After one look at his wife, Jeremiah didn’t glance her way again as he walked across the room, his eyes on the sister he hadn’t seen for fifteen years. In truth, he wouldn’t have recognised her if he had passed her in the street. The Esther who had run away that far-off day with the money from his mother’s cash-box and several pieces of jewellery which had been passed down to his mother from her mother, bore no resemblance to the plump, brightly dressed woman sitting on the sofa next to Mary. If he had had to describe the girl Esther he would have said she was pert and saucy, but with a fresh innocence that reflected a sheltered upbringing. The woman in front of him, her gown cut to show the curve of her breasts and her golden hair carefully styled in elaborate waves and curls, was neither innocent nor fresh. Her worldliness was apparent in every inch of her, but especially in the expression of her violet-blue eyes.
He swallowed against the shock and outrage and did not return her smile, nor did he address her as he would any other person who was a guest in his home. Looking down at her, he said tightly, ‘Why have you come here, Esther?’
She didn’t seem at all taken aback by his attitude, and as her smile died she answered him as directly as he’d spoken to her. ‘I am going to have a baby and I am temporarily without funds. I had nowhere else to go.’
Her voice was still the same, clear and beautifully modulated with a hint of the soft breathlessness which had captivated all his friends when they were young. His mother had insisted Esther attend elocution lessons when they were children, worried that her daughter would pick up the north-east dialect. The result had been very successful, the child’s distinct pronunciation and articulation devoid of any idiom or accent. After Esther had run away, their father had accused his wife of planting the idea of becoming an actress – albeit unwittingly – by her actions, something Jeremiah knew his mother had never forgiven his father for until her dying day.
Remembering the turmoil of that time, his voice was a hiss when he said, ‘And the father? Your husband?’
Afterwards he thought he might have believed there was some hope for her if she had lowered her head in shame or wept, but when she stared him straight in the face and said evenly, ‘The two are not synonymous,’ it was all he could do not to take her by the throat and throttle the wickedness out of her.
‘Esther is not married, Jeremiah.’ Mary spoke for the first time since he had entered the room, each word a snap. ‘And we have ascertained that paternity is not possible to pin down.’
He would never have imagined Mary would speak so bluntly about such matters. The fact that she had done so shocked him nearly as much as the inference her words held. ‘You mean . . .’ He cleared his throat, unable to go on.
‘It’s normal for the girls to have several admirers.’ Esther’s tone was not defensive, more matter-of-fact. ‘No one thinks anything of it. Everything’s different in London.’
Jeremiah felt a heat rising up in him made up of fury, em barrassment and shame. And yet he had known, hadn’t he? The minute he’d set eyes on her he had known what she’d become. The seed of it had always been there, it had merely needed the watering of it to make it grow, and from what he had heard about the music halls and theatres in the capital, it was Sodom and Gomorrah. There were words bubbling in his head, profane, coarse, foul words that he wanted to spit into her face, but by an effort of will he had not known he was capable of, he subdued what he perceived as the flesh and the devil. ‘There is no place for you here,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘You broke our mother’s heart and sent her and Father to an early grave. As far as I am concerned, I have no sister.’
‘I understand from your wife that Mother and Father died of the cholera.’ Esther’s voice was low now and weighted with scorn. ‘Even you cannot imagine I had a hand in that. And I am not so naive to believe that my leaving home affected Mother’s heart one way or the other. We never liked each other, as you well know. I am sure that once you had all covered my tracks with the story of a trip abroad and my subsequent marriage to this Frenchman, there was a sigh of relief all round that I was gone.’
There was an element of truth in what she said but Jeremiah would have sooner walked on hot coals than admit it. He stared into the face which was still lovely in spite of the life of debauchery, and he had the urge, almost overpowering, as it had been once before, to strangle the life out of her. Clearly, Mary had told his sister the explanation they had put about regarding her sudden departure, but that did not trouble him. It was the fact that his wife was fully aware of this shameful and humiliating part of his life that had his stomach in knots. After Esther had left he had prayed daily for years that she was dead and burning in hell, and eventually he had persuaded himself that the Almighty had answered his pleadings.
‘You’re a common slut, worse than the dockside whores. At least they are driven to do what they do in the main just to survive. But you, you were a gentlewoman of good birth and breeding, the daughter of a minister with fine connections.’