The Marriage Certificate (14 page)

Henry was exactly one month older than the twins, but when
compared to them, it was obvious that he wasn’t thriving. He was a sickly
child. He cried often and for no apparent reason. Louisa, although proud and
protective of him, looked tired and exhausted.

The baptism of Edith and Harold was overshadowed by the loss
of Frank. The vicar who presided at the ceremony knew the Williams family well.
When he entered the details in the church register, instead of leaving the name
of the father as ‘unknown’, he entered ‘Frank Williams, deceased’. He did this
at the request of Arthur and Florence. He knew it had no legal standing,
because the surname of the children was ‘Ince’, but he understood the
significance of the request and was happy to oblige. Although it remained
unspoken, everyone felt that Frank should have been there.

Further information from the War Office had not been
forthcoming. A letter had been received from Frank’s commanding officer. He
spoke in glowing terms of Frank’s bravery and conduct throughout the time he
had known him. Naturally, he expressed his deepest sympathy. He explained that
Frank had been buried with full military honours in the graveyard at
Bloemfontein Hospital. He said that in due course, his grave would be marked
with a regimental headstone, and a military memorial would include his name,
along with those of his comrades, who had also made the ultimate sacrifice in
service of Queen and country.

As far as the family was concerned, there wasn’t much else
they could do. Charlie Mills had been in touch with them and had said he would
try to organise a suitable memorial on the island, but that it may take some
time to come to fruition. Some of Frank’s personal effects had been returned to
the family. In accordance with his will, he left everything to his brother,
John. However, John, anxious to fulfil the promise he had made to Frank on the
voyage to Cape Town, immediately passed the proceeds of Frank’s estate to Rose
by depositing the sum in her Post Office savings account.

Rose found that she had enough money to maintain herself and
the children for some time. A steady supply of work was coming through via
Marshall’s. She finally persuaded George and Charlotte to accept a weekly
payment to partially cover her keep, and that of the infants. It was a gesture
really, as they refused to accept more. Rose asked Florence and Arthur to cease
their contributions, but they were reluctant to do so. A compromise was
reached, in that they agreed to reduce the amount they passed on to Charlotte
by the same amount that Rose paid towards her keep. At least Rose felt that she
was moving, if rather slowly, in the right direction, towards financial
independence.

John’s parents continued to visit on Sundays, delighting in
watching the development of their grandchildren – of Frank’s children. There
was no doubting who Edith’s father was, whilst Harold took after Rose.

The household at Brindle Lodge settled into a routine.
Charlotte began to do more and more of the ‘mothering’, helping Rose whenever
she had the chance. Mrs Edwards too, was very fond of the children and enjoyed
feeding them when time was available. Rose managed to find opportunities to
write to Louisa. They kept in touch with each other as much as they could.

Louisa’s letters were full of the medical problems of poor
little Henry. The family doctor in Leyton was baffled and wanted to admit Henry
to hospital for tests, but Louisa was reluctant to let him go. She was
convinced that given time, he would eventually gain weight and strength more
quickly. By contrast, Edith and Harold, although a little underweight at birth,
had soon made up any noticeable deficiencies.

The end of the year came and went. Christmas passed
peacefully at Brindle Lodge, but events in South Africa had taken a turn for
the worse, as fighting had flared up again. For those still grieving over
Frank, it was almost as though his contribution had been for nothing.

The spring of 1902 brought promise
of a new summer season on the Isle of Wight and the pace of life picked up, as
hoteliers and business owners prepared for the influx of seasonal visitors and
day trippers.

Rose and Louisa kept up their correspondence. Sometimes Rose
wrote a long letter, but if time was limited, she sent Louisa a postcard. The
news on Henry was generally not good. Edith and Harold were walking by early
summer of 1902, but Henry had not yet achieved that particular developmental
milestone. Louisa had talked about coming over in June, but unfortunately
John’s schedule did not allow it. As things turned out, it was for the best.
Henry became very ill with acute diarrhoea, and in June was admitted to the
Hospital for Sick Children in Great Ormond Street in central London. Louisa was
extremely worried and had to cope alone as John was at sea. He did not return
until early July. The hospital performed a series of tests and observations.
They were concerned that Henry was underweight and underdeveloped. However,
they could find no particular overriding cause of his illness, and when his
bowel movements regained a degree of normality, they allowed him to go home
after seven days.

For a couple of months, Henry did seem to be noticeably
better. He was less particular about eating and kept down more of his food than
previously but Louisa fretted about him constantly. She hoped that Henry was at
last starting to grow out of a difficult stage in his life. He gained a little
weight and colour, but in her heart, Louisa was convinced that he had some
underlying problem.

At times, Henry appeared to be in great pain. He was eating
more solids, but often cried after taking food, his little face contorted. The
pain only seemed to last for a few minutes and it didn’t happen every time he
ate. She was puzzled and watched him closely whenever she fed him. She asked a
neighbour who had three children, if she had encountered similar problems with
her offspring, but was told not to worry, as ‘wind’ was the likely cause.

Throughout July and August, if the weather was agreeable,
Charlotte took the children down to the beach during the afternoons. Sometimes
Rose accompanied her, but if she had work to do for a client, she remained at
Brindle Lodge. Rose was guiltily aware that she was giving less and less
attention to the children and more to her work. By contrast, Charlotte was
becoming increasingly involved with them. She seemed especially to adore Edith,
her god-daughter, but would never admit so.

This evolving arrangement however, suited Rose well. She was
at last able to earn her keep, using the skills for which she had been trained.
This inevitably aroused her ambitions even more. Perhaps she
could
build
up her clientele to the point where she would need premises and could start to
take on staff. She looked around her small attic sewing room.
Empires have
been built from more humble beginnings
, she thought. Sometimes, her
imagination ran wild, but often it was brought back to stark, guilty reality,
when she heard Charlotte laughing with the children in the room below.

Rose’s business world fell apart in
early October 1902. It was the day before the twins’ second birthday. She
entered Marshall’s in order to purchase more fabric for a commission she was
engaged on. Instead of the normal enthusiastic greeting from Charles, he barely
looked up, as she made her way to the counter.

She knew something was wrong, but wasn’t sure what it was.
She nodded politely, but he snubbed her and retired to the back of the shop. It
was a most public rebuke and she couldn’t imagine what had warranted such
rudeness. She noted also, that the assistants seemed to regard her with a
rather frosty attitude. Although they provided her with what she wanted, there
was none of the usual warmth or conversation to which Rose was accustomed. She
left the shop with a distinct feeling of unease.

Later in the day, a messenger arrived at Brindle Lodge with
a note from one of Rose’s wealthy clients. The contents were curt and to the
point. The client wished to inform her, that she no longer intended to do
business with her and would be obliged if she would submit her account to date,
in order that it be settled and closed. The following morning, the postman
brought two more letters from Rose’s clients, requesting closure of their
accounts. Neither correspondent gave any hint of why. It was most irregular.

Rose went to find Charlotte. She was with the children in
the nursery, who were playing with their birthday presents. ‘I’ve now had three
of my best clients request that their accounts be closed. Two letters came this
morning. Oh Charlotte, what’s going on? What am I to do? Have you any idea why
these people are withdrawing their custom?’

‘I have my suspicions,’ Charlotte replied. ‘It might be
something to do with Harvest Supper, held last Saturday.’

‘Harvest Supper? What on earth is that?’

‘Listen Rose, the island, for all its seaside attractions is
still quite agricultural, and every year after the harvest, the local parish
church here marks the occasion with a service of thanksgiving, followed in the
evening by a social gathering called Harvest Supper. Although mainly attended
by the farming community, it also attracts the great and the good from the
rural fringes of this parish. They see it as an opportunity to mingle socially
with the local landed gentry and no person of influence or standing misses the
event.’

‘But you didn’t go, Charlotte. Surely you and George—’

Charlotte cut her off. ‘George and I hate occasions like
that. There is so much snobbery. Besides, George’s business interests are in
Cowes, so happily we don’t have to subject ourselves to it,’ she confessed.
‘Many who attend even regard hoteliers with disdain. They are still considered
as relative newcomers, you see, and are classed as “trade”. It’s a good job
that Arthur and Florence always take their own annual holiday in Scotland at
this time of year, otherwise in ignorance, they may have been tempted to go.
Florence has mentioned it wistfully several times and each time I have avoided
telling her the truth about the snobbery one encounters there.’

Charlotte continued. ‘I mustn’t shy from telling you Rose,
something I learned on Monday. I met my friend Jane Morton in the town. We
wanted to hear each other’s news, so we decided to take tea at Mr Topping’s tea
shop. She told me something concerning you Rose, something that worried me, and
I now fear that is behind the loss of custom you are experiencing. I didn’t
want to tell you, just in case it amounted to nothing, but it seems it may have
been significant.’

‘What do you mean, Charlotte? What was significant?’

‘Apparently, Jane overheard a conversation at Harvest
Supper. Mrs Hopson, Mrs Dinwoodie and the colonel’s wife, Mrs Cole, all wealthy
customers of Marshall’s, were discussing you and how pleased they were with the
work you have done for them.’

‘Oh, that’s good, that can’t have done me any harm.’

‘Well, no, but the problem is that Mrs Roberts, the wife of
the parish clerk was listening to their conversation. She’s always yearned to
be accepted in their circle. Frankly, she hasn’t the means nor the house to
make use of your talents Rose, but not to be outdone she decided to drop a
bombshell.’

‘A bombshell?’

‘Yes. Jane said she overhead Mrs Roberts ask the other
ladies if they knew that you were the unmarried mother of twins, a boy and a
girl, and that they were baptised quietly last year at the parish church.’

Rose gasped and brought her hand to her mouth. ‘What did
they say?’

‘Well, nothing for several seconds. Mrs Hopkins apparently
went white. Mrs Cole and Mrs Dinwoodie had expressions somewhere between
incredulity and horror. Then Mrs Cole asked her to confirm that she really
meant Miss Ince, the young lady recommended to them by Mr Marshall. Jane said
it was quite amusing to watch, but when she told me, I was worried for you
Rose, truly.’

‘And did they say anything else?’ asked Rose, trembling.

‘Yes. I’m afraid the general consensus was that they wished
to have no further dealings with you. Oh, I am so sorry Rose. If it weren’t so
serious, it would almost be comical. According to Jane, one of them was
particularly shocked, because when you went to her home in order to measure up,
she introduced you to her unmarried son!’

Rose groaned. ‘That would be Mrs Cole. What am I going to
do, Charlotte? I’ve always feared the reaction of some of these people, if word
of my true situation became known, but I didn’t appreciate just how bigoted
they are; all because of the silly wife of the parish clerk.’

‘Quite so,’ said Charlotte. ‘By all accounts, Mrs Roberts
looked a little guilty after her revelation. She may have overstepped the mark,
but the parish register is a document of public record, so it’s unlikely she’s
broken any confidence.’

‘They’re such snobs,’ said Rose, ‘but I’ve lost my three
best clients. What am I going to do now? The others are hardly worth working
for. I need to pay my way, but how can I with no clients?’

‘Don’t worry, Rose, something will turn up. It always does.
I’ll speak to George. He might have some ideas.’

Rose got into bed that night feeling sick and rejected. Why
had her life gone so wrong? Why had she been so foolish and reckless with
Frank? The business she was now losing had been her salvation. It had satisfied
her ambition, enabled her to earn some money, and importantly provided an
excuse for her to concentrate on something other than the children. It had been
perfect and whilst she was working hard for herself and the twins, allowing
Charlotte to take on much of the care and devotion required for the children
was acceptable. With the clients gone, she had a double dilemma: no income and
no justifiable excuse to do anything other than concentrate on the children.
She knew now that she wasn’t suited to being a mother. All she could do, as she
tried to get to sleep, was console herself with the fervent hope that Charlotte
would be right and that something would turn up.

The following morning, a telegram boy parked his bicycle
outside Brindle Lodge, before pressing the polished brass button in the porch.
The bell rang and Mrs Edwards went to the door. She returned a minute later
with a brown envelope in her hand. She took it upstairs and went to find Rose,
for it was addressed to her.

Without tearing the contents, Rose opened the telegram
envelope as quickly as she could. Telegrams often contained bad news.
Please,
please, please,
she thought
, let it be good news for a change
.
Although at that particular moment, she couldn’t imagine anything in her life,
which might be the subject of good news.

The news was bad – very bad indeed.

Post Mark: Leyton 9
Oct 02

TO: Miss Rosetta
Ince. ‘Brindle Lodge’, Beaufort Street, Ventnor, Isle of Wight.

Henry passed away
yesterday. Please return Leyton urgently if possible. Louisa.

Rose managed to catch the four
o’clock express from Southampton’s ocean terminal, bound for Waterloo. The
ferry was running late and it was a rush, but she just made it. Two years had
passed since she had last crossed the Solent and on that occasion, in the
company of John. She recalled that she was heavily pregnant, with one child as
she thought, on her way over to Brindle Lodge for the first time. She
remembered how worried and apprehensive she was. On this crossing, her mind was
no less preoccupied by what lay ahead of her.

The telegram from Louisa had been delivered earlier that
morning, short in words, but long in meaning and consequence. Rose sensed the
sad and desperate plea for help contained within its cold, stark message. She
opened her handbag and took out the telegram. It was the first one she had ever
received and she read it once more. What could have happened to little Henry?
In Louisa’s last letter he seemed to be improving, eating a little more, and continuing
to put on weight. Had he met with an accident or was his death connected with
his earlier stay in hospital? She decided speculation was pointless. She was
dreading her reunion with Louisa. She knew the first moments would be difficult
for both of them, but Rose was resolved to do her best in supporting and
helping her friend in her time of need.

Rose was travelling with little luggage. She had hurriedly
packed a carpetbag with some essential clothes and something suitable for a
funeral. She knew she might need to be away some time. In her handbag, she
carried her Post Office Savings Book. She had about eighty pounds, a sizeable
sum, so should she need it she would have access to money while she was away.

Charlotte had been so helpful and understanding and of
course told her not to worry about the children. She would look after them
until Rose returned.

‘You go to Louisa. She needs you. Tell her that she and John
are in our thoughts. Let us know what has happened and what the arrangements
are to be, as soon as you can’, were Charlotte’s parting words.

Where is John?
thought Rose.
He must be still at
sea. When is he due back?
She recalled the contents of Louisa’s most recent
letter and reckoned that he ought to be returning in about three days’ time.
What a shock for him, poor John. What a shock too for Arthur and Florence when
they find out. Louisa must have their holiday address in Scotland.
She’ll
have sent them a telegram as well
, Rose reasoned.

Although full of concern for Louisa and John, Rose was at
times distracted. She kept thinking of the last few minutes before leaving
Brindle Lodge. She’d gone into the nursery and kissed the children goodbye.
She’d told them to be good for Charlotte, but noted that they didn’t seem
especially bothered that she was leaving. In fact, they’d hardly glanced up
from their play when she went in to see them. They obviously felt secure and
happy at Brindle Lodge, with Charlotte and George.

She was reluctant to admit it to herself, because it didn’t
seem appropriate, but Rose felt some relief to be away from Ventnor and on her
way back to London. She realised that she was on her own for the first time in
two years. She wasn’t sure whether it was the break from the children, or
nostalgia for her old haunts, that was responsible for the slight feeling of
release.

The express sped past Winchester and on towards Basingstoke.
Rose wanted to doze a little. She tried to avoid thinking about how Louisa
would cope and found herself drifting back again to the relative ease with which
she had said goodbye to the twins. Was she callous and hard? Shouldn’t she be
finding the separation more difficult to bear? Guilt and unease caused her to
fidget and take in a few sharp breaths. She needed to calm herself.

For distraction, she turned to look out of the window and
studied the scenery, as it sped past in the late afternoon sunshine. The
Hampshire countryside was beautiful. It was autumn and she noticed the striking
and contrasting colours of the leaves on the trees, waiting for the first gales
of winter to send them whirling and twirling over the landscape. The train had
settled into a rhythm and the fields, the hedges, the woods, the chalk downs,
and the sides of the cuttings, pockmarked with freshly excavated rabbit holes,
formed the backdrop to her thoughts.

Then into Surrey and after Weybridge, the countryside
started to change, with the first indications that they were on the outskirts
of the capital. Buildings, a few at first, then more and more concentrated,
until they formed a continuous corridor on each side of the track, channelling
and drawing the express towards its destination. By then, it was getting dark
and the gas lamps illuminated the interior of the carriage. The train had
reduced speed, passing through stations at Kingston and Wimbledon, crossing
points, changing tracks, all the while getting nearer and nearer, until exactly
on time, and with a exhalation of steam, it finally came to rest at platform
one, Waterloo Station.

The reunion with Louisa that
evening was as upsetting as Rose had imagined. Poor Louisa was distraught. John
was still away. Her father was there, but his manner betrayed his unease and
the problems he had been having in trying to support his daughter, through such
a difficult time. He was clearly relieved at Rose’s arrival and hoped that she
would be able to comfort Louisa, in a manner in which he had so far failed.

He made his excuses and left shortly after, promising to
handle the more practical matters of registering Henry’s death and making
enquiries about funeral arrangements. He said he would inform the shipping
office of Henry’s passing and ask them to forewarn John, as soon as his ship
berthed. As Rose had calculated, John was due back on Sunday morning in three
days’ time, but until his return, Rose was being very much relied upon to look
after Louisa.