Read Online Obsession by Claire Lorrimer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Claire Lorrimer
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like you …’
As Harriet now drifted back into sleep, she heard another voice – a quieter, gentler one saying in a soft Irish brogue, ‘She is still very poorly, Sister Mary Frances. I think we should allow her to sleep now. I will sit with her, and when she wakes up, I will give her some food. Then, when she is stronger, I will question her for you.’
In the days that followed, it was the kindly Sister Brigitte in whom Harriet longed to confide, but she dared not mention her name or where she lived. If the nuns were ever to find out, they might – almost certainly would – ask Brook to send them money for the care they had been giving her. He would learn of her miscarriage brought on by her own unwillingness to remain at Hunters Hall alone. She could not expect him to believe – indeed, she could barely do so herself – that she had shut her mind to the possibility that she may have been with child in his absence. If she were totally honest with herself, there had been
some
tell-tale signs but she had ignored them, assuring herself it could not be so since she had none of the usual discomforts she’d suffered in the past. What saddened her most of all now was that Sister Brigitte told her that her unborn child had been a boy – the son Brook had so much wanted.
Memory of the fire and the thieves’ attack slowly returned in full, but she made no mention of it to either nun, lest they somehow traced her name through the landlord of the inn where she and Bessie had stayed. Knowing Brook could never discover what had occurred, her only certainty was to go on insisting that she had no memory of events. All Harriet told them was that she had a sister living near Dublin whose name she could not recall but with whom she would go to stay when she was well enough; that although she could recall the short route from the port to her sister’s house, try as she might, she could not recollect its name either.
After several weeks, a doctor came to examine her and told the nuns that the wound on her head had healed and she could, therefore, leave the convent as soon as she felt strong enough to do so.
Harriet now revealed through necessity the existence of the coins, undiscovered by her assailants, sewn into the hem of her dress. As Sister Brigitte unstitched the hem for her, Harriet pondered yet again over the unexplained absence of Bessie. Surely, she told herself, if Bessie had managed to run away from the thieves who had attacked them, she would by now have found her way somehow to Harriet’s side? The two policemen, who Sister Brigitte told her had carried her to the convent that fateful night, would have been able to tell Bessie what had happened to her. Was it therefore likely that she had been more seriously hurt or, God forbid, killed?
At night Harriet found it hard to sleep, fearing that some other dreadful fate had overtaken her faithful maid. It brought fresh tears to her eyes when remembering that it was thanks to Bessie’s insistence upon hiding the money in her skirt that she could still pay for her passage to Ireland. Sister Brigitte had reassured her that only a small amount would be deducted for her keep and care.
Sister Brigitte tried to soften the harsh words Sister Mary Frances used whenever she visited Harriet’s sick room. The gentle Irish nun had realized from Harriet’s speech that before her fall from grace she had come from a well-to-do family. She wondered if the unfortunate girl had brought disgrace on them by running away from home. Why else, she pondered, would a well-bred girl like Harriet have need to earn money on the streets? And if she were not earning a living that way, why did she not deny it? Sister Brigitte had asked all her fellow sisters to pray for Harriet, and to dedicate a special Mass to fallen young women like her. Sister Mary Frances, conversely, gave Harriet a prayer book and a book about the saints to read, whilst bemoaning the fact that Harriet was not of the
As Harriet now drifted back into sleep, she heard another voice – a quieter, gentler one saying in a soft Irish brogue, ‘She is still very poorly, Sister Mary Frances. I think we should allow her to sleep now. I will sit with her, and when she wakes up, I will give her some food. Then, when she is stronger, I will question her for you.’
In the days that followed, it was the kindly Sister Brigitte in whom Harriet longed to confide, but she dared not mention her name or where she lived. If the nuns were ever to find out, they might – almost certainly would – ask Brook to send them money for the care they had been giving her. He would learn of her miscarriage brought on by her own unwillingness to remain at Hunters Hall alone. She could not expect him to believe – indeed, she could barely do so herself – that she had shut her mind to the possibility that she may have been with child in his absence. If she were totally honest with herself, there had been
some
tell-tale signs but she had ignored them, assuring herself it could not be so since she had none of the usual discomforts she’d suffered in the past. What saddened her most of all now was that Sister Brigitte told her that her unborn child had been a boy – the son Brook had so much wanted.
Memory of the fire and the thieves’ attack slowly returned in full, but she made no mention of it to either nun, lest they somehow traced her name through the landlord of the inn where she and Bessie had stayed. Knowing Brook could never discover what had occurred, her only certainty was to go on insisting that she had no memory of events. All Harriet told them was that she had a sister living near Dublin whose name she could not recall but with whom she would go to stay when she was well enough; that although she could recall the short route from the port to her sister’s house, try as she might, she could not recollect its name either.
After several weeks, a doctor came to examine her and told the nuns that the wound on her head had healed and she could, therefore, leave the convent as soon as she felt strong enough to do so.
Harriet now revealed through necessity the existence of the coins, undiscovered by her assailants, sewn into the hem of her dress. As Sister Brigitte unstitched the hem for her, Harriet pondered yet again over the unexplained absence of Bessie. Surely, she told herself, if Bessie had managed to run away from the thieves who had attacked them, she would by now have found her way somehow to Harriet’s side? The two policemen, who Sister Brigitte told her had carried her to the convent that fateful night, would have been able to tell Bessie what had happened to her. Was it therefore likely that she had been more seriously hurt or, God forbid, killed?
At night Harriet found it hard to sleep, fearing that some other dreadful fate had overtaken her faithful maid. It brought fresh tears to her eyes when remembering that it was thanks to Bessie’s insistence upon hiding the money in her skirt that she could still pay for her passage to Ireland. Sister Brigitte had reassured her that only a small amount would be deducted for her keep and care.
Sister Brigitte tried to soften the harsh words Sister Mary Frances used whenever she visited Harriet’s sick room. The gentle Irish nun had realized from Harriet’s speech that before her fall from grace she had come from a well-to-do family. She wondered if the unfortunate girl had brought disgrace on them by running away from home. Why else, she pondered, would a well-bred girl like Harriet have need to earn money on the streets? And if she were not earning a living that way, why did she not deny it? Sister Brigitte had asked all her fellow sisters to pray for Harriet, and to dedicate a special Mass to fallen young women like her. Sister Mary Frances, conversely, gave Harriet a prayer book and a book about the saints to read, whilst bemoaning the fact that Harriet was not of the
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