‘There, that’s that lot done.’ The baker made a space on the tray, putting the pie and its companions into the oven. ‘Well, get crackin’, lass!’
The shop bell proclaimed another customer. Thomasin carried the tray of freshly-baked bread through to the shop, where the man who had made the bell jangle greeted her.
‘Good morning, Thomasin, my dear.’ He laid his hat and gloves on the counter to grin at her.
If Roland Cummings had sported a forked tail and horns he could not have appeared more demonic. His hooded black eyes were canopied by brows that sprang from the bridge of his nose and swept outwards like the wings of some bird of prey. The wide nose curved, beak-like, to meet thick lips which were, at this moment, attempting to give the impression of a smile. His thick, bull-like neck sprang from enormous shoulders, the latter threatening to break free of the fine frock-coat he wore at any moment.
‘Oh, we are formal this mornin’,’ said Thomasin, conversant that the horrific exterior concealed a kind and generous nature; the power in those shoulders was put to no greater use than spreading his butter on his morning toast. If Roland had any faults they would not incline towards violence – as his appearance might imply – but weakness, both in character and in his associations with the gentler sex. The latter he adored.
Which was how it had all begun between Thomasin and himself. She had been sitting in the tea shop, cradling a cup of steaming tea in her frozen hands and had looked up to answer the question directed at her.
‘Is anyone sitting here?’
Thomasin examined the chair with exaggerated scrutiny. ‘Not unless they’re suffering from chronic malnutrition.’
The man laughed – it emerged as a leer – and said, ‘May I?’
She nodded and, after putting him into the category of ‘completely useless’ took no further notice.
Although all the other seats were occupied it was no act of Providence that had brought Roland to her table. He had been standing outside for an age, shivering, while the tea shop filled up, silently urging everyone who entered to take any seat but the one next to the pretty girl’s, for that was where he wanted to be. Indeed, he had watched this attractive young woman for weeks, had followed her with his eyes as she made her journey to and from her work and in doing so passing the chambers where he pursued his career. Fascinated, he had watched her make her daily perambulation, stopping frequently to chatter and flirt with acquaintances – of whom there were many – and drawing admiring glances from both labourer and gentleman alike.
One could hardly describe her as beautiful – her nose was too large for beauty – but her smile was as brilliant as the auburn hair that snaked in coils around the well-shaped head and her eyes held an undoubtable sensuality. Excitement invariably caught at his belly as he watched the swaying hips that provided entertainment for her male audience. That midday as he had seen her leaving the cake shop he had rashly ignored the business luncheon with a client and at a discreet distance had followed her.
‘Seen enough?’ objected Thomasin, glaring at her ugly table-mate over her teacup.
‘I do humbly beg your pardon,’ replied Roland, though showing no discomfiture at having been caught blatantly ogling her body. ‘You must forgive me. If I stare it is only because I have never in all my life seen such beauty as yours.’
Thomasin was unimpressed; she had met his sort before – poets and actors who mouthed love-struck rhetoric and had not two halfpennies to rub together.
Roland looked downcast. ‘I can see that you do not believe me.’
She shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Oh, my dear, of course it matters!’ Roland leaned earnestly towards her, in so doing upsetting his own cup of tea over her dress.
She leapt up and twisted her mouth bad-temperedly as the hot tea soaked through to her skin.
‘I’m so dreadfully sorry.’ Roland pulled out his handkerchief as he stood. ‘Here, let me help you.’ He tried to mop at the tea stain on her dress but she brushed his hand away.
‘Eh, mind what yer doin’!’ she spluttered as the handkerchief stroked her thigh. Snatching it from him she dabbed at the mark. ‘Look what yer’ve done. It’ll not come out, yer know.’
‘I really cannot apologise enough,’ said Roland, waiting while she sat down again then joining her. ‘You must allow me to replace the gown or make some other recompense.’
‘Yer know what I think?’ said Thomasin. ‘I think yer did that on purpose.’
‘Oh, no,’ cried Roland. ‘It was truly an unfortunate accident. Please, you must believe me.’
She pulled down the corner of one eye and stuck her face into his. ‘See any green?’
Roland appeared mortified. ‘But why should I do a thing like that?’
‘’Cause I wasn’t takin’ no notice of yer, that’s why. I’m not as daft as I look.’
He grimaced and gave up the charade. ‘Am I as transparent as all that?’
For the first time since he had sat beside her Thomasin smiled. ‘Not really. It’s just that I’m pretty good at seein’ through people, even if I do say it missen.’ She was studying him now with a speculative gleam in her grey eyes. At first glance his scruffiness had dismissed him from any designs she may have had, but now she saw that his clothes, despite their ill-fit, were quite well-tailored; it was only the body underneath that made them hang badly. He must be a tailor’s nightmare, she thought. ‘All right then, come clean.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘What is it yer after?’ she prodded.
‘I’m afraid I do not…’
‘Oh, come on! Stop actin’ soft beggars. Any road, yer never gerrowt if yer don’t ask.’
He was somewhat taken aback by her broad accent, staring at her speechlessly until she grew tired of his reticence and suddenly rose from the table. ‘Right, I might as well be off then.’
‘No, wait!’ He grabbed her arm and she sat down again.
‘Well, out with it, I haven’t got all day.’
‘Very well.’ He sat ramrod straight in his chair. If she wanted bluntness she could have it. ‘I want you for my mistress.’
The woman at the next table gave a snort into her cup. She brought out her handkerchief to mop up the spilt tea and nudged her companion, inclining her head at the couple who provided the sport.
Unmoved, Thomasin looked him up and down, then cupped her chin in her palms and tried to categorise him. How old was he, thirty-six, thirty-seven? He was certainly no oil-painting; she had never seen anybody quite so ugly. But, having reversed her former evaluation, she decided that he was obviously a man of high status, judging by the expensive clothes and confident manner – he was fully expecting her to say yes. She stared into the smouldering eyes; there would be no holding this one at arms’ length, and strangely she found that a point towards acceptance. It had been a long time since there had been anything resembling excitement in her mundane life.
‘All right.’
He could scarcely believe her rapid decision. ‘You mean…?’
‘Why not?’ Why not indeed? It was not as if she was an innocent young maid. In the village where she had been born and had lived for twenty years before coming to live in York, there had been few more interesting pastimes than a tumble in a hayloft or cornfield, no feeling of shame over such a natural act as there might be in the city. One had to be extremely careful, though, when playing these dangerous games; but luck had always seemed to be with her on these occasions – well, part luck, part careful planning; she had never had the misfortune to be saddled with a misbegot. Now, at the age of twenty-five, she was the only one of five sisters to remain unmarried, and it sometimes felt as though the years were passing more quickly than ever. Why not grab a little excitement?
‘I must inform yer though I’ve got expensive tastes.’ She stood once more.
‘Anything you want will be yours,’ Roland promised rashly, rising too.
‘Yer can meet me after work tonight i
f yer like. Seven o’clock at Dawson’s Cakery. It’s round by…’
‘I know where it is,’ he forestalled her.
She raised an eyebrow and continued on her way then, as if suddenly remembering something, returned to where he stood. ‘I don’t even know yer blasted name.’ He told her. ‘Mine’s Thomasin Fenton,’ she said in a businesslike manner, then swept from the tea shop looking to neither right nor left.
Roland picked up his gloves, gave an amused glance to the woman at the next table then followed her out, pausing outside to feast his eyes on her retreating figure. ‘Thomasin.’ He tested the name on his tongue, rolling it around and savouring the taste of it. ‘Thomasin – yes, I like it.’ And congratulating himself on his conquest, marched briskly back to his work with a spring in his step.
Later that day Roland made his excuses to a client, all but pushing the man from his office in his eagerness to be off. He snatched a quick glance at his pocket watch, a procedure that had been repeated throughout the afternoon. Grabbing his coat he left his clerk to lock up.
Outside, the frost had begun to twinkle under the gaslight and his breath rose in clouds on the cool evening air. He walked hurriedly away from the slummy end of Piccadilly – that so illustrious a man as he should be forced to have his chambers here!—but it was near the Castle where he performed his art. Soon he reached the little bakery. It was closed; the door was locked and the shutters were down. He leaned his head against the cold window in disappointment.
‘Right one, you are, tellin’ a girl yer’ll walk her ’ome an’ leavin’ ’er to get frozen to death!’
He spun round quickly, the relief evident on his face. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear, I was unavoidably delayed.’
‘Yer’ll ’ave to do better than that if we’re gonna be friends. I can’t abide folk who’re late all time.’
He apologised again, then laughed. ‘I seem to be spending the whole time apologising. Here, take my gloves.’ He held them out then stepped into the road and hailed the cab that was unloading a few doors away.
Thomasin slipped on the gloves, admiring their suppleness, then looked up at the arriving hansom. ‘God’s truth, I can’t go ’ome in one o’ them.’
Roland would not accept her argument. ‘You must. I myself have no intention of walking. Get in.’ He helped her up then climbed in himself and closed the half-doors in front of them. Having received instructions the driver whipped up his horse.
Thomasin studied the devilish profile. ‘What’ll yer wife say if yer late home?’
‘Your perceptiveness amazes me.’ Roland turned his face to hers, although he could barely make out her features in the darkness of the cab. ‘How did you know I was married?’
‘Same way as you could tell I was a good sport,’ she grinned. ‘Experience.’
Roland warmed to her pithiness. ‘I can see we’re going to make a good team. As to my wife, I doubt that she will even notice my absence. Besides, my home is in this direction also, so I shall not be late.’
‘I’ll bet yer live in next street an’ I’ve never noticed yer before.’ A jest.
‘Well… perhaps not in the next street – but my house is not such a great distance from yours.’
‘I daresay it’s a damned sight grander though,’ said Thomasin.
He searched for a trace of bitterness in her tone but found none. ‘Perhaps just a little.’ To her next question as to his employment he answered that he was a barrister.
She thought for a moment, then said, ‘Mr Cummings – Roland — yer sure y’aren’t mekkin’ a mistake? I mean, won’t yer be embarrassed bein’ seen wi’ me? I talk like this all time, yer know, an’ I’ll not change for no bugger. See! There y’are — common as muck. I ask yer, what lady would talk like that?’
‘Believe me, Thomasin, I am sincerely glad you are not a lady – oh, dear me, I didn’t mean … oh well, you did say it yourself. It makes a refreshing change to feel at ease with a woman. You see, my wife considers me to be less than a gentleman so perhaps we have more in common than you imagine. No, my dear, I do not consider myself to be making a mistake. I think you and I are admirably suited. I can make you very happy. The only sad fact is that I cannot offer to marry you. I could not leave my daughter to the mercy of that woman for anyone.’
‘Who’s askin’?’ replied Thomasin. ‘How old’s yer daughter then?’
‘Seven years old.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Do I judge by your tone that you think I am rather too old to be the father of such a young child?’
‘Did I say so?’ she held out her hands.
‘Well, you may be correct,’ continued Roland. ‘I married rather late and would possibly not have done so at all had it not been for the child.’
‘Ah,’ said Thomasin.
‘Quite,’ he answered wearily. ‘On the only occasion I have had too much to drink I happened upon the most ravishing creature – or so I believed – and lost my usual, er, control. Being hopelessly besotted by this heavenly girl I did not find it too distasteful at being blackmailed into marrying her by her father. It was only after several months of matrimony that I began to be disillusioned. After the birth of the child Helena showed her true colours by rejecting our newborn daughter and on regaining her strength took a never-ending stream of lovers.’
‘But, isn’t that what you’re doin’?’ she asked. ‘Seems to me yer’ve got double standards.’
‘Ah, no you mistake my point, Thomasin. It is not so much the fact that she takes lovers – I can quite understand that element of her behaviour, after all I was not a very good catch for her, was I? No, it is the heartless manner in which she treats the child which distresses me most. She has disowned her completely, abhors the sight of her.’
‘Couldn’t yer leave her an’ tek the bairn wi’ yer if it’s that bad?’
‘For someone who is seemingly a woman of the world you are very innocent, my dear,’ he replied sadly. ‘The fact is that my dastardly father-in-law has me in a tight corner. If I divorce her I risk losing everything. He has promised to ruin my career if there is any breath of scandal.’
‘Clever bloke in your position should be able to deal wi’ that.’
‘I dare not risk it.’
‘So, he doesn’t mind yer both havin’ a string o’ lovers?’
‘He would mind very much if he knew about it, but he doesn’t; we are both very discreet, so discreet, in fact, that each of us pretends not to know about the other’s misdemeanours.’
‘Sounds a rum goin’-on to me,’ declared Thomasin. ‘Don’t you two ever… yer know?’
‘Oh, most certainly not.’ Roland feigned horror. ‘Helena would never dream of allowing my slippers to come within ten feet of her bedroom door – even without my feet inside them.’ He mentally compared the two women. When it came to looks Helena could win hands down; with hair of spun gold and eyes of cornflower blue she was the epitome of every man’s image of an angel. But there the similarity ended. Under the handsome, voluptuous casing lay a heart of neat vitriol.
The dialogue was growing too serious for Thomasin’s liking. ‘Enough of yer wife.’ She slapped his knee. ‘Let’s talk about our little partnership.’
He snuggled up to her. ‘Ah, most agreeable.’
‘I ’ope yer still say that when I tell yer what I want,’ she replied. ‘First, I’d like a nice little house o’ me own – none o’ this slap n’tickle stuff then back to Mam’s. Second, I expect to be wined an’ dined in all the best places, an’ third, I don’t want no scenes when we come to the partin’ o’ the ways. I like the break to be nice an’ clean.’ Although his face was barely visible she could feel his smile. ‘Think I’m kiddin’ d’yer?’
‘Oh, Thomasin it is simply your manner which makes me smile. You certainly do not mince words, do you? Still, I have to admire a woman who knows her own mind. Some of the silly little creatures I’ve … well, never mind, suffice to say that I respect your businesslike attitude.
My only fear is that it will extend to the bedchamber.’
‘Yer’ll ’ave to wait an’ see, won’t yer?’ she replied lightly. He folded his arms, leaned back into the musty upholstery and grinned to himself. ‘You are the most open person I have met. Here we are, discussing our intended affair as if it is a business venture.’
‘Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it?’ said Thomasin. ‘A business deal. You gimme a good time an’ I gi’ you one.’
‘Quite so, but you seem not to show the faintest sign of discountenance in speaking of it.’
‘Why should I? I’m not one of yer hypocritical townies, one o’ them women who puts drawers on their piano legs and don’t wear any themsels.’
He burst out laughing. She was a real tonic.
‘Things’re different in t’country, Roly – more open. People in cities are so two-faced about it; pretendin’ they’re so virtuous when they’re in company, when everybody knows they’re as bad as everybody else really.’
He took hold of her hand and squeezed it, suddenly hoping that this would last a long time. They sat in silence as the carriage rolled on, the only sound being that of the horse’s hooves. Roland peered over the doors, noting the poor district they had entered. ‘We’re almost there.’
‘Aye, ye’d best tell ’im to stop ’ere. I’ll walk rest o’ way.’ Roland banged on the roof and the horse clip-clopped to a halt on the cobblestones. ‘Before you go,’ he said, ‘would you agree to meet me tomorrow? I should like to show you around your new home.’
Thomasin made a noise. ‘By, you were tekkin’ things for granted, weren’t yer? What would yer’ve done if I’d said no to your proposal?’
‘I can assure you I would not take you for granted, Thomasin. I acquired the property some years ago.’
‘Mm, that sounds ominous. What ’appened to all the other ladies who’ve been through yer hands? Did they get chucked out on their ear when yer got tired of ’em?’
A Long Way from Heaven Page 13
