‘I am sure he will not, Mr Rowley-Jones,’ lisped Miss Brewer. ‘I am sure that he must have better things to do with his time than to look over a ship with which he is already far more familiar than he might wish to be.’
In the normal run of events there was no way in which Mr Staveley would have succumbed to this hint to be off and given up his lady into the care of Mr Rowley-Jones with little more than a token protest. But he could see that Miss Brewer appeared to be perfectly happy to swap one young gentleman for another. He also knew that his appointment with Captain Wright, an officer senior to himself, after all, was an important one and, from the bells now ringing from the church in St Mary Street, it was clear that he was already some good few minutes late. Much to his chagrin he found that he was quite unable to formulate any argument for remaining with Miss Brewer other than his own inclination, and this, it must be said, counted for nothing with anybody else at all. So, having already been forced to relinquish his lady from his arm by dint of her removing her own little hand from his grasp, and finding that she was already so far on board as to be taking Mr Rowley-Jones’ hand as she edged daintily along the plank, he merely mumbled his excuses, gave a sweeping bow which no-one else appeared to notice, and retreated in some state of resentment towards the town bridge and across the river to the other side of the quay.
Chapter 20
Mr William Wright, resplendent in nightcap and gown, was under interrogation from his dear wife Georgiana as he lay next to her that night.
‘So how much is she really worth, William?’ she was demanding. ‘I feel sure she brought some money of her own into her marriage, however long ago it was.’
Though it was dark, William was acutely conscious of her beady, bird-like eye peering into his face. He kept his eyes firmly shut. It was pleasanter by far.
‘She has yet a couple of thousand pounds, my love. Mr Brewer has invested it in one of his boats for me. We are hoping to make a good profit out of the cargo.’
‘Well I hope the cargo is secure. It would be most irritating should the wretched boat sink, or get captured whilst at sea. What would happen then? Is it fully insured?’
William coughed a little nervously. This was apparently something that he had not fully taken into account.
‘I expect it is, my love,’ he assured her. ‘Mr Brewer is a canny businessman, after all, and I am convinced that he would take every necessary precaution. But having invested in a profit-sharing deal rather than simply taking interest it does mean that we shall have to support Aunt Staveley ourselves until it all comes to fruition.’
‘Support Aunt Staveley ourselves? But how should she expect us to do that? We have enough problems supporting the children without having to support Aunt Staveley as well. Has she no son to support her? Freddy will have to pay for her keep. I daresay he will find a boat for himself quite soon. Even a dolt like him will surely not be left to idle his time away for ever? Once he has got his commission I am persuaded that he’ll send his money home. He can have no call for it himself after all. You can tell her that once he does so she will just have to live off that.’
Chapter 21
It had now become quite commonplace for Mr Staveley and Maggie to spend their quiet moments in each other’s company – either in the music room, where they practised their duets together, or in the drawing room, where they sometimes took some tea. Maggie had told Freddy the story that she had explained to Mrs Berkeley – about her father’s fall from grace and her consequential loss of status – and he was much struck by the fact that her background was remarkably similar to that of Miss Brewer, albeit, of course, with a somewhat different ending. She had told him a little of the trials and tribulations of a governess in the house of strangers – of the awkwardness of being neither servant nor family but someone in-between, of Master Will’s partiality for depositing unwelcome and oft-unpleasant ‘gifts’ within her bed, of looking into the future and seeing no prospect of any change. Freddy, in his turn, told her about his life at sea – how, as quite a small boy, he had been midshipman on a frigate whose captain had been so harsh that every man upon it had at some time suffered the cat o’nine tails and every boy, including himself, the bare-bottom beatings that were commonplace at sea. He told her these things – of his perpetual seasickness for several days on heading out to sea – ‘The m....most un....unpleasant sensation in the whole world, I can assure you, Miss Owens’ - of the rotting food and cramped, smelly living conditions, of the brutality and yet the strong camaraderie of life at sea, of how each man looked out for all of the others and would gladly sacrifice his own life for that of a shipmate – with a stolid acceptance which impressed her. He was not resentful of his treatment at the hands of what she could only think of as a sadistic old man. He saw the value of learning self discipline and freely acknowledged that this was one effective way of doing so. He was even grateful for everything that he had taught him. He was full of praise for a later captain – Captain Keats – who had taken him aboard his grand three-decker and forced him to attend to his books. Neither did he appear resentful of the fact that his father – a merchant trading primarily with the Indies – had lost Freddy’s inheritance through an uninsured loss at the hands of a French privateer. It had been this which had led to the necessity of him earning his own living when, under normal circumstances, he might reasonably have looked forward to the life of leisure and pleasure normally associated with becoming a gentleman of independent means. She could not help but compare his situation to that of her own – the loss of a fortune that should have been relied upon, the need to make one’s own way in the world, the uncertainty for the future associated with the smallness of income – and to admire the way in which he did not appear to allow it to affect his eternally optimistic approach to life at all.
‘For after all, Miss Owens, had I comp....completed my education and lived in London with m...my mother I should p...prob...probably have gam...gambled and drunk the kelter away by now and I should never have had the opportunity of seeing the world as I have. And whilst it might have been p....pleasant to have plenty of balsam I am hoping that, once I get my lieutenant comm...commission and the opportunity that this will p...provide for acquiring p...prize money I shall b...be able to put something aside and get myself in a p...position to m...marry some day.’
‘And should you like that, Mr Staveley? I understand that many naval gentlemen actually find it most difficult to settle down after a lifetime spent at sea.’
‘Oh yes, without a doubt I should like it. I am hap...happy enough as a sailor, I suppose,’ here Mr Staveley sounded only partially convincing. ‘At any rate, I cannot conceive of any occupation that would suit m...me quite so well – I am a p...practical man after all and on b...board ship I can do p...plenty of practical things – b...but I have quite domestic taste, Miss Owens. I should very m...much like to get spliced when I am able. I expect that you should like to do the same yourself, should you not?’
Maggie looked at him askance.
‘I suppose I should,’ she admitted, eventually. ‘To be honest it is not something I have thought about since – well, since my father died. I have not been in a position to think of it. But yes, now you mention it, of course I should like to be married. Not only to get out of the situation I find myself in - forgive me, Mr Staveley – I do not mean to insult your relatives, but as you know a governess’s position is not the most comfortable one – though your own stoicism provides a salutary lesson for me about that, I must admit – but I suppose, like you, I feel that I have a good deal of love to give and would like to think that it will not entirely go to waste.’
To be quite honest, Maggie surprised herself by this admission. She had not thought of herself in quite this way before.
Mr Staveley looked at her a little quizzically.
‘I do wonder, M...Miss Owens, whether we are b...both destined to love where it would b...be better not to do so?’
Maggie felt a shock pass right through her
.
‘Whatever do you mean, Mr Staveley?’
‘Forgive m...me, M...Miss Owens. I should not have said anything.’
‘No. No, I cannot accept that. I see you as my friend. I do not have many friends. I feel very much alone. So I want you to say to me whatever you feel is needed.’
‘I am glad you see m...me as your friend. I certainly see you as m...mine. Perhaps I would wish you to tell me when you think I am making a mistake. It is only fair for m...me to do the same. P...please, then - please do not waste the love you have within you, M...Miss Owens. Save it for someone who is worthy of it, someone who can b...benefit from it. Mr Wright cannot b...benefit from it. You deserve b....better than to throw it quite away on him and to ruin your entire life.’
Maggie had been looking down but now she raised her eyes. She could see that Freddy was looking directly at her. And as she met his look she suddenly became aware of an odd sensation passing fleetingly but powerfully through her entire body. She was not quite sure what it was or why it had appeared. Perhaps it was fear – fear that, if both Mrs Berkeley and Mr Staveley had spotted her predisposition for Mr Wright, then someone else might do so as well – someone else who may have far less altruistic reasons than they did for trying to warn her off. She had ignored Mrs Berkeley. She had ignored her. Why had she done that, when she had thought that she had actually taken heed? Had she written her off as – well, not quite as an interfering woman with too much time on her hands, that would be most unfair – but as someone who knew very little about life outside her own comfortable existence? No, Maggie didn’t think that she had done this. She had certainly been inclined to do so at first, but even she could not pretend that Mrs Berkeley had always had an easy life. No, she had not deliberately ignored Mrs Berkeley’s warnings, Mrs Berkeley’s good advice. Quite the contrary. She had tried to implement her plan, she had tried to reject Mr Wright’s advances, but she had found that, when tested, she had been totally incapable of doing so. But now that Mr Staveley, too, had noticed what was happening and Mr Staveley was saying exactly the same thing as Mrs Berkeley had done she suddenly recognised the very grave danger into which her weakness in this respect was leading her. There was but one logical conclusion to it, after all, for she knew deep down that Mr Wright would never have the courage or the resolution to leave his wife. So yes, perhaps this strange sensation - this shiver, a shiver that had reverberated across the breadth and depth of her entire body, had partly been due to fear. But as she continued to look at him and wonder at her reaction to him Maggie suddenly became aware of a most curious blend of feelings that she really could not put a name to - pride, sadness, admiration, respect - and an urgent need that his good opinion, his valued companionship, should not be put in jeopardy in any way at all. Mr Staveley was living proof that one could make the best of a life which to all intents and purposes had been blighted by other people’s mistakes – and if he could do it then why not she? It was at that very moment that she finally realised that she must, should and could find the strength required to do the proper thing.
Chapter 22
One quiet evening just a couple of days later – Mrs Wright had gone out somewhere and even the children were quiet in their beds – Maggie decided to forego her usual hour or two with Mrs Robinson, the housekeeper, and remain within her chamber instead. She had neglected her library books for far too long. The evening was a warm one. She felt inclined to read.
Despite its box-like properties she was actually quite fond of her funny little room. After all, it contained all her own things – virtually everything that she owned was contained within its four, embarrassingly small, plastered walls – and William had considered her wishes in the colour of the paint, which was bright and welcoming. She could hear the incessant whining of baby seagulls – fat, brown babies, bigger than the parents they were pestering for food - through the open window. It felt oddly soothing. Despite its rather depressing view onto the wall of the house behind it, the whole room felt comfortable, familiar and inviting, with the last rays of a setting sun penetrating the top inch or two of window before they faded quite away.
It soon became too dark for her to continue reading and so, a little reluctantly, she determined on going to bed. She put her book away and put her night clothes on. She checked the bed gingerly. She always checked the bed these days, ever since the particularly gruesome discovery of a dying crab, with one limb missing, crawling painfully about between the covers – another little present from Master Will, no doubt. And then, just as she was in the throes of throwing the blankets back into position – just as she was about to clamber up into the bed itself – she heard the squeak of her door behind her and she spun round in horror to find Mr Wright slipping surreptitiously into the chamber. Because her routine had altered – because, instead of returning from the housekeeper’s room to go immediately to bed as had become her wont she had instead sat reading by the window for a while – because her mind had been so full of forgetting Mr Wright and maybe because of its singular refusal to comply – for what ever reason or combination of reasons that might actually apply, she had forgotten to turn the key in her lock. And there was William, maybe just the slightest bit fuddled, taking full advantage of her mistake and squeezing swiftly inside. The room was small at the best of times and with his not insubstantial frame blocking her exit there was nothing she could do to escape. In a moment all her earlier efforts to avoid him, to deny him the opportunity of entirely taking over her mind, were completely undone. Taken by surprise, her chamber quickly darkening with the setting sun, his presence in the smallness of it, his body squeezed tightly with hers, the arms which wrapped themselves around her unbidden – she could do nothing but live the moment and embrace him in return.
‘Why have you been avoiding me, you wicked little puss?’ he was asking, between urgent kisses. ‘You are so beautiful – those deep, dark eyes, that gorgeous golden hair. Look how it falls lustrously, curling down your back. It is quite exquisite. You have been driving me half mad with desire for you.’
Maggie tried to tear herself away from him, but found that she was completely unable to do so.
‘I have been trying to do the right thing, William,’ even her ability to call him by his name conspired to weaken her own resolve still further. What an attractive name William had – firm, strong and manly – just as the man himself was – or, at least, may have been a couple of years before. ‘It is wrong for us to be together like this. You are a married man. We cannot allow this to continue.’
She opened her eyes as she said this and could see the heady desire in his. It was almost too much for her to bear.
‘But I love you, Maggie. I want you – I need you so much. What would you expect me to do?’
What was it that Mrs Berkeley had said? That love – real love – was not about one’s own needs and desires but the needs and desires of the person one loves. Was that really true? She couldn’t be sure. Certainly, standing there in the gloom in William’s strong arms, seeing the desire in his eyes, feeling the weakness in her own limbs as she clung tightly onto him – certainly what she was feeling at that very moment felt very much like love to her.
She allowed him to kiss her some more but despite her physical response to him – despite being aware that she desperately wanted to get even closer to the man, to know his body as she knew his looks – somehow and for some unknown and particularly infuriating reason, Mrs Berkeley’s soft, sympathetic but firmly assured voice managed to get back into her head and caution her to stop. At least, it sounded like Mrs Berkeley’s voice and certainly it used many of the words that she remembered Mrs Berkeley to have used. But maybe, just maybe, it was not Mrs Berkeley but Mr Staveley who was talking to her – quiet, awkward, stolid Mr Staveley who had enough concerns and sorrows of his own but yet had taken the time – and made the not insubstantial effort – to tell her the very same thing – or at least to hint at it. What would he think of her were she to ignore his advice and allo
w herself to succumb to her desires? Yes, perhaps it was Mr Staveley. Or perhaps it was merely the awakening of her own conscience, which she had managed to silence – or ignore – quite satisfactorily until now. For although part of her felt that she belonged with William, that she wanted him and she wanted to love him for ever and ever, another part – a smaller but perfectly determined part – told her that this was incorrect, that she did not belong to him, that his wife belonged to him, and that anyway she did not wish that this was not the case.
William was fumbling with her fastenings, trying to reach the soft skin beneath her gown. Maggie felt a shock run through her. Surely he was not intending – surely he was not really expecting her to submit to his desires and allow him to take her there and then, in the room next door to his own?
Maggie frowned and tried to pull away. No. This was not what she wanted. This was not what she wanted at all. William would get his own way – satisfy his need and desire for her – get her with child, maybe – and then, if she were lucky, pay her off to go away. And where could she go to? Another job elsewhere? Who would have her? Who would want a governess whose morals were so loose that she had been put off by her employer after bearing him a child?
William pulled her back closer to him.
‘No,’ she heard herself saying. ‘No. William, please go no further. It is not right to go any further and....and I do not wish you to.’
William slackened his hold on her a little and looked at her. He was looking sulky and hurt.
‘What do you mean, you do not wish it? You have always seemed so compliant before. You have always seemed to wish it. I hope you have not been leading me a dance, Maggie. I had always thought you meant it, before.’
An Indelicate Situation (The Weymouth Trilogy) Page 12
