In December, the board met and discussed my appeal to have Arabella brought to live with me. The reverend called me to his office to tell me their decision; he said they had barely even considered it – they had refused immediately, because the laws of the colony forbade it.
‘That is ridiculous,’ I said. ‘It’s absurd that there has to be such strict adherence to laws that go against common sense and plain humanity.’
He nodded gravely. ‘I know, Rose.’ He reached out and touched my arm. ‘I am very sorry.’
The feeling of his hand against me made me shudder.
He smiled. ‘What’s the matter, Rose?’ he asked.
‘I think … Please …’ I floundered.
His hand began to move slowly up and down my arm, as though I were meant to think him gentle and tender. ‘You aren’t afraid of me, are you? You know I want you to be happy here. I want all my workers to be happy. You, and Hattie, and Miriam …’
His hand slipped away from my arm and he ran his fingers across my face. ‘I am sorry about the board’s decision, Rose. If I could, I would have changed their minds.’
He looked at me. ‘My dear, what is wrong?’ he asked.
‘I’d rather you didn’t touch me like this, sir,’ I said, edging towards the door.
He laughed. ‘What do you mean? I thought you liked it. You sailed out on that ship a lady, after all.’
I shook my head. ‘No, sir. You are mistaken.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so.’
I will scream if he continues, I thought. But I wasn’t sure how wise that would be. Instead I said, ‘If you touch me again, I will inform your wife and son.’
He came closer to me. ‘I’m sorry, Rose,’ he said. He fixed his eyes on me, as though he were feasting on the sight of me. ‘How much should I pay you? I am happy to pay you.’
My voice grew loud. ‘Nothing,’ I said, feeling the familiar race of my heart as I struggled to open the door. ‘I am offering you nothing,’ I shouted and ran out of the room away from him.
I was unable to breathe properly.
‘Mrs Winter, Mrs Winter, what on earth is the matter?’
It was Mrs Sutton’s voice.
I took huge gulps of air, but could not speak.
Calmly, the reverend emerged from his study. ‘Someone must fetch Mrs Winter a glass of water. She appears to be having an attack of the hysterics. She is prone to it, I’ve heard.’
I knew then that he must have read Charles Murray’s report about me.
I must leave here, I thought. I must go.
Tuesday, 8th June, 1841
All that is good is about to be ruined. Before breakfast, when I was feeding Isabella, Mrs M came up to the top floor without any warning. I heard her coming, but could not remove the baby from my breast quickly enough.
Mrs M stared at me. There was no mistaking the horror in her face. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ she cried, snatching the child from me. ‘You are not the children’s wet nurse. We did not employ you for … for this!’
I let her take the child from me and she whisked her away downstairs, leaving me on my own with Charles. We ate breakfast and then continued with our lessons well enough, but I was anxious about the consequences of the morning. There was nothing I could offer as explanation.
At lunchtime, Mrs Murray returned to the top floor again. She was calm enough. ‘Rose, I would like to speak to you, please,’ she said as she came in, rustling her taffeta over the floor.
I stood up from the table. ‘Yes, Mrs Murray.’
She looked at Charles, who was eating his lunch. ‘Not here, Rose,’ she said. ‘Let us speak in the schoolroom.’
I followed her through the wooden door and into the dreary room where Charles takes his lessons. It is small, furnished with two desks and a globe, some battered copies of Mangnall’s Questions, a bible and a children’s encyclopaedia. All of this reading matter is designed for children much older than Charles, and so I mainly have to invent methods of instruction for him.
‘Rose,’ Mrs M said. ‘I have decided to advertise for a new nanny. A suitable period has elapsed since the last one passed on, and I think Charles is ready for someone new now. You must go back to being his governess, although I am giving you notice now that we will soon be looking for someone new to teach the children, too. But the nanny is our main concern at the moment.’
I nodded, though I did not speak, and Mrs M swept out of the schoolroom and back down the stairs, with barely a glance at her son.
Her decision has depressed my spirits. It is not right that I have cared for the children from morning till night, every single day; that I could not love them more if they were my own blood; and yet still they are someone else’s, to be taken from me and handed over to another, who will not – who cannot – care for them as I do.
One day next week, when the Murrays are out on their charitable visits, I would like to hunt out the key to the door at the bottom of the stairs and I would like to lock it, and stop anyone – nanny or mother – from coming up here to disturb our little world.
I begged illness that night, and told Mrs Sutton I was unable to work. She was sympathetic enough, knowing the board’s decision and assuming my sickness to be from the disappointment.
For a long time after my encounter with Reverend Sutton, I felt shaken and ashamed, though the shame ought to have been none but his. I’d heard it said before – mostly by Miriam – that he was a frequent visitor of the Black Horse, but although I always believed him to have his faults, I couldn’t think him capable of such hypocrisy. But now I saw it. It made me wonder why Hattie had left. Perhaps now he was looking for her replacement.
Miriam was in our room when I got there. She could see something was wrong, because as soon as I walked in she said, ‘You ain’t looking good, miss. What’s the matter?’
‘The board have refused my appeal for Arabella to come and live with me,’ I told her.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ she murmured, without looking at me.
She was with child. Looking at her made me feel worse. ‘So has John Sutton agreed to marry you?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Has he spoken to his father about it?’
‘I reckon so. Or if he hasn’t, he will soon. Tomorrow, maybe.’
‘And what do you think his father will say?’
She shrugged. ‘He’ll say it’s all right. He’ll say John can marry any girl he likes, if he loves her.’
‘Does he love you?’
‘Why do you always ask me that?’
‘Because you need to be sure, Miriam. That’s why. A marriage can’t be built on wishful thinking.’
She said nothing.
I was certain the reverend was going to refuse the match, or do everything in his power to prevent it. I knew now that he was a vile man, and that the appearance of godliness was all that mattered to him. He would preserve his reputation at anyone’s expense.
Last night, I’d heard him discussing it with his wife.
‘He cannot marry a convict. It is out of the question.’
‘No. We cannot live with shame,’ said Mrs Sutton. ‘But what about the baby?’
‘These are exceptional circumstances. If Miriam is determined to tell the world that our son put the child in her, then she must have it removed. We must insist that she visits Ma Dwyer as soon as possible.’
‘But to do such a thing would be most dreadfully wicked.’
‘In this instance, it isn’t. Miriam is slandering our son. She is slandering our family. Such appalling wrong-doing is in her nature, and will be passed through her blood to the child. The child is already without hope. If it is born, the law states that it must come here to live. We cannot be stained with the association of a criminal child, one which Miriam will continue to insist belongs to our son. It must be obliterated.’
‘Do you think Miriam will agree to this?’
‘My dear, she will have no choice. None at all. If she has the baby, we will report her to the authorities and she will be condemned to gaol. She will not want that. You must tell her to visit Ma Dwyer, and then she must agree to say nothing more about it.’
‘Very well. I shall speak to her in the morning. My poor boy, to have met with such evil.’
‘It is what comes of trying to help the world, my dear. Close association with the criminal classes will inevitably intrude upon us at times. We must expect it, and deal with it, and not feel badly about it. The truth is known to us, and the truth is known to the Lord.’
Their conversation turned to other things. I left my space outside the study door, from where I had been listening, and returned to the dormitory to get the older babies ready for bed. As I washed and changed them, I felt a deep sadness in my heart. These children would soon be going to the orphanage to live, where they would see Arabella every day, without any awareness of how willingly I would have traded places with them.