Echoes of a Promise (5 page)

Tension in the house was almost palpable, with George Shelford distracted by the prospect of the impending election and the agony of having to travel north to his electorate and deliver campaign speeches.

He called Victoria into his study. ‘Your mother has agreed to accompany me and I’d like you to come with us, too, m’dear. The Radicals are standing a very popular candidate against me and, somehow, I need to rally more support.’ There was desperation in his voice. ‘You and your mother must move about and talk to people up there. We’ll hold dinners to woo the voters, maybe even have a ball.’

She knew how much his seat in Westminster meant to him. ‘Yes, of course, I’ll go with you, Papa. I’ll do anything I can to help, though you
know I’m a rank amateur when it comes to politics.’ Caroline, of course, would have performed this role superbly, but her name was no longer allowed to be mentioned within Lady Mary’s hearing.

Clearly this was not the appropriate time to produce Peter’s letter to her parents, nor to reveal the ring hanging from the ribbon around her neck. Desperate to tell someone in the family about Peter, she went to see Caroline and Hedley the next morning and found both them and their house in a state of chaos.

‘Oh, Vicky, lovely to see you!’ Hedley called breezily from the top of the stairs while two men carried a chair past him and put it beside others already piled in the hall. ‘All this stuff is being repossessed and we’re going abroad tomorrow. Have you heard?’

She ran up the stairs and found Caroline still in bed, drinking chocolate and surrounded by travelling boxes. ‘Vicky, you poor lamb,’ she said, pulling a long face. ‘What a dreadful time you must have had all on your own down there with poor old Honoria. Sorry I couldn’t lift a finger to help, but have you heard that we’re sailing to America straight after the wedding?’ She put down the cup and doubled over in a fit of giggles. ‘Good old Martin has arranged it all with a millionaire friend over there who – who is probably going to exhibit us in some Wild West Show as a
pair of tame British aristocrats
!’

Hedley walked into the room. ‘And we’ll give ’em a damn good show, won’t we, Caro? Might even get an offer to join Buffalo Bill’s troupe.’ He gave a snort of mirth and Victoria felt a wave of irritation at their flippancy. And especially at their lack of gratitude to Martin for his generosity.

She held her tongue about Peter and found an excuse to leave their house as soon as she could. If Caroline and her husband had always been so appallingly shallow, why had she never recognized it before? Had Peter Latham changed her life so much that she now viewed everything in the world with different eyes?
Oh, my darling Peter, when will I be able to tell my parents about us?

On her way home, Victoria visited a jeweller where the Shelfords were unknown, and had her wedding ring altered to sit snugly on her finger.

Nobody in the house noticed that she was wearing it.

Lady Marchant and Miss Eloise Marchant had been invited to Emily’s wedding and were there to witness that, with Lady Mary’s meticulous planning, every detail of the grand day flowed flawlessly. As the notes of the organ swelled and Victoria walked sedately down the aisle with three other bridesmaids, she doubted that anyone else in the great old church could sense the pain hiding behind the carefully arranged smiles on her parents’ faces.

Last night her father had received the woeful tidings that his knighthood was most unlikely to eventuate, and her mother had just heard of vague whispers starting to circulate in society regarding Caroline’s indiscretions. But throughout today’s ceremony, Mr George Shelford and Lady Mary held their heads high and danced gracefully, like a pair of elegant, well-oiled automatons through each step of the elaborate social ritual required to be played out.

With Martin constantly at her side throughout the reception, Emily’s shyness became invisible. Victoria knew that it was still lurking there, but Martin’s self-assurance became a shield that protected her.

‘Our little Emmie is a very fortunate young lady to have won your heart, Martin Clifford,’ Victoria murmured, as the couple was preparing to leave on their honeymoon. ‘You understand my sister perfectly.’

‘Indeed I do understand her ways.’ He spoke earnestly. ‘The years I’ve spent growing exotic plants has taught me that some species burst into flower quickly, while others take longer to reveal their blooms. I see my darling Emily as a truly unique specimen, one which – with tender nurturing – will eventually display blossoms to astound us all.’

‘Yes, Martin, I believe you.’

Once Emily and Martin had been waved off to their honeymoon in the gardens of Italy, and Caroline and Hedley had quietly slipped away to America, Lady Mary kept to her bedroom in a state of nervous exhaustion.

Mr Shelford spent most of his time in his study, struggling to draft his campaign speeches. His gloom deepened daily and, on their train journey north to his constituency, Victoria saw that both her parents were far too distracted by the pending contest for her to introduce the topic of her marriage.

While the train rattled northwards, she sat in the carriage trying to calculate how far south the
Fortitude
might have sailed by this date. Peter had said that he’d post letters from Cape Town, and suggested that her mail to him should be addressed care of the British Consul in Singapore. It was all so many miles away. So many miles.

Time and again Victoria tried to find some opportunity to talk to her parents, but they remained tight-lipped and distracted throughout the journey. When they finally arrived in his constituency she came to understand their apprehension about this campaign once she’d witnessed the booing and heckling that met her father each time he stepped up on a platform to speak.

Even Lady Mary’s grand dinners at the hotel for some of the Woolcott family’s old Whig connections failed to rally the support George Shelford needed to hold his seat.

After the votes were counted and the Radical candidate had been declared the winner, the defeated Shelfords swiftly retreated to Hanover Square. Victoria went back to work at the Foundling Hospital, while George Shelford spent much his time heaving deep sighs and staring at the fire in his study.

Lady Mary argued that they should get away from London for a time and take a house in Paris, or Rome, or Corfu. And she complained endlessly about Howard Royston’s continuing absence from London.

Eventually, Victoria came to feel that she would never find the
perfect
moment to break her happy news about Peter while both parents seemed so determined to remain miserable.

She waited until they were alone one night in the drawing room after dinner. Her father’s concentration was fixed on the fire burning in the grate and Lady Mary had her nose in a ladies’ magazine. Neither looked up when Victoria entered.

For a moment she stood in the middle of the room clutching Peter’s letter, along with the marriage certificate produced by the captain. The sound of distant thunder rumbling over the rooftops added to her unease and when wind-driven rain began to beat against the windows like angry fists, the tension inside her became unbearable.

‘Excuse me, Mama, but I have something I’d like to tell both you and Papa.’ Her mouth seemed to be lined with sandpaper.

For weeks, she’d been rehearsing this delicate scene and now, with a galloping heart, she started to describe her meeting with Captain Latham and his nephew in Aunt Honoria’s drawing room. ‘They are both charming gentlemen. Peter Latham is very handsome and he has the qualifications to captain his own ship one day. He and—’

Lady Mary sat forward in her chair, grasping its arms. ‘Oh, God! Victoria, what have you done? What? I can tell by your face that you’ve been up to some kind of mischief!’

‘No, Mama, I want to tell you and Papa that I’ve fallen in love and I want you to be happy for me. It happened while I was in Devon. His name is Peter Latham and we fell truly and deeply in love the moment we met. He’s twenty-six and at present he’s sailing to the East Indies—’

The horror in her mother’s expression told her that this wasn’t going at all as she’d planned. Her hand shook as she held it out. ‘See, Mama? This is my wedding ring. Aunt Honoria gave us her blessing and we were married at sea by the ship’s captain. And when Peter comes back, I’m going to join him on the ship and—’

Lady Mary gave a wounded howl and scrambled to her feet. ‘What? What? Oh dear God, Victoria, are you mad?’ Her cheeks were drained
of colour. ‘Surely you’re not telling me that you eloped with a sailor?’ She shrieked.
‘You did! A daughter of mine ran off to sea with a common sailor!’

‘This is all the doing of your wicked old Aunt Honoria!’ Mr Shelford’s face purpled and he suddenly scrambled to his feet, shouting at his wife. ‘You wouldn’t listen when I warned you to keep Victoria out of her clutches. I warned you that she would ruin Victoria just as she did Caroline. And now look at what that wretched old harridan has done to us!’ His voice broke and he shook his fist.

‘No! Don’t say that, Papa! Please listen to me, please
listen
! You have always understood me, so I beg you to hear me now when I tell you about Peter and what a truly fine man he is. Then you’ll understand how I fell in love with him. Here, Mama, please open his letter and read what he has to say. He is strong and handsome and clever and brave. Here, please take it.’

Her mother’s lips curled. She took the envelope between her thumb and finger, then holding it at arm’s length as if it was filled with something contagious, she swept across the room and flung it into the fire.

‘Now, this is never to be mentioned again, do you hear me?’ She turned and pointed a finger accusingly. ‘Think of the scandal; think what delight it would give Lady Marchant and her ilk to hear that you had eloped with such a low-class creature! Do you hear me, Victoria? I will not have another word about it! This marriage never took place!’

‘Papa!’ Victoria looked pleadingly towards her father for understanding. But when she saw none, her dismay flamed into anger. ‘You have always been the one person I thought would never abandon me. Papa, I thought you loved me!’

She unfolded the marriage certificate and held it towards him. ‘Well, look at this. Look, look! No matter what Mama might say, here is the proof that my marriage certainly did take place! This document shows that I am the lawfully wedded wife of Peter Latham, Master Mariner,
and here are the signatures of eighteen witnesses who will testify to having seen us make our vows. It’s a perfectly legal certificate and any court will agree, as you know.’

‘No!’ Her mother’s eyes filled with venom. ‘No, no, no!’ She rushed forward, snatched the paper, tore it, screwed the pieces into a ball and threw it, too, into the fire. ‘Now where is the proof that you’re married, you shameful creature?’ Her voice developed a harsh, metallic ring. ‘No, no, no, I will
not
have it. It – did – not – happen!’

‘It’s no use, Mama.’ Victoria glared at her defiantly. ‘You can burn all the papers you like, but the captain has recorded our marriage in the ship’s log. I am, and always will be, the legal wife of Peter Latham. He’s coming back for me one day, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life at sea with him, sailing the world, seeing the wonders—’

‘
Noooooo!
’ Lady Mary’s screams reached a pitch that brought the butler and a footman bursting into the room in time to see their mistress swing her hand and strike Miss Victoria hard across her face.

‘Get out of my sight, you wanton! Get out!’

The heavy blow threw Victoria off-balance and sent her stumbling backwards. She was forced to grasp the edge of a table to stop herself from falling when her father stepped aside and turned his back to her. His rejection hurt even more than her mother’s blow had done.

‘Papa, please,
please
don’t do this to me! Hear what I have to tell you. You’ve always listened to me!’ But he remained slumped in his chair with his chin on his chest and his shoulders shaking.

The startled servants rushed forward in time to support Lady Mary as her legs began to buckle.

Victoria stiffened her spine and clutched the remnants of her dignity as she walked silently from the room, trying to ignore the stinging pain in her cheek, as well as the pain in her heart.

Her night was filled with a sense of unreality. How could her life have been turned so completely upside down within the space of half an hour? When she closed her eyes, the appalling scene with her
parents in the drawing room triggered old images of the day that she and her sisters had been travelling with their governess in a carriage which broke a wheel and overturned on a country lane. She recalled the terrifying feeling of helplessness as the vehicle tipped further and further, throwing them all around the interior, together with baskets, boxes, rugs and books.

They’d been frightened and bruised, but they’d scrambled from the upturned vehicle and, after sitting by the roadside for a few hours, the wheel had been replaced and they were on their way again.

She saw a moral in there somewhere. Life as she’d know it had just be turned upside down, but before the next day dawned, she’d reached a decision about how to set it back on course while she waited for the
Fortitude
’s return.

She packed a portmanteau, left a forwarding address with the footman and caught the first train to Somerset. Emily and Martin were away on their honeymoon, but Victoria knew that they’d offer her refuge at Cloudhill while she waited for Peter to come back.

When the door of Cloudhill was opened to Victoria’s knock, the butler’s long face broke into a smile. ‘Why, Miss Shelford, how good of you to come so soon! Mrs Frost is airing your room at this very moment.’ His glance quickly slid away from the bruise left by her mother’s blow on her cheek last night.

The man’s greeting puzzled her. She’d sent no message to inform Martin’s household of her uninvited arrival, but at the sound of voices in the hall, Mrs Frost, the housekeeper, came hurrying down the stairs with a welcoming smile.

‘Ah, Miss Shelford. I’m sure the mistress will be delighted to find her sister already here when she arrives.’ She too, seemed careful not to stare at the bruise.

Victoria strained to make sense of whatever was happening. ‘I understood that Mr and Mrs Clifford were not due back from Italy for another month or so.’

Mrs Frost nodded. ‘Yes, of course, but the honeymoon has had to be cut short because travelling becomes such a misery at a time like this, doesn’t it? My own poor daughter suffered the same sickness – morning, noon and night – when her first baby was on the way. Mr Clifford and the mistress are expected back any day now, and the master informed us that he was about to write and ask if you’d be able to come to be with Mrs Clifford. It’s extremely kind of you to arrive early.’

Emily! Victoria’s heart melted at the thought of little Emmie becoming a mother.

‘Perhaps, Miss Shelford, you would like to be shown to your room and—’

Victoria interrupted. ‘Mrs Frost, I must tell you that I’m no longer Miss Shelford. I was married a month before my sister and Mr Clifford, though ours was a very small wedding.’ She pulled off her glove to show the ring. ‘I am now Mrs Peter Latham, and my husband is abroad on business – maritime business.’

The housekeeper expressed her delight at the news, and so did Emily and Martin when they arrived home three days later and heard the full story of her time in Devon. ‘I knew that neither Mama nor Papa would be delighted to hear that I’d lost my heart to Peter Latham, but—’ She heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Well, Mama has destroyed my marriage certificate, but I absolutely refuse to let her destroy my marriage.’

‘Oh, Vicky, dearest,’ Emily said weakly, as she settled back on her pillow following another bout of nausea, ‘your Peter sounds perfectly wonderful, and how romantic to think that you’ll be sailing away beside him one day. Yes, I know you’re going to be so happy. As happy as I am.’

‘Yes, I will – some day.’ But for the time being, Victoria was glad to settle into a routine that revolved around Emily’s care and comfort. The doctor confirmed that the baby was progressing well, but no matter what was tried, nothing seemed to relieve her bouts of sickness. Whenever her strength permitted it, Emily asked to be taken to the greenhouse to be with Martin while he tended his plants, and Victoria soon found herself making most of the day to day domestic decisions at Cloudhill.

‘I hope I’m not seen to be interfering in your excellent management, Mrs Frost,’ she said, after she’d signed the monthly household accounts and checked the kitchen orders. Tomorrow morning she was to interview a local girl for the position of parlour maid. ‘I’m sure it won’t be long before my sister is well enough to take on her duties of mistress
of this house.’

Sporadic correspondence arrived at Cloudhill from Caroline and Hedley in America, amusing letters describing how the couple were unashamedly playing their
British aristocrat
roles to the hilt and being entertained in high style everywhere they went.

Christmas arrived, and with Emily still unwell, it was Victoria who took on the role of hostess when the usual collection of Clifford aunts, uncles and cousins of all ages descended on the great house for the family’s traditional Yuletide celebrations.

It was a busy time for the household, but as long as the kitchen staff kept up a supply of splendid food, the relatives were perfectly able to organize their own entertainment. Victoria found them a pleasant,
easy-going
group who were happy to play charades, billiards and cards, or sing popular songs around the piano. They went for long walks and danced in the evening, and sat for hours drinking tea by the fire while they exchanged an endless supply of family gossip.

Emily came downstairs to join the company whenever she felt sufficiently well, and she was fussed over by them all.

As Victoria stood on the steps and said farewell to the Clifford relatives, she thought that this had probably been the jolliest Christmas she’d ever spent. No commotions, no formality.

‘Emmie, have you heard from Mama and Papa?’

Emily shot a glance towards Martin. He frowned. ‘Victoria, I invited your parents to join us here, but they declined. They’ve leased the house in Hanover Square to some family from York, and are taking a villa in the south of France. Permanently.’

Victoria’s happiness soared when mail from Peter began to arrive – first, a bundle of letters that he’d posted from Cape Town. He reported that he and his uncle were in the best of health, the
Fortitude
was sailing splendidly, and a later he was able to describe the splendid trading opportunities they were discovering in Burma, Siam and Java. Perhaps her happiest moment came when he confirmed that he had collected all her letters that were waiting for him at the British Consulate in Singapore.

In May, Victoria wrote to him with the news that Emily had produced a healthy baby boy and named him Tobias:
Emily and Martin are happy for me to make my home here with them until that wonderful day when you come back and take me on board the
Fortitude.
That’s where I truly belong
.

It wasn’t long before Emily began to feel unwell again and the doctor confirmed that there was another baby on the way. ‘Vicky, I’m so glad to have you here with me still. What would I do without you?’ she said, placing Toby in her arms. At six months he was a happy, alert little fellow who sat gurgling contentedly on her lap and tugging at her necklace.

‘Well now, Master Toby,’ Victoria said, trying to distract him for a moment while she released his grasp, ‘you and I have much to talk about because Christmas is fast approaching and the puddings are hanging in the pantry. Your dear mama has asked me to arrange the festivities here again, so we’ll decorate the house with holly, have the piano tuned, and ask cook how many geese we need to prepare. Oh, little one, I wonder where your Uncle Peter and the captain will spend their Christmas this year?’ She hugged him tightly and spun in a circle. ‘Soon they’ll be sailing back to England! Soon, soon, very soon you’ll meet your Uncle Peter.’

She sat down at the kitchen table with Mrs Dobson, the cook, to discuss menus for the guests.
Where will I spend Christmas next year?
she asked herself and went upstairs to checked the visitors’ bedrooms, and then down again to talk to the staff who were rearranging chairs in the drawing room and setting out extra card tables.
Will I be aboard the Fortitude next year, sailing across some great blue ocean? Will we be eating bananas and coconuts on a white beach beside a coral lagoon?

With Emily’s wretched sickness sometimes confining her upstairs for days, it was Victoria who again took on the role of mistress of the house, greeting the relatives, allocating bedrooms, arranging the seating at dinner.

Martin never failed to kiss her cheek and thank her at the end of each day. ‘I don’t know how we’d have managed without you, my dear sister.’

It wasn’t a burdensome job; in fact, she enjoyed it. But nevertheless, she was bone weary by the time the last party had been waved off and the staff began the task of restoring order in the old house. She was on her way upstairs to gossip with Emily when a footman hurried after her. ‘A letter just come by special delivery for you, ma’am.’

She frowned at the handwriting on the envelope and continued to walk slowly upstairs as she ripped it open. At first it was impossible to
comprehend the words on the paper, written by a shaking hand and signed
Henry Latham
. Her eyes skimmed the pages again in disbelief. No! This had to be some mistake; it could
not
be true. It couldn’t be! Peter could not have become so ill that he died out there in the Indies. So suddenly! So far away.

The pain inside her was beyond tears and she was suddenly swamped by a huge, cold and angry emptiness. Her heart thudded and she gasped for breath. Why was the captain telling her that Peter had been stricken with a tropical fever in the Celebes, just when she had begun to count the weeks till they’d be reunited? Peter had said that he’d soon be on his way back to her. Of course he was sailing back for her. She was waiting for him, wasn’t she? He’d
promised
that he would come back.

Her whole body began to tremble and she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe as she burst into Emily’s room to stand panting at the foot of the bed, ashen-faced.

‘Oh, Vicky, what is it?’ Emily threw off her covers and held out her arms.

Victoria rushed into her sister’s embrace while a silent scream of agony caught in her throat. She felt her heart shatter as her world was tipped off its axis. Oh, Peter! My Peter! No, no, no! Don’t leave me. You
promised
to come back for me and I promised to wait for you. I am waiting, see? I will always be waiting. Peter, come back, please come back.

‘Poor Victoria – Ah! To be widowed so young.’

‘Poor Victoria, such a tragedy. But just look how bravely she’s holding up,’ the neighbours and relatives whispered to each other when they called at Cloudhill to offer their condolences.

Each morning she woke with the feeling that she’d been hollowed out in one vicious scoop by some malevolent force. While in company she resolutely hid behind a mask of calm civility to cover
the rage of grief tearing at her insides night and day. She endured the platitudes delivered by well-meaning people who called in a seemingly never-ending stream and referred to her constantly as
poor Victoria
. She cringed inwardly, but sent the good people away with the impression that
poor Victoria
was bearing up to her loss remarkably well.

No one was aware of the nightly dreams in which Peter called to her with an urgency that left her in tears when she woke. Neither did they notice how her breath caught and she tensed with anticipation whenever footsteps were heard approaching the house, or a shadow appeared on a wall. Twice she’d called for the carriage to stop when she thought she’d glimpsed him amongst the crowd of shoppers at the markets in Wells. Her head told her that it could never be Peter returning, but her heart refused to abandon hope.

‘I doubt that poor Victoria will remain a widow for long once she comes out of mourning,’ the ladies said over their teacups, whenever they tallied the names of eligible gentlemen who began calling at Cloudhill.

But Emily and Martin sensed the depth of her grief when they saw her setting out for long, solitary walks into the countryside, or spending her days in a whirlwind of unimportant domestic activities. Toby occupied hours of Victoria’s time, too, as she played with him on the nursery floor or took him out into the garden on a sunny day.

She maintained a correspondence with Captain Latham, but he spoke of no plans to sail back to England yet as he’d found a lucrative market in San Francisco. His first letter only hinted at the grief torturing him when he described Peter’s sudden illness and his burial three days later on a remote island in the Java Sea.

When she was alone, Victoria sobbed her loneliness and heartbreak until she could cry no more. In company she continued with the pretence that her pain was easing.

Emily’s confinement came on the September day that was expected, and another baby boy, Harry, was delivered safely into the Clifford family. Amidst the joy and congratulations, Victoria put aside the letter from London which had come that morning, and it wasn’t until Emily had been comfortably settled for the night and baby Harry was feeding, that she went to her room to open it.

The contents left her puzzled. It came from Mr Horace
Bartley-Symes
, a solicitor of Oxford Street, stating that he had been given the honour of handling the Last Will and Testament of her late husband, Captain Peter Latham, and that she, Victoria Latham née Shelford, had been named as sole beneficiary of her husband’s estate. This comprised a half-ownership of the barque
Fortitude
, as well as the late Peter Latham’s share of the profits accrued in recent business enterprises, namely £9367. Would Mrs Latham, at her earliest convenience, be so good as to notify the lawyer how she wished to receive her bequest?

‘Oh, Martin! I can’t possibly claim half the ship. The
Fortitude
belongs to Uncle Henry and I don’t feel I have the right.’

‘Vicky, m’dear, Captain Latham is quite aware of your husband’s bequest. He was the one to write the will for Peter, remember?’ He lay a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘Your husband has made you a wealthy lady, and in leaving you his share of the ship, he’s made sure that your fortune is going to increase. My recommendation would be to invest your inheritance in the
Fortitude
’s future ventures.’