Even now as I sit here, many years on from these events, I shudder to think of the life Angelica might have led – my Angelica. You may come to think it would have been for the best if Tom Blanchard had managed to keep her locked inside that little house for the rest of her days, and you would undoubtedly be right were it not for the sake of poor William. For my own sake, I cannot hate her or wish that debased life upon her, because in doing so, as undoubtedly foolish as it may be to think it now, we would never have met.
I suppose it was fate that brought Angelica to Edgbaston, for I cannot believe our love was born of pure chance. She did not then know anything about Birmingham and its surrounding areas. She could not have known how affluent Edgbaston was, or that she would find charity there, but ours is a philanthropic society. Charity for those deemed worthy of salvation was every wealthy family’s moral obligation, and there was no greater concentration of wealthy families in the Birmingham area than in Edgbaston. Hope for Angelica and William was therefore soon on the horizon, and it did not come a moment too soon.
Birmingham
1880
On the night Angelica ended her oppressive acquaintance with Tom Blanchard, and in doing so took control of her life again, she and William fled from that one-up-one-down house, heading south for most of the night until their feet could carry them no further. They slept rough on the streets until daybreak the following morning, thankful that it was summertime rather than winter. She had thought to head directly for the train station at New Street, to leave Birmingham again, but despite everything that had happened since they arrived, she was resolved to stay. There was, after all, great industry here, and where there was industry, there was opportunity.
It was on the evening of Angelica and William’s second night sleeping rough, their bellies painful with hunger, that they were approached by an elderly, well-dressed man in a fine top hat.
‘Good evening,’ he said, removing his hat and peering down at them over the top of his round glasses as they sat huddled beside the bandstand steps in Cannon Hill Park. ‘My name is Mr Featherstone. I hope you won’t think it presumptuous of me, but may I enquire as to your situation?’
Angelica noticed his eyes turn to William as he addressed them, and his frown spoke volumes. Here was a man who felt pain at the sight of a young boy living on the streets, with a mother who had clearly fallen on hard times and was no longer able to take proper care of either of them. When Angelica did not answer quickly enough, the man continued.
‘Do you have somewhere to sleep? Has the boy eaten? He looks—’ Featherstone paused. ‘That is to say, you both look as if you could use a good meal and some proper rest. But what of the boy’s father? Where is your husband, madam?’
‘My husband is dead,’ Angelica said. ‘He left us close to penniless. What little we have is almost gone.’
Featherstone began to shake his head. ‘Dear, dear, this won’t do,’ he said, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. ‘It really won’t do at all.’ He leaned against his cane and extended his hand. ‘Come along with me, won’t you? I can offer you a clean bed to sleep in, and I’m sure we can find you something hearty for your supper.’ He turned to William and raised his eyebrows. ‘How does mutton suet sound?’
Angelica had learned to be wary of just about everyone she met, but this kind-faced man who had seemingly come upon them by chance in their hour of need appeared harmless enough. She looked for William’s answer and saw a toothy smile on his face. It was the first she had seen since leaving London. In that moment she decided they would have to take a chance on this stranger, or risk dying of thirst and starvation. She took Mr Featherstone’s hand at once, accepting his generous offer for both of their sakes.
So it was that they came to live for a time in a small, single-storey mock Tudor almshouse in Edgbaston that formed part of a quadrangle of almshouses around a pretty, floral green with a clock tower at its centre. That night they ate and ate until their bellies were full, and they slept the most restful sleep Angelica had known in weeks.
On the morning of their second day at the almshouse, Angelica glanced up at the clock tower as she passed it, having been out all morning, and noted that it was almost eleven o’clock. She had a spring in her step and a smile on her face as she opened the gate and walked along the rose-lined path that led to their front door. Beneath her arm was a brown paper parcel, tied with string, and in her hand a large but light box dangled from a pale blue ribbon. She opened their door and stepped inside, her warm cheeks pink from the sun and the exercise.
‘William!’ she called.
Unlike the night before, when sheer exhaustion had taken him, William had suffered a fitful sleep. By morning, however, he could not be stirred, so Angelica had gone out without him, leaving him in his bed. Dear Mr Featherstone, whom they had not seen again since their arrival, had been right about William’s need for proper rest. No better tonic could have been prescribed to get him back to his usual self again, and she imagined it would not take long in such a pleasant environment. As for herself, she was already beginning to feel that life was once more something to look forward to, rather than to fear.
The almshouses each had a small sitting room that looked out from a leaded-light window on to the green. Angelica’s was pleasantly furnished with bright colours and floral prints, although it contained little by way of anything ornamental. It was, however, very comfortable, and more than enough for their needs. She paced across the rug, which almost entirely covered the floorboards, to look for William in case he was hiding from her, as he often used to. First she looked behind the armchairs, and then behind the clothes-horse by the fire where she had been drying their washing.
‘William,’ she called again, more softly this time, as she headed for the bedroom, expecting that he was still sound asleep, even at this late hour.
A second later she heard him scream. She dropped her parcels and rushed into the bedroom. William was sitting up in their shared brass bed, his forehead beaded with sweat, glistening in the sunlight from the window. His eyes were wide and staring.
‘It’s all right, William,’ Angelica said. ‘You’ve had a nightmare. That’s all it is. I’m here now. You’re perfectly safe.’
She went to him and sat on the bed, raising the palm of her hand to the boy’s forehead. It felt cool and clammy.
William responded to her touch by throwing his arms around her as far as he could reach. ‘Mummy! The bad man found me again.’
‘There’s no one else here,’ Angelica assured him, stroking her hand over the back of his head to comfort him. ‘It was just another dream. He won’t hurt you again, I promise.’
As she held William in her arms and began to rock him gently back and forth, she silently cursed Tom Blanchard and the bitter memory of everything that had happened in London before it became necessary for them to leave. She reaffirmed to herself there and then to do everything in her power to ensure that from this day on William would enjoy a good and happy life, without want or fear, far away from the kind of people who inhabited his nightmares and caused him to cry in his sleep.
She smiled at William and pushed his hair to one side. ‘I have something to show you. I bought it this morning. Would you like to see it?’
‘Is it for me?’
Angelica laughed to herself. ‘My darling little man,’ she said. ‘Everything I do is for you.’
With that, she pinched his nose and went back into the sitting room to retrieve her parcels. When she returned, William was on the edge of the bed, where she had been, his face beaming with anticipation.
‘Now, close your eyes and promise not to peek,’ Angelica said as she untied the string on the first of her parcels. She began to unfold the paper, but paused when she noticed that William was looking at her through his fingers. ‘I said no peeking. Now, turn around so I can be sure you can’t see me.’
William did as he was told, and Angelica continued, excitedly tossing the paper and the string to the
floor as she held up the contents and let it unfurl against her, hiding her now-shabby dress with another that was in a different class altogether. It was a princess-line walking dress in pale blue silk damask with gold lace detailing. With no waistline seam, the long, fitted panels accentuated her height and further slimmed her figure. It was a little heavy for summer, but that had afforded her a generous discount, and she would not have been able to buy the hat to go with it if she had opted for something better suited to the season. Combined, she thought they gave her the appearance of someone who was both elegant and refined.
In truth, Angelica had not really been able to afford either item from the money Blanchard had left in her purse, let alone the parasol she had bought to complete the look, not in the moral sense. Her purchases had left her purse close to empty. But for all his faults, Blanchard had been right about one thing: she had to speculate to accumulate. She had to dress for the life she wanted for her and William, not for the wretched lives they already had.
‘You can look now,’ she said, her face beaming as she began to envisage that life. When William turned around, she twirled in circles for him, still holding the dress to her frame. She imagined she was dancing at a royal ball. ‘How well do you like it?’ she asked him. ‘Am I not as pretty as a princess?’
William began to laugh. It was a joy to see. He jumped off the bed and began to dance with his mother, turning and turning until they were both so dizzy that they fell back on to the bed together.
Angelica was now laughing so hard herself that she had to catch her breath. ‘Hurry and wash the sleep from your eyes, William,’ she said. ‘If you’re well enough, and I can see that you are, we’ll go to the park.’ She eyed him questioningly. ‘You are well enough, aren’t you?’
William gave her an enthusiastic nod.
‘Then hurry along. As soon as you’re dressed we’ll be on our way.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Any other woman as finely attired as Angelica Chastain now was would likely have used some form of transport to travel the short distance from her accommodation to the public park at Cannon Hill, be it in her own carriage or a hansom cab. But then most women who looked as Angelica now did had sufficient means to travel in such style and comfort, and they did not do so from a charitable home for the poor. Not that she minded. Mr Featherstone’s almshouse was only a twenty-minute walk away.
A week had passed since she had bought her new dress, and she and William had been making the journey to the park every day since, sometimes going as often as twice a day. While Angelica looked forward to it, the novelty had worn off for William.
‘Do we have to go into the park again?’ he said with a sigh as they reached the main gate.
‘Don’t you want to see the swans on the lake?’
‘I saw them yesterday, and the day before.’
Angelica laughed to herself. ‘Then they’ll miss you all the more if you don’t go and see them today.’
William sighed again, and hand in hand they entered the park. It was another fine morning. The Edgbaston nannies were out in force as usual, perambulating in their black gowns and white lace aprons, but Angelica was not there for any of them, despite their standing in life being rather better than hers at that moment. What good was making the acquaintance of a mistress’s nanny when it was the mistress herself that Angelica aspired to be?
They took their usual route towards the boating lake, ambling clockwise through the park in the dappled shade of the trees that were to one side of the path. The other was lined with deep and colourful summer flower beds. Everyone she passed offered her a smile and a polite bow of their head – nannies and the occasional gentleman alike – and she would smile and nod back at them, feeling every bit the lady she purported to be.
When at length they came to the boating lake and William at last stopped protesting, Angelica let go of his hand and watched him run towards the swans and ducks that were gathered at the water’s edge. There was another boy there of around William’s age, tossing small pieces of bread into the water. It was causing a cacophony of quacking and hissing from the fowl that had gone there to feed.
‘Remember, William!’ Angelica called after him. ‘Don’t stand too close to the edge.’
She watched him stop beside the other boy, who was dressed in a skirted sailor’s suit, which surprised her. He was a good two inches taller than William and clearly of school age, yet he was not in knickerbockers, not today at least. She approached them, wondering where the boy’s guardian was. Surely he couldn’t have come to the park all by himself? She looked along the path and saw two nannies rocking their perambulators as they stopped to talk to one another in passing. Then she noticed a figure dressed all in white stepping so quickly towards them that she was almost running.
‘Alexander!’ the woman called. ‘You mustn’t run off like that.’ As she arrived, panting slightly, her otherwise pale cheeks flushing crimson, she turned to Angelica and added, ‘I do hope my son hasn’t been bothering you.’
‘Not at all,’ Angelica said, mindful to pronounce her words correctly as she studied the woman. She took in the high collar of her dress, which set her chin proud and made her look all the more elegant, and the fine strands of fair hair that teased out from beneath the brim of her wide sun hat. It positively dwarfed Angelica’s hat, causing her to wish she had bought something bigger, although she had her parasol to shelter her from the sun. ‘We had only just arrived,’ she added. ‘Your son has been no bother, I assure you.’
The woman, no more than a few years older than Angelica, glanced at the two boys and smiled. ‘They appear to have taken a liking to one another already,’ she said. She gave a small laugh that was as soft as the summer breeze. ‘Alexander never usually shares his bread with anyone, not even me. I’m Georgina, by the way, Georgina Hampton.’
She extended a dainty, gloved hand, and Angelica took it. Her fingers felt cold through the lace, despite the warmth of the day. ‘Angelica Chastain,’ she said. ‘My son is called William.’
‘A good strong name,’ Georgina said. ‘And yours is quite beautiful, as is that lovely dress. You must let me have the name of your dressmaker.’
Angelica had no idea who made the dress. It had certainly not been made for her at the price she paid for it. She had tried on several. This one just happened to fit. She didn’t know what to say in reply, so she simply smiled and changed the subject. ‘It’s unusual to see a mother out in the park with her son in the middle of the day.’
‘Yes, and my husband frowns on it, of course, but I insist on spending every Wednesday with Alexander while he’s young. He’ll be sent away to school soon enough. Until then he’s being tutored at home. My husband and I spend a social hour together with him each evening, but it isn’t nearly enough.’ She paused and laughed to herself. ‘You must excuse my modern values. I’m sure the idea must seem quite irrational to you.’ She looked over at William, who by now had run out of bread and was trying to sneak up on one of the ducks that had wandered up on to the bank. ‘And yet here you are with your son also.’
‘We’re new to the area,’ Angelica said. ‘We’re from London.’
‘London! Well, that explains your lovely dress. Has your husband’s business brought you here?’
Angelica thought on her answer. It would be the easiest of lies to simply nod her head, and by doing so further her pretence, but she felt suddenly uncomfortable at the idea. It would just lead to more questions. What line of business was her husband in? What did Birmingham have to offer such a man that London did not? She imagined her lie would soon be undone, so instead of nodding her head, she told Georgina what she had told Mr Featherstone. ‘My husband is dead.’
On hearing that, Georgina stepped close to Angelica and placed a hand on her forearm, which Angelica felt no more than if a butterfly had landed there. Georgina’s eyes were full of concern. ‘You poor thing,’ she said. ‘How frightful. But don’t worry, I shan’t pry.’
At that
moment, laughter drew their attention to the water’s edge. Alexander was bent over with one hand on his knee, pointing at something that had clearly amused both him and William.
‘They really are getting along well,’ Georgina said. ‘Alexander is usually such a shy boy. He has very few friends as a result.’
‘Due to our situation,’ Angelica said, sounding almost tearful, ‘my William now has no friends at all.’
‘Then we must do all we can to encourage their friendship,’ Georgina said. ‘How would you and William like to come to tea tomorrow afternoon? I’m sure I can prise Alexander away from his tutor for an hour or so, and my other ladies will simply adore William.’
Angelica did not answer straight away. In her mind she had accepted the offer that instant, but she did not wish to appear too eager.
‘Oh, please say you’ll come,’ Georgina persisted. ‘I’ve rarely seen Alexander so happy.’
Angelica smiled. ‘Then of course we’ll come,’ she said. ‘Thank you. We’d be delighted.’
A carriage was sent for Angelica the following afternoon. By a quarter to four, she and William were gazing out of the windows, trying to get an early peek at the house as they were conveyed along the tree-lined carriage drive towards it. This was just what Angelica had hoped for, and yet she was surprised by how nervous she felt. Her palms began to feel clammy inside her gloves, and she supposed it was because she was worried about how Georgina and her circle of friends would receive her. She could still picture Georgina’s face in the park the day before as she gave her their temporary address. Mr Featherstone’s almshouse was clearly well known in the area, and while Georgina had said nothing of it at the time, her raised eyebrows spoke volumes.
The Penmaker's Wife Page 3
