Looking back, so was she, but it had begun so slowly she had been lulled into feeling easy with him. Back from university, and because of the war unable to go on a Grand Tour, which most young men of his rank usually did, he had been kicking his heels about the estate, ripe for mischief. He would make excuses to join her when she was out with the children, and then he would make himself agreeable, talking of nothing in particular, strolling along beside her, being charming and helpful. Then it had progressed to compliments on her good looks and her cleverness, and later he would send the children on ahead so that he could take her hand and flirt with her. And she, fool that she was, had soaked it up, believing him to be sincere.
She had been too naïve to see where it was all leading until the night he had come to her room and sat on the bed, saying he could not sleep for thinking about her. It had not been until hed started to touch her through her nightclothes, murmuring endearments the whole time, that the alarm bells had begun to ring in her brain and shed thrust his hand away and told him to go back to bed. If he had really loved her, as hed said he did, he would have stopped then, but he took no notice, hardly seemed to hear her. She had not dared cry out for fear of waking the children, who slept in the rooms adjoining hers. Instead she had struggled silently and ineffectually.
He had been a bit sheepish afterwards, grinning while he dressed himself and kissing her lightly before he left her room, as if he had done nothing untoward. Part of your education, he had told her. It had certainly been that. If it had taught her one thing it had taught her not to trust anyoneespecially not young men with bright gold hair, mischievous blue eyes and winning smiles.
What are you going to do? the old lady asked.
I dont know. I must find work where I can live in until She stopped suddenly, unable to contemplate the future. The prospect of the birth itself was frightening enough without the added worry of not knowing how they were both to live. The thought came to her that perhaps they would not live, either of them. Many women died in childbirth. Wealthy women as well as poor ones. It had happened to the wife of Mr Charles, so she had heard from servants gossip. She had never met him, but if he was anything like his brother then it was as well she had not.
When is it due?
Her ladyship called their physician in and he said about the beginning of June.
Some time yet, then Becky paused, then added, I have been thinking. My sister Martha takes in boarders and might be able to help. She is a widow and lives in Norwich. You will need to pay her; she is not a wealthy woman.
Oh, do you think she would? I would be so very grateful. I am sure I can find work even if it is only sewing.
It had been easy to say that, sitting in a cosy room by a warm fire, with the bowl of soup Becky had just handed her in front of her. Since then she had discovered just how hard it was for a mother with a child and no man to support her.
Becky had offered her a bed for the night, saying she couldnt turn a dog out in that weather, and she had accepted gratefully. It was more than she could have hoped for when she had left the Hall, but she had been well aware it was only a temporary reprieve, that the future had to be faced. Shunned by society, spat upon, refused work and lodgings, all because of a child and the lack of a wedding band.
She had kept out of sight while she was with Becky, afraid that someone might see her and report her presence to the Hall, but three days later the roads had been cleared and she had set out on the carriers cart to Bury St Edmunds, where she had boarded the stage to Norwich. Inside her bag was a letter to Mrs Porter, Beckys widowed sister, who lived in St Anns Lane.
Mrs Porter was not at all like her motherly sibling. She was thin and hard-faced, but while Annette had been able to pay for lodgings she had been prepared to tolerate her, believing her to be Mrs Annie Anstey, the widow of a soldier killed in Portugal. It was there that her son had been born and put into her arms, and in that moment she had known that, whatever had brought him into life, she would nurture him and love him with every ounce of her strength. That was what had been missing ever since her mother had died: someone she could truly love and who might love her.
Lady Ashbrookes five guineas, along with the proceeds from selling her mothers wedding ring and a small pendant which had been all that was left of her jewellery, had kept her going through her pregnancy, but a week ago all but a few shillings had gone, and she had been obliged to admit she did not have the rent money.
I cannot keep beggars, Mrs Porter had said, ignoring the fact that Annette had been helping with the housework and cooking for the other lodgers in return for a rebate on her rent. There are others ready and willing to pay well for a room as good as this. I only took you in because Becky asked me to.
I know. Ill find work. If you would be so good as to keep an eye on Timothy while I go out, I am sure I can earn the money for our keep.
No. I am not a childrens nurse. I dont like childrenespecially when they cry all the time
He cant help that, poor lamb.
No, but my other lodgers dont like it. I am sorry, Mrs Anstey, I have told a young couple they shall have this room. He is in work and there will be no trouble with the rent. I will give you to the end of the week
But thats only four days away!
Then the sooner you start looking, the better, wouldnt you say?
In despair she had packed her few things, picked up her child, wrapped in a shawl, and ventured out onto the street. And had ended up here, in this terrible hole. Mrs Grosse, who had a large family and had said it would be no trouble to keep an eye on Timmy while Annette worked, had demanded rent in advance, and so she had given the woman her last two shillings. Until she was paid for the work she was doing she had nothing. Nothing at all.
The sewing dropped into her lap and she looked across the room at her sleeping child and felt a tug at her heart. He was so beautiful and so helpless. Whatever happened she must not fail him. Sighing heavily, she bent once more to her needle.
CHAPTER TWO
CHARLES walked on, ruminating on the encounter with the young woman with the parcel. It reminded him of something his brother had said. Out of the ordinary, he had told him, describing their stepmothers nursery maid. If she were dressed up a bit you could take her out and about in Society and no one the wiser. She haswhat do you call it?presence. Yes, thats it. Presence. She speaks as well as we do and she holds her head up, and she has the most lustrous dark brown hair and wonderful greeny grey eyes
He had smiled at the time, putting it down to Jeremys fancifulness, but it exactly described the young lady he had just seenexcept for the hair which, though dark brown, could hardly be called lustrous. She was too thin to be beautiful, but the rest fitted. He had almost spoken to her, accused her of being Annette Ryston, but had desisted, unwilling to make a fool of himself. If she was not the nursery maid then she would have laughed in his face or, worse, thought he was seeking an hour or so of pleasure. After all, Norwich was a large city, teeming with life, and there must be thousands of girls fitting the maids description. It did not matter anyway, because he had the girls direction and would see the real Annie Ryston there.
He stopped outside the boarding house on the corner of St Anns Lane and King Street, hesitating whether to go in or not. It looked respectable enough: the windows gleamed, the curtains were clean, the step scrubbed and the brass knocker on the door shone with much polishing. If she was staying here then she was not doing too badly and perhaps it would be best to leave well alone. There was no proof of anything, and Jeremy had denied he had got the girl with child. Jeremy, his brother. Was he his brothers keeper?
The answer to that was that, in the absence of the brother himself, he was certainly his offsprings keeperif such a child existed. He went up the steps and knocked.
A skinny little maid opened the door, and then left him on the step while she went to speak to her mistress. He did not have long to wait. Mrs Porter arrived, tying a fresh apron about her waist. He doffed his beaver. Good afternoon, maam. I am looking for Mrs AnsteyMrs Annie Anstey. I am told she resides here.
No more, she dont.
Oh, do you know where she has gone?
No. She was eyeing him up and down, probably coming to the conclusion he was the childs father. Youve come a bit late in the day, hent you? she went on. She could ha done with you a couple of months since.
She had a child, then?
Dont you know?
No. I met her husband out in Spain and I have a message for her from him.
Hmph, she muttered, evidently not believing a word. I still don know where shes gone. Try the workus.
He took his leave and went to the workhouse. She was not there, had never been there, and he was thankful for that; it was a dreadful place. Men separated from their families, mothers from their children, brothers from sisters, and they all looked listless and downbeat. He left and returned to the street, glad that he would never have to enter such a place, but wondering where to go next.
Standing on the pavement with his back to that forbidding building, with the sun beating down on him, he was transported back to Spain, to the last time he had seen his brother. When the command had come to move out of their winter quarters and pursue the enemy, the troops had marched with a will. None more so than himself. He hadnt been able to wait to get at the enemy. His quarrel with them was more than a soldiers duty, it was personal. He blamed them for the death of his wife and baby son nearly four years before, notwithstanding they had been safe home in England at the time. He had convinced himself that if he had been with them, if he had been at home and not waging war hundreds of miles away, they might have lived. He had been so ridden with guilt over it the burden had become intolerable. It had eased it to take his venom out on the enemy, and Napoleon Bonaparte in particular, who had started the conflict. He had vowed he would not rest or go home until he had seen him beaten.
It was a vow he had been obliged to retract when Jeremy had been mortally wounded at the Battle of Vittoria. His brother should never have been sent to war; he had not been soldier material and he cursed the unknown girl who had made it happen. He had known his father and stepmother would take the news very hard, and he could not let them learn it from an impersonal letter. He had seen his brother decently buried and come home.
He had been right; his father was wretched and his stepmother could do nothing to help him. Jeremy, the golden boy, had been his fathers favourite, and he was dead. Charles knew he ought to go to Brookside, the country house he had shared with Arabella, but he could not bring himself to do so. It was not only that he could not bear to be reminded of her, but because he did not like to leave his father, who went about the estate with hardly a civil word to anyone and, when at home, sat in his chair in the library and brooded.
I wish I could do something for him, he had told his stepmother. He needs something to occupy him and take his mind off it.
You could furnish him with a legitimate grandson.
I could, but to do that I must marry again. He remembered pausing, because her use of the word legitimate had made him think. I am hardly likely to come up with an illegitimate one, Mama.
No, but I think Jeremy has.
They had been breakfasting together at the time, and he had put down the piece of toast hed been buttering and stared at her. Tell me about it.
And so she had told him about Annie, the nursery maid. Hed listened, remembering his conversation with Jeremy. He told me about her, he said when she finished. But he said it was only a romp and he had not got her with child.
He did not know. I sent him away. I feel dreadful about it now. Not about the girlbecause Jeremy was only doing what hundreds of other young men have done, trying out his manhood. It is up to the girls to stop them if they do not like itbut because I sent him to his death.
Charles did not agree with her about the girls. Her attitude, and that of his brother and other aristocratic youths like him, was careless in the extreme, but he did not say so. Instead he asked what had become of the nursery maid.
I have no idea. Does it matter?
I think it does. I think I should try and find her.
You never mean to bring her back here? She was horrified at the idea.
No, of course not. It would not do. But I can at least make sure she is not in want. If there is a child, she is not going to find life easy, is she? She might need help.
She should have thought of that before
Mama, can you not find it in your heart to be charitable? After all, Jeremy must share some of the blame. If he had lived, I am sure he would not have let her starve.
The trouble was that no one at Riseborough Hall knew where Annie had gone. She had not mixed with the other servants and had kept herself to herself. Too high and mighty for her own good, Miss Burnley had told him.
He had found out quite by chance when hed visited Becky, something he always did when he was at Riseborough. After their mother had died, giving birth to Jeremy, she had been the only mother they had known until his father had married again, and by that time theyd been grown up. Becky had always been a safe haven whenever they needed one.
She had been distressed on learning of Jeremys death, and had spent several minutes talking about him and the mischief hed used to get into. When you were at home you would always haul him out of his pickles, she said, dabbing at her tears. But you werent here that last time.
You mean the business over the nursery maid?
Yes.
It was then, after a little hesitation, that she told him of Annettes stay with her and gave him the direction of her sister. And after all that Annette had moved on and his journey had been in vain. He turned on his heel and went back to his room at The Maids Head. He had tried and there was little else he could do; the girl had gone, obviously intent on not being found.
And then he thought of the woman with the parcel. Could it have been Annette? She had had no child with her, but she could have left it somewherefarmed it out, had it adopted. The idea did not sit well with him at all, and he knew he had to find her if only to confirm she was not the woman he sought.
Annette, taking the sewing back the following day, had the uncomfortable feeling she was being followed. She tried dodging down side streets, but still she felt that shadow behind her. She could not think who would want anything from her. Her purse was empty and the parcel she was carrying contained nothing of any value, though she knew people had been attacked and even murdered for less.