I returned to the kitchen to boil water for tea and sweep up the broken earthenware. Once Ma was asleep I’d tidy up the remaining ravages wrought by the intruder, to spare her further distress in the morning.
We sat together to drink our tea but as soon as I’d taken the empty cup from her she began to retch. I snatched up the slops basin and held it while she vomited.
Afterwards I wiped her face and laid her down against the pillows. ‘Go to sleep now, Ma. In the morning everything will be better.’
I sat beside her and waited until she drifted into a doze before going downstairs to tidy up the rest of our jumbled possessions.
My silver thimble glinted on the dining-room floor amongst the scattered contents of my sewing box. I wept when I saw it had been crushed flat. Ma had bought it for me when I was only a little girl and she first taught me to sew. Tears of sadness gave way to rage at the wretch who’d barged into our cottage, frightened my mother nearly to death and despoiled our possessions.
Fuelled by fury, I rushed about like a whirling dervish, righting the furniture, putting away the crumpled books and sweeping up the feathers. I flung the shredded cushion covers into the fire, where they flared and spat as they twisted in the flames.
Once my ire was spent, I was overcome with exhaustion and wearily climbed the stairs to see Ma again. She muttered in her sleep. I lay on the bed beside her and, after a while, I dozed.
Ma was restless for much of the night, her face and limbs twitching while she dreamed. She murmured the name ‘Harriet’ several times and, once, spoke distinctly. ‘Joe,’ she said, ‘I won’t leave Harriet!’
Later, she lay so silent and motionless I touched her in sudden panic. She sighed deeply and opened her eyes, looking at me without recognition, as if she still dreamed.
‘Go back to sleep,’ I whispered.
She closed her eyes again.
I lay beside her thinking about what she’d said. Harriet… There was something about the name that tugged at my memory. I sighed, too tired and upset to think about it anymore.
It was nearly dawn when Ma’s sobs awoke me.
She sat beside me, rocking and holding her head in her hands.
‘Ma?’
‘My head hurts so,’ she whimpered.
I got up and dipped a cloth in the ewer.
The cool compress seemed to ease her pain a little. I placed a few drops of lavender oil onto a handkerchief for her to sniff and it was then that I saw the blood trickling from her ear. I wiped it away but Ma looked at the bloodied cloth with horror.
‘I’m going to die, aren’t I?’ she whispered.
‘Of course not!’ I said, forcing my voice to sound calm, ‘but Signor Fiorelli’s father is a doctor. I’ll fetch him to examine you.’
‘Don’t go!’ She clutched my arm so hard that I knew I’d have bruises later. ‘I don’t want to die alone!’
I couldn’t leave her when she was so upset. ‘We’ll see how you are later, then.’ I changed the subject to calm her. ‘You were dreaming last night,’ I said. ‘Ma, who is Harriet?’
She turned her poor swollen face towards me, her mouth slack with shock. ‘Harriet?’ she said at last.
‘You were mumbling and said, “Joe, I won’t leave Harriet.”’
She burst into tears. ‘God forgive me! I can’t take this to my grave.’
‘You’re not going to die!’ My curiosity was piqued now. ‘Tell me about it and perhaps you’ll feel easier?’
Ma’s mouth quivered and tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I’ve kept the secret for so long…’
‘Then tell me,’ I said as persuasively as I could. There was so much she hadn’t told me about herself and, sometimes, what she did say conflicted with an earlier story. She’d always been secretive and sometimes that made me feel I didn’t know her at all. ‘Tell me, Ma!’
Her mouth worked and she brushed tears away. ‘I told you about my mistress?’
I nodded encouragingly.
‘When Lady Langdon begged me to help her,’ said Ma, ‘she planned to take her four-year-old daughter Harriet with her.’
‘I remember you said she had a baby that died but you didn’t mention a daughter.’
‘When Sir Frederick came home early that evening, my mistress ordered me to hurry on ahead to the inn with Harriet.’
‘You took the child with you?’
‘She cried desperately for her mother for days,’ said Ma. ‘Later, when Joe came to the inn and told me my mistress was dead, I didn’t know what to do.’ She closed her eyes, tears seeping from under her eyelashes. ‘Sir Frederick had already sent out a handbill offering a reward for news of my whereabouts and I’d have been accused of kidnapping as well as theft if I’d gone back. I’d have been hanged.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘When Joe said we must run to France, I refused to abandon Harriet. I didn’t trust Sir Frederick – he had no real affection for his daughter. I couldn’t bear for the poor motherless scrap to have no one to love her.’
I stared at her. ‘You took Harriet away from her father? To France? How could you do such a terrible thing?’
‘Joe wanted to leave her at an orphanage and that’s when our troubles began. We quarrelled constantly. He made me sell Lady Langdon’s jewels and, when he couldn’t find work, spent the money on drink.’ She began to rock backwards and forwards. ‘I was so alone and I didn’t speak French. I was too frightened to take Harriet back to London and leave her on her father’s doorstep.’
‘So you took her to an orphanage?’
Ma winced as she rubbed her head. ‘I couldn’t do it.’ She began to weep again. ‘The little girl’s name was Harriet Emilia Langdon,’ she sobbed. ‘For her safety, I called her Emilia Barton.’
Dry-mouthed, I stared at her. There was a rushing sound in my ears and a sudden heaviness in the pit of my stomach, as if I’d swallowed an iceberg. Black flecks flickered at the edge of my vision and I gripped my hands together to dispel the sudden dizziness. Ma was not my mother. Not only that, but I was not the person I’d always thought I was, either.
‘Emilia?’
I opened my mouth but I couldn’t speak.
‘Marrying Joe was a disaster,’ she said. ‘He’d imagined we’d be rich if we sold…’ She paused and her gaze slid away from me. ‘If we sold the contents of Lady Langdon’s baggage. He was disappointed by how little her goods fetched, and then he grew angry. He resented being saddled with a child and was so harsh with you I was frightened for your life. So, for your sake, I fled from him to the South of France.’
‘How could you?’ I said. ‘You stole me away from my family!’ Listening to her story, I didn’t know who I really was and nothing would ever be the same again.
Her eyes pleaded with me. ‘I did it to protect you.’ Tentatively, she reached out to touch my wrist. ‘Now you are all that I have in the world.’
I shook my head in disbelief. It felt as if the very ground had crumbled away from under me. I surged to my feet. I had to get away. I rushed down the stairs and out of the front door.
Lifting my skirts, I ran through the echoing streets, not caring where I went. It was raining and I ran and ran until a stitch in my side forced me to lean over with my hands on my knees. Afterwards I sprinted on again until my feet crunched over sand and then splashed into the foaming sea. When the icy water reached my thighs I gasped and stood still.
Tipping up my face to the rain, I wailed and sobbed. A wave surged past me, soaking me up to my waist. The shock of it caused a modicum of sense to return. I couldn’t remain standing in the sea. I would catch my death. Or walk to it. Slowly, I turned towards the shore and ploughed my way through the water, the sand sucking at my shoes. What was I going to do?
I stood on the beach in the grey dawn, dripping wet and shivering in the wind. There really was nothing else to do but to go back to Ma.
Fishing boats were returning to the harbour with their catch by the time I reached the co
ttage. Gulls screamed overhead as fishwives gutted the catch, tossing the entrails over the harbour wall. Women were already gathering with their baskets, inspecting the mackerel and sardines on display. One or two glanced at me as I passed, my wet dress almost transparent and moulded to my body.
In my mad rush to escape I’d left the front door ajar. Inside, I slipped off my shoes, sand rubbing grittily between my toes. The stairs felt like a mountain to climb and I paused at the top, gathering the strength to face the woman who wasn’t my mother after all.
She lay on her side, the pillow stained with fresh blood. There was something about her motionless form that made me pause in the doorway. Then I ran forward, my heart hammering like a blacksmith’s anvil. Her sightless eyes were half-open and not a breath stirred the air.
Sarah Barton, the woman I used to call Ma, was dead.
Chapter 6
Panic-stricken, I ran to the Fiorelli house and hammered on the door, shouting for Dottore Fiorelli. The family were at breakfast and a sea of faces turned to look at me. Tutting and shaking her head, Signora Fiorelli wrapped a blanket around my shoulders while her husband patiently questioned me. I can’t remember what I told him but his assured manner was calming.
Alessandro watched anxiously while I told the story, barely able to speak for sobs. Afterwards he and his father left for the cottage and his mother took me upstairs to peel off my sodden clothes. The eldest daughter, Cosima, found me one of her dresses to wear.
Signora Fiorelli sat me by the kitchen fire and wrapped my shaking hands around a cup of soup. ‘Drink it quickly, you’re chilled to the bone.’
Obediently, I sipped the chicken broth, my teeth chattering against the china rim. I finished the soup and stared into the flames while the sounds of the Fiorelli family talking in hushed tones washed over me. My head spun as I went over and over what Ma had said until a deathly exhaustion overcame me. All I wanted was to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head.
Alessandro and his father returned and Dottore Fiorelli touched me on my shoulder. ‘It is with great regret, Signorina Barton,’ he said gently, ‘that I confirm your mother has passed away.’
‘If only I’d come for you last night,’ I wept, ‘perhaps you might have saved her.’
‘Do not reproach yourself,’ he said. ‘The blow to her head caused an injury to the brain, causing it to bleed. Nothing could have saved her. It was better for her that you stayed close to her during her final hours.’
I couldn’t look into his kind brown eyes. ‘But I didn’t,’ I said with a sob. ‘We argued and I ran down to the beach. I wasn’t there long but when I returned…’ I hung my head, recalling her last words to me. ‘I did it to protect you.’ I remembered her fingers on my wrist for the very last time. ‘Now you are all that I have in the world.’ I buried my face in my hands.
‘Hush! She is at peace now,’ said Signora Fiorelli. ‘And I am going to put you into Cosima’s bed and you shall sleep.’
‘Swallow this draught,’ said the doctor, handing me a small glass. ‘When you wake you will feel better.’
I had no energy to protest and allowed myself to be led upstairs. Signora Fiorelli shooed me into bed and closed the shutters. I pulled the covers over my shoulders and, within a few minutes, sank into oblivion.
I stretched and yawned. Peggy lay on the pillow next to me and I stared into her unblinking blue eyes. I clasped her against my chest with my chin on the top of her head as I had done every morning for most of my life. But this wasn’t my bed.
I heard a giggle and turned to see Cosima sitting beside me.
‘Two redheaded sleeping beauties,’ said a voice. Alessandro Fiorelli stood in the doorway, smiling at me. ‘How are you?’
Slowly I pushed myself into a sitting position. ‘Muzzy,’ I said, rubbing my eyes. My mouth was dry. Suddenly the memories of the recent events crowded in. ‘I must go home,’ I said, throwing back the bedclothes in a panic.
‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Mamma says dinner is ready. Are you hungry?’
I shook my head but my stomach growled.
Downstairs it was daunting to see so many faces around the table, unused as I was to large families. For as long as I could remember it had only ever been Ma and myself.
Cosima took my hand and urged me forwards. ‘You shall sit by Alessandro, who is the eldest of us left at home. Delfina is two years older than Alessandro and lives with her husband and baby Enzo in Fano.’ She pointed at two young men who bore a remarkable likeness to their older brother. ‘Salvatore and Jacopo are next. I’m the second eldest girl. Then Fabrizio is fourteen and Luca is twelve. Gina is my younger sister and last of all is Alfio.’
‘I’m five!’ piped up the little boy.
‘A late and unexpected gift from God,’ said Signora Fiorelli, ruffling his dark curls.
Despite everything, I ate my supper. I spoke only enough to be polite but was comforted by the cheerful chatter of the family. Afterwards, while the women cleared the table, Dottore Fiorelli requested that Alessandro and I join him in his study.
‘Signorina Barton,’ he said, pushing back the gold-framed spectacles that rested on the end of his imposing nose, ‘I have been obliged to report to the police chief, Capitano Bischi, that a thief broke into your cottage and the resulting death of your mother. Alessandro also told them that he saw a man looking in through the downstairs window yesterday afternoon.’
‘A man?’ I frowned.
‘Victorine and I came to see you,’ said Alessandro. ‘You remember we’d promised to return your doll? Victorine was walking along the top of the harbour wall when I saw a man peering in through your parlour window.’
‘When was this?’ I said.
‘About half past three or four, perhaps. As I approached the cottage I thought he looked…’ Alessandro shrugged and turned up his palms. ‘He looked furtive. So I called out, “Are you looking for someone?”’
‘What did he say?’
‘That was the strange thing. He glanced at me and ran off. Great long legs, he had. And a white face.’
‘I doubt he’d have run away if he hadn’t been up to mischief,’ said the doctor.
‘I couldn’t run after him,’ said Alessandro. ‘Victorine was in my care. So I knocked on the door and spoke to your mother.’
I opened my mouth to say that she wasn’t my mother but the wound was still too raw to talk about that.
‘She said you’d gone to deliver a dress not five minutes before but you were expected back within the hour. So Victorine and I walked in that direction, hoping we might meet you and restore Peggy to you.’
‘You didn’t tell Signora Barton about the man, Alessandro?’ queried the doctor.
He shook his head. ‘He’d gone so I only said to her that I’d call back.’
The doctor raised one eyebrow. ‘It was so urgent to return the doll?’
Signor Fiorelli shrugged but I saw spots of pink flare on his high cheekbones. ‘We returned an hour later but the shutters were closed. I presumed Signora Barton was out.’
‘Her attacker must have been in the cottage by then,’ I said, my stomach churning. ‘It was almost dark when I arrived at half past five. It would have taken him some time to search the cottage and then to intimidate…’ I pressed my fingers to my mouth.
‘What is it?’ asked Alessandro.
‘When I knocked at the front door I saw the bedroom curtain move. As my mother didn’t come, I went into the alley behind the cottage to enter by the kitchen. By then it was dark and a man ran towards me out of the shadows. He nearly knocked me flying.’
‘You think your mother’s assailant ran out of the back of the cottage when he heard you at the front?’ said the doctor.
I nodded and swallowed. If I’d had my door key with me and had let myself in, would he have killed me too?
‘Signorina Barton,’ said the doctor, ‘you must speak to Capitano Bischi and tell him what you saw. There is time enough for that tomorrow. Als
o there is the matter of…’ He hesitated. ‘I took the liberty of informing the priest of your mother’s death and making arrangements for her burial. Do you have any family or friends I can contact for you?’
‘No,’ I said. The look of pity on the doctor’s face was almost my undoing. I breathed deeply and swallowed back my tears. ‘I have no friends or family,’ I said. ‘None at all.’
The Fiorelli family were extraordinarily kind to me over the following days. Signora Fiorelli insisted I stay with them and Cosima and ten-year-old Gina shared their bed with me. Although I’d often shared a bed with Ma, it was strange to be tumbled together with two friendly girls I barely knew, like a basketful of puppies. At night I listened to their giggles and whispered confidences and wished I had been blessed with sisters.
The Dressmaker’s Secret Page 6
