by Rosie Clarke
‘Surprised?’ he whispered. ‘I came to see you, Emma.’
I put a finger to my lips as the vicar began to speak. He nodded but there was a look of expectancy in his eyes, which made me uneasy. I had never known Richard to come to church before.
Throughout the service I was very conscious of him sitting next to me. He had a good strong voice and sang the hymns with confidence. Every now and then he shot me a knowing look, which made me more and more uncomfortable.
When we left the church he kept close by my side. I tried to walk on ahead, but he caught my arm, holding me back.
‘I’d like a word, please,’ he said, and then, as my mother looked at him, ‘I’ve spoken to Mr Robinson. He says it’s all right if I take Emma for a walk.’
‘Emma …’ Mother looked at me, then nodded. ‘You’d best go with him, love.’
I let Richard take my arm as we turned away. My chest felt tight and I found it difficult to breathe. So this was what Father had looked so pleased about that morning! He had obviously been talking to Richard about me … arranging things. I knew what Richard was going to say to me even before he started, which he did when we reached the river bank.
‘You know I’m mighty fond of you, Emma. Always have been.’
‘Please don’t say it, Richard.’ My eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t love you. I’m sorry but I don’t.’
‘I reckon I know that.’ His forehead creased. ‘It was that smarmy toff as turned your head. Before he came, I reckon you liked me well enough.’
I turned my face aside, holding back my tears.
‘Please, Richard … don’t.’
He caught my hand as I would have walked away. ‘I love you, Emma. I’m not much of a man with words and I know you don’t love me – but I’d be good to you. I’d work for you and try to make a good life for us both.’
‘Oh, Richard.’ I felt terrible. I had never wanted his attentions but was now humbled by his words. ‘You don’t understand. You don’t know what I’ve done.’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’
His voice was so gentle, so understanding. Suddenly the tears were flowing as I blurted out the truth.
‘Father shouldn’t have encouraged you,’ I said. ‘You won’t want to marry me now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m having another man’s child.’
He was silent for a moment. I broke away from him.
‘Don’t go, Emma. I love you. I still want to marry you.’
‘You can’t. You can’t want to.’ I started walking back the way we had come but he ran after me, catching my arm, swinging me round to face him. ‘Please – leave me alone.’
‘Emma! Don’t run away from me. Listen to me.’ I stopped and looked at him, struck by the urgency in his voice. ‘I do want to marry you. I won’t say I don’t mind about the child – but it’s something I can live with. I want you to be my wife.’
‘No, Richard – no. It wouldn’t work.’
‘Why not? It makes sense.’ He gave me an impatient shake. ‘Do you want everyone talking about you, laughing behind your back?’ I shook my head, not looking him in the face. ‘Well, then! They’ll think it’s mine – maybe a bit early but that’s better than being unwed, isn’t it?’ I nodded reluctantly. ‘Marry me, Emma.’
‘I don’t know …’
I felt my will to resist weakening. It would be one way out of the mess I was in – one way of saving Father’s pride and making things easier on my mother.
‘Think about it, Emma. I’ll walk you home and then come back this evening for my answer.
‘It will still be no. It wouldn’t be fair to you.’
‘You let me worry about that.’
I remained silent, not speaking once as we walked home. At the door I turned to him.
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘I shall be here at six. Don’t be stubborn, Emma. I’ll be good to you. You know I love you.’
I inclined my head, accepting it without comment. He stood staring after me as I left him and went into the house.
Father was waiting at the top of the stairs. He looked at me expectantly.
‘Richard asked me to marry him,’ I said, ‘but you know that, don’t you?’
‘I gave him my permission to ask you.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I hope you were sensible?’
‘I’ve told him I’ll think about it.’
‘It’s him or no one,’ Father said. ‘Turn him down and I’ll make you sorry.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I suppose you will.’
I went into my bedroom and closed the door. When it was opened almost at once I flinched, waiting for his next onslaught, but it was my mother.
‘You should think carefully,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to push you into anything, love – but it is a way out for you. If you defy Harold over this he’ll make your life a misery.’
‘And yours.’
‘It doesn’t matter about me. I am thinking of you. There are worse men about than Richard Gillows.’
‘Yes, I expect so.’ I sank down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. ‘I don’t love him, Mum.’
‘Does he make you shudder when he touches you?’
‘No.’ I stared at her, understanding what she meant. ‘He’s not that bad. I don’t actually dislike him but I don’t love him either.’
‘He isn’t Paul?’ She nodded as I didn’t answer. ‘No one will be, Emma. You’re not likely to meet anyone like that again. He was out of our league. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but—’ I felt the lump in my throat, choking me. ‘But I still love him, Mum. I know he didn’t love me. I know he won’t marry me – but I still love him.’
‘We could still go away – take a chance.’
‘It’s too much of a risk.’
‘Don’t marry Richard if you really can’t bear the thought of it. I’ve wished a thousand times I had thought more about what I was doing before I married. Have the child and brazen it out. It doesn’t matter what people think.’
‘I’ve told Richard I’ll give him an answer this evening.’
‘Oh, Emma.’ She looked at me sadly. ‘It’s all such a mess … all such a mess.’
I saw the letters waiting on the mat when I went downstairs the following Monday morning. I slipped the one addressed to me into my pocket and took the others through to the stockroom for Father. He was looking at something in his rolltop desk, but shut it hurriedly when I entered. I caught a glimpse of something shiny but wasn’t sure what it was. He obviously didn’t want me to see.
‘Two letters,’ I said, handing them to him. ‘Do you want me to help in the shop this morning – or shall I get on with the accounts?’
He opened the envelopes I had given him, frowned as he saw they were bills and tossed them onto the desk.
‘You can get on upstairs,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll call you if we’re busy.’ I turned away but waited as he began to speak again. ‘I’m glad you were sensible. Richard is a decent man. He’ll make you a good husband.’
‘Will he?’ My tone was flat, emotionless. I had been feeling numb since giving Richard my answer.
‘You’ll see. I know you are angry with me for forcing you into it but everything will turn out for the best. Richard will live here with us. He can help out with some of the heavier jobs when he’s not on a shift. It will make things easier all round.’
‘Yes, Father. If you say so.’ He gave me an odd look, as if he didn’t quite believe my submissive manner; then put his hand in his pocket and brought out ten pounds. ‘You’ll have things to buy for the wedding. I’ll be paying for the reception, so don’t expect anything more. You’re lucky to get this after the way you’ve behaved.’
‘Thank you. I’m sure the money will be useful.’
I turned away and went out. At the moment there was no defiance left in me. The realisation that I would probably never see Paul again, that he had never loved me, was just beginning to sink in. I had been too s
hocked and upset at first to do anything but cry. Now I was thinking and it hurt. I felt stupid and used. I had been such a naive fool, and I wasn’t unintelligent. I ought to have had more sense.
My moods seemed to fluctuate between anger and shame. It really stung to know that I had been so easy. Paul must have thought it a great joke. How he must have laughed!
How could he? How could he have done this to me? Why had he bothered? It must have seemed like a game to him, a challenge that had lost its interest once I’d been silly enough to give him what he wanted. I remembered his annoyance because I had cried. He had decided that I was just a stupid country girl and had broken it off quickly, before he got caught out.
I wished I could hate him. He deserved that I should, but my foolish heart still ached for him.
Going into my bedroom, I opened my letter. It was from Jonathan Reece. I had expected it would be, though a part of me had hoped for a minute that it might have been Paul. Foolish, foolish thought! Paul wasn’t going to write to me. He had left me without a backward glance.
Dear Emma, Jonathan had written. I hope you don’t mind me calling you that? I just wanted to apologise for not coming last weekend. My uncle died suddenly and …
Paul’s father had died! My heart took a flying leap. Surely that meant Paul would come home? If Jonathan had told him I was … The hope died in me almost as soon as it was born. Paul didn’t want to marry me. He wouldn’t have gone off the way he had if he had cared for me.
I finished reading Jonathan’s letter, then sat looking at the ten pounds he had sent me. He promised there would be more next month and every following month. What ought I to do about it? I still had most of the money he’d lent me the afternoon we had met at Paul’s home. Should I give it back now that I was to be married? I didn’t really need it – but was it mine by right?
Folding the letter carefully, I hid it at the very back of my dressing table drawer. I would keep the money for the time being but write to Jonathan Reece and tell him I was to be married.
As I closed the drawer, I caught sight of my pale face in the mirror. Was that me? It didn’t look like me – but then, I wasn’t the same girl anymore. The old Emma would never have agreed to marry a man she didn’t love.
For a moment I felt a surge of despair. How could I marry Richard? It was wrong and unnatural. I would do better to run away than agree to this marriage. Yet I knew that was impossible. Mother could never work in a shop or a factory, and I wasn’t sure I could earn enough to keep both of us and a child. Even if Paul continued to send money it would be hard – and there would always be the threat of discovery hanging over our heads.
Was I a coward to take the easy way out? I would have liked to consult Gran, but Father had banned me from visiting her.
‘When you’re married you can go,’ he had told me. ‘Until then you will stay in this house – unless Richard takes you somewhere.’
‘He won’t have time. He’s working extra hours for the next couple of weeks so that he can take me for a holiday.’
I hadn’t been able to bring myself to use the word honeymoon. Sometimes, when I allowed myself to think what it would be like being married to Richard, I felt sick. How could I lie in his arms and let him do what Paul had done?
Yet perhaps it didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. My senses were dulled. I felt as if my life were over. None of my dreams were ever going to come true, so I might as well let Richard and my father have their way.
I might even die when the child came. Women often did. Why not me?
‘Your mother told me what was going on here.’ Gran came puffing up the stairs that Sunday afternoon. ‘You haven’t been to see me, so I decided I’d best come to you.’
‘I am sorry, Gran.’ I hugged her. ‘Father wouldn’t let me. I think he’s afraid I might run away.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘No, not now. I thought about it, but it wouldn’t be sensible.’
‘What has being sensible got to do with it?’
‘Did Mum tell you about the baby? Richard knows but still wants to marry me.’
‘And what do you want?’
‘Nothing I can have.’
‘Still mooning over that rogue?’ She frowned at me. ‘Tell Richard you’ve changed your mind. It’s not too late to get rid of the child. It would have been better if you’d come to me sooner but if we’re careful—’
‘No! I don’t want to kill my baby, Gran.’
‘I was afraid of that.’ She shook her head over it. ‘You’re too soft-hearted, lass.’
‘You won’t change her mind,’ Mother said, bustling in with a tray of tea. ‘Harold went wild at first, but he’ll not make things too hard for her as long as he needs her in that shop. And who knows, it may turn out for the best.’
‘You always did talk nonsense!’ Gran gave her a sharp look. ‘What’s going on in your head, Greta? I know you and your schemes.’
‘Nothing important.’ Mother smiled at me. ‘I want what’s best for Emma, that’s all. She is entitled to more than she’s had so far, but things won’t always be this way.’
‘Neither of you will get much while Harold’s around.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Her smile was serene, mysterious. ‘None of us wanted this to happen but it has. We’ve just got to make the best of a bad job,’ she said, an odd glint in her eyes. ‘I’ve put up with his temper and meanness for years, but I shan’t anymore.’
‘What do you mean?
I looked at my mother in surprise. She wasn’t exactly smiling but she did seem … satisfied. Yes, that was the right word.
‘I just shan’t, that’s all.’
A look passed between her and Gran that puzzled me, but then it was gone and I thought I had imagined it.
I was relieved my mother had stopped wearing that haunted, frightened expression, but I couldn’t help wondering why.
Chapter Eight
I stood at the window, looking out at the back yard, with its washing lines and tubs of summer flowers. Beyond it was Mother’s garden, where roses bloomed in profusion. Today was my wedding day and the sun was already high in the sky, not a cloud to be seen. It was going to be really beautiful by the time we left for church.
I turned to glance at the dress hanging on the front of the wardrobe. It was so pretty! All shiny and white. I touched it with reverent fingers. I’d never worn anything like this, and knew it looked just right on me, though I felt a little guilty about wearing it: white was meant for virgins, wasn’t it?
‘How do you feel?’ Mother’s voice from the doorway startled me, making me swing round hurriedly. She smiled at me. ‘Don’t worry, love. I was nervous on my wedding morning but I soon got over it. Richard is a better man than your father ever was, believe me.’
‘Is he?’ I felt a panicky sensation in my stomach. I looked at her in silent appeal, hoping against hope that she would say something to make me feel better, yet knowing there was nothing she could say. ‘He has been really nice to me since I said I’d marry him.’
‘He’s fond of you,’ my mother said. ‘If not, I’d tell you to run off to London, Emma. Harold might create hell, but I doubt if he would follow you.’
I turned the pretty little cluster ring on my finger. It was set with pearls and tiny rose diamonds. Richard had given it to me when we’d sat in church together, to hear the banns read out for the first time.
‘We don’t want people thinking I’m too mean to give you a ring, do we?’ he’d said. ‘I hope it fits, but you can wind a bit of cotton round it if it slips, can’t you?’
It had fitted perfectly. I liked the ring and the simulated pearl beads Richard had sent me as a wedding present. He had been generous with his gifts, and was also taking me to Yarmouth for a week in a hotel for our honeymoon.
‘And why shouldn’t he be nice to you?’ Mother smiled and kissed my cheek. ‘He loves you, Emma. You’ve been honest with him from the start and he’s accepted you ma
de a mistake. If he still wants to marry you he must think the world of you. Why else would he marry you?’
‘He keeps telling me he loves me,’ I said, looking at her doubtfully. Some of the tension drained out of me. There really was no reason for him to marry me if he didn’t, was there? ‘You do like him, don’t you, Mum? I know Gran thinks I shouldn’t marry him.’
‘Take no notice of your Gran, love. She means well but she doesn’t understand how difficult your father would have made things for you if you’d refused to take Richard. I think it’s the best thing you can do in the circumstances.’
I nodded. Mother seemed almost serene these days. There was an air of contentment about her. Why? What had changed? Certainly not Father’s temper. He seemed to get more irritable every day. I suspected he was having trouble with his stomach again.
‘I’ll leave you to get dressed,’ Mother said. ‘Your father will be up for his breakfast in a few minutes. He’s fretting over leaving Ben alone in the shop this afternoon, but he wouldn’t listen when I told him to shut the place for once, so he’ll have to bear the consequences.’
‘I think he doesn’t always feel well,’ I said. ‘But he insists it’s nothing but wind and gets cross if I mention it.’
‘Feeling sorry for him?’
‘No.’ I met her eyes. ‘I used to think he ought to see a doctor but now I don’t care. If he won’t spare the time for the treatment he needs it’s his own fault.’
‘It’s only indigestion. If he ate more slowly – or a bit less – he wouldn’t suffer so much. It is his own fault. He’s brought it on himself. He should go to the doctor.’
‘Yes, he should.’
As my mother went out, I sat down at the dressing table and began to take out the grips I’d used to pin my hair up the previous night. I was lucky in having a natural wave in the front, but wanted it to fluff out a little for the wedding photographs.
I thought about Father. It couldn’t be very pleasant being in pain a lot of the time, and he certainly was. I’d noticed him grimacing on several occasions recently.
But he deserved to suffer for the way he’d treated my mother! My heart hardened against him as I began to brush my hair into soft waves and curls. If he hadn’t been such a tyrant I wouldn’t have been marrying Richard Gillows. At least not yet. I could have thought about it more, decided what I wanted to do.
