A Mother's Secret (35 page)

‘Good girl. Now, you can say no if you don’t want to come with me, but George is sending the carriage round this morning and I’m going to the house in Lemon’s Terrace. I’d love you to see it, Cassy. It will be a wonderful home when it’s been refurbished, and I’d value your help in choosing paint and wallpaper. Then there’ll be visits to warehouses to choose curtain material, carpets and furniture. We could do it together, if you agree.’

Cassy met her mother’s eager gaze and her resistance melted away. She had never seen Ma look so happy and she had not the heart to refuse. ‘Of course I will, Ma.’

She was rewarded by a hug and a smile. ‘Get your outdoor things on then, darling. The carriage will be here at any moment. George will be so pleased to see you.’

Cassy could not help but be impressed by the size of the house in Lemon’s Terrace and the faded elegance of the rooms. Belinda’s enthusiasm was infectious and Cade insisted that no expense should be spared in turning the house into a home. He would, he said, leave it entirely in their capable hands, and he was as good as his word. In the weeks that followed he was fully occupied attending meetings of the various charitable institutions of which he was a patron. A part of each day was spent at the soldiers’ home and he encouraged Cassy to accompany him. Gradually and almost imperceptibly she was drawn into his world. He was endlessly patient with her, never once reprimanding her when she challenged his authority. Belinda was kept busy organising the renovations to the house. She spent many hours checking the work of the painters, carpenters and plumbers and kept a keen eye on the work of the gas fitters who were installing gasoliers and gas mantles in all the rooms. ‘It’s going to be the most modern house in Stepney,’ she told Cassy gleefully. ‘Just think of it, darling. We’ll have a bathroom with running water. There wasn’t one in Duke Street or South Audley Street, and we’ll have gas lighting in all the rooms too. No more candles or oil lamps.’

‘It’s amazing, Ma,’ Cassy said dutifully.

‘Just wait until you see the kitchen.’ Belinda’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘The new range is the very latest thing, and there’s a new copper in the scullery. I’ll have to let Mrs Porter go, of course, when we all move in, but I’ll advertise for a cook-general, and I’ve told your father that we’ll need a much larger staff if we’re to keep up our standards.’

‘Yes, Ma.’ Cassy was growing weary of talk about wallpaper, colour schemes and the endless trips to warehouses to look at swatches of material and an astounding array of carpets from all over the world. She tried to look interested for her mother’s sake, but her thoughts kept wandering and she struggled daily with an uneasy feeling that Ollie and Bailey were in even more danger than before. Perhaps she was being fanciful, or maybe it was due to the fact that she had not enough to occupy her mind.

The house in Pedlar’s Orchard seemed very quiet and dull without them. Freddie was at school all day and Flora spent most of her time at Whitegate Farm. Mullins came daily to collect her in his new and extremely stylish gig. Under Flora’s influence, he had smartened himself up. He no longer wore nankeen breeches and leather gaiters, or the corduroy jacket with frayed cuffs, but sported a tweed suit and cap more suited to a country squire than a yeoman farmer. Gone was the spotted neckerchief. His newly clean-shaven chin rested on starched collar points, and his cravat was held in place with a gold stickpin. Flora was patently proud of her protégé, and boasted that since she had taken over his bookkeeping and accounts, the farm income had almost doubled.

It seemed to Cassy that everyone had found their niche in life except herself. She saw little of Lottie now that she was immersed in her studies, and Cade had given her an allowance which meant she did not need to go out to earn her living. When she was not needed to accompany Ma on her trips to warehouses or to the large stores in Oxford Street to purchase items of clothing, Cassy spent as much time as she could at the soldiers’ home. Even here there was little that she could do as the household tasks were taken care of by the staff and the inmates, but she played chess with some of the older men, and read to the unfortunates who had lost their sight. She had learnt to play the pianoforte at school, although she was far from being a concert pianist, but she could play a polka or a popular tune, and some of the men had excellent singing voices. At other times she went into the art room to clean brushes and palettes, and to admire Jack’s work which was improving daily as he gained better use of his left hand. His paintings were pinned to the walls, creating a wonderful display of colour and light. They were admired by everyone who visited the home, and he had even sold a couple to a wealthy gentleman with mutton-chop whiskers who had made his fortune in cheese, and was now looking for worthwhile causes to support. Cassy had been witness to this burst of generosity and it gave her an idea. She waited until the mutton-chop gentleman had left the building before broaching the matter with Cade.

‘I’d like a word with you, Captain,’ she said, waylaying him as he was about to enter his office.

He eyed her with a hint of a smile in his dark eyes. ‘I’m listening. Come in and tell me what’s on your mind, Cassy.’

She followed him into the small room, which was just large enough to house a desk, some bookshelves and two chairs. It was little bigger than a broom cupboard, but Cade was not a man to wallow in self-importance. She had learnt that early on in their slowly improving relationship, but she still could not bring herself to call him Father.

She sat down on the hard wooden seat. ‘I think we could sell Jack’s work,’ she said, getting straight to the point. ‘That man paid five pounds for one of his paintings. It’s a small fortune, and if Jack could have an exhibition somewhere, who knows how much it might raise?’

Cade perched on the edge of his desk. ‘That’s a very good idea. I wonder I didn’t think of it myself.’

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Are you laughing at me?’

‘Not at all; it’s a good plan, and if successful might lead to Jack being able to gain his independence. My aim has always been to help the men lead a normal life.’

‘Then you agree that an exhibition would be possible?’

‘Absolutely, and as you are the one who thought of it, I think that you should organise it.’

Cassy blinked and swallowed hard. This was something she had not foreseen. ‘Me? I wouldn’t know where to start.’

He smiled. ‘I’ll be there to help out if you get stuck, but I think you’re perfectly capable of organising such an event. I can give you a list of the right people to invite, and some possible venues. You’ve been saying that you’d like something to occupy your time other than shopping, which your mother adores, so here’s your chance, my dear. Show me what you can do.’

It was a challenge that she could not resist. She leapt to her feet. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll start right away.’

Keeping busy took her mind off the niggling fears for the safety of Oliver and Bailey. She could not understand why now, after they had been involved in skirmishes and fighting for so long, she had become more anxious about their chances of survival. Perhaps it had something to do with the realities of warfare that came home to her every time she visited Jack and the other wounded soldiers. Or maybe her heightened sensibilities were due to a deeper emotion – love. Even that was confusing. Being kissed by Ollie had revealed a side of her nature that had lain dormant, like a flower in bud, waiting for the warmth of the sun to encourage its petals to unfurl. Her one and only experience of genuine love and tenderness had left her restless and unsettled. She could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers and she could recall the way her blood had fizzed in her veins at his touch. His kisses had been as intoxicating as the champagne cup she had drunk at the ball where she first met Cade.

The memory of that evening came back to her often during her troubled relationship with the man who was her father. She knew that Ma loved him deeply and that he adored her. She wanted to be a good daughter and to love him unreservedly, but deep down she was wary, and she could not quite dispel the feelings of resentment against him for being the unwitting cause of her mother’s suffering. For herself she did not care. Life had been tough in Three Herring Court, but she had had Bailey to look after her. She would always love Bailey, but there had been a slow and subtle change in their relationship. She had not seen it coming and she had not been prepared for the look in his eyes when he told her that he loved her.

It seemed to Cassy that now she was a woman her life was both dominated and complicated by men. Sometimes she longed to be a child again, taking everything for granted and able to give unconditional love to those closest to her. Bailey was her oldest and dearest friend. She often wondered what she would do if he were killed in battle. In some ways she had grown independent of him, and yet she could not imagine a world where he did not exist. He would come home soon, she told herself. Both Bailey and Ollie would return as conquering heroes and life would return to normal.

In the meantime she had an exhibition to arrange and she threw herself into the preparations. Cade had been as good as his word and had introduced her to influential people who took an interest both in art and in raising funds for charity. They were all middle-aged City men who had been successful in business and now wanted to give something back to those less fortunate. A venue had been found and a date set for the first week in May. Cade had made time to take her to art galleries and private showings of works by such famous artists as Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Millais and the other members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Jack’s paintings were nothing when compared to those of the masters, but there was an honesty and an almost child-like quality in his art that both intrigued and enchanted everyone who had so far had the chance to view them. Cassy was certain that the exhibition would be the making of him.

Then there was the wedding. Cade had spoken to her one day as they made their way back from the Royal Academy, humbly asking Cassy’s permission to marry her mother. She knew him well enough by now to realise that he was sincere, and if she were to admit the truth she had never seen Ma look so beautiful or as happy. She had gladly given her consent, and the date had been set to coincide with the completion of the renovations to the house in Lemon’s Terrace in June. Belinda had insisted that they wait until after Jack’s exhibition, and anyway it was to be a quiet affair. She said it would be inappropriate to make a fuss when Oliver was risking his life for his country. She would have liked to wait until her stepson returned home, but the war was dragging on with no sign of ending in the near future.

The church was duly booked and Belinda’s bridal gown was being made by a dressmaker in New Bond Street who was alleged to have made gowns for no lesser personage than the Princess of Wales. Belinda had argued that this was an unnecessary expense and that she had seen an advertisement in the
Young Ladies’ Journal
illustrating the latest Paris fashions, which were obtainable from Nicholson’s Warehouse in Cheapside, but Cade was adamant in his refusal to countenance such folly. His fiancée, he said, was not going to the altar in a ready-made creation. Nothing but the best would do for the future Mrs Lawson. Belinda, Cassy and Flora had no choice but to accede to his wishes, although Cassy suspected that both her mother and Flora were secretly pleased to return to the height of fashion.

Then there was the problem of who would give Belinda away. Cassy suggested Mr Solomon, but the look of consternation on her mother’s face was answer enough. Belinda, Flora and Cassy were discussing the final preparations for the wedding over supper one evening in Pedlar’s Court. Everything had been arranged apart from this last detail.

‘I have no surviving relatives,’ Belinda said sadly. ‘At least none that I know of. Papa lost contact with his family when he went into the army, and I don’t think he was close to any of them even before he left the country.’

Flora cleared her throat, eyeing them warily. ‘I have a suggestion.’

Cassy was suddenly alert. Flora was not usually reticent about putting her opinions forward. She opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by a warning frown from her mother.

‘Tell me,’ Belinda said eagerly. ‘I’ve run out of ideas.’

‘Mullins.’

‘Farmer Mullins?’ Belinda raised her eyebrows. ‘No, surely not.’

‘We’re getting married.’ Flora glared at each of them in turn, as if expecting an argument. ‘I can’t go on visiting the farm day in and day out without causing tongues to wag.’

Cassy thought for a moment that she was joking, but one look at the set expression on Flora’s face was enough to convince her otherwise.

‘Marriage is a huge step,’ Belinda said, eyeing Flora warily. ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?’

‘Mullins needs a firm hand and someone with a head for business. The farm could be a goldmine if it was run properly, and I find I have quite a talent for organisation.’

‘But you dislike the countryside, Flora. You’ve lived all your life in town. How will you cope when the novelty wears off?’

Flora shrugged her shoulders. ‘I was bored with London anyway, and it’s a challenge. Mullins is a challenge too. I’ll soon whip him into shape; in fact I have already. He’s a different man from the clodhopping yokel I first saw arguing over a prize calf.’

Setting aside the picture conjured up in her mind of the extremely odd couple living together as man and wife, there was another and even more pressing concern on Cassy’s mind. ‘This is all very fine, but what will happen to Mrs Wilkins and Freddie? Everyone’s making arrangements for themselves, but when we leave this house where will they go? I’m not leaving here without Freddie; I’ll tell you that for nothing, Ma.’