‘Depends. How much is it worth to you that I not say anything?’
Catherine clenched her teeth and pulled out the marquess’s envelope. This was always how the game was played and it was the reason she continued to give private concerts. Stubbs threatened to send a false report back to Hailey and she paid him not to do so. In short, blackmail. It didn’t matter that she had nothing to hide. Stubbs was in the position of power and he didn’t hesitate to use it. ‘I trust this will help convince you that nothing worth reporting happened tonight.’ She handed him his usual stipend. ‘Do we have an accord?’
Stubbs made a pretence of counting the money before stuffing it into a small leather pouch he carried for the purpose. ‘A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Jones.’ He doffed his battered beaver and scurried away like a rat into the night.
Catherine unlocked the front door and went inside. It had been an unpleasant end to the evening, but in truth, she had been lucky to escape as lightly as she had. If Stubbs had seen her getting out of Valbourg’s carriage—with Valbourg still inside—it would have taken a lot more than five pounds to guarantee his silence. Worse, it could have been Moody, the other man Hailey employed to keep an eye on her, in which case she would have been forced to hand over a great deal more of her night’s earnings. Moody was a nasty piece of work; a man who had been in and out of prison and who seemed to have no conscience whatsoever.
Sell his own kid for a bob, Stubbs had once told her. And with someone like that hanging around, Catherine knew she couldn’t risk stepping out of line. Any association, no matter how innocent, between herself and a man of wealth or title would be turned into something sordid and dirty. Between Moody and Stubbs, she had more than enough reasons for avoiding any kind of involvement. With Lord Valbourg or anyone else.
Chapter Three
The following afternoon brought a bit of welcome news in the form of a letter from Miss Gwendolyn Marsh, the spinster with whom Catherine had lived for her pregnancy and the first few months of Thomas’s life and with whom she still maintained a friendship.
Gwen wrote in an elegant, flowing hand.
My dearest Catherine,
How I look forward to seeing you again. It feels as though it has been much longer than six months between visits this time. I have followed your success, of course. I understand Promises is still the rage in London, and I am smiling to myself, remembering the nervous young girl who came to stay with me all those years ago, with nary a thought of performing on stage, let alone becoming one of its brightest stars!
But I digress. I am glad to hear you will be travelling to Grafton to collect Thomas.
I am so happy for you, my dear. You have worked very hard for this, forgoing the pleasures enjoyed by most young women your age, and you deserve now to reap the rewards...
Catherine let the letter fall to her lap, her mind casting back over the events of the past five years. Yes, she had worked hard, but what choice had she had? Making a success of her life was the only hope she’d had of regaining custody of Thomas.
She remembered as though it were yesterday the day she had arrived on Gwendolyn Marsh’s doorstep, pregnant with Will Hailey’s child. Will, the only son of the Reverend James Hailey and his first wife, Ruth, had been Catherine’s first love; an attachment formed when Will had started coming to her house to take lessons with her father. A thoughtful, quietly spoken lad, Will had actually been eight months younger than Catherine, but his gentle manners and studious air had made him seem older, and it was, perhaps, inevitable that a friendship would spring up between them.
They saw a great deal of each other over the next few months, the friendship deepening into an attraction and eventually into love. Unfortunately, Will didn’t tell his parents about his feelings for Catherine. Nor did he know, on the day he was thrown from his horse and killed, that she was carrying his child. For that reason, Reverend Hailey had refused to believe Catherine when she told him of their involvement. As far as Hailey was concerned, Catherine was just the schoolmaster’s daughter. He had been horrified to learn she was carrying his dead son’s child and had refused to have anything to do with her.
Nor had her own father been much better, Catherine reflected. Having recently lost his wife and struggling to come to terms with his own grief, Peter Jones had been unable to help her, his sadness prompting him to say things Catherine would never forget. So she had written to Miss Gwendolyn Marsh, a spinster and close friend of her late mother. Miss Marsh lived in Cheltenham, and it was to her Catherine had poured out her heart, going so far as to ask Miss Marsh if she might come and live with her until her baby was born.
Thankfully, Miss Marsh had said yes, and it was there in the comfort of her home that Catherine had spent the long, unhappy months of her pregnancy, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon. A storm the effects of which she was still feeling today.
She picked up Gwen’s letter and continued reading.
You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you like, both before and after you collect Thomas. Cheltenham is empty of company at the moment and I should so enjoy having you around again. And of course I am anxious to see Thomas, since all I remember of him is a tiny baby.
Mrs Brown has been busy baking, and Flo and Daisy are quite silly in the way they go on. They will no doubt giggle and blush upon first seeing you. You are quite the star now, my dear, and I could not be happier for you...
Catherine finished the letter and then folded it up and put it on the table next to her chair. Unbidden, the memory of her first trip back to Grafton after Thomas’s birth came to mind; an occasion that stood out as one of the worst of her life. She had taken Thomas, then only a month old, to see Reverend Hailey and his new wife, Eliza, whom he had married shortly after Catherine left Grafton.
Pretty and spoiled, Eliza possessed neither the compassion nor the gentleness of Hailey’s first wife, and Catherine had disliked her on the spot. She’d had difficulty understanding why Hailey had married such a woman, though she suspected it had much to do with the fact Eliza was so pretty and that she played the part of the helpless female so well. Reverend Hailey wasn’t a bad man, just a weak one. And weak men, whether they be men of God or tillers of the soil, were easily manipulated. Catherine had recognised that the moment she had walked into the manse. She had been greeted at the door by the new housekeeper, a brusque north-country woman who had arrived with the new Mrs Hailey, and rather than being shown into the drawing room, where family and guests were usually entertained, Catherine had been ushered into the vicar’s private study, where Reverend Hailey and Eliza stood glaring at her from behind his desk. There, she had drawn back the blanket and shown them their grandson.
Hailey’s reaction was not at all what Catherine had been expecting. Asking if he might hold the child, Catherine had willingly passed Thomas over, hopeful his birth might help break down the barriers that existed between them. But only moments after taking Thomas, Reverend Hailey had handed him to his wife, as though reluctant to hold the child any longer than was absolutely necessary.
He’d said that, under the circumstances, he felt it best that the child remain with them. Given Catherine’s position as an unwed mother, with no employment and few prospects, she was the last person who should be taking care of a baby. He had gone on to say it was in Thomas’s best interests that he be raised in a Christian household, untainted by his mother’s immoral and sinful ways.
Stunned by the unexpected turn of events, Catherine had immediately asked Reverend Hailey to hand Thomas back to her, but the man had coldly and adamantly refused. He had quoted biblical text, saying his son’s death was a punishment from God, and that Catherine would burn in hell for her sins of lust and fornication. Eliza hadn’t said a word, but her expression had warned Catherine against trying to plead her case. At that point, she had returned to Miss Marsh’s house, where, devastated by the very real possibility of never seeing her son again, she had broken down and burst into tears.
A kind though practical woman, Miss Marsh had let Catherine