The Potter's Niece

by Randall, Rona

  ‘Poor Mr Drayton — I do believe you are surprised. Perhaps your uncle told you about a young lady from the Colonies who was joining her husband in Burslem, but you didn’t expect her to be the wife of the village blacksmith. Frankly, neither did I, but it is a long story — ’

  ‘Which I should very much like to hear.’

  ‘And so you shall — some time. At Tremain, perhaps. Mr Freeman and his son hoped I should visit there.’

  ‘A hope I share.’

  He was flirting with her, and she knew it, and liked it. And really Damian did deserve that snub for swearing at the man in such a boorish fashion …

  Having satisfactorily planted a reminder about that longed-for invitation, and remembering that it was never wise to force an acquaintanceship, nor to prolong a promising moment, she judged it time to say goodbye. Timing was all-important.

  He watched her walk down the garden path and into the cottage, reluctant to let her go. Here was the sort of woman he enjoyed, a woman who was well bred but with whom he could relax, a woman intelligent enough to appreciate his conversation and his wit. A stimulating young woman. A desirable one, too. How she ever came to marry so far beneath her he would never understand, for say what she might about her husband’s scholarship, the fact remained that he was little more than a lowly farrier whom it should be easy to replace in her affections. Temporarily, of course, and discreetly, for after all she was another man’s wife and although Max Freeman had said she was rich, how far her wealth extended had yet to be found out.

  Until then, he would make sure the situation developed, but at the same time would avoid becoming so involved that it became out of hand. A man should never allow himself to be ensnared more deeply than he wished.

  Driving away at a more careful pace, he realised that the encounter had driven out of his mind the thoughts which had occupied it when leaving the pottery. Now he decided that one day he would find out all about that ceramic beaker and his mother’s strange gesture. Of course, Martin Drayton’s rambling notes might add up to nothing but nonsense, mere figments of imagination, hence the strange implications which, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand.

  CHAPTER 16

  ‘It is time you and I had a talk,’ Charlotte said to her daughter-in-law. ‘This situation has gone on long enough.’

  ‘A situation not of my making,’ Phoebe retorted.

  For the past month she had shunned all company, keeping strictly to her own quarters. Only Hannah knew that she occasionally slipped outside for a breath of air, using the private entrance to the heir’s wing. If everyone believed her to be prostrate through shock, so much the better, and if the kitchen staff murmured in concern when her food was returned scarcely touched, that would gild the picture, for gossip from the servants’ hall always filtered upstairs.

  That reports of her sad physical condition should reach the ears of the rest of the family was precisely what Phoebe wanted. With this in mind she would sigh and turn a wan face to her maid whenever that worthy woman urged her to eat more. ‘God knows you need to keep up your strength, ma’am, as never before.’

  Hannah was much in favour these days. It was ‘dear Hannah’ and ‘my loyal Hannah’, and the woman would go away well pleased, maintaining her pose of devotion until out of sight.

  As for Olivia, her mother rarely saw her, for Phoebe’s breakfast was served in her bedroom hours after Olivia started work at six a.m., returning after a fourteen-hour day to find that her mother had supped already. So they had little contact, and little to say to each other when they had. It seemed to Phoebe that all her daughter talked about was her life at the pottery, which was infernally boring, and when the girl announced one day that she was now learning brushwork (whatever that was) and wasn’t very good at it, her mother snapped, ‘Then why do it? It is time you turned your back on all that nonsense and settled down.’

  ‘I have settled down and am well content. I’ll be even more so when I start modelling in earnest, but, as Uncle Martin says, it’s as well to study every aspect until ready to concentrate on one.’

  So much for a daughter’s sympathetic support. Olivia was ready to talk about anything but her father’s diabolical behaviour. She lived selfishly from day to day, unaware of anyone’s problems but her own — if indeed she had any. At that age, Phoebe thought jealously, she could know nothing of heartache and loneliness; nothing of longing for a man she couldn’t have.

  Sometimes Phoebe wondered whether dear Roger’s recent silence meant that he was waiting for a message from her, but how could she send one, and by whom? For expediency’s sake their relationship had been secret, but a desire to rescue her from an intolerable situation should surely be more important to him now.

  What she needed was an ally. Someone to trust, someone to confide in, someone who would contact Roger and tell him what had happened, though his sudden silence, stemming from the time of her husband’s reappearance, seemed to hold the frightening implication that perhaps he did know and was staying away for that reason. The thought was chilling.

  Looking at her autocratic mother-in-law now, Phoebe reflected bitterly that she would certainly find no ally here. Charlotte-the-enemy, she thought with a surge of hatred. Throughout the years she had endeavoured to keep on the right side of this woman, aware that security depended on her bounty, but since Charlotte had accepted her son’s illegitimate offspring without demur, Phoebe felt no further inclination to pander to her.

  She said icily, ‘There is nothing to discuss, madam. My position in this household is intolerable and your defence of your son inexcusable.’

  ‘I have not defended him, nor can I pretend to approve of much of his behaviour, but a mother has to accept her children’s actions, or lose them for ever. I lost my son for far too long to risk facing it again.’

  ‘And I must be expected to follow your example? Never!’

  ‘I expect nothing. I merely hope that the household can adjust to a new regime without discord.’

  ‘Then tell your son to take himself off, and his bastard with him.’

  ‘I shall do nothing of the sort. This is Maxwell’s home. He was born here and, as heir, he belongs here, which means that his son does too. It is up to everyone at Tremain to accept the situation with dignity, and a wife who does so will win nothing but admiration.’

  Why am I bribing her with flattery? Charlotte wondered. She had not looked forward to this interview and it was proving even more difficult than anticipated because Phoebe was in something more than her usual pettish mood when thwarted. There was venom in her voice, a viciousness which ruled out calm reasoning.

  Charlotte knew her daughter-in-law well enough to recognise that she intended to play the role of martyred wife to the full. What a tiresome creature she was; what a tiresome creature she had always been! But something had to be done about her, some persuasion brought to bear to make her accept the situation one way or another. This drifting state of affairs must end.

  ‘I am not so unreasonable as to expect or even hope that you and Max could come together again. The marriage was disastrous for both of you — ’

  ‘For me, not him. He had his way in everything.’

  Charlotte wanted to say: And what about you? You gained all you married for — money, position, a social standing which you considered more desirable than the one you already had, which was perfectly satisfactory if only you had had the sense to see it. Your parents were nice people, good people, and your father a most lovable man, despite your elder brother’s contempt for him. I liked George Drayton far better than I liked his elder son.

  But aloud she said, ‘I have a proposition to make. I have thought it over carefully and I hope you will accept it. You will have your own quarters at Tremain — ’

  ‘These quarters. None other.’

  ‘Not these. This wing belongs to the heir. As his presumed widow you naturally continued to live in it, but you are not his widow, so it must now revert to him. You may take your pi
ck of other accommodation which will offer all the comforts to which you are accustomed. There are spacious rooms in the East wing — ’

  ‘To catch the East winds!’

  ‘To catch the morning sun. And East winds don’t blow every day. The rooms are as elegant as any in Tremain Hall. Likewise to the North.’

  ‘Cold!’

  ‘No one can claim that this house isn’t well heated. Timber from the estate provides roaring log fires whenever and wherever they are needed, as you very well know.’ Impatience began to take over. ‘If you are determined to be difficult, I shall have no choice but to decide where you are to be housed, and have your personal possessions moved there.’ Feeling suddenly tired and old, Charlotte burst out, ‘Child, child — will you never grow up? You are a woman of forty and yet you behave like a spoilt girl. Rebelling against life is useless. Accept it in a sane and adult way, and it becomes tolerable. Tremain Hall is mercifully big enough for us all to live our separate lives without encroaching on others. Take my advice and — ’

  ‘I will not take your advice! You have never stopped advising me since my wedding day, when your precious son behaved disgustingly and shamed me before everyone. I remember my mother’s face, and Joseph’s too — ’

  Phoebe broke off, recalling that in fact her brother’s had been quite inscrutable, as it could be when he wanted no one to guess what he was thinking. As he watched the tipsy bridegroom she had even detected a flash of satisfaction, but that could only have been in her imagination.

  She continued furiously, ‘You, of course, called it youthful high spirits and advised me to remember only the good things in marriage, never the bad. In my marriage there was nothing good to remember! And now you expect me not only to yield up my home to the man who caused me nothing but wretchedness, but to move into inferior quarters — ’

  ‘They will be far from inferior — ’

  ‘ — while he lives in this fine wing, doubtless entertaining his mistresses here!’

  ‘And what about you? What about the lover you have been receiving here? Will he still be sneaking up back stairs when summoned?’

  Phoebe’s shock was swiftly covered with a look of outrage, which made Charlotte’s patience finally snap.

  ‘Don’t pretend with me,’ she said sharply. ‘I have looked the other way ever since I learned about the affair. People don’t condemn solitary men and women who find solace for their loneliness — and you are in no position to condemn a man you no longer live with. I don’t doubt that Maxwell enjoys the company of other women, but I do doubt whether he would do so, in the way you infer, beneath the same roof as his son. He loves the boy. He is proud of him. It is plain that he has done his best to bring him up with a sense of the rightness of things and a pride in his heritage. I am grateful to both Miguel and his mother for the change they wrought in Maxwell. They brought out depths of his character which we never knew were there. I am sure he is unlikely to do anything to embarrass his son or to lose his respect, so any peccadilloes, if he indulges in them, will be kept well away from Tremain. I would be grateful if you would do the same. Live with dignity and discretion, accept the changed circumstances with grace, and no one will sit in judgment on you.’

  ‘I will live as morally as I have always lived,’ Phoebe said piously, ‘but not beneath the same roof as my husband. He must provide me with another; one of my own choice. And that, dear Mother-in-law, is all I have to say on the matter.’

  *

  Charlotte had never visited her daughter-in-law uninvited before, and now that she had done so and discovered her far from prostrate, it was useless for Phoebe to pretend any longer. She immediately adopted a new role — that of an injured wife bravely facing the world. The first step was to order a carriage. She would let the whole of Burslem see how courageous she was; she would drive the length and breadth of the valley, head high, and everyone would admire her for it.

  Fortunately the day was fine enough for a passenger not to need protection against the weather, so she instructed Parker to put down the hood and not to drive too fast. Thus she ensured that everyone in Burslem would be able to take a good look at her.

  Unfortunately, it also gave her father-in-law an opportunity to hail her half way down the long main drive. There he was, taking a shaky walk on the smooth verge. She hoped the concentration demanded by his walking stick, on which he was leaning heavily, would prevent him from noticing her, but the old man had sharp ears and at the sound of wheels on gravel he turned to see who was coming, then shouted to Parker to stop.

  ‘Ha! So it’s you, Phoebe! I’d heard you were stricken, or something. Glad to see it’s not true. You look damned blooming. Shows you’re being sensible about things, eh? Charlotte been talking to you? Heed what she says, m’girl. Wise woman, my Charlotte.’

  Phoebe thought impatiently that his Charlotte should drum some dignity into her aging husband, who didn’t seem to care that a coachmen was perched on the box, hearing every word despite appearing to be deaf. The entire conversation would find its way back to the stable quarters and thence to the kitchens, so she cut it short by enquiring after the old man’s gout.

  ‘You are wise to take exercise,’ she said coolly. ‘I never give in to suffering, myself.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, m’dear. Means you’ve got over all that nonsense — y’know what I mean, don’t you? Moping. Feeling sorry for yourself. That sort of thing never did anyone any good. “She’ll be sensible,” I told my dear wife. “She’ll come round to your way of thinking. Sure to. What else can she do?”’

  Phoebe gave the coachman a sharp poke in the back with the ferrule of her parasol, making him promptly crack the whip. She didn’t even trouble to raise her mittened hand in farewell, but left Ralph Freeman standing where he was, staring after the departing vehicle. Nor did she look back, though she could imagine him looking very miffed by her indifference. What was it Lionel called the old man behind his back? A stupid old gaffer, that was it, and how right he was, and how deftly she had escaped!

  She hoped she wouldn’t be waylayed again, but she was, this time more fortunately. Lionel came driving through the main gates at a spanking pace, causing Parker to pull out of his way. On seeing her, her nephew reined sharply and called, ‘If it isn’t my pretty aunt!’ He doffed the latest style in tall beavers, adding as he did so, ‘Come, walk with me. Parker can attend to these — ’

  So saying he hitched the reins, jumped down, and came to help her to alight, leaving the coachman to attend the horses.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said as he led her across grass. ‘I have been concerned for you. All goes well, I hope?’

  ‘All does not go well, dear Lionel.’

  He turned toward a secluded spot, urging her to tell him all about it, which she was only too eager to do.

  ‘Believe it or not, I am expected to condone my husband’s disgraceful conduct by continuing to live at Tremain, but in another part of the house.’

  ‘So he wants the heir’s wing, does he? I thought he might.’

  ‘Being Max, he takes it for granted and of course his mother supports the idea.’

  ‘But wouldn’t that arrangement be better than having to share it with him? The man must seem like a stranger to you, after virtually a lifetime apart. At least you will continue to live independently. You know what that means, don’t you?’

  It wasn’t the first time he had hinted at things she wanted no one to know about, but she took comfort from the thought that, being dear Joseph’s son, she could surely trust him.

  Or could she? What and who had made Agatha so suspicious that she had come uninvited to her bedroom that afternoon, turning the doorknob hopefully? And what, or who, had prompted the woman’s jibes about a pretended migraine, that same evening? Agatha had a great ability to probe and a mother’s influence over a son didn’t always die.

  But Phoebe’s fears were assuaged when Lionel slipped a comforting arm through hers and said gently, ‘My dear, don’t fret.
You can trust me. You have a friend in me. Shall we sit awhile?’ He led her to a secluded arbour and when he had brushed the stone seat with a spotless lace-edged kerchief and then spread it for her to sit on, he took hold of her hand and patted it kindly.

  ‘What news of Acland?’ he said. ‘You know you can confide in me. Tell me — what does he say about the situation, how does he feel?’

  ‘I — don’t know.’ In broken tones she confessed that she had heard nothing.

  ‘Have you written to him?’

  ‘How can I? A letter would be seen when the mailbag in the hall was emptied. You know Grandfather Ralph does that personally when it’s time to send the contents to the mail coach outside the Red Lion. He never overlooks a thing, short-sighted though he is — or pretends to be. I’ve seen him peer at every despatch.’

  ‘Then I must be your messenger. Dry your tears and take heart. I will mail a letter for you in Stoke, or if you think it too risky to write personally, let me have Acland’s address and I will do it on your behalf. No one but you and I will ever know.’

  ‘Oh, Lionel, how kind you are!’

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. ‘Nonsense. You deserve some happiness. It’s agreed that I shall write to him, then? I’ll suggest a meeting at the Duke’s Head in Stoke, and when the time comes I will personally convey you there in my smart new turn-out which, by the way, I hope you noticed and admired? There — you are looking happier already!’

  ‘And relieved. Dear Lionel, forgive me, but I’ve been a little uneasy — about you, I mean. I felt you were somehow threatening me that day … ’

  ‘Me threatening you? I am nothing but your devoted nephew who wishes you nothing but happiness. However, we must face the fact that it will now be more difficult for you to receive Acland here, in whatever part you live, for only the heir’s wing has its own entrance.’

  ‘Ah — but I won’t be living here!’ There was conspiratorial delight in her voice. ‘I am demanding a new home, one entirely my own, and Max must not only provide it, but maintain it — plus supplying a substantial income to go with it. Those are my terms and I’ll not deviate from them.’