The Prudential Light, page 6
part #1 of Cry Havoc Series
Charles was an indifferent companion, often out on business. While I had a husband, I was often lonely. I could not say outright that I was ignored. We shared meals and discussed family news. But he was not kind. After a while married life became tolerable. I suppose one can get used to anything. I think for a time my spirit was so worn down that I made good of a bad situation, to the point where it felt normal and natural to be in a loveless marriage. I ran our rented house to the best of my abilities and soon found myself with child. The idea of becoming a mother was a solace. Mother comforted me and exclaimed at how full my life would be, and how happy Charles would be to be a father.
To my surprise, Charles lost his temper when I broke the news. “How could you let this happen? Surely you take precautions?”
I did not know one could take precautions against pregnancy. “How will we manage the extra expense?” he said before storming out of the room.
I could only gape at the closed door. Surely there was enough money for us all?
Kent, 1839
Late in my pregnancy, I answered a knock at the front door. Charles was out and the housekeeper was needed in the kitchen so I happened to answer it.
Two men, with surly expressions stood there. My gaze shifted between the one with the thick, black moustache and the one with the scar that made his mouth lift in a kind of half smile. “May I help you?”
“Is this the residence of Mr Charles Leighton?” the moustachioed one asked.
“Yes, I am afraid he is not at home.”
He shoved some papers at me. “Give him these. We shall be back to collect the rest of the money.”
The men turned to leave, and I fumbled the papers as I stepped back inside. In the dim hallway I read the figures and realised they were gaming debts. A sharp pain hit me in the side and I stumbled to the settee.
Charles had lost so much money through gambling. A gamester! He had kept this vice secret because Father would not have permitted the marriage if he had known. My father would not have entrusted me to a man so weak as to lose his household’s entire income within a mere two years. Father abhorred gambling and strong drinking and I had the same valued.
The housekeeper found me, distraught in the drawing room. The tears of anger and shame had turned into cries of fear as my pains came on. I was going to give birth. Charles was nowhere to be found so the housekeeper sent for the midwife. My son James arrived the next day and still Charles had not come home.
It was some days before I could inform my parents of this terrible state of affairs. I sent a note around to my mother:
The baby has come, Mama. Please come visit me as soon as you receive this.
Pru
When Mama arrived, she kissed me on the forehead, asked me how I did and then went to the cradle. With the baby in her arms, she took a chair. “What a joy to behold my dear. Such a wonderful head of hair.” She played with his fists. “Strong too.”
“Mama I have something to tell you…” I related everything that had happened with the debt collectors and Charles being absent.
My mother thought I had lost my senses. “That cannot be so. Are you certain?”
I handed her the bills. “My word, that must be all your capital.” She lowered the papers. “I shall send for your father. He will know what to do.”
She called the housekeeper and asked the houseboy to go over and bring my father.
“What am I to do, Mama? How shall we live?”
She gazed fondly at James. “Two grandsons.” With a sigh, she put the baby back in the cradle.
“Father will help you, I am sure.” Then she wiped the tears from her eyes.
My father burst into the room. Mama informed him of my news. He had no time to view his grandson. “I will make enquiries. Obviously, my initial investigations were somewhat lacking. Mr Leighton has imposed on us under false pretences.”
My Mama moved me and my son to our family home to recover from the birth. Charles had still not returned before then or communicated with me in any way. Eventually, Father came to my room, his face as solemn as I had ever seen it.
“What is it?”
He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. “I have sought Leighton out and also spoken with the bank and my solicitor. All your capital is gone. He has liquidated all the shares, and the cottage in the country that was in your name has been sold. There is nothing left.”
“We have no money? Nothing?”
“It is worse than you think, my love. He did all this within the first month of your marriage. You not only have no capital now, but you owe money for gambling debts, and the rent on the house, the salaries of the servants and payments to your other suppliers are in arrears.”
“We have been living on credit all this time? Oh, Father!”
He drew out a list from his pocket. “I have an accounting of what is owed. Approximately a hundred pounds for your food and the servants’ wages. The rent I have paid, as the landlord was most distressed. I never suspected for a minute what Charles was doing. The gambling debts are too awful to contemplate.”
The thought of leaving him was strong in my mind. Mother looked upon me with pity. I would become a pariah if I left my husband. If Charles never came back, then the shame would be on him, but still I would be a source of gossip.
I had been residing at my parents’ house for a month or so when we had the first word of Charles. He had returned to our house, demanding to know where I was. He soon found his way to my parents’ home. Meanwhile Father had made meticulous enquiries and discovered some other most troubling information. It appeared that Charles Leighton was a fortune hunter who had been courting a woman whose wealth was rumoured to be five times my own. When things had become more serious, her family had become suspicious and taken her away to the north. When he met me, Charles had been in desperate financial straits. I saw now that he would likely have done just about anything to force me into marriage. I was a dupe, an easy target. I knew I was no great beauty or heiress, but to be a mere consolation prize—a means to an end—was dispiriting in the extreme. No wonder Charles was indifferent to me after the honeymoon. He had already liquidated my assets, so I was of no further use to him.
I was the mother of a young baby, with a wastrel of a husband, no money and insurmountable debts. I had no brother to fight for me, but I did have a wonderful father. What transpired between my father and Charles, I do not know. After the initial interview, Charles returned to my parents’ house the next day, ostensibly to greet his son. I wished him miles away but as his wife, I was powerless to stop him.
My son James was my delight and my solace. He was a healthy baby, with dark eyes like my own and a head full of thick, dark hair. He had a lusty appetite and strong arms and legs, which he thrust about energetically. He had to be swaddled to keep him in his cradle. A bonny child such as ever there was, even if I do say so of my own offspring. Caring for my son for those few weeks in the sanctuary of my childhood home soothed me. I grew in strength and then courage.
When I finally had a conversation with Charles, it was heavy indeed.
He threw himself at my feet. “Please forgive me. I am so sorry. It will never happen again. Do come home with me.”
“I will never forgive you,” I replied. “You have ruined everything.”
“I was weak. But now I am strong. I will do better for you and our son.”
“It is hard to believe you, Charles. We are better off without you.”
Charles cheeks grew red. “No, you cannot deny me my son. Think of what your friends and acquaintances will think if you don’t return home.”
A shudder overtook me. He had played the winning hand. I felt like folding in on myself. Seeing my reaction, Charles took my hand. “Your father is helping us. He will guide me, and I will be compliant.”
Overwhelmed I ran from the room. If I did not return, he could take James from me and I would be ruined socially and my standing in society meant a lot to me.
After urging from my father and mother, I reluctantly agreed to return to the marital home. At our parting, I cried, my mother sobbed, and Father loomed. Charles was oblivious to our suffering. Looking on, he smiled and flattered and pretended all was well. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to scream, but that was not possible. To show such emotion, such a lack of decorum, would sink us all in society’s view.
A few weeks later, I was visiting my parents and sipping tea, while Mama cuddled with James when Father said, “I have finally settled Leighton’s debts, It meant liquidating some of my investments, but you shall have a fresh start.”
“You did what?” I blurted out, raising my voice to my father for the first time in my life.
Father grew flustered, using a finger to ease his cravat away from his neck. “I had no choice. He was set to desert you and little James. I could not allow that when it was in my power to assist you.”
“But that debt was huge. What of you and Mama? You have reduced your own income.”
We were all poorer after Charles was done with me.
“A few economies will see us all right, my dear. We will be well.”
“How will we go on?” I asked, half to myself. It was one thing to clear Charles’ debts, and it was another to continue living. “While I am grateful you have assisted us, how will we live?”
My father lowered his chin to his chest. “I paid his debts on the condition he find employment, and with his promise that he is to live within his means and never gamble again. He swore to me he would abide by our agreement.”
“He is to work for a living? What kind of work can he do?” I asked.
“I have given him a reference to a friend of mine in the British East India Company. I fear that you will need to go to India.”
“India?” This was a place I knew little about, a place far from my precious family. A place where people sickened from the heat, disease and who knew what else. “India?” I repeated, feeling the tears readying to fall once again. Oh, I had cried so many tears because of that man.
Later I asked Charles for more information. “Is it not hot there and full of savages?”
Charles nodded. “Yes, it can be. I understand that some parts can be cooler at certain times of the year. You will need to study up on that so you can prepare for the journey.”
Our destination was to be Calcutta, a place quite settled but still growing. Fort William had been built and many other British women lived in that city with their husbands and families. Some were company men and others were in the military or government.
Father and Charles managed to pack up our belongings and pay out the lease. We could only take limited luggage with us, as Charles’ position was junior, the salary just enough to keep us in a certain style in India.
Determined to learn what I could about what was to be my new home, I returned to my parents’ home to read as much as possible. My father had an extremely good library, and he borrowed some books from his friend in the East India Company to expand my knowledge. A book by Emma Roberts on travelling to East India provided a lot of detailed advice and guided my preparations. In the end, I knew more than Charles, but I kept that a secret. I would not allow him to try to demean me further.
I have often thought about those days and asked myself whether I was an ignorant girl who did not see Charles’ manipulation or whether I should have fought harder to break off the engagement. I was not oblivious to the entrapment, and neither were my parents. We were held firm by society’s expectations and false assumptions as to Charles’ true character. However, hindsight is a marvellous thing, and makes one think one was wiser than one really was. If I was incandescently angry at Charles, I cannot recall it. I had made my bed, as they say, and had to lie in it. Perhaps a bitterness settled in my heart. The only women I knew to be happy in their marriages were my mama and my sister Charity. Many of my other acquaintances let slip their discontent with their husbands’ treatment of them, either ignoring them, scolding them, abusing them and so on. I was not the worst off, believe me.
With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair and glared at the pages of I had written. I thought my writing would be more elegant, more refined. However, it was very late, past two o’clock in the morning, and my back ached from hunching over the desk.
My head foggy from fatigue, I was about to go to bed when I heard a noise and then a voice somewhere in the house. Peeping out into the hallway I caught another, deeper, voice, coming from downstairs. Drawn on by curiosity, I held a candle aloft and crept down the dark stairs and along the hall. The door to the drawing room was ajar and light flickered from within. I snuffed my candle and pushed open the door.
Draped in a fine frippery gown was Jemima, and she appeared to be haranguing Mr Ferdinand White.
“You will tell me who killed him. I know—Oh!” Jemima turned as I entered.
“What are you doing up?” I asked in return. I smiled at Mr White. “How nice to see you again, Mr White.”
He grimaced and I realised that he was imbued with an arsenic-green glow. Jemima held him with her power. I had only heard of Fulton and Edward discussing the emerald fire that Jemima held within herself. Ringed in viridescent light, Mr White was held immobile, and it could not have been comfortable. My teeth were set on edge by the vibrations coming from Jemima. Narrowing my gaze, I raised an eyebrow at Jemima. “What are you doing to Mr White?”
Jemima set her lips in a straight line and glared. “Nothing much,” she said when I did not back down. Another breath and she sighed. “Have it your way.”
The glow faded and Mr White sagged as if he had tired of fighting. For her to aim her power at her uncle was surprising. She was normally so even tempered, except when fighting monsters.
Mr White turned to me and bowed. “Thank you for your intervention, Mrs Wainwright. There has been a misunderstanding.
“No, there has not,” snapped Jemima. “You know who killed my father. You never even told me the truth.”
“For that I apologise, but I have only ever acted to keep you safe. It will serve you no good to know their names. Names are powerful things. Just thinking of them could draw them to you. I was on my way to warn you of some impending danger when I received your summons. Can you not understand the risk? In your current state you are vulnerable.”
Jemima jerked her chin and scoffed.
I myself grew perturbed. “Are you saying that the assassins that killed Cousin Wilbur might come here?” I asked. I could not say—come here to kill Jemima—not when she is so full with child and emotionally vulnerable.
Mr White nodded vigorously. “Indeed. There have been ripples of disquiet amongst my fellows. Rumours that those powerful magicians who once served the Societas Magicae are seeking power, seeking Jemima.”
“Why now? I asked, casting a sideways look at Jemima.
“The amount of power she possesses is a serious temptation to these magicians. They covet what she has. Indeed, some murmur that a mere woman to have such power is a waste. They believe her to be too ignorant to use her powers and want them for themselves.”
“I will crush them,” Jemima said in a low voice. “Cowards that they are.”
“Jemima that is not a very ladylike thing to say.”
Jemima scoffed. “As if I—”
“You should care,” Mr White said. “You are in a delicate state. Now is not the time to draw attention to yourself. When you are ready, I will stand with you. Wilbur was my friend too.”
My gaze shifted to Jemima. Her expression was militant. “Let them come!” she replied, fists clenching. In the next breath, she squeaked and rubbed her rounded abdomen. “Sorry, the baby kicked.”
Mr White had tears in his eyes. “Oh dear, Jemima. Take care. There is more than just your own life in the equation now. Despite what you think, you are not indestructible.”
Jemima yawned loudly. “I think I have proved that I am. I survived the furnace and came out unscathed.”
“You have proved yourself physically strong and impervious to fire. However, there are other ways to defeat a magician. Do you think your father let them willingly drain him of life?”
That won him a hard glare from Jemima. I had never seen her out of countenance with Mr White before. She turned her back on him. “You can leave, now, Uncle. I will not try to stop you. However, I will not be happy to see you again unless you give me the information I require.”
Mr White nodded solemnly. “Thank you. My thoughts and prayers for your health and safety. I will do what I can to keep you safe, as I promised your father I would.”
Jemima turned back, eyes flashing. “Fiddle. Where were you when Edward sent me to school? You did not intervene then.”
“It was in your best interests to go there. Admit it—you enjoyed school.”
Jemima clenched her fists again. “Go. I will admit nothing.” Lifting her elegant robe clear of the floor, she made to move away. “Aunt, could I prevail upon you for some warm milk? I do not wish to wake the housekeeper, and as you are still up...”
“Indeed, I would be happy to. Please do not hurt Mr White while I am gone.”
Off I went to the kitchen, relighting my candle from a candelabra in the drawing room as I exited. When I returned with the glass of warm milk, Jemima was dozing in a winged chair and Mr White had vanished.
Together we walked up the stairs. “Why are you awake, anyway?” Jemima asked me. Outwardly she appeared calm, but I sensed tension running through her. The news about her father’s murder had really unsettled her.
I looked down at my ink-stained hands. “I was writing.”
“Ah...messy work. Good night.”
“Sleep well, Jemima.”
We parted in the hall outside her room.
Chapter 4
The next day, I was going through some papers when Jemima waddled up and leaned on the desk as if she was carrying the weight of the world. Then she yawned loudly and that started me going.
“Did you get enough sleep, Jemima?” I asked as I wound the string around the bundle of my old letters I had been perusing and placed them back in their box.
