Obsession (23 page)

When Ellen nodded, it was with the greatest difficulty that Felicity was able to control her excitement. Throughout the rest of the evening her thoughts alternated between moments of hope that her patience was at last being rewarded, and doubt as to whether Ellen had read the letter correctly. Harriet had been thanking a Mrs Bates for giving her her baby
.
Even if Brook were to forgive Harriet for such a mammoth deception, he would know that there was not, after all, a likelihood that she would eventually give birth to his child. His deep attachment to Charlie proved how important it was for him to have a son.

That evening, sitting by the fire in the drawing room with Harriet, Brook and her brother, Felicity attempted to join in the discussion about the coming Christmas festivities, but all she could think about was the letter and, despite what she had decided earlier, the need to read its contents herself so she could be certain that the possibility really did exist for her to achieve her heart’s desire. No, not just her heart, Felicity thought unashamedly, but her body’s desire. She could no longer look at Brook for more than the briefest time, lest he read the desperate longing in her eyes. All too easily, her hands would tremble and her breath catch in her throat when he carried out such courtesies as lifting her down from the saddle of her horse or helping her up into her coach. She covered such moments of ungovernable desire with a loud laugh or meaningless chatter, but being close to Brook now was both a heaven and hell.

Harriet looked anxiously at her friend. ‘Are you not feeling very well, dearest?’ she asked solicitously. ‘I’m quite worried about you. It is unlike you to be so quiet.’

‘I was feeling a little faint,’ Felicity improvised quickly, ‘but I am feeling quite better now.’

Somehow, she thought, she must contain her euphoria until the following morning, by which time Ellen would have shown Brook the letter that she was praying would bring about Harriet’s downfall.

T
he following morning, as soon as Ellen was certain that Harriet had gone upstairs to the nursery, she went quickly down to Brook’s study and knocked on the door. When he called to her to go in, she did so, closing the door behind her. Despite her determination to do what she must and show him the letter, she could not stop the trembling of her hands as she took it from her apron pocket. He regarded her with surprise and not a little irritation.

‘Whatever it is, Ellen, you should not be bothering me. It is to your mistress you should take your concerns.’

‘I thought it best to bring you this, sir!’ she said quietly. ‘It was on madam’s dressing-room floor and …’ She paused as she adopted what she hoped was a guilty expression before continuing, ‘I know it was very wrong of me, sir, to read another person’s letter, but I wasn’t sure when I found it if it was to be thrown away. Madam had gone down to the kitchen to see about Doris so I thought I’d best read it and …’

‘For goodness’ sake, Ellen, stop pettifogging around and give the wretched thing to me,’ Brook said impatiently. ‘I happen to be extremely busy this morning.’ He held out his hand and took the sheet of note paper from her.

Watching his reaction as he read it, Ellen saw his face go very white and then a dull red. His hands were trembling and he clasped them quickly together, saying violently, ‘You had no right whatever to read this,
no right whatever
,’ he repeated. ‘Since you have done so and are aware of its contents, I am warning you that if you relate one single word of it to another human being, I will personally see to it that you never, ever receive employment again. Do you understand?’

Ellen nodded and, hoping that her expression looked suitably frightened, she apologised again and left the room.

The question crossed Brook’s mind fleetingly: why had the maid brought the letter to him rather than to Harriet? But the question seemed irrelevant beside the enormity of its implications.

Brook lent forward, his elbows resting on his desk, his eyes closed, his hands either side of his face. Ridiculous though he knew it to be, he hoped that when he opened them the sheet of paper might no longer lie on his blotter, ‘
the little boy you gave me
’. The words jumped off the page as if they had been written in capital letters.

Much as he now tried to find a different meaning to the unbearable, incriminating truth – that Charlie, the little boy he loved so dearly, so proudly,
was not his son
, he was unable to do so.

Other heart-breaking thoughts now occurred to him one upon the other – Charlie’s unexpected birth whilst he had been in Jamaica; Harriet’s withholding the news from him until he returned home; her reluctance to tell him the name of the convent where the baby had been born when he wished to send them a grateful donation. Further facts came like knives into his mind, foremost of which was Charlie’s unusual musical talent. This thought was followed by the memory of a discussion he and Harriet had had. It had been about her ignorance of the fact that she was already so far advanced in her pregnancy when she’d departed to Ireland.

It was then that he was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that his beloved wife, Harriet, had lied to him … not a small fib but a terrible, unforgivable lie: one that would have its consequences all the rest of their lives …
Charlie was not his son
.

For one ghastly minute, Brook feared that his horror was about to give way to tears. Never again could he love the two people who had been nearest and dearest to him. How could he ever trust Harriet again? How could he hold Charlie – someone else’s child – feeling so proud and happy to have produced such a delightful, intelligent offspring?

Such unhappy reflections were followed by a useless desire to convince himself that this past unbearable half hour had never taken place. That maid of Harriet’s – the one Felicity had found for her but who Harriet had never really liked: could she have written the letter hoping to make trouble between him and his wife? What reason could she possibly have to do such a thing? Feverishly, he picked up the sheet of notepaper and saw at once that the handwriting was Harriet’s. He started to read it again … ‘
the little boy you gave me
’
…
Unable to read further, he screwed the paper into a ball and threw it furiously away from him.

There was a knock on the door and Albert the footman opened it to announce Felicity’s arrival. Brook would have refused to be interrupted but before he could do so she pushed past the footman and came towards the desk, smiling.

‘Do forgive me for arriving so early, Brook,’ she said. ‘I shall not be staying, but I cannot find Harriet and I am a little worried. When I returned home, I discovered that my necklace was missing.’ She touched the brooch at her throat. ‘It is rather valuable – a present from the Tsar Nicholas to my husband and it matched with this brooch and earrings. I knew the clasp was a little weak, but the colour went particularly well with my dress, so …’

She became aware that Brook was not really listening to what she was saying but pretended not to notice as she continued: ‘I think it must have fallen off when I went to Harriet’s dressing room to put on my cloak and hat when I was leaving. I saw Ellen in the hall just now but she hadn’t found it. She couldn’t tell me where I might find Harriet so I thought I would pop my head round the door and ask you if, by some miracle, she had found my necklace and given it to you for safe-keeping.’

She broke off, and leaning towards Brook said in a different tone of voice, ‘Oh, dear, Brook, you are looking quite ill! I should not be bothering you like this. Can I get you something? Or send your footman to fetch Harriet …’

‘No!’ Brook’s voice was like a gun shot. ‘Forgive me!’ he said more quietly as he struggled to regain control of himself. ‘It was most remiss of me to shout at you like that. It’s just … well, just that I have had a rather nasty shock … a … a letter … news which has shaken me up a bit … I am sorry Felicity, I’m afraid I do not have your necklace.’

Felicity took a step forward, her face a mask of concern. ‘Please don’t trouble yourself about it, Brook!’ she said. ‘I feel awful coming in here when you have had bad news. Had I known, I would not have worried you with my trifling concern. Is there anything I can do? It worries me greatly to see you so distressed, my very dear friend.’

Brook drew a deep breath. He knew Felicity meant well, but she was one of the very last people who he would want to know of Harriet’s treachery. Even thinking about the lies Harriet had told everyone – the servants, his father, their friends, and worst of all himself, made him feel sick. He stood up and held out his hand in appeal.

‘I’d be most obliged, Felicity, my dear, if you would say nothing of this to my wife. I need some time to … to consider the … the problem which has just arisen before … before I decide upon the best way to … to deal with it.’

Felicity felt justified in reaching out to take his hand, which she clasped in hers. She held it as long as she dared, saying in a kindly tone, ‘I promise not to say a word to any other person.’ Her voice was soft and reassuring. ‘I shall go home now, but if there is anything … anything at all you think I could do to help, I want you to know that you can call on me to do it.’

She released his hand and touched his cheek, saying, ‘You and Harriet have become very dear to me and little Charlie, too, especially as I have no children of my own. It must be such a comfort to you, Brook, knowing that whatever disaster may befall, you will always have your dear little son and dearest Harriet to console you.’

Having rubbed salt into the wound she had inflicted on Brook, she decided to leave him and await with all the patience she could muster the outcome of the shattering information he had just received: information which, she was now convinced, would break the bond between husband and wife.

Deciding that she would speak to Ellen on another occasion, she now rode home with her groom, her hope soaring that it would not now be long before Brook turned to her for the comfort he would surely need.

Fletcher was in the hall as Harriet came downstairs from the nursery.

‘How is Master Charlie this morning, madam?’ he asked. ‘When I showed the doctor out, he only said, “As well as can be expected!” I think he was in somewhat of a hurry!’

Harriet smiled. ‘Doctor Tremlett is always in a hurry, Fletcher. He is a most conscientious practitioner and likes to see all his patients every day. Master Charlie, I am very pleased to tell you, is over the worst and now it is just a matter of getting him back on his feet again. Now, I must speak to the master. Is he in his study?’

Fletcher shook his head. ‘He went out a half an hour ago, madam. He didn’t say where he was going.’

‘That’s not like him, Fletcher! Did he say when he would be back?’

Fletcher shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, madam. I had the impression it was a matter of some urgency. Mrs Goodall was here a short while ago – I understood she had lost a necklace and had called to see if one of the servants had found it after she left last evening. The master went out not long after Mrs Goodall left, so perhaps his presence was required at Melton Court.’

‘Thank you, Fletcher! Please let me know when he returns,’ Harriet said. ‘I shall now be in the morning room if I am wanted.’

She made her way there and settled herself beside the cheerful warmth of the fire to complete the list she had begun of all the tasks that needed to be fulfilled in time for the dinner party planned to follow Brook’s Boxing Day shoot. Not only would the shooters and their wives be there, but also Sir Walter and a dozen or more neighbouring landowners to whom they owed hospitality.

She had yet to engage a small orchestra from Leicester to play music for dancing after the dinner, and as an amusing novelty she was hiring a conjurer from London recommended to her by Felicity. Paul was one of the guns and Felicity was arriving later with four house guests who she and Brook had yet to meet.

It was not a very large party, there being no more than sixty guests invited, but Harriet intended it to have a Christmas theme both decoratively and in choices of food. It should, of course, have been organized weeks ago when the invitations first went out, but Charlie’s illness had brought all such matters to a halt, and until the doctor’s visit this morning she had even suspected it might have to be cancelled. How could there be jollity if her poor, sick little boy lay at death’s door?

The morning passed quickly and, occupied as she was, Brook’s unexplained departure did not worry her unduly. When he did not return in time for luncheon, she began to feel anxious. Surely, she told herself, if he had gone over to Felicity’s house to help with a problem there, he would have sent word back to say if he was staying for luncheon?

It was not unusual for Brook to go to Melton Court without her when Paul Denning was on one of his visits to his sister. Brook was now quite heavily involved financially in the Dennings’ railway business affairs, and was himself immensely interested in the plans to extend the existing railway line further west. Nevertheless, it was unlike Brook not to advise her of a change of plan.

Harriet ate her lunch alone. It was five o’clock and darkness had fallen when Brook finally strode into the drawing room. He was followed by Fletcher, who removed the hat and cape he was still wearing. The fire was blazing warmly, and without approaching Harriet, Brook went to stand in front of it where he waited without speaking until Fletcher left the room.

Harriet was about to rise to go to him, but he raised his hand, saying, ‘No, stay where you are. I have to talk to you.’

Harriet regarded him anxiously. ‘What has happened, Brook?’ she asked fearfully. ‘I have been so worried. I kept thinking of all the awful things which might have sent you out of the house this morning without even stopping to say goodbye to me.’ She made once more as she was going to rise, but again Brook held up his hand to stop her.

‘I left without saying goodbye to you, Harriet,’ he said in a cold, hard voice, ‘because quite simply I couldn’t bear to see you. Had this house not happened to be my home as well as yours, I would not have come back.’