‘I am trying a new kind of coffee, Papa,’ she said hastily. ‘I think you will like it. It is best Arabica –’ The coffee steamed hot and fragrant in the cup and he seized it greedily and began to drink. She watched him anxiously.
‘It seems good enough,’ he muttered after half the cup had vanished. ‘Now, as to money –’ He stopped and drank again and then sniffed unappetizingly. ‘Well, it is perhaps not quite so bad as you might have thought – I am able to give you somewhat towards the household bills. As long as you manage thriftily of course. And I may get better dinners –’ He looked up at her then and said with an oddly gruff air, ‘I would be as good a homebody as any were I to be fed properly.’
She stood looking down at him, puzzled at first, and then realized what was happening. He was holding out an olive branch to her. He knew she had been ill-treated, that he had let her down in his management of her marriage, and in his own way was trying to make some sort of amends. It would be easy, she thought with a sort of longing, really very easy to accept his offering, to respond warmly with assurances that she would see to it that he got the best dinners she could arrange, but something held her back. It was as though that familiar hateful dream had started unwinding at the base of her mind, the dream in which she hid under Mamma’s lace tablecloth until he came and found her and then –
She stepped back and said carefully, ‘I will do my best, Papa.’
‘Well, see to it that you do,’ he snapped and put his head down to his coffee cup. ‘Now, fetch me what victuals you have there for me, and be about your business.’
‘You told me there would be money for the household, Papa,’ she said, not moving. ‘It would be easier if I had it now, if you please.’
He stared up at her, his expression rather still for him, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse her. But he nodded and reached into his pocket for his sovereign case.
He took out two sovereigns and slapped them on the table. ‘That’s the best I can do.’
‘And when shall I come again for more, Papa?’ she said as she picked them up with fingers that were a great deal steadier than she thought they would be, for inside she was shaking.
‘How – is there no end to your pestering, woman? When I have it, that is when!’
‘I need to know precisely what I may expect to run the house,’ she said steadily. ‘Week by week. I will need this much at least each week and would prefer it if I could have more –’
‘No doubt you would,’ he said and snapped his paper in front of his face. ‘But you can’t. You shall have two sovereigns each week to run your kitchen, and that is that. I expect value for that, mind you. It is a large enough sum in all conscience. Where’s my breakfast, damn your eyes?’
Eliza, who had been silently serving a plate at the sideboard all this time slipped it in front of him and he looked down at the bacon – and she had given him a good deal of it – surrounded by sippets of fried bread, and made a derisive snorting sound. But he picked up his knife and fork and set to with obvious appetite and they watched him anxiously.
He said nothing, eating all there was and seizing toast with which to wipe the remains of the bacon fat from his plate and Eliza and Tilly exchanged glances and knew that each had thought the same thing. ‘That’s all right, then …’
Eliza had cleared the breakfast table and tended the fire in the morning room, and gone away to clean the rest of the house, and still Tilly sat on at the table with her head down over her computations.
It was agreeable in the morning room; the fire crackled in a cheerful fashion and outside the garden had filled with morning sunshine which showed up with great clarity the blush of new green vegetation and the clumps of daffodils and primroses, for at this time of the day the morning room received the best of the available light. She could hear birdsong and more distantly the sound of hammers and saws as the building all around the Grove went on, while from inside the house there came the comfortable clatter of Eliza’s buckets and mops, and she looked about the small room and thought almost in surprise, ‘I’m happy.’
This room had always been a favourite of hers, with its old-fashioned light fruitwood furniture, not at all like the heavy modern mahogany of the dining-room and the drawing-room, and the rather faded but still handsome red Turkey carpet. It had been her mother’s favourite room too, she remembered, when Tilly had been very small, back in the days when she had gone about her house like any other lady, rather than spent all her time immured in her own room. Poor Mamma, Tilly thought and tried to conjure up some sort of feeling for her apart from pity; but she could not. Henrietta Kingsley had become such a cipher in the house, so insignificant, so ignored, that no one, with the best will in the world, could really care about her. But Tilly cared about the house and about Eliza and about herself, and to a lesser degree about her Papa and her husband.
Papa was right, she told herself as she looked down at the columns of figures she had made. I must treat Frank better. I dare say it is not easy for him to have to live here rather than in a house of his own, and Papa has cheated him, after all. I must be kinder and less critical. I dare say last night he meant well enough. At least he was trying to be kind in his own way. How could he know how to behave to a lady, after all? Orphans sent away to school from their sixth year, as Frank had been by his guardian, to spend all their time with boys and men, must always be uneasy with women. Though speaking of our private affairs to strangers was unforgiveable. But at least he tried. So, I must too. I must make myself forgive the unforgiveable. I dare say if I had drunk as much as he had I would have been as stupid too. I dare say if I could go out and drink at a club, I would. She drifted into a sort of daydream, seeing herself dressed as a man, swaggering out of the house and away to the town to sit in a club and drink a lot, but it was very difficult to sustain the image. Try as she might she could not imagine herself dressed in trousers and coats and cravats; any more than she could imagine having the freedom to go where she wanted; it was an impossibility for any woman. And as for the pleasures of drinking – she could not understand them at all. She rarely took anything stronger than a little sherry and even that she did not particularly like. Dorcas had often tried to make her drink daffy, but unless there was a great deal more water than gin in it she had found it unpalatable. So, entering into Frank’s pleasure in drink was something she found very difficult.
But all the same, she told herself as she looked down at her columns of numbers again, I must try to please him better. Perhaps Papa is right, after all. And I don’t want to be like poor Mamma, ignored and forgotten.
She did the additions again and was reasonably satisfied. If she followed the most frugal of plans for the kitchen and learned to cook as much as she could herself, it should be possible to live well enough on the money her father had allowed her. There were people who had to be paid, of course; the washerwoman, for a start. She was not very costly, being paid in pence rather than shillings, but she came every day, after all, to collect her work, and her father would make a dreadful fuss if his linen was not well ironed. There was a certain amount Tilly could do herself but laundry was out of the question. No lady could be supposed to understand how to deal with that.
There would have to be more help in the house. With Mrs Cashman gone and Mrs Leander retired to the top floor, it all fell on Eliza’s shoulders and that was too much. A cleaner who could do the heavy work, that was what was needed; and she wondered what the rate would be for such a person, could she but find one. Respectable houses, after all, always had their staff living in; would not only ragamuffins consent to take a position that did not give them their keep and their victuals as well as firing and all the other hidden expenses of life? Tilly had to admit she did not know. But I can find out, she told herself, remembering the slattern who used to work in the kitchen. She had been used only as a scullery cleaner, but could she be used for other work? It seemed unlikely to Tilly, but I can find out, she thought, and turned her attention
to the lists she had made of costs of food.
She had worked largely from memory, of course, but she thought she had it pretty clear. Mr Burdon’s prices – or rather Mr Harrod’s, she reminded herself – were fresh in her mind from her visit to the shop to pay her bill as were, of course, Mr Jobbins’s, from whom she now bought her groceries. The prices of other items such as Mr Spurgeon’s meat bill and the money spent on fresh fish when the man came to the door, and the price of vegetables from the market gardener over towards Shepherd’s Bush who came calling every other day, were also becoming familiar to her, as were the costs of their other supplies, since she had now paid all the bills. Yes, she thought, as long as I can find a better dairy – for the price of milk and butter and cheese and eggs seemed to her to be unconscionable – they would do well enough. There was little margin for such things as wine and brandy but, she told herself bravely, Papa must buy his own, for it was not precisely needed in the house. Except for Mamma – but she would not think that.
She became aware then of the way the sounds around her had changed, and lifted her head. Someone was shouting above stairs and she took a sharp little breath in through tightened nostrils. Papa again? She had thought he had gone out.
She listened again, more carefully, and realized with a plunge of spirits that it was Frank. They would have to mend fences at some point after last night’s fracas, and now was as good as any other; at least she had unlocked his door before coming downstairs. She stood up and smoothed her gown over her hips and moved towards the door to go out and find him and speak to him.
He had reached the hall by the time she got there, and was shrugging himself into his top-coat and she went to help him.
‘Good morning, Frank,’ she said quietly as she lifted his coat collar, which had become crumpled, and set it in place. ‘Did you not wish for breakfast this morning? We have cleared the morning room, but I can arrange –’
‘No,’ he said loudly. ‘I want nothing at all. Not a damned thing.’
Her shoulders tightened. She had come out of the morning room intending to make friends again and to be sworn at in such a fashion melted some of her resolve. But she took a deep breath and persisted.
‘Perhaps just come coffee?’ she said and he whirled on her, his face tight with anger.
‘Oh! Now you are trying to be all sweet and good to me, is that it? Treated me last night as though I were – as though I were a footpad set to cut your throat and now you think fit to offer me coffee in this mawkish fashion. What do you think I am, God damn your eyes?’
She couldn’t help it. ‘There is no need to swear at me, Frank. I did not mean to scream so last night, but you frightened me. I did not know who it was.’
‘Who it was? You stupid bitch, who should it be but me – or are you such a bawd that a dozen come marching into your bedroom when I am not here?’
‘Frank!’ She had gone white. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me so.’
‘I shall speak to you in any way I choose,’ he shouted. ‘You’re my wife, God help my pathetic soul, and the least I can do is treat you as you deserve, you wretched –’
‘Stop it!’ she cried and then, unthinkingly, for the smell of his breath made her head reel, she shouted, ‘You’re still drunk! How much did you take last night, for pity’s sake? You cannot treat your constitution so and expect –’
‘All I expect is to be allowed to live my life as any man would, and that includes having a wife who obeys the demands I put on her and does not scream her stupid head off and lock me in my dressing-room rather than submit as she should. All I expect is that I shall drink as much as I choose. You hear me? And I shall use you as I choose, too. I have the right – I’ve had little enough out of this wedding I was pushed to, God knows. I’ll have what’s due to me – just you see.’
He marched to the front door, opened it and stood straddling the threshold, swaying a little and glaring at her. She could just see his face, for the light behind him threw his features into shadow. ‘You hear me?’
‘I hear you,’ she said steadily. ‘And you hear me. If you return to this house tonight in your drunken state, I shall lock the doors against you. Not just your dressing-room, but the front door and the back door too. I will not be abused so in my own home.’
‘You will, and you may as well get used to it! I shan’t again put up with what I put up with last night –’ He stopped and seemed to gather his wits about him. ‘I shall be back late tonight, and I shall be drunk if I choose to be. And you will submit to me, and that’s the end of it. So get yourself ready, Madam. For that is how it shall be from now on.’
And he went out and slammed the door behind him so hard that the glass in the windows rattled.
Chapter Eight
IT TOOK HER the greater part of the morning to feel calm again. She stood in the hall hearing the echo of the slam of the front door, looking dumbly at the patches of colour thrown on to the black-and-white floor tiles by the light shining through the decorative glass panels in the door, red and blue and green and a vibrant purple, and waited till she felt better. It had not just been anger he displayed, she thought. It had been plain hatred and she closed her eyes for a moment against the way that thought made her stomach tighten and heave a little. To be hated, when so short a time ago he had seemed as loving a man as any girl could hope for in a husband, was a bitter pill. She tried to remember that glorious year of being engaged; it was less than a year now that she had been a married woman, but the days when she had been Miss Matilda Kingsley seemed an eternity ago. She couldn’t even be sure she was the same person.
She opened her eyes and took a deep breath and went down to the kitchen, putting on as collected and serene an appearance as she could. Eliza was scrubbing the kitchen table and smiled at her briefly as she came in, and Tilly glanced at her and then away. She was relaxed enough; perhaps she had not heard the altercation above stairs? But she must have done, she thought drearily; they must have heard in the street outside, and she was suddenly so grateful to the girl for her kind tact that she went across and in a moment of sheer affection hugged her. Eliza looked startled and then deeply embarrassed and bobbed her head and went on with her scrubbing with great vigour, but Tilly could see she was pleased. She went to sit in the chair beside the fire, which was burning sweetly now, next to the old iron kettle which Eliza had balanced on the coals. It was whispering a little, working itself up to full steam, and Tilly nodded at it and said easily, ‘When it boils, Eliza, you and I shall sit here and share a dish of tea and discuss our plans for the rest of today and indeed for the rest of this week.’
Eliza finished the table and took her bucket and brush and rags out to the scullery beyond the kitchen, and called back over her shoulder. ‘Thank you, Missus. I won’t say no. And there’s a bit of teacake here in the larder left after the baker went yesterday as’ll only go to waste if we don’t have it. You had nothing to eat at breakfast, and that can’t be good for you. I’ll set that to the toasting fork and you shall have it. I’ll not be above a few moments.’
Tilly leaned back in her seat, which was the most comfortable in the kitchen, being a high backed armchair with a handsome rag cushion on its seat, made to match the rug that lay beneath her feet on the hearth, and looked about her. It was a pleasant kitchen, she thought, concentrating her mind on what she was looking at as a way of not thinking about the dreadful scene with Frank. And it’s looking better all the time. Eliza had clearly worked hard to clean everything since Mrs Cashman had left. Not only the table had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life (and now it was drying to a soft creamy gold in which she could clearly see the deep grain in the wood) but so had the stone floor. The wide flags in various shades of brown and grey were hollowed with the action of many feet over many years, but had a pleasing gloss to them now that Eliza had dug out from the cracks between the flags the grime that had been embedded there. The wide dark varnished dresser, with its rows of blue and white plates and cups and arrangem
ents of great copper pans of all sizes and shapes, was neat and pretty, and sent the firelight winking back at her most cheerfully. There was also a glass jam jar into which Eliza had set some primroses, freshly pulled from the garden. She had set primroses on the broad window sill, too, and cleaned the previously grimy windows so that now, looking outwards and upwards, Tilly could see the feet and legs of passers-by as they hurried on their way in the Grove. The railings, she could see, were a little rusty. A coat of paint, perhaps, she thought and then smiled almost against her will. I’m beginning to be quite overtaken with this business of being a housewife. At one time I would never have noticed such a thing as a little rust on the area railings.
Eliza came back in from the scullery with a tray on which the teacakes were set on a thick blue and white plate, and a square of butter had been put on a wooden dish. ‘If you allow, Missus, I’ll just set this to the embers and mash a pot of tea and then we can be comfortable, like.’
‘I’ll do the toasting,’ Tilly said and took up the toasting fork from the hook beside the fire and impaled the teacake on it and held it to the bars of the fire as Eliza set to work making her tea in the big brown kitchen pot, and silence slipped back into the room, apart from the faint song of the kettle and the hiss of the coals. The scent of toast drifted to Tilly’s nose and she thought almost with surprise, ‘Oh! I am hungry after all,’ and when both teacakes were ready and well buttered and her tea was set on the table within her reach, she ate with real appetite. The queasiness has quite gone, she thought a little wryly, now that both Papa and Frank are out of the house. It makes all the difference.
London Lodgings Page 9
