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Not for the first time, Barnabas felt as though he was a condemned man walking towards his execution. He often felt that way when abruptly called to Jonah’s study, alongside every time he had to call upon the man while knowing that he was in one of his moods, but this time seemed to be the worst yet. For a start, Jonah had come to fetch him personally, putting his head into the kitchen where Barnabas had been warming himself by the fire and telling him, tersely, to report to his study immediately. Barnabas had known it would be bad then, and he surmised that Jonah had elected to tell him whatever it was in the study rather than in the passageway outside for the sole reason that the walk would only torment him further.
Secondly, Barnabas knew that this had something to do with him personally. This was not just bad news that Jonah was annoyed by, nor was it some small crime that Jonah might hand out a few punches over and then order Barnabas out of his sight. This was something very, very bad, and Barnabas could think of several possible contenders.
To his horror, Jonah was waiting for him at the door of his study. He stood half inside the room, blocking the door from closing, and Barnabas realised he could hear voices from inside. He quickly revised his prevailing emotion from that of a prisoner on his way to execution to that of an undoubtedly guilty defendant about to face the court.
“Come on,” Jonah snapped. “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.”
Barnabas sidled into the study behind Jonah, who left him to close the door and stalked over to the array of chairs that had been arranged in the room. Barnabas took his time closing the door, and then turned around to face the assembled guests. He was not overly surprised to see Jonathan Fanshawe there, even if the doctor did look surprised to be there; Robert Smirke was a bit of a surprise, busy man as he was, and his irritation belied the fact that he was certain he had plenty of better things to do. Most shocking of all, though, was the presence of Mordechai Lukas, who despite it being Jonah’s study seemed to dominate the room. He sat stiffly, his arms folded across his chest, and if Smirke looked angered at the interruption to his daily routine, Lukas looked absolutely murderous. For a moment Barnabas was frozen in the man’s glare, desperately wondering what on earth had brought him this far from his isolated home. It went without saying that if Jonah had business to do with Mordechai outside of the expected times he could be found in London, he went to Mordechai, and not the other way around; he also went strictly alone.
“Get over here,” Jonah snapped. He was pouring himself a generous drink from the decanter on the side table. He had also, Barnabas noted, given Mordechai the chair he usually occupied. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Barnabas approached, stopping a few paces short and making no mistake about the fact he was expected to remain standing. All he needed was a hat to wring between his fingers, and the picture would be complete.
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” he said quietly.
“For goodness’ sake,” Smirke muttered.
“I regret to inform you that the little wretch isn’t lying,” Jonah announced. “The idiot has no idea.”
“If I’ve made a mistake, I beg you to tell me what it is so I might rectify it,” Barnabas said, looking at Jonah. “I sincerely have no idea what it is that you’re referring to.”
“Good luck rectifying this,” Jonah snapped.
“Jonah,” Jonathan said, shooting him an imploring look. “If he truly has no idea, we should probably inform him. This is quite a serious situation, and it most certainly concerns him in more ways than just discipline.”
“Very well,” Jonah said, before fixing Barnabas with a furious stare. It was all Barnabas could do not to shrink away from it. “Are you aware that Mary is with child?”
Barnabas’s mouth felt suddenly very dry. “I—ah—Mary?”
“Yes, Mary,” Jonah said irritably. “You know Mary. One of the maids Mary. Scottish Mary. I trust she must have stuck in your mind, for you to have left her in the condition she’s in.”
“I don’t understand… surely not,” Barnabas said numbly. He wished he could sit down. He was sure his legs were about to give way underneath him. “Are you quite sure? You know what young women can be like. Hysterical…”
“She is most certainly in the advanced stages of confinement,” Jonathan said, his voice low but firm. Barnabas supposed this was the tone he always took when informing people of news they did not want to hear.
“Christ Almighty, he’s going to faint,” Smirke said. “Did nobody teach you about the facts of life, Bennett?”
“Do let him sit down,” Jonathan said, turning to Jonah. “Jonah, I must insist.”
“Very well,” Jonah snapped. He pointed. “Sit.”
Barnabas just about managed to make it the few steps to his right. He collapsed down onto the chair, his legs feeling oddly light.
“Lean forward, Barnabas,” Jonathan said. “Rest your head down a little.”
Wordlessly, Barnabas did so. Within thirty seconds he was relieved to find the tight band of pressure receding from around his head, and his vision had mostly cleared of the black spots that had been threatening to overtake the entirety of his sight. Cautiously he raised his head a little, finding that he remained much improved. It was almost a regret, once he met the disapproving stares levelled at him – with the exception of Mordechai Lukas, whose annoyance still seemed to extend only to his having to be present.
“Explain yourself,” Jonah said simply. “And do try not to be so ridiculous about it. If you’re man enough to put a girl in such a condition, you’re man enough to own up to it.”
“I…” Barnabas licked his lips. His throat was still terribly dry, but he did not dare ask for a drink. “It was not… an ongoing thing,” he eventually said. “It was merely… well, I suppose we made a little too merry this past Hogmanay. That was the only occurrence.”
“So you didn’t even have intentions on the poor girl?” Smirke demanded. “You weren’t courting? You had no plans to marry? This isn’t a relationship of any sorts – which is to say, you don’t love her at all?”
“No,” Barnabas said, a little indignant. “The feeling was very mutual, Mr Smirke. As far as I’m aware, Mary has no romantic feelings for me. It was the drink, which is to say no excuse, but certainly I don’t think I’m guilty of breaking her heart.” He swallowed. “If I was, I would of course… try to put it right.”
The whole time he had been speaking, Jonah watched him closely. Even as Barnabas addressed the others he could feel Jonah’s stare boring into him; it was enough that he felt his back prickly with sweat. He didn’t miss the way that Mordechai’s eyes flickered to Jonah once he had finished speaking; the others, while not as obvious about it, also seemed to be waiting for his conclusion.
“He’s telling the truth, I believe,” Jonah eventually said. “It is not an ongoing thing. Jonathan, did the girl say anything to you about it?”
“Not much,” Jonathan said. “As you can understand, she was rather ashamed. She stated that there was no prior relationship with Mr Bennett, but that he did not force her.”
Barnabas felt a sudden rush of gratitude towards her. It was true that he had often treated Mary with some contempt, as he did with all the lower servants. His position as Jonah’s personal assistant awarded him some advantage in the house’s hierarchy and Barnabas was not above using it, but loosened by a little alcohol he had often found some good company to be had in the lower ranks. He had no personal dislike of Mary, even if he had no romantic interest in her; what had happened between them had been drunken folly, nothing more, and she had kept her condition from him. For a girl like Mary, a situation like this could easily mean dismissal, sent back to her parents’ home in shame. The one way she could have gotten herself out of a lifetime of misery would be to claim that she hadn’t willingly submitted, and Barnabas found he probably wouldn’t have blamed her. At the very least it would have entitled her to sympathy from her parents, and some measure of compensation from Jonah – docked from Barnabas’s wages, of course. Instead she had admitted her part, faced the truth with a bravery that Barnabas knew he wouldn’t have possessed. He knew this for a fact, because up until that moment he had been planning to deny the child could be his. Now the thought filled him with nothing but shame.
“I will claim the child,” he mumbled, hearing the words as though they came from somewhere far outside himself. “If she consents, I will take her as a wife in name only, so that she can live honestly and have support for herself and the child. I only ask that I be allowed to keep my position here, if at all possible.”
“Well,” Mordechai said evenly. It was the first time he had spoken since Barnabas had entered the room. “At least he’s got some balls.”
“Very noble of you, Barnabas,” Jonah said, his voice still icy, “and at least a little by way of improvement to your character. However, such a thing is wholly impossible. I need you on hand for a multitude of responsibilities, and however practical the marriage is, I cannot afford to have you burdened by a wife and child.”
“Then you will have to let me go,” Barnabas said glumly. He looked at Jonathan. “How long until the child arrives, do you know?”
“She concealed her condition for an impressive amount of time,” Jonathan said. “Presumably to avoid being put out of work. From her size and the advanced movement of the child, I would say there’s no more than three to five weeks in it.”
“Christ above,” Barnabas said, the chair feeling unsteady under him once again. “I’ll never find decent work in so little time.”
“Then it’s rather a good job I said nothing about dismissing you,” Jonah said. “Don’t look at me like that. You look like a dog grateful for scraps.”
“Sorry,” Barnabas said quickly, trying to rearrange his features into something that wasn’t blissful relief. “Then, if I may ask… what will become of Mary and the child?”
Now, surprisingly, Jonah laughed. It was a brief snort of laughter, just as spiteful as amused, and he took a long sip of his previously untouched drink before he spoke.
“To be brutally honest with you, Barnabas,” he said, “I have suspected something like this for some time. You might think you are discreet when it comes to your activities in your spare time, and I do make an effort not to pry – what you do when you are out of my house is your business, provided you’re not on an assignment in my name. However, word does spread, and as we can see, sometimes your activities do fall under my roof. I am not an idiot. I know that you have a certain reputation for sweettalking naïve young women, and also a penchant for gambling, I hear.”
Mordechai fixed him with a knowing look. Barnabas just about managed to meet it, but dropped his gaze when Mordechai gave an amused raise of an eyebrow.
“Needless to say, as a gambling man you appreciate that one can only get lucky so many times,” Jonah continued. “I was quite prepared for something like this – in fact, your fathering a bastard seemed absolutely inevitable not just to me, but to all of us.”
Barnabas glanced around, mortified. Jonathan had the decency to look embarrassed; Smirke just met his gaze with an affirming nod. Jonah still looked furious, and in a shocking twist, the only person who looked as though he was remotely enjoying himself was Mordechai Lukas, who now appeared distinctly amused.
“Therefore,” Jonah continued, “we saw it fit to make certain provisions for such an event. I am afraid that none of us could bear to put up with this kind of scandal – you know that we have plenty of critics just waiting for something like this. They’re always trying to discredit what we’re doing as nothing more than an excuse to gather at somebody’s residence and raise hell all night, and if it gets out that my house staff are finding themselves with child, there will be no end to it.”
“Might even think it’s yours,” Mordechai said, leaning over slightly to light his pipe. He blew the smoke out lazily. “Wouldn’t that be interesting?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jonah snapped. “I’m far too busy for any of that carrying on.” He turned his gaze back to Barnabas. “Not that it’s preferable for people to think I can’t control my own household! If people can say that I don’t even know what my own assistant is doing, they could make assumptions about my integrity and control regarding everything. This is catastrophically stupid, Barnabas. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
“I don’t think he was thinking,” Smirke said, with a sigh. “That’s his problem.”
“You will mention this to nobody,” Jonah said firmly. “You will forget about the child. You will leave Mary well alone – I do not want you near her, and I have given Maggie strict instructions to chase you away from any of the staff quarters the moment she sees you. I would not test your luck. She was the only person that Mary let into her confidence regarding this situation, and she quite desires to cave your head in with the nearest available object.”
Barnabas swallowed. He knew Maggie well enough to know there was real meat to the threat. She might be approaching her fifties, if not already in them, but growing up in the slums of Glasgow had given her talents in two major areas, the first being thriftiness and the second being succinct violence. Barnabas had no doubt she would try to make good on her promise, and while it was likely that Jonah would not allow her to actually kill him, he was quite sure he would allow her a few strikes before somebody was expected to intervene.
“Very well,” Barnabas said, his throat still horribly dry. “I will stay out of it.”
“Stay well out of it,” Jonah warned. “We might have made plans to cover up your mistakes, Barnabas, but we will not be so generous if you decide to further complicate things. You are dismissed.”
Up until that point Barnabas was unsure whether he would be able to stand; at Jonah’s dismissal he found himself in sudden possession of renewed strength. He crossed the room in record time, barely able to see the whole way – the blood had rushed to his head, spotting his vision black, but he stubbornly ignored it. He slipped out of the room, ridiculously trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible – a useless endeavour, considering he could feel they were all watching him go – and closed the door behind him with a relieved click.
“Well,” Smirke said. “What do you make of that?”
Jonah took another sip of his drink. “I don’t suppose we’ll have to worry about him interfering.”
“Did you really need all of us present for such a thing?” Mordechai asked, leaning back in his seat. “It seems a tad trivial.”
“You were in the area,” Jonah said irritably. “Don’t pretend like I dragged you all the way out here for this. There are many other things we can attend to.”
Mordechai sighed. “What will you do if the child doesn’t survive?”
“Mordechai,” Jonathan said imploringly. “It’s dreadful luck to talk in such ways.”
Mordechai shrugged. “The child will live or it won’t. It has nothing to do with anything I might say.” He blew out a long line of smoke. “This young woman is in an inherently dangerous condition. I am merely being practical.”
“If the child doesn’t survive, then we lose nothing,” Jonah said simply. “If the mother also dies, I will of course have to find a permanent replacement. If the child survives and the mother does not, I suppose we operate as we intend to anyway.”
“Really!” Jonathan said. “She isn’t a dairy cow.”
“The facts of life, Dr Fanshawe,” Mordechai said. “Surely you’re better acquainted than most.”
“It’s just rather callous,” Jonathan said. “Regardless of how this plays out, that is still—well, it’s still a child, and moreover, it’s Barnabas’s child.”
“In name only,” Jonah said. “He will not be a father to it.”
“No, but still. He is a friend of ours, even with his difficulties. We could at least have a touch more sensibility.”
Jonah rolled his eyes.
“Hm,” Mordechai said.
“Quite dreadful, those two, aren’t they?” Smirke asked Jonathan. He tapped his pipe. “Mordechai, do you have a match?”
*
Mother and child, it turned out, both survived.
Jonah had been in the area for a couple of days before he managed to see them – in fact, he had been in the same house. Between his various obligations and the undivided attention of his mother, it wasn’t until the afternoon of his second full day back in the family home that he was able to slip away to where Mary was still recovering from the birth. Upon seeing them, Jonah was relieved to see that the mother, while tired, looked well; the child, a boy, seemed sturdy and healthy. He was a week old now, and lay swaddled in his mother’s arms when Jonah let himself into the warm little room.
“Well, Mary,” Jonah said, as she looked up in surprise. “Congratulations are in order. That’s a nice-looking lad you have there.”
“Sir!” Mary said, shuffling a little more upright. She shifted the baby so his weight was resting in one arm, smoothing down her hair with her free hand. “I had no idea you was coming, sir. I would have got myself properly dressed.”
“Nonsense,” Jonah said, settling himself in the chair beside the bed. “You have enough on your plate without worrying about such things. How are you? You look well, I’m glad to see.”
“All thanks to you, sir,” Mary said. She blushed; on her pale skin it was striking. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the care you’ve taken of me. I don’t deserve it at all, the way I was carrying on.”
“You’re young, Mary,” Jonah said. “We all find ourselves in trouble when we’re young. And Mr Bennett is also somewhat of a troublemaker. I’ve warned him sternly, of course. He was quite remorseful. He was willing to accept the child, in fact, and marry you if you desired.”
Mary looked surprised. “He was?” She cleared her throat. “That’s… mighty decent of him, but…”
“But you didn’t expect it?” Jonah smiled. “No need to look so guilty, Mary. I can’t say I did, either.”
The baby made a soft noise in his sleep, screwing his small face up and relaxing it. Jonah found himself quite taken by the tiny thing. He had never really understood the claims that people could see traces of an infant’s parents in their face from birth, and certainly he could see nothing that was obviously Mary or Barnabas in such a small creature, but it was still rather strange to thing that this child belonged to Barnabas; that he might grow up to be the double of him.
“I’ve come to discuss what we’re going to do now, Mary,” Jonah said, still looking at the child. “As I’m sure you’re aware, I simply can’t afford to let Barnabas go forth into wedded bliss, and forgive me if I’ve made assumptions, but I didn’t get the impression you were eager to leave working life in order to be a wife and mother, either.”
“It’s not ideal, sir, but I understand the situation,” Mary said. “The child is here, and that’s down to me. Looking after him is my duty.”
“And I have no doubt you would be committed to that duty,” Jonah said. “Now, let us be honest with one another. I know that my staff does their very best to be discreet, but I also know that staff hear things. You are not ignorant. You know the kinds of things that myself and my acquaintances do; you are aware of the kind of research we are engaged in. Would you say this is correct? Do be honest. You’re not in any trouble for simply knowing.”
Mary nodded. “Yes, sir. We try not to pry, but when you’re cleaning or attending to gatherings, you do pick things up, sir.”
“Quite understandable,” Jonah said. “This is actually beneficial, because I don’t need to explain to you the fact that we have a lot of critics; people who would quite like to use scandal in order to throw our intentions and integrity under scrutiny.”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“With this in mind, I have come to propose a more long-term solution,” Jonah said. “You of course know that my mother is of the understanding that you are a widow. Don’t look so guilty, Mary. White lies are acceptable when they protect from unnecessary strife – you will learn this more as you get older. I have arranged for you to stay on as a member of her house staff until the child is three years of age, and then you will return to my service. Maggie has ensured that word has not got out, and she has explained to the others that you are attending my mother for an extended period while she recovers from an illness.”
Mary nodded. She looked pale, and Jonah got the impression she knew where he was going. It was a promising look, however – she was preparing herself. She was going to accept.
“Once the child is three years of age, he will be taken as my ward,” Jonah continued. Mary gave a barely perceptible flinch, but remained composed. “I will see to his upkeep and his education until he comes of age, and I will do my best to ensure that he achieves a decent status in life. In exchange, I ask that you tell nobody about this. As far as everyone aside from Maggie is concerned, you have no child. You will not contact him or attempt to lay claim to him. I will, of course, keep you updated regarding his health, for your own peace of mind, but contact is absolutely forbidden. Is this clear?”
Mary looked at the sleeping baby in her arms. Her eyes shone, but her voice was calm. “It is, sir. It’s very generous.” She took a steadying breath. “Of course I’ll miss him dreadfully, but—well, it’s a better life than what I could give him, sir.”
“Your silence will be just as appreciated,” Jonah said.
“If I may…?” Mary began. Jonah nodded, and she continued. “If the worst should happen, and God sees fit to take him – will I be permitted to attend his burial?”
“I will do my very best to make arrangements, if such a thing is necessary.”
“And… when he comes of age,” Mary said, taking a deep breath, “should he express interest in me…?”
“That will depend upon his character,” Jonah said. “If I feel he has grown into a young man with decent discretion, I see no reason why the two of you could not meet as adults under the same understanding.”
Mary nodded. “Thank you. What… if anything, what will you tell him about me? A child will always ask about his mother.”
“The truth,” Jonah said easily, to Mary’s obvious surprise. “Don’t look so fretful, Mary. He will know that he is a ward; he will understand that he is, in essence, an orphan. It is an unfortunate fact that a lot of people in this world have no idea of the insignificance of situations like this; they seem to think the world begins and ends at scandal. While I would not be encouraging everybody to go out freely and forget about the sanctity of marriage, I do think that the attitude is rather ridiculous. The child will only be vulnerable if he doesn’t know the truth of his own beginnings. He will grow up with shame only if he is taught shame, and I will do my best to ensure he avoids that. Your secrets can only be used to harm you, Mary, if you give them the power to. He will know he is a bastard, and that his parents were irresponsible but not inherently flawed people. With some luck, he will grow up secure in the knowledge, and not much bothered by it.”
“I hope so,” Mary said quietly. She looked at the child again. “I hope so. Goodness.” She closed her eyes for a moment; Jonah understood she was holding back tears. “The world has never seemed so frightening.”
“Oh?” Jonah asked.
“With this little one,” Mary said, opening her eyes and blinking. “The world was so exciting before, but now it’s simply terrifying. I didn’t appreciate how much danger was out there until I found myself with this little creature – so helpless, and I’m supposed to protect him from everything!”
“You do what you can,” Jonah said. “There is far more out there than anyone could ever conceive. If you keep that in mind, you might find it helps.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t see how.”
Jonah smiled. “All you have to worry about is keeping him warm, clean, and fed. Those are quite manageable duties, in the face of the whole world and everything within and beyond it.”
“I suppose so,” Mary said. She reached out and gently touched her son’s nose; he wrinkled his face again, but slept on. “It seems so much.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Jonah said. “Besides, you will have the unrelenting help of my mother. She loves children, and with my siblings abroad and myself refusing to settle down, she is desperately bereft of grandchildren to spoil.”
“Your mother is lovely,” Mary said. “I can’t believe I was frightened of her when I arrived. I had it in my head that she would be a stern mistress of the house – nothing like what she turned out to be at all.”
Jonah laughed. “She is a wonderful woman. I assure you that any flaws in my personality are of my own making – she had nothing to do with it. Listen to her advice and you’ll be just fine.” He stood. “I shall leave you to rest. Mother will no doubt be wondering where I’ve gone, and I’m sure the little one will need attending to soon.”
Mary nodded. “I can’t say how grateful I am, sir.”
“You don’t have to. Simply keep your promise, and I will see it as enough.”
“Sir?”
Jonah paused, halfway to the door. “Yes?”
“I’d like you to name him, sir.” She coloured as he looked at her, but held her gaze. “You’re doing so much for him. I’d like you to name him, or if you don’t want to be so forward, at least tell me some names you like.”
Jonah thought for a moment, and then smiled. “Call him James.”
“James!” Mary looked at the sleeping child, trying the name out again. “James. I think it suits him. Do you think?”
“It’s a good name,” Jonah said. “I had a brother by the name of James. With me staunchly refusing to settle down, I daresay it would be nice to have some new life named after him.”
“Your mother won’t mind?” Mary asked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“On the contrary,” Jonah said, “I think she would finally feel as though I’m fulfilling an old promise. Do rest up, Mary.”
“I will,” Mary said. It was clear she wanted to thank him again, but she was an intelligent girl – she knew it would only irritate him at this point, so she held her tongue. “Do say hello to your mother for me, when you see her.”
“No doubt she’ll be up here herself as soon as she can,” Jonah said. “Goodbye for now, Mary. And to young James.”
He closed the door softly behind him, so as not to wake the baby, and then stood for a moment, turning things over. It was immensely satisfying, he thought, to tie up loose ends so efficiently – but just that slightly more satisfying to win a bet. Mordechai was going to be furious. Jonah smiled, and made his way back down the hall.