Consequences

by Nancy Carson

  ‘I have to afford it. Money’s still tight, but I have to afford it.’ He stood up, clearly agitated, and went to the tallboy on the other side of the bedroom. He opened a drawer, withdrew a metal cashbox, placed it on top of the tallboy and unlocked it. He counted its contents. ‘Here’s ten sovereigns.’ He offered her the coins, which she took. ‘It’s the only spare money we’ve got in the house. Take it with you. If the house you’re viewing is to her liking and you think the rent’s reasonable, you’ll most likely have to pay three months in advance to make sure of it. That ought to be more than enough. If there’s anything else she needs give her more.’

  Marigold looked at him, her admiration and respect failing to combine with her pangs of envy, like oil fails to combine with water. ‘I think you’re ever so thoughtful, Algie. Maybe too thoughtful. But I don’t think it’s my place to hand her money. It should be you that does it.’

  ‘But I’m not going to see her. You are.’

  ‘All right, I will this time. But in future…’

  ‘Listen, sweetheart,’ he replied. ‘Most women in your position would kick against what I want to do for Aurelia, and who could blame them? So I understand how you feel. But thank you for being so understanding. Thank you for allowing me to salve my conscience – it’s important to me.’

  ‘It’s a crazy situation, Algie,’ she complained.

  ‘It is,’ he agreed, as he took her hand and looked into her eyes. ‘But rest assured, my angel…you’ll always be my main concern – you and the children.’

  * * *

  So, on the last Tuesday in June, the 27th, Marigold answered Aurelia’s call. In warm summer sunshine she pushed the bassinet, as usual, containing Rose and Frances, all the way from Kingswinford to Holly Hall House and arrived about ten. After their customary greeting and Aurelia’s proclamation that Frances was coming on beautifully, they set off to Talbot Street, which ran off at a tangent to Brierley Hill’s High Street. Aurelia had already responded to the advertisement by writing to the landlord, to give a time when she wished to view on the Tuesday, and hoped he would be at the property.

  ‘If I were you, Aurelia,’ Marigold said, ‘I wouldn’t let on that you’m divorced and all that, else the landlord might think twice about letting you have it. If he asks, say you’m recently widowed, and you’ve been lodging with me, but now it’s time to move on.’

  Aurelia laughed. ‘You’ve certainly got the measure of society, Marigold. I hadn’t considered it, but you’re right. Thanks for the advice.’

  The house was in a long terrace. It was difficult to estimate how many houses there were in that terrace in Talbot Street. They differed only in the materials of the curtains that adorned the windows. Between every two houses was an extra hole in the wall – the entry that led to the shared backyard; and so on up the street.

  A Mr Massey was there to meet them and, after the introductions, they followed him up the entry to the shared yard. Facing them was a brewhouse, its door open through which Aurelia espied a mangle. She imagined herself maiding and mangling the washing every Monday – an occupation far removed from what she was used to. Marigold lifted Rose out of the bassinet, leaving Frances asleep within its warm confines while they entered the house. She put the child down and took her hand.

  Through the back door they went, directly into the parlour, and saw that a small table with two chairs occupied a position under the window looking onto the brewhouse. An armchair faced the cast iron fire grate with its side oven, hob and set of gale hooks hanging from its swinging arm. The stairs ran directly from the parlour, and next to the door to the stairs was a door to the cellar. Aurelia opened it and saw facing her a cold slab and two shelves for storing food. The small front room, with its front door opening directly onto the street, housed a three-piece suite and a low fireplace of cast iron with a tiled surround. Upstairs there were two bedrooms, both with a double bed, and an empty box room. The privy was outside behind the brewhouse, Mr Massey said, shared with the next-door neighbour.

  This was not what Aurelia was used to, but was to be the material substance of her fall from grace. A tiny insignificant house, set in a long terrace built to house the influx of labour for the ironworks, mines, glassworks and potteries hereabouts. There was hardly room to swing a cat, the privy was a smelly outhouse at the mercy of the cold and rain and infested with cobwebs, possibly rats and all manner of vermin. She hoped there was a bolt on the door if she was to share it with a neighbour. And where would she have a bath?

  ‘What’s the rent, Mr Massey?’ Marigold enquired, since she would have a vested interest if Aurelia chose to take the house.

  ‘Six shillings a week,’ Mr Massey informed her.

  She flashed a glance at Aurelia, signalling that she thought it acceptable.

  But how would her daughter fare in this impoverished environment as she grew from a baby into school age, and ultimately into a young woman? What would Benjie make of it during those times she might be blessed with access to him?

  It emphasised the notion that in order to get out of this situation she must find work of some kind. But what? As Algie had pointed out, she could hardly put herself forward as a respectable governess or even a teacher. Factory work might be the only answer, and if factory work was the only alternative, then factory work it would have to be. Yet how could she work with a child to look after?

  Meanwhile…

  ‘If I agree to take it, Mr Massey,’ Aurelia said, ‘when may I have the key?’

  ‘You can have the key today if you can pay three months’ rent right now as a deposit. Thereafter rent is payable weekly in advance. I collect it meself, every Monday. And it’s a month’s notice to quit.’

  ‘What d’you think, Marigold?’ Aurelia asked looking around her appraisingly. ‘D’you think it’s all right? D’you think it’s worth it?’

  ‘It’s clean,’ Marigold replied. ‘And it’s got basic furnishings. It’s as good as you’m likely to get for the money, I reckon.’

  Aurelia sighed. ‘Very well, I’ll take it, Mr Massey.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable, Mrs Sampson. Do you want to pay me the three months’ rent right now and take the key?’

  ‘I can give you four sovereigns if you can give me two shillings change,’ Marigold declared, having already calculated that the due amount was three pounds eighteen shillings.

  ‘That I can.’

  She transferred Rose to her other hand while she felt in her pocket for her purse. She picked out four of the gold coins Algie had given her and handed them over.

  ‘When will she get a rent book?’ Marigold enquired.

  ‘I’ll make sure it’s put through the letterbox tomorrow at the latest. Once I’ve locked up again, I’ll hand you the keys.’

  Aurelia smiled graciously. ‘Thank you, Mr Massey.’

  When they were outside in the street again, and Mr Massey had left them, Aurelia said, ‘Marigold, I owe you three pounds eighteen.’ She opened her reticule, searching for her purse, even though she doubted whether she had that much.

  ‘You don’t owe me nothing,’ Marigold responded.

  ‘But you’ve just paid thirteen weeks’ rent for a house I’m going to occupy.’

  ‘No, Algie did.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts, Aurelia. Algie gave me the money to pay. It’s what he wants. He says it’s because he was the cause of your divorce, and he’s the father of Christina. He says it’s his responsibility – that you’m his responsibility. And besides, you can’t afford it if Benjamin won’t pay you any alimony and you can’t work.’

  ‘I must talk to Algie.’

  ‘Well, if I know Algie, you can talk to him till you’m blue in the face, but it won’t make a scrap o’ difference. You know what he’s like, Aurelia. Stubborn as a mule when he wants to be.’

  ‘All the same, Marigold, I don’t feel inclined to accept charity.’

  ‘It ain’t charity, Algie says. He wants to help
. I tell you, he feels responsible.’

  Aurelia shook her head. ‘What can I say? If only a quarter of the men in this world were half as noble…’

  ‘That’s what I said…Anyway,’ Marigold continued, anxious to change tack, ‘you’ll need some help getting this house ready. I’ll help you spring clean it from top to bottom, and get rid of any bedbugs that might be a-lurking. I’ll have to bring Frances with me, though.’

  ‘I am grateful Marigold, truly,’ Aurelia replied.

  Marigold smiled her appreciation. ‘Well, anyway, we’ll start cleaning tomorrow, if you like, eh? Then, maybe Benjamin could at least help by bringing some of your things over in his dog cart.’

  ‘Goodness, Marigold. Don’t let him hear you calling his gig a dog cart.’

  ‘Sod Benjamin.’

  Aurelia laughed at her irreverence. ‘Oh, I agree…And please thank Algie for me. I really—’

  ‘Wait…’ Marigold retrieved her purse and handed Aurelia the rest of the money Algie had given her. ‘You’ll need a load of coal tipped. And some pots and pans by the looks of it, a nice tablecloth, some towels…Nor did I see e’er a kettle. And what are you going to do about bed linen?’

  ‘There’s bed linen here, Marigold.’

  ‘You’m never going to sleep in what’s here, are you? Lord knows what goings-on those sheets have seen, or who’s slept in ’em. There might even be bedbugs in ’em.’

  * * *

  Ironically, the very same day that Aurelia and Marigold together viewed the house in Talbot Street, Clarence Froggatt signed-off as finished the work on his new house in Kingswinford. The plasterers had left, the painters and decorators had gone, having carefully pasted the most elegant and most modern William Morris wall coverings everywhere. Clarence had chosen and acquired William Morris curtain materials, and arranged for them to be made-up and hung. The best Wilton carpets that Kidderminster could provide were already woven and about to grace the reception rooms and the bedrooms. The couple had ordered the finest Royal Worcester dinner sets, tea sets and decorative vases to impress when entertaining, and the most exquisite lead crystal glassware from Stuart & Sons in Wordsley. With an astute eye for art, Clarence had bought a selection of original watercolours and oils to hang on the walls, expensive clocks, mirrors, and the finest fashionable furniture, including beds and bedding. Naturally, Harriet had assisted with the choosing, but in the end deferred to his tastes. She realised that by virtue of him being an architect he had a better perception of what was good design; more sophisticated than her parochial tastes.

  So, once the carpets had been placed, the curtains, drapes and pictures hung, the fashionable new furniture (including beds) and crockery delivered and put in their rightful places, a date was fixed for the move; Friday the 7th of July. Clarence engaged a contractor with a pantechnicon and two horses to cart all their other belongings to the fabulous new house.

  Sadie the maid travelled with the furniture in the pantechnicon – an exciting adventure for one so young. After an uneventful journey from Bell Street and the humble rented house, the pantechnicon finally arrived at the doors of The Larches, which was the name chosen, by mutual agreement, for the dwelling in Stream Road, Kingswinford.

  Harriet and Clarence, using his father’s dog cart, had left at the same time as the pantechnicon, taking a different route via Pensnett, and arrived at The Larches first to open up and receive their incoming chattels. Harriet was fearful, though, that all the jolting and shaking about on the bumpy ride might not have been the best thing for her, in her condition.

  It transpired that she was right.

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  As she lay in the new bed with Clarence that night, he was trying, by the light of an oil lamp, to read a pamphlet about a new theodolite he was considering acquiring. Harriet, however, was agitated. There was a worrying commotion going on inside her belly; the baby was inordinately restless, and whilst she was loath to interrupt Clarence’s browsing, she felt it sufficiently noteworthy to make him aware.

  ‘Clarence! Put your hand on my belly…Can you feel the baby kicking? I swear my insides will be black and blue.’

  He complied with her request dutifully. ‘Yes, he or she is lively tonight.’ His eyes and hand left the warm familiarity of her belly and returned to the pamphlet.

  ‘I think it’s the journey from Bell Street on that dog cart. It was ever so bumpy. I think it must have upset the poor thing. I’ll be glad when we get the new carriage with some decent springing.’

  She turned over, trying to get comfortable. For some time she had accepted what an encumbrance her belly was in this later stage of pregnancy, how it limited her movements.

  A pause…

  ‘Clarence?’

  ‘What?’ There was just a hint of exasperation in his tone at the further interruption to his perusing.

  ‘Just something I forgot to tell you…’

  ‘What?’

  She perceived his impatience. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She turned her head away.

  He rested his pamphlet on the counterpane and sighed. ‘Oh, go on, Harriet. What is it you forgot to tell me?’

  ‘Only that Aurelia Sampson has rented a little terraced house in Talbot Street. That’s all.’

  He looked at her, and the yellow flame of the oil lamp reflected in her eyes. ‘Why would that interest me? Anyway, how do you know?’

  ‘She came into the shop for some thread. Our Emily was serving, and they got chatting. Apparently, she’s decided to move out before the decree absolute. To be away from Benjamin, I imagine.’

  ‘Good for her. Why she ever married that nincompoop in the first place is beyond my comprehension – hers too nowadays, I suspect.’

  Harriet turned her head away again and half smiled. ‘There’s no accounting for taste, is there? Anyway, she missed out on you.’

  ‘It was her decision,’ he agreed evenly.

  At that precise moment she felt a pain in her stomach that made her wince.

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’

  He looked at her with concern. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Clarence, I just had the most awful twinge. Not surprising the way the baby keeps kicking me.’

  ‘Well, that’s all it must be – a twinge. You’re not due yet anyway. You’ve a bit to go.’

  ‘A couple of weeks, more’s the pity. Anyway, I don’t think the baby’s turned yet, so I can’t be ready. D’you want to turn down the wick? We ought to get some sleep. It’s been such a strenuous day.’

  Clarence put his pamphlet on his new bedside table and accordingly put out the lamp. Neither gas mains nor electricity cables had yet been laid in rural Kingswinford, but it was on his agenda to get the village connected as soon as possible, especially being so near the workhouse.

  ‘Sleep tight,’ he said with a sigh. ‘See you in the morning.’

  Neither went to sleep, but each believed the other had drifted off. Clarence, prompted by Harriet’s snippet of news, began thinking about Aurelia, recalling the pain of heartbreak when she returned his ring, explaining that she had been seeing Benjamin Sampson and that they were serious about each other. Resentment over Benjamin welled up inside, and the more doggedly he relived the events, the less inclined he was to sleep.

  After about an hour of private musings, Harriet turned towards him.

  ‘Clarence?’ she whispered gently. ‘Are you awake?’

  ‘I am. I can’t get to sleep. All the excitement…’

  ‘Clarence, my love, I’m getting more pains – and they’re getting stronger. I think I must have started after all.’

  He sat up and fumbled about in the darkness for a box of safety matches to light the oil lamp on his bedside table.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘As sure as I can be, having never gone through childbirth before.’

  ‘Should I fetch the midwife?’ He found the matches, struck one, turned up the wick and lit it.

  ‘It’s a bit
unfair to get the poor woman up at this time of night, Clarence. There ought to be no rush. After all, it’s not going to happen in five minutes. I think we should wait till it gets light.’

  ‘All the same,’ he said. ‘I’d better wake Sadie. There’ll be plenty to do. Let’s hope she can remember where she put everything. There’s always my father, of course. He’s delivered enough babies in his time. I could fetch him as well, just to be on the safe side. I still have his dog cart.’

  ‘I don’t think it would be quite the thing for your father to see his daughter-in-law in all her glory, Clarence,’ she suggested hesitantly. ‘Do you?’

  Her qualms about the potential loss of majesty in front of her father-in-law amused him. ‘I know what you mean, darling. But he wouldn’t think of it like that, I assure you. He’s a professional man, not some perverted voyeur.’

  He clambered out of bed, donned his dressing gown and headed for Sadie’s room at the top of the house. Eventually, Sadie answered the door in her nightgown, rubbing her eyes.

  ‘Sadie, it seems your mistress is having her contractions,’ he announced. ‘Get dressed, will you, please? There’s work to be done.’

  ‘Gracious me, sir,’ the girl replied. ‘So soon? And we ain’t been in this new house more’n five minutes. I’ll be down right away, sir.’

  ‘As soon as you’re ready see to your mistress. Then I believe it will be necessary to get the fire going in the kitchen for hot water. So fill every available vessel. Light a fire under the wash boiler as well, and fill it with clean water – to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  She closed the door.

  When he returned to Harriet she complained that her pains were growing more intense.

  ‘I’ll get going,’ Clarence affirmed.

  By the light of a lantern he rushed to the stable, which was large enough to accommodate a pair of horses, a carriage and a gig. There he tacked up his father’s horse and manoeuvred it between the shafts of the borrowed dog cart. He lit the lamps and set off at a brisk trot.