A Mother's Wish (37 page)

‘Salter was convincing. The judge believed him and there was nothing I could say to
change his mind. If Mr Grey had lived it would have been a different matter, but there was no one to speak up for me. My gypsy blood alone makes me guilty in the eyes of some people.’

‘That is so unfair. I won’t let you be punished for something you didn’t do.’

‘Listen to me, my love. There is nothing you can do that will get me out of this place. Your word alone won’t carry any weight and you are the only living witness to what happened that day.’

‘I’ll get a brief, Toby. A good solicitor will put in an appeal and get you off. The law must be on the side of an innocent man.’

‘I wish I could believe that, but more important to me now is how you are faring. How have you managed these last few weeks?’

‘Time’s up.’ The turnkey threw the door open and stood with his arms folded across his chest. ‘You’ve had your bob’s worth, lady. Now take yourself off.’

Effie stood on tiptoe to kiss Toby on the lips. ‘I will get you out of here, Toby. Don’t give up hope.’

The turnkey took a menacing step towards them. ‘Do I have to throw you and the brat out, lady?’

Effie snatched Georgie up in her arms and backed out of the cell. ‘Trust me,’ she called as the cell door slammed, the sound echoing
off the stone walls like the tolling of a death knell. She followed the turnkey in a daze. The place where Toby was incarcerated was far worse than she could have imagined. She felt as though her heart had been torn from her breast and locked in the cell with him.

‘I don’t see a wedding band,’ the turnkey said conversationally as he led her across the courtyard. ‘Jumped over the broomstick, did you? Ain’t that what you didicoi people do?’

His sarcastic words and curled lip brought her back to the present with a jolt. ‘No such thing,’ she retorted angrily. ‘I had to pawn my wedding ring to pay a bloodsucker like you.’

He unlocked the outer door. ‘Don’t bother coming back, lady. Your man won’t be here long. He’ll be sent to Millbank soon, or somewhere worse.’

Effie marched past him without dignifying his cruel jibe with an answer. Outside the prison she took a deep breath. The stench of the city streets was like fresh country air compared with the stink of despair and corruption within the prison walls.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Effie said, shaking her head.

‘Have another cup of tea, ducks,’ Betty suggested, casting an anxious glance at Ben
who was hovering beside Effie with a concerned look on his face.

‘Or maybe a drop of brandy,’ he suggested lamely.

‘You’re both very kind, and I shouldn’t have come here to bother you with my troubles.’ Effie rose from the chair by the kitchen table but was pushed gently back onto her seat by Betty.

‘Of course you should, love. We’re your friends and we’d do anything to help, wouldn’t we, Ben?’

He nodded his head emphatically. ‘Yes, you know we would, Effie. But I think you’ve got to accept the fact that young Toby won’t get out of jail before his sentence is up. Are you prepared to wait for him?’

‘Forever and a day.’ Effie looked up into his good-natured face with an attempt at a smile. ‘You’ve been a true friend, Ben.’

His cheeks flushed a dull brick red and he cleared his throat. ‘You’ve had a rough time of it, Effie. I wish I could do more.’

‘And so do I,’ Betty said, refilling Effie’s cup with tea. ‘If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, just say the word. The whole Crooke family are behind you, love.’

‘I think I’ve upset Harry, and it was the last thing I meant to do.’

Betty pulled a face. ‘He’s just a boy at heart.
He’ll get over it and be soft on another pretty face before you can say Jack Robinson.’

Effie sipped her tea and as if by some divine intervention an idea came to her in a flash. ‘Would you look after Georgie for a day or two, Betty?’

‘Yes, of course I would. The girls love him and he’s a good little chap. But what are you going to do?’

‘Yes, what’s going on in that pretty head?’ Ben demanded. ‘You’re not planning anything silly, are you?’

‘No, not at all. I wonder I didn’t think of it in the first instance. I’m going to Marsh House to put Toby’s case to his father.’

‘His father?’ Ben exclaimed, frowning. ‘That’s a new one on me.’

‘He never mentioned his pa,’ Betty added, her eyes gleaming at the prospect of a tasty morsel of gossip. ‘Who is he?’

‘That’s what I’m going to find out once and for all,’ Effie said, helping Georgie onto her lap as he clamoured for her attention. ‘Will you be a good boy and stay with Betty and the girls for a little while, darling? Mama has to go away for a day or two but I promise I’ll come back very soon.’

Georgie wrapped a lock of her hair around his small fist and grinned up at her. ‘Betty,’ he said happily. ‘Aggie and Bella.’

‘That’s settled then.’ Effie dropped a kiss on his curly head. ‘All I need now is a horse. Could I borrow Champion tomorrow, Ben?’

March House shimmered in the sunshine after a heavy shower. Raindrops hung like jewels from the brambles and the branches of the trees that were just bursting into leaf. Steam rose from Effie’s damp skirts and Champion’s wet pelt, and the marsh and damp hedgerows smelt like Christmas pudding. Effie had the strangest feeling of coming home, an emotion that she pushed to the back of her mind. She was on a mission that had everything to do with Toby and related to herself only in the fact that she needed him and wanted him by her side.

Champion seemed to know his way and he ambled into the stable yard, whinnying when he spotted Jeffries standing by the pump.

‘Good Lord, missis. What brings you here? I thought you’d gone back to the city.’

Effie slid from the saddle, handing him the reins. ‘I came to see the master. Do you know where I might find him?’

‘He’ll be in the walled garden, I daresay. That’s where he spends most of his days now that the spring sowing is finished.’

Effie stared at him in surprise. ‘Mr Westlake has turned farmer?’

‘Aye, that’s about the nub of it, missis. You started him off, it seems, and he’s trying to set the old place to rights.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, but perhaps I’d better see Nellie first.’

‘You’ll find the old besom in the kitchen.
She
don’t change.’

Jeffries led Champion into the stables, leaving Effie alone in the yard. She found it hard to believe that Seymour Westlake would be getting his hands dirty, and she wondered if the old groom’s mind had begun to wander. She made her way to the kitchen to seek confirmation from Nellie.

‘Why, just look what the cat’s dragged in,’ Nellie exclaimed with a wide smile that belied her sarcastic words. ‘Where’s the little lamb? Where’s my boy?’ She craned her neck as if expecting to see Georgie following his mother into the room.

‘Georgie is being well cared for by friends.’

Nellie’s mouth drooped and the light went out of her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you bring him with you? He’ll forget old Nellie if you keep him from me.’

‘Next time I come I promise I’ll bring him with me, but this is an emergency. I’ve come to speak urgently with the master. Jeffries tells me that he’s been working the farm.’

‘What’s up?’ Nellie demanded. ‘You can tell me.’

A wave of tiredness washed over Effie and she sat down at the table with a sigh. She had left Bow at daybreak and had not stopped to eat or drink. She was saddle-sore and weary. ‘It’s a long story.’

Nellie went to the range and picked up the kettle. ‘A cup of tea is what you need, and something to fill your belly. You’re as thin as a rake, Effie. You haven’t been looking after yourself properly.’

Tired as she was, Effie realised that she would have to tell Nellie everything before she was allowed out of the kitchen, and she resigned herself to drinking copious cups of tea and forcing down generous slices of seed cake. It was a good half an hour before she escaped from Nellie’s barrage of questions and made her way to the walled garden. The sun was brilliant now, shining from a sky which was the colour of a robin’s egg. The scent of freshly dug earth and warm grass enveloped her as she entered the walled garden.

She saw Seymour digging a patch at the far end. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and his flowing robes had been discarded for more conventional breeches and boots. His hair had been cut short and it rioted around his head in dark glossy curls. He was
so absorbed in his work that he did not appear to have heard her soft footsteps on the wet grass. ‘Mr Westlake? It’s me, Effie.’

He turned his head and his similarity to Toby struck her forcibly. He had abandoned his exotic apparel and was dressed in ordinary garments, which made the likeness more startling, even allowing for the terrible pockmarks that marred his otherwise handsome countenance. Seen in this light there could be no denying Toby’s paternity. She approached him cautiously, with memories of his former mental state uppermost in her mind. ‘Mr Westlake, I must talk to you urgently.’

He stuck his spade into the ground, straightening up and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. ‘Effie. This is an unexpected pleasure.’

‘I’ll come straight to the point, sir. It’s Toby. He’s been sent to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.’

Seymour eyed her warily. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but what has it got to do with me.’

‘Everything, sir. Please don’t play games with me. I know that Toby is your son; it would be obvious to anyone with half an eye. I’m begging you to help him.’

‘What is he supposed to have done?’

She took a deep breath and once again went through the whole sorry tale. Seymour
listened with an impassive look on his face. ‘Well now,’ he said slowly when she came to the end of her narrative. ‘It does sound as though the boy has been unfairly condemned, but I don’t see what I can do about it.’

‘Will you stand by and do nothing while your own flesh and blood rots in that dreadful place? I believe he is going to be transferred to Millbank which is even worse than the house of detention, and that is terrible. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’

‘You are in love with him.’ It was a statement rather than a question. Seymour’s gaze never wavered from her face.

Effie swallowed hard to prevent herself from bursting into tears. ‘Yes, I love him. He’s a good man.’

‘Then it’s unlikely that I’m his father,’ Seymour said with a harsh laugh. ‘I can’t help you, my dear. I have squandered my fortune and, as you see, I am reduced to working the soil like a common labourer.’

His attitude infuriated Effie. ‘There’s nothing wrong with honest work. I brew ale and sell it from a cart outside the factories in the East End. That’s how I support myself and my son. My young brother works long hours for very little pay in a market garden and you live in this beautiful house with all this land that belongs to you.’ She encompassed the
estate with a wide sweep of her arms. ‘And you expect me to feel sorry for you?’

Seymour picked up his spade. ‘I expect nothing. Go away and leave me alone.’

‘But he’s your son,’ Effie cried in desperation. ‘I would give my life for my child. Why do you keep up this pretence?’

‘Every time I looked at the boy I saw a likeness to his mother; he had lived and she had died. I had lost the love of my life and yet I survived, a worthless soul, scarred on the inside as well as outwardly. I had no love left to give to my son, nor for myself. Now leave me. I have nothing further to say.’

‘You’ve said enough,’ Effie said gently. ‘You’ve admitted that you are Toby’s father. I will go, but I leave the rest to your conscience. Toby might die in that dreadful place and then you will have lost your last link with Mirella. I can understand your love for her because that is what I feel for Toby. I am truly sorry for you, sir.’

She did not wait for a response – turning on her heel, she walked slowly from the walled garden, closing the gate behind her. She did not return immediately to the kitchen, but made her way to the orchard where the first signs of tight pink-tipped blossoms were budding on the apple trees. Standing by Jacob’s grave, she bowed her head. ‘If only
you could speak, Pa-in-law,’ she murmured. ‘You alone know the truth about the fire on board the
Margaret
.’ She closed her eyes, listening to the spring chorus of birdsong and the rustling of the breeze in the branches above her head. Was it her imagination, or did she hear a whispered answer to her question? It seemed to repeat over and over again, ‘Salter knows, Salter knows.’

The words were so clear that she opened her eyes with a start, looking about her to see if there was someone hiding behind the gnarled trunks of the trees, but she was totally alone. She walked slowly back towards the house. Of course Salter knew, as did his hateful wife, but the chances of their admitting perjury before a magistrate were so slim as to be negligible. On the other hand, Seymour had refused to help and she was desperate. Salter would have his price. All she had to do was to discover what he wanted in return for an admission in court that he had been mistaken. It seemed no less impossible than persuading Toby’s father to do the right thing by his son. Her heart felt like a lead weight inside her chest. She had come with high hopes, but Seymour’s point-blank refusal had brought them crashing down around her head. What sort of man would allow his only son to rot in jail?

EFFIE STAYED LONG
enough to share Nellie’s midday meal of soup and bread, and she rode back to Bow late in the afternoon. She delivered the tired horse back to Ben’s stable, but she had not the heart to call in at the kitchen and tell Betty her depressing news. She arrived home just in time to relieve Tom of the chore of pushing the barrow through the streets to stand outside the Imperial Tar Works, where as usual she sold every last drop of the ale. She was exhausted both mentally and physically, but too numbed to feel her aching limbs and weary bones.

Having collected Georgie from Phoebe Street, Effie gave him a ride home perched on top of the empty barrel, and on the way she bought fish and chips for their supper. Tom had built up the fire in the range and in between mouthfuls of food Effie told him of Mr Westlake’s refusal to help.