A Mother's Shame (40 page)

He was waving his one weak hand at her and his mouth was working but nothing came from it but indistinguishable grunts. Normally she would have tried to understand what he wanted, but today she had no patience with him, so lifting the bowl she had just washed him in and scooping up the pile of dirty linen she had just changed from beneath him she told him, ‘Get some rest now. I have things to do.’

As she made for the door the grunts became louder but she ignored them, and once out on the landing she closed the door firmly between them. It was only then that she paused to blink and stop the tears from falling. It was rarely that she allowed herself to think of Maria’s father, but now she could not stop herself as memories flooded back unbidden. He had been such a kind and gentle man, and had been devastated when he discovered that she was with child, for he was in no position to marry her. But oh, how different her life could have been, had he been free! He had been the love of her life, and even now after all these years she still thought of him fondly.

Now she forced herself to move on, taking the steep rickety stairs carefully. Edward was already rapping on the floor for attention with the walking stick she always left within his reach, but she moved on and blocked her ears to the sound. Let him rap. She was bone weary and it wouldn’t hurt him to lie quietly for a while.

Early the next morning, Maria was awoken by the sounds of the other girls who had joined her in the bleak dormitory the night before, getting dressed. They had said not one word to her but merely entered the room, collapsed onto their beds and instantly fallen asleep with exhaustion. But not before she had noted that all their eyes were dull and empty. They had obviously lost all hope of ever having any other way of life and accepted their lot silently. But Maria knew that while there was a breath left in her body, she would always be trying to find a way for herself and Faith to escape. But now Maria hastily joined the others as they crowded around the door, trying to tidy her hair as best she could with her fingers.

After a while the door was unlocked by a stout, sternfaced woman that Maria had not seen before, and they all trooped out into a long corridor. Maria had not slept well, partly due to the bitter cold in the dormitory and partly because her mind was full of concerns for little Faith, and she stifled a yawn as they were shown into a washroom where ice had formed in the water in the tin basins. The girls broke the ice and washed their hands and faces as best they could before drying them on their thin grey dresses. They were then allowed a few moments each to use a row of toilets set against one wall that were no more than wooden seats covering large buckets. The stench that emitted from them was appalling and Maria was humiliated at having to do her toilet in open view of everyone – but knowing that she had no choice, she hitched up her skirt and quickly relieved herself.

The girls were then marshalled along another corridor; down a steep set of concrete stairs and through what Maria realised must be a dining room for some of the inmates. Her heart ached at the sight of the poor unfortunate souls. Some of them were attempting to feed themselves whilst others were being force-fed by women who looked like prison warders. These then were the lunatics.

Another door was unlocked and they were led into a smaller room. Maria followed the other girls as they each took up a crude wooden bowl and queued at a table where a woman was slopping porridge into each dish. The girls sat down at bare wooden tables, and taking up the tin spoons placed there, they gobbled down the food as if they were starving. Maria’s nose wrinkled as she looked at the greasy mess in her dish but she tried to force herself to eat a little at least. After a while as the girl sitting next to her noticed that Maria had not finished all her food, she snatched up the bowl and scraped it clean in seconds as Maria’s stomach revolted. And then one by one they began to drift away from the tables and stand at the door until eventually it was opened and Mrs Bradshaw entered the room. Crooking her finger at Maria, the Matron commanded, ‘Come along, you, there’s work to be done.’

‘Where am I to be working?’ she asked as she obediently swung her legs off the bench and Mrs Bradshaw’s answer made her heart flutter.

‘Up in the nursery, but only because that brat of yours has been yarking all night and keeping the rest of the babies awake. If she doesn’t settle down soon, we shall have to gag her.’ Mrs Bradshaw tutted. ‘She must have been spoiled rotten – but that young lady will soon get used to the fact that no one comes running here when she screams!’

Maria’s heart fluttered with joy at the thought of seeing Faith again and she swallowed the hasty retort that had sprung to her lips. She mustn’t do anything that might jeopardise her being allowed to work in the nursery. Endless corridors and stairs later, Mrs Bradshaw stopped at a door and after selecting another key from her chatelaine she unlocked it whilst Maria wondered how she ever remembered which key was which. There were so many locked doors in this place and it did not bode well for her chances of escaping.

And then they were in an oblong room full of wooden cots that were little more than boxes, and she instantly heard Faith crying lustily. She would have recognised the sound anywhere.

‘See what I mean?’ Mrs Bradshaw said irritably. ‘She has been carrying on like that all night.’ She pointed to a table where a number of bottles were filled with milk and told Maria, ‘Make sure they all get one each and you’ll find their clean bindings in that box there. Throw all the soiled ones into the buckets and a laundry maid will come up to collect them later. I’ll have something sent up for you to eat at dinnertime, but in the meantime stop that dratted child crying or it’ll be the worse for her.’ And with that the woman left, slamming the door resoundingly behind her.

Maria walked amongst the cots, her eyes settling on the emaciated little faces that stared up at her. They appeared to range in age from newborn up to one year old, and their eyes, like those of the girls with whom she had shared a dormitory, were dead and unblinking. They had long ceased to cry; they knew that no one would come to them even if they did. Maria’s heart was breaking but she forced herself to get on with the job, and at last she was looking down on Faith, who was red in the face with indignation. Unlike her roommates, she had never been left to cry and she wasn’t used to such treatment.

‘There there then, I’m here now,’ Maria soothed as she lifted the small body and rocked her to and fro. The child smelled strongly of urine and Maria guessed that it must have been many hours since she had had her bindings changed. Faith’s sobs immediately dulled to whimpers at the feel of the familiar arms about her. Maria expertly changed her; horrified at the red rash that had erupted all over the tender skin of her bottom, and then crossing to the table, she lifted one of the bottles of milk. It was stone cold as was the room where the babies were kept because the fire in the grate had burned low. Faith preferred her milk slightly warmed but seeing as there was nothing she could do about it for now, Maria offered her the teat and the child began to suckle greedily. When the milk was finished the child eventually drifted off into an exhausted nap, so after laying her in her cot, Maria began to lift the other babies from their cots and one at a time she fed and changed them. Some of their bottoms were so sore from lack of being changed that there was barely any skin on them, but not one of them made any complaint as she cleaned them as gently as she could. They just stared up at her and her heart broke afresh. Somehow she had to help them!

At the gentleman’s club in town later that night, Robert Pettifer stared over the rim of his brandy glass and asked, ‘Is there something troubling you, Charles? You seem very preoccupied this evening.’

‘What?’ Charles swirled the whisky in his glass before answering absently, ‘Oh, nothing more than woman trouble, Robert. I’m afraid Helena is being rather difficult at present.’

‘I see.’ Robert stared into the fire as he thought of his own late wife. Now
she
was what one might have called difficult, right from early on in their marriage when she had taken to her sickbed until the time she passed away a few months ago. But Helena . . . well, Robert had always envied Charles his wife. She was a beautiful woman, loyal and kind, and despite the fact that they were friends, Robert had often secretly thought that Charles did not deserve her.

‘Is it something you care to talk about?’ he asked now and for a moment he thought that Charles was going to ignore him, but then the other man said: ‘What would you have done if Felicity had informed you that she was
enceinte
before she was wed?’

Ah, so that was it, Robert thought. Gossip had a way of getting around, due mainly to the servants passing it on, and some months before it had been all around the village that Isabelle was ’in the family way’. Of course he realised that it might have all been malicious rumour and so he had never given it credence, although the girl’s hasty departure to visit her uncle in the colonies had seemed rather suspect.

Now he chose his words carefully before saying, ‘Well, Charles, I dare say I should have had to handle it the best way I could – the same way I had to handle Felicity suddenly introducing me to a young man out of the blue and informing me that they wished to be married.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t mind telling you that it came as a shock and I dread to think what her mother would have made of it, had she not passed away shortly before. And with us still in mourning too. He’s a nice enough young chap admittedly, but not who I would have chosen for her, given a choice. We always thought our Felicity and your Joshua would have made a match but there you are. My son-in-law is a blacksmith, you see.’ He chuckled then. ‘Can you imagine what Margaret would have thought of
that?
She would have had a dickey fit! But on a more serious note and in answer to your question, I think I would have asked my daughter what she wanted to do, and if she had chosen to marry the man responsible for her condition, I would have allowed it.’

Charles looked at him aghast. ‘But surely marriages between different classes are doomed to failure?’

Robert shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not necessarily, old chap. Times are changing, and surely the happiness of our children is more important than what people might say?’

Charles’s face suffused with anger. Robert was mirroring almost word for word what Helena had said – and it was not the answer he wanted to hear. His daughter had died giving birth to an illegitimate flyblow, and now his only son was talking of marrying a servant. It just didn’t bear thinking about. Slamming his glass down, he ground out his cigar and rose from his seat, saying brusquely, ‘Goodnight, Robert.’

‘Goodnight, Charles.’ Robert watched his friend leave and sighed. Now there was a troubled man if ever he’d seen one. And if truth be told, Robert believed that most of his troubles were of his own making. Charles Montgomery had always been a strict husband and father, with one set of rules for himself and another for his family, but now it looked like everything was collapsing, and Robert found it difficult to have any sympathy for him. It was a well-known fact that Charles had had more women than hot dinners, including a certain Mrs Elliot whom he visited on a regular basis; Robert found this difficult to comprehend when he had a lovely wife at home who clearly loved him. And then on the other hand, there was he himself, whose wife would have nothing to do with him. Whichever way you looked at it, life was a strange thing – there was no doubt about it.

Charles arrived home to find Helena waiting up for him and he immediately sensed trouble. Normally she retired to her bedchamber long before he chose to put in an appearance.

She came from the drawing room to greet him as the butler took his coat, saying, ‘Would you step into the drawing room, please, Charles. I wish to speak to you.’

He nodded curtly, and the second the door had closed behind them she said, ‘I believe that the child who was brought back to England is our grandchild, and I wish her to be found. And when she is, I shall expect her to take her rightful place here with us. Furthermore, Joshua has told me that he has strong feelings for Maria, and when we find her I think we should allow him to court her if he so wishes.’

‘Have you taken
complete
leave of your senses, woman?’ Charles shouted. His face went purple. ‘You are standing there telling me that you wish to bring a flyblow into the house and let the heir to my life’s work marry a
serving girl!
Why . . . we would be a laughing stock all across the county!’

‘And what do
I
care what people say?’ Helena stormed back in a rare show of temper. ‘We have already lost Isabelle because of your foolish, arrogant pride. If you had had your way, she would have died in an asylum – had I not intervened!’

‘Ah, but she died anyway, didn’t she?’ he shot back.

‘Yes, she did, and now we may be in danger of losing our son too, for I will tell you now that he intends to have Maria with or without your blessing. And you should know that he will have mine, for I would not wish him to live in a loveless marriage as I have been forced to do all these years.’

Shock registered on his face as he blustered, ‘What do you mean,
loveless?
Have I not kept you in comfort and looked after you?’

‘Oh yes, you have done that,’ she said bitterly. ‘But that does not make up for an empty bed.’

‘But I left your bed to protect you,’ he protested. ‘After Isabelle’s birth the doctor warned us that another pregnancy could be fatal for you.’

‘Yes, he did, but that did not mean that you had to shun me altogether. And don’t think that I don’t know about all the other women you have found solace with over the years either, Charles. I am neither blind nor deaf, but I put up with it because I loved you. Furthermore, I feel I should make it clear that if you do not accept Isabelle’s child into this house, I shall move out and live somewhere else, where I can care for her myself!’