Obsession (17 page)

Felicity was forced to consider that not only was Charlie a very pretty child, he was always cheerful, happy and positively adoring of his father, and Brook spent more and more time with him. Consumed with jealousy, Felicity determined to find a way to put a stop, by some means or another, to this increasingly idyllic marriage.

She had pinned her hopes of finding those means when she found the new maid who would act as a spy for her, but now, over eight months later, she was losing patience. She started to wonder whether there was some other way to achieve what she wanted. Somehow, she kept telling herself, Harriet must go, and make way for her in Brook’s arms and in his bed.

Blissfully unaware of the intentions of the woman she looked upon as her dearest friend, Harriet was enjoying the sunny afternoon in the garden, watching happily as Brook disappeared with Charlie towards the stables. She was also unaware of the significance of what was about to occur and the effect it would have upon her life as she laid down her sewing and went with Maire into the house to fetch a length of embroidery silk with which to edge the collar she was making. Maire disappeared up to the nursery and Harriet, having found what she wanted, was on her way back out into the garden when she was approached by Albert.

‘Excuse me, madam,’ he said, ‘but a lady has come to the house asking to see you. I told her I was not sure if you were at home and she said the matter she wished to discuss with you was of the greatest importance. Begging your pardon, madam, but I took the liberty of showing her into the morning room as she sounded quite respectable although she declined to give her name.’

Harriet sighed. It was probably one of the ladies from the village dame school committee to ask for her patronage, or her assistance with a forthcoming fund-raising function, she thought, but as Albert had reported the matter to be discussed was of singular importance, she followed him across the hall to the morning-room door.

When she went in, the visitor was standing by the window with her back to the room. She was staring out at the beautiful flowerbeds bordering the lawn and the huge copper beech tree glowing red in the sunlight. Hearing the door open, she swung round and lifted her clasped hands to her face as if in surprise. She appeared to be speechless.

Harriet took a step towards her. As she did so, she had the strangest feeling that the stranger was known to her. Her features looked oddly familiar but she could not recall her name, or where they might have met.

The woman held out her hand. ‘Mrs Edgerton, I hope you will pardon me for calling on you without invitation, but I knew if I did not do so today I might never have the courage again.’ She paused for the fraction of a second before adding to Harriet’s bewilderment. ‘Please, don’t be afraid. I am not here to make trouble for you. On the contrary, I have come to offer my help should you require it. My husband insisted I should do so. He said …’

She got no further before Harriet turned so white she looked about to faint. She stared unbelievingly at her visitor who she had suddenly recognized – it was the widow with all the children on the ferry to Dublin – Mrs Lawson,
the
woman who had
given Charlie to her.
Her
fear of what the
woman was about to say was so intense she felt physically sick. She even remembered her Christian name – she was Mrs Joan Lawson, Charlie’s real mother
,
who must have come to ask for her son back!

The woman took a step forward and put a hand gently on Harriet’s arm. ‘Please!’ she said. ‘Please do not look so distressed. There is no need. I am not here to cause any difficulties for you.’

With an effort, Harriet pulled herself together as yet another wave of fear gripped her. At any moment, Brook might return to the house with Charlie and demand to know who the stranger was and why she was here.

‘We cannot talk here,’ she said quickly. ‘Will you be so good as to accompany me to the conservatory. It is the one room in the house where we are unlikely to be overheard and …’

‘Do not be concerned, Mrs Edgerton. I do assure you I am not here to cause any problems for you; rather, I am here to solve a problem for myself.’

Too worried about the possible appearance of Brook and Charlie to register what her visitor was saying, Harriet led her quickly through the hall and out into the conservatory. She pointed to one of the cushioned basket chairs and, seating herself opposite, said, ‘Do sit down, Mrs Lawson,’ adding as she did so, ‘I cannot believe that I am talking to you of all people in the world. When we last met I did not give you my name, nor did I give you my address, so how did you find me
?
That day …’ her voice faltered for a moment ‘… that day when you left your baby with me . . . . I never expected to see you again …’ Her voice broke. ‘I cannot bear it if you have come to take Charlie from me. I will not let you do so! He is …’

‘Please, Mrs Edgerton,’ the woman interrupted again, ‘there is no need for you to distress yourself. I have not come to take him from you. Will you permit me to explain how and why I am here?’

Still fearful as well as incredulous, Harriet nodded. She was finding it difficult to reconcile this respectably attired gentlewoman, looking in excellent health, with the thin, exhausted, bedraggled woman who she had befriended on the ferry; the widow with so many children and who had been unable to feed her new-born baby, to whom she herself had given money for food and milk.

As if mirroring her thoughts, the woman said, ‘That day we met, Mrs Edgerton, you looked so ill, so lonely! You told me how the nuns had befriended you, nursed you through your miscarriage; how they had provided you with clothes and the means for you to reach your sister in Dublin, but you made no mention of this – this beautiful home you have and, if I may say so, your affluence. However, it was clear to me that you loved children, that you were a natural mother, and that having recently lost your own baby, you might find comfort with the one I could not keep.’

She paused briefly to draw a photograph from her small bag, and before handing it to Harriet, continued, ‘After I had abandoned you in the waiting room, the good Lord had mercy on me, my father allowed me to return home on the condition I had my children christened in the Catholic faith. In due course, I came to know our next-door neighbour, a Mr Peter Bates, a widower with two young children. His wife had died in childbirth and Mr Bates asked me to marry him a year later.’

She then held out the photograph for Harriet to see. ‘My husband is fifteen years older than I am,’ she continued yet again, ‘but he is a very kind, good Catholic man who found it in his heart to forgive me when I confessed I had left my fifth child with a stranger. However, he insisted that I should make such amends as was possible: that I must try and discover who you were … find you, and find out whether you kept my baby or placed him in an orphanage.’

Momentarily, her expression became one of anxiety. ‘He made a further demand – that I should relieve you of the baby if all was not well with you or the child. He insisted I discover which orphanage you placed him in if you had not kept him, and that I take him to live with us.’

She looked anxiously at Harriet as if for understanding as she said, ‘I used to cry out in my dreams: confess that I had committed so great a sin in the eyes of God that He might never forgive me. Only this way, he maintained, could I right the wrong I did when I gave my child away.’

She finally stopped talking and, seeing that Harriet looked on the point of tears, she continued quickly, ‘You will not believe how difficult it was for me to find you. You had told me only your Christian name, Harriet, and that you were visiting your sister who lived in Ballsbridge Street. There were several large houses in that street and I enquired in every one of them if the lady of the house had a sister called “Harriet”.’

She gave a brief smile as she said, ‘I was losing all hope when, at the very last house, the butler who opened the door to me asked me did I mean Mrs Brook Edgerton whose Christian name was Harriet. I thought it almost certain this was you and I asked to see you, but he told me you did not live there and had long since returned to your own home in England. He then, at my request, gave me your address so that I might write to you.’

‘I had no letter!’ Harriet said huskily.

‘Because I did not write. My husband said I must call and see you in person, or else you might reply to a letter saying you did not wish to see me and I would not then know whether you had kept the baby or if he was in an orphanage.’

With great difficulty, Harriet forced herself to speak. ‘Are you trying to tell me, Mrs Bates, that now you are happily married you are able to take care of your child? That you want me to give him back to you?’ Her voice broke and immediately the woman rose to her feet and went to put an arm round Harriet’s shoulders. ‘Since meeting you today, hearing you speak, seeing the look in your eyes when you first recognized me, I do not need to be told you have kept the baby, that you love him very much and …’ she smiled, ‘… might even fight to keep him had I asked for his return. Please believe me!
You have no need to be afraid.
’

‘My husband!’ Harriet whispered. ‘He believes Charlie is his son. I, too, am guilty of sinning. I lied to him, told him I had had the baby when I was in the convent after being attacked, not that I had had yet another miscarriage. He loves Charlie … dotes upon him, as does his grandfather, his nanny, the staff and I …’ She broke off, too emotional to continue.

‘Then please, dear Mrs Edgerton, forget I ever came to see you. Your mind, like mine, can now be at peace. I want nothing from you, not even to see for myself if he is well and happy. I know that he must be so.’ She paused and, in a quieter tone, said, ‘I do have one request – a request my husband thought I should make lest in future I started worrying about my … my cruelty in giving my baby away. That is … could you … would you consider writing to me once a year? To let me know that all is well with him and all your family? I know it is a great deal to ask and you must refuse if you think it so …’

Such was Harriet’s huge feeling of relief that she quickly interrupted, saying that of course she would write. She needed only to know Mrs Bates’ address. And that if Mrs Bates wished, she would send a photograph of Charlie …

At that point, it was her visitor’s turn to interrupt. ‘I know you must think me cruel and uncaring to have left my baby to someone almost a stranger,’ she said, ‘but such were my dire circumstances when we met, I could not keep him. I loved all my other children dearly, but … well, I could not have left him with you that day had I felt any love for him. Perhaps now, if I saw any likeness to my first husband, I might have some maternal feeling, but I do not wish for such a thing. My four children are thriving and give me great joy, and I also care for my husband’s two motherless children. No, I want nothing more than a letter every year – and I confess that this is at my husband’s request rather than my own.’

Harriet drew a long, trembling sigh of relief. She reached forward, took the other woman’s hands in both of hers and reassured her again. ‘
Of course
I will write, every year. You have my word … on his birthday, the date of which I could only guess. I had to invent one when my sister took me to register his birth in Dublin.’

‘As you pretended, so did I,’ Mrs Bates admitted. ‘Before my marriage to Peter, I pretended I had never had that baby. I only confessed my guilt to my husband later. I would never have come here but for his persuasion. He is a good man – a very staunch Catholic, and when I cried out in my dreams he insisted I should search for you and come here today. I can now reassure myself a hundred times over, and he can, too, knowing that, after all, I did the right thing in giving my child to you. It is very clear to me how much you and, you tell me, your husband both love him, so from now on I shall only remember him as yours.’

Harriet’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to express her gratitude, and then said, ‘May I ask where you left your carriage, Mrs Bates? I did not see it by the front door.’

Mrs Bates smiled. ‘I thought it better to have my groom to drive me to the tradesman’s entrance,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t sure, you see, if my presence would be an embarrassment to you – as I now see that it would have been so.’

She walked beside Harriet to the conservatory door, saying, ‘I hope the child continues to be a joy to you both and never, ever a disgrace. Now I shall return by way of the garden door through which I came – much to your footman’s surprise! I assure you that I do not wish you to accompany me to my coach. One of the servants can show me the way.’

When her visitor had departed, Harriet remained where she was for several minutes, thinking how, after her initial shock, a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She need never fear that one day Charlie might be taken from her, or that Brook might somehow discover the truth. She had no doubt whatever that Mrs Bates meant every word she had said, had meant the promise she had made to never attempt to see her or Charlie in the future. The kindly woman had gone to great lengths to find her, and whilst her visit may have given herself relief, it had given Harriet even more so.

As she returned to the garden Brook came across the lawn towards her, Charlie riding on his shoulders. Brook inclined his head and kissed her lightly on the forehead, saying, ‘When Charlie and I did not see you in your seat by the beech tree, we wondered where you had disappeared to. Did you have a caller? I thought I heard a carriage disappear down the drive.’

Harriet steadied her voice. ‘Yes, it was a lady I met on the ferry on which we both travelled to Ireland,’ she said. ‘She called because she was passing this way but I am unlikely to see her again. She lives in Ireland, you see, and is returning there.’ Brook was barely listening. He lifted Charlie down on to the lawn where he scampered off to see the goldfish in the ornamental lake. Tucking his arm through hers, Brook’s face glowed with excitement as they walked towards the house.

‘I have decided to buy Charlie a Shetland pony!’ he told her. ‘Do you know, dearest, he let me lift him on to Shamrock’s back and protested quite strongly when I went to lift him off. I think if I hadn’t promised to take him for a ride with me tomorrow when I am in the saddle he would have howled his eyes out! I know he’s only young, Harriet, but it will be good for him to get accustomed to riding, and I can tell him the pony will be his very own – far better than that rocking horse in the nursery he loves so much!’