Seasons of Love

by Anna Jacobs

  Some of the proprietors of the rooms they lodged in objected to the noise the baby inevitably made and other tenants objected too, for Harry had a lusty pair of lungs.

  Then there was the amount of washing a baby caused. As if a baby would notice whether its clothes were clean or not! But Helen wouldn’t give way on this point. She had dainty tastes and insisted on keeping herself, her baby and her husband immaculately clean, however many pails of water she had to lug up and down narrow flights of steps to do so.

  And since Robert was providing less and less money, she also had to spend every minute she could sewing to earn more, so that Harry should never, ever lack for anything.

  ‘Oh, Roxanne,’ she sighed one day. ‘Does nothing beautiful ever last?’

  ‘Not in my experience.’

  ‘What does last then?’

  ‘Money.’

  When Roxanne asked her bluntly one day if she intended to have another child, Helen gaped at her.

  ‘Intend? I thought babies just - happened.’ She blushed and stared at the ground.

  ‘They needn’t happen if you don't want them to. How do you think I've managed all these years?’

  ‘But you're not mar- ’ Helen blushed even more hotly.

  Roxanne laughed. ‘Helen, my love, it's time you faced a few facts. The first one is that life with Robert will always be chancy and you’ll have to rely on yourself to look after your son. The things your mother and father taught you, well, morals like those are all very well for people with money and a position in the community, but if you're a woman with your own way to make in the world, you can't afford to behave virtuously all the time. And you certainly can't afford to keep getting pregnant.’

  She put her arm round the younger woman. ‘I don't steal and cheat, but if a gentleman wants to pay me for the use of my body, well, I think it's a fair enough exchange, for I keep myself clean and I give them good value. Does that make you want to stop being friends with me?’ As she waited for an answer, it occurred to her that she would be very upset to lose her companion’s friendship.

  Helen thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Of course not! Nothing could! You've been the best of friends to me.’ She gave Roxanne a hug, as if to prove it, and her friend drew her close and gave her a long cuddle, which ended with a smacking kiss on the cheek.

  After which, Roxanne laughed at herself for being so sentimental and wiped away her tears.

  ‘That's good, then. Friends we’ll stay. But I do think you should know how to stop yourself having any more children. He'll leave you if you do. You do realise that don't you?’

  There was a moment's silence, then Helen swallowed hard and whispered, ‘Yes.’

  She fiddled with the edge of her apron as Roxanne spoke, but she listened carefully, for all her embarrassment, and afterwards, the two women went to the apothecary and bought some sponges to use for birth-control.

  And as she told Roxanne later she had Robert's whole-hearted support for this.

  As the first year of young Harry Perriman's life passed, Helen admitted to herself that in spite of all the difficulties of her new life, she was far happier than she had been living with her parents. She’d written to inform them of the birth of her son, but received no reply. This didn’t surprise her, but it made her very thoughtful, and after a while she asked Robert's permission to write to Lord Northby and inform him also, since he was a sort of cousin.

  ‘Why d’you want to do that? He hasn’t done anything much for us, has he?’ Except poke his damned nose into Robert’s affairs and saddle him with a wife and child he couldn’t afford.

  ‘Oh, just in case - well, just in case it's useful for Harry one day to prove who he is.’

  Robert nodded slowly. Perhaps there was some more money to be had from the family later.

  ‘Can't hurt, I suppose. Do as you please, my dear.’

  Lord Northby sent her an impersonal little note in return, thanking her for the information and enclosing a silver christening spoon for the infant.

  Robert was unimpressed by the spoon. ‘That won’t fetch much. I call it paltry.’

  ‘We shall never know how much it will fetch. It's Harry's and shall be kept safe for him.’ She looked so fiercely at her husband as she spoke that Robert put the idea of selling it out of his head.

  He was beginning to find her intractable on some points, and had learned that she did have a temper, slow to rouse, but which could turn her into a raging fury if he did anything that might upset the boy.

  Once or twice, when Robert's luck was right out, they became very short indeed of money. Only Helen's tiny quarterly income saved her and the baby from going without the necessities of life and she had to fight to get a share of that, even. Roxanne did not now need to remind her to keep some of her money secret. She had a reserve of coins hidden in the lining of her sewing-basket and the thought of them was a great comfort to her.

  She began to dread a certain look on Robert's face and to wish he wouldn’t gamble quite so often or stay out so late drinking with his cronies. She also wished he was a more loving father and that she had a proper home of her own with a little garden, nothing grand, she would have been content with a cottage.

  But she didn’t voice these wishes. She’d married an actor and must take the consequences. Just as long as no harm came to Harry. That she wouldn’t stand for. And give Robert his due, he wasn’t actively cruel to the child.

  In Bath, Robert fell ill, so ill that he couldn’t go on stage. For an actor, this was a rare thing, because as the members of this company said to encourage one another, ‘Go on, even if it kills you.’ They always laughed and added, ‘If you’re a good actor, the audience will never notice.’

  The understudy was hurriedly coached for the part and Robert lay fretting and coughing in bed, delirious half the time, with a raging fever. He made a poor patient, complaining about everything Helen did for him, complaining most of all about the noise little Harry made.

  And for all Helen's devoted nursing, Robert got worse, not better. The company was to move at the end of the week, but there could be no question of him going with them. Another handsome young actor was engaged and everyone packed their boxes.

  Roxanne came to their lodgings to say goodbye in a whirl of silks and furs (she had a new admirer who was showering presents on her). She hugged Helen to her and said huskily, ‘I shall miss you, love, miss you a lot. And this little fellow too.’ She tickled Harry, who had crawled over to tug at her bright-coloured skirts, and he crowed and gurgled up at her.

  ‘Can't you - keep that brat - quiet?’ gasped the invalid.

  Helen picked up her son and cuddled him, grimacing at Roxanne.

  ‘I don't envy you,’ whispered Roxanne, seeing that Robert had dozed off again. ‘Is he always so bad-tempered?’

  Helen's eyes filled with tears at this expression of sympathy, and she could only nod and cuddle her son more tightly. ‘I shall miss you too,’ she managed, after a while. ‘Never mind, though, perhaps we shall be together again once Robert's better and we can rejoin the company.’

  Roxanne fiddled with the lace on her bodice. ‘Yes, well, that's what I came to tell you. I'm thinking of leaving the theatre. As I shall be selling my share of it to Miles Barker, the company will probably re-form after Bristol. And - well, you know he doesn’t get on with Robert.’

  Helen swallowed her disappointment. ‘Oh? I - didn’t know you’d saved enough money to retire.’

  ‘I haven’t. But my gentleman friend has offered to set me up in a house of my own and settle some money on me. It's a generous offer and I’d be a fool not to take it.’ She smiled grimly, ‘At least, I’m going to take it if our lawyers can agree. I’m not doing anything till it’s signed and sealed.’

  ‘Oh.’ Helen tried not to look disapproving.

  Roxanne smiled wryly. ‘I knew you wouldn't like it, love, but I'm not getting any younger, am I? I do have something saved, but not enough to live on in comfort for th
e rest of my life if I stop working.’ She laughed. ‘I've not been a great success as an actress. Oh, I'm competent enough, but I'm past my prime and I know now that I'll never be famous.’

  ‘I think you're a wonderful actress,’ Helen said stoutly.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ Roxanne's face softened as she looked at her young friend, ‘but you're as bad a judge of acting as you are of husbands. Anyway, my Jack's well-heeled. He'll look after me for a while, and when he's gone, well, I’ll still have the house he's buying for me. So - I reckon you'd better tell Robert,’ she jerked her head towards the bed, ‘to find himself another company when he gets better.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Roxanne lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘If he doesn’t get better, if he dies and leaves you in trouble, come to me. That’s a bad cough.’

  Helen knew what her friend wasn’t saying. She too had heard coughs like that before and knew what they could mean. No, not Robert.

  ‘Oh, he’ll probably be all right. His looks should last a good few years yet, but be sure you make other plans for later on. He's not got a great deal of talent, so when his looks fade, he'll be out of a job.’

  Helen nodded. After over a year in the theatrical world, she did not need to be told that. ‘Yes. I see.’

  ‘Is that all you can say?’

  ‘I - don't know what to say.’ Helen picked up Harry, who had put his thumb in his mouth and stopped crawling around. She cuddled him and concentrated on not weeping all over her friend.

  ‘Well, you could start by saying that you won't disown me, and that you'll come and see me when you're in London.’ Roxanne tried to smile, but looked more like a woman about to cry. ‘You know, love, you're like the daughter I never had.’

  Helen set the baby down in his cradle and flung her arms round the only friend she'd ever known.

  ‘Of course I won't disown you! You've been more like a mother to me than my own ever was, and you’ve taught me so much. I hope you'll be very happy with your - with Jack.’

  Roxanne wept a little more, dashed away the tears and insisted on taking Helen out for a farewell meal. After paying the landlady's daughter to keep an eye on the invalid and the sleeping baby, she swept Helen off to the nearest chop house. Over a nice plate of steak pie and boiled potatoes, she loaded Helen with as much shrewd advice as she could think of, and left her with the name of Jack's lawyer in London. He would know where to contact her.

  When Helen got back, the baby was howling and Robert had taken a turn for the worse. Feeling very alone in the world, she tried to make her husband comfortable.

  Somehow, during the next few weeks, Helen found the strength to cope with the baby and the needs of her husband, as well as the complaints of the landlady and the problems of making the money last.

  Red-eyed for lack of sleep, she struggled through an interminable series of days and nights which blurred into one another.

  She was near collapse herself by the time her husband began to recover, but she dared not give in to her weariness, for fear Harry would suffer.

  As Robert improved, he grew more querulous.

  ‘That damned baby never stops crying.’ He scowled at Harry.

  Helen picked him up and shushed him, rocking him until he was asleep.

  When she served some oat gruel, Robert flicked her hand with one fingertip and grimaced. ‘Your hands are all red and cracked. You look like a kitchen maid.’

  When she brought him more gruel later in the day, he pushed the spoon away. ‘Why do you feed me this slop? I need some proper food if I’m to get well enough to work.’

  At that her patience snapped and she turned on him. ‘Shut up, shut up, shut up! Don’t you dare complain to me!’

  Someone thumped on the floor above them.

  She spoke more quietly, but the tone of her voice was still anguished. ‘You're worse than a baby!

  Lying there complaining! If you want better food, then give me some money to buy it, for I can afford nothing else. You won't eat well till you go out and earn something. I've nothing left -

  nothing! - and you haven't even got a job to go on to! The company's changed hands.’ She gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth. She had intended to wait until he was nearly recovered before telling him this.

  ‘Closed down! Why didn't you tell me before?’

  ‘You were too ill. I thought - I thought you were going to die.’ She fumbled her way round the bed, collapsed upon it next to him and buried her head in the pillow. ‘And I can't take any more, I can't.’

  He realised matters were serious and tried to pull himself together. Her sobbing penetrated his awareness, so he patted her heaving shoulders and kept murmuring, ‘It'll be all right. We'll come about. You'll see. I'm definitely getting better now.’

  Gradually her sobs stopped and her breathing deepened. Mercifully the baby had fallen asleep too. Robert lay there and thought things over. So he'd been that ill, eh? Like to die. Good thing he'd had her to look after him, then. He owed her something for that. He eased himself off the bed. Helen didn't wake, only rolled over and muttered in her sleep. There was little sign of beauty about her now. She was stick-thin, and her eyes had dark circles round them. Even her hair looked dull and lifeless. That's what marriage did to people, he thought grimly, took all the fun out of life. Gave them responsibilities they didn't want. He scowled at the sleeping baby. Stupid things, babies!

  On legs that felt nearly boneless, he staggered over to the fly-specked mirror above the fireplace and studied his face. He looked even worse than she did. Not much sign of his good looks now. And he wouldn't get another acting job till he looked right again. He knew that as well as anyone. He had few illusions about his own acting capacities.

  Feeling a sort of greasy nausea after even that minor exertion, he tottered back to the bed and flopped down on it. Look at him, couldn't even walk across the room! He’d definitely be dead if it wasn’t for her. At that moment began a conviction that was to last him the rest of his life, a conviction that with Helen to look after him, he could survive anything. She was - dash it, she really was - a sort of lucky piece for him. And she still had her money. Forty pounds wasn’t much, but it was steady.

  The next day, Robert began a deliberate programme of self help. He got up several times to walk round the room, and sat for a while in a chair by the window, where he could get a bit of sun on his face. He always felt better when the sun shone.

  ‘Here,’ he said later. ‘You’d better go and pawn my signet ring.’ He always kept it as a last resort, and considered it another lucky piece, for he had never yet failed to win it back again. ‘And for heaven’s sake, bring back some proper food.’

  ‘But - I don’t know how to pawn things.’

  ‘I’ll tell you. It’s not hard.’

  She looked across at Harry.

  ‘I’m quite capable of keeping an eye on the brat while you’re out.’

  So she went and pawned the ring, then went on to the market to haggle over a piece of fish. She no longer enjoyed going to market, or felt a triumph when she picked up a bargain. It was merely something you had to do if you were to afford food. Furtively she picked up from the ground some pieces of spoiled fruit, bruised apples which still had good bits in them. These could be stewed for Harry. She saw a woman watching her scornfully and tears came to her eyes, but she didn't stop picking up the fruit. Harry had to be fed.

  By the end of the week, Robert had recovered enough to insist on dressing himself in some of his best clothes and going out in the evening to meet up with a few kindred spirits and maybe take a hand of cards. ‘Only I shall need some money for a stake.’

  How she dreaded hearing those words! She kept silent as he looked at her.

  ‘I know you've still got some a few coins hidden away, or you wouldn't have managed all these weeks. I've always known about your little hoards. Roxanne's idea? I thought so. You wouldn't have thought of it yourself. Well, I don't mind. Comes in useful sometimes to have a reserve
.’

  Her voice was cold and she felt as though she were speaking to a stranger. ‘I can't spare anything for your gambling, Robert. We need it all for food. You've got some money left from the ring. Use that.’

  ‘Not enough. And if I don't make some money, we won't have enough to pay the fares to London so that I can find another job.’

  Obstinately she shook her head. The thought of him losing everything they owned in the world made her feel sick with horror.

  ‘If you don't give it to me, I'll tear your things apart until I find it! Where do you keep it?’ His voice was quiet, but there was a sharp tone to it and the look he gave her was equally sharp. As she made no move, he shrugged and took a step forward.

  She glanced towards her work-box, glad she’d stitched the coins into the lining.

  He laughed aloud and went to pick it up. ‘The money’s in here, isn't it?’

  Desperately she tried to take the box off him, but he pushed her away and tipped the contents onto the floor. He fumbled round the lining till he felt the coins and laughed in her face as the silver christening spoon and her last three guineas fell out. She had held on to the spoon through thick and thin, for it was not hers to sell, it was Harry's.

  ‘Clever girl! Just what I need!’ Robert put the coins in his pocket, picked up the spoon and studied it, then saw the expression on her face. ‘No, I think we'll keep that for a real emergency.’ He tossed it on the floor at her feet. ‘Just in case.’

  Picking up his hat, he sauntered towards the door. ‘I can feel the luck. It’s starting to throb through my veins. Don't wait up for me!’

  Dry-eyed, Helen picked up the spoon and cradled it to her breast. ‘You're not having this,’ she muttered. ‘Never.’ After a few minutes, she gathered up the threads and pins and bits of ribbon Robert had scattered over the floor and sewed back the torn lining of her box. From time to time, her eyes turned to Harry. The mere sight of him was a comfort.