‘Should I bring up some . . .?’
‘Nothing is needed, thank you. He won’t be staying long.’ She gave her coat, gloves, scarf and hat to the housekeeper.
She didn’t so much as pause outside the salon to find calm, but stepped into the room to see Harry already standing, waiting for her.
‘I heard you arrive. How are you?’
‘How do you think?’
His expression reflected slight surprise but he didn’t appear to be fully taken aback. Harry opened his mouth to say more but she wasn’t going to let him control this conversation or stay a second longer in her home than was necessary.
‘You’ve got a nerve coming here, Harry. In fact, I’ll tell you what I told Matthew’s father not so long ago because I now rate you as low a creature as I do Chetwin Britten-Jones, and that is that you are no longer welcome in my home. I want you to leave now and I hope our paths never cross again.’
She watched the words impact on him like a hard slap before his gaze narrowed, along with the lips she couldn’t get enough of only hours ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed since they’d made love in Charlotte’s cottage and she had felt her heart open entirely to this man.
‘As you wish,’ he replied, his tone calm, quiet.
‘Have you any idea what they’re doing to Matthew right now?’
‘Well, I’m hopeful they took him to the County Asylum rather than prison?’
‘Then you can head back to your bride happy that your hopes have been answered. That’s where he is with a monster called Dr Ely, who plans to give him a disease or perhaps some drug therapy that’s supposed to shock him out of his “moral imbecility”!’
‘You’re shouting, Alex,’ he remarked.
‘Would you like to hear me scream instead? Perhaps about how much I hate you right now?’
‘The County Asylum was my idea,’ he admitted.
‘Ah, really? How inspired for maximum cruelty. I couldn’t fully fathom how my father came up with that plan.’
‘I thought it less public than prison and also —’
‘I don’t care any more what you thought, Harry. I’m struggling to believe that someone who claims to love me could manoeuvre to hurt me so deeply, but then I suppose I should be used to men and their selfish ways. You and Matthew are the same, really – you claim to love me and yet here I am, desperately hurt and lonely because of both of you.’ She could barely stand the sound of herself, shrill and dramatic, everything she normally abhorred. And yet her emotions felt as though they were pulled so taut they might never return to their former shape. They might even snap fully and leave her forever bitter.
Alex noted how he took a slow breath before he ground his jaw; there it was again, the anger that she didn’t think him capable of . . . he had it entirely under his control but she now fully understood that he felt its burn. There was a genuine struggle going on as he tried not to react to her barbs. Was identical anger responsible for taking revenge on Matthew for his humiliating treatment today, or was it jealousy, frustration, even, that they couldn’t be together? Did it matter? Did she really want this fight? No. What she wanted was for him to leave so she could stop hating him while hating herself even more.
When he left, this would be his lasting memory of her . . . snarling accusation and a hurting heart. Meanwhile, she would be left feeling hollow, lonely in every possible way.
Eyes whose sockets looked bruised, simmering with latent fury, gazed back at her, dully. ‘I did not suggest the County Asylum to be cruel. I believe —’
There was a sudden knock and Norma looked around the door without waiting to be given permission. Alex could see that the housekeeper’s obvious lack of respect for Harry acted as a tipping point. His infuriation seemed to crystallise into a diamond-hard resolve. This was presumably one of the qualities that got him through four years of war. There was something unnervingly implacable in the way he straightened his shoulders. Light appeared to reignite in his eyes but it shone with a ferocity that spoke of his internal rage to her alone.
‘Sir Charles has arrived in a carriage, madam. Mr Chetwin Britten-Jones is sharing it with him,’ Norma said matter-of-factly.
In a fraction of a second she knew she’d lost Harry. Perhaps not his love – she could see that perhaps a flame might always burn for the woman he fell for in York – but he would leave her now without regret, disappointed by her. That was it. That is what would hurt the most in time to come, she understood; knowing that she’d let him down, that she’d allowed herself to slip from the pedestal he’d positioned her on above all other women.
‘I have no desire to speak to anyone further tonight, Norma. Please tell my father that I have a headache and I shall see him in the morning as agreed.’ She swallowed. ‘And please show our guest out.’
‘No need,’ Harry said. ‘I can see myself to the door.’
‘That will be all then, Norma,’ Alex said, hearing the old adage rattle around her mind about cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face.
The door closed.
She panicked inwardly as Harry stepped forward; if he would just make a single show of affection for her, she was sure she would melt, beg him to wait yet again . . . one more day . . . one more kiss . . . one more declaration of love – just so they could part on a fond note rather than this bitterness.
‘I’m sorry, Alex, for all your troubles. My deepest apology that you believe I’ve contributed to them.’
All you have to do is reach for him, Alex, a small voice said but the Frobisher pride got in the way, taking offence at his curt words, like a captain speaking to one of his men. ‘I hope your marriage is more successful than mine, Harry. Good luck.’ Now she was glad he’d never know that she was Kitty . . . the woman he’d come searching for. It was a hollow triumph and she knew it.
She watched his eyes dip to regard the hand she held out in a polite farewell, noted the wry smile that came and went as she held her breath tightly in her chest. She could change this parting in a second . . .
‘Goodbye, Alex.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a small envelope. ‘This is for you. It seems redundant now but the idea is sound. If it can work, do feel free to use it. A parting gift, if you’ll permit, for a few special days I’ll cherish.’ He handed the envelope to her instead of shaking her hand, as though he couldn’t bear to touch her in farewell.
She didn’t turn until she heard the door close and then she swung around, the water in her eyes spilling over to roll down her cheeks and onto her lips so she could taste her salted tears.
26
Morning finally came. Alex chose Matthew’s study to meet her guests, mainly because she didn’t wish to walk into her salon just hours after farewelling Harry from it in such a cold manner. She had convinced herself she might still smell a lingering trace of his shaving soap or hair oil, which kept his straight dark hair so neatly in place . . . unless of course it was tousled from her attentions. She couldn’t allow herself to think like this. The memory of Harry’s lovemaking yesterday was still so fresh she could recall it in perfect detail.
‘Sir Charles and Mr Giles Farthing, madam,’ Norma said, gesturing for the men to enter. ‘Shall I serve tea or coffee?’
Alex snapped into focus, asking the question of her visitors.
‘Coffee for me, Norma,’ Charles said.
‘Coffee will be fine,’ Giles agreed.
‘For three then, Norma, thank you,’ Alex said, finding a smile that felt almost impossible to master. ‘Do have a seat,’ she offered and they moved to make themselves comfy around the small fire.
‘Darling, I know it’s been hard to get some sleep but you look terrible. Perhaps we should consult Hugh for something to help?’
‘I don’t need the doctor, I promise.’ She shrugged. ‘I doubt any of us slept much last night.’
‘Well, Giles is offering some hope.’
‘Giles,’ she said, ‘tell me.’
The solicitor took a deep
breath. ‘I’ve always admired this room,’ he remarked, inhaling. ‘Gentlemen’s studies aren’t always this light.’
She gave another soft smile that was only out of politeness for this kind man. ‘Matthew and I have agreed on most things in our marriage – this house, in particular, which does allow so much natural light in, especially the morning sun.’ She was impressed she was capable of this small talk when inside it felt as though every fibre was leaking pain.
He continued and she tried not to shriek. ‘I heard Mr Blakeney’s gone. Is that right?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, he’s getting married and had to dash south. Couldn’t keep his bride waiting any longer.’ How convincingly normal she sounded.
‘Pity. I wanted to thank him properly.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Well, actually, he came up with the plan, to be honest with you.’
She frowned. ‘What plan?’
Norma was back. She had the good grace to lay out the items on her tray with speed. ‘Shall I leave you to serve, madam?’
Alex nodded. When the door closed she immediately stood and poured the steaming coffee. She handed a cup to the solicitor first. ‘Do go on, please, Giles.’
He sipped, swallowed and sighed with pleasure, by which time she’d already handed the second cup to her father. ‘It was Blakeney who suggested we angle for the County Asylum and have your husband judged as a moral imbecile.’
Alex flinched as she finished pouring her own coffee.
‘I know that sounds harsh, Alex,’ her solicitor assured, ‘but it’s actually a cunning and inspired way to handle this.’
‘Why? I mean, I understand that it prevents Matthew going to prison, which would have been intolerably humiliating for all of us, but how does his being incarcerated in the County Lunatic Asylum help us?’
‘Well, firstly, prison may not have ended with a simple jailing.’ Giles cleared his throat. ‘They’ve hanged men for this crime.’
Alex blanched, thinking Matthew had been exaggerating the previous evening. ‘You see, your friend Mr Blakeney had thought it all through, and lightning-fast, I might add – he’d make a good legal counsel,’ Giles remarked with a rueful twitch of a smile. When his companions didn’t share the amusement, he proceeded. ‘What will happen now is that Matthew will be tested by a doctor to ascertain his psychiatric state. He can’t avoid being called morally debase because there is too much historical evidence. His father has paid an inordinate sum of money to the director of the asylum to keep Matthew incarcerated.’
Alex tried to drink her coffee but her throat felt as though it were closing. She put the cup down. ‘Chetwin paid?’
‘Darling, in his defence, even Chetwin knew if Matthew was imprisoned he would suffer far more. He was actually protecting his son. I know you think he hates him but sadly for us, only now learning the truth, this has been a long pathway of disappointment that Matthew has been walking. It isn’t the first, second or even third time he’s defied the law in this regard.’ Charles looked desperately uncomfortable as he tried to talk his way around using the word homosexual.
Alex wanted to say it for them, get it out and bouncing around Matthew’s study, off his leather-bound books and walnut desk that to all purposes spoke of him as a seriously minded, wealthy husband ripe for his moment to begin his life as a family man. How wrong they all were. Nevertheless, her single task now was to find a way to ease his life and she’d be damned if she’d leave him to rot in the local lunatic asylum even though overnight she realised a decision was being made at the back of her mind that she fully intended to divorce him. That was going to be a messy business for both families, but especially her parents. She imagined her mother reading the divorce notice in the newspaper, Lambton close by with the smelling salts and fan, the howl of Minerva echoing through Tilsden. Alex shuddered.
‘All right, but I still cannot see how Mr Blakeney fits in with his cunning plan, Giles?’ She glanced between the two men.
The solicitor deferred to his client. ‘Well, darling, it’s Blakeney’s contention that if you exert your influence with the Rowntree family, you can probably get Matthew moved to the Quaker facility on the fringe of town . . . they won’t deny you, especially as you personally donated all your salary to it.’
‘York Retreat?’ she said slowly and in wonder, as though sunlight had just angled through the dark-skied morning to open up a way clear for them. ‘Oh, my heavens. Of course, of course!’
Giles looked chuffed at her response. ‘No manacles, no straitjackets, no electro-shock therapy, no hot and cold hydrotherapy, no drug-induced purges, no vicious-looking nurses or burly men to hold one down,’ he said, lifting a finger to claim each on his list. ‘While we were all at Bootham, Blakeney had apparently already taken steps and paved the way. I thought he might have told you all of this?’ He frowned at her but her silence prompted him to continue. ‘Moral imbecile or not, I do believe the York Retreat will gladly accept Matthew. Blakeney has negotiated hard, which no doubt included a handsome personal donation to the hospital, for your husband to enjoy remarkable freedom to wander the property and its beautiful gardens, and generally get himself straight, with regular discussions and a peaceful few months as his only therapy. When I say negotiated, it all does depend on you, rather . . .’
Alex’s heart felt as though it were beating at half its normal rhythm. Her thoughts seemed sluggish, as if the entire world had just slowed to a crawl. Giles’s voice sounded distant while alarms in her mind were jangling shrilly like station whistles – whistles that were blown last night to signal Harry’s departure from York to London and on to Sussex to marry Bethany, with only Alex’s despair and accusations riding alongside him, rather than her love and hope for his happiness.
All the time that she’d been building walls of rage around his name, he’d been tearing down walls that would imprison Matthew, finding a clever way to respect his rights, give him freedom, show sympathy for his actions, empathy for his carnal inclinations.
‘Harry did this for us?’ she said, certain that her voice was a drawl.
Father and solicitor smiled. ‘He’s a damned good friend,’ Giles replied.
‘I certainly wasn’t thinking that clearly yesterday,’ Charles admitted. ‘Chetwin leapt at the first option that protected his son – and yes, the family name – from the besmirch of prison or worse . . . and even Giles here has admitted that such creative thinking would have eluded him. When Harry came to me at the club my mind went into a whirl of pain for both our families. I think he realised almost instantly what would occur if it got out; I also took too long to believe it and probably barely listened to his rationale, but when he asked my permission to set things in motion behind whatever was about to land on Matthew’s shoulders, I realised he was trying to protect our family . . . protect you especially. You must thank Harry, darling, from all of us, for such a good turn.’
‘Why didn’t he say?’ she bleated. ‘Why didn’t he tell me! Why did he leave here letting me think that Matthew’s incarceration was his fault?’
‘Darling, I’m not sure what you’re upset about but Harry Blakeney is a modest fellow. In my brief conversations with him I don’t believe I’ve heard him trumpet himself once. I looked into him, you know, he’s a bally war hero! Quite the dashing captain but you wouldn’t know it to talk to him – won’t be drawn on the war, won’t be drawn on his family name or wealth. Damnably reticent, in fact.’
Giles joined the enthusiasm. ‘Either way, Mr Blakeney has come up with a clever way of getting Matthew out of Bootham and into the compassionate freedom of York Retreat and all of it without stirring up too much gossip and rumour for the families. To all intents and purposes, Matthew could be in the hospital merely recuperating from an illness, so the families need to put their heads together on this and settle on an explanation. Um, Alex, I suspect you’ll be asking for a divorce?’
‘I shall.’ She glanced at her father, who looked down but didn’t shy aw
ay.
‘That’s to be expected,’ Charles admitted. ‘Your mother and I are obviously fully behind you in this but it needs to be done quietly, darling, and perhaps not immediately.’
‘Does Matthew understand?’
Giles nodded. ‘I was permitted to speak with him this morning, briefly. At first he was extremely reluctant to talk about the subject but your father explained that it required your signature to get him moved out of Bootham and into the York Retreat and that only his agreement to divorce would suffice.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Nothing that reflects on you,’ Giles confirmed. ‘We can sort that out and he has agreed to consider it.’
‘How long will he have to stay at the Retreat under care?’
Giles shrugged. ‘That I can’t confirm. A crime has been committed in the eyes of the law so we have to respect that – as it is it’s going to require a panel of magistrates to get him released from the asylum but if we tread with care I don’t see anyone getting in our way. However, I suspect he’ll need to be under supervision at the Retreat for several months. But that’s a small price to pay, Alex. I’m sure you agree.’
She’d begun to regain her equanimity. ‘I do. I’m just taken aback that Harry didn’t share his plan.’
‘You were deeply upset, darling. There probably wasn’t the occasion – after all, you didn’t see him once it all went pear-shaped.’ Alex didn’t correct him. ‘You can share your gratitude at another time, surely?’ her father soothed.
‘He’s gone, Dad. Don’t you see? Gone, for good.’
Her father’s brow crinkled. ‘Not for good, darling girl. Don’t be so dramatic. Harry’s a good sort. He’ll be back – he’s a family friend now. We can telephone, you can write – plenty of opportunity to thank him properly when we see him again . . . perhaps he’ll bring his wife back with him.’
Alex couldn’t admit it aloud but there wouldn’t be a repeat visit. She wouldn’t see Harry again. And meeting Bethany – not that she wanted to – seemed as likely as Matthew easily agreeing to divorce.
The Chocolate Tin Page 35
