A Mother's Courage (39 page)

Clutching her reticule with the letter to her
mother tucked away inside it, Eloise went to
fetch Maria and they set off for the main post
office in Holborn. Maria wanted to stop at a
sweet shop on the way back, and she spent a long
time choosing what she would buy with the
two pence her father had given her. Eloise stood
by patiently waiting for the all-important
decisions to be made. Was it going to be Indian
toffee or peppermint creams? Sticky boiled
sweets or a penny bar of chocolate? Sugary
fondants or liquorice sticks? When Maria had
eventually made her choice, the rain had started
again in earnest, and by the time they reached
the governor's house they were both soaked to
the skin. Jessie took Maria up to her room
straight away to change into dry clothes but
Eloise was left shivering in the hallway. Her
teeth were chattering and she was chilled to the
marrow, but her only change of clothes was in
the hospital laundry. She made her way to the
kitchen intending to ask Mrs Dean for a cup of
tea, or some hot chocolate, but when she saw the
state Eloise was in Mrs Dean threw up her hands
in horror. 'You'll need more than a cup of tea, my
duck. You must get out of them wet things before
you catch your death of cold. Come with me.'

Eloise followed her up the back stairs to the
main part of the house and on again up two more
flights to an attic room at the very top of the
building. At first she thought it was Cook's own
room, but on entering she discovered that it was
a small room under the eaves where unused
items were stored or simply abandoned. Mrs
Dean went to a large steamer trunk and lifted the
lid. She pulled out one garment after another,
each one carefully wrapped in tissue paper.
'These belonged to Miss Rosamund,' she
explained, holding up a pink silk afternoon
gown. She shook her head, laying it down carefully.
'That's too fussy.' She took out another and
shook out the folds.

Eloise held her breath. The style might be six
years out of date, but the dove-grey silk was as
good as new. 'I can't wear that, Mrs Dean. Please
put it away.'

'Don't talk soft, girl. Do you want to die of lung
fever?' Mrs Dean thrust the gown into her hands.
'Put it on and I'll take your wet things and dry
them by the kitchen range. No one will see you in
it, and the master won't be back until late this
evening. He's gone off somewhere on business.'

Minutes later, Eloise made her way slowly
downstairs to the drawing room where she could
hear Eloise playing the pianoforte. On the first
floor landing, she caught sight of her reflection in
a long mirror and she gasped in surprise. The silk
fell in shimmering folds to the floor and the fit
was so perfect that it might have been made for
her. The elegant gown emphasised her tiny waist
and the gentle swell of her breasts was revealed
by an embarrassingly low décolletage, totally
unsuitable for afternoon wear, and certainly not
the sort of gown to be worn by a servant. She
tossed her head, and her damp hair fell loosely
about her shoulders in a dark mantle. She felt
once again like the old Eloise, the pretty, carefree
girl who had captured the heart of a dashing
seafarer. She smiled as she negotiated the last
flight of stairs and she burst into the drawing
room executing a twirl for Maria, but she
stopped short at the sight of Barton Caine, who
was standing by the piano staring at her with a
look of astonishment on his face which rapidly
turned to one of anger. 'What in heaven's name
do you think you're playing at?' He strode across
the floor to seize her by the shoulders and his
fingers pressed into her soft flesh. 'Is this some
sick joke, Ellen?'

Maria crashed her hands down on the piano
keys. 'Stop it, Papa. You mustn't be cross with
Ellen.'

'Be quiet, Maria,' Caine snapped. 'This is
between Miss Monk and me. Go to your room.'

'Don't shout at her,' Eloise said in a low voice.
'This has nothing to do with Maria. It was my
mistake.' Biting back tears of humiliation, she
turned to go but Caine sidestepped her, barring
her exit.

'You can't just walk away this time. I want an
explanation. Why are you wearing my wife's
gown?'

Maria slammed down the lid of the pianoforte.
'You're not being fair, Papa. We got caught in the
rain and Jessie made me change my clothes too.'

There was no escape and Eloise raised her eyes
to his face. The cold look she received chilled her
to the marrow but it also made her angry. 'I am
sorry if I've offended you, sir. It was not intentional.
I thought you would not return home
until late this evening.'

'I had to come back to collect some papers, but
that does not give you leave to masquerade in a
dead woman's clothes.' Caine's voice was controlled
but Eloise could see a pulse throbbing at
his temple, and white lines were etched from his
aquiline nose to the corners of his mouth.

She drew herself up to her full height. 'Don't
use that tone of voice with me, Mr Caine. I didn't
set out to masquerade, as you crudely put it. Mrs
Dean took my clothes to the kitchen to dry, and
there was nothing else for me to wear.'

'You could have gone back to the hospital to
change,' Caine said stiffly.

'My only change of clothes is in the laundry,
sir.'

'Nevertheless, you should not have taken
Maria out on a day like this. It was foolish in the
extreme.'

Maria tugged on his hand. 'We had to go out to
post a letter to Ellen's mama and papa in Africa.
They live there, you know.'

Caine stared down at his daughter and
frowned. 'Go and ask Mrs Dean if Ellen's clothes
are dry enough to wear.'

'Oh, Papa, I want to stay and make sure you
don't bully poor Ellen.'

A wry smile curved his lips and Caine lifted
Maria bodily out of the door. 'I am not a bully,
Maria, and you have too much to say for
yourself. Now do as I say, and you may ask Mrs
Dean to give you a cup of milk and some cake.'

'Oh, all right.' Maria tossed her curls and
stomped off towards the back stairs.

Caine closed the door. He stared thoughtfully
at Eloise and she glared back at him. 'I have said
I am sorry. It was a silly thing to do and I
apologise for any hurt I have caused.'

'You told me that you had no family. How
many other lies have you told me, Ellen Monk?'

'I have no family in England that is true. My
father is a missionary in Africa.'

'So why didn't you tell me that in the first
place?'

'Would it have made any difference?'

'Do you always answer a question with a
question?'

Eloise shook her head. 'Not always. May I go
now, sir?'

'No, not yet.' Caine walked slowly to a side
table and reached for the brandy decanter. 'You
look chilled to the bone.'

Eloise watched as he poured brandy into a
glass and controlled her temper with difficulty.
'If that is for me, I don't want it.'

'You may not, but I do.' Caine poured a
measure for himself and tossed it down in one
gulp. 'Don't look at me like that, Ellen.'

'Like what, sir?'

'Questions, questions and never any answers.'
He made a vague gesture towards a wingback
chair by the hearth. 'Come and sit by the fire. My
mother used to tell me that cold feet would lead
to a chill or worse.'

It seemed useless to argue with him in this
mood and Eloise went to sit by the fire. The full
skirts of the borrowed gown billowed out
around her like the petals of a flower. It had
been so good to have pure silk next to her skin,
and to feel like a pretty young woman again,
but now it was all spoilt and she wished wholeheartedly
that she had refused Mrs Dean's well intentioned
offer of help. She could think of
nothing to say that would not make matters
worse and the silence between them was as taut
as the rope in a tug of war. She could not look at
him, but she sensed that he was staring at her
and when she could stand it no longer, she
raised her eyes to his face. 'I am truly sorry that
I have upset you by wearing your wife's gown.
I can see that you must have loved her very
much.'

'Loved her? You have no idea what my marriage
was like.' Caine laughed, but there was no
mirth in the sound. 'Yes, I did love her in the
beginning. At least, it's true to say that I was
infatuated with her and blinded by her beauty.'

The bitter tone in his voice shocked Eloise to
the core and she stared at him in disbelief. 'I
don't understand you, sir.'

'No, I don't suppose you do. Everyone thought
we were the ideal couple, living the perfect life
together. Rosamund was a consummate actress
and she played her part well.'

'I don't think you should be telling me these
things. Perhaps I should go,' Eloise murmured,
rising to her feet.

'No, please stay.' Caine laid his hand on her
shoulder and immediately snatched it away as if
the touch of her flesh had burnt his fingers. 'I
want you to stay, Ellen. I can't go on like this, and
I must set things straight between us.'

'If it's about the gown, sir . . .'

'It's not about the bloody gown. I couldn't care
less if you tear it into tatters and throw it on the
fire. As a matter of fact I had no idea that
Rosamund's clothes were still here. I gave orders
for them to be disposed of shortly after her death,
which really was a tragedy. Don't misunderstand
me, I am truly sorry that she died giving
birth to another man's child, but when I discovered
how she had deceived me, our life
together was over almost before it had begun.'

It was a shocking admission and Eloise felt her
knees give way beneath her. She sank back onto
the chair. 'Are you sure you want to tell me this,
sir?'

Caine ran his fingers through his dark hair and
a lock fell across his forehead, making him suddenly
seem young and vulnerable. Eloise had to
crush the impulse to throw her arms around him
and hold him to her, comforting him in his
anguish as she might comfort Joss. She sat quite
still, clenching her hands in her lap as she witnessed
his pain.

'I've revealed too much of my past to stop now.
Bear with me, Ellen. I don't find it easy to talk
about my disastrous marriage.'

'Then please don't, sir. Maybe it is better left
where it belongs, in the past.'

'No, I have gone too far and I want you to
know the truth.' Caine paced the floor, clasping
his hands behind his back and staring down at
the polished floorboards. 'I was just twenty-two
when I met Rosamund Swan at a charity ball in
the City. She was seventeen and the prettiest girl
I had ever encountered, although until then my
knowledge of women was limited to my mother
and sisters. My father, coincidentally, was a
country parson and poor as the proverbial
church mouse. I was sent away to be educated at
a church boarding school at the age of eight.
Then I went on to theological college in
Salisbury, destined, so I thought, to follow in my
father's footsteps and enter the church. Meeting
Rosamund changed everything. I was dazzled
by her wit and charm and I couldn't understand
why she chose me out of her many suitors, or
why her father, who was a wealthy man,
favoured the suit of a penniless young graduate
who was about to take holy orders. In fact he
encouraged me to vie for his daughter's hand,
and he offered me a position in his counting
house at a very generous salary, which would
enable us to marry straight away. I was young
and green and did not see through the subterfuge.
It was only on our honeymoon in Paris that
I discovered my bride was pregnant by another
man.' He paused, facing Eloise with a wry twist
of his lips. 'Unwittingly I had made an honest
woman of her. The father of her unborn child
turned out to be a married man with whom she
had been having an affair for several months. He
was not her first lover and Mr Swan, who was
apparently already in trouble financially, was
eager to see his only daughter respectably
married. Shortly after the wedding he was
declared bankrupt and fled the country. I was
then jobless and penniless, but a friend of my
father's put me forward as assistant to the then
governor of the Foundling Hospital, and I was
glad to accept. When he retired, I was promoted
to my present position. The rest you know.'

Eloise unclenched her hands and small
crescent-shaped cuts on her palms oozed tiny
spots of blood where she had dug her fingernails
into her flesh as she listened to Caine's tortured
admission of his unhappy past. She stared
mutely at the wounds but she had felt no pain
and she felt none now. The agony was in her
heart, which was wrung with pity for the man
she realised she had come to love with a passion
that was both wonderful and alarming. This was
not supposed to happen. She thought she had
hardened her heart to all men, but somehow
Barton Caine, whom she had thought to be cold,
austere and arrogant, had changed her world
forever. She met his eyes and immediately
lowered her own, unable to bear the anguish she
saw in their troubled blue depths.

'You have nothing to say,' Caine said bitterly.
'I can't say I blame you. It is a shocking tale and
you must think poorly of me for my part in it.'

'No!' Eloise exclaimed vehemently. 'I have
never thought badly of you, sir. I could not.'

'I don't deserve your good opinion, Ellen. I've
been hard on you, I know, but my unfairness was
born of frustration. You have not been honest
with me, and I hate lies. I cannot abide deception
of any sort.'

This made Eloise look up at him and she raised
her chin with a defiant toss of her head. 'I had
good reason for not telling the truth. You, it
seems, acted out of pride.'

'You're right, of course. You saw through me
from the start and I knew it,' Caine said slowly,
fixing her with a penetrating gaze that seemed to
bore into her soul. 'You must be aware that I
have a deep regard for you, Ellen. When I first
saw you in Miss Marchant's office, looking so
young and vulnerable, so pale and frightened, I
knew that you were not what you claimed to be.
I have tried to help you, and yet you have fought
me all the way, preventing me from getting to
know the real Ellen Monk, if that really is your
name.'

Eloise hesitated. She was still trying to digest
the truth about his marriage to Rosamund. She
longed to tell him everything, but she was not
certain how far she could trust him. Caine had
been destined for the church, just like her father.
If he knew to what depths she had sunk during
the past agonising months he would not think so
highly of her now. If he knew how she had
suffered at the hands of Ephraim Hubble and
that she had been on the brink of selling her body
in order to support her children, and then had
abandoned them on the steps of his own
institution, his good opinion of her would be lost
forever. Her deception was so great that he
might never be able to forgive her. The intensity
of his gaze seemed to strip her of everything
except the need to admit the truth, or at least
part of it. She licked her dry lips. 'My name is
Eloise Cribb. My father is the Reverend Jacob
Monkham, and as I've already told you, he is a
missionary serving in Africa. I am a widow; that
part is true also.'

'And what are you running away from,
Eloise?'

'When my parents left for Africa I was sent to
my late husband's family in Yorkshire. It was not
what I wanted and I was miserable there, so I
returned to London, hoping to find gainful
employment, but it was not as easy as I had
thought it would be. You saw me at my lowest
ebb, and I am very grateful to you for giving me
the opportunity to care for Maria.'

'Grateful?' Caine almost spat the word, and he
knelt before her, taking her hands in his. 'I don't
want gratitude, Eloise. Can't you understand
that I have fallen in love with you? I have battled
against it, but I cannot help my feelings.'

It would have been so easy to bridge the
infinitesimal gap between them and to slide her
arms around his neck so that their lips met in a
kiss, and Eloise almost gave way to temptation.
Every sinew in her body, every emotion
screamed out at her to give him what he desired,
but a small voice in her head warned her that this
man had suffered much in the past at the hands
of a deceitful woman. She wanted to tell him
about Joss and Beth, but somehow she could not
bring herself to trust him quite that far. Her
children were her whole life. He had already
been burdened with a daughter who was not his
own flesh and blood, and he might look at her
with quite different eyes if she admitted her
deception. She laid her finger gently on his lips.
'Please don't, sir. You do not know me, really
you do not.'

Caine recoiled as if she had slapped his face,
and he rose to his feet. ' I'm sorry, Ellen. I mean,
Eloise. I should not have spoken so soon after
revealing the sordid details of my personal life. It
was tactless and clumsy of me. Please forget
what I just said.'

Eloise stood up, brushing the creases out of the
borrowed gown with shaking hands. 'Please, Mr
Caine . . .'

A flicker of amusement made his eyes twinkle
and his lips twisted into a rueful smile. 'I think
we have crossed the bridge of formality, Eloise.
At least in private I think you could call me
Barton. It would make me feel less like a middle aged
roue and more like a valued friend.'

His smile was infectious and Eloise found
herself responding even if her heart was aching.
'It might be better if you found someone else to
look after Maria.'