A Mother's Secret (6 page)

Belinda’s former languor was forgotten in her concern for young Oliver. Slipping off her peignoir she went over to her bed where Mahdu had laid out her afternoon gown. The dove-grey silk floated about her in a swirling mass, but as she attempted to fasten the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons at the back she found herself struggling. It was a relief when Mahdu returned to help her.

‘You should have waited,’ Mahdu scolded. ‘I came as quickly as I could.’

Ignoring the implication that she was as helpless as a baby, Belinda was more concerned with Oliver than for herself. ‘How is the boy? Is he very upset?’

Mahdu shook her head. ‘He’s full of bravado, but I think he’s a little scared of his father.’

‘I must see him right away.’ Belinda fidgeted and received a sharp reprimand from Mahdu, but eventually she was ready to go downstairs to the morning parlour, and as she entered the room Oliver Davenport sprang to his feet. His anxious expression melted into a wide grin when he saw her.

‘Have you come to nag me, Stepmother?’

Belinda held out her arms. ‘Are you too big to give me a hug, Ollie?’

‘Never. At least I don’t mind in private. If the chaps at school could see me they’d think I’d gone soft in the head.’ He crossed the floor to wrap his arms around her, lifting her off the ground in the process. She realised with a pang of regret that the little boy she had come to love was almost grown to manhood and would soon set female hearts aflutter. He was now tall and slim, and the once pretty child was maturing into a handsome young man who would no longer need his stepmother to comfort and cosset him.

‘Put me down,’ she said, chuckling. ‘I want an explanation from you, my boy. What have you done this time?’

Oliver set her back on her feet. He ran his hand through his already tousled fair hair causing it to stand on end, and the contrite look on his face made him look young and vulnerable. ‘Got drunk with the fellows and had a bout of fisticuffs with some of the local chaps. It was all good-natured at the start, but it got a bit out of hand and I knocked a bobby’s helmet off. It didn’t go down too well, I’m afraid.’

Belinda’s lips twitched. ‘You naughty boy. I don’t know what your papa will say.’

‘I do. He’ll probably give me a good wigging and bundle me off into the army or worse.’

‘He’ll be angry, of course, but he wouldn’t do that.’

Oliver’s air of insouciance vanished and his face crumpled. ‘He hates me, Belle.’

Shocked and alarmed by his obvious sincerity, Belinda laid her hand on his arm. ‘No, Ollie. Of course he doesn’t hate you.’

‘He’s every right to. I killed my mama.’ Oliver’s voice broke and he turned away from her, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. ‘If it hadn’t have been for me, she’d be alive now.’

Belinda slipped her arm around his shoulders. ‘That’s nonsense, Ollie. Your mother died in childbirth. It’s tragic but it’s not uncommon. It wasn’t your fault and no one, least of all your father, thinks any differently.’

He turned to look into her eyes. ‘You’re wrong, Belle. He can’t abide me. That’s why he left me in England while he went off to India. You wouldn’t have abandoned your child, would you?’

His words struck her like barbs and she held him close, unable to look him in the eyes. Hadn’t she done exactly the same thing, although for very different reasons? She could feel his pain and her heart ached for him. ‘Now listen to me, Oliver,’ she said softly. ‘Your father left you in England because it was better for you, and not because he didn’t want you with him. Have you any idea how many infants and young children die from disease in that country?’

He shook his head.

‘It would have been a terrible risk,’ Belinda continued without giving him time to voice further concerns. ‘Your father knew that you would be safe here in London, and that your Aunt Flora would look after you.’

Oliver made a sound between a snort and a sob. He drew away from her and went to stand with his back to the fire, in a seemingly unconscious copy of the stance that his father often took. ‘Aunt Flo is mad as a hatter, Belle. You wouldn’t believe the things I saw and heard living with her. By the time I was five I’d had my first glass of port and puffed away on several cigars. I’d seen exotic dancers and men dressed like women. I’d stayed up until the early hours at some of her parties, falling asleep in a corner unnoticed until the tweeny came to clear the grate next morning.’

Belinda shrugged her shoulders. Flora Fulford-Browne’s reputation for partying and eccentricity was almost legendary, but she had a good heart and her house in Duke Street was always filled with people, even if most of them were down on their luck and living on their hostess’s generosity. ‘That’s as maybe, Ollie. But don’t judge your father too harshly. He’s a good man and he does what he thinks is right. No one can do better.’

‘And do you love him, Belle? Does he make you happy?’

‘Of course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Something makes you sad. I’ve heard it in your voice and seen it in your eyes. Sometimes I think it’s because of me. I’ve always been a trial to you, I know that.’

Belinda met his troubled gaze with a straight look. ‘Don’t ever say that, Ollie. Yes, you’ve been a handful, and no you don’t make me sad. In fact, I think having you to love and care for has made my life happier than I could have hoped for, so don’t let me hear you talking like that again.’

A reluctant smile lit his blue eyes. ‘You’re a fierce little thing when roused, aren’t you, Belle? I love you, you can be sure of that.’

She went to him and had to raise herself on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘And I love you, you silly boy. So let’s put all this behind us and think how we’re going to set matters right with your papa.’

A knock on the door put a stop to the conversation and Hartley, the ageing butler, entered bearing a tray of cold pie and small beer. ‘Cook sent this for Master Oliver,’ he said stiffly as he placed the tray on a sofa table.

‘Thank you, Hartley. That will be all.’ Belinda waited until he had left the room. She turned to Oliver but he was already attacking the food with the appetite of a hungry schoolboy. ‘Eat up,’ she said, smiling, ‘and then we’ll decide what we’re going to do with you.’

He swallowed convulsively, washing the mouthful down with a draught of ale. ‘Good pie. The tuck at school is pigswill compared to Cook’s food.’

‘It’s nice to see you haven’t lost your appetite,’ Belinda said wryly.

Oliver wiped his lips on a linen table napkin. ‘I think it might be best if I go and stay with Aunt Flo for a few days, Belle. All things considered, it might give Pater a chance to cool down.’

‘I think that’s a very good idea.’ Belinda tugged at the embroidered bell pull by the fireplace. ‘I’ll send for the carriage.’

‘Are you coming with me then?’ Oliver glanced up from his plate.

Belinda nodded her head. An idea had come to her and she wondered why she had not thought of it before.

Flora Fulford-Browne sat in a wingback chair by the fire, smoking a small black cheroot, and taking sips from a cut-crystal brandy glass. She eyed her nephew with unconcealed amusement. ‘So you’ve been expelled from Eton, Ollie. I’m not surprised you’ve come to seek sanctuary in my house.’

‘I knew you’d understand,’ Oliver said happily. ‘The pater ain’t at all happy about it.’

‘He’ll get over it.’ Flora held her glass out to him. ‘Make yourself useful then, my boy. Pour me another snifter and then Poulton will find you a room. If there isn’t one free then I’m afraid you’ll have to share with someone.’

Belinda shifted on her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘What sort of person would he share with, Flora? I mean, Geoffrey would be very angry with me if I allowed him to put you out in any way.’

‘Or if he were to share a room with one of my protégés,’ Flora said, smiling. ‘I know exactly what Geoffrey thinks of me and my household, although it didn’t seem to worry him when he left Ollie with me and toddled off to India.’

Oliver had been attempting to pour a measure of brandy into the glass but his concentration faltered and he spilled some on the silver salver. ‘I don’t want to put you out, Aunt Flo.’

‘Don’t waste good cognac. That’s one of the first lessons you’ll have to learn if you’re to stay here for any length of time.’ Flora held out her hand to take the glass from him. ‘You’ll be fine here, Ollie. I’m sure we can squeeze you in somewhere, even if you have to share with the boot boy.’ She tossed the butt of her cheroot into the fire. ‘I’m teasing you, silly. Now go along and find Poulton, he’ll look after you.’

As the door closed on Oliver, Belinda was still anxious. ‘He’s very young,’ she said carefully. ‘And some of your acquaintances are rather . . . er . . .’

‘Bohemian?’ Flora raised an eyebrow. ‘Stop worrying about him and tell me why you came here today, Belinda.’

‘Is it so obvious?’

‘My dear girl, it’s too late in the afternoon for a social call, and you could have sent Ollie on his own. After all he lived here for the first five years of his life, so it’s not like sending him to the Antipodes. And you are troubled. I can see it in your eyes. Is it my brother? Does he beat you or is he having an illicit liaison with Adele Pettifer?’

The ridiculousness of this question wrought an involuntary giggle from Belinda. It was common knowledge amongst his family and close friends that Sir Geoffrey loathed Adele, and that the feeling was mutual. ‘No, of course not, Flora,’ she said hastily. ‘Geoffrey wouldn’t think of such a thing.’

Flora took another cheroot from a silver box on the table beside her chair and lit it with a spill from the fire. She inhaled and then exhaled with a satisfied sigh. ‘You don’t smoke, do you? No, I thought not, but maybe you should try it. Very good for the nerves and yours are apparently on edge. Now tell me what’s bothering you, child.’

‘I’m twenty-seven,’ Belinda protested.

‘And I’m sixty-two, six years Geoffrey’s senior and more than twice your age, and I know a thing or two about life and love. Heaven knows I’ve had three husbands and outlived the lot of them, so I am an expert in my field.’ She leaned forward, fixing Belinda with a gimlet eye. ‘Geoffrey’s not very good in the bedroom department, eh?’

Belinda’s hands flew to her cheeks as she felt the blood rush to her face.

‘There’s no need to blush and look sheepish, Belle. I can imagine what my dear brother is like in bed and I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his polite prodding. Lord knows how he managed to father a child on poor young Emily, or why he left it until he was forty to get married in the first place. What he must have been like by the time he got to you, I shudder to think.’

Belinda could stand it no longer. ‘Please, Flora, I didn’t come to discuss my private life.’

‘Then what did you come for?’

Struggling to regain her composure after this frank and embarrassingly shrewd assessment of her married life, Belinda took a deep breath and began slowly. ‘As it happens, I had lunch with Adele and her friends today. We’re on several charity committees and there’s one particular case that’s come to my notice.’

‘It must be something close to your heart to bring you out when you should be at home dressing for dinner. I suppose Geoffrey demands it on the dot of eight and not a minute sooner nor a second later?’

‘Yes, but that’s not important compared to the fate of this poor child.’ Belinda dropped her hands to her lap, clasping them tightly and digging her fingernails into her palms. ‘A ten-year-old girl needs a good home. She’s used to hard work, so I’ve been told, and is well-mannered and personable.’

‘London is full of such children. Why would this one be any different from the rest? And what could I do for her that you could not?’

Belinda swallowed hard. This was going to be much more difficult than she had imagined. Now that she was putting her thoughts into words the whole matter must sound trivial and unimportant to one who was uninvolved. ‘You know how strict Geoffrey is with the household budget.’

‘Parsimonious, you mean.’

‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Flora. He’s just careful and encourages me to run the house without undue extravagance.’

‘Oh, save me from hearing any more of my brother’s admirable qualities. So you want me to take this child into my house as a servant. Is that it?’

‘I thought perhaps you could start her on light duties, perhaps a little dusting or helping in the kitchen, bearing in mind her tender years. And then, when she is a little older perhaps she could train as a lady’s maid? You would hardly notice one more mouth to feed in such a large household, and the situation she is in now is quite intolerable, I assure you.’

‘So where is this child now? What makes her life more precious than any other orphan or street urchin in London?’

Belinda winced as her fingernails cut into her flesh. She must keep calm and not appear too much involved or Flora, who was no fool, would see through her pretence of being a mere patron of a charity. ‘It’s been drawn to my attention,’ she said, making an effort to remember recent newspaper reports on a similar case, ‘that this little girl came from a good family but had the misfortune to be born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they say. She was left with a woman who purported to be respectable and agreed to care for her, but it appears this creature runs what they call a baby farm. She takes infants from their desperate parents for a sum of money and then neglects them grievously. Many of them die but the ones who survive are sold into virtual slavery or prostitution.’ Belinda heard her voice break on a sob, but she could no longer control her emotions. ‘I know you think I am a soft fool, but if I could just save this one poor child . . .’