Chapter 30

If only Hannah had been able to live with the sight of grey water. But she’d never liked it – water that had served its purpose, that had cleansed bodies or dishes or clothes, sitting there glowering at her, angry, she fancied, at being made to swallow the filth the household generated. And she thought, really, that she had waited more than long enough.

The hammering had started shortly after nine. She would have assumed it was Grogan, but she’d heard only one set of footsteps approach the door and those belonged to someone light.

‘Hannah! Hannah, dear, are you well? I was worried not to see you today. Hannah, come out. Won’t you answer the door, so I can satisfy myself as to your continued health?’

Rebecca sounded as sweet, as flawless, and as impeccably enunciated as always. But Hannah, of course, had no intention of answering the door.

Eventually the pounding stopped. She heard the footsteps recede, the sounds of hoof beats as the carriage pulled away. Still, she sat there in the parlour for some time. Not moving, barely breathing. Trying to ignore the dampness under her arms as the heat of the sun worked its way in through the bricks, amplifying itself in the process, and was given no chance to escape with the windows closed.

She guessed she waited an hour, possibly even more. While she could now read words, Mr Monsarrat had yet to get around to teaching her how to read clocks, so she couldn’t be certain what the one on the mantle was trying to tell her.

But surely Rebecca must be long gone by now. In the meantime the grey water in the kitchen would still be sitting there, perhaps even stewing – who knew what would happen if you let such substances lie around long enough, particularly in extreme heat.

She moved to the front windows of the parlour, as close as she could to the curtains without disturbing them. She would not risk looking out, but she stood there. Heard nothing, not even the occasional rustling of a leaf.

So to the water, then. A relief the woman had gone. She could return to the kitchen and perhaps make a start on some bread. But as she opened the back door, she heard a sound which frightened her more than any had since the sounds of the distant Wexford battles.

‘Hannah! I was so worried about you, and here you are, walking around and clearly healthier than one would ever expect. Why did you not answer me when I knocked?’

Hannah’s only option, she thought, was to pretend delight at the sight of the lady.

‘Do forgive me, Mrs Nelson. You must think me terribly rude,’ she said, resisting the urge to approach the low fence between her and Rebecca. ‘I should not come too close, though. I have been coughing for most of the night, have only just managed to take myself out into the sun. I would never forgive myself if I passed the malady on to you, with all of those women relying on you.’

‘Not at all!’ said Rebecca with exaggerated magnanimity. ‘You clearly need someone to take care of you. I sent Grogan off to water the horse, but that’s him back now. You will come to my house – no, I insist. I am very well stocked with medicines and I feel sure you will do better there.’

‘A kind offer, but I couldn’t possibly accept.’

‘Nonsense. In any case it will give me an opportunity to return your shoes. You left them, don’t you know, at the Factory last night. When you went in to get my sewing basket, although why that required you to take off your shoes is a story I would like to hear. I have them with me in the trap. Do come along, and you’ll be as well shod as ever. We must get you better. We’ve been away from our post for too long – people will start to wonder about us.’

*  *  *

They could wonder all they liked. Hannah realised, with the first stabs of alarm, that no one except Rebecca and her coachman knew where she was. She tried to fathom, as she had every time the wheel hit a rut, and several times in between, why she was taking such a risk. But Rebecca was not, now, sounding like Rebecca. A new – or old – presence now inhabited her body, and with it had come a new frankness. Hannah desperately wanted to hear what this woman had to say, and would rely on her own wit to survive the experience.

Where it would normally continue on around the bend in the river towards the Female Factory, the trap turned and crossed the bridge, heading towards the part of town where the prosperous lived. Heading towards the Nelson house.

Rebecca turned and smiled occasionally, patted Hannah’s knee solicitously, said she hoped Hannah’s shoes hadn’t been got at by rats in the night. It was amazing what happened when you left things unattended.

There was no gardener in the grounds, nor anyone else in evidence today. No doubt the domestic staff had found themselves with an unexpected day off.

‘Grogan, kindly assist Mrs Mulrooney down from the trap, she’s not well, you know,’ Rebecca said, hopping down herself in a most unladylike way, and displaying more agility than Hannah had seen in her before.

Grogan seemed to believe this gave him licence to act like a royal coachman, fetching a box and putting it on the ground near Hannah’s side, extending his hand with a flourish and helping her down.

‘That will be all, thank you, Grogan. We are going to have a little time together now, just us. And of course my guest needs to recover – although the fresh air seems to be doing wonders for you, Hannah. I haven’t heard you cough during our little journey.’

She took Hannah by the elbow with a painfully firm grip, while patting Hannah’s forearm solicitously.

So Grogan drove the trap around to the rear of the house, where Hannah assumed the stables lay. It seemed the horses might be getting something of an unexpected respite as well.

Rebecca stood on the verandah for a moment, then suddenly laughed. ‘Do you know, I was waiting here for the housekeeper to come and open the door for us. But she’s not here today, of course. So it seems I shall have to do it myself.’ She pulled open the door and gestured Hannah inside, closing it behind them and locking it.

They went into the dining room which Hannah had passed through last time she was here; the dark-green painted walls, the marble fireplace, the picture of David Nelson looking benevolently down on his wife and her guest.

Rebecca offered Hannah a seat at the table, by far the grandest Hannah had ever sat at. She adjusted the place settings, and sat down opposite her.

‘Now, Hannah, I can’t offer you any tea, I’m afraid. No one here to make it, you see. And I was never very good at it myself. That’s not where my talents lie. Teaching – that’s my forte. Don’t you agree? Whereas looking, listening – they, my dear friend, are clearly yours.’

‘And making tea, of course,’ said Hannah. ‘I could make some for you now, Mrs Nelson, should you feel the need of it.’

Rebecca Nelson smiled again. She had been all smiles during their ride to the house. But this was a smile Hannah had never seen from her before. It was satisfied, slightly arrogant, and showed enough teeth on one side of Rebecca’s mouth to approach a snarl.

‘Do you know,’ said Rebecca, ‘I would so like a cup of tea, but I fear I’ll have to deny myself on this occasion. And as for the medicine, well, there is none, but we both know you don’t need it. Now, shall I tell you, Hannah, what I’ve always liked about you?’

‘Please do. It would be lovely to hear it.’

‘Since we met, I’ve been impressed by your practicality. Your diligence, the primary importance you attach to getting a job done. So rare, especially when one spends one’s days among convicts. Most of them would rather do as little as possible. It’s not that they see any benefit from their labour, after all.’

‘Well, I consider that a grand compliment,’ said Hannah. ‘I would consider it even grander were you to note that my practicality tends to come out at the same time as my compassion. One without the other is meaningless, in my view.’

‘Ah, yes. Compassion. You think I’m not familiar with the concept? What have I been showing those poor wretches at the Factory all this time? I didn’t want to go back there, you know. You can imagine, I’m sure. Last place I would put myself. But you know Mrs Bulmer … She’s not of a strong enough constitution to withstand the presence of so many depraved females. David urged me to step in for her … He’s always believed it’s too small a place here for Quakers to be at odds with the likes of Bulmer, and bad for business besides. I suggested I could help out at the orphan school or the hospital, but you might have noticed he is somewhat fastidious – he would hate the thought of me walking in the door with the malodorous air of the sick still clinging to my clothes.’

Hannah was aware of a small pulse of sympathy, quickly smothered by her growing unease. To pass through those gates again, as a woman who had achieved a fragile freedom, to return to Church, who had taken so much and had the capacity, and no doubt the will, to take more. A certain amount of derangement was only to be expected.

‘Well, you certainly seem to have made a great difference to the women,’ she said.

‘Yes, I have. So have you, in your small way. But you know, of course, what single act of mine made the most difference.’

Hannah felt suddenly desperate not to hear a confession from the woman, to stop her from saying the words that would likely signal Hannah’s own death. ‘Was it the reading classes? Or the sewing?’ A slight but treacherous tremor had entered her voice, and she felt a compounding alarm to hear it. I must not, she thought, allow this to rise up and choke me.

‘I’ve been so nice to you, and here you go insulting my intelligence,’ said Rebecca. ‘I suspect you have an accusation to make. One regarding a huge service I did for the Factory women.’

Hannah nodded. ‘And yet you would do a great disservice to one of the women of the Factory, to Grace O’Leary. For she looks likely to hang for what you’ve done.’

Mrs Nelson stood, walked behind Hannah’s chair, pushing her hands painfully down on Hannah’s shoulders as though trying to stop her floating away.

‘The pirate queen has done more than enough to provoke a hanging,’ she said, as a soft rain of her spittle flecked Hannah’s cheek. ‘And what could she do, were she to survive? Organise the occasional meaningless rebellion which gets no one’s attention? Have the women destroy their work, only to see it taken out of their pay, or their rations? Practicalities – why does no one ever see them? Which one of us is in a position to do the greatest good: the convict confined to the penitentiary, or the rich woman whose husband encourages philanthropy?’

There was no point, thought Hannah now, in keeping up the tea-party demeanour, in pretending she had been brought here for nothing other than a pleasant conversation. ‘Your husband – does he know? That your name is Edwina Drake? That you were a convict?’

Rebecca cocked her head to the side, looking at Hannah as though the altered view might produce a revelation.

‘However did you come by my surname?’

‘Doesn’t matter. You have your secrets, a great many of them, and you must allow me mine. As to my question … Your husband seems to prefer to do good works from afar. I doubt he’d have you if he knew.’

‘No. I thought my hair might be an impediment – many detest red where they would prefer to see gold. He never seemed to mind, though. But you saw how concerned he was about thievery, how upset he was at the idea of convicts in the house.’

‘Yet he has had one here for years.’

‘Yes. And were he ever to be acquainted with that fact, you are right – I would never be allowed in this house again.’