The Crimson Bed (34 page)

    Now that the idea had hit him he wondered how he could have been so naïve and stupid. It was surely possible to find Bessie somewhere and see if this was true. She might also be involved in the blackmailing racket that Sue had brought about, perhaps already paid to say that Jessaline was indeed her daughter by him.

    He decided he would begin with the Foundling Hospital and see what their records had to show.

Chapter 30

Now that Fred had begun to have doubts, he pursued the matter at once. He had an instinctive feeling that Sue and her lover Oldham had cooked up something between them and he was determined to find out the truth. It would settle things for once and for all and if Jessaline really was his daughter, he promised himself he would do all he could to remove her from the influence and power of Sue and Thomas Oldham. He realised now, from Jessie's innocent remarks, that that man had future plans to use her in the sort of 'modelling' that someone like Marillon would certainly enjoy painting.

    Even if Jessie wasn't his daughter, he wanted to rescue the child from such a life as that. Heaven knows what might happen to her in the hands of such men!

    The thought that it would infuriate those two plotters added a certain spice to the matter. They meant to use both himself and that poor, silly young girl for their own ends. Well, he would show them he was not such a fool as they deemed him.

    The problem was that he could not really recall which Foundling Home Bessie was sent to, or even her full name. His mother would know and perhaps still have the papers. She was surprisingly efficient in this way. Her father's family had been taken to court so often and caused so many scandals in their time that Beatrice knew all about keeping papers that may be necessary proof one day. But how could he ask his mother about it without giving away his present predicament? He dreaded such a move yet could think of no other way to manage the business. Accordingly he called on Beatrice one afternoon and after some laconic discussion about the weather, he fell silent, wondering how to approach the subject.

    Beatrice regarded her son curiously. He seldom called and neither did that self-reliant little chit of a wife of his. Not that Beatrice had any great love of small children running about her for too long and seldom invited them over except for high days and holidays when as often as not she would retire to her bedroom on the pretext of a headache as soon as she conveniently could and leave them to their grandfather.

    Nor did she care at all for her daughter-in-law. Eleanor, it seemed to her, had Fred well under her thumb and simply did whatever she wanted to do without any comment or restraint from him. Gossip reached her ears that she frequently called alone on Lord Percy Dillinger when he was in town. An unpleasant and cold man at the best of times! Beatrice was rather afraid of him. True he w
as
Eleanor's godfather, but it was quite wrong to be seen going there so often and staying so long. What could two such people have in common, for Heaven's sake? If she at least took the children with her, it wouldn't seem so bad. But that young woman cared nothing for people's opinions and never had.

    Anyone could see that from the sloppy way she dressed these days; no corsets, no crinolines, just plain, free-flowing clothes and untidy hair falling out of its pins and from under her bonnet so that she looked a regular scarecrow – not a respectable, wealthy man's wife. And as for her home with all its stupid pictures and furnishings that were covered in gold and crimson like something out of a Popish church... she liked to emulate this fast, modern set of artists and the loose women they all had with their so called 'aesthetic' fashions.

    It was all very unseemly. Her stupid son made no display of manly strength over the matter but then, he was no better. It was he who had fallen in with this set long ago and yet was nothing but a hanger-on with no talent of his own. If he had become more friendly with John Millais, that would have been a little better. Millais came from a good family and was now an ARA. Now the scandal of his marriage to the Scottish woman had died down, he was accepted even in the best society.

    Fred, she realised, had something on his mind. Her son was as transparent as daylight and always had been. She waited however, not making things easy for him, half-amused by his nervousness.

    'Mother, I need to ask a favour of you,' Fred ventured at last. 'I just wondered if you had any papers from... well, from the time of that unfortunate incident in my youth.'

    'Which particular incident?' asked his mother dryly though she knew full well what he meant.

    'Er – the incident with – with the kitchen girl.'

    Beatrice wrinkled her nose in disgust at the memory.

    'What sort of papers are you talking about?'

    'The address of the Foundling place which she attended is what I am most anxious to find.'

    'You mean the John Griffin Foundling Institute. Why the anxiety? Has the wretched woman asked you for more money? Is that the little ploy? Does she threaten to be troublesome?'

    Fred blushed and his mother sighed in annoyance. What had the stupid fellow got himself embroiled in now?

    'Something like that. It isn't Bessie that's the problem, though.'

    'I suppose her wretched child has traced you down and is demanding her rights?' said Beatrice with a grimace. Her brother had had similar problems but he had never been one to let them trouble him. His methods had generally been rough and salutary and he had never been troubled by his bastard children again. A good horsewhipping had seen to that and the threat of the local magistrate.

    'In a way.'

    'In a way... what way, for goodness sake? What good will going to the Foundling Institute do? Give the girl a good beating and she won't bother you again.'

    'Mother, I want the address for my own reasons. Is it possible that you can supply me with it?'

    'I suppose so,' she replied begrudgingly and sent the maid to fetch the chest of papers from her room.

    'Your Uncle Henry would have dealt with all this by now and not need to poke around letting everyone know you're in trouble!' she commented crossly as she eventually fished the papers from deep in the wooden chest.

    'I am not my Uncle Henry and this is not the eighteenth century,' was her son's surprisingly firm reply as he took the papers with relief.

    'Well, whatever you're up to, be careful not to make gossip. Not like that wife of yours with all her goings on round the town visiting gentlemen by herself. Young women ought to keep to their home and family and not be dawdling about the place and visiting gentlemen who are alone at home. You should keep an eye on her, my lad. People are beginning to make comments.'

    'If you refer to my wife's occasional visits to her godfather, Lord Dillinger, he's twice her age, mother and I'm perfectly aware of them. There is no secret in the matter,' said Fred flushing angrily. 'You'd do well not to listen to all the idle gossip you hear.' Ringing the bell, he asked the maid to call him a cab.

Fred was ushered into the Governor's office at the John Griffin Foundling Institute. On entering its gates he was surprised by the fact that it was generally a pleasant and well-kept place. The twostorey building of red brick had steps that led to a wide, smart oak door with a large brass lion's head knocker upon it and a brass bell on the right. A small chapel was built at the side of the courtyard and a coach house with stables at the other side, presumably for the use of the Governors, certainly not for the unfortunate inmates.

    Once inside, he was impressed by the fact that the premises were clean and well scrubbed but nonetheless felt a sense of gloom. The dull, bare entrance hall from which branched forth long, cream and brown-painted corridors and the plain, heavy, dark wood of the banisters, picture rails and dados gave everything an austere look. A few religious pictures with Jesus and little children and lambs hung on the walls and promised hope for the sinners who resided in these walls. He heard the sounds of infants wailing upstairs. A young woman passed him along the corridor as if on the way out. She met his eye boldly and defiantly while another with a child in her arms hurried past him to her destination, her eyes fixed on the floor, her head bowed and abject. A child had just been left there and another was being brought in. Poor, unwanted brats!

    He had never been inside such a place before and felt miserable to think he had reduced a young girl to such a state that she had been obliged to come here and leave her child. What were Bessie's thoughts and feelings, he wondered, when she brought Jessaline here and had to leave a babe she had probably grown to love?

    This was the first time he had really wondered at all about Bessie's feelings in the matter. She had always been a shadowy figure to him, a creature with scarcely a face or character. Did she even have any feeling? He had never really supposed such an ignorant girl capable of anything but pure animal reactions to life. Now he felt ashamed at such a lack of understanding on his own part. Bessie had born a child with all its pains and dangers, a child she had scarcely wanted at that time. Yet as a mother, she would still have felt love for her own child once it was born. Her reputation had been ruined, but she had managed to find a husband, reclaim her child and bring her up. That showed courage and maternal care. She had not abandoned the little girl.

    How then had Jessaline fallen into Sue's hands? That was the puzzle. He assumed that Sue, for reasons of her own, had kept up with Bessie after her marriage and taken Jessie with her, seeing the little girl's beauty and charm and having plans to make use of her.

    'You say you wish to consult our records regarding a past inmate?' the Governor asked, waving Fred to a comfortable leather chair on the other side of his desk.

    Fred laid aside his hat and gloves and nodded in agreement.

    'I do, sir. I hope it is not too much trouble?'

    'We keep very orderly files here,' said Amos Griffin. 'It should be no trouble to look up the child in question.'

    'You keep an orderly institution,' said Fred looking around. The office was the same brown and cream as the rest of the place with dark oak panelling half way up the walls but it had a few small touches that made it a trifle less austere.

    'We take care of our children and wish to provide them with some sort of decent start to their lives,' said Griffin. He was a cheerful looking man with kindly grey eyes, a long, full beard and a benevolent smile. 'My father John Griffin began this institution many years ago in order to help children that had been abandoned on the streets and left to die. A great many good and kindly souls gave him money in order to help him set up this place to help those less fortunate than themselves. We educate and train our children up to the age of seven and then send them to good places to work as befits their talents and abilities. Our children are much sought after for they make biddable, intelligent and careful servants. However, nowadays we have to take a lot more time and trouble over whom we admit. And why, you may ask? Because it was not too long before the pious and merciful... and might one say, comfortable and secure people with little else to do... found fault with the fact that we opened our doors to all unfortunates. They did their best to close down our institution.'

    'Why would they wish to do that?'

    'They feared that our charity and compassion would encourage vice and that young women would become even more depraved than ever if they had no need to worry over who was to care for the products of their immoral liaisons.'

    'I see.'

    'So now those wishing to leave their children must fill in a detailed admission sheet. The young woman must show that she has been led astray by a false promise of marriage... a common ploy of young men who cannot control their lusts, I might add. Or that she was coerced against her will. We seek to ensure that women selling their bodies for gain are not encouraged to come and abandon their infants with us. It is to help those girls who have in some way or another been deserted and duped.'

    Fred dropped his eyes as he met the searching grey eyes of Amos Griffin.

    There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

    'So,' said Griffin in a sudden brisk and business like manner, 'what was the name of the mother you came to enquire about?'

    'Her name at that time was Elisabeth Collings. I believe she married later though I have no idea of her married name. All I have, I am afraid, is this copy of a paper, which simply states that she agrees to leave her infant daughter as yet un-named but born on 3
^rd
March 1843 to be brought up by the John Griffin Foundling Institute. It is dated April 1843.'

    Griffin took Fred through a glass-panelled door to the back of the office where rows of steel cabinets were kept. Each drawer in the cabinet was marked with a date up to five years and in it were folders set in alphabetical order.

    'Cobs, Codling, Collet... ah, here we have a Collings for 1843. Yes, Elisabeth Mary, aged fifteen at the time, born in Bermondsey. Is that the woman in question?'

    'Yes,' said Fred, his discomfort increasing with every moment.

    Griffin took out the folder and looked at the admission form. There were also several sheets of blue paper on which were recorded the story of the girl's life, her fall from grace, her subsequent efforts to improve herself. Fred hated to think what Bessie might have said about him, how she must have hated him as she recounted that terrible ordeal.

    'Did Bessie... Elisabeth... did she give an account of her predicament?' he asked.

    Griffin smiled a little, 'Oh yes, in perfect detail, my good sir. I'm afraid it
is
a requirement; we have to know the girls are telling us the truth.'