From the station he ran along the gravel road. One of the grooms and the trap from Suttonford was in the station yard. The groom showed no surprise when Oliver waved him away. All the servants thought of him as unpredictable, he knew. Laura must be late, this morning.
He ran up the marble stairs calling for Florence. She came to the door of her sitting room, looking startled at his reappearance so soon after his departure for Middlefield. ‘Whatever’s the matter, darling?’ she said. ‘Mama isn’t here yet. What brings you home?’
‘Florence, come with me to the study. I don’t want to talk in the sitting room. It’s quiet in my room and I’ve something important to tell you. Order coffee and biscuits for us and tell the servants not to disturb us,’ Oliver said. He called for the fire to be lit in the study and waited there until she came. He was shaking slightly, whether from excitement or anxiety he could not say, but he knew that all he wanted now was Florence’s love and understanding.
She had changed into a maroon dress in the new Russian style, braided around the hips and hem and she had re-done her hair. Oliver looked intently at her, his brows drawn in concentration.
‘You said it was important, Oliver, so I changed into something ponderous,’ she explained.
He closed the door firmly and led her to the fireside where he stood before her. ‘I can’t tell you the whole story immediately, Florence,’ he began. ‘Some parts will have to be told later when I explain the facts behind my confession.’
‘Confession?’ Florence looked worried. ‘Please don’t unburden yourself of anything I’d prefer not to know, Oliver.’
‘Dear Florence.’ Oliver took her hand and let it lie on his. ‘I know you have an exceptional ability to turn your mind from unpleasantness and I know that having done so you refuse to see the truth or choose to ignore it, but this time – this time you must sit and listen,’ he said. He kept her hand as she obediently lowered herself into the fireside chair.
Oliver studied her face for a moment before continuing. ‘A long time ago, before we were married, I met and fell in love with a woman who worked at the mill.’ He saw Florence wince at his words but she did not try to stop him. ‘Edward was the result of that liaison, Florence. I never saw his mother after the child was born. She left him and me, and she returned to her husband and children.’ His eyes never left her face.
‘I’ve deceived you all these years and I would have continued to do so; I would have continued to keep the truth from you and Edward but …’ He saw shock and disbelief in her expression, but he thought that he saw pity too and he paused for a moment to give her time to collect her thoughts before continuing.
‘Two days ago the woman died and by chance, or fate, or even by intervention of the divine, if you’d have it that way, Edward was at her bedside, as her doctor.’
Florence’s eyes were bright but she looked at him steadily as she pressed her fingers into the palm of his hand very hard, so that he could feel the line of her sharp little nails marking him. ‘I had told no one; not you, not Edward, not Albert; only Dolly who registered him as her own and brought him up for me.’
There was no sound from Florence, nothing to tell him if he had shaken her belief in him.
‘Can you imagine that, Florence? Can you imagine bringing up your own son and never letting him know that you were his mother? I did it. I had to stop myself a hundred times from taking him in my arms like a father would. And I did it because l was afraid that the woman who had given him life might take him away from me.’
Florence dug her nails harder into his palm and spoke. ‘Miriam’s mother did it, you know,’ she said.
‘Miriam?’
‘Yes. She did it with the Moses child. Pharaoh’s daughter found the baby and brought him up as her own. His sister, Miriam, was told to search for a nurse and she brought Moses’s own mother to Pharaoh’s daughter.’
‘I wasn’t the first, then?’ Relief flooded him; relief that reproach had not entered her mind. He remembered that his own thoughts had been exactly hers, all those years ago. His features relaxed into a smile at her serious face and her elevation of an ordinary little story to something mystical.
‘No. But … but I wish you’d told me at the start,’ Florence said and she let go his hand. ‘It would have made so much difference, to know.’ Her eyes were full of tears as she looked up into his. ‘Did Edward know she was his mother? Did he recognise her as soon as he saw her?’
‘I only know what I’ve told you. Edward rang me at the office and called me Father. I can’t tell you how I felt. I’m so glad he knows, so glad he’s pleased and …’ He pulled her to her feet and held her tight to his chest. ‘I love you, Florence,’ he said.
There was a catch in his throat and he buried his face in her shining silk hair. ‘This is the second time today that I’ve been near to tears.’ He released her and they stood, side by side, he so tall and powerful and she, whom he’d thought of as tiny and fearful, he now saw had the greater strength.
‘You’ll see Edward soon, darling, won’t you?’ she said.
‘I’ll go to Southport at the weekend. Edward is coming on Friday,’ he replied.
‘Will you tell Dolly?’ she asked.
‘Yes. She’ll be relieved that he knows. She always wanted him told. She’s not a possessive mother. I think you’d like her.’
‘How do you think Lizzie will take the news, Oliver? Does she have to know that Edward is not her brother after all?’ Florence asked.
He hadn’t thought about it. Lizzie – would she be upset? Or would she rejoice? ‘Edward wants to tell her himself. It’s not for us to do,’ he replied.
Florence left him sitting by himself in the study, to think of all he’d say to Edward when they met. Outside he heard the trap arrive and deposit Laura and her companion at the door. He heard her talking excitedly to Florence as they ascended the stairs and wondered if she were not aware of his presence and if she normally held forth at such length when he wasn’t there.
Laura wore her customary detached look, adding little to the talk at lunch, which, since Oliver was present, they took in the dining room. Dessert was finished when Wilkins announced that a Mr Smallwood had been shown into the study and waited to see Mr Wainwright. Though this in itself was unusual and Oliver knew well that it could only be Sam Smallwood, it was Laura’s reaction to the news that gave cause for alarm. She held on to the edge of the table and in a state of severe agitation, ashen-faced, as if struck down with a dreadful disease, said, ‘I’m going to expire. Will somebody please help me to bed?’
Her companion pushed back her chair and stood behind her mistress, evidently at a loss to know how to proceed.
Florence jumped to her feet and rang for help. ‘Take Mrs Mawdesley to her bedroom and send for a doctor this instant,’ she said to the housemaid.
‘No! I won’t see a doctor. I’ll be all right, Florence,’ Laura said, gulping for breath, making it appear that the words were being forced from her. ‘Just let me lie down for an hour.’
‘I’ll go and see Sam Smallwood, Florence,’ Oliver said quickly. He was used to grandmother Mawdesley’s performances. They were precipitated by the least thing and it made him angry, watching her. She would, he knew, now declare that she was unable to return to Balgone until her health was improved.
‘Take the brandy flask along, Mason. She may suffer one of her seizures without it,’ he added, keeping an even countenance so that Florence would be unaware that the suggestion was not well meant.
Sam Smallwood was not in his working clothes. He wore a suit of navy serge, high-buttoned and tight across his burly chest. In his hand he held his bowler hat and over his arm a heavy overcoat. He put out his hand to Oliver then withdrew it as if he thought better of it.
‘Sit down, Sam.’ Oliver motioned towards one of the leather armchairs at the fireside. He knew that only a serious problem would have brought his senior foreman to the house.
‘I can’t do that. I’m here
on a difficult errand, Mr Wainwright,’ Sam said. His words rapped out, staccato fashion, as if he had no time for pleasantries.
‘Speak up then.’ Oliver reverted to his blunt accent when he dealt with the workers. He knew he did it; there was no inverted snobbery about it; it reassured the men that he was approachable.
‘It’s James. He and Alice have tried to run away. They were making for Scotland. To wed,’ he told Oliver. ‘I found them at the station, this morning.’ Sam’s face was a mask of controlled anger. The man was not overawed by having to confront his boss.
‘How did you discover them, Sam?’ said Oliver.
‘They’d sworn our Sarah to secrecy but she told us, just in time,’ Sam answered. ‘And half the town was watching when I fetched ’em back.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘They are with Mrs Smallwood – my wife.’ Sam stood rigidly to attention. ‘I want justice,’ he declared. ‘I want my daughter’s honour respected.’
‘Do you think my son had defiled her?’
A look of anguish came into Sam Smallwood’s face for a moment. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think that.’
‘Sit down, Sam. We’ll have to talk.’ Oliver rang for Wilkins and told him to bring brandy.
‘I’m sorry, Sam. I could kick myself for not thinking of this. I should have guessed,’ he said. ‘You wanted something better for her, didn’t you?’
‘It’s not that, Mr Wainwright. We like James. I’m sure you’re very proud of him. It’s been a pleasure having him in the house, but …’ Sam seated himself on the edge of the leather chair and placed his coat and hat carefully on the floor beside him, ‘but he can’t have Alice.’
Oliver stepped forward and took the outdoor clothes, handing them to Wilkins who had returned with the tray. He nodded to Wilkins and when the man had left the room, poured two large glasses of cognac for himself and Sam Smallwood, before seating himself at the other side of the polished oak fender.
‘You wanted an education for Alice, didn’t you, Sam?’ he asked. ‘Are you disappointed with her for wasting her good brain?’
‘No, Mr Wainwright. You don’t understand. Ellen and I only want what’s best for her. If she wants an education then she’ll have it. If she wants marriage she’ll have it … but not like this,’ Sam protested, as if he could not understand Oliver’s lack of comprehension.
‘You don’t want her seduced, violated, by my son, do you, Sam?’ Oliver said as he passed over the brandy to the angry father, watching the man’s face as he flinched at the words.
‘He’ll not do that,’ Oliver assured him. ‘He’ll not cast her aside or anything like that. If he’s like the rest of us, if he’s a true Wainwright he’ll have made up his mind; made it up a bit sooner than most and he won’t change it. It was a good thing you found out.’
‘Sarah, that’s our youngest one, told us. Alice wrote a letter to us. We weren’t to get it until teatime but Sarah was frightened to keep it till then.’ Sam slid his broad hand into the tight slit of his breast pocket, brought out a piece of paper and handed it to Oliver.
He seemed calmer, happier now that he had been assured that Oliver was not treating the matter of his daughter’s virtue flippantly. Oliver unfolded the note and read.
Dear Mum and Dad,
James and I love one another and we want to be married. We can’t wait until James has a better job, or a house or anything so we are doing the only thing we can. We are going by train to Scotland. We can’t tell you where, but you won’t be able to find us until we are married. Don’t be angry with James. He wants you to go on liking him and he says he’ll take care of me, you mustn’t worry. We have got some money. James asked his grandmother for enough to see us through.
Alice
Oliver read it again and smiled. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling pleased. He looked at Sam’s worried face and knew that he would have to convince the man of his son’s good intentions.
‘I think we’ll let them marry, Sam. But properly, after a year of courtship. James couldn’t find a better girl than Alice in a long day’s march. Marriage is what James needs. I’m glad for them. Really, very glad.’
Sam Smallwood was starting to relax. He sipped the brandy and placed it on the side-table before settling himself back into the chair.
‘And how do you think young James will propose keeping a wife, Mr Wainwright?’ he asked. ‘Has he got much to offer her?’
Oliver made a great effort to control the laughter that was bubbling up in him. Sam Smallwood! Acting the stern father! Well he’d let the man have his hour of glory, if he could keep his face straight. He managed a sincere, concerned expression and leaned towards the big foreman.
‘I think we’ll have to help them, Sam,’ he announced. ‘We’ll both have to dip deep and set ’em up. You won’t send Alice out empty-handed, will you?’
Sam, Oliver knew, was not blessed with a sense of humour. He was a good, plain-spoken man, serious and thoughtful. He frowned as he pondered the question.
‘I mean to say, Sam,’ Oliver couldn’t help himself, it was a little devil that made him draw the man along, ‘the parents of the bride provide the linen and the trousseau. You’ll not want to be shown up if anyone asks to see the wedding chest, will you?’
‘Oh, no. No. Of course! Me and Ellen’ll set them up with what’s right. The linen, you say?’
Oliver frowned. ‘I think it’s the pots and pans an’ all, Sam,’ he added, trying to get the right note of mournful apology into his words.
‘We’ll do what’s necessary, Mr Wainwright,’ Sam told him. ‘They’ll get their portion from us. What about you and Mrs Wainwright?’
‘Mrs Wainwright? My God, Sam. I’d forgotten her,’ Oliver cried, leaping off his seat. ‘We’ll have to tell her now. I’ll go and fetch her.’
He ran up the marble stairs, two at a time and halted when Florence came again to the door of her sitting room. ‘Your son’s tried to elope, Florence,’ he called out to her. ‘James has tried to run away to Scotland with a pretty little girl.’
Her face was a study in outrage, making him want to laugh. ‘What is going on, Oliver?’ she said. ‘Mother’s talking about letting me marry you after all this time. She says she’ll not stand in our way. And you say that James has tried to elope! I think you are both out of your minds.’
‘It’s true, love.’ He reached the top step and rested, panting for breath, all the while laughing at her face and the expressions crossing it. ‘And that’s the servants told as well. They’ll be talking about it in the kitchen before you believe it yourself.’
He reached her side and tucked her arm in his. ‘Poor Florence,’ he said. ‘What a morning! Come downstairs. Meet James’s future father-in-law. And don’t laugh, for heavens’ sake. He’s sure his daughter is marrying beneath herself. It’s up to you now to allay his fears.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Oliver travelled to Middlefield soon after Sam Smallwood had left and made for the house in Rivergate. Ellen Smallwood let him in. She looked worried and drawn and Oliver patted her arm quietly in a gesture of understanding. ‘Where is he?’ he asked.
‘Upstairs, Mr Wainwright. In his room. Top of the stairs on your right.’
‘Where’s Alice?’
Ellen gave a wan smile, as if glad Oliver had thought to concern himself about her daughter. ‘She’s in the parlour. She says she’s glad they were caught but I don’t know if it’s true, or if they’ll try it again.’ She put her hand on his arm now. ‘They are far too young, Mr Wainwright:
‘I know. I’ll speak to James.’
He bounded up the stairs and opened the bedroom door. James was lying on his back, his hands behind his neck. He did not look at Oliver.
‘Hello, James,’ Oliver said.
James pretended to ignore him and Oliver made a move towards the end of the bed where James would have to acknowledge him. ‘You can’t stay here, James,’ he began. ‘Not now.’
&n
bsp; ‘Get out!’ James snarled, looking at him at last, with such resentment and anger that Oliver had to hold himself back from taking his son by force and removing him.
He made an effort to show the understanding he had truly felt before he’d entered the room, and sat down on the bed. ‘James. I’ve talked it over with Sam Smallwood. He’s going to allow you to marry Alice. In a year’s time. I think it’s good, James. I like the girl.’
James looked at him with eyes full of hatred. ‘So you and Sam Smallwood have sorted it out, have you? You’ve ordered my future?’
He rose from the bed and began to pull open drawers and throw their contents on to the counterpane. Then he turned to face Oliver. ‘Well, Mr Wainwright. Let me tell you something. I don’t think I shall want to marry in a year’s time. I don’t think I’ll be here, being a good little boy, buckling down to a bit of hard work.’
Oliver knew exactly what James was suffering. ‘Oh, son,’ he said. ‘You’re angry. I know. I was the same. Your problem is nothing more than just being sixteen. That’s all it is. We want to help you. Really we do.’
‘You can best help by leaving me alone,’ James answered through gritted teeth. ‘Go on. Get out before I hit you.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll not be beholden to you. I’ll not answer to you.’
‘Where will you live?’
‘At Balgone. With Grandmother. Or with Lizzie.’
‘Come home, James.’
‘Tell Mother I’ll be all right, will you?’
‘James …?’
‘I don’t want to talk to you, Father. And I don’t want to work for you. I’m going to join the army.’
Oliver left the house. There was nothing to be gained for either himself or James if he forced the boy to return to Suttonford. James needed to be alone, to think; to decide where his future lay. And Oliver said a silent prayer that James would come back to him, and that they could build a future together, father and son working in harmony.
The Runaway Page 44
