London - Edward Rutherfurd [536]
Of his daughters, only Charlotte could really remember the dingy lodgings in Southwark when he came home stinking from the boat. Sometimes, alone, she would shudder at the memory before pushing it from her mind. The middle girls, by the age of ten, were attending a little private school for young ladies; Mary Anne had been taught by a governess. They had still been in Lambeth when Charlotte reached a marriageable age and Silas had not really done much to bring her out into the local society because he wasn’t quite sure how to do it. But none of the girls could be said to have suffered from their lowly background. Few men trouble themselves unduly about the origins of a rich young woman’s fortune. Even with their plain looks, the eldest three Dogget girls had all found good husbands; and pretty Mary Anne had had her pick. During a twenty-year period, therefore, not only had Silas moved from rags to riches, but his entire family had evolved from the squalor of the backstreets to a middle-class respectability and a protected affluence that, in the case of the Pennys and the Bulls, might even lead to the higher reaches of society. Such transformations had always been known; but nowadays, in the vast, ever-expanding commercial world of the British Empire, they were becoming quite commonplace.
Having risen so far, the Guv’nor had no intention of being dragged down by the embarrassment of Lucy. He wished he had never troubled himself with her. At the time, she had seemed useful and he had been helping his kith and kin. But now he could see it had been a mistake. What should he do with her, though? He supposed if he gave her a small amount each month, on condition she stayed away from his family and kept her mouth shut, she would probably go quietly enough. But one thing he could not tolerate.
“Let’s hope the child dies,” he said. “But if not, you must give it up. We’ll find an orphanage or something.” To have a poor and unwanted relation was one thing; but to have a fallen woman polluting what was now the respectable Dogget family name was another. He would not have it, not even if she threatened to expose him.
“But I wanted help to bring the baby up,” she told him.
“It must go. Have you no shame?”
“No, Silas,” she said sadly. “I haven’t much now.” And then – she had not meant to but she could not help herself: “Oh, Silas, won’t you take pity on me? Let me have the child. Can’t you see? It’s all I’ll ever have.” She had lost Horatio when she was a child and never had anyone since. “It is hard for a woman to live all her life and have no one to love,” she cried softly.
Silas watched her impassively. She was an even bigger fool than he had thought. Walking over to a table in one corner where there was pen and ink, he wrote down a name and address on a piece of paper. “This is my lawyer,” he said, giving it to her. “Go to see him when you’re ready to get rid of the child. He’ll be told what to do. That’s the help you’ll get from me.”
Then he turned round, went out and locked the door behind him. Several minutes passed before the butler reappeared, took her out by the tradesmen’s entrance, gave her two shillings to get herself home, and sent her on her way.
The butler did not forget his orders that on no account was she ever to be admitted to the house again.
THE CUTTY SARK
1889
On the stage below, the colourful chorus of gondoliers was working its way, faster and faster, towards a brilliant crescendo. The audience – men in evening coats and white ties, women with frizzed hair and silk taffeta bustle dresses – were enjoying every moment. Nancy and her mother had taken a private box. While her mother