Free Obsession by Claire Lorrimer Page B

Harriet’s cabin was tiny and there was only standing room beside the bunk, she did at least have the much-needed privacy she wanted.
    She unpacked her few belongings from the parcel Sister Brigitte had given her, and then the box containing food and drink for the journey – bread, cheese, fruit, a flask of milk, tea, a piece of cooked mutton wrapped in cheesecloth and a small packet of oatmeal to make porridge. The nun, who had travelled by steam packet many times, told her she could heat water to make the porridge in one of the two galleys at either end of the deck.
    Afraid that the steerage passengers unknown to her might include pickpockets or thieves, Harriet decided to conceal her belongings beneath her wooden bunk before attempting to go back on deck and find the galleys to make herself a hot drink. It was a great blessing, she told herself, that as a child she had been able to watch Bessie’s mother in her kitchen as she had never in her life in her own home made so much as a cup of tea – Mrs Kent, the cook, disliked any unnecessary family invasions of her kitchen.
    She took from her pocket the copy of
The Life of the Saints
given to her by Sister Brigitte and read for a little while before deciding to go up on to the top deck to get some hot water for a cup of tea and some fresh air. The weather had deteriorated, and a cross wind was causing a marked swell. Several passengers were already being seasick. It was strange, Harriet thought, that she should feel no discomfort from the swell when she had been so plagued by early-morning sickness during her past pregnancies. The thought brought a sudden sting of hot tears to her eyes as she allowed herself to remember the boy baby who had failed to survive – something she had tried very hard not to do when she was in the convent. She had pushed the grief to the back of her mind, concentrating her strength on the difficulty of deceiving the nuns about her lost memory. Uppermost in her mind ever since she had regained consciousness following the attack upon her and Bessie was that she must not let Brook know she had undertaken the journey to Una’s in her condition lest he never forgave her. But for the fire at the inn and the attack upon her, she might have kept the baby. He must never know the truth; it was the only way she could save what mattered most in the world to her – Brook’s love.
    Now, as she mingled with the crowd on deck who were trying to get to one of the galleys to cook the food they had brought with them, she closed her eyes, wishing above all at this moment that she had Bessie with her. Bessie had always managed somehow to make her feel happier when she was downcast: to convince her that things were never as bad as she feared. Even when she had suffered the previous miscarriages and the doctor had suggested she might never be able to carry a child full-term, Bessie had shrugged off the suggestion, insisting that babies survived when God and Nature intended, not when a doctor decreed.
    Would Bessie have tried to stop her travelling to Ireland if she’d known how many months into her pregnancy she’d been? Harriet wondered now. Almost certainly she
would
have done so, but not wishing to forgo her sojourn with Una, Harriet had said nothing to Bessie of her vague suspicions. This time, the loss of her baby was entirely her own fault.
    Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of her supposed guardian, Lady Cavanagh’s maid.
    ‘M’Lady asked me to make her apologies but she is so overcome by sea sickness, I have to stay with her and cannot assist you, miss. She is very sorry.’
    Harriet shook her head. ‘Please thank your mistress,’ she said, ‘and assure her that I am well and can manage quite satisfactorily on my own.’
    Looking relieved, the maid hurried away, wishing only that she was anywhere in the world but on this rolling, heaving vessel crossing the Irish Sea.
    The storm worsened and some of the more stalwart passengers left