
Eva’s hand was trembling as she crushed the telegraph. Bluey had decided to keep the money and not risk Eva’s wrath. ‘He’s not worth it, Irene. You and the baby are better off without him.’ She threw the telegraph into the empty fireplace. ‘Of all the spineless, bare–faced liars,’ she hissed. ‘I hope he rots.’
Irene stared at the grate and the curl of brown paper. Her expression was inscrutable.
Eva crossed the room and perched on the arm of the chair. ‘Don’t worry, darling. You still have me and Jessie and the baby. We’re made of sterner stuff than that weakling. We don’t need him.’
Irene shrugged off Eva’s hand and stood. ‘You have no idea, have you, mother?’ she said coldly. She walked to the mirror above the fireplace and eyed her reflection before turning back to face Eva. ‘I needed him to rescue me from the disgrace. Needed him to escape life with you and Jessie and that damn baby. Have you any notion of what it has been like for me stuck up here in the backwoods, with no friends, no parties, nothing to do all day but get fat?’
Eva stared at her in horror. ‘But …’ she began.
‘But nothing,’ snapped Irene. ‘I’m sick of doing things your way. Sick of being stuck in this house with a screaming brat. From now on I’m going to live my life as I please.’
‘What about the baby? Surely you don’t mean to go through with the adoption?’
‘Why not?’ Her expression was set, her eyes cold. ‘It’s of no use to me any more, and certainly won’t fit in with my plans for the future.’
Eva licked her dry lips. ‘And they are?’ she asked.
‘To get some life,’ she retorted. ‘To have fun. Then, when I’m ready, I’ll find a rich man and marry him.’
Eva looked across at Jessie. She held out her arms. Jessie carefully passed the baby over and Eva looked down at the sleeping child, her heart so full she was incapable of speech. This tiny scrap hadn’t asked to be born. She hadn’t asked for anything but what was her right. Eva could not and would not allow Irene to give her away.
‘I will keep the child,’ she said, her voice rough with emotion. ‘And as you have omitted to even name her, I will call her Olivia.’
*
‘That’s impossible,’ breathed Olivia. ‘I can’t be Irene’s daughter. Maggie’s got the birth certificate to prove she was. And what about the child she was expecting at the time? What happened to it?’
‘Eva miscarried shortly after arriving in Trinity,’ said Jessie flatly. She looked back at Olivia. ‘You found those papers,’ she said. ‘You discovered Eva had adopted you. It was the reason for you coming all this way. You needed answers. Needed to find the truth.’
‘Yes,’ she said flatly. She sighed and looked down at her hands. ‘According to the papers I found, Eva adopted me when I was six. But none of this makes sense, Jessie. Why would she wait six years?’
‘And what about me?’ demanded Maggie. ‘Are you telling me my birth certificate is a lie as well?’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘That won’t wash, Jessie. Irene as good as admitted I was her daughter.’
Jessie bit her lip. The time had come to cast aside any lingering doubts. She rose from her chair and, holding out her hands, led the two young women to the gilded mirror above the mantel. ‘What do you see?’ she asked softly.
The silence was complete as Olivia and Maggie stared at their reflections and saw for the first time what Jessie had known all along.
Irene had given birth to twins.
24
Maggie stared at their reflections as she fought to control her breathing. It was as if her heart was trying to batter its way through her chest – as if the sea was in her head, churning, pounding, crashing against her eardrums until all other sound was stifled. An almost overwhelming surge of elation swept through her, but was swiftly followed by a rush of horror as the full extent of Irene’s betrayal was laid bare.
‘No,’ she muttered as she shook her head and tried to ignore the reflections in the mirror. ‘No. It’s not possible. Not even Irene would have done such a thing.’
Olivia’s grip at her waist was firm, belying the tremor Maggie could feel coursing through her body. ‘Look in the mirror, Maggie,’ she said with soft wonder. ‘Can’t you see?’
Maggie’s hand was trembling as she attempted to swipe away the tears that ran down her face. ‘I don’t want to see,’ she rasped. ‘It’s not true.’
Olivia drew her close. ‘It is, Maggie,’ she insisted. ‘Look.’
With a reluctance born from a fear of what might be revealed, Maggie forced herself to look in the mirror. Through the blurring of tears she searched for and found the elusive similarities that neither of them had noticed before, yet would forever bind her to Olivia.
The echoes of one another were so delicately etched that it was almost like looking into the face of someone vaguely remembered from the past – not really a stranger – more a fleeting acquaintance. Maggie realised with mounting horror that, on such close scrutiny, she was, in truth, a pale substitute for the dark haired, brown–eyed beauty that stood beside her. Her own light brown hair held bright darts of auburn fire, and her eyes were flecked with gold, making them appear more hazel in the light of the lamp Jessie had just lit. Yet the shape of their eyes and the arch of their brows were reflected, as were the contours of their faces and the way they held their heads. Narrow shoulders were aligned, the slender torsos a mirror image despite the differences in their clothing.
She pulled roughly away from Olivia and hugged her waist. The suspicions crowded in and the other woman’s touch was suddenly repugnant. ‘Did you know about this?’ she demanded. She could hear the false calm overlaying the rising fury that threatened to spew from her in a hot tide of vitriol. Yet she knew that if she was to get the answers she needed, she had to keep control.
Olivia’s eyes flickered towards Jessie before they settled once more on Maggie’s face. ‘Not really,’ she began.
‘Not good enough,’ snapped Maggie. ‘Come on, Olivia, spit it out. Tell the bloody truth.’
Olivia folded her arms around her waist and Maggie saw the tremble of her breath as she composed herself. A dart of concern was swiftly dismissed. Why should she be the only one affected by all this, when Olivia was obviously part of the plot to keep her in the dark?
‘Nothing made any sense until today,’ Olivia began. Her voice wasn’t quite steady and she refused to look Maggie in the eye. ‘There were so many questions I had no answers to, and although I could see certain similarities between us, there were several explanations, none of which seemed to make sense.’
‘Such as?’ Maggie hugged her waist, her tone measured, the rage and hurt burning just beneath the surface of her control.
Olivia’s brow puckered as she stood there for a moment deep in thought. ‘Why did Eva wait until I was six before she adopted me? Why not adopt me as a baby? As much as I hated the idea, being Irene’s daughter seemed the only logical explanation. It explained why Irene resented me. Why she was always such a bitch, so jealous of the love Eva and I shared. It also went part of the way to explain why Eva kept everything so secret. Why she waited all those years before making me legally her daughter.’
Maggie shivered, despite the remnants of the day’s heat in the room.
‘Eva adopted me one week after Irene and William were engaged. This was, no doubt, an attempt to keep Irene’s dirty little secrets firmly out of sight.’
The bitterness was copper in Maggie’s throat. ‘Dirty secret or not, you could at least have talked to me about it – given me some kind of warning,’ she snapped.
Olivia’s dark eyes filled with tears, and Maggie could see she was struggling to remain composed. ‘How could I, Maggie? I had no proof, and they were, after all, only suspicions. Irene told me Jessie was out of the picture, and there seemed no likelihood of ever discovering the truth. I thought it best to keep my suspicions to myself rather than upset you even further.’ She dipped her chin, her voice soft and full of regret. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie. I was wrong.’
‘I trusted you,’ hissed Maggie. ‘I told you things I’ve never even told Sam. Yet you didn’t see fit to tell me about this.’ She took a deep breath, fighting to remain calm and focussed – but it was getting harder and she knew it wouldn’t take much more to break her.
Olivia reached out, but Maggie twisted away. She didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t want to acknowledge the pity she could see in Olivia’s eyes. ‘Why me?’ she demanded of Jessie. ‘How come Irene chose to give me away and not her?’
Jessie had seemed to shrink, the vitality drained from her face as she sat in the chair and twisted a handkerchief through her trembling fingers. ‘There wasn’t a maternal bone in yer mother’s body,’ she muttered. ‘She was shocked to the core when she found out she was expecting twins – as far as she was concerned, one was bad enough, but two was an imposition. The only reason she didn’t ‘and you both over to the nuns was because she thought she could use one of you to trap yer father into marriage and respectability.’
‘Why me?’ Maggie’s voice was cold and determined as she repeated her question.
‘It could have been either of you,’ replied Jessie, her hands fluttering on her lap. ‘It were done on a whim.’
The bitterness filled her throat. ‘A whim? She shouted. ‘I was given away on a bloody whim?’
‘It was the wrong word to use,’ said Jessie hastily. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie. I never was much good at explaining things.’
&n
bsp; ‘You’re doing fine so far,’ snarled Maggie. ‘Get on with it.’
Jessie licked her lips. She was clearly nervous. ‘You were a restless baby, always ‘ungry and looking for attention. That particular morning, Olivia was asleep, but you was crying and wouldn’t be soothed. Irene picked you up and put you in the pram, saying she would take you out for some fresh air. She was gone for a long time and I was just beginning to get really worried when she come back.’ A solitary tear tracked a path down the wan cheek. ‘The pram was empty,’ she whispered. ‘The only trace of you was a tear–stained pillow and a single white bootee.’
‘So you rushed out and tried to find me?’ The heavy sarcasm filled the silence, and Maggie knew she looked and sounded ugly but was past caring. The whole bloody lot of them could rot as far as she was concerned.
‘Irene and I ‘ad the most god–awful row. She refused to tell me a damn thing, and when I went into town no–one had seen nor ‘eard anything. I ‘ad no leads, not so much as a hint of what might have happened to you. Irene refused to tell me anything, and I began to wonder if she’d just abandoned you, or done you some kind of ‘arm. The next hours were the worst in me life. I borrowed an ‘orse and traipsed back and forth for miles, covering the town and the paddocks, every ditch and sand dune, every acre of the rainforest – but there was no sign of you – and eventually I ‘ad to give up.’
Maggie’s resentment and rage cleared enough for her to realise there was no point in blaming Jessie. Irene had been thorough, and poor Jessie would have been no match for such a devious mind. ‘Thanks for trying,’ she muttered. ‘At least someone cared what happened to me.’
‘I care,’ said Olivia softly.
‘Do you?’ Maggie rounded on her, the rage finally spilling over. ‘Why? We’re strangers. Two women from opposite sides of the bloody world with absolutely nothing in common but a bitch of a mother and a complete bastard for a father. You were the chosen one. The good kid that never cried. We’re better off without one another, and the sooner you go back to your nice, comfortable little life in England the better.’
Undercurrents Page 36
