The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (14 page)

“Mrs Baxter, will you pull yourself together? Now is not the time for hysterics,” Dr Sutton reminded her.

She nodded her head. She couldn’t think about death now. If only she’d come back sooner, she thought instead. She’d arrived home late the previous afternoon after a long overdue visit to her sister in south London. She did think about coming straight back to the farm, but she’d had such little time off in the past few months and had decided instead to clean her house and have an early night.

“Joseph should never have left her in this state,” she said to Dr Sutton.

“What do you mean? Where’s he gone?”

“Dartmouth. He came by my house this morning on his way to the station and told me that he had urgent business to attend to… said that Celia was poorly and that I should get up here because he was worried. Worried, indeed!”

“Yes, well, it’s just as well you came for me when you did.”

“I just had a feeling. When Joseph banged on my door… something in those shifty eyes of his… Well, I just knew.”

“Hush, Mrs Baxter. She’s coming round. No more talking.”

Celia moaned, her enormous pain-filled eyes searching out the two faces. Tears of hope ran down her face. Maybe she would survive after all, she thought. Mrs Baxter was ripping off her dress, and Dr Sutton was unpacking a bag, laying out all sorts of terrifying instruments, but she couldn’t speak to them or understand what they were saying to her.

“Celia, you must try,” she heard Dr Sutton say from some distant place. “I need you to push this baby out. Use all your strength, all of it. Push, Celia. You’ve got to push!”

“I can’t,” Celia said almost inaudibly, lacking the strength to voice the words fully. “I can’t do it… Just cut it out of me, please!” She could barely breathe, let alone push. She thought that Dr Sutton would have to get it out of her some other way.

“There’s hardly a movement in her belly,” she heard him say to someone. “How long have you been having contractions, Celia?”

Celia moaned loudly this time. “I don’t know… A long time.”

“Can we save her?” Mrs Baxter whispered to Dr Sutton.

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. She’s lost a lot of blood. If the baby doesn’t come soon, they’ll both die.”

Celia lay still, quietly unaware of the fear that surrounded her. She could hear Dr Sutton shouting something, but she was sure he was shouting at someone else, not at her. What did she have to do with anything? Why didn’t they just let her be? She was floating on soft white clouds, looking down on panic-stricken faces. There was a beautiful bright light full of warmth shining just ahead of her. She was almost touching it. She was almost there, and she was happy…

“Push, girl. For God’s sake, push, Celia!” she heard a voice say again.

A growl came from deep within her throat… “Get out! Get out!”

She screamed again. She pushed, screamed, and pushed again. The pain gradually subsided. Exhausted, she let out a long sigh and then floated off once more on silky clouds…

Mrs Baxter held the baby in her arms: a boy, small but healthy enough. She watched the shallow rise and fall of Celia’s chest, not taking her eyes away for a second.

“Mrs Baxter,” Dr Sutton called to her softly from the doorway. “Come here, please. I need to speak with you before I leave.”

With dread, she walked with him to the front door. He was going to tell her that Celia was near death and that they would lose her.

“On no account is Celia to be left alone in this house,” he told her. “We both know all about that husband of hers, and we both know that this was his doing. She needs to be kept quiet, without having to put up with any of his nonsense now, and I’m counting on you to see to that. She has haemorrhaged a lot of blood, and to be honest, she’s extremely lucky to have survived until now. She’s taken quite a beating by the looks of her, and I still don’t know how much internal damage has been done. The baby is healthy as far as I can tell, so that’s one blessing, but if Celia loses any more blood she may not recover.”

“I promise you, Doctor, that no matter what Joseph Dobbs says to me, I’ll not leave the girl till her aunt Marie arrives,” Mrs Baxter told him.

“Good. I’ll send Miss Osborne a telegram as soon as I get back to the village. Mrs Baxter, if Celia develops a fever, keep her cool with damp compresses. Give her some hot soup or milk, anything to breathe some life back into her. I’ll be back as soon as I can. She’s very ill, Mrs Baxter, very ill indeed!”

Celia slept on and on until she felt someone shaking her arm. She opened her eyes slowly and looked down to see her baby being laid on her breast. She had a son. She’d defeated Joseph. She had survived!

“A boy… How is he?” she whispered to Mrs Baxter.

“He’s perfect. He’s in much better health than you are,” the older woman told her. “As long as he’s all right… Where’s Joseph?”

“He went to Dartmouth. Didn’t you know? He came to see me this morning.”

“No… I didn’t know that.”

“Celia, did he hurt you yesterday? Did he know you were going into labour?”

“He’s hurt me since the day I married him… Yes, he did know. The pains started yesterday morning.”

She closed her eyes, and the tears squeezed through them. She groped in the dark and found Mrs Baxter’s hand. “Please take me away from here. Please, Mrs Baxter, I’m so scared… I’ve been so scared.”

Silent tears rolled down her cheeks, and she did nothing to stop them. It was a relief to finally say those words. It was all over; she would leave now not caring if justice was done or not, not even caring that Joseph had taken her home and the last vestige of self-respect she had left. Merrill Farm wasn’t home now. It had become a place where nightmares turned into reality, and she didn’t care if she never set foot in the place again.

“I want you to take me away from here. Will you do that?” she asked again.

“Dr Sutton will be back soon,” Mrs Baxter told her. “I’ll pack some things for you and the baby, and we’ll leave as soon as he gets here. Celia, Joseph Dobbs will pay dear for what he’s done to you. He won’t be able to lift his head in Goudhurst ever again. He’ll be an outcast. I’ll make sure of it. I won’t keep quiet now. I’m sorry, but I’ll be telling anyone who wants to listen!”

Chapter 16

M
arie Osborne packed a small bag and then paced the floor of her Bermondsey town house. The telegram had arrived shortly after nine o’clock, and it had not left her hand since. The words had scared her half to death: CELIA HAS A SON BUT HAD A DIFFICULT LABOUR STOP SHE IS AT MRS BAXTER’S HOUSE STOP COME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE STOP DR SUTTON.

“Come on,” she said over and over again.

She wanted to get going, but she couldn’t leave until her visitor arrived; the appointment was much too important to miss. She’d been on tenterhooks ever since receiving his note. She was excited and apprehensive. His visit and the news he would bring had been the only thing on her mind since yesterday, but now all she could think about was getting to Celia.

At exactly ten thirty, the doorbell rang, and she thanked God that he was as punctual as always. She smoothed her hair and checked her face in the hall mirror. The tall dark-haired man at the door smiled. He was immaculately dressed and carried a black hat in his hand. Marie beamed at him, his face giving her the pleasure it always did.

“Hello, darling. How are you?” she said, kissing him.

“I’m fine.” John Stein kissed her back.

They sat in the armchairs in the parlour, and Marie told him about the news she’d just received. She began to cry, and he put his arms around her.

“Don’t cry, Mother,” he told her. “She’ll be all right. She’s in good hands, and I’ll take you to the station myself. I’ll have you there in no time.”

“Thank you, darling.” Marie blew her nose. “Do we have time for a cup of tea first?” she asked him, attempting to smile.

“Always.”

Marie left John and blew her nose all the way to the kitchen. John always made her feel better, she thought, sniffing once more into her handkerchief. He was her pride and joy, a good man. He resembled his father: tall, dark, slim, and broad-shouldered. He had large dark brown eyes, a long straight nose, and a generous smile that would melt a woman’s heart. She had met John’s father after leaving her Kent home at the age of sixteen. She’d gone in to service at that time with a family in Park Street, Mayfair, the only option open to a girl like her in those days. She was from a poor family, and her mother, to her father’s perpetual disgust, had produced only daughters. Marie smiled at his memory. He’d never been the easiest man to get along with, but he’d been a good father all the same. Living in a house full of women hadn’t been easy for him. She had two sisters: Mavis, who’d died as a child, and Lillian, who had married Peter Merrill. Being the eldest, it had fallen on her shoulders to contribute towards her siblings’ upbringing, but she never minded that. In fact, she remembered with fondness those days long ago when she slept in the attic of the grand four-storey residence where she worked.

After three years in service, she was elevated to upstairs parlour maid, and it had been the best thing that had ever happened to her. Her promotion had meant more money, and with that little bit extra, she furthered her parents’ ambition to marry off her sister Lillian, who was by far the more beautiful daughter and the one who would marry well.

On her afternoons off, Wednesdays, she took herself to a little tea room in South Audley Street, where she had tea and scones, a tradition she still loved today. It was there that she first saw Jacob. It seemed to her now, although she admitted that her memory might have faded somewhat, that every time she went there, he’d been sitting at the same table by the window, waiting for her. It had been no coincidence, because his face lit up every time she walked into the room, and as she sipped her tea, she could feel his eyes on her, devouring her as she did the scones. She’d always possessed a devilish sense of humour, so far from being annoyed by the attention Jacob showed her, she decided one day to come right out and ask him what he wanted. She’d gone right up to his table and stood there waiting for an explanation. His panic-stricken face still made her smile.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he had said. “You caught me staring. You must think me very ill mannered. It’s just that I would so much like to talk with you. I suppose it would be wrong of me to presume that…”

“Please don’t apologise or presume,” she had told him, laughing. “It’s not rude to talk to me; however, it is quite rude to stare. It makes me feel as if I have cream all over my face or something equally as horrid. There, you see, we’re talking already.”

The poor man, she’d said often to her son, was so timid and sweet—everything she was not.

Later, as she got to know Jacob better, he told her that as much as he’d tried, he just couldn’t stop himself from going to the little cafe every Wednesday, and he’d even made a habit of keeping his diary clear on that day. He thought that she was beautiful but off limits to him. It hadn’t taken her long to fall in love with his boyish charm.

After that fateful day, they met at the little tea room every Wednesday afternoon. She always seemed to surprise him with her intelligent and amusing conversation. Her knowledge of current affairs was almost as good as his own, and her descriptions of overseas countries made him question her as to whether she’d actually been there. She, of course, had to tell him that her knowledge was due to her great love of books and not from personal experience. Jacob never pried into her private or family affairs. It was as though he was afraid to hear that she was only a working girl in the service of people who were his peers. Their relationship was special, and she supposed that he didn’t want to spoil it by acknowledging the huge chasm that lay between two very different societies.

Marie had always believed that their love affair would eventually end. The duty to his family and to the world in which he belonged was incompatible with her measly existence. They could never be together or walk hand in hand down the same street. Still, she lived for her one half day off a week from the house where she served tea to rich people such as him.

After a few months, when she gave herself to him completely, damning the consequences of her actions, she instinctively knew that it was the beginning of the end. When she became pregnant with John, it was made clear to her that Jacob, though honourable, did not intend to marry her.

She could not, nor had she ever, blamed him for cutting her out of his life. He had even surprised her with his generosity. Jacob had insisted on having sole custody of their son, but he had also insisted on giving her a monthly allowance and the house that she still lived in now. At first, she’d thought his suggestion ludicrous, cruel even, and she’d hated him for even suggesting it, but after thinking long and hard, she knew in her heart that the alternative would be even more unthinkable. Life would have been unbearably hard for her and her fatherless baby. She could suffer the poverty, losing her job, and even a life of sacrifice, but she truly believed that to subject her child to the misery that they would undoubtedly endure would be selfish and wrong. So in the end, it had been a case of the lesser of two evils, and although she’d hated herself for many years, she was glad now that she had made that decision.

She never saw Jacob again after he took their child from her arms. He took John to his family, and he was raised well, although she didn’t know to this day what questions were asked at the time about his sudden appearance in Jacob’s life. Later she learned that Jacob had married a wealthy heiress, and what he told his new wife about his son also remained a mystery. Marie, for her part, never told anyone about Jacob or John. She remained in London, sending her family more and more money as her financial circumstances improved. She told them that she had become a housekeeper and was very well thought of by her employers. She never knew if her parents believed her story or not, but they never asked any questions about her employment, which she had lost due to her pregnancy. John now came to see her regularly. His visits began just after Jacob’s death. He had just turned sixteen at the time and was understandably angered by his father’s revelation that his birth mother was still alive and living just across the river. Those days had been hard, but little by little, he’d taken the tentative but often resentful steps towards her until, finally, he forgave her.

She was so proud of the way he’d turned out. He was twenty-six now and a lawyer, but he also involved himself in the running of the family jewellers and diamond merchant business. He had a wife, Pip, and he brought her and their two children, Jacob and Elizabeth, to her house on a regular basis. Yes, Marie thought, watching him pour her tea, she counted herself extremely blessed to have such a loving family around her.

“So, darling, tell me. Did you see him? Talk to him?” she asked when they were seated.

John buttered a scone and took a bite, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with a napkin before he spoke.

“I did. He’s as vain and arrogant as any man I’ve ever met. I flattered him for well over an hour, just as you told me to do, and he couldn’t get his money into my hands quickly enough. In fact, I was genuinely surprised that he had that much money on him, considering the farm’s financial state.”

“Yes, it’s bad, but I’m not worried about that. It’s all part of the plan.”

“So you keep saying. But if the farm is in such a state, why don’t you just take it off him, remove him from the trusteeship?”

“And allow him to get away with murder? Over my dead body!”

John smiled. “I wish I knew what was going on in that devious little mind of yours; you and your plans scare me sometimes.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t want to know. You have enough to contend with.”

“I know, and we’ll get him for you—don’t worry about that.”

“I do hope so. I just want this to be over, for all our sakes. Do you think he’ll bring the watch and ring? I’m convinced he’s still got them.”

“I laid the trap, but I don’t know Joseph’s state of mind. I told him that jewellery was welcome, with no questions asked, but there’s no guarantee that he’ll bring them or that he’s even got them in his possession.”

“I hope he does, John. It’s imperative that we get our hands on that evidence.” Marie sipped her tea and glanced at the clock. She had a train to catch, but there was still so much that she wanted to ask. “So how many men are involved in this little scheme of yours?”

“There will be four of us, including myself, of course. You met all of them at my wedding. Do you remember David, Mathew, and Arty Weisman, my best man?”

Marie nodded. “Yes, of course. Nice boys.”

“Yes, they are. Anyway, we’ve started working on a plan already, but I have to tell you, Mother, that he’s good… very good. I don’t know much about poker, but I know he outclassed most of the other men at that game I saw him in the other night.”

“Do be careful, dear,” Marie told him.

“Of course I will. We can’t afford to be sloppy.”

“And make sure he’s not carrying any nasty weapons on his person.”

John laughed at this. “Mother, Joseph would have to be a raving lunatic to initiate a violent altercation against four men,” he told her, still laughing. “And he’s not a lunatic judging by the way he plays a game of poker. You be careful too. Don’t start any fights of your own when you’re in Goudhurst. I know what you’re like when you get a bee in your bonnet. I mean it. Joseph must be left alone; otherwise, this won’t work.”

Marie was pensive for a moment. She would find it hard being civil towards Joseph Dobbs under any circumstances. Celia was with Mrs Baxter for a reason.

John and Marie made their way to Simon Ayres’s offices in order to leave a note telling him what had happened., and as the carriage trundled over London Bridge, she thought about her relationship with him. Simon was a good friend, the best friend she’d ever had. She had guessed long ago that he was in love with her, and although the idea had never repulsed her, she had never fully investigated the possibility that she could return that love. He was, to her, the strong, steadying influence that had guided her through the years, the man to whom she owed so much, yet he’d never asked for anything in return. She liked his company and enjoyed their lengthy discussions on a wide variety of subjects, from politics to travel. He had encouraged her to paint. He’d urged her to see a bit of the world and to make her own way in it. He’d put up with her demonstrations against the male population and had bailed her out of prison on two separate occasions, along with her suffragette cohorts. But was she in love with him?

Marie had first met Simon Ayres when he was in the employ of the Stein family. Jacob had instructed him to see to her monthly allowance, and they’d become friends. She had invested her money wisely on his advice and had watched it grow into quite a considerable fortune. She didn’t know her exact worth today, as a lot of her wealth was invested in various bonds and banks, including one in Switzerland, but she had enough money at her disposal to live comfortably for the rest of her life and more than enough to help Celia through the next few years. All her good fortune was linked to Simon’s consistent patience and devotion.

After depositing the note at his offices, she and John resumed their journey to London Bridge station. She had thought about driving herself to Goudhurst, but she was anxious enough without facing that kind of adventure on her own.

When the train arrived at Goudhurst station, she was not surprised by the amount of people she saw lining the platform. The majority wore expressions of impatience to get on the train, settle their children, and get rid of their numerous bags and heavy boxes. But it was always so obvious to Marie that they had no great desire to return to the city’s smoggy streets, leaving behind them the benefits of fresh country air and a freedom that only the countryside could offer. She always felt sorry for the departing Goudhurst hop pickers.

People on the train grabbed children by the hand, trying as best they could to gather belongings and get off before the rush for the carriages began. Men perching children on their shoulders carried boxes filled with family possessions and still managed to push their way through the throng. Children, tired and filled with impatience, received slaps around the ears from parents who were tired of journeying already. However, unlike the poor souls on the platform waiting to get on, inside the train was an atmosphere of great excitement and anticipation to get off.