by Kellyn Roth
Nettie chuckled. “I’m still here. I suppose it’s like having a stepfather to her. It feels strange. I don’t believe any child really wants their parent to remarry.”
“Well, she can rest easy. I never will.” Claire followed the ceiling crack’s path all the way to the opposite wall with her eyes. She really ought to get it repaired. Though, how did one repair cracks in ceilings? She wasn’t sure.
“I don’t think Alice is missing much. Surely, in hindsight, some flaws in Mr. Knight’s character have become apparent,” Nettie murmured.
“‘Some’ is a gentle word.” Claire smiled at the ceiling. “But that doesn’t mean he would be a horrible father. Surely there are some good things about him.”
“‘Some’ is a gentle word in that case, too, Claire. He might be a cheerful, pleasant father, but beyond that? Do you really want him involved with the girls? Alice is especially impressionable, I think.”
Alice, impressionable? Claire supposed she was. Philip probably wasn’t the best influence. She didn’t feel that she knew him anymore. But of course, it didn’t matter if she knew him or not as he would never be a part of Alice’s and Ivy’s lives.
“You’re right, of course.” She picked at the coverlet, working a thread loose with her fingertips. “I’m just shaken.”
“I know. I can understand that. Life is undependable. But God isn’t. I wish you could see that.” Like a broken clock stuck on the same time for eternity, Nettie circled back to her favorite subject with the ease of someone who never truly left it. “There is such comfort in Him.”
“Perhaps.”
Before Nettie could reply, there was a rap at the door.
Saved by random coincidence. “Who is it?”
“Jameson, Miss Berck.”
Claire sat up and drew her dressing gown’s sash tighter about her waist. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Jameson peeked in. “There’s a message for you, miss. The man is in the hall waiting; he’s ridden hard.”
Her pulse spiked. “Where is he from?”
“He didn’t say. Only that it was urgent.”
Nettie took the letter from Jameson and delivered it to Claire’s hand. She fingered the paper. No return address. Nothing about the exterior that might betray its contents. Her name—Miss Claire Marie Chattoway—was written on the back in a hand that seemed vaguely familiar. Not familiar enough to identify the sender, though.
She broke the plain, unadorned seal and began to read.
Starboard Hall
July 22, 1871
Dear Claire,
I doubt you expected to hear from me any time soon, and, honestly, I am very sorry for the fact. Lately, things have been a bit clearer, and I wish I’d tried to contact you sooner. But, frankly, it was impossible for so many reasons.
Charlie gave me your address. He is here, and your sister will be soon, with her husband and baby. I had no idea that you had kept in contact, much less that he’d offered any monetary support to you, so it was a surprise, but I’m glad.
I know he wasn’t able to do much more than a tiny stipend from his allowance, and I know his father had forbidden both him and Christina from visiting you. I’m proud of him. He did what I should have.
I suppose I’ll tell it to you quickly—your father has died. He passed in his sleep a week ago. I don’t think you could come to Yorkshire in time for the funeral. However, I want you to come as soon as possible.
Claire, I’m your mother. I know I’ve done a poor job at it for many years, but you must understand that things have been difficult for me. Still, that is no excuse for my behavior. I know I played a huge part in the ruination of what could have been a happy life for you. Your father convinced me it was the only way, and I never could speak against him.
But, in hindsight, I admit my error, and I ask your forgiveness. I doubt I can receive it, but at least come to Starboard. Bring the children—Alice and Ivy, isn’t it? And, of course, Nettie. This is your home; please don’t feel that you must stay away now that your father is gone.
I will do what I can to make this a livable atmosphere for you. Charlie will be here from now on, I think, and when he marries, he’ll bring his bride. But it will just be us and the servants until then.
I think it’s a safer atmosphere than London. We don’t have any visitors; your father had become a hermit in recent years, and I never was good with people.
I can’t imagine a city to be a good place for children to grow up, and Charlie tells me you’ve been dealing with some unsavory rumors of late. Even the truth would be so horrific to anyone in London. Here, people are kinder, and you are welcome to be a widow, if that makes it easier.
In summary, I’ll await your reply, your return, or your silence. I accept whatever you decide as a fair response. No more manipulation. That’s over now.
I’ll pray that you may find it in your heart to forgive me, but if that’s not possible, I at least will wish you the best in all your endeavors.
Sincerely,
Nora Chattoway
Claire set the letter facedown on the bed and dropped back against her pillow to stare at the crack in the ceiling again. Father dead? Mother repentant and wanting me back at Starboard Hall? Her thoughts threatened to give her a headache.
“What is it, Claire?”
“Read it—I don’t mind.”
There was a rustling as Nettie took up the papers and began to read them. “What will you do?”
Trembling, she wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. Everything had changed now. “I’m not sure.”
Chapter Nineteen
Yorkshire, England
August 1871
They arrived at Starboard Hall, a large castle perched like a gargoyle on the top of a hill, late at night a week later. Alice didn’t get a good look at the place until they stepped out of the carriage. The clouds coating the sky, the rain pouring down without cessation, and the darkness punctuated by a glow coming from a few of the windows gave it the look of a mansion from a gothic novel.
The inside didn’t have a cheerful effect on one’s soul, either. It was dark and shadowy. Ivy shivered and hid her face in her mother’s skirts, and Alice wished she could do the same. Instead, she grasped Nettie’s hand, but she drew away to direct the servants on their luggage.
“Come this way, please,” the butler said in a low, creaking voice, and the little group followed him through a gloomy hallway and up a creaking flight of stairs.
“The place has really fallen apart.” Mummy ran her hand along the banister then displayed her glove, now coated in gray. “Have they dismissed a great many servants, Emerson?”
“Yes, miss.” The man glanced over his shoulder. “But Master Charles—Mr. Chattoway—hopes to hire a new staff.”
“I see.” Mummy looked perplexed. “How strange.”
“Mr. Charles Chattoway and Mrs. Chattoway are waiting in Mrs. Chattoway’s private room.” Emerson gestured to a door with soft light emerging from underneath.
Nettie squeezed Alice’s shoulder. “It will be good to get warm again. What an odd summer storm this is!”
“Indeed.” Mummy’s face blanched as Emerson opened the door.
The four entered the room. An old woman sat on a chair by a roaring fire. She had hair which must once have been blonde and great brown eyes. Uncle Charlie stood to her right. He’d grown a beard—which Alice thought looked ridiculous—since she had last seen him.
“Hello.” Grandmother Chattoway stood. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you … all of you.”
Mummy’s eyes were wide. “I-I suppose I am to have my old room, Mother?”
“Why, yes.” Alice’s grandmother blinked and shuffled forward, then stopped. Alice thought she looked like a half-awake kitten. “Yes, and your daughters can have the room across from yours. That will leave Charlie his room, and Christy hers when she comes with her family. She has a child now.”
; “You mentioned it in your letter—a boy?”
“Yes. They’ve named him Benedict. I’ve met him once. He’s a sweet child.” Grandmother twisted her hands together. “Well, anyway. It’s late. I suppose I shouldn’t keep you.”
Mummy’s expression softened slightly. “Thank you. We’ll talk in the morning. Alice, Ivy, say good night to your grandmother.”
“Good night,” Alice whispered, and Ivy echoed her.
After leaving the room, they walked down more twisty passages to the wing opposite. There they were led into another room, the fire already lit and a lamp burning on the table.
In the flickering firelight, Alice made out a large bed with blue curtains surrounding it. The covers of the bed were turned back and the curtains half let down.
“Girls, come here by the fire; you must be cold after walking through those halls.” Mummy removed their wraps and draped them over the end of the bed. “Nettie will be up soon, and we’ll have some warm milk before bed. Look, there’s water here—let’s wash our faces.”
Emerson and a second manservant arrived, carrying the first trunk between them. Jameson wasn’t far behind them with the remainder of their luggage, and Nettie arrived from the kitchen. In no time at all, Alice and Ivy were washed, nightgowned, and tucked into a big bed across the hall.
“There now.” Mummy sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll see you both in the morning, but for now, let’s all get a good night’s rest.”
“Is Grandmother nice, Mummy?” Ivy whispered.
“Of course, darling.” Mummy smiled and smoothed Ivy’s hair back from her face. “I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise.”
Alice frowned. “It doesn’t seem like a nice place, though.” The whole house was covered in gloom and dust, neither of which she much cared for. Besides, hadn’t her grandmother played a part in separating her parents? Though it probably wasn’t all her fault, Alice couldn’t help blaming her for it. At least in part.
“It isn’t, but soon it will be. Sunlight makes everything look better, and your Uncle Charlie will hire a brand-new staff. They’ll make everything clean and cheery.” Mummy reached over the coverlet and squeezed Alice’s hand. “Don’t worry, darling. We might not stay long. I wanted to see your grandmother and Starboard Hall again. I would rather live in the country, I think, or at least not in London. But we’ll see.”
“Oh, all right.” Alice supposed she could allow for that. “Will Nettie come in and pray?”
“She will indeed—and bring some milk for you. But I’ll turn down the lamp for now.” Mummy rose and adjusted the light. “Sleep well, darlings.”
Breakfast the next morning promised to be awkward, but Claire arrived downstairs early, Alice and Ivy blinking and yawning behind her. Charlie was there with his newspaper and tea. He already had sunk into the role of master of the house—though, of course, he could never be cruel, and he wasn’t much of an eccentric, either. He’d never be like their father in those regards.
Mrs. Chattoway also came down for breakfast, an event which surprised Claire. She was used to her mother’s taking the first meal of her day in her room, seldom appearing before ten. Though her father had always called it ‘laziness’ or ‘elegance,’ Claire believed it was an attempt to have a few minutes to herself. Mr. Chattoway seldom let his wife out of his sight.
“After breakfast, perhaps we could talk?” Mrs. Chattoway met Claire’s eyes. “I think we ought to discuss future plans.”
“Of course.” Hopefully they’d be able to arrive at an agreement—although, that would depend on her mother. “Charlie, why don’t you take the girls on a tour while we chat?”
Her brother blinked. “Why?”
“Because they’ve not seen Starboard before, and I believe they would like to.” She glared at him. “Don’t be difficult.”
He harrumphed and hid behind his newspaper, but Claire knew he would do as she’d asked. Charlie wasn’t overly familiar with children, but the girls always loved him when he visited. It wasn’t often, but his attention was always welcome—and his gifts even more so.
When they finished eating, Claire stood and followed her mother out of the room. She led the way to a chamber Claire was only vaguely familiar with—her father’s office.
It wasn’t such a horrifying room when the thick curtains were thrown back and the windows open to the garden. However, the scents of tobacco and old books lingered, both of which held unpleasant memories. Claire wrinkled her nose.
“Take a seat, will you?”
Claire wrapped her arms about herself. “At the desk?”
Mrs. Chattoway glanced at the solemn oak furniture, the great chair behind it, and the smaller chairs in front of it. “No, let’s sit by the fireplace. But I have something for you …” She went behind the desk and opened a drawer. “Please take a seat.”
Claire’s father had never invited her to sit in front of the fireplace. She had sometimes been relegated to one of the seats across the desk, like her father was meeting with a subordinate. Though, more often than not, she’d been forced to stand like a servant rather than sit. Comfort was never his priority.
Claire lowered herself onto a large chair with intricately carved arms. The leather gave way under her backside, and she sank into it, surprised by the softness.
“These belong to you.” She looked up to find her mother extending a bundle of papers tied together with twine. “I found them when going through your father’s things. They are the letters from Mr. Philip Knight.”
Claire stared at the letters. “What?”
Mrs. Chattoway nodded. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Claire. I should have defended you. If you will give me another chance, I will try to do better.”
Claire swallowed and untied the string, letting the letters fall in her lap. There were perhaps a dozen of them, all with her name on them in his hand. She swallowed. He had written. He’d not done enough, no, but at least, in his own way, he’d made a small effort to contact her.
Of course, it was a useless effort. Of course, he should have known better. But, if he believed Mrs. Chattoway to be on their side at the time, perhaps he had trusted in that.
No more excuses.
She gathered the missives up again and pushed aside her thoughts. She’d think about them later.
“Thank you, Mother.” Claire retied the string and set the bundle on a side table. “I appreciate having these. I don’t know if I’ll read them or not—that’s not a man I need to remember anymore. He belongs to another woman, and I want to keep my thoughts honorable.”
“It’s not as if you can forget him completely, I suppose.” Mrs. Chattoway lowered herself onto the chair opposite Claire. “Have you decided if you will let him see your daughters occasionally? Or is he even interested?”
“I’m not sure; I haven’t worked it out yet. Alice seems to think he’s the villain in her fairy tale. I want to avoid seeing him as much as possible. He cannot take them from me, and allowing him to visit can only bring pain.” She was a bit afraid of her attachment to him. What if it reared its ugly head once more?
“You’d see him more often in London, possibly. Here in Yorkshire, it’d be safer.” Mrs. Chattoway cleared her throat. “I don’t want to rush you, but I do want to make amends. You are more than welcome here—you are wanted, and so are your children.”
A lump rose in Claire’s throat. “Th-thank you. Of late, rumors have leaked out. I’m afraid people will find out who I am. Perhaps it’s time to find a new home, somewhere I won’t be in the public eye.”
As isolated as Starboard Hall was, and as few as the Chattoways’ acquaintances had become, it would be ideal. A safe place for the girls to grow up, and she’d find a way for them to marry well. With Chattoway backing, how could she not?
“Live here, then. The estate has gone to Charlie, and he would never want you to leave. When he finds a wife, well, we’ll conquer that challenge when it comes. But I doubt Charlie will marry anyone who wouldn’
t accept you. I know he cares more about a woman’s character than anything—he has often told me so.”
Claire bobbed her head up and down. Yes, Charlie will always take care of me, even if he isn’t an openly emotional man. He tended to show up at the crises of her life, offering what she needed to get on, and trusting her to take care of the rest. Some might find it uncaring, but Charlie understood her need for space—and her need to remain as anonymous as possible. He’d had to keep his distance or she’d have been found out.
“Thank you for your offer. I would love to accept. I think I’ll sell or simply close my shop in London.” As soon as she said the words, a huge weight lifted off her shoulders, and she straightened in her chair. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
Mrs. Chattoway visibly struggled to hold back tears. “I’m more grateful than you ever could be, Claire. I’ve missed you—and I’ve regretted every action I let your father perpetrate. The man mistreated us both, but you especially. I became frightened when you left, frightened harm would come to you, or that I’d hear years later that you’d died in a gutter somewhere. But still, I thanked God that you escaped! I almost wished, some days, that I had been so lucky.”
Mr. Chattoway did tend to ruin every life he touched. Claire rose and knelt beside her mother’s chair. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have left. I saw it as the only way to save my children. But, maybe, if I had been a better daughter, you might have seen there was something worth protecting. Still, I don’t believe any of us had a chance while he lived. Even Charlie was tied down by his manipulation.”
“Don’t make excuses.” Mrs. Chattoway squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “Not for me. I lived here in relative luxury while you struggled for your life. Do you know how proud I am of you? I didn’t know you were Miss Berck. I have friends who speak so highly of you! I almost fainted when Charlie told me. How did you manage?”
“I’m not sure.” Luck? Hard work? Nettie? So many factors had contributed. Truly, knowing the upper class well had helped her majorly. Her maid believed God was responsible, and it almost seemed the most plausible reason. “I’m glad you’re able to be proud of me. I know I’ve made some mistakes. I should ask your forgiveness for the way I treated you when I was a girl. You understand why, of course, but that doesn’t excuse my behavior.”
