One day towards the end of September, Mrs Bainbridge tapped on the drawing room door. ‘There are two policemen here to see you, ma’am. May I send them in?’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Flustered, Connie Dorsey rose from the small desk in the window where she had been going over the household accounts and smoothed her skirts. Suddenly her heart was thudding painfully and she had an awful feeling that she was going to hear something she wasn’t going to like.
‘Good morning, gentlemen, how may I help you?’ she asked politely as they entered the room.
They both hastily removed their helmets and glanced uneasily at each other before the larger of the two men said, ‘Are you Mrs Dorsey? The mother of George Dorsey?’
Connie gulped. So, this visit was about George then, they must have caught him. She didn’t know if she felt happy or sad about it but, remaining outwardly calm, she nodded. ‘I am. Won’t you both take a seat?’
The young maid who had been busily polishing the parquet floor in the hallway was leaning as far towards the door as she could to try and find out what was going on but all she could make out was a blur of voices and then a sharp cry from the mistress. Mrs Bainbridge appeared at that moment and that put paid to any more eavesdropping. ‘Come back and finish this later,’ she ordered, stern-faced, and the maid scuttled away as fast as her legs would take her.
An hour later Mrs Bainbridge carried the mistress’s tea tray to the drawing room. She had an idea that something was amiss as Mrs Dorsey hadn’t left the room since the policemen’s visit. It there was something wrong she didn’t want to give the young maid anything to gossip about.
After tapping lightly at the door, she entered the room to find Connie sitting staring into space and she was shocked at the sight of her. Her mistress’s face was ghastly white and she seemed to have aged ten years.
Slamming the tray down unceremoniously on the nearest table the housekeeper quite forgot her place as she hurried across to her mistress and began to chafe her cold hands.
‘Why, lass, whatever is the matter?’ she asked, her voice heavy with concern.
For a while Connie didn’t respond, then turning to Mrs Bainbridge she told her dully, ‘George … is dead, Mary. That’s what the policemen came to tell me.’
Mary Bainbridge gasped and shook her head in denial, ‘But he can’t be … they must have made a mistake … He was so young …’
Connie shook her head. ‘There’s no mistake,’ her voice was dull and so low that Mary had to bend close to hear her. ‘He … he caught a ship to work his package to China but cholera broke out aboard when they were just over halfway there. Over half of the crew were lost. George was among them. He … he left this letter with the captain and asked him to be sure it was delivered to me when he knew he was dying.’ She motioned to a crumpled piece of paper that lay on the chair beside her, and lifting it, Mary Bainbridge began to read,
Dear Mother,
If ever you get to read this letter I will be dead and no doubt feeding the fishes at the bottom of the deep blue sea, just as the crew who have already passed away are. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry … for everything. I can’t believe I made such a mess of things but I need to try and put some things right. First of all, I believe that the baby Marcie Carson is carrying is mine. I know I denied it but I feel you should know. Secondly, I need you to know that I never intended to kill Eliza, I was rough with her admittedly but I never meant to kill her. I was a coward and a fool to run away as I did – I know that now, too late after the event. Anyway, my life is in God’s hands now. If I do survive the cholera that is sweeping through the ship I shall come home and face the music, if I don’t survive then the captain has promised that this letter will be delivered to you along with the wages I have earned. Would you pass them on to Marcie for me, they may go a little way towards her seeing that the baby has all it needs.
Finally, I want you to know that I am truly sorry and I love you, Mother. Give my regards to Father, Leonora and Oliver,
Your devoted son,
George xxx
‘Oh, ma’am!’ Mrs Bainbridge’s hand flew to her mouth as she finished reading, tears trickling down her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry … Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Yes, perhaps you could get one of the grooms to go and fetch my husband and Oliver, he’ll probably be at his morning surgery, but I should let them know what’s happened.’
‘Of course, straight away.’ Mrs Bainbridge lifted her skirts and almost ran from the room as Connie sat on, reliving happier times with her son. In her mind’s eye she saw him again in his father’s arms shortly after his birth. Johnny had looked so proud. Then she remembered his first tooth and his first tentative steps. So many memories and all so bittersweet, but they were all she had left of him. Bowing her head, she finally let her tears flow and they came so fast and hard that she almost felt as if she were drowning.
Later that afternoon, Oliver called in to the funeral parlour. Nessie looked up in surprise as he entered; he’d said that he wouldn’t be calling again unless he was called for. Marcie was up and about again now, still having as little to do with the baby as possible, and she too raised an eyebrow when Oliver told her that it was her he had come to see.
‘What would you want to see me for?’ she asked in her usual forthright way. ‘I haven’t sent for you and I’m as fit as a fiddle again.’
‘It isn’t anything about your health that I’ve come about,’ he told her as Nessie ushered him to a chair. ‘It’s about a personal matter.’
Marcie scowled. ‘And what would that be?’
Oliver ran his finger round the neck of his stiff, starched collar. It suddenly felt as if it was trying to choke him. ‘Well … the thing is … There’s no easy way to tell you this but George … George … is dead I’m afraid.’
‘What!’ Marcie sat down heavily, her eyes suddenly looking like saucers in her rapidly paling face.
Oliver hurried on to tell her what had happened and about the letter George had left and by the time he had handed her the money that George had wanted her to have she was openly crying.
‘At least he admitted that the baby was his.’ Despite his betrayal she had still loved him and she was broken to think that she would never see him again.
Oliver nodded, his face grave. ‘Yes, and my mother said to tell you that shortly she’ll be in touch to settle a sum of money on you for his upbringing.’
Marcie nodded, then without another word she left the room, leaving Oliver and Nessie to stare at each other, neither of them knowing quite what to say.
Oliver spread his hands helplessly as he looked at Nessie. ‘I’m so sorry … for everything,’ he told her in a choked voice. Despite the fact that his younger brother had almost driven him to distraction at times he had loved him dearly and he was feeling his loss badly. ‘You must hate my family for what George did to Marcie.’
She shook her head, her eyes full of tears. ‘No, I don’t. If anything, your family must hate mine. Let’s face it, we don’t have a lot to be proud of, do we? Our father was a murderer, I have a younger sister who has just had a baby out of wedlock, everyone believes that Joseph is mine after the malicious gossip that Seth Grimshaw is spreading about and there are also those that believe that Andre and I are living together as man and wife.’
‘But none of that is your fault and I want you to know …’ He looked embarrassed. ‘That I have nothing but admiration for you … and I care for you … deeply. Look at all you’ve done since you came to work for Andre. Since I had the idea of opening the soup kitchen you’ve worked tirelessly to make a success of it despite everything else you have to do and I …’
‘Please … don’t say any more,’ she implored, her face full of sorrow. ‘I admire you too but I think both of us know that anything more than friendship between us would be frowned upon by everyone. We come from different worlds and we have to accept that. Look at how your mother and father reacted to the news when Marcie told them she was carrying George’s baby. They would never accept me, so it’s best if we just stay friends.’
‘But …’
‘No, Oliver.’ Her voice had a firm edge to it now. ‘Go and meet a nice girl from your own class. Make your family proud. And do offer them my condolences about George. No matter what he did, he was their son and they will miss him.’
He slowly stood up and moved towards the door where he paused to tell her, ‘I’ll always be here for you if you need me, Nessie. And I shall still continue to call to monitor Joseph’s progress.’
When he was gone, Nessie lay her head on her arm on the table and sobbed. But at least they had both acknowledged that nothing could ever come of their feelings now. It was done.
One evening early in October Nessie returned from the soup kitchen to find George screaming his little head off and Marcie sobbing at the table.
‘Marcie, what’s going on here?’ she scolded, hurrying across to the crib to lift the baby and rock him. ‘This little chap is crying for his feed, why haven’t you seen to him?’
‘I can’t,’ Marcie whimpered. ‘I’ve tried to love him, really I have, but every time I look at him I see his father and I can’t bear it.’
Nessie hardened her heart. ‘That’s all well and good but he can’t live on fresh air, can he? And he didn’t ask to be born. Pull yourself together and feed him now, this instant! I do just about everything else for you but I can’t do that.’
Marcie sniffed as she reluctantly lifted the baby from her arms and unfastened her blouse. She nodded towards an envelope on the table, saying, ‘Oliver called in earlier to give me that.’
‘Oh, what is it?’ Nessie was worn out and if truth be told all she wanted was her bed.
‘It’s a hundred pounds … from Mrs Dorsey.’
Nessie’s eyes stretched wide. ‘A hundred pounds!’
Marcie pouted. ‘I don’t know why you should sound so surprised. That’s got to keep George until he’s old enough to work.’
‘It’s still an awful lot of money,’ her sister pointed out. ‘You’ll be able to find somewhere for you both to live in comfort now without having to worry about going out to work and leaving him.’
‘Actually …’ Marcie gulped. ‘I was thinking of sending it back and asking her to take George to live with her.’
‘You were what?’ Nessie was horrified. ‘But how could you even think of doing that? That baby is a part of you.’
Suddenly calm, Marcie shook her head. ‘But he isn’t, not any more than Joseph is,’ she said dully, addressing a subject that they had never spoken about. ‘I can remember the night I told you and Mam that I was having him and the trouble it caused when she told our dad. When Mam said she’d pass the baby off as her own when it arrived, can you remember how angry Dad was? It wasn’t long after that he left us all. Didn’t you ever wonder why? And didn’t you ever wonder why I would never tell you who Joseph’s father was?’
Nessie was staring at her bewildered, but now that she had started, Marcie wasn’t going to stop. She had carried her deep, dark secret for too long and now she wanted to share it.
‘I didn’t tell you because … it was our dad who fathered Joseph … He raped me,’ she confided dully.