Shadow Baby (30 page)

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virtually a month’s free board and lodging in return for the fulfilling of her usual household duties. He was putting the house up for sale and wished it to be kept clean and tidy and in good order. Evie curtseyed and thanked him.

She waited meanwhile for Miss Mawson to appear. There was a funeral tea and Miss Mawson would undoubtedly have been invited back to the house, she felt, to partake of the refreshments. Evie, taking the mourners’ coats, grew increasingly anxious when no Miss Mawson arrived. Had she after all not been included in the funeral party, or had she gone straight home after the burial? It was impossible to know. Evie contemplated going to her house and throwing herself on Miss Mawson’s mercy, but she could not quite bring herself to do this, not yet. She had not reached such a pitch of desperation and still had shelter for three weeks. It was a strange period of time, almost enjoyable, since with Mrs Bewley dead and the nephew returned home to Manchester, and the cousins not having come to see to the furniture, for the moment she and Harris had the place to themselves. Harris surprised her. Old and deaf though she was, she knew how to take advantage. The nephew had given her money to feed herself and Evie while they maintained the house up to its usual standard. He had asked what her mistress usually allowed her and Harris had lied promptly and convincingly. The sum Mrs Bewley had actually given her each month was small enough to be in any case so unbelievable that no suspicions were aroused by her doubling of it. ‘And then there will be extra for fires, sir, if you should be wanting Evie to light them to keep the terrible damp down. Mrs Bewley, sir, was very particular about fires ever since the paper came off the drawing-room wall with the damp, and pictures on the staircase were ruined by it, and …’ The nephew stopped her. Certainly, while the house was being viewed by prospective buyers he would want fires. Everywhere. He paid for coal accordingly.

Harris gave Evie only a quarter of the profit she had made, but even so it seemed a miracle to her to have this windfall. It was the first money she had had in over a year and the very sight of the coins thrilled her. When she had to leave this house she would not after all be penniless. If she had wished, she could also have increased the sum. Harris was very willing to lead the way. Every day she filched some small article and pawned or sold it. Nothing precious, nothing that had already been itemised in the inventory, made the moment

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the nephew arrived, but quite ordinary things which Harris knew would nevertheless raise a shilling or two. Pans disappeared and buckets, good cast-iron buckets, and an excellent carving knife and a marble slab for rolling pastry on - Harris had an eye for the right articles. Evie, invited to join in, declined. Harris told her to please herself but that the Lord helped those who helped themselves and there was not much time to do it in.

The two of them kept the house up, with Evie, as ever, doing the bulk of the work. She liked the silent house. Safe from Mrs Bewley’s shouting, she appreciated the peace and, though she worried incessantly about the future, this did not prevent her from appreciating the present. If only Miss Mawson would appear, she would be quite happy. She tried to ask Harris where Miss Mawson was, yelled and yelled the name at her, but if the old woman knew, she was not going to say. Twice Evie used her now empty afternoons to walk to Stanwix and wander down Etterby Street and up to the Scaur, but she did not catch sight of Miss Mawson. She saw a strikingly attractive-looking woman coming out of the next door house with two girls, and thought about stopping her and inquiring if she knew whether her neighbour was at home, but it would have been such a foolish question. Why did she not knock at the door if she wished to ascertain whether Miss Mawson was in residence? She left the street promising herself that if Miss Mawson had not appeared by the last but one night she would spend in Portland Square, she would indeed knock on her door.

But Evie was saved from this ordeal. A week before she was due to leave Mrs Bewley’s house, Miss Mawson turned up. Evie gave a little cry of delight when she opened the door to her, but this quickly turned to a gasp of consternation when she saw how very pale and thin Miss Mawson was. ‘I have been ill, Evie,’ Miss Mawson said as she came into the hall and immediately sat down on the upright heavy wooden chair which stood near the dining-room door. ‘I am still far from strong, but I must arrange to collect what dear Mrs Bewley left to me before Mr Banningham-Carteret sells the house. Will you help me, dear?’ Alert and eager, Evie went with Miss Mawson up the stairs and into Mrs Bewley’s bedroom. The curtains were still drawn and the fire was set, ready to be lit the moment anyone came to view the house, but certainly not kept burning every day as the nephew supposed. It took Evie only a moment to light it and to open the curtains a fraction, as instructed.

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Miss Mawson sighed. ‘I have no heart for this, Evie,’ she murmured, ‘but it must be done.’ Out of her bag she took a list and walked towards Mrs Bewley’s huge double wardrobe. ‘Open it, Evie, will you?’ Evie opened it, opened both doors wide. There was an enormous number of clothes packed on to the rail, starting with coats at the left-hand side and working down through suits and dresses to skirts and blouses. Evie had not known her past employer had owned so many splendid clothes. In the last year she had worn virtually the same garments winter and summer, a black dress and shawl, and a black coat if she went out.

Miss Mawson consulted her list and took out first a satin evening dress with its own little cape. It was a beautiful garment of elegant design, the bodice encrusted with tiny seed pearls, each sewn on by hand. Carrying it to the bed and gently draping it there, Evie shivered at the cool, luxurious feel of the material. ‘Made by Mr Arnesen,’ Miss Mawson said, ‘a long time ago, for Mrs Bewley’s daughter who was my dearest friend.’ Evie made no comment, though she was desperate to ask questions and demonstrate her avid interest. She hadn’t known Mrs Bewley had a daughter. In fact, she was sure she had heard her bewail the fact that she had not and exclaim that if only she had had children she would not now be in the state she was in, dependent on an old deaf housekeeper and a chit of a maid Next there came out of the wardrobe a riding habit, a dark red day dress with slashed sleeves, a cream-coloured woollen coat with brown velvet collar and cuffs, a short fur jacket and several white blouses, all with lace collars and very full sleeves. ‘All Caroline’s,’ Miss Mawson said, ‘and kept all these years. I do not know what is to be done with them. They are all out of fashion and I cannot wear them in any case, I am much smaller than Caroline was. Now, Evie, will you fold these garments most carefully and put them in the boxes I have arranged to be delivered? And finally, dear, will you carry them yourself into the carriage and accompany them to my house?’

Evie could not sleep for excitement. It had never occurred to her that there could ever be any circumstances in which she could actually be invited to Miss Mawson’s house - it was a dream too wonderful for her ever to have had the nerve to dream. The boxes came, full of tissue paper, and the carriage waited. Evie packed the garments skilfully, folding the tissue paper between them, and carried the boxes into the carriage one by one. The driver hired by

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Miss Mawson knew where to go. Sitting in state, looking out of the window, Evie could not help smiling. Her sad little face beamed with pride even if there was no one to see it, and when she saw Miss Mawson come out of her house to greet her she was so overcome with pleasure she stumbled as she alighted and was distressed at her own awkwardness. But Miss Mawson did not seem to notice. She paid the driver and then showed Evie where to stack the boxes. Once this was done, Evie was at a loss. Should she speak up? Should she remind Miss Mawson directly of her previous promise? Though it had not been a promise exactly. But Miss Mawson was speaking to her and offering her a coin.

‘For your trouble, Evie,’ she said.

‘Oh no, ma’am,’ said Evie, ‘I couldn’t.’

Miss Mawson looked at her closely and seemed suddenly to realise something. ‘Of course,’ she said, as though to herself, ‘you will be leaving Portland Square without-anywhere to go, and I believe I …’ She stopped, apparently coming to some decision. ‘Sit down, Evie, for I must, I am still so weak, and I cannot feel comfortable talking to you if you stand before me like this. Sit, sit.’ Reluctantly, perching on the very edge of the chair indicated, Evie sat. ‘Now, Evie, I cannot give you a reference because you have never worked for me and I cannot employ you because I am not rich and as you see this house is very small and I have a maid in any case, but I can give you a recommendation based on my knowledge of your work and character as I observed it during my visits to Mrs Bewley, and I can besides quote what Mrs Bewley said about you. Will that be of use, dear?’ Evie nodded her head vigorously. ‘Very well. Stay here and I will write something at once and give it to you.’

She disappeared up the stairs and Evie was left hardly daring to move, but wanting badly to examine the photographs she could see on the nearby mantelpiece. She could see Mrs Bewley in them, with a girl. Was that girl Miss Mawson? No. Nor did she look like Mrs Bewley. Evie was sure this must be the Caroline who had been mentioned, even though there was no physical resemblance. There was another photograph of this same girl and beside her was Miss Mawson. Younger, but definitely her. Both girls were laughing, their arms around each other’s waists. Evie wondered why she had never seen these photographs among those which crowded the mantelpiece and piano top in the drawing-room of Portland Square.

Miss Mawson returned, holding out an envelope to Evie. ‘I have

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not addressed it, dear, so you can present it to whomever it may concern. And I have left it unsealed so that you may read what I have written. I wish you luck, Evie.’

Evie sprang up from her chair and took the proffered envelope eagerly. ‘Thank you, Miss Mawson,’ she said.

‘Do you know the way back to Portland Square, dear?’ Miss Mawson asked.

‘Oh yes, ma’am,’ said Evie, smiling to think how many times she had walked the distance.

‘It must be lonely there now, in that big empty house with only poor Harris for company?’

‘I like it, ma’am.’

‘Do you?’ Miss Mawson looked very surprised. ‘What is there to like?’

‘The quiet, ma’am, it is very peaceful and easier …’

‘Easier?’

Evie hesitated. She remembered that Mrs Bewley, who had destroyed all peace, was Miss Mawson’s friend. She could hardly now describe how hard that woman had made her life. But Miss Mawson was not stupid.

‘You never knew Mrs Bewley as she once was, Evie,’ she said. ‘The kindest lady imaginable. But you see she had a great shock years ago and never recovered. The pain of it made her bitter and I know she often seemed harsh, for she confessed as much to me. There is no harm, I think, now she has passed on, in telling you why she may not have been the most considerate of employers, as once you would have found her.’ Miss Mawson stopped and went over to the mantelpiece where she picked up the framed photograph of Mrs Bewley and the girl. ‘That was Caroline, Mrs Bewley’s only daughter, her only child. She is dead now. But before she died she was greatly wronged by a man - do you understand me, Evie? - and died, in fact, in childbirth in the most miserable circumstances. I was her friend. I did all I could, but … she ran away, you see, with this evil man and he deserted her. It was a most terrible thing.’ Miss Mawson’s eyes filled with tears and she turned away.

Evie did not know whether she ought to speak but her need to do so pressed hard and she could not hold back. ‘And the baby, ma’am?’ she asked.

‘What, dear?’

‘The baby, Miss Caroline’s baby, I wondered …’

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‘Oh, it died, fortunately, poor thing. A girl. She died, luckily, with her wretched mother, the very cause of her misery and then her death.’

Evie felt numb all the way back to Portland Square. Miss Mawson was gentle and good. She had had no doubts that it was lucky her friend’s baby had died - ‘the very cause of her misery’. She was so sure about the Tightness of the baby’s death. Evie had badly wanted to ask how anything could have been the baby’s fault, but did not dare. She had to accept that in some curious way it was, as Miss Mawson had said, right that it should die. She stopped on Eden Bridge and looked down into the fast-flowing river. She had read, in Mrs Bewley’s Cumberland News, of a woman throwing herself into this river because she was expecting a baby. She was a servant, this woman, and not married, and she did not want the baby. Slowly, Evie carried on her way. She had not died nor been murdered. Leah, her mother, had had her and looked after her, at least at first, and had seen she was baptised. Did that suggest Miss Mawson was always right in her assumption that illegitimate babies were better dead? Evie thought not and felt a little easier. Maybe she, too, had wrecked her mother Leah’s life but it had not ended in death for either of them. She was motherless, but alive and in her case always with the prospect of finding her mother and making amends. But that struck Evie as strange even as she thought it - why had she thought in terms of making amends to her mother? It was as bad as Miss Mawson’s kind of thinking. The amends, if they were to be made, were her mother’s, for deserting her.

Muddled and tired, Evie arrived home to find Harris about to depart for good. She had found a place in the almshouses at Corby and must take the little house or lose it. The old woman was in a state of great agitation, and Evie had to help her into the trap she had hired and soothe her with repeated assurances that the Portland Square house would be properly looked after for this last week. The trap, she saw, was laden not only with Harris’s belongings but with the faded curtains taken from her bedroom and a shabby counterpane from another little-used room and half the contents of what had remained in the kitchen cupboards. Alone in the big house, Evie locked and bolted all the doors and, instead of feeling lonely or afraid, found she felt exultant. A house, all to herself, if just for a week. She roamed from room to room, touching things she had never dared to touch, though respectfully and carefully, sat on every