Emily tugged at her mother’s sleeve as Margaret stirred the porridge. «Mum, who’s this aunt coming to visit?» she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Margaret smoothed the white tablecloth. «That’s your cousin Eleanor, Emily. Remember Uncle Anthony? His daughter.»
«Why hasn’t she visited before?»
Margaret paused, clutching a stack of plates. Indeed, why? Eleanor lived only a train ride away in the neighbouring city, yet hadn’t visited these fifteen years past.
«She’s very busy, dear, works in banking,» Margaret offered. «But she’s taken holiday now and wished to see us.»
Her husband Victor sat with his newspaper, listening. Once Emily scampered off, he set the paper aside. «Margaret, doesn’t it strike you as odd? Eleanor vanishing for years, then suddenly appearing?»
«Perhaps she misses family,» Margaret shrugged. «We are kin, after all.»
Victor chuckled. He recalled Eleanor as a young woman, distant after her father’s passing. Word was she’d married well, some businessman, no children. Then, silence.
The bell chimed precisely at two. Margaret fretted, having cleaned, cooked, and donned her best blouse. A city guest, accustomed to finer things no doubt.
On the doorstep stood a slender woman nearing fifty, clad in an expensive coat, hair impeccably styled. Eleanor smiled, but her eyes remained cool.
«Margaret! You haven’t changed a bit!» she exclaimed, embracing her.
Margaret caught the scent of costly perfume and instinctively straightened. Compared to this elegance, she felt dowdy in their market town life.
«Do come in! Victor, come meet Eleanor!»
Victor assessed her pricey handbag and heeled shoes as they greeted.
«And Emily?» Eleanor peered past them. «I long to see my niece.»
Emily emerged shyly, hiding behind her mother.
«Oh, what a pretty girl!» Eleanor knelt. «How old are you?»
«Ten,» Emily whispered.
«So grown-up! I brought a gift.» Eleanor produced a beautiful doll in a sparkling dress from her bag. Emily gasped, taking it gratefully.
«What do we say?» prompted Margaret.
«Thank you, Aunt Eleanor.»
Conversation over tea stilted at first. Eleanor spoke of banking, foreign travel, her businessman husband. Margaret listened, their simple life – Victor an electrician, she a nursery nurse – seeming drab by comparison.
«Remember summers at Granny’s?» Eleanor suddenly asked, setting down her fork. «You were always such a little homemaker. I had my nose in books.»
«I remember,» Margaret smiled. «You vowed you’d be a writer.»
«Ah, dreams…» Eleanor sighed. «Life unfolded differently. Still, now I can assist family.»
Victor tensed. There it was, he thought.
«Assist?» Margaret echoed.
«Well, I see your situation… the house needs repairs, Emily’s education… Children here so rarely advance far.»
Margaret flushed. The words pricked, though couched as kindness.
«We manage,» Victor said curtly.
«Naturally! I only propose… I know good people in London who might foster Emily. Provide an excellent education, every advantage. Imagine her future!»
Silence fell. Emily stopped playing, listening.
«Foster?» Margaret asked slowly.
«Guardianship. A temporary arrangement. They’re lovely people, childless, they’d adore Emily. You’d visit on holidays…»
«Are you mad?» Victor exploded. «Giving our child away?»
«To wonderful people!» Eleanor protested. «Private schools, languages, development – a grand home, limitless means!»
Margaret sat silent, hands trembling. Emily looked fearfully between her parents.
«What’s our gain?» Victor asked suspiciously.
Eleanor faltered. «Well… they could help you too. A nicer home… A cottage… Everyone benefits.»
«How much?» Victor snapped.
«Pardon?»
«How much are they paying *you*?»
Eleanor reddened, looking away. «Money? I think only of the child!»
«Do you?» Victor stood. «Fifteen silent years, then this sudden care? Who are these people?»
«They… business people. Very prosperous.»
«Names?»
Eleanor hesitated. «Why? You wouldn’t know them.»
Victor knew the city well. «Maybe I do.»
«The Robertsons,» she admitted reluctantly.
Victor whistled. «The Robertsons? They own half the county! Weren’t they investigated just recently, Margaret? Tax troubles?»
«Rivals’ lies!» Eleanor blurted. «Honest people!»
«Honest people buying children?» Victor sneered.
«It’s no purchase! They offer a better life!»
Margaret finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm. «Eleanor, do you grasp what you propose?»
«Naturally! I propose Emily—»
«You propose I sell my daughter.»
«Nonsense! Adoption by a fine family!»
«For money.»
«Money’s irrelevant!»
«How much were *you* promised?» Margaret asked.
Eleanor stood, face crimson. «I try to help, and you…»
«Answer. How much?»
A pause, then venomously: «Fifty thousand pounds. For *you*! For a new home!»
«And you?»
«I want nothing!»
«You lie,» Victor said. «The Robertsons trade nothing free.»
Eleanor snatched her bag. «Refuse, then. But later, don’t regret it. When Emily asks why you denied her.»
«Mummy,» Emily whispered, «I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.»
Margaret held her close. «You shall, my lamb. Always.»
«Fools!» Eleanor spat. «Rot in your poverty. I thought kin would understand.»
«Kin,» Victor repeated. «You missed Uncle Anthony’s funeral. What kin are we?»
«I had obligations!»
«Naturally. Obligations over family. Now family serves coin.»
Eleanor marched to the door.
«You’ll regret this. Emily could have London schooling. She’ll languish here.»
«Have you considered the child?» Margaret called. «Strangers, a strange house… Why take her? What do they seek?»
Eleanor halted but didn’t turn. «You think the worst of folk.»
«And you, the least,» Victor said. «Far too little.»
After Eleanor left, the family sat quietly. Emily played with the gifted doll, but the joy had fled.
«Papa,» she asked, «what’s guardianship?»
«When children are taken from parents,» Victor explained softly, «given elsewhere.»
«Why?»
«Sometimes, if parents are unfit. Other times… for money.»
«Are we unfit?» Emily asked, frightened.
Margaret hugged her fiercely. «No, lamb. We are good. We love you dearly.»
«Does Aunt Eleanor love us?»
Victor and Margaret exchanged a glance.
«Aunt Eleanor,» Victor said, «values coin above people.»
That evening, after Emily slept, the couple drank tea in the kitchen.
«Imagine,» Margaret whispered. «She truly thought we’d agree.»
«Figured us poor enough to sell our own.»
«Strangest part? She believed she did good.»
Victor nodded. «That’s what wealth does. Buys conscience.»
«I wonder what the Robertsons offered her?»
«Does it matter? We didn’t yield.»
Margaret rose, gazing out at the modest streetlamps. No grandeur, just ordinary life.
«Perhaps she was right?» Margaret said suddenly. «Are we denying Emily opportunity?»
Victor hugged her shoulders. «Margaret?»
«Think, Victor. We afford no fine schools, languages, experiences. What future has Emily? Only this life?»
«What’s wrong with this life?»
Margaret pondered. They loved each other, had a healthy child, a roof, honest work. Humble, yet decent.
«Nothing wrong,» she sighed. «Simply wanting better for her.»
«Better? Raised by strangers? Forgetting us?»
«She wouldn’t…»
«She would. Rich folk forget poor kin.»
Margaret leaned into Victor. «You’re right. What would we do without her?»
«What would *she* do without us? She’s our own flesh.»
Next day, neighbour Valerie met Margaret by the door.
«Saw that smart lady call yesterday?»
«Cousin, from London.»
«Ah!
The family carried bravely onward through the years, choosing love and togetherness over wealth’s hollow promises, finding their deepest riches in each other’s daily presence. They carried on making ends meet, ordinary folk rich where it mattered.
Betrayal at the Family Table
