Dreams That Veil

by Dominic Luke

  ‘Won’t you stay and help me, Elizabeth? There’s so much I have to do, so much to learn. And I would like to get to know you better.’

  Eliza was in two minds. She rather resented Miss Halsted for all the upheaval over the baby and the wedding, and for Kolya’s unhappiness, too; she had always been intimidated by her. But Mrs Roderick Brannan seemed a different sort of woman, quieter and less sure of herself. And Eliza was certain that Kolya would be disappointed if she didn’t at least make an effort.

  ‘I’ll help you.’

  ‘Thank you, Elizabeth. You must call me Rosa, of course, for we are sisters now.’

  ‘And I’m Eliza.’

  ‘Very well, Eliza. Let’s take a look at this room, shall we?’

  It was a nice room with a view over the Park and the shallow valley where the canal lay hidden. But Rosa did not seem interested in the view.

  ‘Someone’s unpacked my things.’ A few of her belongings had been sent on ahead including a large number of books and a box of brightly coloured clothes that Mama had called cheap things.

  ‘The servants will have done that.’

  ‘I don’t like to think of people going through my things.’ She began to rearrange some books that had been stacked higgledy-piggledy on a shelf but then suddenly stopped. ‘My trunk: I’ll need my trunk if I’m to dress for dinner. Can you see it anywhere?’

  As Eliza turned to look for it she found herself face-to-face with Susie Hobson lounging in the doorway.

  Rosa noticed her too. ‘Hello! I wonder, could you find my trunk? Now I come to think of it, it may be downstairs in the hallway.’

  Susie Hobson sniffed. ‘It’s not my job, miss, to lug trunks up and down the stairs. You’ll need to get John for that.’ She tossed her head and flounced away.

  Eliza blushed with embarrassment. Susie Hobson was well known for what Daisy called sauce, but this was astonishing even by her standards. Whatever would Rosa think, a house where the servants were as rude as that?

  But Rosa didn’t seem to notice. Instead of ringing for Basford she went off to find her trunk for herself.

  At the end of February, Rosa’s friend Miss Ward arrived on a visit.

  ‘Most inconvenient!’ Mama complained. ‘Rosa really should have consulted me before inviting people to stay. I shall have to go all through the week’s menus again now.’

  At dinner on the first evening, Miss Ward – usually so solemn and starchy – grew almost animated as she talked about the recent thrilling ‘action’ against the Rokeby Venus. Wasn’t it wonderfully symbolic, to single out that particular painting, the one men stared at?

  Rosa agreed.

  Mama looked at Rosa and Miss Ward with reproof. ‘I’m sorry, but what that foolish woman did is simply deplorable. The Venus was slashed to pieces.’

  There was a sudden hush. Rosa exchanged a look with Miss Ward, then said hesitantly, ‘But surely you see, Mrs Brannan, that when the government is so intransigent, the only way to further our cause is to shock people out of their complacency? Until men acknowledge how much women are oppressed, nothing will ever change.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ said Mama frostily. ‘All I know is that nothing can ever justify breaking the law. If everyone took that attitude, where would it all end?’

  The two younger women did not reply. Dinner continued in silence.

  On her way home from the academy, after another soul-sapping day, Eliza got off the train at Welby station, surrendered her ticket and walked down the steps. In the forecourt, Billy Turner and the old governess cart were waiting for her instead of Jeff Smith and the motor. Billy reported that the mistress had gone out in the motor and he had been detailed to fetch Miss Eliza.

  Eliza was glad. It was much better to be rattling along the Hayton Road in the governess cart than to be sitting in the back of the motor with only taciturn Jeff Smith for company. Eliza sat on one side of the cart, Billy on the other. She watched him drive, the reins slack in his hands, the horse clip-clopping complaisantly along the smooth-surfaced road. There were snowdrops scattered on the verges and leaf buds showing in the hedges. The sun was low in the sky away beyond Windmill Hill. The air was cool but not cold. February on the whole had been a mild month that year. Now it was all but over and there was a definite hint of spring in the air.

  They crested a rise. The village came into sight. Eliza’s imagination galloped ahead. What if they didn’t stop at Clifton? What if they passed the turning and went on, into Lawham and out the other side, following the road wherever it led them?

  The idea delighted her and she laughed out loud. Billy darted a glance at her then quickly looked away. His cheeks were flushed – the fresh air, of course – and there were dark bristles on his chin and on his upper lip, much more noticeable than Kolya’s. She wondered if they’d be equally prickly to the touch. Not that she would dare touch Billy’s cheek, the way he was scowling, the way he was flicking the reins and making the horse pick up the pace. And yet she rather liked his scowl – she rather liked him altogether. She laughed again. It seemed strange that she should be so happy when she’d been miserable all day at the academy.

  The house was quiet. There was no one in the hallway to greet her. It was as if the whole place was deserted. Eliza dropped her bag, hat and coat, and made her way upstairs.

  Pausing on the first-floor landing, she heard voices along the corridor. Curiosity got the better of her. She tiptoed towards them. Rosa and Miss Ward were talking softly together in Rosa’s room. Miss Ward was speaking.

  ‘. . . a ghastly place, I’ve always said as much, so cluttered and old-fashioned, all this satin and damask, so very Victorian. But it’s your own fault you’ve ended up here, Rosa. You chose to get married, against all our principles.’

  ‘I had no choice, Maggie. There was the baby to think of. I know we’ve always said that the old-fashioned conventions shouldn’t matter but it wouldn’t be right the way things are to saddle a child with the stigma of illegitimacy. I was thinking of the child, not of myself. But you can’t see it, none of you. Tom says I’ve become a brood mare for the landed gentry!’

  ‘Oh, well, Tom! Tom is a hypocrite. They all are. All their high principles are just so much talk. Tom decries the monied classes but he’s only too quick to take advantage of them when it suits him. As for Leo, he’s in a panic because the Aunts are threatening to take up residence in Bloomsbury to look after him and Carla. I know that Leo is your brother, Rosa, but he can be very selfish at times: even you must admit it.’

  ‘What about Kolya? Kolya’s not a hypocrite! He offered to marry me, Maggie. He offered to take on my child, never mind who the father is.’

  ‘Very noble! And how would he have supported you and your child? He’s a dreamer! He has his head in the clouds! In any case, sooner or later he’ll go home. You wouldn’t want to live in Russia, would you? Face it, Rosa: men can’t be relied on. Sylvia Pankhurst has it right. Men are riddled with disease and only oppose the suffrage because it would put a stop to their promiscuous behaviour!’

  ‘Do you really believe that, Maggie? Do you really believe it of Kolya and Aidan and Erik? Of Tom and Leo? It sounds far too simplistic in my view. I would suggest that— What? Why are you laughing like that?’

  ‘Oh, Rosa! How I’ve missed you! Our Thursday evenings aren’t the same. The other girls are so silly. Only you and I ever made sense. Only you and I ever stood up to the men. That’s why I can’t understand you choosing a man like Roderick Brannan. To have married a man your aunts approve of: it’s grotesque!’

  ‘They do approve of him, don’t they! He’s better than anything they dared hope for. Somehow he charmed them by not being charming – by being his usual, arrogant self! You see? I admit he can be arrogant and overbearing and insufferable. But there’s more to him than that. And – oh, Maggie – I do love him, I really do!’

  ‘Is it love, though?’ Miss Ward sounded sceptical. ‘You used to say you loved Kolya.’
r />   ‘I did – I do. But as you said, what could Kolya offer me? He doesn’t even believe in marriage! I had to make a choice, Maggie. And I had to choose Roderick.’

  ‘I just wish you hadn’t shackled yourself like this!’

  ‘We are going round in circles, Maggie. I’ve explained why I had to get married: because of the child.’

  ‘And so here you are, trapped in this ghastly house in the middle of nowhere, whilst he enjoys himself at Oxford!’

  ‘He has to complete his studies. We both agreed on that.’

  ‘Much good will it do him. He has a closed mind, Rosa.’

  A silence fell. Eliza outside the door didn’t dare breathe in case they heard her.

  Rosa suddenly burst out in a wail of remorse. ‘Oh, Maggie, you’re right, I know you are! I’ve betrayed everything we believe in! We said we’d blaze a trail, not succumb to convention!’

  ‘Now don’t start getting maudlin,’ said Miss Ward emphatically. ‘You’ve done what you’ve done and you had your reasons and I respect that. What I won’t accept is the way you let yourself be terrorized by that old witch Mrs Brannan. You’ve always stuck up for yourself, Rosa: it’s one of the things I most admire about you. So why let yourself be walked over now?’

  ‘What can I do, Maggie? I used to think that changing society would be a challenge, but this place. . . ! It’s as if nothing’s altered in a hundred years!’

  ‘There’s one thing you can do right away. You can move into your husband’s room. It’s ridiculous being at the other end of the corridor! She’s done it deliberately, Rosa: you must see that. But Roderick is yours now and you must show her.’

  ‘Oh, Maggie, I can’t! I daren’t!’

  ‘Yes you can! We’ll do it now, right away, whilst she’s out. We’ll present her with a fait accompli.’

  There were sounds of movement inside the room and to Eliza’s alarm the door at once began to open. Caught so far from the main stairs, she had no choice but to scramble through the servants’ door. She closed it softly behind her, catching a glimpse as she did so of the two women coming out of Rosa’s room with armfuls of books, Miss Ward leading the way.

  Miss Ward! What a horrible person she was, so pompous and hard-nosed, calling Mama ‘a witch’! But as Eliza dawdled up the back stairs, she found herself harbouring a grudging admiration for both Rosa and Miss Ward. Whatever else one said about them, they were not afraid of the world. They were spirited, intelligent, independent. They held themselves the equals of any man – or superior, in Miss Ward’s case.

  But why shouldn’t women be superior, Eliza asked herself: why shouldn’t they?

  It was not the sort of outlook that would be encouraged at the academy – and that in itself was a glowing recommendation.

  ‘I feel quite faint!’ cried Mama, appearing without warning in the day room and collapsing into the chair by the fire. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it, never!’

  It was Sunday, a dull day: no academy and nothing to do after church but sit around in one’s Sunday best and be good. Idling away the hours, Eliza had hitched up her skirts and had sat on the old rocking horse simply for the sake of it. She felt now at a decided disadvantage with her skirts tucked up and her calves showing. Mama might actually think she’d been playing with the rocking horse!

  But Mama did not seem to notice. She seemed, indeed, rather flustered – if such a word could ever be used of Mama.

  ‘It was bad enough when she moved all her things into Roderick’s room without even asking. But this – this!’

  She was obviously Rosa but what was this: what had Rosa done this time that was so terrible?

  ‘She has painted all the walls. She has quite spoilt the print wallpaper. And the colours! Orange and purple and emerald green: it’s enough to make one giddy!’

  That wasn’t all. Rosa, it seemed, had painted swirls and doodles all over the chairs, dressing table, wardrobe and headboard. All the bedroom furniture was ruined.

  It was the last straw. Rosa had simply been impossible ever since the visit of that friend of hers. Why must she meddle? Why mix up the flower displays so there were different types in the same vase? And those clothes of hers, like a gypsy’s, coloured headscarves, ragged skirts – a red petticoat, if you please! Thank goodness Roderick would soon be home for Easter. He would have to deal with his wife. He would have to make her see there were certain standards.

  Mama’s unexpected visit ended as abruptly as it had begun. She sailed off, her skirts sweeping across the floor, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Eliza, who had no interest in the flower arrangements and who had grown over the last couple of months to quite like Rosa’s unusual clothes, wondered if orange and purple might not suit Roderick’s bedroom walls. She had to wait until the following Saturday for a chance to see for herself.

  There was no academy on Saturdays and Mama had gone to call on Mrs Somersby. Rosa too was out: Eliza had watched her from the bedroom window setting off for the village. Slipping downstairs, Eliza went along to Roderick’s room, opened the door, and let herself in.

  Her heart stopped. She froze. There was someone sitting at the dressing table. Rosa must have come back. She hadn’t gone to the village after all.

  Then came a rush of relief. It wasn’t Rosa. It was Susie Hobson sitting at the dressing table bold as brass, her dusters and polish laid aside. She had been arranging Rosa’s pearls around her neck and admiring herself in the mirror.

  ‘Oh, miss, it’s only you, thank goodness! But you did give me a turn, creeping up on me like that!’

  It’s only you: this stung. Because of it – or for some other reason which she couldn’t fathom – Eliza experienced a surge of irritation.

  ‘You shouldn’t mess with Rosa’s things!’

  ‘I’m only looking.’ Still seated, Susie put the pearls down, picked up her feather duster. ‘I do wish Miss Rosa wouldn’t leave so many bits and pieces out! It makes it ever so difficult to dust. Who does she think she is, anyway? I expect those pearls are made of paste. Master Roderick ought never to have taken up with a girl of her sort. He ought to have waited for a nice girl to come along. But she caught him good and proper: my word, didn’t she!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Eliza rather stiffly, feeling at a disadvantage, as she often did with Susie Hobson.

  ‘That baby of hers: that weren’t no accident!’ Susie flicked her duster, knocking over a bottle of scent. ‘She’s made a right mess in here with her tins of paint. It looks like a stuck pig’s innards. Master Roderick won’t like it.’

  ‘I think it looks nice. Cheerful. You don’t know anything about what Roddy likes.’

  ‘That’s what you think!’

  Susie looked so very smug and pleased with herself that Eliza wanted to hit her. It was rather shocking, to feel like this. It put her even more on a back foot. Angry, she said, ‘Don’t let me catch you messing with Rosa’s things again, do you hear?’ She winced. This sounded just like Mama. But there was something in Susie Hobson’s manner that made one feel like Mama, wanting everything proper and correct.

  Eliza drew herself up, gave Susie a look she imagined Mama might have given. ‘You are not to mess with Rosa’s things,’ she repeated. ‘Do I make myself clear, Hobson?’

  ‘Hobson, now, is it? What happened to Susie? It used to be Susie.’

  ‘Miss. You must call me miss.’

  ‘Yes – miss.’ Susie ladled the word with sarcasm.

  Eliza stuck her nose in the air as if she didn’t care, as if it was water off a duck’s back. She made her way, slow and dignified, out of the room.

  Her heart was beating. She had to pause in the corridor to catch her breath. It had shaken her, the sudden dislike for Susie, wanting to hit her. But even more unexpected was the way she had felt protective of Rosa’s things. She had taken Rosa’s side against Susie.

  She remembered Kolya’s words: You do not know each other yet . . . you will become friends. . . . She wou
ld never have believed it. But as she retraced her steps back to the nursery Eliza began to wonder if Kolya had perhaps got it right again.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I admit I am disappointed, young Roderick,’ said Dr Camborne, slicing cheese and eating it off his knife. ‘I quite expected you to get a first.’

  Roderick at the end of the table helped himself to more claret. ‘I rather think, sir, that a first is only necessary if one is angling for a fellowship.’

  ‘And you don’t fancy being a don, eh? Well, it’s not for everyone. Ut quod ali cibus est aliis fuat acre venenum.’ The doctor looked round with a self-satisfied smile at five blank faces. Turning his attention back to the cheese, he continued, ‘In the old days a young gentleman chose between army, navy, church and law. If we consider first the law: now, the law is always. . . .’

  Eliza stifled a yawn. This conversation was pointless as well as boring. Roderick’s future was already mapped out. Starting next month, he’d be going to Coventry each day to learn about Daddy’s businesses. ‘I may as well,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve nothing else to do. No doubt I’ll be running the whole show by Christmas.’ Why didn’t he explain this to Dr Camborne?

  ‘. . . and then, of course, there’s the church.’ The doctor eyed Roderick rather dubiously. ‘Perhaps not the church. Which leaves us with . . .’

  Dr Camborne might be able to quote Latin, thought Eliza, but he didn’t know how to behave. She had learned at the academy that on no account should one ever raise one’s knife to one’s mouth at the dinner table.

  ‘. . . and so we come to the army. The army would be just the ticket for a vigorous young man like you. I remember saying to—’

  Roderick interrupted. This also was on the academy’s list of social faux pas but it was, in the circumstances, excusable. ‘Isn’t the army rather redundant these days, sir? If there’s trouble anywhere in the world we simply send the Royal Navy and that soon settles it.’

  ‘An interesting point, young man, and I might be inclined to agree with you were it not for recent events.’