by Mary Wood
‘Do you have to stay here forever, Beth? Oh, God, what if it is as my Aunt Jeannie won’t be for taking me in?’
‘Is that who the Sisters were talking about?’
‘Yes, me pappy was taking me to her. She’s a cousin of his, but they brought me up to call her aunt. ’Tis as I haven’t met her, but she sounded kindly in her letters to me mammy.’
‘Well, happen if she’s not on with blaming you, she’ll take you in and they’ll have to let you go. Mind, I’m not for staying much longer. Me mate as got away last year is helping me get out. She leaves notes for me in the hedge and I get them when I’m on gardening duties.’
‘Could you be taking me with you, Beth, if me aunt is not for having me? I have money . . .’
‘Hey, hold your clogs. I’m not sure as I could get two of us out. And, well . . . look, me mate Agnes hasn’t had it good. She has to earn her living . . . well, you wouldn’t know the way of it. Anyroad, you’d not be able to bring your money with you. If the nuns know as you have it, it’ll be taken off you for your keep.’
‘Pappy said I am the only one who can be getting it. He told me where it is, and a secret codeword I am to be using at the bank. He said he’d arranged it all in case he couldn’t be fetching me from my aunt’s house. I didn’t understand at the time, but . . .’
‘At least he did something decent by yer, then. Look, I’m on gardening the day after tomorrow. Sister Theresa sometimes gets deep into her meditation and doesn’t notice what we’re up to. I’ll leave a note for Agnes. In the meantime, get yourself better, cos them as show signs of not being all there in their heads have it rough. You heard them say about Gracie? Well, she’s not right in her head, and she’s treated worse than if she were scum. You’ve to be strong and to find a way of accepting what happened. That’s what I did. I don’t let it – or anything – hurt me. I just think on getting out of here and doing whatever it takes to survive.’
‘I will, Beth, but ’tis not easy. Just a short time ago I was for having everything, then my mammy got sick . . .’
‘Look, I’m glad as you’re ready to talk, but we’ll have to leave it for now. I’m scared as they might come back. Best thing is, I call them and say as you’ve calmed down and want to speak to someone. You ask for their help, and be all humble and grateful; that’ll get you out of here sooner and on to duties. Then if your aunt ain’t for helping you, we’ll sort sommat out. Agnes’ll know what to do. But, Bridie, don’t say as we’ve been talking.’
Bridie nodded. She felt less alone. She would do as Beth said and try not to dwell on everything. And not anything to do with her pappy. Her mammy was different; she’d never be forgetting her mammy. And she’d try to remember what she often used to say to her: ‘Always have a dream, Bridie, and when that dream is near, be sure you are ready to catch it.’ The only dream Bridie had at the moment was to be free from this convent and her fears of the tales she’d heard about such places.
6
Andrew
Breckton, 1875
Meeting Dvina
A mystical, shadowy glow bathed the ballroom. The light from the gas mantles flickered on the wonderful silver adornments decorating every wall and picked up the sheen of the ladies’ dresses and their immense amount of heavy jewellery: tiaras, necklaces and bracelets. As Andrew looked around, anxious to catch sight of Dvina, he thought the phrase ‘dripping with gold’ had an apt ring to it. Shivering, as much from nerves as from the cold he’d just come in from, Andrew thought that autumn giving way to winter reflected what was happening in his own life – how quickly the last three weeks had gone since the shocking announcement of his mother’s enthronement and the awful proposal that he should marry Dvina Portland!
‘Andrew, there you are. Come on, darling. Edgar has been engaging Dvina in conversation whilst we waited for you to arrive.’
‘Really, Mother, was that necessary? This whole thing is going to seem so contrived.’
‘Well, so it is. Oh, stop being so stuffy, darling. Dvina knows the score. She is fine with it and eager to meet you.’
As he followed his mother across the dance floor, several acquaintances stopped Andrew to greet him. Some, he thought, gave him pitying looks, embarrassing him in the extreme, as his fate had obviously been the topic of conversation.
As they neared the spot where Edgar stood, his heart thumped uncomfortably in his chest. There Dvina was, exactly as he remembered her. Standing almost as tall as Edgar, at around five feet seven, her heavyset body offered nothing for him to admire. Her laugh guffawed out, its deep tone a fraction of a decibel above that of a man, and in contrast to every other lady in the room she wore a linen dress with no glamour to it. No frills or bustle for her. Her dress looked expensive, but plain in the extreme, the only adornments being the pearl buttons running from the high neck to her waist. They bulged where they had to traverse her rounded, matronly breasts. Where they ended there was an unflattering V-shape from which the gathered skirt flared out, accentuating her robust thighs. Her hair, a sort of mousy shade, looked as though she had caught the brush in it, tangled it and simply tugged it out and shoved in a few hairclips to hold it up above her neck.
Edgar nodded over her head at him as he descended the stairs, causing Dvina to turn and say, ‘Andrew, how nice to see you.’
Her well-scrubbed face lit up and her smile revealed her only redeeming feature: her white, even teeth, though too much of her pink gums showed above them. Two dimples appeared in her rounded cheeks, and her eyes disappeared into the creases of skin. Andrew’s stomach lurched; he could see nothing to help him feel attracted to this woman. Too polite to show it, he stepped towards her and took and kissed her extended hand. It felt surprisingly cold, and it shook in his. Some empathy for her stirred in him as he realized that she, too, must feel nervous and afraid.
‘May I have the honour of the next dance?’
Inclining her head in acceptance, she offered him her hand. Every part of him burned with embarrassment as he steered her towards the dance floor. A waltz struck up. His arms stretched around her. The feel of the soft padding of fat around her waist repulsed him. Her steps fell in with his, and in this at least he found her accomplished and easy to guide. After a few minutes he asked, ‘I understand you know of the proposition put to me?’
‘Yes, I do. Andrew, should you care to escort me to the balcony? I think some straight talking is needed between us.’
He hadn’t expected this, and thought it bold of her to be the one to propose it. Good God, this was going to be worse than I had imagined!
They walked up the stairs he’d just come down. Feeling self-conscious, he concentrated on the ornate balustrade, the soft tread of his foot on the rich blood-red and gold carpet, the magnificent chandelier, the paintings that adorned the pink-white walls, and the luscious gold velvet curtains. Hensal Grange lived up to everything people said about it; and, he thought with a bitter twist, it could have come down the line to him. If it had, he would never be walking up these stairs to face the doom threatening his future happiness.
Agatha chose that moment to appear from the closet room across the landing. She caught his gaze and mouthed, ‘Lamb to the slaughter’, compounding his disgust at himself for even contemplating this match. He gave her a look that he hoped would wither her and turned his attention to Dvina. ‘May I ask your maid to bring your cloak to you? I fear it may be cold outside.’
‘Oh, Andrew, I am a modern nineteenth-century woman. I do not have, or need, a maid.’ He would beg to differ on the need front, but again politeness prevented him saying so. Dvina, however, took the lead again, without any thought for propriety, adding, ‘Look, if you will find the cold off-putting then let’s go into uncle’s study. I know he won’t mind.’
Thank God! Going into the study seemed more business-like and had different connotations altogether from the balcony, which might be seen as a lovers’ retreat. He nodded in agreement and called over one of the butlers in attendance. After
instructing him to see that the study was unlocked for them and to bring whisky, he asked Dvina what she would like to drink.
‘Whisky will do fine, thank you.’
Oh dear, it could get worse after all. In fact, it just had! A woman, drinking whisky!
What he had dreaded, the moment the door closed on them, didn’t happen. Quite the opposite. Instead of an awkward silence, Dvina took a large sip of the whisky he’d handed her and launched straight in, saying, ‘Andrew, I accept that I may only be a catch financially, but I do have feelings. I hope you mean to deal with me in a sensitive and kindly manner.’
‘Of course. Can I take it you are in agreement then?’
‘In principle, yes, but I will need wooing like any other girl. Are you up to it?’
He detected a note of humour in her reply, and a morsel of relief seeped into him. He laughed. ‘Depends what you mean by wooing. I can do the flowers and the picnics – that sort of thing – but I wouldn’t insult you by pretending to worship at your feet.’
‘And I wouldn’t expect it of you. I would like us to be friends, though. We could muddle along together very well, if we tried to do that at least. I would expect you to be very discreet with any . . . well, you know . . . extramarital activities – that sort of thing.’
He looked away to hide his horror. He’d never come across her like before. No lady of his acquaintance would ever broach the subject. Though he had to admit, her approach was refreshing, and welcome in their situation. It put the whole thing on the level of them entering into a legal agreement concerning everyday matters of business – which, he supposed, they were. Looking back at her, he saw that Dvina had a teasing smile hovering around her lips. What a minx! Against his better judgement, he found her humour attractive and felt bold enough to reply in the same vein, ‘And what of marital activities? Are you thinking we should indulge in those, or is this to be a friends-and-money-only transaction?’
‘I would hope you would treat me as a proper wife – children, maybe – and give me my social standing by your side at functions, et cetera. But I do accept that you cannot love me to the exclusion of all others, if at all. No one could.’
This hit a nerve, causing the heat to rise to his face. ‘Not at all. Forgive me; I was taking your lead in placing all the cards on the table. I believe, after this, I can find a really good friend in you, someone I can talk to; and it is not unknown for friends to love one another. I promise to take your feelings into account at all times and to be very considerate towards you.’
‘Well, Mr Harvey, I think we will do. I am willing to enter into this marriage if you are.’
‘I am.’ And he was. In fact he felt quite relieved, and the whole business had lost all its former dread. Instead of seeing his life as coming to an end, he thought it looked like he could continue in much the same way as he had up to now. But there was still the little matter of how he would be able to conduct himself in bed with her. As a friend she bode well, but as a lover . . . He shuddered.
‘Please, Mr Harvey . . .’
‘Call me Andrew. Mr Harvey is so formal and doesn’t fit our situation.’
‘Andrew, I saw you tremble after you said you were willing. Please don’t enter into this with me if I repulse you. I could not bear that.’
‘You don’t. No, of course not,’ he lied. ‘It is just . . . well, I am afraid of how it will all turn out.’
‘There is nothing to worry about. I won’t expect anything of you on the intimate side of our union, other than to provide me with children, to make me look respectable in the marriage and to give us an heir. I am not an idiot. I know I am the least attractive proposition in that department that any man could wish to take on.’
‘You speak very openly for a woman.’
‘I’m sorry . . .’
‘No, I was going on to say that in our situation it is helpful. But at the same time it exposes me, as if you will always know me and speak as you find me.’
‘I probably will. I’m not one for pussyfooting around. And if you mean that I am practical over the intimate side of things . . . well, yes, I am. It comes from dealing with horses all the time. I take an active part in all the activities of my stud farm, so I have had a good grounding in how everything happens. None of it bothers me. Maybe it has taken away any sense of decorum I should have about such matters. I expect I am a little too forward, but I am a great one for truth and honesty at all times. I would like you to be, too. Up to a point, of course . . .’
At this she smiled up at him, her small eyes betraying a hint of fun-making. He liked her. He could not deny that. He just wished she . . . well, it wasn’t that she didn’t have some good points; she just didn’t make the most of them. Maybe if she’d taken care to look nice tonight, chosen her attire to suit the occasion, perhaps spent money on having her hair done as the other women had, it might have helped.
As if she had read his mind, she strode across the room, poured two more whiskies and said, ‘Look, I know myself well and don’t expect too much, but I think that now we have settled things I will make more of an effort to look the part. For your sake, not mine. All the trimmings of being a woman are not me, but I would not like to be an embarrassment to you. I will employ a maid and . . .’
‘Dvina . . .’
‘Don’t go into a lot of poppycock about not minding how I dress. I saw it in your face when you arrived. If these things matter to you, then they will matter to me. If you can agree to give me my rightful place and serve . . . I mean . . .’ a guffaw of a laugh surfaced.
Good Lord, I thought for a moment she was going to say ‘SERVICE’ her. Though that might be an appropriate word for what she is talking of . . .
Her laugh continued until, against his will, he joined her. Somehow he thought she might be easy to deal with, like an old school friend. Once again his misgivings left him.
‘Slip of the tongue, sorry . . .’ Her giggling continued, tears streamed down her face and, much to his chagrin, he couldn’t stop either.
Their mirth fizzled out at the same time. A hush clothed the air in discomfort. But just then loud polka music seeped up through the floorboards, breaking the silence and giving Andrew a chance to ease the situation. He bowed. ‘I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Portland.’ He proffered his arm. Her gratitude smiled from her, but did nothing to allay his fear of the coming ordeal of walking her back to the dance floor.
They had to pass by a group of Andrew’s friends, all members of the same hunt and local landowners. Guy Cantrum, a man who enjoyed fun at others’ expense, called out to him, ‘Andrew, come and join us.’
He hesitated, unsure for a moment. Dvina stiffened beside him. Glancing at her, he caught something of a plea in her expression. Leaving her now would be an insult to her, and she didn’t deserve that. It seemed obvious, by how they acted, that his friends had a conspiracy to rescue him. He knew Dvina had sensed this too, and he couldn’t do it to her. This realization shocked him; he’d have thought he would have been glad to be given a distraction to release him from her company. ‘Thanks, but no. I have the honour of being with Miss Portland. May I present my future wife to you?’ I’ve done it, and God, don’t they look shocked. Speechless in fact.
‘Dvina, this is Guy, Philip, Roland and Simon. We hunt together, so you will see rather a lot of them. Gentlemen, Miss Dvina Portland.’
Politeness stopped them from doing anything other than bowing to her and expressing how pleased they were to meet her, but more than one of them raised his eyebrows at him. Oh God, this is going to be more difficult than I thought. But then, as Edgar had said, Andrew wouldn’t be the first to marry for money and position, so they would probably come to understand and respect his having to do so. What he couldn’t stand was if any of them expressed pity for him or, worse, dropped him from their social circle. That would be too much to bear. He already had a job to keep up with them, as they spent money like water and had plenty of it.
‘I do know these gentl
emen, Andrew, in a business sense. Mr Bradshaw bought a horse from me just a few months ago, and my stallions have been engaged in husbandry to mares owned by them all. I trust my stable gave you excellent service?’ Andrew saw her look boldly into each one’s eyes before adding, ‘Hunting, how marvellous! I ride to hounds myself and love it. I hope you will one day invite me to join you?’
‘Of course.’ Guy bowed. He took her hand as if it was contaminated and barely touched it with his lips.
Andrew glared at him. Roland stepped forward. ‘Delighted to, Miss Portland, though I fear you may put us to shame. I have heard of your skill in the saddle.’ He took her hand in a much more willing way and kissed it in the proper manner.
‘We hope you will be very happy, both of you. May I be the first to congratulate you.’ Simon followed Roland’s lead. And as if his words had nudged the others, they all now offered their good wishes. Dvina’s face flushed. Andrew suspected she had read the undertones – the barely hidden mockery in their response – but was glad she chose not to retort. Her actions were those of a true lady, and this gladdened him, as he saw she was capable of being such. Then he chided himself for even thinking she wasn’t.
Andrew’s head ached as he prepared for bed. Such a contradictory night! He’d contracted himself to a woman he didn’t love and didn’t even find attractive, then seen her in a different light and thought there was a hope of them getting along well together, then borne the embarrassment in front of his friends without being able to take them to task for their manners, though he would do so in future. On top of all of this, there had been the awful silence when Edgar announced their engagement, before decorum dictated a response and a slow applause started.
And, worse, he didn’t think he would ever live down the obligatory dance. He’d stumbled around, treading on poor Dvina’s toes and eliciting more than a few smirks behind silk-gloved hands. She hadn’t helped by stopping the dance, curtseying to him, then turning to the audience and saying, ‘I think my future husband is a little nervous. I am of the mind to let him off, so please do join us.’
