by Val Wood
They drove past a terrace of three-storeyed brick houses with projecting upper windows. ‘I don’t remember these,’ she said suddenly. ‘They’re new to me!’
Billy slowed the horse. ‘Aye, there’s been some changes in Beverley over ’last ten years or so. Some of ’old houses pulled down and new ones put up.’
‘This is Union Road. It leads up to ’new workhouse, doesn’t it?’ she said. She recalled the discussions there had been in the town about a new workhouse’s being built near the Westwood to replace the old dilapidated one. ‘So where are we going, Billy? This isn’t where Harry lives?’ She looked up admiringly at the dentilated carving of the fascia above the windows, the freshly painted doors and small neat front gardens. ‘These are lovely houses.’
Billy pulled up in front of one of the residences. ‘No. Harry lives on ’other road, nearer to ’Westwood.’ The middle and top windows of the house in front of them were draped with lace curtains, and blinds covered the lower.
He got out of the trap and came to the other side to hand Jenny down. He looked up at the house for a moment, then, taking a deep breath, he let out a sigh, and said, ‘This one is mine.’
He walked up the path in front of her and took a key from his pocket, inserted it into the door and opened it. ‘I watched them being built,’ he said, as he led her across the hall and into the front sitting room. He drew open the blinds, letting the sunshine flood in. ‘I always thought that if I ever made enough money I’d buy one. I didn’t use ’money my da left; this came out of my own endeavour.’
Jenny looked round. The room had polished wood floors, but no rug or carpet to soften them, fine furniture but no cushions for comfort, nor antimacassars over the sofas or chairs. A gleaming marble fireplace above the hearth, but no ornaments on the mantel; and flocked wallpaper but not a single picture or painting.
‘It’s beautiful, Billy,’ she said with genuine admiration. ‘Really lovely.’
He took her round the rest of the house, showing her the dining room which was panelled in wood and whose window looked out over a long garden; the kitchen and the bedrooms, and all were the same: fitted out with the very best of furniture, but apparently unlived in. No woman’s touch of flowers or drapes; no man’s pipe, newspapers or slippers.
‘But you don’t live here, Billy?’ she said as they came downstairs, and she ran her hand down the polished mahogany handrail. ‘It’s all too perfect.’
‘No. I don’t.’
‘Why not?’ She turned her eyes away from the ceiling where she had been admiring the carved cornice, towards him as he stood below her in the hall. ‘Have you never lived here?’
He shook his head and kept his gaze upon her. ‘Too big for just one person.’
‘But – why then did you buy it?’ she asked. ‘I thought that you and Annie Fisher …? You were seeing her.’
‘Aye, still do,’ he said soberly. Then a ghost of a grin touched his lips. ‘She doesn’t give up, even though I’ve told her.’
‘Told her what?’ she breathed. ‘Surely – after all this time?’
He kept his hand on the banister, and looked up at her on the stairs. ‘That I wouldn’t marry her. I’ve never – you know. Never given her ’chance to say we had to get married. And she’s never been here. Never seen ’inside of ’house, though I expect she’s been to have a look from ’outside.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jenny said. ‘Why won’t you marry her?’
He shrugged. ‘My ma can’t stand her for one thing, and for another, I don’t love her and never wanted her. I mean, she’s all right for a bit o’ company. We go for a walk sometimes or to ’music hall in Hull. She likes to do that.’ He grinned again. ‘She tries to get me drunk so that I’ll get amorous. But I’ll not fall for that!’
He took his hand off the banister and Jenny continued down the stairs so that her eyes were on a level with his. ‘My ma’s ’only one who’s been here,’ he said. ‘She helped me with ’curtains at ’upstairs windows, but nothing more. And she suggested I put blinds at ’ground floor if I wasn’t going to live here.’
‘So it’s an investment?’ she said hesitatingly. ‘For ’future?’
‘What’s the point in that?’ he said. ‘I’ve no sons or daughters to leave it to. I allus hoped –’ He looked away, across the hall into the sitting room where the sun sent long shimmering stripes across the floor. ‘I was stupid,’ he muttered. ‘Harry allus said so.’
She frowned. ‘You’re hardly stupid,’ she said. ‘Four shops and a house! What did you hope for, Billy? That you’d meet someone you’d want to marry? There’s still time for that. You’re just ’right age for a man to wed.’
‘You don’t understand, do you, Jenny?’ he said softly and turned to her with his frank blue-eyed gaze. ‘You’ve never understood. Or at least you pretended not to.’
‘What?’ she whispered. ‘You’re not telling me that after all this time –’
He closed his eyes for a moment as if to concentrate and he clenched his fingers into fists. ‘This is yours, Jenny,’ he breathed. ‘I bought it for you. I thought, fool that I am, that one day you’d come back to Beverley, and – and we could start afresh. Put ’past behind us. I looked for you. I’ve been all over ’East Riding looking for you. I never asked for you by name, cos I thought, well, that you wouldn’t want that. I even went to Hull. But I couldn’t find you.’ His face was creased as if in pain. ‘I never thought that you’d marry him!
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, bending his head. ‘I shouldn’t have told you all this, but –’ He took a breath. ‘I’ve waited and waited for this day. And when you turned up today, I was staggered. So knocked out at seeing you, when I least expected you.’ He gave a lopsided dejected grimace. ‘And here you are, a married woman with a husband and five children to take care of you. So you don’t need me. I’m too late again.’
She reached to touch his arm. ‘No husband, Billy,’ she said softly. ‘I’m a widow. Have been for eleven years. Stephen never saw our last son. My father-in-law supports my children and me. We live with him and his youngest daughter. I’ve nothing of my own, apart from my children.’
He lifted his head to gaze at her. ‘A widow!’ His lips parted and she saw a lightening of expression, a hopeful expectation in his eyes. ‘So, would you come back, Jenny? Would I – would I stand a chance, this time?’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
He took hold of her hand and led her into the sitting room, where they both sat on the edge of chairs facing each other. ‘Would you, Jenny? Consider it, I mean? You’d want for nothing, and – and –’ A slight blush suffused his face. ‘I do love you. Always have. Always will. Until I die.’
She bent her head. ‘I think I always knew that, Billy,’ she murmured. ‘But I never expected that you’d wait so long. I always imagined that you’d be married by now.’
‘But I’m not,’ he urged. ‘And if you’re not …’
‘I’m a widow, it’s true. But I have to consider my children and their future.’ She went on quickly before he could interrupt. ‘Two of my sons are going to be farmers; they’ll take over their grandfather’s estate when they’re old enough. Johnny’s a soldier and is going to train to be an officer. Then there are my daughters to consider, especially Christina.’
‘And you? What about you? Don’t you deserve a life?’ Billy asked, his face shadowing as if he could foresee what was coming next.
Jenny thought of John Laslett and how he depended upon her. He was getting old and more crotchety as the years went by. She seemed to be the only one who could talk to him. Even the estate manager that he had taken on at her persuasion would sound her out on his employer’s temper before approaching John Laslett on a farming issue. ‘And ’other thing is, I can’t leave my father-in-law at present. He relies on me. I run the household.’
‘You said he had a daughter. Why can’t she run it?’
She smiled. ‘She’s not very good at it.’
‘So you’re a housek
eeper, Jenny,’ he said brusquely. ‘He’s taking advantage of you.’
‘No. No, he’s not! We’ve been given a home and I’m grateful for that. Goodness knows where we would be if it hadn’t been for John Laslett; and he didn’t have to take us in,’ she said, proceeding to tell him some of the story of the antipathy between Stephen and his father. ‘And he’s fond of ’children,’ she added, realizing that she too had an affection for the old man. ‘And we are all fond of him. I can’t let him down.’
Billy stood up and wearily leant his hand on the mantelpiece. She saw his look of gloom reflected in the mirror above it. ‘Billy!’ she said softly and as she too stood up, he turned round and faced her.
‘Do I give up?’ he muttered. ‘Have I been on a fool’s errand all these years?’
‘I didn’t say never, Billy,’ she whispered. ‘I just meant – not yet!’
He came to her and took both her hands into his. His eyes, intent and appealing, searched hers, then he bent and kissed her lips. ‘Does it mean –’ he said in a cracked and husky voice. ‘Does it mean that I can still hope? That mebbe one day?’
‘We need to get to know each other again, Billy,’ she whispered, taken aback by his kiss. It had been long years since she had felt the touch of a man’s lips on hers. ‘We were so young when we knew each other before. We’re different people now.’
‘I’m not,’ he stated quietly. ‘I’m just ’same. I’ve been here in Beverley all this time, just waiting for you to come back.’
She shook her head. ‘You are different, Billy. The boy I once knew was shy and tongue-tied and could never say what he meant. You’re a man now and able to. You’re a man of business too. A householder. Don’t say you haven’t changed, for you surely have!’
‘Well,’ he said, still holding her hands, which were lost within his large, firm ones. ‘Mebbe a few things have changed, but one thing hasn’t, and that’s how I’ve allus felt about you.’
‘So are you willing to wait a little longer?’ she asked. ‘Until my family are grown up and settled?’
He gazed longingly at her. ‘I said, didn’t I, that I would love you ’til I die. And I will.’
She reached up to kiss him, stretching up on her toes as he bent his head towards her. ‘Then don’t die yet, Billy,’ she whispered. ‘For I have to learn to love you too.’
* * *
It was midday when they arrived at Harry Johnson’s house, which had a stable and yard at the side of it. In the yard were Christina, Harry, a woman whom Jenny assumed must be Mrs Johnson, and a young man in his twenties who was talking animatedly to Christina.
Harry turned round as the trap approached. He had an anxious frown on his forehead. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘I’d given you up.’ He glanced from Jenny to Billy and his look of wariness communicated itself to Billy.
‘Summat up?’ he asked quietly.
‘Hope not!’ Harry answered in an undertone. To Jenny he said, ‘Come and meet my wife.’
Harry’s wife, Ellen Johnson, dressed in a plain grey gown but wearing a riotously flowered bonnet, was a plump, smiling, bustling woman with a jolly manner and voice, a few years older than Harry, Billy or Jenny. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you,’ she greeted Jenny. ‘Your daughter has been telling us about her horses, and her brothers and her sister who’s gone away to Switzerland. What a busy life you do lead. And this’, she turned to the young man who was now standing back from the group, though he kept glancing at Christina, ‘is Mr Esmond, only recently come to live in Beverley. Mr William Brown,’ she said, ‘and Mrs – er –’
‘Laslett,’ Jenny said. ‘Jenny Laslett.’
Mr Esmond bowed his head to Jenny and shook hands with Billy, who, like Harry, now wore a slight perturbed frown, though he was amiable enough towards Charles Esmond as he introduced himself.
‘Mr Esmond is coming to live in New Walk,’ Mrs Johnson chatted. ‘So we hope to see something of him. He’s a keen horseman, are you not, Mr Esmond?’
‘I am,’ he replied. ‘I hope to keep a good stable once I’m settled in.’
‘In New Walk?’ Jenny asked quietly. ‘How very nice.’
‘Mama!’ Christina broke in. ‘Mr Esmond will be looking for new horses and I was telling him about the lady up on the Wolds. You know, the one who is half gypsy, and—’
‘I’m sure Mr Johnson will be able to advise him,’ Jenny said hurriedly. ‘Without Mr Esmond having to travel all that way.’
‘Course I can,’ Harry declared. ‘Though ’gypsies bring their hosses to Beverley anyway.’
Both Christina and Mr Esmond looked disappointed, but Charles Esmond added, ‘I would appreciate sound advice, of course, but I don’t mind at all about travelling any distance, if I get what I want.’
Jenny thought she caught a cryptic glance between her daughter and Mr Esmond. My goodness, she thought, they’ve never been plotting for him to call! Christina is growing up. She looked at her daughter with new eyes and thought how pretty she was, with her rounded figure, her sweet smile and glossy dark hair, and saw too how Christina would be perceived by a young man, and how she was being so observed now by an admiring Charles Esmond.
‘You’re not from this area, Mr Esmond?’ she asked.
‘No, my family home is in Worcester, though we have had connections with Beverley for many years. My uncle – that is, my mother’s brother – inherited a house from their uncle, but he never lived in it, and as he didn’t have any family, it came to me when he died last year. I was very pleased to have it, I can tell you,’ he enthused, spinning his top hat round and round in his hand. ‘I used to come to Beverley, for the races, you know.’
Jenny felt a pounding in her ears and her throat was dry as she asked, ‘And whereabouts in New Walk is the house? I – used to know a family who lived there.’
‘One of the older houses,’ he explained. ‘Not far out of the town. An imposing dwelling and a lovely garden, though both have been neglected over the last few years.’
‘And what name did your relative go by?’ Jenny asked weakly. Her heart was hammering, yet she had to know, so that if necessary any friendship between Christina and this personable young man could be nipped in the bud.
‘Ingram,’ he said brightly. ‘I’ve had to take it as my middle name.’
She felt Billy come up behind her. He put a firm hand on her elbow, and she was glad of the support, for she was light-headed and giddy. The past will never go away, she thought wretchedly. It will be there for ever, even affecting my daughter, who doesn’t know of it. She glanced at Christina, who in turn was watching Charles Esmond, and as he said his family name she raised her eyebrows and was about to say something when she caught sight of her mother’s pale face.
‘Are you unwell, Mama?’ She rushed towards her in concern. ‘You are so white!’
‘Good gracious,’ Ellen Johnson said. ‘So you are, my dear. Come inside. Come, come.’ She hurried towards the house with a flurry of her arms and hands. ‘You must have something to eat. I declare I often feel faint for want of food. Come along, come along.’
Jenny was taken inside and sat down in a comfortable chair and made to put her feet on a footstool, whilst Mrs Johnson fussed about, calling the maid to make strong sweet tea whilst she herself turned out drawers and cupboards in search of smelling salts. Her parlour was in chaos with chairs and sofas strewn with sewing baskets, magazines, newspapers, coats, bonnets, boots, shawls and other paraphernalia. On the mantelpiece were bottles of horse liniment, cough mixture and tinctures of this and that, as well as face cream, a glass dome containing silk flowers, and, oddly, a ginger hairpiece, which made Jenny look more closely at the fringe of curls beneath Mrs Johnson’s bonnet.
‘I’m quite all right, Mrs Johnson,’ she insisted. ‘Really I am. A glass of water is all I need.’
‘Oh, but you must stay for dinner. It’s almost ready.’ Mrs Johnson gave up her search in the cupboards, then suddenly pounced on one of the chairs and withdrew a cu
shion, which she dropped to the floor. ‘There it is,’ she cried, fishing down the side of the armchair and bringing out a small dark bottle. ‘I remember now, when we had a visitor a fortnight ago, she too felt faint and I gave her this to sniff at.’ She held it out to Jenny, who politely declined the offer.
‘What a pity that Mr Esmond couldn’t stay,’ Mrs Johnson prattled as she presided over the midday meal. ‘You seemed to be getting on very well,’ she added archly to Christina, who blushed. ‘Such a nice young man, and wealthy too, I would imagine.’
‘Ellen!’ Harry warned. ‘Don’t start matchmaking. We know nowt of him.’
‘Oh, but we can find out,’ Mrs Johnson said happily. ‘And you probably know of the family, don’t you, Harry? I thought you knew everybody in Beverley! I’m not from round here, you see,’ she told Jenny and Christina. ‘I’m from Wetherby, which is where I met Harry. The races, you know. My father and late husband were keen racegoers.’
It’s just as well, Jenny reflected, that we don’t have to talk much, for I must plan what to say to Christina, when she asks me what will surely be a vital question. Fortunately, Mrs Johnson didn’t require any answers to her monologue as she plied them with mounds of tender beef, Yorkshire pudding, sausages, carrots, cabbage and creamy potatoes. She served up thick onion gravy and red-hot horseradish sauce, which set them on fire.
Jenny noticed that Billy, Harry and his stepson, Ned, didn’t listen to her chatter, but ate heartily from their overflowing plates, whilst she and Christina ate little. Mrs Johnson’s daughter, Amy, a plump girl like her mother, but very shy, picked at her food and glanced nervously at the visitors.
‘We must be off, Mrs Johnson,’ Billy said, when they finally rose from the table, the men having partaken of large helpings of apple sponge pudding, which the ladies had refused. ‘Mrs Laslett and her daughter have a train to catch.’
‘Then you must come again, my dears,’ Mrs Johnson said warmly. ‘We always have an open door. Any time you are in Beverley, please feel free to call. And if this young lady’, she turned smiling to Christina, ‘ever wants to come and ride the horses, I’m sure Harry will be happy for her to do so.’
