Shadow Baby (50 page)

‘More tea?’ Leah said.

Interrupted, Mrs Fletcher was thrown. She had warmed to the drama of her description and her voice had become louder and excited, and now that she was stopped she could not quite pitch it correctly. ‘The child,’ she repeated, ‘he thought of his child at the end …’

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‘But not at the beginning,’ Leah said, curtly.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘He did not think of his child at the beginning. And neither did you nor your mother.’ Mrs Fletcher’s mouth opened and her expression was one of such consternation it was horribly comic. Impatiently, Leah said, ‘You cannot believe, Mrs Fletcher, that I am not touched and moved to tears at hearing of your brother’s affecting deathbed speech, but I have no feeling for him, dead or alive, beyond contempt. And contempt for your mother too.’

‘What did my mother ever do to you?’

‘How did you find me?’

‘We employed a detective. Forgive me if that seems sordid. He began with an old address. There was an address, you wrote to Hugo, and …’

‘I wrote to your mother, after Hugo’s child was born. I told her Hugo had a daughter and I had named her after her, Evelyn, after her and after you, Mrs Fletcher. I asked for nothing, but I hoped, and my hopes were not answered. Your mother had my address as well as Hugo, if it ever reached him.’

‘It would be my father …’

‘I did not write to your father. I wrote to your mother, woman to woman.’

‘My father would have found out and …’

‘She could have found a way, but she did not want to extend help to her son’s whore and his bastard child.’ Leah was sorry to have come out with such ugly words. They defiled her and she felt besmirched and ugly herself, because of having uttered them.

Mrs Fletcher sank back in her chair and wept for real, and, though at first the sight left Leah unmoved, she said at last how sorry she was and that she regretted her vulgar outburst. They were both silent for some considerable time before Mrs Fletcher pulled herself together and said, ‘My mother is still alive. She is old and ill and has not long to live. You make me afraid to tell you this but she wishes to give Hugo’s child some money, a gift, if she will accept, though if she is of like mind with yourself …’

‘I have nothing to do with her,’ Leah said.

‘Your daughter?’

‘Hugo’s daughter. I have nothing to do with her. It pained me too much even to look at her and she was given into someone else’s care from an early age.’ Leah saw Mrs Fletcher’s eyes stray to the

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photographs of Rose and Polly. ‘They are my own daughters, my husband’s and my girls.’ She put a certain emphasis on ‘husband’ which was not missed by Mrs Fletcher.

‘So you do not know where my brother’s child is now?’

‘Oh, I know,’ Leah said. She got up and went to the bureau Henry had recently bought, and opened the lid and sat down and wrote, not caring about her poor penmanship, Evie’s name and address on a piece of the pretty blue writing-paper she had taken such pleasure in choosing, though there was no one to whom she wrote regular letters. ‘There,’ she said, ‘I am sure his daughter will be glad to hear of her father and this late gift.’ She wished Mrs Fletcher would leave. Her mission was accomplished. She should leave, quickly. But still she sat on, seemingly rooted to the spot.

‘I did not know of your letter to my mother,’ she said. ‘I would not like you to think I did and that I, too …’

‘I do not think that,’ Leah said, as carelessly as possible. ‘I have little interest, frankly, in what you did or did not know. But you lived in that house, your parents’ house, your family home, with him, your brother, at the time. You lived in Moorhouse. I think you were well acquainted, as everyone was bound to be, in such a place, with my condition. I think you knew of me.’

Mrs Fletcher bowed her head and took refuge behind her handkerchief with which she patted her eyes over and over again. ‘What could I do?’ she whispered. ‘It was such a … it was spoken of in such … when I did hear of it …’

‘It was a scandal,’ Leah said. ‘I will say it for you. And I was blamed for it, not he. I believed in him, I trusted him, and the result … well, the result we know.’

‘The poor child,’ Mrs Fletcher said, ‘when I think of it, that poor child. It breaks my heart.’

Leah laughed, a dry, short, hard sound with little mirth in it. ‘It broke mine too,’ she said.

‘But you … I thought I heard you to say …’

‘I said I could not bear to see his child and never have been able to. I did not mention my own heart. But it is mended. It has been mended a long time and now you will seal the last crack for me, the crack which threatens to open up now and again, under certain circumstances, when a certain person tries to prise it open. You will do more than you know to mend my heart if I am fortunate at last.’

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Mrs Fletcher was mystified, but Leah let her remain so. She had no desire to confide in the woman. Let her make her way as soon as possible to Evie’s home and acquaint her with the tidings she had brought. Leah could imagine the scene easily. Evie might always have vowed she had no interest in her unknown father, but presented with the glory of his deathbed cry for forgiveness and to have this capped by recognition from a grandmother who was now making her a substantial gift - it would thrill her. Leah was sure of it. Mrs Fletcher, in spite of her weeping, was an imposing figure and she was family, she represented a family now claiming Evie as its own. Evie would return to Moorhouse with Mrs Fletcher to see this grandmother, Leah was convinced of it. And what might come from that meeting? Satisfaction, she hoped, Evie’s satisfaction to have at last a mother of sorts. And something more practical even: a move. Evie might be persuaded to return to Moorhouse to be with her grandmother and she might inherit the house and … Leah stopped herself. There was Jimmy. There would be no work for Jimmy in Moorhouse. He would not wish to move. It was absurd to imagine such a solution. Nothing would change. Evie would still persist in haunting her.

For reasons she did not want to work out, Leah did not tell Henry of Mrs Fletcher’s visit. She thought of it often in the following weeks, but she never spoke of it. It was a secret she hugged to herself and she relished the sensation. When Evie had failed to appear outside the house for some months she longed to know if she had gone to see her grandmother, but there was no way she could find out. It was tempting to inquire at Jimmy’s place of work if he was still employed by them, but she was too embarrassed to ask and neither did she want to make such a direct inquiry. She wanted to find out naturally, having some superstitious belief that this would bring her luck. She began to go into the city centre with unusual frequency, merely so that she could search faces, looking for Evie or Jimmy - or rather, search in the hope of noting their absence. She was convinced that if she went often enough at the most popular times to the most popular places she would be bound to see Evie if she were still in Carlisle. The market seemed to her the most obvious meeting-place - every Carlisle housewife sooner or later went into the market, and Evie had always been fond of it if Henry was to be believed - so Leah haunted the market. She drifted from stall to stall with a half-full basket, scanning face after face, searching

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and searching for Evie, at ten in the morning, at two in the afternoon, at closing time on Saturdays, at every time of day. Then she grew bolder. She took a tram to Stanwix and with pounding heart walked down the little terrace where Evie lived, back and forth, briskly, then loitering, watching the houses and trying to decide if the Patersons lived there still.

It was foolish behaviour and she knew it, but she could not stop herself. She walked the city centre streets, she prowled round the shops, she visited Stanwix and now she was out of the house as much as once she had hidden herself within it. Henry complained she was never there when he popped home unexpectedly, as he often did, and could not understand this new mania for shopping. Leah said there were still so many things she must buy for the house and was careful always to return with some trifling purchase. It had become an urgent necessity to find out where Evie was, and after six months of this searching she yearned for some final confirmation. It came by chance, just as she had wanted it to. Turning out of Etterby Terrace, Evie’s road, which she had walked for the hundredth time, she proceeded up Etterby Street, her own old street, towards the Scaur, and met Miss Mawson leaving her house.

‘Why, Mrs Arnesen!’ cried Miss Mawson.

‘Miss Mawson,’ Leah murmured faintly, highly embarrassed.

‘I am so glad to see you, my dear,’ said Miss Mawson, her eyes positively shining with pleasure. ‘I miss you all so much, I cannot tell you.’

‘I miss you too.’

‘It was a black day for me when you moved and I have never felt comfortable since without my dear neighbours. Now tell me, are you settled and happy in your splendid new home? Thank you for your card. Did I thank you at the time? I do hope so. I intended to call but I have not been well … now, why don’t you step inside and let me give you some refreshment?’

‘Oh no,’ Leah protested, ‘you are on your way out, I can see that, I would not on any account …’

‘Where I was going can wait. Come, I insist. For old times’ sake. This is too good an opportunity to miss. Come, I will not take no for an answer.’ And before Leah could think of an excuse Miss Mawson had opened her door and was ushering her in.

It dismayed her to find herself in this position. She had lived next door to Miss Mawson for more than a decade and yet she knew her

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so little. They were pleasant to each other but there was no exchange of hospitality, and Leah had always felt Miss Mawson had in some way looked down upon her, because she was able to tell she was not a natural born lady, nor Henry a gentleman. This, Henry had always said, was her imagination and gradually she had conceded it might well be. After her cat had been run over and Henry had had the unhappy task of telling Miss Mawson (for it was he who saw the accident and arranged for the burial), the relationship between the two households had perceptibly changed. Miss Mawson became quite effusively neighbourly and invitations to take tea had been exchanged.

But with the arrival of Evie nearby, the friendship which had blossomed began to wither. Leah knew that Miss Mawson was acquainted with Evie. She was, if not Evie’s friend, to some extent her patron and Leah always feared might be brought into the troubled situation between them. She was sure she had hurt gentle Miss Mawson by declining, under plea of headaches and general debility, all her offers of hospitality from then on. And there was always the worry that Miss Mawson had noticed Evie in the street peering at the Arnesens’ house and might have inquired the reason for this of her.

But now, sitting in Miss Mawson’s pretty little parlour, Leah realised she had been presented with the perfect opportunity to establish Evie’s whereabouts. If Evie had moved, Miss Mawson would surely know, taking as she did an interest in the young woman. So eager was Leah to question Miss Mawson on this point that she grew bold. She no longer cared whether Evie had taken Miss Mawson into her confidence, but only that she should find out the truth. ‘Has much changed in our old area here, Miss Mawson?’ she queried. ‘Or are we the only family to have moved lately?’

‘Oh, indeed no,’ said Miss Mawson, ‘there has been quite an upheaval locally, all kinds of people taking it into their heads, for their own very good reasons, I am sure, to leave Etterby and find other accommodation. Those who are young seem to be the very people moving. Take the Patersons. You remember Evie? Who worked for your husband and married James Paterson? She came to live nearby in Etterby Terrace, you know, but has left already.’

‘Really?’ Leah murmured, hoping she masked her dreadful desire to know by seeming not unduly interested.

Miss Mawson was animated, delighting in such gossip. ‘She has

been fortunate at last, the most extraordinary thing. She has found her family. It seems they are a good family of some means and a son has died who turns out to have been Evie’s father … And now the grandmother has sent an aunt to find her and Evie and James have gone off to some grand house near Newcastle to be made much of. It quite took my breath away on hearing of it.’

Omitting to comment that it took hers away too, Leah asked, ‘And did you hear this from Mrs Paterson herself?’

‘Oh no, from her husband who was making a costume for me and …’ Miss Mawson stopped and blushed deeply. Henry had always made her costumes. To leave him for Jimmy Paterson, working in a rival establishment, was a betrayal of the first order and she gazed at Leah in horror. Leah made a little gesture of dismissal with her hands to indicate she thought nothing of this inadvertent confession and pressed Miss Mawson to continue with her enthralling tale. ‘Well,’ said Miss Mawson, taking courage, though unable quite to recapture her former zest in the telling, ‘Mr Paterson said he would finish my costume before they left, but that would be that in Carlisle for him. I asked where exactly this grand house was and he said in a village, in fact quite some distance from Newcastle, but that there were plans already to move there. The grandmother is old and ill and there is another house owned in Newcastle itself and the plan is for the three of them to move there and for Mr Paterson to set up on his own account as a tailor there. I am so glad for Evie, all this, after her troubles lately, some fortune and happiness at last.’

‘Troubles?’ echoed Leah, suddenly alarmed, thinking that after all Miss Mawson was not as innocent as she seemed.

Miss Mawson dropped her voice, though there was no one else in the room but the two of them. ‘She miscarried, twice. Poor Evie. She so wishes to be a mother. I had it from Mrs Batey who lives next door.’

Leah’s eyes filled with tears. Seeing this, Miss Mawson, she knew, would assume she was affected in the way any tender-hearted woman would be, and would not expect her to explain the sudden tears. She wanted to leave Miss Mawson quickly, to get right away from her so that these foolish tears could be shed and she could then rejoice in safety, but it was impossible to extricate herself for another quarter of an hour. When she did depart, she was weak with suppressed euphoria and reached Stanwix Bank and the tram station in a daze. Evie had gone. She was to live a long way away. She had