The Sea Between (25 page)

‘Once! Once! It only happened once, Richard, I swear it.’ She bit her lip, trying to stop it from trembling.

‘So that makes it excusable, does it—the fact that you fornicated only once?’

‘It wasn’t like that! It wasn’t lust! It was…’ She lifted her hand and with trembling fingers wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘I was miserable. He was comforting me.’

Comforting?
Richard clenched his teeth. Did Eliza really expect
him to believe that! What kind of fool did she take him for? He let it pass, however. He was more interested in finding out who had done the bloody comforting.

‘When did this “once” happen?’

Eliza clutched her hands tightly in front of her chest. ‘In October. I’m nearly three months gone.’

‘Does
he
know you’re pregnant?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And does he intend to support the child he’s fathered?’

Silence.

‘Well? Does he? Or am I expected to support his bastard?’

Eliza’s eye’s brimmed with tears, which in itself was an answer.

‘Is he married or single?’

She looked away, avoiding his eyes. ‘Does it matter?’

‘I imagine it will matter to his wife, if he
is
married,’ he returned.

‘What do you intend to do, Richard?’ She glanced back, looking marginally more in control of herself.

‘Take you back to England,’ Richard replied without hesitation. ‘I can’t leave you here, living in the same town as the man who supplies you with
home comforts
while I’m away.’

‘It happened once! Once!’ Eliza said vehemently, regaining some of her old fieriness. ‘It will never happen again. He regrets it as much as I do.’

‘I’ll bet he regrets it!’ Richard said.

‘But you don’t, do you! You don’t regret anything! All the months away at sea—you’ve no regrets about that! No regrets about leaving me to fend for myself as best I can,’ she countered.

‘Don’t try to lay the blame for this at my feet, Eliza!’ he roared. Aware that his temper was approaching a rolling boil again, he took a steadying breath. ‘You knew I’d be away a lot when you married me—I told you very plainly that you’d spend long periods on your
own—so don’t throw that in my face. You didn’t have to marry me.’

‘I wish I hadn’t!’ she said loudly. ‘You’ve never loved me.’

‘Love?
Love
?’ he repeated in amazed tones. ‘You’re a fine one to talk of love! You—who’ve committed adultery!’

She whirled away from him and ran across to her dresser. A second later her hairbrush came flying across the room. It flew wide of Richard’s head, hit the far wall, and landed with a soft thud on one of the pillows.

‘Don’t throw anything else,’ Richard warned in a low voice. He was in no mood to tolerate one of Eliza’s temper tantrums. He paused, waiting to see if she would fling anything else, then said in a carefully controlled voice, ‘As I said, you will be leaving Lyttelton and going to England. You’ll sail with me when I leave port.’

She wound her arms across her middle, her face still flushed with anger. ‘Where in England? To Southampton?’

He nodded. ‘You can live with your parents. If they’ll take you in.’

‘What do you mean—if they’ll take me in?’ Eliza looked at him uncertainly. ‘You surely don’t mean to tell my parents I’m—’

‘Pregnant with another man’s child. Yes, I do mean to tell them,’ he said, interrupting her. ‘I’ll support you. And the child. But I will not allow the child to carry my name. They can put in the church register “father unknown” or whatever phrase they use to indicate the child is a bastard. You can live in the shame you deserve, Eliza.’ He gave her a long, hard look.

Eliza swayed slightly, then slowly turned away, bowed her head, and broke down in heart-rending sobs.

Richard watched her in stony silence. The threat of a ruined reputation, of being shamed before her parents, was the only way he would extract a name from Eliza.

‘Tell me who the father is,’ he said in a clear voice. ‘If you do, I’ll say nothing to your parents and I’ll give the child my name.’

She turned to face him, gulping back sobs, her cheeks drenched with tears. ‘If I tell you who he is, will you give me your word that you won’t hurt him?’

‘No,’ he said definitely.

‘Then I can’t tell you,’ she wailed, breaking down in sobs again.

‘It’s your choice,’ Richard returned.

He walked over to the door. ‘You’ll find me in the parlour. I’ll give you until nine o’clock, Eliza. After that I’ll make no bargains with you about anything. You can take your lover’s name to the grave with you, if you wish.’

W
illiam raised his glass and held it out across the table. ‘Happy Christmas, my dear,’ he said warmly.

Smiling, Charlotte lifted her own glass and the rims chinked musically as they brushed against each other. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she returned.

William leaned back against his chair. He had the air of a man who was thoroughly contented. He’d just eaten a very good dinner, he had a glass of his favourite wine in one hand, a cigar in the other, and his wife-to-be sitting opposite him at the table. ‘Will you miss me?’ he asked quietly.

‘What would you do if I said no?’ Charlotte asked, taking a sip of wine.

William shook his head, smiling. ‘I confess, I don’t know. So I suggest you say yes.’

She laughed. ‘We’re only going to be apart for ten days, William. And, if you want a truthful answer, I think I shall be far too busy to even give you a thought.’

William gave an amused chuckle.

The day after tomorrow he would be travelling to Dunedin, to spend Christmas with his father, while Charlotte would be leaving with George, to spend Christmas at the farm. Ann and young Charles were already there. As for where Richard and Eliza would spend Christmas, that would depend on how Eliza was.

‘Dare I ask how the wedding dress is coming along?’ William enquired.

‘Very nicely,’ she said. ‘The lace that I was waiting for has arrived, so I’ll take it to the farm with me. Ann said she’d sew it on. She’s as clever with her fingers as any professional seamstress.’

‘Speaking of lace, I think I may have a buyer for the haberdashery,’ William remarked.

‘Oh, do you? Who?’ She smiled, trying to look pleased, even though the truth was she would miss the haberdashery dreadfully. But as William had pointed out after examining her ledgers, it didn’t make a huge profit.

‘A ship’s captain, as a matter of fact,’ he replied. ‘A Captain Reynolds. He’s retiring in February and wants to invest in a property with an income.’

‘Oh,’ she said, brightening. ‘He’ll probably want someone to manage it for him, then. What did he say about the possibility of employing Rose?’

William shook his head. ‘I didn’t mention it to him.’

Charlotte frowned at him. ‘You didn’t mention it? Why not? I told Rose we’d make every effort to see that she keeps her position. You know I did. I told you I did.’ She set her glass down on the table and waited for him to reply.

‘Charlotte, she’s been in prison,’ William replied. ‘You seem to forget that the girl has a history of theft.’

‘She stole
once,
William. I’d hardly call that a history,’ she returned.

‘She stole, which means she’s a thief, Charlotte, and I could not in all conscience recommend her to a prospective buyer. Now, let’s say no more about it. Come—it’s Christmas and I don’t want to spend my last evening with you arguing.’

She made a point of letting him see her disappointment, but she
knew very well that there was no point in discussing it further. It would be equally fruitless to tell William that, unprompted, a month ago, Rose had told Charlotte that she was not a thief and had no idea where the missing money had gone. Rose had pleaded guilty to a crime she hadn’t committed because the constable who interrogated her had informed her that the magistrate would be far more lenient if she admitted her guilt and showed some remorse. Charlotte had no doubt in her mind that Rose was innocent, but William would not be so easily convinced.

‘Your father will be pleased to see you,’ she said, changing the subject.

‘Yes, he will,’ William agreed as he topped up his glass. ‘I’ll take you to meet him next year, perhaps around Easter time. Hopefully, next year will prove a better year than this one.’ He was alluding to the large losses that the insurance company had incurred over the past few months.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Charlotte agreed. She paused, then said quietly, ‘William, is the situation still quite serious? I know you told me that the finances are all right now but…well, George is worried. I can tell he is. He looks quite strained.’

William smiled. ‘George has a tendency to worry unnecessarily. It’s his nature.’

She smiled back, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. The trouble was, neither William nor George were willing to discuss their business concerns, except with each other. Quizzing them was pointless and she sometimes wondered why she bothered. All she ever got from either of them were superficial answers.

Seeing a frown still lodged between her brows, William reached for his glass. ‘Come, let’s drink a toast! To us, and to the future,’ he proposed.

Whatever that holds, she thought, as their eyes met.

A visitor by the sound of it. Someone was knocking on William’s front door.

‘I wonder who that can be,’ William said, craning his head over his shoulder in the direction of the noise. ‘Oh well, I suppose I’d better go and see,’ he said and deposited his cigar in the glass ash tray.

Feeling slightly sleepy from the wine, Charlotte closed her eyes. The clock in the hallway was just striking the hour. Eight o’clock. She listened to the chimes, mentally counting them, heard William open the door at the seventh, then all hell broke loose.

Her eyes flew open as a violent crash sounded. William cried out in pain, there was another loud crash, and then to her astonishment she heard Richard’s voice. More crashes, then another cry of pain from William.

Overturning her chair in her haste to get to her feet, she ran into the hall to find William, sprawled full-length on the floor, with blood streaming from his nose. Richard was crouched over him. His fist was clenched and he looked as if he had every intention of using it. ‘Richard!’ she screamed. ‘What are you doing?’

Ignoring her, Richard hauled William to his feet, slammed him against the wall, then swung his fist and punched him as hard as he could in the stomach. William’s eyes creased with pain as he gave an involuntary gasp and crumpled to the floor.

‘Richard! Stop it! Have you lost your mind?’ Charlotte shouted.

Pushing past him, she crouched protectively over William. He had drawn up his knees and was clutching his stomach and coughing violently. She was shaking like a leaf. She’d never seen any man look as furious as Richard.

‘Move aside, Charlotte,’ Richard said in a low, threatening voice. ‘I haven’t finished with him yet.’

‘No, I won’t move aside!’ she returned shakily. ‘Why have you done this to him? Because of me?’

‘Because of what he’s done to my wife, that’s why!’ Richard snapped. ‘He’s committed adultery with her and got her with child! She’s carrying his bastard!’

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open in shock. She turned instinctively to look at William. He was as white as a sheet. Turning back to Richard she said in a faltering voice, ‘There…there must be some mistake.’

‘Eliza is pregnant and she’s named
him
as the father!’ Richard bellowed. ‘I think my wife should know who fathered her bloody child, don’t you?’

She looked at William again, then rose unsteadily to her feet and stepped away from him.

‘I’m not the father,’ William said hoarsely, finding his voice at last.

Richard glared at him. ‘My wife seems to think you are.’

Clearly in considerable pain, William arched his back and gave a loud groan. ‘She’s lying,’ he said, forcing the words between his teeth.

Richard’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s you who’s the liar, Fairfield! You won’t admit what you’ve done because you know that your bloody reputation would be ruined, not to mention your plans to marry Charlotte! Well, you’ve ruined my wife’s reputation! And her marriage, you swine!’

Breathing heavily, he turned to Charlotte and said angrily, ‘Eliza was lonely and she was jealous of you! I imagine she found it very satisfying, having your fiancé as her lover. As for opportunity, well there were plenty of those with me away at sea. How many times has your fiancé seen my wife home from George’s house, Charlotte? Eliza made a point of telling me how entertaining his conversations were. He bloody well entertained her all right—in my bloody bed!’

He wrenched the door open and left, slamming it behind him. The reverberations were still rattling the leaded side-panes when William stirred himself.

‘Help me up,’ he said in a muffled voice. He had managed to get a handkerchief out of his pocket and was holding it against his bleeding nose. The flesh around his eyes was already turning purple from the blow from Richard’s fist. He had hit him squarely in the middle of his face. An inch lower and William would have been spitting teeth into his handkerchief.

She reached down and helped him to his feet. Wincing with pain, he gingerly straightened and took a deep breath. As she took his arm to help him into the parlour, William looked at her over the top of his blood-stained handkerchief. ‘Well, which one of us do you believe, Charlotte?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘Eliza or me?’

She gave him a long, searching look. One of them was lying. As to which one…she had an awful feeling that it was William. He had made no bones about the fact that he thought Eliza was very attractive, and he’d seen her home from George’s house umpteen times. God knows, he’d had plenty of opportunity to become amorous with her. But she could scarcely believe that William would be this foolish, and he’d never made any premature advances towards Charlotte. Whatever urges he had in that direction, he’d kept them well under control. But Eliza
had
named him as the father. Oh God, she thought—who am I to believe?

‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know who to believe, William.’

‘In that case you don’t believe me.’ Pulling free from her, he shambled painfully into the parlour.

Charlotte stood where he had left her, in the middle of the hall. At her feet was the clock, lying on its side. It had stopped at eight o’clock. The glass face had shattered and broken shards were
everywhere, mixed among the dirt from the aspidistra plant. In the fight, Richard had overturned that, too, along with the small table it normally sat on. In the parlour, she could hear William pouring himself a drink.

She closed her eyes. She felt completely numb. Too numb to move, too numb to cry, too numb to think, even. Whatever made her tick had stopped, like the hands of the clock. But unlike them, she would eventually have to move—the question was, move where? Would she go into the parlour to talk to William, or would she go home?

It was two or three minutes before she decided. She went into the parlour, but stopped just inside the doorway. William was sitting on the sofa, not lolling comfortably as he usually did, with his ankle hooked over his knee, but perched on the edge. His shoulders were hunched forward and his left arm was wound around his stomach. He was holding a glass in his right hand and between his feet was the decanter of brandy. By the look of him, he had every intention of emptying it. He also appeared to have every intention of ignoring her.

‘William, I need to go home and think,’ she said in a tight voice.

Without looking at her, William reached for the decanter and refilled his glass.

‘William…’ she said again.

When it became obvious that he wasn’t going to reply, she got her coat and left. She knew why he wouldn’t speak to her—because she had doubted his word, because she hadn’t unquestioningly believed him. But surely he could understand that she, too, was in a state of shock, that she needed some space to think, sort things out in her mind? Surely, he could understand that!

As she made her way back to George’s, she could hear a group
of carollers somewhere down on Norwich Quay, joyfully heralding in Christmas.

‘Oh God, how I wish Ann was here!’ she said aloud as she turned the corner into Exeter Street. She could have spilled it all out to Ann. Ann would have quietly listened to her, then offered some helpful, sensible advice. But Ann wasn’t here, only George, and God alone knew how he would react to this news. It would be interesting to see who
be
believed.

As she walked into the parlour, George looked at her and frowned. He was standing in front of the fireplace. For once, there was no sign of his paperwork anywhere. ‘You’re back very early, Charlotte. Has something happened?’ he enquired.

‘Yes, something has happened,’ she said, and sank down heavily onto the sofa. ‘Eliza is pregnant and she says William is the father, and Richard has just been to William’s house and given him a beating.’

George’s eyes widened in shock. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then walked over to his armchair and slumped into it. Supporting his left elbow with his knee, he rested his forehead on the palm of his hand and stared at the carpet. ‘Oh, God!’ he murmured and closed his eyes.

Long seconds slipped past.

Eventually, Charlotte leaned forward and said in a tense voice, ‘George, will you please open your eyes and say something. I need to talk to you. I need to know what you think. William denies he’s the father. He says Eliza is lying and I don’t know who to believe.’ She stared at him, waiting for him to say something, and when he didn’t, said loudly, ‘George!’

The loudness of the prompt had the desired effect and George looked up. His face was paler than she had ever seen it. ‘Eliza is lying,’ he said in a voice she hardly recognized. ‘William isn’t the father of her child. I am.’

Charlotte rocked back in shock.

‘She said she wouldn’t name me,’ George said in a strangled voice. ‘Because she knew what it would do to Ann. She said she’d refuse to tell Richard who the father was. Oh God, why the hell did she say William was the father? In God’s name, why?’

Charlotte shook her head in stunned disbelief. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this, George. I can’t believe that you’ve been unfaithful to Ann. And with Eliza, of all people!’

‘She was lonely, she was miserable and I was—’

‘Oh, please don’t tell me you were sorry for her!’ she cut in, in disgust.

He swallowed and looked away. ‘You don’t understand, Charlotte.’

‘No, I don’t!’ she agreed loudly.

George ran his hand unsteadily through his hair, then turned back to face her. ‘Ann and I…we haven’t been able to have normal relationships, not since Charles was born. The doctor said that if she had another child she would almost certainly die giving birth, so we don’t…we can’t…’ He swallowed heavily. ‘We’ll never be able to be man and wife in that way again. I daren’t touch her; I can’t risk losing her.’ He paused then said in a voice barely more than a whisper, ‘I was under a lot of strain, from that, and with the business problems. It happened after I’d walked Eliza home one night. She invited me in for a drink and she got upset. She said she and Richard didn’t have a proper marriage because he was never there. The last time he was home, in August, he never touched her, not once. And I thought about Ann and me…how we wanted to but couldn’t. I don’t know why, but I told her about us, how we couldn’t have a proper marriage, and she took hold of my hand to comfort me and . .’ He lowered his eyes and shook his head. ‘I swear I didn’t go there with the intention of it happening, Charlotte. I swear I didn’t. It was just…Eliza was willing, very willing. She was lonely and miserable, and I think she
just needed to feel wanted by a man again. And I wanted her. God help me, I did want her.’ He looked away again and bowed his head in shame. Then George did something that Charlotte hadn’t seen him do since he was a small boy. He buried his face in his hands and wept.