by Iris Gower
‘I see,’ Eline felt foolish, ‘well, forgive me for asking, but may I tell the villagers this? It would set their minds at rest.’
Mr Frogmore waved his hands. ‘If you must, my dear, it will soon be common knowledge anyway.’
When she stood outside on the landing, Eline wondered whether to call to see Joe as she was here in Oystermouth, yet she was longing to return to her rooms in Mrs Miller’s emporium and hug the knowledge that she could consider her future as a painter.
‘Eline.’ The sound of her name, softly spoken, made her jump. She glanced round, her heart beating swiftly, knowing at once that Will was standing behind her in the gloom of the landing.
‘Eline, what a surprise to see you here.’ He accompanied her as she walked down the stairs. ‘I hear you’ve left your husband and are living in Swansea.’
‘You hear correctly,’ Eline said, afraid to look up at him in case she softened and allowed him to embrace her. ‘And I’m here on business, as it happens.’ Her tone was a rebuff and Will, taking it as such, moved away from her without another word.
As Eline hurried out into the street, she was unable to see clearly because of the tears that suddenly rose up to choke her. Will would doubtless wash his hands of her – even he could only take so much of her rudeness. And yet the knowledge that she had hurt him left an aching void within her that nothing would ever fill.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sarah was very happy with her lot, she had Geoffrey just where she wanted him and what’s more, she believed that marriage to such an eligible man who, along with his father, was so patently wealthy would give her entry to the best homes in Swansea.
Most of the gentry knew that Sarah’s father had been a cobbler but they knew also that John Miller was now a highly successful business man. The spiteful few would say it was a case of like father like daughter and that advantageous marriages were the key to a better life, but Sarah felt she could ignore any unkind gossip especially now that she was wearing Geoffrey’s emerald ring on her fingers.
They were to be married with an unexpected degree of modesty in the meeting house of the Society of Friends, an austere establishment which eventually would give place to the new meeting house Mr Frogmore senior was planning to inaugurate.
Sarah had displeased Geoffrey by demanding petulantly to be married in St Mary’s or at least in St Paul’s, both of which were elegant buildings and well thought of in the town. It was only when she saw a glint of anger in Geoffrey’s normally kindly eyes did she sense the danger signals.
‘Of course, Geoffrey, I want to please you in all things,’ she said hastily. ‘We will naturally be married wherever you decide.’
Geoffrey had smiled at her warmly then and kissed her hand. As he bent forward, Sarah could not help noticing the balding patch at the top of his head. She suppressed a desire to giggle; she had upset her future husband once, she’d better not do it again.
Sarah was married on a cold day in February. Frost rimed the cobbles and she felt the horses slip on the icy surface with a sense of apprehension. For the first time she wondered if she was doing the right thing, then she glanced down at the ring gleaming on her finger and knew that with Geoffrey, she would be set up for life. She could do just as she liked when they were man and wife; she was sure he didn’t have the nerve or character to deny her anything.
Emily was smiling warmly, no doubt glad to have a troublesome step-daughter out of harm’s way. For a moment, Sarah’s expression softened as her eyes rested on her father. John Miller looked so prosperous, so elegant and distinguished that no one would have believed he had begun life as a humble apprentice in the cobbling trade.
The service was as spartan as the meeting room and an icy blast came in through the open doorway. Sarah was glad that she had worn a frock in white velvet, trimmed with white fur and covered with a small white fur jacket. She looked both bridal and smart and yet she did not feel the bite of the keen edge of the freezing weather too harshly.
As the man standing before her intoned passages from the Bible, Sarah looked down at her white kid boots with the fashionable cuff sweeping almost to the ground and smiled to herself, the boots were all the rage in Swansea now. Some said they were designed by Emmeline Harries, but Sarah believed the idea had come from the pen of Hari Grenfell. That little Harries oddity didn’t have the brains or the means to have made something so beautiful.
She was aware that Geoffrey was taking her hand and slipping a wedding band into place. Her finger looked strangely bare without the glorious emerald ring that now rested in a velvet box within the folds of the white fur reticule hanging from Sarah’s arm. But soon all that would change, she would be virtually ablaze with gem-stones, Sarah promised herself.
She needed some reward, she mused, for marrying a dry old stick like Geoffrey Frogmore, but she smiled up at him concealing her feelings as adroitly as she’d ever done.
Geoffrey lead her out of the church into the cold spring air. She looked around her at the guests, they were pitifully few, just her father with Emily at his side and one or two of their friends. And, of course, old Mr Frogmore who at least was smiling with genuine warmth and with him Geoffrey’s friend, Chas, a thin-faced man who had stood at Geoffrey’s side during the ceremony looking more as though he was at a funeral rather than at a wedding.
Emily moved forward to congratulate Sarah and if there was a reserve in her tone it made Sarah amused more than angry. She no longer needed Emily’s largesse, she had her own husband now and would never want for anything again.
She was being swept into a carriage then taken home to Kilver House up on the hill. The refurbishment was not entirely finished but the main rooms, including the master bedroom, were ready for occupation.
Sarah suppressed a grimace, tonight she would have to begin sharing a bed with her sallow-faced husband – such a prospect was not pleasing. But then, one man was very like another, she comforted herself, so long as they got what they wanted in the bedroom, they were quite easy to handle.
It was fortunate, she mused, that Geoffrey had not heard any of the old scandal about her but then she had been away from Swansea for some time and perhaps the gossips had grown tired of what was, after all, yesterday’s news.
A simple meal was set out in the dining room that faced the sea and Sarah sat with Geoffrey listening while her father welcomed him to the family and hoped the couple would be blessed with children. She bet he did, he and Emily would have Pammy for keeps. Well, they were welcome.
Mr Frogmore spoke some pious claptrap about the union being blessed in heaven and Sarah was impatient; all she wanted was to begin her life as lady of the manor.
Geoffrey was staring at her, a strange look in his eye, and she smiled up at him in what she thought was a modest, wifely manner. She rested her hand on his arm, admiring the way the diamonds in her ring sparkled and shimmered as she moved her fingers.
‘I wish we could be alone,’ she said softly and he nodded curtly as though she had said something quite mundane. Did he have any feelings at all? Sarah wondered, a trifle anxiously. Had she made a dreadful mistake?
The meal dragged on interminably with discreet servants bringing in course after course; the old man had put on a good show where the feeding of the guests was concerned, Sarah conceded. But then, at last, to her relief, the guests began to leave.
Emily and John were the last to go and for a moment, John hugged Sarah.
‘Be happy, love,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘and remember to obey your husband in all things, that way you can’t go wrong.’
Sarah watched from the window as her father waved from the coach until it was out of sight. She turned to see Geoffrey standing in the half-darkness watching her.
‘You gave me a start,’ she said quickly, ‘lurking there like that. What are you thinking of, Geoffrey?’
‘My father is going back to the lodging house now,’ Geoffrey said. ‘Chas is going with him but only for a few days, thereafter
he will make his home here with us.’
‘Really? Is that a good idea, do you think?’ Sarah asked piqued that she had not been consulted. Geoffrey didn’t reply but walked to the front door talking in a low voice to his father, his arm casually draped around the shoulder of his friend. Chas was glowering, as though reluctant to leave, and Geoffrey squeezed his shoulder encouragingly.
Sarah closed her lips in a firm line; Geoffrey would have to be taught a lesson, he couldn’t just decide that his friend was to live with them. Sarah was no silly girl to be treated in such a way, she intended to be mistress of her own home.
Still, she mused, let Geoffrey have the benefit of her love first, let him see how Sarah could thrill him with her caresses, then she would have him where she wanted him. Wasn’t it the same with all men?
When they were alone, Geoffrey seemed all solicitude, he brought her a gleaming glass of port and urged her to drink it. ‘It will help to take away the tensions of the day,’ he said quietly. He refilled her glass as soon as it was empty and then when she would have sipped it coaxed her into drinking it down.
Sarah was amused; if Geoffrey thought he would make her drunk with a few glasses of port then he had another think coming. Sarah had indulged with the best of them and drunk many a man under the table. But, of course, that was something Geoffrey would never know.
He took her arm. ‘It’s time to retire, my dear,’ he said and, with a pang of something akin to pity, she realized he was nervous. He took her arm to lead her to the curving staircase and Sarah wondered if she should feign a timidness she didn’t feel, but Geoffrey had pushed open the door to the master bedroom and stood aside for her to enter. After a moment, he began almost reluctantly, it seemed, to undress.
‘Why not go into the dressing room, dear?’ Sarah said feeling slightly uneasy. Geoffrey didn’t reply but carefully took off his spectacles and folded them neatly away in their case.
‘It’s all right, Sarah,’ he said, ‘I know what you are, a woman of experience and what’s more, a woman with good connections. That’s why I married you.’
Sarah felt her mouth drop open. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘Why do you say I’m experienced and why should you need me when you have so much money of your own?’
Geoffrey shook his head. ‘My dear,’ he said gently, ‘my father has all the money, I shan’t get a penny of it until I produce a son.’
‘But you led me to believe …’ Sarah’s voice drifted away under Geoffrey’s ironic smile.
‘And you led me to believe that you were an untouched virgin,’ he said calmly. ‘You were silly to think that men in public bars would refrain from gossiping about you. It was a juicy bit of scandal after all, Sarah Miller handing over her bastard child to be reared by her step-mother. The late Tom Parks was your last little peccadillo, I believe?’
‘If you knew all that, then why did you marry me?’ Sarah said hotly, her cheeks flushed, her heart beating uncomfortably fast. ‘Why not find some prim little maiden to get you a son?’
‘I wanted an experienced woman,’ Geoffrey said without rancour, ‘a whore in the bedroom and a lady in the drawing room. In any case my father was getting tired of waiting for me to find the right partner.’
Geoffrey sighed heavily. ‘Poor innocent father had no notion of who was the right partner for me.’ He smiled wryly.
‘Listen to me, Sarah, I am not as other men, I can’t love you as a woman because that is not my inclination. But with your help, I can father a child, do you understand?’
‘No!’ Sarah said, suddenly afraid. ‘I won’t listen to you!’ She had heard of such men, of course; working in public bars the talk was lewd and coarse and left nothing to the imagination.
‘Oh yes, you will.’ Geoffrey’s voice was full of entreaty. ‘You will try to understand me and my dear friend, Chas. If you want to live the good life you will find you’ll do a great deal you don’t want to do – like being faithful to our marriage vows.
‘Look, my dear,’ he continued, ‘if you co-operate with me, we shall conceive a child quite quickly, then when we have a son, I will leave you alone. You shall have everything money can buy, my father will see to that, he will be so grateful to you.’
Sarah sighed in resignation; what Geoffrey said made sense, they were married now. What was the point in causing a scandal by walking out on him on their wedding night and becoming the laughing stock of Swansea?
Quickly, she took off her clothes and, as she removed the last garment, she was aware of her naked vulnerability as she had never been before.
She slid beneath the sheets and began to shiver, not from the cold linen but from the look in Geoffrey’s eyes.
‘You will thank me, one day, Sarah, I promise you, for you will be made into an honest wife instead of remaining a whore all your life.’
He lay beside her like a tentative boy and Sarah realized it was up to her to make the first move, for Geoffrey could not. She turned to him and, with her eyes closed, put her arms around him.
Later, when it was all over, she turned her back on her husband knowing that he had cheated her and, for that, she would never forgive him.
He gently lifted her face to his, his hand steady now on her chin. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah, I really am sorry, but I promise you this, I’ll be a good husband and a good father to our children and I’ll always be kind to you.’
Sarah turned away from him and closed her eyes. How could he know that her hot blood cried out for satisfaction and she could never be happy in such a travesty of a marriage? Never.
Eline was thrilled to see how popular her new boots had become. The cuffed boot became the fashion for the winter months and teamed up with the matching kid gloves, the design soon began to spread in popularity to other towns across the country.
Hari congratulated her warmly as they sat in before the fire in the suite of rooms above Emily’s emporium.
‘You seem to have your life mapped out for you,’ Hari said softly. ‘I’m so pleased for you, Eline, you deserve everything you can get, such talent as yours is rare.’
‘I’m so grateful,’ Eline said softly, ‘if it wasn’t for you and for Mrs Miller I don’t know where I’d be, still living in the cottage in Oystermouth, the third part in the triangle that my life with Joe and Nina had become.’
‘It takes a great deal of courage to break away from convention,’ Hari said, ‘I know from first-hand experience.’
‘What do you know from first-hand experience?’ Emily poked her head around the door. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Eline, I wanted a word and the door was open.’
‘Please come in,’ Eline said quickly, ‘it is your house, after all.’
‘But these are your rooms for as long as you want them,’ Emily said. ‘It suits me to have an expert window dresser living on the premises.’
She held out a note to Eline. ‘A messenger came from old Mr Frogmore. It seems he’s living up at the lodge of Kilver House now he’s given up the rooms with Mrs Marsh.’
Eline opened the letter and looked up smiling. ‘A friend of old Mr Frogmore wants me to paint a portrait for her,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I can draw and paint houses and landscapes all right but I don’t know about people.’ She glanced down at the note again. ‘She’s offering me an awful lot of money, I feel I’d be taking it under false pretences.’
‘Nonsense!’ Emily replied quickly. ‘You must accept travelling expenses as well as a fee for the actual portrait. Where does this friend live?’
‘In Bristol.’ Eline read the address. ‘I suppose that’s not too far away.’
‘Nearer than Street in Somerset,’ Emily affirmed. ‘It’s just across the channel, perhaps you could get a steam packet over, in that way you’d cut down on the travelling time.’
Hari leaned forward and put a hand over Eline’s. ‘In any case you must give it a go,’ she urged. ‘You must use your talent in any way you can.’
‘I suppose so.’ Eline sounded
nervous and Hari leaned back in her chair. ‘I tell you what, you could practise by doing a portrait of my son. I can’t promise he’ll sit still for long, but David is a good child and if his nose is in a book, he forgets all about time.’
Eline smiled, wondering why it was that in this house with these people who were comparative strangers, she felt more at home than she’d ever done since she left Honey’s Farm to marry Joe.
Later, when she was alone, Eline took out her sketchpad and began to draw her reflection in the dimness of the lamplit dressing-table mirror. After a while, she stopped, her eyes aching, and she frowned as she looked down and saw such sadness in her own image. She quickly put down the paper and pencil.
Much as she was fulfilled with her work, Eline knew that without William it was all emptiness. She would give up everything – even her promising future – if only she was free to marry the man she loved.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Eline arrived in Bristol on a fine crisp day when the winter snows of February were thawing into the kinder days of blustery March. Daffodils waved splendid golden trumpets at the skies and stood firm against the winds that threatened to uproot their bulbs.
Eline took a cab through the windswept streets to the outskirts of the town. Mrs Charlotte Brentford lived in a beautiful house which stood on a softly folding hillside. Against the backdrop of the grassy slopes, the old building rose magnificent, more a mansion than a house.
Avon Manor was grander even than Summer Lodge. It equalled the fine Vivian mansion that stood in the parklands that rolled down towards the sea in Swansea.
Eline wondered what her reception would be as the cab jerked to a halt outside the arched doorway. She was so used to being alone and independent that it hadn’t occurred to her to bring a companion. In any case, who would she bring? She bit her lip, she supposed she could have begged one of Emily Miller’s maids to accompany her, perhaps it would have appeared more seemly. But it was too late now, the cab door was opened and she was helped to alight by a footman in scarlet-and-blue livery.
