Unspeakable (30 page)

I bit my tongue as Lady Morgan dismissed me. Charlotte followed me out and cornered me in the hall. “You and your little bastard might be mother's favourite charity case right now, but not for long. And then you'll be out on the street.
There are a hundred other sad cases knocking on her door, just begging for her attention.”

“Like you?” The words popped out before I'd even fully thought them. They shocked me almost as much as Charlotte, and I left her standing there with her mouth gaping like a fish's.

I still had a job with the Morgans—but not for long. Not if Charlotte had anything to do with it.

 

August 1914

Liverpool

Chapter Forty-Two

I LIVED FOR MY AFTERNOONS WITH FAITH
. I could handle a hundred of Lady Morgan's lectures or Charlotte's temper tantrums if it meant I could keep having time with my daughter. I wasn't sure what would happen if, or when, Charlotte got me fired. Would Mrs. Winters give me another chance? I didn't care if I lost the job … but would I lose Faith, too?

She stood at the water's edge throwing pebbles into the surf, cheering herself on with every
kerplunk
. It seemed she'd throw every stone upon the beach before she'd ever tire of it, but soon enough she was content to wade in the shallows, her toes like pink pebbles sinking in the sand as the water ebbed and flowed around her ankles. I wondered if this was her first time in the sea.

I'd been worried that I wouldn't know how to mother, but wanting to protect her, to care for her, to make sure she was happy and healthy, it both pleased and surprised me how natural mothering felt. Loving her took no effort.

“Faith, come eat.” She toddled up the pebbled beach to where I sat on the plaid blanket a few feet away. I held out the sandwich and she leaned in to take a quick bite before dashing off, cheeks chocked, to splash some more. Lily had made us a picnic lunch—cucumber sandwiches, apples, and cheese, even little jam tarts. A last supper of sorts, I suppose, for today was Lily's last day at Strandview Manor. I felt sorry to see her go, but my thoughts were overshadowed by the fact that my last day there was coming soon, and who knew when I could afford such a lovely spread again.

Though the house had not sold, there'd been several buyers interested. No doubt, my father would be back any day to wrap things up. To toss me out. I still had no idea where to go. Faith waded out a bit farther, the sunlight playing on her hair as the waves tugged on the hem of her skirt. The wind picked up, and with it the waves grew. “Not too far, now,” I warned. I'd been looking at boarding houses this past week, but it was hard to find a suitable one close to both my work and my daughter. And it was impossible to consider that in the near future, I might have neither.

Unsettled, I turned aside to pour myself some tea from the flask, only to spill it all over my hand and lap. It burned, still kettle hot, and I gasped, tossing cup and flask aside, spilling tea all over our lunch. It soaked into the blanket, turning the few triangles of sandwiches into a soggy mess.

Bloody brilliant!
I cursed myself for being so careless.

“Oi!” a man's voice shouted urgently, and I looked up to see Faith, waist deep, a wave bearing down upon her.

I'd only looked away for an instant. Just a few seconds.
But a moment is all tragedy needs. I knew that more than anyone.

Time slowed, playing every detail like frames in a film. The wave looming. Water crashing into my daughter, washing over her. Faith's dress like a white life vest against the dark. Her pink arm flailing. Her panicked face wide-eyed and going under.

Like Meg's
.

Stones rolled like marbles beneath my scrambling and I stumbled as I ran the few feet between us. Those short seconds, that short distance, seemed to last forever.

The undertow pulled Faith's little body farther out, tumbling her head over heels. She hadn't come up yet. The man splashed into the water as I reached it, his hand already on my daughter, even as I grasped for her. He scooped her up and turning from me, ran back and laid her on the shore.

“Faith!” I screamed, hovering over them, sure I'd lost her. Her hair stuck across her face like blackened seaweed. Her eyes were closed. Skin, grey, and lips, blue-white—as still as the stones she lay upon.

I moved to pull her to me, but the man held out his arm, keeping me firmly behind as he bent over her to listen to her tiny chest. He sat up and kneaded it with the heel of his hand, like a round of dough. I wondered if it would ever rise again.

Dear God, not Faith. Not Faith, too
.

“Wake up, love,” I cried. “Come on, Faith. Wake up!”

After seconds of eternal silence, water spurted from her slack lips and Faith coughed and gasped. The man lifted her
to his shoulder, patting her as she heaved and gagged. “That's it,” he said. “A nice deep breath now.”

I moved behind him, stroking her face in my hands as she gasped between retching. Breathing with her. “Breathe, love. Big breaths.” She coughed once more and then started to cry, the sound of it as joyful to me as the day I first heard it.

He turned to give her to me, then, and I saw the face of the man who'd saved my daughter's life. A face I'd never forget. The man who gave my daughter back her breath and now took away mine.

For I was looking into the face of Jim Farrow.

Chapter Forty-Three

JIM TOOK MY ARM
and helped me up the beach as I carried Faith. I felt as though I'd seen a ghost. But as he took up our blanket and wrapped it around me, his arms, his warmth, felt real enough. I slipped Faith's sodden smock over her head and sat on the ground, bundling her tight in the blanket, as if to protect her from a world of danger. But she fought her way free and reached for the jam tarts. She was shaken yet fine, thank God.

But not me. I wrapped her again and stood in my wet clothes, trembling from the shock of what I'd nearly lost. Of what I'd found.

“You're alive?” It seemed such a ridiculous question. For there he stood before me. The amazement at seeing him, the relief of it, was soon washed over by a wave of anger. “Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you find me? For the love of God, Jim. All this time I thought you were dead!”

But why would he come to me? Hadn't he a wife and child of his own?

“I tried to, Ellie—”

My heart ached as he said my name. I thought I'd never hear it again.

“I went to your work, but the … the man at Strandview Manor said Ellen Ryan didn't work there anymore.”

I lowered my eyes.
Oh, Jim. I never even told you my real name
.

“Is Faith … is she your daughter?” he asked.

I paused. I'd never told him about that story, either. About the farm, and Declan, and the Magdalene Asylum. “Yes,” I said, ashamed, but not of her, only of the fact that I'd kept it secret from the man who meant the most to me.

He clenched his jaw, seeming angry himself. “And the father?”

“Her father is out of our lives.” I looked at Faith. “All we have is each other.”

He considered this for a moment. “I can't believe you never told me.”

This from someone who'd clearly done the same?

“Don't judge me, Jim.” I met his eyes. “You have your secrets too, don't you? All those nights at the rail, all the things you never said.” Now it was his turn to look away. “I read it in your journal.”

“You read my journal?” He ran his hand through his hair, flustered. “That was private. How did you even—”

“I got it from the reporter who interviewed William Sampson. It was in your coat—the one I brought back to
your family
.”

I paused, hoping he'd deny that they were. But he didn't.

“Do you know how hard that was for me? To read about her, how she haunts your dreams, how you long for her? Even
on that last night, Jim, when you kissed me. I read what you'd written moments before. How you'd decided to tell her everything and ask her to be yours.” My voice rose as it spilled out of me, all that hurt and betrayal.

“Who?” He stood before me dumbfounded.

He should know. He'd
written
the bloody words!

“The one from your journal? Long dark hair? Red ribbon?” How dare he deny it.

A glimmer of recognition dawned in his eyes. “It's not what you think, Ellie.”

I pressed on. “Do you know what it was like to have her open the door and stand there with your child?” The pain of it still ached. I'd buried it deep, thought it was past, and it surprised me how fresh it still felt.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about Elizabeth and Penny.”

He blinked and frowned, puzzling it through. After all the ways we'd withheld our truths, I couldn't believe we were doing it still.

“The
mother
of your
child
?” How dare he deny it even now. “Your family, Jim.”

“What … Libby? Do you mean Penny and Libby?” He shook his head. “Christ, Ellie, they're my
sisters
.”

I paused. That was not what I'd expected.

Could it be true? I was terrified to let myself think it. To trust again. “Well … then … who were you writing about that last night, about the ring and telling her everything and—”

“You!” he blurted. “Damn it, Ellie … it was always you.”

My heart flapped inside me, my truth bursting to be free.
Say it. Say it now. Tell him how you feel
. I took a breath.

“But I don't deserve you,” he continued, and I closed my mouth. “Not after all I've done.”

“What?” I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me. But I knew he needed to be honest first. This was it. His moment of truth. Would he say it? Would he trust me with that secret? “What did you do?”

“I—” He looked at me with such anguish in his eyes. “I—” He paused and slumped, defeated under the burden of his shame. “I can't, Ellie. I just can't talk about it. I'm sorry.”