Songbird (11 page)

“Where
will we be staying in France?” I asked quietly.

Mrs
Holland’s expression became animated.  “We are staying, my dear, in a beautiful
chateau called Chateau St Julienne just six miles from Rennes.”  I looked
blankly at her.  “We are to be the honoured guests of the Duc and Duchesse de
St Julienne.”

I
felt puzzled.  Did this duc and duchesse know the circumstances surrounding the
baby I was carrying?  They must be good friends of Karl.  Karl!  I had tried
not to think of him, but the memory would catch me unawares.  My eyes strayed
to the part of the room where I had first seen him.  I tried to remember what
he looked like.  I remembered his height and the cut of his clothes.  But I
couldn’t remember his features.  He was growing distant, slowly fading from my
memory like fine sand through a sieve.  I hadn’t seen him for four months but
it might as well be four years. 

“What
time must I meet you at Waterloo?” I said.

“The
train leaves at midday.  It’s approximately two hours to Portsmouth and we
sail, as they say, on the evening tide.”

“I
suppose this is my last visit to you here at Gibson Place?”

“It
is indeed, my dear.  But I’m expecting the quickening to happen very soon. 
Please make a note when you first feel the baby move.”

“How
long will we be in France?”

“After
you’ve had the baby, you’ll have a further two weeks at the chateau in order to
recover and then we’ll travel home the same way we came.”

“And
then it will be over.”

Mrs
Holland nodded.  “My lady and gentleman have made me responsible for seeing that
you receive your money as soon as we arrive back in England.”

A
thought suddenly struck me.  “Will they be in France?”

“I’m
not at liberty to say.”

As I
made my way home, I realised that they would come to France when the baby was
due.  They would take the child home with them.  I took in a huge breath.  I
would be richer by twelve hundred pounds in a very short time.  All my dreams
would come true.  I just needed to concentrate on my ambitions.  The Royal
Academy of Music.  Covent Garden.  Singing.

The
child within me had become a nonentity.  I rarely thought of it.  There was
none of the joy I had felt when I was expecting Danny.  And when the tiny kicks
started two weeks after my last visit to Gibson Place, I made a note of the day
and then ignored them.  They didn’t mean anything to me.  I wanted it to be at
an end.  Despite Mrs Holland’s wonderful organisation I was heartily sick of
being controlled.  I wanted my life back and I wanted to be Mrs Isabelle
Asquith and wear my wedding ring all the time.  For all that I was fruitful in
body, I was hollow in my heart and mind, an empty shell that had been scooped
out by my desperate love for a man I had known for only a short time.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

I
had
to hold onto Danny’s hand tightly as we descended the stairs.  He was two years
old and he knew that it was his special day.  His gifts were in the parlour
ready for him to open and his excitement was infectious.  I giggled as he
pulled me along, warning him to ‘slow down’ and ‘take it steady’.

Nan
was already in the kitchen and appeared at the door, grinning.  “I’m surprised
he slept until seven,” she said.  ‘I expected him to be up at five.”

“He
did wake up,” I nodded.  “But I sang his favourite songs and he slept for a few
hours more.”  He gave a squeal of delight and started pulling the packages off
the table.  “No, Danny!  One at a time,” I told him, laughing.

Nan
came through from the kitchen and we both knelt on the floor helping him to
open his gifts.  Some of our neighbours in Laurel Close had also sent him
something and we couldn’t help laughing as he opened the one containing the
pale green hat, scarf and gloves knitted by Mrs Ryan.  I pulled the hat over
his blond locks and he chuckled.  Mrs Hemmings sent him a spinning top.  Nan
had made him some new shirts and I had bought him a jigsaw puzzle.  But it
looked like Gwilym’s present won the day.  A scream of delight burst from him
when he pulled off the paper and revealed a hobby-horse, in beautifully painted
varnished wood.  He immediately jumped onto it and galloped round the room and
Nan and I disappeared to the kitchen to have our breakfast in peace.

I was
leaving the following morning.  My trunk was packed and a cab was coming for me
at eleven.  I was glad to be going even though I would miss everyone terribly,
especially my little boy.  I kept telling myself that it was only for four
months, but four months can be a long time when a person is away from those
they love.  But I needed to go.  I was now five months pregnant and my corset
was holding in my figure with great difficulty.  I hardly gave the baby a
thought and when it moved, I had trained myself to dismiss it from my mind.

Gwilym
and Nan had wanted to come to the station with me, but I had begged them not
to.  The reason I gave was that I couldn’t bear to say goodbye and it would
probably make me sad for the rest of my journey.  That was partially true, of
course.  Gwilym had said his goodbyes the evening before Danny’s birthday,
kissing my forehead and wishing me well.  I was terrified that he might
suddenly turn up at the railway station and surprise me, but when he said he
was on duty that morning, I was more than relieved.

I had
relinquished my pupils, giving them the name of a good music teacher who would
take my place.  That had been a wonderful task and I knew I wouldn’t miss any
of them, except Francis Pelham.

And
so my child’s special day passed and when I tucked him up in bed, I sang softly
to him until his eyes closed.  Nan and I talked well into the night and it was
nearly midnight before we finally retired.  She was worried about my decision
to work in France.  It had happened far too quickly, she said.  Was I sure that
that was what I wanted?  I promised that I would write and assured her that I
wouldn’t stay at this ‘ladies academy’ if I found it unsuitable.  I felt guilty
at deceiving her, but I had no choice.  How could I tell her that I was
expecting a child by an anonymous married man, I had known for only a few weeks
and I intended giving up the child in exchange for money?  She would have been
horrified.

The
following morning the farewells were brief and I spent as little time as
possible hugging Danny goodbye.  As I climbed into the cab, I tried to smile at
the tall figure of my sister-in-law standing on the doorstep holding my child. 
I waved as the driver snapped his whip and the horse pulled forward.  When we
reached the end of Laurel Close, I pulled off my wedding ring and placed it in
its velvet bag before pushing it in a pocket of my valise.  And then I sat back
and tried to stem the tears trickling down my face.

When
I arrived at Waterloo Station I was quite relieved to see Mrs Holland waiting
for me.  She had everything organised, as usual, and was soon directing porters
with our luggage.  The train journey was uneventful.  I watched the scenery
pass, while Mrs Holland sat contentedly with her knitting.  We didn’t speak
much and finally arrived at Portsmouth where a cab took us to the busy port.  I
followed Mrs Holland like a chick follows a mother hen, taking no part in
anything, happy to leave everything in her capable hands.  My interest revived
when I saw the Dorothy-May.

As we
climbed the gangway I looked up at the two masts that seemed to touch the
clouds and the large funnel standing proudly between them.  Mrs Holland
disappeared below to sort out our cabin and organise our luggage, but I wanted
to stay on deck.  I stood at the rail and looked about me, marvelling at the
frantic activity associated with a busy port.

“Good
afternoon, ma’am.”

I
turned to see a smartly dressed officer raising his hand to his peaked cap. 
“Good afternoon,” I replied.  I pointed to the quayside.  “It seems so busy.”

He
smiled.  “It always is when a ship is about to set sail.”

I
looked at my watch.  “But it’s only three o’clock.  I thought we weren’t
sailing until five.”

He
gave a quiet laugh.  “There’s a lot to do before five o’clock, ma’am.  May I
introduce myself?  Captain Oliver McAllen.”

“Mrs…Miss
Pritchard.  I’m travelling to Brest.”

“I’m
sorry to hear that.  You’ll enjoy the hospitality of my ship for only a short
time.”  He smiled and I could see he was a charmer.  I felt the colour flood
into my cheeks, as I realised he was flirting with me.

I
quickly changed the subject.  “So, you’re the captain of this…” I gestured
along the deck.

“This
is a passenger and cargo steamer, ma’am, less than a year old, she is. 
Launched on the Clyde last April.  Have you seen your cabin yet?”

“No,
sir, I haven’t.”

“I’m
sure you’ll be very comfortable.  We have a wonderful lounge and dining room
too.”

I
threw back my head and laughed, feeling more relaxed.  “You’re obviously very
proud of your ship, Captain.  Where do you sail after Brest?”

“From
Brest, we continue south to Lisbon, then Cape Town and finally Sydney in
Australia.”

“You’re
travelling a fair distance.  It’s a long time to be away from your family.”

“Yes,”
he grinned.  “But I’m not married so I have no wife pining away for me.” 
Someone called him and he turned his head for a moment to answer.  When he
turned back he was smiling.  He raised his hand in a polite salute.  “Perhaps
you would care to join me for dinner tonight Miss Pritchard?”  He was
interrupted by the appearance of Mrs Holland, ambling along with her skirts
rustling like dry leaves.  The captain watched her approach with an amused
expression.  “And your mother of course.”  He was gone before I had time to
explain.

“Oh,
my dear, it’s absolutely wonderful.  Come and see for yourself.”

She
took my arm and guided me below.  She was right.

Our
cabin was indescribable.  There were two berths placed adjacent to one another
and the room gleamed with varnished oak and gleaming brass.

“How
beautiful,” I gasped.  “I never realised it would be like this.”

She
nodded in satisfaction.  “My lady and gentleman want only the best for you.”

“So,
I see.  What a pity it’s only one night.”  I winked mischievously.  “Shall we
stay aboard and travel on to Australia?”

“How
do you know this ship is sailing to Australia?”

“The
captain told me.” I added nonchalantly,  “Oh, by the way, he’s invited us to join
him for dinner tonight.”

Mrs
Holland’s face was a picture.  “You’ve been talking to the captain and he’s
invited us…!  I don’t believe this.  You’ve not been aboard an hour and you’re
already getting dinner invitations.”

I
shrugged smugly.  “It must be my charming manner that swept him off his feet.”

Her
eyes narrowed.  “I can’t understand why you haven’t been snapped up before
now.  I don’t think there’s any danger of you staying single for long, my
dear.  And I told…my lady the same thing.”

I
felt stunned.  “Did you?”

“Oh
yes.  And she agreed that you should have a husband.”

“Perhaps
she could find me one amongst all her affluent friends,” I said acidly.

She
stopped rearranging her toiletries and gave me a worried look.  But I ignored
her.  I turned my back on her and concentrated on unpacking my valise and
laying out the gown I was going to wear that evening.  I smiled to myself. 
Whatever
my lady’s
opinion, marriage was not part of my plans.

I was
very excited when it was time for us to set sail and I dragged Mrs Holland up
on deck to see the ship depart.  Standing at the rail, I linked my arm through
hers and for a while we really could have been mother and daughter.  Happiness
flooded through me and I felt excited.  In a way I was on the home stretch
now.  Once in France, I needed to get through the last part of my pregnancy and
deliver the child.  Then it would be home to Nan and Danny.  The thought of my
son made me swallow hard.  I already missed him so much.

The
sea breeze felt wonderful on my face as I watched the passengers saying their
farewells. There was quite a crowd collected on the quayside and a great deal
of tears, hugging and kissing in progress. Turning round, I watched the sailors
as they went about their duties, curling up ropes and many other mysterious
labours.  I could see the captain standing high up, shouting commands that
seemed barely intelligible, yet were understood by the crew, since they
answered instantly.The funnel started to belch smoke and the cry of ‘All
aboard’ was shouted.  The passengers, who had remained on the quayside to say
their goodbyes, ran up the gangway that was immediately removed.  The mooring
ropes were cast into the water and hauled on deck.  Slowly the ship moved away
from the pier and the tugboats started to pull us out of the harbour and into
open water.

As we
moved away from shore, the people on the quayside continued their waving and
cries of ‘goodbye’ and I felt tears stinging my eyes.  Were some of these
passengers actually travelling to Australia?

We
slipped past the warehouses and left the port behind, the engine chugging
noisily, the ship picking up speed, the vessel rolling gently from side to
side.  I hung onto Mrs Holland and we giggled like silly schoolgirls.

The
rest of the afternoon was spent settling into the routine of life aboard ship,
although we didn’t stay on the deck very long.  The wind became rather biting
once we had moved away from the shelter of the harbour and so we went into the
lounge and had some tea.Passengers and crew seemed to be everywhere and I
wondered how many people were aboard this craft.  I made a mental note to ask
the captain at dinner that evening. 

Captain
McAllen rose from his seat as we entered the dining room.  He made us
comfortable and poured us each a glass of wine.  We had decided to tell
everyone that we were friends travelling to France on holiday and the captain
smiled and apologised for calling Mrs Holland my mother.  He was charming and
couldn’t do enough for us.  After dinner we went into the lounge for our
coffee, but before long I was yawning.  Ever mindful of my health and
wellbeing, Mrs Holland ushered me to our cabin and we prepared for bed.  It was
strange and yet wonderful to see her in her voluminous nightgown and curlers in
her hair.  Once asleep, she snored gently, but I soon became accustomed to it
and fell asleep very quickly.

We
awoke to a grey, blustery day and went for our breakfast.  Afterwards, I
stepped out on deck for some fresh air while Mrs Holland stayed in the lounge
to continue her knitting.

I saw
the captain coming towards me and smiled.  “Good morning, Captain.”

“Good
morning, Miss Pritchard.  Did you sleep well?”

I
nodded.  “Yes, indeed.  It must be the sea air.”  I noticed the sails were
raised.  “We seem to be moving along quite rapidly.”

He
looked up at the sails, full and straining against the wind.  “Yes, we’re going
to make good time using sail and steam.  I reckon we’ll be in Brest a good two
hours earlier.”

“So
about three o’clock this afternoon, then?”

“Our
acquaintance has been short.  But your company has been charming nonetheless.”

I
smiled at him, but my thoughts turned to what awaited me in France.

I regarded our
landing at Brest with interest and as Mrs Holland organised our luggage, I
surveyed the busy port full of activity, with the French language filling the
air.  Mrs Holland pointed to the promenade that seemed to separate the
commercial part of the port from the city and told me that in the
mid-eighteenth century convicts had constructed it as part of their prison
sentence. 

Among
the hustle and bustle of the port workers, I spied young men in smart naval
uniform and when Mrs Holland guided me to the cab that would take us to the
railway station, I asked about them.  Again, she was very informative and told me
that the Port of Brest had been the base for the French Naval Academy for the
last fifty years.  It was obvious that Mrs Holland was very acquainted with
this part of France and my suspicions began to grow about Karl’s lineage.