Mo
Good-byes
“You are no daughter of mine,” he spat, fury in his eyes enough to set torches afire.
“I am what you have made, Father,” Mo’s voice was icy calm.
The sudden force of his hand against her cheek knocked her to the floor. She sat stunned, no longer able to look him in the face.
“Go from this house now and never show your wicked face again!” It was her father’s final blow.
She rose to her feet, dry-eyed. All these years she’d wondered how it would end. She never guessed it would be this easy.
She left her father’s study without a glance behind and went to her room. There waited Katie whom Mo always sought for comforting, but today was different. Katie needed reassurance, for she stood there with wet eyes and fidgeting hands. Mo put her arms around the older servant woman and whispered in her ear, “’Twill be all right, Katie. Do not you fret.”
“But where will ye go? What will ye do?” Katie burst into a fresh set of tears, proving that the entire household certainly was now aware of Mo’s banishment.
“I know not, but I must be away from this…house.”
“If only yer mum were livin’, she would make things right, she would.”
Mo’s short bark of laughter chilled Katie.
“Do not make her for a saint, Katie, for she was far from it.” Mo briefly thought back to her mother, who never had the strength to stand up to her husband yet had the audacity to take lovers behind his back. Well, she thought, ‘twas only tit for tat, since HE never lacked for mistresses.
“Now, dry your tears and help me pack,” Mo forced a smile, “just a few things, as I will be unable to take a trunk.”
Katie disappeared for a moment, returning with an old brown and weathered portmanteau. The sight of it flooded Mo with memories of her mother.
“Will this do?” Katie’s voice was shaking.
“That will do very well indeed.” The two women turned to the task at hand.
“Katie, I will not want to travel in finery, but in something less conspicuous. Know you where I would find plain petticoats and bodice?”
“Sure I am that one of the downstairs girls will have something for ye.” She disappeared again, down the hall.
Mo placed her two best gowns; one velvet and one damask, in the bottom of the case then covered them with her embroidered petticoats. A few personal items were snugged around these and finally, several small books that were of sentimental value to her. With a sad smile she tucked a small portrait inside one of the books. The soft brown eyes that would never again caress her body looked up from the likeness. She snapped the cover closed quickly and turned. Her eyes swept the room to imprint every last detail.
Katie appeared at the doorway, rumpled items of clothing in her arms.
“Mistress?”
Mo pulled herself away from memories and turned to receive Katie’s offering. The clothing was of various faded hues, soft and well worn and she suspected it had cost some of the girls dearly.
“Katie,” she spoke firmly as she moved to her jewel box on the dresser. “I want you to slip these coins to the girls as you see fit.” She dropped a handful of silver crowns into Katie’s hands. Turning back to the jewel box, she pulled out her mother’s gold brooch with the tiny rubies surrounding a miniature portrait of Mo as a baby. She pressed it lovingly into Katie’s hand along with three more silver crowns and closed the older lady’s fingers around the pieces. “And for you, Katie my love.” In a tight embrace she held the lady who had been more of a mother to her than her own.
“Mistress,” Katie wept, “if ever ye should need, please do send fer me. Mayhap you will some day need lookin’ after when ye have a family of yer own.”
“Oh Katie, you have such happy dreams for me that I shall send for you should they ever come true. And that I do promise indeed.”
They held each other tight for just a few more moments before Mo broke away, eager to be going before her father should come upstairs. Katie watched and helped as best she could while Mo donned the soft clothing of the working class and tucked her hair into a rough linen cap. In the mirror, she could scarcely believe her eyes.
“Think you I shall blend with the crowd?”
Katie just nodded, unable to speak. The little girl with the mousy ringlets had grown into a brown-haired beauty. Mo’s eyes matched the color of her locks and the depths were unfathomable. Even dressed as a peasant, one could behold her beauty and sense the upper class in her. It wasn’t any wonder to Katie why all the lads fell at her feet. She only wished that Mo had less of an appetite for her admirers.
“Where is Father?” A gleam sparkled in Mo’s eye.
“He has gone out…’tis all we know.”
A quick nod and Mo was down the stairs on cat-like feet, slipping into her father’s study. She knew where he kept the key to his private cabinet and was swiftly inside it. Papers were stacked on the lower shelf and several bags made of fine cloth lay on the top. She took the deep purple velvet bag, determining at once that it was the fullest and moved the other bags around to fill the void. Replacing the key in precisely the position she had found it, she hastened up the stairs again.
Katie had not moved but had said a silent prayer for all in the house; there would be hell to pay in the next days. Mo’s face was flushed when she returned to the room, hiding the velvet bag from Katie. She preferred the woman be able to answer queries honestly when the coins would later be discovered missing. She slipped the velvet bag into the jewel case, which she then packed into the portmanteau, cushioning it with her clothing. She snapped the case shut and stood tall for Katie, putting a brave smile on her face.
“I must be away.”
“Aye, ye must my dear, but do be careful,” Katie handed Mo her heavy woolen cloak. “Ye will not need’t now, but when the first frost comes….wherever ye shall be.” The last words spoken quietly.
Mo kissed her on the cheek and fought her own tears. They went down the stairs together. No one was about and Mo slipped out the front, blowing one last kiss to Katie before shutting the door on her past life and looking to her future.
Escape
Mo carried her portmanteau in one hand, her cloak in the other and headed for the coach stand. The streets of London were beginning to quiet for the day as sunset neared. The shadows on the soot-covered buildings jumped and flickered as the last of the sun dipped below the rooftops. Several people stood waiting at the coach stand. She nodded a greeting to them, then asked at the stand for information. She learned that a coach to the south would not be arriving for several hours. Her stomach rumbled to remind her that she had missed not only afternoon tea, but supper too. Across the lane stood a tavern and her mouth watered as she stepped inside. The bar was full and she thought better than to squeeze in while carrying so many valuables in her case. She took a seat at a table and put the case between her feet, under her petticoats. A serving wench was slow to approach, her experience with lone females being that of difficult customers and poor tippers.
“Wot’ll ye have?”
Mo looked the wench in the eye and matched her. “I shall have the evening meal and red wine.”
“Aye, that’ll be sixpence.”
“Yes,” Mo dismissed her, “I shall pay when served.”
The girl frowned and turned on her heel, her attempt at a swindle spoiled quite successfully. She returned with a bowl of red wine and a plank of food and slammed it in front of Mo. The wench scooped up the sixpence and took her leave.
Mo’s mouth was now watering beyond control. She took a sip of the wine and ate heartily of the food on the plank: cockles, oysters, bread and cheese. It was a peasant’s meal but to her it was fit for a queen.
She passed the time in the tavern with another bowl of wine, watching the patrons around her. A young man caught her eye, roguish in appearance and quite handsome. They flirted across the room until that moment when he was near to joining her at the table. She stood abruptly, gave him one last smile and left the tavern to return to the coach stand, leaving him nonplused in the process.
It was only a few minutes before her coach arrived. She paid her fare and waited alone. Across the lane she saw her young man step outside the tavern and watch her. At that moment the coach pulled up and she climbed in, giving the young rogue a grin and a wave. She leaned back upon the seat, her case between her feet once again, and chuckled as the coach pulled away and left London behind.
Journey
The coach rattled and bumped along, a kidney-jarring journey that would last two to three days. Mo settled in and for a while was the only passenger. She lay down upon the small seat and got what sleep she could. It was well into the next day when the driver stopped to water and feed the horses and pick up additional passengers. She stepped outside to stretch and saw they were in front of a tavern. She was still sated from her meal last night but was unsure when their next stop would be so she went inside and purchased some food that would travel well: bread and cheese. Afraid the driver might leave without her, as they were often known to do, she hurried back and took her seat. She now shared her ride with a young couple and decided she would no longer be able to enjoy the luxury of napping and opening herself up to the possibility of theft of her belongings. She knew the roads and coach rides were not safe.
She nodded to the man and woman sitting opposite her and they returned the subtle greeting. She hardly gave the woman a second look, noticing only that she had blonde curls held back by a close fitting hat. Mo studied the man a bit more. He was not tall, but was sturdily built. He was dressed in the finery of people of her own class, although the man would not have known she was his equal, her peasant clothing solidly hiding that fact. While the woman stared out the window, Mo and the man conducted a flirtatious encounter through the eyes only. A glimmer here, a downcast smile there, even a wink at times, and Mo noticed he began to squirm in his seat. She chuckled inwardly and just as she thought she had him, she lifted her eyebrows and turned away to ignore him. She heard his whoosh of breath as he let out a tense sigh.
She looked out the window and watched the countryside go by, no longer thinking about the man or his companion.
Scandal
The time spent gazing out the window allowed her to collect her thoughts and to reflect on the years leading up to this sudden journey.
Andrew Cullum was a wealthy man who had gained his fortune in overseas trade. He was forced to marry eighteen year old Olivia Tierney when she became pregnant with their first child Edward. There was never any love between her parents and her father rarely sought her mother’s bed. However, just four years later Maureen Tierney Cullum was born. Mo always wondered if Andrew was truly her father, for Olivia had been known to take many men into her own bed. Yet Mo carried the Cullum features: the dark eyes, dark hair, fair complexion of the Irish heritage and most obvious, her lust for the opposite sex.
Her brother Edward had been the smart one; he found love at an early age and moved with his new wife to Southampton to oversee the family business from that port town. Mo cried herself to sleep for days afterwards, for Edward was the only one in her family that truly loved her. She recalled being held in his strong arms during the enormous fights between their parents. He protected her from their father’s rage. He watched over her when the boys began to eye her more than they were entitled to. He actually punched a few in the face, too.
She had been both depressed and anxious at Edward’s wedding and consumed far too much champagne. One of the members of the wedding carried her inebriated body up to her room. Thus at the tender age of fifteen, she discovered the pleasures that a man could provide and began a long stream of lovers. Of course, her list of men could in no way match her mother’s list of lovers nor her father’s collection of mistresses.
She said goodbye to Edward the next day. She felt rooted to the steps as all life moved around her, including Edward’s coach leading he and his new wife away. She no longer had comfort and protection from her big brother during her father’s tirades. Out of necessity she soon grew strong enough to face them herself and so confident that she was able to match him in the verbal sparring.
In her sixteenth year she met a young man who was different. Stuart MacKay courted her the proper way and was truly a gentleman. Her mother thought he was charming but of course her father hated him. He was the son of a merchant and therefore unfit to be seen with his daughter. Despite pleas and arguments, Andrew Cullum would not change his decision. Stuart and Mo took to meeting in private behind her father’s back. As much as Mo pleaded and seduced, Stuart would not bed the girl until they were properly wed. This not only perplexed her, it delighted her to be so loved and cherished. Her heart had never felt this light and heavy at the same time.
It had been more than six months since Stuart and Mo had begun their clandestine meetings when Andrew Cullum, during a business dinner, spotted them at a tavern. The fight that ensued was a vicious attack. Stuart fought valiantly not only in self-defense but also for the girl he loved with all his heart. However, one particularly brutal blow from Andrew’s meaty fist ended poor Stuart’s young life. He lay on the floor of the tavern, all the patrons hushed about them. Mo sobbed and dropped to her knees beside him. “Oh my Stuart, my love,” she wailed, the tears wetting not only her own clothes but his as well. She lay beside him and tried unsuccessfully to will him back to life. The authorities had been called and Stuart’s body was delivered to his parents’ home while Andrew was taken away. A superficial investigation was made but with Cullum’s wealth and standing in the community it was quickly determined that he had only been defending his daughter’s honor. And so it was with disgrace that Stuart MacKay was buried. Mo attended the funeral services, heartbroken and silent.
It was several weeks before she could bring herself to leave the house after the funeral. She hid in her room mostly and took meals with the servants. She could not look her father in the eye knowing what he had done to the one man she had ever loved, next to her brother.
It was a cool spring evening when Mo decided to venture out again. She returned to the tavern where the evil deed had been done and sat at the bar with all the men. It wasn’t but a few minutes before she had been invited up to one of the rooms by a good-looking gent and her promiscuous ways were reborn in that one night of wanton passion.
Southampton
The coach bumped away, jostling Mo out of her reverie. It was very late on the second night of the journey and the young couple sitting across from her had fallen asleep. She wished so strongly for a warm, soft bed and the safety of her brother’s house but knew it was at least another day away.
She peered out the window once again and lost herself in thought. The final episode in her father’s study was still so fresh in her mind. It wasn’t enough that he had taken the life of her Stuart, but now he had hired people to follow her, and follow they did. They followed her to taverns where she kept not only previously arranged meetings with men, but also struck up new relationships. They followed relentlessly, and reported their findings to her father. It was on that night that he ordered her to his study and proceeded to disown her. She was too much like him and perhaps it was like looking in a very ugly mirror.
She shook away the memories. That was now in the past and she would live only for the future, whatever it may bring.
At the end of day three of the journey, they bumped into Southampton. She stepped off the coach with stiff legs and a weariness that went right to the bone. Her case seemed to weigh ten stone. She walked and walked, willing her body to function and move as it was intended to. A half-hour walk loosened her stiff muscles and brought her to the door of Edward’s home. The windows were warmly lit and welcoming. She rapped sharply on the door and a servant opened it.
“Is Master Cullum in this eve?”
“Who is asking,” the servant, a plump woman eyed her suspiciously. Mo looked a fright, her hair all mussed and her clothes wrinkled.
“Mistress Maureen Cullum.”
The woman’s eyes went wide with surprise as she opened the door enough that Mo could enter. She bade her remain in the hall and bustled off to find the Master of the house. Mo set her case down and admired the artwork on the walls. A door opening behind her caused her to turn to its source. Brother and sister froze, their eyes locking. In a matter of seconds, Edward had covered the distance between them and swept her into his arms. She had missed him so and returned the embrace, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.
“My Mo, what brings you here?”
“Father...,” it was all she could manage to say without choking on tears.
Edward pulled away, holding her at arms distance but not letting go for one moment. He examined her pale face, the dark circles under her eyes.
“You need rest, and then we will talk. Victoria is visiting her mother’s home across town and I have all day to spend with you on the morrow.” Mo was only slightly disappointed at the absence of Edward’s wife, for she so enjoyed her company, yet she was relieved that she would have her brother all to herself.
He called another servant to take her case and draw a bath for her while a third servant fetched a small meal. Edward and Mo sat side by side at the dining table. He never took his arm away from her waist as she devoured every morsel of the supper. He poured sherry for both of them and forced her to drink, despite her distaste for the amber liquid.
When plate and glass were empty, Edward kissed his sister’s cheek and brushed the wild hair away from her face.
“’Twas a long journey?”
She nodded, suddenly very weary. He called for one of the upstairs girls to take Mo to her room for a bath and bed. As she stood to follow, Mo turned again to Edward and threw her arms about him. “I do love you so.”
“I love you too, little Dragonfly. We will talk tomorrow.” His use of one of the many childhood nicknames he had created for her caused a fresh bout of tears. He wiped her cheeks and kissed the tears away, then urged her to follow the servant girl upstairs.
It was a beautiful room she was taken to and a fresh, warm bath had been drawn in the adjacent dressing area. She was left alone to strip and bathe herself. The lavender scented steam relaxed her as she completely immersed herself, even dunking her head below the surface. She scrubbed the grime of the journey away and felt refreshed but sleepy. Her portmanteau had been unpacked and her dresses and petticoats had been hung in the wardrobe, a soft chemise spread upon the bed. Still inside the case were her books, jewel box and the velvet bag, all left intact. She dried herself, put on the chemise and sat down to comb her long curls till they were only damp. It must have been the softest bed ever or perhaps it just seemed so after three days in the coach. Sleep came quickly and dreams could not even disturb her this night.
Truths
Edward was up just after dawn and waited nervously for his sister to awaken. He feared the worst, knowing firsthand his father’s wicked temper. Smoke curled from his pipe and made lazy loops in the air above the desk. He was reviewing accounts half-heartedly and peered up at the ceiling occasionally, as if willing Mo to waken. He sighed, sucked on his pipe again and turned back to the papers in his hand.
It was nearing the supper hour when Mo appeared in his study. She looked rested, an improvement over the previous night, and Edward was greatly relieved. He was also pleased that she had traded the peasant clothing for her emerald green damask gown.
“You look lovely, Dragonfly. Do you desire supper?”
“Yes, I seem to have developed a never-ending hunger,” she chuckled and a bit of the old sparkle flitted across her eyes but was gone again in an instant.
“Well then, I have not eaten either.” He rose from the desk and guided her towards the dining room. “Shall we?”
The long table had been set with two places at one end and he helped her to her seat. Tea was steaming from the beautiful pot she had presented to Victoria and Edward when they were first married and the matching creamer and sugar bowl rested nearby. The idea that they used her small gift in their every day meals warmed her heart. She served tea for both of them as delectable dishes were brought. Warm scones, eggs, rashers of thick fragrant bacon, thick Devon cream, rosy hued preserves and golden honey were laid out before them. Mo’s mouth watered so that she almost choked. She piled her plate with the luscious food and gorged herself as if she were a youngster again.
“I took the liberty of requesting breakfast in lieu of supper. I hope it agrees with you.”
“Oh, ‘tis simply wondrous!” she exclaimed, her mouth full of scone. He chuckled as memories of their childhood blazed through his mind, their nannies always indulging their whims with cream teas and jam bread and delightful puddings.
Later they sipped fragrant tea in Edward’s study. Mo could see his eagerness and curiosity building to a peak and so she embarked on the journey that was her story since he left on his wedding day more than a year ago. She held nothing back, but included everything from her own promiscuity to their father’s murderous behavior in the tavern. As usual he was an excellent listener, encouraging her to open up and give forth all details.
The evening was upon them and Mo was tiring as she reached the end of her tale. The tea had long since cooled and she eyed Edward’s sherry bottle across the room. Of course, this was not lost on him and he quickly moved to pour them each a glass.
“You have borne more than you should have this past year,” he pulled her close. “You know that you have a home here as long as you need, do you not?”
She looked up into his eyes, her sight blurred by tears. “Oh Edward, you are so very kind, but your family is young yet and I do not wish to intrude for longer than necessary.”
“Necessary for what?”
“I will rest here in your home while I decide where my journey will end.”
“But where will you go? I do not wish to see my little sister gadding about unescorted.”
“I shall not be ‘gadding about,’ Edward,” she could not help but smile at his worried expression. “I shall decide on a destination and stay there.”
Still uncertain about this, he sighed and leaned back to look at her.
“You have grown, little Dragonfly.”
“Aye, that I have,” there was a wistful tone to her voice. “I did take care of myself on the journey here and I shall do so on the next leg.”
He nodded. “That you will, I am certain.” He was so proud of the woman she was growing into but sorrowful of the circumstances that had caused it.
Family
Mo’s days in Edward’s household were filled with more joy than she could remember from the days with her mother and father. Victoria, so round with child, returned from visiting her mother and was delighted to see her sister-in-law. The child was due quite soon and Victoria now remained secluded in their home. Her friends visited her daily. Mo would sometimes sit in the small garden behind their home and watch the visitors’ children romp about. She was amazed at the constant flow of guests and she benefited from the bounty of luscious cream teas that were served for each occasion. At the end of the day, Victoria would still be restless over her confinement so Mo would regale her with tales of London life.
A girl child was soon born to Edward and Victoria. Mo was bursting with joy over her new niece. She was so pink and beautiful and smelled of lovely lavender water from her baths. They named her Elizabeth Maureen and Auntie Mo glowed with pride.
When the child was but a month old Mo felt she needed to give the little family more room to grow and did not want to be in their way. She announced her departure: she was to leave for Paris and would depart from Swanage within the week.
Edward had seen it coming, but still he was not prepared. When the time came for good-byes, he was reluctant to let her go. He held her as if it would keep her there but he knew it was futile; she was headstrong and stubborn, so much like him. Damn his father!
On their last day together she came downstairs dressed once again in her peasant clothing, her portmanteau in hand. Edward slipped her a brocade pouch that was heavy with coins.
“No, Edward, I have plenty, I assure you!”
“Take it,” he pushed it into her hands, closing her fingers around the bag. “There is more where that came from.”
She looked into his eyes and suddenly understood.
“Father must pay for what he has done, little Dragonfly, and I intend to see to it. Write to me when you are settled and you will continue to receive his penance.”
There was a long pause, during which neither of them moved. Edward stepped forward with a sudden urgency and crushed her to him, fearing he would never see her again.
“Be well and safe, my little Mo.”
“And you, Edward. And love my little niece for me.”
She turned away quickly, not wanting to take the chance that if she were to delay one minute longer, she would lose her resolve and stay.
Ferry
The long ferry ride gave Mo more time for reflection. The bumpy seas did not affect her much. Other passengers were taken ill to their cabins, which left her alone on the deck, her portmanteau in its place underneath her skirts.
Her thoughts wandered to Victoria, her lovely sister-in-law. The woman never ceased to amaze her. She was strong, yet softly female. She loved with all her heart, every man, woman, child, animal that crossed her path. Her friends were numerous and the general consensus in Southampton was “Victoria Cullum is such a sweetheart, who could not feel anything but love and affection for her?” She stood up with a jolt as she was struck by a disturbing thought. Victoria had so many friends around her, including many women-friends. Mo frantically searched her memory for any sign of women-friends in her own life. She could find none! She was unable to remember having girls for playmates even when she was a child. What was it about her that kept her from being friends with women? She didn’t have the answer, nor did she have Edward to discuss it with. She was hit by a sudden wave of homesickness, although she had not left but a few hours ago.
Mo’s thoughts bobbed and swayed with the ferry upon the channel waters. Perhaps this fresh start would be better for her in several ways. She admitted only to herself that she was fearful of leaving England for it was all she’d known, but she turned from the railing and walked to the other side of the deck to watch the approaching land. Vanders, a French held island, was only a brief stop along the way. The ferry pulled into a port town, the name of which she paid no attention since it was not her destination. She waited and watched while they let off some passengers and took on new. The ferry bumped and bobbled as crates and barrels were loaded and offloaded. She became lost in the monotony of the activity, and soon found her eyelids drifting heavily. She picked up her bag and went to the small cabin she had only briefly napped in at the beginning of the trip. It was a cramped space with a small sleeping area and no lock on the door. She wedged a chunk of wood under the door for security but taking no chances, she decided to sleep with the portmanteau covered by her skirts and cape.
She drifted off to sleep as she felt the ferry bump away from the dock and the rocking created a cradle effect, lulling her into a deeper sleep. Her dreams were filled with things that would not be remembered upon waking, small snippets of past activities in her life, and fantasies of life ahead of her.
It was the stillness and the silence that finally woke her. The tiny cabin had no porthole so she rose and bumped her way to the deck, her case and cloak in hand. It was dusk of the second day and she knew not where they had docked. She inquired of a deck hand standing by and was told it was the port town of Dunnedin, still on the Island of Vanders and they would be delayed, possibly for days. She shrugged her shoulders and took the opportunity to explore. She walked straight off the docks and stood looking around, smiling. No one knew her here. She was anonymous. She had coins. She had confidence. She was free.
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