Jewel In the North

by Tricia Stringer

  William shook his head. “I suppose if we can’t have rain we might as well have snow.”

  Forty-two

  October 1902

  Edith lowered herself to the softly padded chair in her father-in-law’s sitting room, closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. It was so much cooler there than in her little house next door. The baby moved inside her and she shifted in the chair to find a comfortable position.

  Why she had ever thought it a good idea to have her own house? The cottage had never compared to the Wiltshire home. Charles had not been able to cajole any further money from his grandmother and with the downturn of their finances it had never been properly finished or furnished. If they entertained guests Edith always had to ask Henry’s permission to hold the dinner in his house, and then there was Mrs Nixon to deal with. A vision of the housekeeper’s sanctimonious look had Edith digging her fingernails into the padded arms of the chair.

  How Edith would like to be rid of the woman, but she knew it would be no easy task. Henry wouldn’t allow it, of course, and Charles thought Mrs Nixon a dependable help for his sister and father. If only Charles knew the extent of Mrs Nixon’s help to his father. Ever watchful, Edith suspected the liaison continued. Sometimes it was a look, a touch more than accidental. She couldn’t believe Charles had lived in that house most of his life and not known.

  She shifted again in the chair. Carrying a child was really the most hideous of conditions, and she longed for it to be over. The heat was already oppressive and it was only spring. Honestly, she was too irritated to care one way or another what Henry or even Flora Nixon did at the moment.

  She pushed up from her chair and walked restlessly around the room. On the mantle was a portrait of Henry and Catherine holding Charles as a baby. Edith had looked at the photograph before, but today the sight of the locket around Catherine’s neck added to her frustration. Why couldn’t Henry give it to her? It seemed ridiculous to keep all Catherine’s jewellery hidden away for one spoiled little girl. Laura was too young to wear it and Edith was sure that by the time she was old enough she probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

  Edith stared at the photo a moment longer then replaced the frame and began to pace the room again. She stopped. A bold idea sprang into her head. Laura’s room was opposite the sitting room. She would not be denied what should be hers. Edith went to the door, poked her head into the hall and listened.

  She knew Flora had walked Laura to school and she had taken her shopping basket. There was no sound to indicate she had returned. Edith crossed the hall and let herself into the little girl’s room, closing the door carefully behind her.

  Charles had said his mother’s jewellery was in a wooden box put away in Laura’s room. Edith looked around. The room had only a few pieces of furniture: a small chest of drawers beside the bed, a trunk under the window and a wardrobe along one wall.

  She went to the wardrobe first, opened the doors and reached to the top shelf. It would be too high for Laura. There were several items of folded clothing, which Edith slid out and placed on the bed. Several pairs of gloves and a drawstring purse sat on top of a soft pink dress, a beaded jacket and a velvet wrap. Edith assumed they had been Catherine’s.

  Tucked in the space at the back of the shelf was a polished wooden box. She took it eagerly from its hiding place and sat on the edge of the bed with it resting on her knees. It was quite heavy, so she was impatient to see what else might be in it. To her dismay she noticed it had a lock. She tried the lid but it wouldn’t open. She lifted the box and looked underneath and all around.

  She clicked her tongue, set the box aside and stood up. Where might the key be? Dolls lined the mantle surrounding a single portrait of Catherine. Edith picked up the frame and looked all over but no key was hidden there. She turned slowly to take in the room. Her gaze fell on the bag. Quickly she scooped it up and tugged it open. Inside was a neatly folded handkerchief. Edith felt for it and immediately she smiled. There was something inside the handkerchief. She opened it and there was a small key. It fitted the lock.

  The door pushed open behind her and Edith swung around. “Good heavens, Mrs Nixon, you scared me half to death.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Wiltshire, I didn’t know you were in here.” Mrs Nixon looked down at the box. “Can I help you with something?”

  “There was no-one home when I came in. I was looking for something special to wear with the dress I’ve got for the baby’s christening. I thought Mrs Wiltshire would have liked it if I wore something of hers.”

  “My, you are thinking ahead.” Mrs Nixon’s expression was unreadable.

  “I remembered Charles said his mother’s jewellery box was kept here.”

  Mrs Nixon came further into the room, put down the bucket and broom she was carrying and took the box from Edith’s hands.

  “Mr Henry is only in Adelaide for a week. I am sure there will be plenty of time for you to ask him when he returns. Now I really must get on,” she said. “With Miss Laura at school and Mr Henry away I planned to do some spring cleaning.”

  “It has been so hot.” Edith put a hand to her stomach, looking for some sympathy. “It’s so much cooler in the big house.”

  Flora gave her that expression that made her feel the woman could see right through her. Edith knew she was wasting her pout on Mrs Nixon. She fixed the housekeeper with a steely glare. “And then you come sneaking in, giving me such a fright. How dare you? It’s not good for me in my condition.”

  Flora returned the box to the wardrobe shelf. “I’m sure you’ll be all right, Mrs Wiltshire. You always seem to land on your feet.” She smiled and began to refold the clothing that had slipped across the bed.

  Edith gaped at her. “What do you mean by that remark?”

  Flora paused, the velvet wrap in her hands. “Things have a habit of going your way.”

  “Is that so?” Edith drew herself up, outrage at the housekeeper’s words gnawing deep within her. She would have no more of this woman’s disrespectful talk. “And what about you, Mrs Nixon, or perhaps you would prefer you were also Mrs Wiltshire.”

  Flora was lifting the clothes to the shelf. Edith saw her falter then push the clothes in. She shut the wardrobe door and turned.

  “I know about your sordid affair with my father-in-law.”

  Flora’s eyes closed briefly then she fixed her gaze on Edith. “There has never been anything sordid about it.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, you deceitful woman. You were in your master’s bed when your mistress was still alive.”

  Flora’s shoulders sagged.

  “Poor Mrs Wiltshire,” Edith tutted, sure she had her victim firmly in her clutches.

  “You know nothing about it,” Flora snapped.

  “Oh, but I do. Henry told me everything. It’s amazing what he was prepared to do in order to keep you here.”

  Flora frowned.

  “Yes, your continued employment here has been in my hands and now … well now I realise you have your sights set on marrying Henry and having his wife’s jewellery and her house for yourself. Why I even imagine you see yourself as Laura’s mother.” Edith lifted her head and smiled as Flora paled. “I see that I’m right.”

  “You are not.” Flora’s chin lifted and she looked Edith in the eye. “You have such a terrible twisted mind, you would not understand true love.”

  “Indeed,” Edith huffed. “I love Charles. I am not his mistress but his wife and it is my duty to protect the family name.” She drew herself up, turned on her heel and strode from the room, a smug smile on her face. She was quite sure Flora Nixon would soon be gone.

  Charles closed the back door of the shop and set off along the lane. He did hope Edith was in a better frame of mind than when he’d left home that morning. His initial delight at the idea of becoming a father had dissipated as her time advanced. She was less and less interested in pleasuring him and it had been weeks since he’d done more than kiss her cheek.

  Charles t
urned from the lane to cross the road. A cart drawn by two horses rolled past, coating him in dust. He hissed and brushed at his jacket. He crossed behind the cart and had to jump out of the way as a blasted bicycle careered past. Once across the road, he strode up the path towards home.

  What a week it had been. First the fellow he’d installed at the mine had come back claiming the place was haunted and saying he wouldn’t work there. Charles had found another to replace him but had wasted days taking the new worker there and showing him what to do. Henry had gone to Adelaide to visit Grandmother and left him with several appointments, none of which had proved very lucrative, and then this afternoon he found the damned Bakers had stolen a big transport contract from under his nose. He blamed his father. If Charles hadn’t been conducting Henry’s business, he would have had more time to follow up his own. Now he would have to let go one of his drivers.

  The drought that had plagued them for several years was showing no signs of letting up and was in fact affecting the whole country. Finances were stretched and there was little work coming in.

  Charles stomped along the path past his father’s house and up to his own front door. He tugged at his collar, which was too tight in the heat, and let himself inside. His feet echoed on the polished wood of the passage. They had no money for floor coverings yet.

  “Edith, I’m home.” He listened. Had he heard a small sob? He turned his head to the left, which was the direction of their small sitting room. “Edith?”

  He went in to find his wife collapsed in a chair, her eyes closed, a handkerchief pressed to her mouth and her other hand on her stomach. He strode to her side and kneeled down. “Edith, my dear, what is it? Are you unwell?”

  She opened her eyes, which were red from crying.

  “Oh Charles,” she said. “I am so glad you are home. I have … I have some terrible news.”

  “What is it?” He looked fearfully at the swelling under her hand. “Is something wrong with the child?”

  “Oh, no. The baby is perfectly fine. I’ve just had a shock, that’s all.”

  “Dear Edith, please tell me.” Charles was finding his knees beginning to ache on the solid wooden floor.

  “It’s Mrs Nixon.”

  Charles sighed. “What has she done now?” Sometimes Edith could get upset over small interferences by his father’s housekeeper.

  “Prepare yourself, Charles. I have discovered the most hideous thing.” Edith drew in a deep breath. She dropped her handkerchief and clutched his hand. “Mrs Nixon and … and your father are having a … a liaison.”

  “What?” Charles scratched at his head. “I’m sure that can’t be true.”

  Edith’s eyes flashed. “I’m your wife, Charles, do you doubt my word?”

  “Of course not, but how can you know this?”

  “I have wondered about it for some time. There are things a woman notices that men don’t. Last week I heard them together.”

  “She is the housekeeper, Edith.”

  “What I heard was more than that. I went early to the big house to see if there was any milk for your breakfast as I had run out. The kitchen was empty and I heard voices.” Edith patted at her cheek and drew a breath. “Soft giggling sounds and words that were rather … intimate. They came from your father’s bedroom. I am a married woman and I have no doubt about what was happening in there. I waited in the kitchen with the door ajar. I saw Mrs Nixon coming out of your father’s bedroom. She was still buttoning her shirt. I didn’t let her know I was there of course. I felt so embarrassed. I came straight back home.”

  “I can’t believe it,” he gasped. Mrs Nixon had been the one constant in his life. The one who had entertained him, read him stories, taken him to school, tucked him in at night. His mother had often been unwell and his father busy with work, but Mrs Nixon had always been there for him.

  “I’m sorry, Charles, but it’s true. Today I went to the big house to take some respite from the heat. I was feeling uncomfortable and it’s so much cooler there. I caught Mrs Nixon with your mother’s jewellery box. She was angry with me for discovering her. I was terrified but I confronted her. She told me she’d been your father’s mistress. She was gloating about it.” Edith stopped and clutched his hand tighter. “You must brace yourself, Charles. She has been your father’s mistress for a long time — since well before your mother died.”

  Charles felt as if the wind had been knocked from him. Mrs Nixon and his father were lovers. It did not bear thinking of.

  “More than that, Charles, she intends to marry him. She sees herself as his wife, Laura’s mother and mistress of the big house.” Edith squeezed his hand again. “She wants to take what is rightfully yours.”

  Rage filled Charles as the air flooded back into his lungs. He grasped the arm of the chair and pulled himself upright.

  “It’s madness.” He paced the small room then stopped in front of Edith. “You’re sure? There can be no way you’ve mixed this up, misunderstood?”

  Edith struggled up from her chair. “Charles, I can’t believe you would think I would spread gossip. If you don’t believe me, ask Mrs Nixon. She was only too happy to tell me her sordid story.”

  Charles thumped his fist into his palm. “Wait until Father comes home. I’ll have this out with him.”

  “I don’t think we can wait, Charles.”

  He frowned at Edith. “Why?”

  “Imagine the scandal if people found out. I can’t believe it’s not been discovered before this. I think Flora has become more brazen with your mother gone and now with us out of the house.”

  Charles shook his head.

  “Think of your sister, Charles. Laura is older now. I can only hope they are discreet when no-one else is there, but what if Laura was exposed to their … being together.”

  “You’re right. I should talk to Mrs Nixon. Tell her it must stop.”

  “Do you think that will work? They’ve been lovers a long time and they are together in that house.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “You must send Mrs Nixon away before your father comes home. She has children. We can tell him one of them needs her and she’s decided to live with them.”

  “Father needs a housekeeper.”

  “It’s an expense we can do without. If we lived in the big house I could manage it.”

  “But my dear Edith. You will be busy with a new baby soon.”

  “I can get someone in to do some of the heavy work. It would be much cheaper than a housekeeper. We could rent this house out. It would more than cover the cost.” She took both of his hands in hers. “Think of it, Charles. Your father’s house has plenty of room. If Mrs Nixon wasn’t there we could use her quarters and the guest room as our own.” She pulled him closer so that her body pressed to his. “We would still have our privacy, but be able to use the rest of the house when we needed.”

  Charles wrapped his arms around her and she nestled closer. She trailed a finger down his cheek and over his lips. He shuddered and bit back a groan. “Edith. What would I do without you?”

  She gave him one of her coy smiles. “You look very tired, Charles. It’s been such an awful day. Why don’t you lie down and I will bring you a cool drink? We could have a rest together.” She walked her fingers down the front of his shirt. “Dinner can be eaten later.”

  Charles drew her too him and pressed his lips to hers. “Don’t take too long, my love.”

  As the last light faded beyond the curtain, Charles nestled back onto the mattress a happy man. He watched as Edith lit the lamp and then slipped her loose house dress back around her. She sat back on the bed beside him.

  “I shall make your dinner now.”

  He put a hand to her breast. “I find I am quite ravenous.”

  She leaned towards him; the fabric tied loosely across her breasts fell open and he slipped his hand inside. He nuzzled his head against her.

  “I think I should be the one to send Mrs Nixon on her way,” Edith said. />
  “Do you, my love?” He was barely listening, enjoying the feel of her soft flesh.

  “She will probably only plead and beg if you do it.” She leaned down to trail her lips across his cheek to his ear. “You have so much to do, Charles. Let me take this responsibility for you.” She pushed him back onto the pillow and pressed her breasts to his bare chest.

  Charles closed his eyes and sighed. “Thank you, Edith.”

  Forty-three

  Henry dragged himself up the path to his front door. He looked to the window but no cheery face was there to welcome him. Flora knew he would be home this evening. She usually allowed Laura to stay up and watch for him. He felt a pang of disappointment.

  He was tired and had left his travel case at the shop rather than have to lug it home. Under his arm was a parcel for Laura: a new dress from her grandmother. He sighed at the thought of Harriet. His Adelaide visit had been a difficult one. Placating creditors was bad enough but his mother had been demanding, and then almost begged him to stay. Her eyesight was so poor Miss Wicksteed managed most things in the shop for her now and even helped her to dress each morning, but her mind was as sharp as ever. Henry had suggested his mother should sell her business and retire to a little house by the sea, but she would have none of it.

  The curtain twitched as he reached the verandah and he looked expectantly at the window only to be disappointed by a brief glimpse of Edith’s silhouette. He did hope Edith and Charles weren’t expecting to join him for dinner. He wasn’t in the mood for their company. A simple meal with Flora in the kitchen would be better.

  He went inside and felt a pang of disappointment at the sight of Charles standing in the dining-room doorway.

  “Good evening, Father. I hope your journey to Adelaide was successful.”

  “Moderately.” Henry glanced down the hall.

  “Laura is in bed.” Charles stepped back. “Edith and I have been waiting for you to dine with us.”