The Emerald Comb (16 page)

‘Mummy, why do we need to call the police?’

I hadn’t noticed Lauren, who’d come out through the kitchen door and was standing behind me, her eyes wide and worried.

‘Back inside, love. There’s some chocolate cake left if you’d like a slice. Cut some for the boys too, would you?’

‘What’s that? Is it a bone?’ Lewis had appeared beside his sister. Thomas, too.

‘Inside, the lot of you,’ I said, and shooed them back through the kitchen door. I sent them through to the living room, with instructions to put a DVD on.

There’s always a danger with family tree research that you might unearth a skeleton in your family’s closet. But a real skeleton, buried in the garden of a house owned for most of its history by your ancestors? I shuddered. Who was it, and how had he or she come to be buried there?

Chapter Eleven: Brighton, October 1840

Bartholomew paced up and down in the study of his Brighton house. Really, Agnes allowing herself to become pregnant was too much. She’d always assured him she knew how to prevent it, and that she wouldn’t get caught. Bartholomew knew she pushed some sort of sponge soaked in vinegar up inside herself before they made love but had left it all up to her.

And now the woman was pregnant. He sat down at his writing desk and drummed his fingers. What was he to do? No, what was
Agnes
to do. One thing was for certain, he was not going to bring up the maid’s child as his own. He’d provide for it if necessary, but it would not live in his house. Assuming it lived at all…

He stopped drumming his fingers and stared at the wall. There was a thought. Did the pregnancy need to continue? Agnes’s mother was a midwife as well as a herbalist – surely Agnes had picked up a few tricks on how to be rid of an unwanted baby? Yes, that was the best answer for everyone. And maybe soon Georgia would be pregnant again and would manage to keep the child this time. It was such a shame that it was his wife and not his mistress who suffered recurrent miscarriages. In an ideal world his wife would bear a string of healthy children while his mistress remained barren.

There was a tap at the door. ‘Come in,’ he called.

Agnes entered the room, her head held high. Her cheeks were more rounded than usual, and her figure was beginning to swell. Whatever they were going to do about this baby they needed to do soon, before anyone, Georgia especially, noticed.

‘Sir, you wanted to see me? I should warn you, your wife is in the drawing room and might hear us, if we make too much noise.’ She stepped close to him and raised her face to kiss him.

He pushed her away. ‘I have not summoned you to my study for…that. That is for the privacy of my bedchamber. Was last night not enough for you?’

She blushed and took a step away. ‘Last night was, as always, magnificent. I do believe it is better than ever now that I am with child.’

He coughed. ‘That is what I wish to speak to you about. You know, of course, that you cannot continue with this pregnancy while you live here. Soon it will start to show, and people will gossip. Georgia, especially, is likely to guess and I cannot allow that to happen.’

She blanched and sat down on a fireside chair. Without asking permission, he noted.

‘Sir, do not send me away. I – I love you, I think you know that, and it would break my heart to be away from you.’ She gazed up at him with eyes as green and wide as Georgia’s.

‘I am afraid I must send you away. You cannot stay here when you begin to swell. The only other option…’

‘Yes?’

‘Is if somehow you lost the baby. As my poor wife has lost all hers.’ He held her gaze as he said this.

She gasped. ‘Do you mean for me to lose the baby deliberately?’

‘Perhaps your mother knows how this can be achieved. I think we could spare you to pay her a visit. You could stay with her for a fortnight. It must be many years since you last saw her.’

‘Sir, I do not want to visit my mother. Besides I know all her methods…’

‘In that case…’

‘…but I must be clear about this.’ She stood up and looked him directly in the eye. ‘I do not wish to lose this baby. I wish to carry the baby to term and give birth to him. Whether or not you will acknowledge the child as your own.’ She sat down heavily again and covered her face with her hands. ‘Forgive me for speaking so bluntly.’

Bartholomew straightened his back and hardened his eyes. ‘If you insist on having this baby you must go away from here. Soon.’

‘I will go to my ma’s after all, then. And when the baby is born? Will I be welcome here? Will I still have a job?’

‘Yes. You may return.’

‘And my baby?’

‘You will leave it with your mother, or with some other charitable soul. You will not bring the child back here.’

She stared at him. ‘You’re forcing me to choose between my child and you.’

He did not answer, but held her gaze, keeping his eyes steely. She was but his mistress, a plaything, albeit one he was besotted with. But that did not mean he had to acknowledge any brat of hers as his own.

She sniffed haughtily. ‘And, pray, how will my ma afford to feed and clothe the child?’

‘I will send five guineas a year. There is nothing more to discuss. I wish you to leave this house within the week.’

‘A week!’ Agnes clutched at his arm. ‘But what will I say to my mistress? You know how she depends upon me for everything.’

He prised her fingers off his sleeve. ‘We will say that your mother is ill and has sent for you to nurse her. And that I have given you leave to stay with her until she is completely well again. While you are away, Polly can do your duties, and Mrs Simmonds can employ another housemaid.’

Agnes spoke quietly. ‘If I do return, will we continue as before?’

Bartholomew turned away. ‘We shall see.’

Agnes pursed her lips together. ‘Very well. Excuse me, sir, for I have duties to attend to now.’ She left the room, without waiting for his permission.

He sighed and sat down heavily in the chair in front of his desk. He would miss her; at least he would miss the comfort he found in her arms. But while she was away he knew he must wean himself off her. He was married, to a good woman who deserved better treatment. He must work hard at his marriage to try to make it a successful one. Keeping the affair with Agnes going would do his marriage no good at all. The forthcoming separation from her would be the perfect opportunity to focus more attention on his wife, and perhaps, finally learn to love her, as she deserved.

Agnes strode quickly up the two flights of stairs to her room at the top of the house. How dare he! How could he send her away like this, and refuse to accept his child? He’d more or less told her to abort it. He’d made it clear she could have either the child or her job, but not both. And
he
came with the job. At least he had, but even that seemed uncertain now.

She sat down on the bentwood chair in her little room and buried her face in her hands to think. What was she to do? She would not,
could
not abort this baby. It was part of her, and part of him. It was made from their union, which made it special, sacred. Finally she understood what she’d put Georgia through. The thought of losing her baby was unimaginable. So there was only one option for the short term, and that was to go to her ma’s as arranged, and have the baby there.

Maybe, in her absence he would come to realise how much he felt for her. Maybe he would bore of his wife in that time. And when she came back he would cast off his wife to be with her. She would then persuade him to reclaim their child… Yes. If she played her hand right, she could sort this situation out.

Three days later, Bartholomew came to her room at night. It was the first time she had been alone with him since he’d told her she was to leave. She smiled as he entered the room, but what she really wanted to do was shout and scream at him. Did he not love her? Did he not want her any more? How
could
he send her away?

They made love on her narrow wooden bed. She clung to him, relishing the feel of his weight on her, the warmth of his breath on her neck. He would change his mind. After doing this, how could he even think of parting with her? When it was over, she sighed with pleasure and nestled into his arms.

But he pushed her off, got up from the bed and rebuttoned his breeches. ‘I cannot stay here any longer,’ he said. ‘I only came to tell you I have booked you a place on the coach to London for the morning. You can change there to catch one to Lincoln. I shall give you ample money to get you home to your mother’s. Pack your things tonight.’

In the morning, her box packed, Agnes went to help Georgia dress for the last time. Georgia was sitting on her bed, her eyes red-ringed. As soon as Agnes came in, she leapt to her feet and clutched at Agnes’s hands.

‘Aggie, dear Aggie, Bartholomew tells me you are leaving us! How can this be?’

Agnes remembered the lie Bartholomew had instructed her to tell, and spoke it woodenly. ‘It is my mother, ma’am. She has been taken poorly and is asking for me to go to help her.’

‘So it will be just a few days, until she is recovered?’

‘I fear it will be longer.’

‘A week?’

‘Perhaps, or a month, or…’

‘No! I forbid it! You can stay a fortnight and no longer. Your mother can hire some nurse to look after her.’

‘My mother cannot afford a nurse…’

‘You have sisters? They can nurse her.’

‘They have families of their own, ma’am.’

‘And so do you! You have me. I cannot spare you.’ Georgia turned her back on her maid like a petulant child.

Agnes swallowed a sigh and stepped forward to put a hand on her mistress’s shoulder. ‘I shall come back as soon as I can. My mother might recover quickly or might even die. I shall not stay longer than I have to, I promise.’ That part was true at least. As soon as the baby was born and a wet-nurse found, she would return to Bartholomew and find a way to persuade him to accept her child.

Georgia spun around and slapped Agnes’s hand from her shoulder. ‘You don’t understand! I need you here,
now
. I – I am with child again. How can I manage the pregnancy without your help? I shall soon start feeling sick again and will be in need of your potions. And if…if I should lose the baby again, I shall need you to nurse
me
.’

Agnes suppressed a gasp. This was bad timing indeed. ‘You will be all right without me, ma’am. Perhaps this baby will hold. Mrs Simmonds can make you some ginger biscuits which will ease your sickness. I will instruct her before I go.’

‘No, don’t tell her. She will tell my husband. And I must keep it secret from him, as before, in case I lose the baby. Oh, how will I ever manage? Two weeks – you must and shall come back to me within two weeks. Promise me that, dear Aggie?’

‘I shall do my best…’

‘Do not abandon me!’

‘Very well, I promise…’

Georgia flung her arms about Agnes’s neck. ‘Thank you, thank you. I know you will not let me down. You are my very best friend, dear Aggie, and so kind to rush to your mother’s side in her hour of need. Rush back to me, in mine – that is all I ask!’

Three hours later, Agnes was on the stagecoach heading northwards. As the coach bumped and jolted along the rutted road, she felt the first, unmistakeable movement of the baby in her womb. Instinctively she put a hand over it and smiled to herself. She would make a future for herself and this child, one way or another.

Bartholomew frowned as he watched Georgia pushing her food around her plate. It looked as though she had eaten nothing of this dinner. And she’d barely touched her breakfast this morning, having had only a bite of toast before hurriedly excusing herself and rushing from the room. She was missing Agnes, he knew, but surely that couldn’t be making her ill? The maid had been gone three weeks now, but as far as he could see, Polly had been doing a perfectly adequate job. Really, he did not run the sort of household which required a dedicated lady’s maid. Georgia would have to learn to do without.

Georgia lay down her knife and fork and pushed her plate away. ‘I’m afraid I’m not very hungry.’

‘Are you ill? You have barely eaten anything all day.’ He looked at her with concern.

‘I – I’m quite all right. I just have no appetite for the meat and vegetables. Perhaps I’ll try a little pudding, later.’

‘Some wine, my dear?’

Georgia blanched. ‘No, thank you. I’m afraid wine seems to turn my stomach these days.’

He frowned again. ‘There is something wrong. You are keeping something from me.’

She sighed, and looked down at her lap. He waited patiently, recognising that it was best not to push her too hard for an explanation.

‘Very well. I will confess it – I am with child. But I fear that I might lose it as I did before. Agnes helped me so much then, and now she is not here I am frightened.’

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. He felt a surge of tenderness for her. ‘Oh my love, that is such marvellous news!’

He pushed back his chair and went to kneel beside her, taking her hands in his. She was carrying his child, and this time maybe the pregnancy would –
must
– succeed.

‘I have been so sick, Bartholomew. Every morning. It is horrible!’

‘All women are sick in the early stages, as I understand it, my dear. You must be strong, and bear it.’ He kissed her fingers.

‘When it happened before, Agnes made me potions to stop it. Oh, when will she return? She has been gone three weeks now, but she promised me she would stay away no longer than a fortnight.’

‘My love, her mother is gravely ill…’

‘But she promised me! Oh Bartholomew, will you write to her and urge her to come back soon?’

He shook his head. ‘It would do no good. She cannot read, remember?’

‘She will ask her local reverend to read the letter. She said that is what people in her village always do when they receive letters.’

He patted her hand, and stood up, brushing the knees of his trousers. ‘She will come back when her mother no longer needs her, I am sure. Until then, do you wish for me to employ another maid? Is Polly not adequate?’