Obsession (11 page)

‘I would love to watch you!’ Harriet replied. ‘That is, if Nanny says it is permitted.’

The elderly nanny returned her smile. ‘I’ll be happy to have a few minutes’ peace and quiet before bedtime!’ she said. ‘I’ll just sit quiet here with the little one.’

Harriet looked down at the sleeping baby, thinking how he had been transformed from a pale, wizened, wailing scrap of humanity into this angelic-looking infant now cradled in the old woman’s arms. As she stood there, the children waiting patiently for her by the nursery door, the baby opened his large blue eyes and, so it seemed to Harriet, focussed upon her. Seeing the expression on Harriet’s face, Nanny said gently, ‘Do you want to hold him awhile, Miss Harriet? Seeing the way you used to be with your dolls, I don’t wonder you love this little one: you was born to be a mother. Miss Una – I mean, Her Ladyship – and I have wondered from time to time why you haven’t had babies before and …’

Seeing the look of distress on Harriet’s face, she quickly changed the subject, telling the waiting children not to make their parents’ drawing room untidy, and not to stay for more than half an hour as it would soon be the youngest two children’s bedtime.

The next half hour was one of unbelievable happiness for Harriet. Although not very practised, the older children performed the dance remarkably well, and very sweetly offered to teach her the steps next day if she wished. The younger two cuddled up to her, putting their arms round her shoulders and telling her how pretty she was, and vying with one another to think of a name for her baby. The eldest of the boys informed her that all of them had the letter ‘C’ to start their names. Nanny had told them he was a cousin, which made him a part of the family, so could she give her baby a boy’s name also beginning with ‘C’.

How, Harriet wondered, was she going to confess that the baby was not hers: not their cousin, and almost certainly must be going to an orphanage? Would she ever be able to find the courage to do so?
Must
she do so?

The children were still discussing possible names for the baby as they made their way up the wide staircase to the nursery quarters at the top of the house. They were now adding to Harriet’s discomfort by begging her to invite them all to the baby’s christening. They had never yet been to England, they informed her, and their papa had promised them they would go there soon. Mama, too, had often talked about her family in England.

When finally they had all bidden her goodnight and disappeared off to bed with the nursery maid, Harriet found herself alone in the nursery whilst Nanny was downstairs discussing supper with the cook. The baby was now sleeping peacefully in the outgrown wooden cradle one of the maids had brought down from the attic. Somehow, she told herself, she must tell Nanny and these friendly, happy children that the baby was not hers: that it was unwanted, and must go to an orphanage. They would not understand how his mother could bring herself to part with him; still less how she, Harriet, could now give him to an orphanage where he would have no father or mother of his own. Nanny, she reflected, would not only be incredulous, but deeply shocked by her deceit in allowing so much time to pass before admitting that the baby was not hers.

Why was she finding it so difficult to do so? she asked herself. She had known all along that she could not keep him however much she might want to do so. If she had not been so certain of Brook’s reaction, she might well have taken him with her when she returned home. Charles, the children had decided he could be called – after the former king of Ireland who had also been a king of England. They would shorten the name to Charlie. Not only did it begin with a ‘C’ as they wanted, but Charles was their grandfather’s Christian name: her father’s, too, Harriet thought, imagining how pleased he would have been, had he not died the previous year, to have a grandson named after him.

Harriet caught her breath as for the first time she found herself questioning whether there might be a way she could keep the baby with Brook’s approval. The mother was well born, his father not an aristocrat but from a respectable family, so his parentage was no stumbling block which an unknown orphan’s might have been.
Could she keep the
baby?
She and Brook had so longed for the children as yet denied them. Here in this house with Una’s large brood of delightful sons and daughters – the sound of their laughter, their affection, their bright little faces – had made her even more aware of her losses, her deprivation.

When later that evening, Nanny handed the baby to her to nurse after his feed, her heart contracted. So many times in the past had she longed excitedly to be able to hold her coming baby in her arms, only to suffer yet another miscarriage! Suppose she was never able to have a child, as the doctor had warned might be a possibility? Her own mother had died at her birth: could she have passed on to her a physical defect unknown to the medical profession? Why should she, Harriet, not be able to carry a baby full term when Una had six healthy children and, according to Nanny, was possibly carrying another? Could she bear to remain childless all her life? How would Brook feel if he knew there was never going to be a son?

It was only after she was in bed, the glow of the fire softly lighting her room, that Harriet allowed herself to consider whether this baby, thrust unasked upon her, could possibly compensate for the son he might never otherwise have: the son who, when he was older, Brook could teach to share all the manly pursuits he so enjoyed …

Try as she did, Harriet could not find freedom from such thoughts in sleep. Wide-eyed, she began to think of some of the kindly Sister Brigitte’s beliefs – not least that ‘God sometimes worked in mysterious ways’; that the way He chose to compensate the distressed was not always obvious. Was it conceivable, she now asked herself, that after her most recent miscarriage, God had decided to send this baby to her, not just to improve matters for the stricken mother but for her sake as well?

Realizing unhappily that this was simply wishful thinking, Harriet tried once more to make a solemn promise to herself that she would confess the truth to Nanny the following morning before Una returned and was allowed to believe the lie that the baby was hers. Another long hour passed before Harriet realized that no lies were necessary: that simply by saying nothing to anyone, Una, too, would assume the infant was hers just as Nanny and the children had done. Had she not miscarried at the convent, her own baby would be almost the same age as this one.
Nor need she tell
Brook the truth
. If she kept silent, she would be the only person to know. His real mother, the widowed Mrs Lawson, knew only her Christian name, Harriet, and that she was English. The very last thing the woman would want, with all her problems, would be to have her unwanted baby returned to her. She had said that if Harriet did not want him, he must be left in the care of an orphanage. Therefore,
there was no
need for her to lie to anyone, Brook least of all,
she told herself, her heart beating furiously.
She had only to remain
silent to be able to keep the baby she had been given: the
baby who she had started to love as if he had been her own. She need not ever tell another soul.

She was woken next morning by soft voices whispering, ‘Nanny said we mustn’t wake her …’

‘She must be asleep, her eyes are shut!’

‘I’m going to look. I think she’s in there …’

Little fingers gently lifted one of her eyelids, which caused her to open both eyes and smile.

The three youngest instantly clambered up on top of the eiderdown vying with one another to sit next to her. The eldest girl, Constance, was drawing back the curtains to reveal a brilliant, sunny morning.

‘Jack Frost came in the night,’ Cedric informed her. ‘Everything is white like snow. Will you stay with us for Christmas?’

‘Nanny said she only had to get up twice in the night to feed your baby,’ announced Caragh. ‘She said he was very good for such a young baby.’

‘As I’m the oldest,’ Constance said, ‘please may I be the one to show him to Mama?’

‘And I’m the oldest boy,’ announced red-haired Cedric, ‘so can I show him to Papa?’

These nephews and nieces of hers were delightful, Harriet thought, wishing that Una and her family did not live so far away in Ireland. Brook would enjoy their company, and by all accounts, Una’s husband, Patrick, was an even keener horseman than Brook himself.

Una’s maid helped her dress in one of Una’s pretty day gowns, after which she went downstairs. The postman had arrived, the butler answered her query, but there was no letter from Brook forwarded from Hunters Hall. She had half expected there might have been one waiting for her. He had promised to write as often as possible, but it was now sixteen weeks since she had received his unhappy letter informing her he must remain much longer in Jamaica than expected.

There being no further word from him, when Una and her husband returned home, at her sister’s request, Harriet agreed to stay on in Ireland much longer than she had originally intended. Not only did she have no wish to return to an empty house, even though she would have the baby with her but, here in Dublin, her much-loved childhood nanny was giving him the very best care he could receive.

Una, having heard Harriet’s account of Bessie’s disappearance, now promised she would ask her housekeeper to recommend a capable Irish girl to return home with Harriet when she left, to act as her maid and nanny to the baby. Irish girls were not only hard working, she assured her, but of cheerful character, loving to sing as they went about their work, and especially good with children, most of them having been raised in very large families where the eldest took care of the younger ones.

Una made a big fuss both of Harriet and the baby. Acting as if she were Harriet’s mother, she insisted that she had plenty of rest and good food. Her husband, Sir Patrick Morton, was a delightful man in his forties, devoted to his wife and always joking with his large brood of children. It was small wonder, Harriet thought, that the children were so happy and loving towards one another. She would miss them all dreadfully when the time came for her to leave.

Last thing at night, when she said her prayers, she thanked God for sending her the baby now called Charlie by all the family. He had begun very occasionally to smile and the children insisted that he was really listening when they sang songs to him or when Nanny brought him downstairs to listen to Una playing the pianoforte.

‘He is going to be musically inclined like our mother was,’ Una said, leaving Harriet momentarily guilty that she had deceived this loving sister who knew nothing of the baby’s musically talented father and was doing everything she could to make her visit a happy one. By now, she was totally enraptured with him – as much as if he had been her own child, Harriet thought.

Christmas was a particularly jolly time. Carols were sung and a fir tree brought indoors – a custom initiated by the late Prince Albert. It was lit with tiny white wax candles in little tin holders. Presents were made, wrapped, and then unwrapped on Christmas morning on their return from a jubilant service in the nearby beautifully decorated church. On Boxing Day, the local hunt gathered in the driveway, stirrup cup was passed up to the huntsmen, and Harriet stood with Una and the children cheering as the huntmaster set off down the drive with the hounds barking and jostling one another around him.

The following day the staff were given a whole day off after breakfast, having left an elaborate cold luncheon ready in the dining room for the family. Only Nanny opted to remain at home, partly on account of her age and rheumatism, but also because she did not want to leave the baby in Harriet’s inexperienced care. The most time she was prepared to concede was in the afternoons when Harriet took the baby from her, leaving the old woman free to go to her room for what she called ‘forty winks’, which usually took two hours. On such occasions, by the time Una and the children had taken it in turns to nurse the baby, Harriet had to plead to have him for a little time herself.

On New Year’s Eve there was a huge reception for their friends and neighbours. A banquet was prepared by Cook and her minions, and the outdoor staff decorated the house with yew and fir tree branches to which the children attached brightly coloured ribbons. Una lent Harriet one of her ball gowns and, Harriet’s health now fully restored, she looked so pretty that Sir Patrick remarked teasingly that if Brook did not come home soon, his wife would be stolen by one of her many admirers at the party.

Wonderful although this Christmas had been, however, it had only made Harriet long more deeply for Brook’s return, and as if in answer to her prayers, on the first day of the new year, she finally received a letter from him. He could not give her a date, he wrote, but he was now confident he would be able to leave Jamaica within a matter of weeks.

‘I must go home at once, Una, dearest,’ Harriet told her sister. ‘Much as I have loved every moment of my stay here with you and your lovely family, I must be at home to welcome Brook.’

Una put her arm around her and kissed her. ‘My darling sister,’ she said, ‘by the look on your face, I don’t doubt that you would be every bit as disappointed as Brook were you not home to greet him!’

Three weeks later, the children with Nanny all waving from the nursery windows, and Una and her husband waving from the front doorway, the flurries of snow covering the house and grounds, Harriet climbed into the family coach. Beside her sat her new maid, Maire, while the baby was in her arms. Both were well wrapped up against the cold, on the start of the journey home. Only two thoughts were in Harriet’s mind as they drove through the gates out on to the road – seeing Brook again, and how he might react when he saw little Charlie.

As the horses trotted smartly though the streets towards the port, she prayed the day would never come when he would doubt that the baby she had grown to love as her own was not after all his son.