Settling the Account (35 page)

As she lifted out the last piece of
newspaper, a smaller sheet of paper fluttered towards the floor,
unfolding as it fell. Mrs Coulson snatched at it, then turned the
sheet over and glanced idly at the writing that covered its other
side.

The first glimpse told her that what she
held was a letter. Mrs Coulson was not in the habit of reading
other peoples’ private correspondence, and she was about to fold
the letter up and put it back where she had found it, when two
phrases caught her eye.

The first was ‘Miss Leith’. The nurse
immediately recognised this as referring to Amy; it did not occur
to her that it might equally as well have meant Lizzie. When
another phrase leapt out at her, all thoughts of replacing the
letter unread were abandoned. ‘Parting with the baby.’

After a brief, guilty glance at Lizzie to
check that she was still asleep, Mrs Coulson slipped from the room
and into the parlour, where she was unlikely to be disturbed at
this time of day. She sat down in the chair furthest from the door
and devoured the letter from beginning to end.

The reference to Amy as Lizzie’s ‘sister’
puzzled her for barely a moment; she knew Lizzie had no sisters,
and she knew that the cousins were closer than many genuine
sisters. She read on rapidly, every sentence helping mould the
vague suspicions of Amy’s fate that she had held for years into
full-formed comprehension. So there had indeed been a child born
before Amy’s marriage; a child she had had to part with, a little
girl. Mrs Coulson had no difficulty in putting a name to this
child, though none was given in the letter: Ann. The name Amy had
cried aloud in each of the labours Mrs Coulson had attended her in.
The name of her dead mother.

‘She had been very wronged,’ the writer of
the letter had said. Yes, Mrs Coulson was quite sure of that. But
the wronging had not stopped with the conceiving of a child. It had
led to the misery of a forced marriage with that brute of a
man.

But why make the girl marry Charlie Stewart?
The letter did not help Mrs Coulson answer that question.
Scandalous as it was for an unmarried girl to have a child, that
was no reason to marry her off to such a man. Her family had
managed the birth and farming out of the child so discreetly that
Mrs Coulson had never heard so much as a whisper of it in the
gossip-prone little town; if whoever had wronged Amy had managed to
get out of reach before her family could catch him and make him do
right by her, why not keep the girl quietly at home with them once
she was over the ordeal?

That dreadful marriage was all Susannah
Leith’s doing; of that the nurse was certain. She had drummed into
Amy such a sense of shame that the girl had let herself be pushed
into Charlie’s bed. Anger at Susannah welled up until Mrs Coulson
stopped her thoughts in their tracks. Whatever else she might be
guilty of, Susannah had not got Amy with child.

So who had fathered a child on that girl
then refused to marry her? On a farm that far from town, few enough
men would have had the chance. A girl as young as Amy would never
have gone beyond the end of the valley unaccompanied; when would
she have been able to spend time alone with a man not part of her
family?

Her family. A thought too horrible to be
entertained slowly began to seep into Mrs Coulson’s mind. No, it
wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

She hurried back to the bedroom and replaced
the letter in its drawer, put a fresh sheet of newspaper on top of
it, then piled the clothes back where they belonged. Lizzie stirred
a little, and the nurse left the room.

But replacing the letter did not settle her
troubled thoughts. Who had got Amy with child? Why had the fact
that her stepdaughter had borne a child out of wedlock made
Susannah Leith so desperate to get her out of the house? Why not
let it all be forgotten once they had placed the baby with a good
family? Why go to such lengths to get rid of Amy?

Mrs Coulson had lived in many places and
seen many things, some of them things she would rather forget. She
knew that dreadful things happened in families; over the years she
had sometimes heard dark rumours of girls being misused by their
fathers. Had that happened to Amy?

The very idea made her feel physically ill.
Amy had loved her father; Mrs Coulson had seen that clearly enough
when Jack had come to visit his daughter and her new babies. And he
had certainly been fond of her. But so he would be, she reflected,
if he had been taking his pleasure with her.

It was a dreadful thing to think evil of the
dead, and this thought was indeed evil. He couldn’t have. And
yet…

And yet it explained it all so neatly. All
Amy’s talk of having done such dreadful things. The pains taken to
place the baby in Auckland, instead of pretending it was Jack and
Susannah’s own, as most families would have done. Susannah’s claim
that Amy had ‘brought it on herself’, and her haste to get Amy
married off no matter how unsuitable the husband.

The few encounters Mrs Coulson had had with
Susannah had told her that Susannah Leith was a woman with little
warmth, and with none of even such affection as she was capable of
being directed at her husband. Nothing could excuse such behaviour
by a father, but it was not beyond Mrs Coulson’s imagination to
comprehend, however dimly, how a man saddled with such a cold wife
might seek comfort elsewhere. And perhaps he had sought it with his
pretty little daughter, as warm and affectionate a girl as Mrs
Coulson had ever known, and who was said to be the image of her
dead mother.

Mrs Coulson went outside, hoping that the
fresh air would lift her thoughts above the foul rut they had
fallen into. She worked in the garden for a time, pulling weeds and
picking fresh flowers for the house, and when that was done she
rushed on to other activities. Anything to take her mind off the
idea that Amy had had such things done to her by her father.

But her frantic attempts at busyness were no
use. She tired her body, but her mind raced on. She was a little
sharp with the children, and unusually silent with Lizzie as she
tended her.

She was still on edge when Frank came home
for his afternoon tea, somewhat late and disappointed at finding
Lizzie asleep.

‘Well, I can’t sit with my girls just now,
so how about you come and have a cup out on the verandah with me,’
he said. Mrs Coulson agreed, welcoming the distraction.

‘Lizzie’s doing well, isn’t she?’ said
Frank. ‘She seems a bit tired—she’s sleeping more than she did
after the others were born—but she’s looking good.’

‘She’s doing very well,’ Mrs Coulson said.
‘And it’s good for her to take the chance of a decent rest while
she can. She’ll get little enough opportunity once she’s up and
about again—though she’s lucky to have the girls to help her.
They’ll probably be even more useful next time.’

‘I don’t think there’ll be a next time,’
Frank said. ‘I mean, it’s good Lizzie takes it so well and all
that, but there’s no denying it wears her out. And seven children’s
enough for any man.’

‘It’s certainly a blessing to have seven
healthy children.’ She gave Frank a sidelong glance; she had seen
how affectionate those two were towards each other. ‘They do have a
way of coming along, no matter what people decide.’

‘Well, we’ll have to see about that,’ said
Frank.

‘It takes a certain amount of… restraint
from time to time,’ Mrs Coulson said carefully. ‘Particularly on
the part of a husband.’ That was as far as she could go, even with
so amiable a man as Frank Kelly, and it was far enough to have
embarrassed them both.

‘It’s been good this time, while she was
carrying Kate,’ Frank said. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever managed
to get Lizzie to take it easy. Now Maudie’s home all the time—and
we’ve had Maisie staying quite a bit, she’s been a big help to
Lizzie—Lizzie didn’t have to rush around as much as she did with
the others. She even took to having a lie-down in the afternoons
once she got big, she’d never done that before.’

Maisie came out onto the verandah, carrying
a tray with tea cups and a plate of biscuits. ‘Talking about me?’
she asked. ‘I heard you say my name—you don’t want to take no
notice of him,’ she told Mrs Coulson, casting a cheeky grin in
Frank’s direction.

‘It was all nice things, dear,’ Mrs Coulson
said, smiling at Maisie. ‘Mr Kelly was saying what a help you are
to Mrs Kelly.’

‘Maisie?’ they heard Maudie calling
imperiously from the kitchen. ‘Hurry up, I want you to start on
these spuds. I’ve just about finished doing the meat.’

Maisie rolled her eyes. ‘She’s worse than
the missus, that one. I’m coming, wait your patience!’ she shouted
back. ‘I’ll be glad when the missus starts running the place
again.’ She made a show of setting out the tea things slowly and
deliberately, then headed back towards the kitchen in no great
hurry.

‘That daughter of yours is rather fond of
telling everyone what to do,’ Mrs Coulson said. ‘She’s in her
element, now that she thinks she’s running the house. I’m afraid I
just let her have her head—it doesn’t seem worth arguing over.
Anyway, it’s good practice for when she does have her own household
to run.’

‘I suppose so,’ Frank said, clearly with no
great enthusiasm for the idea of Maudie’s leaving his house.

‘For goodness sake don’t tell Mrs Kelly I’m
letting Maudie think she’s in charge of things,’ Mrs Coulson added.
‘Your wife thinks I’m being quite firm with them all.’

‘No, there’s no sense letting Lizzie get
herself in a state over it. Her and Maudie are inclined to row a
bit at the best of times.’

Mrs Coulson picked up her cup of tea. ‘I
just can’t get over what you’ve done for Maisie Feenan,’ she said,
remembering the girl who had placed the cup in front of her a few
moments before, her black hair so shiny that it caught the light as
she moved, and her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘She’s a different
girl since she starting spending time here. So clean and neat, and
she’s looking so healthy.’

‘She’s still pretty scrawny compared to
Maudie, but I suppose she has filled out a fair bit. She was just a
little scrap of a thing in rags the first time I saw her, and as
scared as a wild kitten. It’s nothing to do with me, though, it’s
all Lizzie’s doing. She’s fed her up and taught her manners and all
that.’

‘Well, she’s done a wonderful job of it,’
said Mrs Coulson. ‘Even giving her decent clothes. Oh, Maisie’s
terribly proud of that bright pink dress Mrs Kelly gave her, she
showed it to me the day I arrived.’

‘That was Maudie’s dress, her and Lizzie had
a row about it because Maudie didn’t like it. I’m glad Maisie’s so
fond of it. She keeps it here, doesn’t she?’

Mrs Coulson nodded. ‘Yes, in your daughters’
wardrobe. I doubt if she’s got anywhere at home to keep it that
isn’t filthy.’

‘Mmm,’ Frank said. ‘I’ve noticed when she
goes home for a couple of days she comes back all dirty and
worn-out looking. I don’t think they’ve got proper beds to sleep in
at her place. Lizzie says Maisie always spends the first half hour
or so after she gets here giving herself a good scrub and getting
changed.’

‘That’s another good habit Mrs Kelly’s
taught her, cleanliness.’

‘I’d sort of like to have her here all the
time,’ said Frank. ‘We’re a bit short of room, though, with all the
girls. Anyway, her pa’d probably make a fuss about it, ’cause he
wouldn’t get her money any more. I think I’ll have to buy Maisie
off him if I want to have her come and live here—I wouldn’t call it
that, but it’s what I’d be doing.’

‘Well, a few more years and Maisie will be
able to please herself where she lives. In the meantime, I think
she’s happy enough spending half her time here.’

She shaded her eyes to look down the valley
towards the sea, a band of blue with the sun striking sparks of
light off it. ‘It’s been a beautiful day. It’s hard to believe we
had that dreadful storm the other night.’

‘Yes, it’s blown itself out well and truly,’
Frank said. ‘I had a few branches knocked off some of the trees,
but nothing too bad. I heard Charlie down at the factory the other
day saying he’d lost some shingles off his roof in the middle of
the night.’

Mention of Amy’s husband brought the dark
thoughts Mrs Coulson had been steadfastly suppressing bubbling back
to the surface.

‘Mrs Stewart said something about that when
she came down yesterday,’ she said, finding herself almost
reluctant to say Amy’s name aloud. ‘I gather that husband of hers
was in rather a sour mood over it.’

‘Hard to tell the difference with
Charlie.’

‘Yes.’ A silence fell between them, as if
the mention of Charlie had cast a cloud over both their moods. ‘I’m
very fond of little Mrs Stewart,’ Mrs Coulson said at last.

‘She’s nice,’ said Frank. ‘Lizzie and her
are like sisters, too. When Lizzie was sick that time, Amy was down
here helping look after her, and she had Joey staying with her so
she could feed him. I didn’t know whether I was coming or going, I
was no use to anyone. She was really good about it all. And she had
enough on her plate without all that.’

‘I’m sure she did.’ She sensed there were
things Frank was leaving unsaid, but she did not feel like probing
what was behind his words. ‘Where were you this afternoon, Mr
Kelly?’ she asked, making a determined attempt at cheerfulness.

‘Oh, I’ve been down at the school,’ Frank
said, brightening visibly. ‘A bunch of us were having a good look
over it—me and Bill, and Lizzie’s cousins, and a couple of other
men with kids there. I’ve been thinking for a while it’s time that
place got done up, it’s just been a matter of getting a few others
stirred up enough to do something about it.’

‘That’s a very worthy idea.’

‘It’s close to falling down, the state it’s
in. The floor’s gone all uneven the last couple of years, and the
roof leaks, and it’s that draughty in winter. Stinking hot in
summer, too. We’re going to redo the floor and the roof, and pull
all the rotten boards off the walls and put decent ones on.
Probably have to replace a couple of the windows, too.’