‘Now,’ Nan said. ‘Suppose you tell me, eh?’
‘I have left Henry,’ Caroline said. ‘I meant what I said. Harry and I have moved back to Bedford Square. You will accept us, won’t you Nan?’
‘I don’t have a deal of choice seeing it’s a fait accompli,’ Nan said, but her eyes were smiling even though the words sounded stern.
‘I had to leave him, Nan.’
‘Why?’
‘He shook me,’ Caroline shuddered. ‘He actually laid hands on me and shook me.’
Then it was serious. ‘Tell me all about it, child. From start to finish, if you please.’
So the story was told, with surprising calm this time, and the letter was read and the foul book displayed.
‘Well now,’ Nan said, when she’d folded her spectacles back into their case, ‘for a start we’d best get these dratted things off the stalls as quick as we can before more harm’s done.’ And she rang the bell and sent the answering servant off to fetch Bessie. ‘Have you done anything about them?’
‘Not yet,’ Caroline confessed when the maid was gone. ‘I was too upset. Oh Nan, Henry said we should all be ruined. Was he right?’
‘It’s like enough if we don’t look slippy,’ Nan said. ‘We’ll take a dish of tea here with Annie and the girls and then we’ll go back to Bury and tell Mr Brougham what we’re about and then we’ll go to Birmingham. The sooner we start the better. There en’t a minute to waste.’ And as Bessie came hobbling into the room, ‘Ah, Bessie my dear, we’ve got to be back in Bury the minute tea’s over. Some wretched book’s been sent to our shops by mistake and Carrie and I will have to see to it.’
So that’s the explanation we are going to use, Caroline thought, and was impressed by the ease of it, and flooded with gratitude and admiration for this amazing grandmother of hers. If only Henry could have behaved like that.
Bessie tut-tutted with annoyance. ‘An’ all in this lovely weather too,’ she said. ‘What a waste! Never you mind mum, I’ll see to it.’
Half an hour later they were on the road to Bury, where Mr Brougham was shown the book and told the story and asked if he would act for them should the matter come to court, and agreed that he would. And then, once Bessie had packed an overnight bag, they set off for Cambridge and their first train. By midnight they were in Peterborough and their immediate plans had been laid. They would travel from station to station up and down the London Birmingham line, and all the offensive books would be gathered in, addressed to Caroline at the Strand and sent back by rail.
‘Printed in Holywell Street, you see,’ Nan said, examining the fly leaf. ‘No publisher’s name of course for fear of the police. Just Holywell Street, London. Well, that’s enough. They’ll be easy enough to pick out. Let’s pray they en’t sold too many of the dratted things.’
They were easy enough to pick out. She was right. But it took five days travel to visit every single bookstall along the line and by then it was plain that there were more than a dozen offensive books on offer and that scores of them had been sold.
‘There could be more complaints, I suppose,’ Caroline said fearfully, as they travelled on from Watford to Harrow.
‘Aye, there could.’
‘What are we going to do now, Nan? Will there be a court case do you think?’
‘Take one thing at a time, my dear, same as I always do,’ Nan said, rather wearily. The last five days had drained away too much of her energy and now sitting in the relative comfort of this carriage she knew it. ‘There’s no point a-worritin’ till things happen. If there’s to be a court case we shall know soon enough, I daresay. Meantime the books are withdrawn. We’ve done all we can.’
‘You are so good to me,’ Caroline said. ‘Anyone else would have been angry.’ It was true, but it reminded her of that awful row, and that pinched her face with distress.
‘You’ve had enough anger to contend with for the moment,’ Nan said, brusque but sympathetic.
‘Yes,’ Caroline said. ‘I have.’ But at least the relief of taking action had lifted her sense of foreboding. Nan was right. If there was to be a court case they would face it when they knew what it was to be. There was no sense in worrying about it beforehand. But her guilt persisted, and Henry’s accusation resurfaced, filling her thoughts.
‘Am I selfish, Nan? Was that why all this happened?’
‘We’re all selfish,’ Nan said, answering carefully because she could see how important it was, ‘every single one of us! ‘Tis the nature of the beast. The only difference being that we don’t always call it selfishness. We say we’re single-minded or determined, like me, or headstrong.’
‘Like me,’ Caroline admitted.
‘Aye, child. Like you.’ At least she had the grace to see that.
‘Is it a sin, Nan?’
‘Some might say so.’
‘Do you?’ It was important to know.
‘No,’ Nan said. ‘I don’t. Not always. There’s good in it as well as bad, d’you see? ‘Tis the very thing that makes a good businessman. Or a good business woman. But it makes hard hearts too. There’s a fine balance between pushing on for the good of the firm and everyone in it, and pushing on simply to satisfy your own desires and appetites.’
This was a new idea to Caroline and she pondered it deeply, her eyes inward looking and her forehead scored with effort, as the train rocked them onwards.
‘It could have been selfish of me to work after Harry was born,’ she said, but the tone in her voice showed that she didn’t believe it. Yet. ‘I did drag him about with me, poor little thing, and he didn’t like it.’
‘Well, that’s possible,’ Nan said frankly. ‘Which might account for your mistake. It en’t like you to be careless and that’s a fact.’
The line curved suddenly, throwing them both off balance and making their bodies sway sideways in unison, and as the train continued in its new direction, the late evening sun slanted in low through the carriage window to light Nan’s face like a spotlight. Such a strong, merciless beam it was, revealing old white hair and parchment skin etched with myriad lines, and those dear familiar brown eyes not brown at all but faded to olive, edged with green. Why, Caroline thought, she is an old lady, a very old lady. I ought to be looking after her, not expecting her to look after me, and yet here I am burdening her with all this. And for the first time since the parcel arrived she was torn with remorse for what she’d done.
‘Oh Nan,’ she said, leaning forward to catch the old lady’s hands and hold them tenderly. ‘I am selfish. It’s true. I’m being such a nuisance.’
‘You en’t a nuisance,’ Nan said.
‘I wish I’d checked all those books. If I had this to do again I’d look at every single one.’
‘There’s no use crying over spilt milk,’ Nan said.
‘No,’ Caroline agreed sadly.
‘’Tis best to think of other things,’ Nan advised.
‘Yes,’ Caroline said. But what other things? Were there other things? And immediately she asked them, the questions lifted another, most important thing out of her general consciousness and into her mind. ‘I am carrying again,’ she said. How dreadful to have forgotten that.
‘Are you so?’ Nan said, smiling at her. ‘Does Henry know of it? No. I’ll wager you en’t told him.’
‘No,’ Caroline admitted. ‘I haven’t. And I shan’t now.’
‘Oh, my dear heart alive, child,’ Nan said. ‘You do run true to form. When is it to be?’
‘January.’
‘A long time yet,’ Nan said. Time for the court case to be over and done with and this quarrel patched up and a good deal else besides. ‘A long time yet.’ And she closed her eyes on her weariness.
When the door banged shut behind Caroline’s furious spine, Henry stood where he was in the middle of his office, too shocked to move or speak. His entire body was burning with emotion, sweat beading on his forehead and pouring from the palms of his hands, but his mind had stopped functioning. A
t one level of consciousness he knew he should take action to reduce the damage that her awful pornographic book was certainly doing, but he wasn’t capable of reasoning out what to do. His workaday self was aware that there were routine decisions to be taken, and orders to be given, but these things were beyond him too. There was only the stark fact that he had laid hands on his wife and shaken her as though she were an enemy, as though he hated her, and the memory of those cold final words of hers. ‘I am leaving you.’
If only he could claw the last hour back and live it all differently. He would take her in his arms and comfort her and promise to help her, not shout and rage. He would never lay hands on her. She was right. That was unforgivable. But he had done it. How could he have done it, when he loved her so much? How could he?
Mr Jolliffe was at the door with his hands full of letters to be signed, and no expression on his face. He was fussing with pens and ink, rearranging the bottles, keeping his eyes discreetly lowered. There was work to be done.
‘Thank you, Jolliffe,’ Henry said, automatically taking up the nearest pen.
‘Message from the warehouse, Mr Henry sir,’ Jolliffe said, much too calmly. ‘Mr Edward’s cut off to Bristol all of a sudden, and none of the Newcastle parcels have gone. Are they to be despatched as usual?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Henry said vaguely. ‘As usual, of course. Everything is to proceed as usual.’
‘You have an appointment with Mr Tubthorpe, sir,’ Jolliffe reminded. ‘At half past ten, sir.’
‘Yes, Yes. An appointment with Mr Tubthorpe.’ Life went on in its haphazard, predictable way. ‘Has he arrived?’
It was a terrible day, but he got through it by taking one numb step after another, solving the problem for the six warehousemen as he’d promised, talking to Mr Tubthorpe as it was expected, doing what had to be done, with no awareness of time or action. When the carriage arrived to take him to Nine Elms station, he went with it because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He wasn’t going home, of course, he was merely returning to the house where he would sleep. Home was with Caroline and little Harry and he knew with a terrible sick certainty that neither of them would be in Richmond now.
Nevertheless he kept up a bold front, explaining to the butler that Mrs Easter had urgent business to attend to and would be away for some time, and eating as much of his dinner as he could, so that no one would suspect that anything was wrong.
Farren’s face was its usual polite mask. Not that Henry would have expected anything else, whatever the circumstances. But once he was below stairs again the butler’s expression changed.
‘They’ve had a bust-up this time,’ he said to Mrs Benotti. The rest of the servants were eating their dinner in the kitchen but these two, being the senior members of the staff, dined together in the housekeeper’s parlour, beyond the reach of more vulgar ears.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Mrs Benotti said, pouring cream over the mound of gooseberries and piecrust on her plate. ‘Sending for baby like that. Oh, I knew they’d come to it sooner or later the way they will go on. You can’t go hollerin’ an’ shoutin’ all the time without coming to a bust-up sooner or later. Stands to human reason.’
‘Which they ought to use now and then,’ Farren said. ‘Is there any more of your excellent gooseberry pie, Mrs Benotti?’
They might have been gratified to know that Henry used his reasoning powers all night long. For the second time that day his head was full of questions he couldn’t answer, buzzing like bees in a bottle. Oh, where was she? And what was she doing? How was he to live without her? Would it even be possible to continue in the firm? Or would he have to start afresh in a new company and without his wife or his son? Nan would have every right to ask for his resignation. In fact it would probably be more sensible, and certainly more honourable, if he were to tender it himself, before she asked. Oh, how could he have done such a thing? If only he hadn’t!
It was a relief to be able to get up in the morning and cut off to the office again. And an even greater one when a letter arrived from Nan at the end of the afternoon, with the news that all the ‘abominable books’ were being gathered in. The next morning the first of the packing cases arrived, addressed to ‘Mrs Caroline Easter’ and sent by rail from Birmingham. So at least he knew where she was and could assume that since she was with Nan she was being cared for, which was another relief. But he still had no idea what his next move ought to be.
He thought about it night after night, sitting beside his window, gazing down at the shivering expanse of a moon-silvered Thames and the ominous shadows of trees and hedgerows. But there were no answers. Only regret.
Finally when the week-end came around and the packing cases were still arriving and there was no more news of Caroline or Harry, he caught the overnight train to Cumberland and went to visit his sister Jane. She would probably scold him when she knew what he’d done, but he needed advice and comfort so much he was prepared to take the risk.
Jane had always been a sensible young woman, so now, even though she was surprised to see her brother unannounced and without his family, she didn’t say so. He was welcomed and fed and told all the family gossip, as if there were nothing untoward. And when the children had been taken off to the schoolroom for their Saturday lessons, she suggested a walk in the grounds. Whatever it was, he would tell her sooner or later, just as he’d done when they were children together. And sure enough, once they were out of sight of the house, he began the confession she expected.
She listened quietly, walking beside him with her hand resting on the crook of his elbow and her parasol tilted so that she could watch his face. When he described how he’d shaken Caroline she caught her breath with a shudder, and when he spoke of his regret she patted his arm, but she said nothing until she was quite sure he’d finished his story. Then she sat down under the shade of the nearest lime tree.
‘That fearful temper of yours,’ she said. ‘It was always the same. I can remember times when you struck the wall in temper and all your knuckles bled.’
‘If only it had been the wall this time,’ he said ruefully.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Better bleeding knuckles than a lost wife.’
‘Have I lost her, Jane?’
‘We must hope not, for we love her dearly.’
‘Oh Sis, she came to me for help and I shouted at her.’
‘Yes.’
‘What am I to do?’
‘Why, court her, my dear. Court her all over again.’
‘Write to her?’
‘That would be a start.’
‘But what if she don’t answer?’
‘Then you will write again.’
In the peaceful garden under the rustling shade of the lime it was possible to hope. ‘Do you think she will come back to me?’
‘Only if you can persuade her that you will never be cruel to her again. You have put yourself beyond the pale by such an action, you know, my dear.’
He was horribly crestfallen. ‘I do know. I do. If only I hadn’t.’
‘It will be a long road back, I fear,’ she told him honestly. ‘But with time and patience and self-restraint, who knows?’
Chapter 27
The Easter family made good use of the railways that Sunday. The newspapers were transported by rail of course, as they always were, and the last two packing cases were sent to the Strand from the last two bookstalls, but in addition to that, no fewer than four members of the family were travelling to London too, Henry from Cumberland, Edward from his diplomatic visit to Bristol and Caroline and Nan from their five-day labours.
It was late at night by the time the two women finally got back to Bedford Square and Nan was too exhausted to speak. Fortunately Euphemia was woken by the sound of their cab drawing up at the kerb, and she came down at once to welcome them home, and fill a warming-pan for Nan’s bed with embers from the kitchen fire, and see to it that her night-gown was aired. Then she and Caroline eased their weary traveller out of her clot
hes and sponged her face and hands with warm water and settled her to sleep as if she were a baby.
By that time Caroline was asleep on her feet.
‘Tell you ‘bout it in the morning,’ she muttered as she laid her head on her old familiar pillow in her old familiar bed. ‘So glad you are here, Pheemy, my dearest.’ She was asleep with the last word hanging from her lips.
The next morning was chaotic because they both overslept and when Caroline finally woke the first thing she wanted to do was to rush off to the nursery to see Harry and be reunited in a smother of hugs and kisses. And to make matters more hectic it was Euphemia’s last day at the hospital before she began a fort night’s holiday, so there was barely time for more than a mouthful of breakfast and the briefest exchange of news before her carriage was waiting at the door.
‘Tomorrow I will stay here with you, I promise,’ she said as she kissed Caroline goodbye. And then she was gone in a swish of hospital skirts and an unfamiliar waft of starch and disinfectant.
Her departure left Caroline feeling curiously deflated. She’d worked so hard and travelled so far during the last five days and now the world was suddenly still and rather empty, sitting here in Nan’s pink and white breakfast room, with the smell of toast and coffee all around her, and bacon and kidneys and mushrooms on the side-board behind her, and no one to talk to. And that dreadful letter and the threat of a court case still hanging over her head like a great sword waiting to fall and cut her to pieces. Without even thinking of Henry – and she couldn’t bear to think of Henry, it was too painful.
‘I shall go to the Strand as soon as I’ve had breakfast,’ Nan said, stepping briskly into the room with her maid beside her. She was dressed for the day, her white hair neat under its black lace cap, a triple lace collar immaculate over her blue and black gown, that determined stick tapping the polished floorboards. ‘The solicitors could have written already and the sooner we know what they intend the better. Mr Brougham will be here tomorrow and there’s the accounts meeting not three days away. I’ve a deal to do. I will have kidneys and bacon, Jennie.’
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