Twenty
Two days before the Duke of York’s wedding to Princess May of Teck, an advance squadron of Royal Dragoons set out on horseback for Dublin. Louisa knew they were to make the journey by easy stages: Leeds, Huddersfield, Rochdale and Wigan, arriving in Liverpool on the Saturday. Easy stages or not, it seemed a tremendous undertaking to her, and she made her way to Micklegate Bar for the novelty of seeing them pass.
In a plain dress and straw hat, she mingled with the crowd by the Windmill Inn, feeling her heart begin to hammer as she set eyes on the Tempest house for the first time in many months. Even though Albert Tempest was no longer there, it was painful being on Blossom Street again. She looked up at the nursery windows and found herself thinking of a winter’s day, and little Victoria bouncing with excitement as a squadron of Dragoons came riding by. Suddenly her vision blurred.
Her father was being cared for at the Retreat. At least Rachel did that much for him, she thought, wondering if he knew how much the Friends were charging and if, sensing the intelligence which no doubt survived in that paralyzed body, Rachel had told her father he was in an asylum for the insane.
She looked away, and was suddenly jostled as the crowd craned eagerly for sight of the Dragoons. They were heard well before they were seen, but as they appeared, little murmurs of disappointment rippled through the assembled onlookers. The Dragoons were not clad in their field-day scarlet; indeed, they made a grave and sombre group in tunics so dark they seemed almost black. But as the squadron emerged from the shadow of the Bar, sunlight danced on burnished gold helmets; it touched the tips of lance and harness, and glossed the necks and quarters of their mounts with a most impressive sheen.
The crowd raised a little cheer; handkerchiefs were waved, individual names shouted; Louisa saw one girl sobbing desperately, and was suddenly glad Robert did not ride with them. A few yards further and a dog dashed into the road, barking frenziedly. The leading officer, whose name she could not remember, reined in as his mount suddenly shied and reared. For a second or two the horse danced, crablike, across the setts, then his rider had him back under control, walking sedately on despite the yapping at his heels. There was a sudden burst of applause, followed by laughter as the dog appeared to notice the other horses for the first time and, with its tail between its legs, shot for cover. The officer’s face was red but undeniably relieved; beneath some flourishing moustaches, his men were smiling.
The day of the Royal Wedding was proclaimed a public holiday. Some two thousand of the city’s deserving poor were to be fed and entertained by the Lord Mayor and the Central Mission, but the majority of York’s citizens took themselves off to the coast for the day. The North Eastern Railway ran twenty special trains in honour of the occasion.
Edward returned to work through deserted streets. Banners fluttered from each and every flagstaff, the sun shone, and church bells pealed joyously all over the city; but there were so few people to be seen it was almost eerie. Every shop on Fossgate was closed, including Tempest’s, and as he passed he wondered how long the business would survive without a driving force behind it. Rachel Tempest had installed a manager, but from gossip he had from his former apprentice, Edward understood that things were not going well. Indeed, he had evidence of it, for orders were coming in already from some of Tempest’s former customers. It seemed they were finding the old firm unable to deliver the kind of work they had come to expect.
Fine art books were gratifying and lucrative, but they would always be too few; Edward needed more bread-and-butter work if he was to survive, and hoped his recent advertisement in a local trade journal would produce the desired result. What remained of his savings would subsidize the business for a while, but he knew he had to be making a profit within six months. It was an anxiety, but overall he found the challenge uplifting.
With a sigh of satisfaction he entered his workshop, leaving door and window open to the warm breeze. He wondered what Louisa was doing, for the Captain would be at Strensall today for the Review. He had read in the paper that over five thousand troops were to be inspected by Major General Williamson, the commanding officer of the northeastern district: no doubt quite a sight for those who were interested.
That evening there was to be a torchlight tattoo on the Knavesmire. She had promised to take her mother and Bessie, and asked Edward to join them, but he made pressure of work his excuse. In reality, he thought he would prefer to walk round the town, for York was celebrating the marriage of its own Duke and future King, and there were sure to be some excellent illuminations to mark the event. The Victoria Ironworks in Walmgate had advertised a celebratory display, and he had already picked out the words ‘George’ and ‘May’ and ‘God Bless our Royal Duke and Duchess’ on the Mansion House. Tonight, all would be blazing in gaslit brilliance.
As he began to sort through a batch of leather, church bells began to peal again, and he raised his head to listen, trying to distinguish one parish from another. He was suddenly aware of being alone, in a deserted street whose workers were most likely sharing the public holiday with their families. In a royal chapel in London, two young people were being joined in marriage. As he wished them happiness, Edward was swamped by sudden nostalgia for the past, for what might have been. And then the clamouring bells seemed no more than a counterpoint to his loneliness, and he longed for them to stop.
Slowly, Robert picked his way towards them, walking his charger carefully through the crowd. Seeing him, Louisa felt a surge of possessive pride; in red and navy and gold, he made a magnificent figure on horseback, and she stood quite still, enjoying the way people looked up at him, the awe with which they drew aside to let him pass.
A smile lit her face; she knew and could not control it, and as he drew close, she saw that he was smiling too.
‘How did it go?’ he demanded, yet she could see from his smile that he knew the weeks of practice had been worthwhile, that the Review had gone well.
‘Wonderful! Marvellous, in fact, and you were the very best! I could see you quite clearly through the opera-glasses.’
He laughed. ‘Opera-glasses! Well, I’m glad they came in useful.’
‘What have you done with the bay?’ she asked, stroking his present mount’s smooth, dappled grey neck.
‘Oh, he’s still at Strensall,’ Robert said. ‘Munching quietly, the last I saw of him, lucky beast. I’ve hardly eaten all day. As soon as the Review was over, we had to get ready to come down here, and what a performance it’s been. Still, I did manage a quick bite in the Mess when I went to collect Dandy. He’s best for this kind of work — doesn’t mind the crowds so much.’
Robert reached down to pat the grey’s shoulder, and even in the fast-falling dusk, Louisa could see the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes. ‘You look tired.’
‘I am,’ he admitted. ‘And we’ve this show to get through yet. There must be thousands here tonight — makes the crowd at Strensall seem pretty paltry. Still,’ he added, with a thoughtful glance round, ‘I shouldn’t imagine there’ll be any trouble.’
‘Were you expecting any?’ she asked in surprise.
He smiled and shook his head. ‘No. Over-enthusiasm, perhaps. They all want to see the marching bands. The problems arise when they start pressing forward for a better view. Where’s your mother, by the way?’
‘She and Bessie are quite near the front, I think — ‘
‘Well, get them together and follow me. Harris is quite unprofessionally keeping a place for you by the enclosure. Much better view from there, and you’ll be safer, too.’
Louisa did as she was bidden, having no difficulty in keeping Robert in sight. They traversed the edge of the crowd, already dense around the huge arena where the massed bands of several regiments were beginning to assemble. On the still night air, the scent of crushed grass was heavy; away from the crowd it was cool, and she hugged her shawl closer, glad when they reached the top corner of the square, where, beside the railings, Harris had preserved a small
space.
He was a plain man, with the most lugubrious expression Louisa had ever seen, yet she remembered his kindness and the devotion with which he attended Robert, and greeted him with a warm smile. Nodding a brief acknowledgement, he listened to what Robert had to say, and then returned to the three women.
‘I’m to stay with you, Miss,’ he murmured deferentially, ‘make sure you come to no harm.’
‘Then I’m sure we shan’t,’ she said, and was rewarded by the merest glimmer of a smile.
As the bands began to play a varied selection of popular tunes, Mary Elliott wanted to know which was the band of the Royal Dragoons.
Harris shook his head. ‘Our band’s not here, Ma’am. Our men are here to keep order. They’re the ones in front of you – all round the square — the ones with lances.’
Bessie nudged Louisa discreetly, pointing to the men interspersed between the Dragoons. ‘What’re they carrying?’
‘Torches,’ Louisa whispered. ‘As soon as it’s dark, they’ll be lighting them.’
As the band of the 4th Lincoln Regiment advanced, Harris identified them, much to Mary Elliott’s delight. ‘I should have known them,’ she confided. ‘I was born and raised in Lincolnshire, you know.’
The drums and fifes of the Dublin Fusiliers advanced next, to the music of an Irish march, followed by the Royal Scots, the Durham Light Infantry and the Northumberland Fusiliers; together, they played two rousing tunes: ‘Marching on the Enemy’ and ‘See the Conquering Hero Comes’, both of which delighted their vast audience.
Mary Elliott squeezed her daughter’s arm. ‘Oh, doesn’t it make you proud,’ she murmured fervently, and Louisa was bound to agree.
By half-past nine it was dark. A trumpeter sounded the First Post, and simultaneously torches were fired, the lines of Dragoons with their scarlet tunics and long lances were thrown into sudden and startling relief. Pennons fluttered in the rising heat, and as the last notes of the bugle died away, drums and fifes began a quick march across the grassy square, flanked either side by torchbearers. Silently, the massed bands advanced to meet them, and in the centre, bands and drums, with flaming torches intermingled, passed through each other’s lines, to accompanying gasps of awe and amazement from the gathered crowd.
Nothing quite like it had ever been seen before, and as the bands gathered again in the centre to play ‘Rule Britannia’, the crowd roared its approval.
With the Last Post and the National Anthem, the Tattoo was over, and as the Dragoons followed the bands into the enclosure, Louisa began to look for Robert, but it was some while before he appeared. Harris held the grey while he dismounted.
‘Nothing too serious,’ he replied in answer to Louisa’s enquiry. ‘A few drunks, anxious to make a fight of it. But they’ll soon cool, with a night in the cells to look forward to. And the magistrate in the morning,’ he added with a grim smile. ‘Are you going to watch the firework display? Everyone seems to be going over towards the grandstand. I’m sure Harris will accompany you.’
As Mary Elliott and Bessie sauntered away, Robert pulled Louisa into the greater cover afforded by the bulk of his mount. ‘Grief, but I’ve missed you this week,’ he whispered as he held her close. ‘I’d give anything to be with you tonight, but it’s not possible. We’ve to be away to Strensall by five in the morning, and I’m utterly exhausted as it is.’ He kissed her longingly, releasing her with a sigh of regret. ‘I’m free on Sunday, so with luck I’ll get away from Strensall before dusk on Saturday. Expect to see me then. I must go, my love.’
In one easy motion, he remounted, returned Harris’s salute, and guided the grey away and around the crowd.
Robert spent Saturday night at the apartment off Marygate, and Sunday packing what few of his belongings remained there. He talked at great length about the journey Louisa and Moira were to make a month hence, and wrote copious notes and lists of instructions.
Ten days later, at the head of his own squadron, he was leaving York for the five-day ride to Liverpool. By the end of that week, the last of the regiment’s goods and chattels were ready to leave by train. On the Monday, Louisa saw a squadron of 6th Dragoon Guards on Bootham, and then she knew, with a sickening feeling, that Robert had really gone.
Twenty-one
In the end, it had all happened with such speed, she had barely been able to take it in. Of course, she had known he was to leave, and soon; but his visits were brief and rare latterly, and whether he had sought to spare her, or genuinely had not known until the last minute exactly how and when he was to go, she could not decide. Either way, the reality had been something of a shock, giving her no time for grief or protracted heart-searching; a quick goodbye, and the promise to meet her in Dublin, and he was gone, almost before she was aware of it.
Moira helped Louisa to clean the flat in readiness for her removal to Gillygate, in what she saw as the final week of her life in York. Although she knew she would be back for holidays, and in case of emergency could be home in a matter of hours, she felt as though she was leaving the city for good. It was heartbreaking, far worse than the first time, when, at the age of nineteen, she had left in a spirit of excitement and adventure.
Now, with each passing day, Robert slipped further and further away, and with him went reassurance, so that the future loomed large and black and immensely foreign.
Even his letters seemed strange, full of the iniquities of Islandbridge Barracks, which he swore should be razed to the ground, and his eagerness to get the men out to the healthier air of the Curragh; almost as an aside, he commented that at least the house was livable. Letty wrote at greater length, apologizing for Robert’s brevity. She explained that he was working quite ridiculous hours since his arrival, that she and Georgina had seen little of him, but that he was anxious for things to be perfect for Louisa. The refurbishing project had almost taken her by surprise, she wrote, as the house was transformed, nothing like the gloomy place it once had been, and she was sure Louisa would love it.
Less than sure, Louisa found her sleep was frequently disturbed by nightmares in which a faceless Charlotte pursued her along endless, shadowy corridors. More than one dawn saw her sitting by an open window at the top of the Gillygate house, watching the early sunrise touch the sky with pink and gold.
The morning before her departure she again woke shivering and afraid. Striving to fight fear with reality, she began to count, as in childhood, all the secure and comforting things this room represented: this bed she had shared with Blanche, and later with Emily. In the other feather-bed, her mother lay sleeping, plaited hair buried deep in the pillow, fluttering breaths even and undisturbed. Edward was across the landing, and, in a room hardly bigger than a linen closet, Bessie was no doubt snoring. Another hour or more until she rose to light fires and begin the daily round of cleaning and cooking, washing and ironing; but today was Sunday, Bessie’s easy day, without guests, when she would sleep till seven.
Her eyes registered each separate item in the room, all the things she had known since childhood: the wardrobe, mirror, washstand; the window with its gingham curtains; that view of the Minster towers. Tomorrow these things would still be here, but she would be gone.
There was a movement across the landing, the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs. It came to her that Edward, this week, had probably slept even less; she had been aware of the odd, careful movement several times in the early hours.
As it had so often recently, her mind leapt back to that day in his workshop, and guilt began to nag again like an unsound tooth. Albeit for what had seemed the best of reasons, she knew she had wronged Edward. Perhaps her mother had been equally to blame for that withholding of the truth, but their instincts had been to keep silent; now it was clear how wrong that had been. He should have been told in the beginning, allowed to make his own decisions regarding Albert Tempest and his job. She had not known it, but financially, even then, Edward could have taken the risk. That he had voiced his forgiveness, reasonably and phil
osophically, did little to ease her regret.
But after Victoria’s death she had needed someone to understand, needed a comfort that Robert simply could not give. Knowing all about Albert Tempest, he seemed incapable of appreciating the long-reaching effects of that assault. She supposed it was because he was a man; but so was Edward, and some deep, long-buried instinct had told her that he would listen, he would have patience and sympathy and all the words she so desperately needed to hear. Just as he had never let her down in childhood, so he had responded that day, offering love and tenderness, taking her into his arms like a grieving child.
And like a child, comforted by the long-lost familiarity of scent and touch, Louisa had let all the barriers fall. Oh, the sense of relief at the time – and the regret afterwards, knowing her release of pain had been bought at his expense.
Sitting by the window in the early-morning chill, soul-searching, she had a sudden unnerving sense of deja-vu. Years ago – how many? Sleepless then as now, she had been mourning Edward’s leaving, hating him for not loving as she loved, blaming him for his abandonment, for what seemed a weak, unfeeling surrender. As he counted the hours, did he now hate her for leaving him?
Then, it seemed the decision had been made almost overnight. When pleaded with he simply said his mother was alone and needed him. Why so suddenly, when she had never seemed to need him before, Louisa had no idea. At the time she suspected that it was somehow her fault, that it was to do with his broken engagement; but he would not be drawn. He left, and for a long time she hardly saw him. Her mother refused to discuss it, except to say that Louisa pestered him too much. She was too old to be forever holding hands and leaning on his shoulder; it was not seemly, he was a man, not a boy, and he must be left to get over his disappointment in his own way.
Words and phrases from that time came back with disturbing clarity. Her mother’s commands to ‘let Edward be, for goodness’ sake,’ as she hung on his arm. And once, lifting her face to be kissed before going to bed: ‘Edward, she’s not a child. Don’t encourage her.’
Louisa Elliott Page 41
