by Jane Jackson
A card arrived from Edward: very formal, addressed to the entire family, and signed ‘in sincere sympathy, Edward Arundell.’ But he did not come in person. She was both relieved and wretched.
At a rumbling ‘Amen’ she looked up to see a second minister give the apostolic benediction. Supported by Elders her parents led the way to the carriages. Waiting to follow them, Susanna’s gaze strayed past the milling people anxious now to escape the windswept cemetery and chilling rain, to the foam-flecked pewter sea.
Suddenly the clouds parted, darkly purple behind a shaft of pale shimmering light that transformed one small patch of turbulent water into liquid silver. Caught in the radiance was a ship, a stately five-masted barque, outward bound under billowing sails.
She had dreamed wickedly, selfishly, of escape. Now she knew the price. The clouds rolled on, shutting off the light and veiling the ship with a rippling curtain of rain. Turning her back she moved toward the carriage.
It was just over a week since Frances and Richard’s wedding. Now all the family were together again. Finding the contrast too gut-wrenchingly poignant Susanna ordered the tables placed in different positions. Her mother fretted at the change but the visible relief of relations entering the dining room confirmed it had been the right thing to do.
With her mother incapable, and Frances fetching and carrying for Mrs Webber, the role of hostess fell to Susanna. She helped everyone find seats, offered plates, poured tea, Yet nothing seemed real. Even Mrs Webber’s spiteful jibe – that certain people had no right putting on airs and graces and taking so much upon themselves, caused her neither hurt nor anger. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. William. Feeling her arm gently shaken she looked round to see Lucy close beside her, face puckered in concern.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course,’ Susanna’s response was automatic.
‘You look exhausted.’
‘I’m fine.’ Most people were genuine in their sympathy but a few were wallowing in the drama. She could see it in their eyes as they gushed platitudes like a fountain spouts water. She wanted to scream at them in fury and disgust. How dare they presume? How could they possibly ‘know exactly how you feel, my dear.’
It took enormous effort to hide her rage. But she could not, must not add to her parents’ grief. Yet the constant reminders of William’s youth, of his cheerfulness and charm, of the sadness and waste his death represented, and – most bitter of all – how God moved in mysterious ways, were a thousand cuts.
Lucy eyed her shrewdly. ‘Have you had any help with all this?’
Susanna shook her head.
‘Hasn’t Frances –?’
‘She’s had her own difficulties. Apparently Richard’s mother took to her bed the day after the wedding.’
‘Oh dear. Considering the awful weather she’d have been wiser to stay at home in the warm.’
‘And miss a funeral?’ Susanna felt her face contort briefly and fought for control. ‘The afternoon they returned they found his mother in bed and his father unconscious on the drawing room floor. He wasn’t ill, just drunk. But Richard said that now Frances was his wife, her first loyalty was to him and his family.’
‘Surely Frances has visited your parents?’
‘Oh yes. But she couldn’t stay very long. In any case mother and father don’t want to talk.’
‘It’s early days yet.’
Catching a glimpse of her sister, sent by Mrs Webber on yet another errand, Susanna turned back to her cousin. ‘Frances has changed.’
Lucy patted her arm. ‘Of course she has, my dear. Frances is a married woman now.’
‘I think something’s wrong.’
‘Sharing a house with one’s mother-in-law cannot be easy,’ Lucy pointed out. ‘And Mrs Webber does have a reputation for being perhaps a little demanding. Frances will be having to make a great many adjustments.’
‘I don’t think it’s that. Richard’s mother can’t stand me but she has always spoken well of Frances.’
A faint blush spread across Lucy’s papery cheeks. ‘It’s possible Frances might be finding certain aspects of married life – er –’ she cleared her throat. ‘I’m told many women find that side of things a little overwhelming at first. She’ll be fine once she gets used to it. You’ll see.’ Lucy patted her arm again, this time with mild desperation.
Susanna was too weary to argue. ‘I expect you’re right,’ she murmured, not believing it for a moment.
Lucy took one of Susanna’s hands between her own. ‘William was terribly proud of you, you know. He really admired your work at the Infirmary. How is that young boy you told me about? The one with the broken leg?’
Susanna swallowed the agonising stiffness in her throat. ‘He’s really doing well.’
‘When will you be going back? Dr Arundell must be missing your help. It will do you good to get out of the house even if it’s only for an hour or two.’
‘I won’t be going back.’ Susanna looked away from her cousin’s surprise. The pressure in her chest was crushing, her voice a strangled whisper. ‘Lucy, I’ve been such a fool.’
There was a long pause. ‘Oh my dear. I’m so very sorry.’
Susanna closed her eyes tightly then shrugged, hauling her glassy smile back into place. ‘My own fault. It doesn’t matter. No one else knows. It’s my own silly secret. I must go, Father wants me.’
Lucy held her hand a moment longer. ‘God –’
‘Don’t!’ Susanna whispered fiercely, jerking free. ‘Don’t preach at me. Not you, Lucy. I couldn’t bear it.’
‘Hush, you are coping superbly. Don’t spoil it now. All I was going to say is that God may give us burdens, but in Him we will find the strength to bear them.’
With a terse shake of her head Susanna started towards her father. He had aged ten years in the past week, tortured by the grief his faith would not permit him to reveal.
Her parents were not religious hypocrites. They had never, like so many, said one thing and done another. Why would a merciful God do this to them? Why take William who had never harmed anyone?
Scalding anger welled up in her again. Live by the rules you were told and you would be rewarded. Love God and He would take care of you. She clenched her teeth. There was no God. It was all a lie, a huge confidence trick. She was finished with it.
Dr Vigurs stopped Maria’s sedatives but without them she prowled the house at night like a ghost. Already hollow-eyed from anxiety Samuel grew grey with fatigue.
After three nights Susanna asked her father for money and went to the pharmacy. Using what she had learned she made infusions to help her mother sleep, brews to rekindle her appetite, and tisanes to aid her digestion. Her father refused them, declaring he had no need of such things.
As well as overseeing the staff and running the household, coaxing her mother to eat, and writing replies to all the letters of condolence, Susanna took over her mother’s visiting of the poor and sick. But there were still too many hours unfilled.
She searched desperately for other work to do, anything to keep mind and body occupied.
She knew William was dead, yet when a door slammed she would look up in anticipation, expecting him to walk in. His room was untouched, his books were still in the bookcase. One of his old coats had hung on a nail in the stable until Bryce, the groom, had walked in one day and found her sitting on a hay bale silently rocking to and fro as she hugged it. He had gently taken it from her and escorted her back to the house. She hadn’t seen it again.
Maybe if she could have talked about William it would have hurt less. But her father had chosen to deal with the loss of his son by simply refusing to speak of it. She knew this was wrong but when she had dared to question him he had turned on her, his face tormented. ‘In God’s name, Susanna, respect my wishes in this if nothing else.’
Recognising his pain as a reflection of her own she obeyed. But it meant every word that passed between them was rehearsed, edited, bringing new tension
to an atmosphere already strained.
The weather turned colder. One morning she opened her bedroom curtains to see frost flowers glistening on the window. A pale sun shone from an oyster sky onto a hazy world bleached of colour.
Her parents had already begun their breakfast. Samuel looked pointedly at the clock then eyed her over his glasses. ‘Where are you going today?’
‘To the soup kitchen.’ She poured milk into her cup then added tea.
‘Weren’t you there yesterday?’
Susanna nodded. ‘Two of Mrs Endean’s regular helpers are ill with ‘flu.’ She looked at the porridge but her stomach heaved in protest, so she took a slice of toast and began to spread it thinly with butter.
He cleared his throat. ‘Your new sense of duty has not gone unnoticed. You do not possess your mother’s charitable instincts,’ he added, ever determined that no child of his should indulge in vanity. ‘Nonetheless it is pleasing to see that despite the limitations of your youth, inexperience, and wayward character, you are trying to follow her example. Isn’t that so, my dear?’
Maria’s spoon rested on the congealing remains of her porridge. She looked up slowly, her mind far from her current surroundings.
‘My dear, I was just telling Susanna how pleased we are that at last she is placing her duty to others above her own selfish whims.’
Susanna closed her eyes briefly. Even his praise had a cutting edge.
‘Yes.’ Maria made a visible effort. ‘Susanna, next time you see Mrs Endean would you apologise to her for my absence? Tell her I –’ Her forehead creased. She pushed back her chair. ‘Would you both excuse me?’ Immediately Samuel was at his wife’s side his voice gentle as he led her from the room.
Susanna buried her face in her hands. Never in her life had she felt so utterly alone. She straightened, rising as her father returned.
‘Your mother isn’t well.’
‘I’ll go and –’
‘No, wait.’ He rubbed his hands together, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘I – there’s – I have a small task for you. It’s the dividends.’
The memory of William asking for her help was so clear, the pain so sharp, she almost cried out.
Samuel removed his pince-nez and began to polish them. ‘The shareholders have been most patient. But with Christmas almost upon us we cannot keep them waiting any longer. Tomorrow when you have finished your household duties I want you to go down to the office. My chief clerk will explain –’
‘It’s all right, Father. I know what to do. William –’ she stopped as he flinched.
He replaced the glasses. All his movements were made with great care as though he were brittle. Susanna longed to put her arms around him, to give and receive comfort. She desperately wanted to tell him how much she missed her brother, how she was constantly reminded of things he had done or said. But she did not.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Do you have any idea when he might be back full-time?’ The chief clerk wrung his hands. ‘You see, an hour a day – it’s not really …’
Looking at the open ledgers spread over her father’s massive desk Susanna turned the metal-nibbed pen in her fingers. She had sensed tension the moment she entered the office. The truth was she didn’t know when her father would return. Anticipating the question she had asked him only to be waved aside.
‘Just follow my instructions. Your mother’s health is my prime concern at the moment.’
But what was she supposed to tell the chief clerk? Samuel Elliot’s success was founded on his judgement and reliability. Any hint that bereavement had affected either would have customers deserting in droves. They sympathised, but European trade was already severely disrupted by the Carlist rebellion in Spain. Germany and France were at war. Paris was under siege. And business was business.
Susanna made a decision. ‘Actually, Mr Hosking, I brought a message from my father. But as you were busy when I arrived I thought it best to wait for a more opportune moment.’ Through the half-open door she could hear the noise of a busy mid-morning in the office. ‘My father had expected to return today, but has been unavoidably detained … on a business matter of some importance.’ If she was going to lie she might as well do it properly. ‘He – he wants you to write down any queries you may have,’ she swallowed, ‘– together with your own suggested course of action. I will take these home with me at the end of the afternoon and relay his instructions to you in the morning.’
‘A capital idea.’ He washed his hands in a paroxysm of relief at having the responsibility removed from his shoulders. ‘A finger on the pulse at all times. Exactly what we have learned to expect from your esteemed father. A remarkable man, Miss Elliot. Not a detail escapes him.’
‘So if there is nothing else …?’
‘No, no. Thank you, Miss Elliot.’ He indicated the ledgers. ‘Are you quite –?’ As she nodded, he rubbed his hands again. ‘Then I’ll leave you to get on.’ With a twitch of his hunched shoulders he scurried out.
Sagging back in the big leather chair she gazed down onto the town quay and inner harbour. Frost still lingered in shadowed corners. But the roofs were slowly drying in the slanting sun as melt water dripped from the eaves. Fishermen, wharfingers, and sailors went about their business on the three arms of the quay, their breath puffing like smoke on the chilly air as they exchanged greetings and bawdy insults.
She pressed the carved jade against her breastbone. She felt so guilty. Not about lying to the chief clerk, that was a necessary evil. Her guilt ran far deeper. She had loved William so much and missed him dreadfully. But if he hadn’t died she wouldn’t have this opportunity. If she could prove herself able to take his place then at least some good would have come from the catastrophe. It would be her memorial to him.
She was taking a terrible risk. But what was the alternative? If her father’s continued absence was not already a source of speculation and rumour, it soon would be. How could she stand by and do nothing as the company he had built up over a lifetime disintegrated?
Over the next three days her mother burned with fever and developed a hard dry cough. Dr Vigurs came again and this time diagnosed influenza.
‘In my opinion,’ he announced, sounding both harassed and impatient as Susanna saw him to the door, ‘your mother’s emotional state is contributing to her present physical debility.’
‘Are you saying it’s her fault that she’s ill? Don’t you think she has suffered enough without being blamed for something which is quite clearly outside her control?’
‘My dear Miss Elliot!’ he spluttered, ‘you forget yourself.’
Susanna felt fiery heat flood her cheeks. ‘I – I’m sorry. That was unforgivably rude.’ Watching the doctor she saw a cockerel shaking out ruffled feathers. Was she going mad?
‘I am reminding myself,’ he peered at her over his gold-rimmed spectacles, ‘that recent events have placed you under a certain strain.’ His expression softened. ‘Fresh air and exercise, that’s what you need. And plenty of good red meat. You’re looking pale.’ Was he going to pat her on the head? Glancing at his fob watch he returned it to his waistcoat pocket.
‘For your mother’s cough I recommend honey and vinegar. She will find it very soothing. A linseed poultice over the lungs might make her more comfortable. She probably won’t want to eat but it’s important that she drink lots of fluids; water, cordials, and thin beef tea.’ He smiled, her lapse forgiven. ‘I know I can rely on you.’ He strode briskly away to his carriage and his next patient.
By getting up an hour earlier Susanna had time to wash her mother and help her into a clean nightgown while Agnes removed the sweat-drenched sheets and re-made the bed with fresh ones. After gently brushing and re-braiding her mother’s hair she settled her once more into bed. Next she fetched a fresh glass of honey and vinegar in hot water and coaxed her to drink a few sips. Then she went down to breakfast.
The fourth morning after she had begun work on the dividends she was in the hall p
utting on her cloak when her father came downstairs. Traces of his former self were re-emerging. He appeared to have folded his grief neatly and stowed it somewhere away from public view.
‘Good morning, Father.’
‘How are you getting on?’ He frowned. ‘I hope you are taking care. Accuracy is essential.’
She smoothed her gloves over trembling fingers. ‘I completed the calculations yesterday morning. Mr Hosking is checking them and says I should be able to start delivering the money this afternoon.’
His nod was an acknowledgement, not an indication of approval. ‘Frances is coming to sit with your mother this afternoon so I shall come down to the office later.’
She forced a smile as her stomach knotted. ‘Mr Hosking and the rest of the staff will be delighted to see you.’
He coughed. ‘There’s to be no fuss. I want everything just as normal.’
Susanna bit the inside of her lip. How could it possibly be normal without William?
‘Hurry along then,’ he was brusque. ‘While you’re wasting time people are waiting for that money.’
The sun had dipped behind the rooftops as Susanna crossed from Bar Road into Grove Place. The leather pouch, heavy with gold sovereigns when she set out, now contained only the folded paper listing the names of shareholders at this end of town.
She hugged her cloak around her. The air was damp and bitterly cold. On the far side of the river yellow-grey cloud like dirty foam slunk across the sky from the north west. Shivering she quickened her pace, picturing a warm fire and a mug of hot chocolate. But they were not the only reasons for the new urgency in her stride.
Gazing straight ahead she passed Edward’s house. A few moments later she passed the Sailors’ Home. As she let out the breath she’d been holding the icy wind funnelling up the slip from the quay hit her with force. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her close-fitting bonnet, holding the thick woollen material over her mouth.
The gas lamps hissed and flickered, shedding pale pools of light onto people hurrying along road and pavement, anxious to get home. Jostled by a woman coming the other way Susanna stumbled back against the wall of a shop and glimpsed a familiar figure coming down the street on the opposite side. Oh no. Not now. That would be too much. Pulling the hood even further forward she peered through the gloom, suddenly doubtful. She’d thought it was … But with a scarf muffling the lower half of his face and the unfamiliar hat pulled low over his eyes it was difficult to be sure. And why would he wait on the corner of the most notorious street in Falmouth? She must have made a mistake.
