I wished that the driver of that carriage would pull away with me inside and keep driving, but I remembered my children: Charley, serious and shy, Mary gentle as a lamb, Katie restless and bright-eyed and baby Walter. With a deep sigh I squeezed Isabella’s hand, stepped down from the carriage and crossed over the threshold of Devonshire Terrace once more.
It was late, I lay in bed, waiting for him to return, feeling that there was so much that I wanted to say. I recognized his quick-footed gait upon the footpath below and heard the front door open. I hoped that he would not take to his study tonight for I could hold my tongue no longer and I did not want to go downstairs and speak to him in the hearing of the servants. The bedroom door opened and a look of surprise crossed my husband’s face.
‘Oh, I did not expect you to still be awake, my dear, it’s late.’
He went to the wash stand, splashed his face and towelled himself dry. I harnessed courage, sat up and began quietly, ‘I saw you today.’
‘Kate,’ he sighed, ‘would you please make your meaning clear. I am tired and not at all interested in guessing games.’
‘I saw you at the cemetery. At Mary’s graveside. You said that you would not be going.’ My voice wavered.
‘I said that I would not be going with you.’ he replied, pulling his shirt over his head. ‘That is not the same thing at all.’
He threw the covers back, climbed into bed and turned on his side. But I was not about to give up.
‘I know why you lied, Charles, why you didn’t want me there with you. You feared that I would guess the truth, didn’t you? The truth about how you really felt about Mary.’ My heart hammered on my chest. ‘Why don’t you be honest with me? Why don’t you tell me that it was my sister that you loved all along?’
He punched at his pillow and sat upright. ‘For the love of God, woman! My feelings for Mary are something that you could never understand in a lifetime. They have become something impure in your mind, something twisted and polluted by your jealousy. That is the reason that I did not go to the cemetery with you, and that reason alone.’
He swung his legs out of bed, reached for his shirt and began dressing himself angrily.
Was it true? Were my old insecurities clouding my judgement again?
‘But where are you going?’
‘Now, I am too cross to sleep. Now I have to go out again and calm myself down!’
‘Charles! Please, I just—’
But he left the room with a bang of the door and I sat alone in the candlelight, wondering which one of us it was had been in the wrong after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
June 1841
Edinburgh, Scotland
The incident at the graveside was not mentioned again, and Charles continued to be cordial in all his dealings with me and so I realized that some things were best left unspoken.
At the repeated invitation of Lord Jeffrey, Charles agreed to pay a visit to Edinburgh and asked me to accompany him. Not usually an enthusiastic traveller, on this occasion, however, I was keen to go. I thought Edinburgh was a beautiful city and it was especially close to my heart, being the place of my birth.
Upon our arrival at The Royal Hotel we were informed that Lord Jeffrey was unwell and that he had nominated Sir George Robertson to act as our escort and guide in his stead. The elderly judge was a great admirer of my husband’s work and welcomed him with the words, ‘Ye’ve the mind of a genius, young sir, there’s no doubt about it. And all of Edinburgh will be there tonight to welcome ye.’
Our rooms were splendid and Charles declared that he would have our bedroom at home painted the same delicate pink that adorned the walls of our suite. Sir George had talked of there being 300 at dinner and I felt a great sense of unease at the thought of it. Charles shone brilliantly on such occasions, but I preferred to stay in the background knowing that I did not sparkle in the way of great beauty or wit at all. As eight o’ clock approached, the uneasiness had moved to my stomach and I felt so sure that I would pass out at the dinner table that I begged to be excused. Charles looked greatly displeased, asking why I had not said something sooner.
‘Now you have made me nervous too!’ he snapped, struggling to button his collar.
We were driven to the Halls of the Courts of Law and arrived to a rapturous reception. Sir George introduced us to all the waiting dignitaries and I thought that he was going to burst with the pride of doing so. Sometimes I really marvelled at the spell which my husband seemed to cast over people. At dinner I was seated next to Sir George’s wife and was surprised to note that although the elderly lady had a glass of soda water in front of her, she did not touch it at all, preferring instead to take an occasional sip of whisky from a hip flask hidden in her bag.
Over the days that followed we toured the length and breadth of the city. Its architecture was breathtaking and Charles wanted to see it all. Lord Jeffrey recovered his spirits and was keen to accompany us to Princes Street where we admired the Greek inspired Royal Institution, along with Register House and its magnificent central dome designed by Robert Adam. In Charlotte Square we inspected Bute House and marvelled at its many decorative sash windows and palace-like façade. Looking up through the eternally spiralling staircase in the grand hall, I felt quite giddy!
Although the early days of our holiday had been an exhausting round of breakfasts, banquets and tours of the city I endured them all with one clear goal in mind: to visit the house where I had been born. I had often dreamt of being there again, imagining I had returned to my childhood, but to see it once more in reality filled me with great excitement and now at last the opportunity had presented itself. Charles, however – to my great disappointment – was reluctant to accompany me.
‘I am tired out, Kate. Besides, a man has no interest in plate, silver or linen. I have a chapter to finish and dispatch, I really do not have the time.’
But I begged him, saying that as I had accompanied him all around Edinburgh surely he could do the one thing that I desired most. He looked upon me sternly and then consulted his watch.
‘One hour, Kate, and no longer. You really must not put me under obligation you know.’
I thanked him earnestly and promised that I would be quiet on the journey should he wish to work.
When the coach turned into the driveway, I peered intently out of the window to catch the first glimpse of my childhood home. I was filled with delight when I saw that the front of the house had not changed at all, except for the two large conifers either side of the front door, which must have been planted not long after my family moved. There was also a cobbled courtyard leading to a newly built coach house at the back. At one time this had been a vegetable patch where the gardener had wheeled his barrowful of greens across to the kitchen window.
We knocked at the door and waited a few minutes without any reply. Charles took out his watch again and sighed before returning it to his waistcoat pocket.
‘There is no one here, Kate, we might as well go.’
I was just about to knock once more when the door was opened by a rather dour butler. He looked as though we had awoken him from a very deep sleep and that he was quite put out about it. We learned that the owners were abroad and that the house was unoccupied, but when my husband introduced himself as Mr Charles Dickens the butler’s manner changed completely and he welcomed us in with great haste.
The hallway echoed with our footsteps and I noticed through a half open door that the old kitchen had gone and a morning room was in its place.
‘The kitchen is now in the basement, madam,’ the butler said, reading my thoughts.
I knew my mother would have approved of that, having never liked the smells that sometimes crept into the rest of the house.
‘May I see it?’ I enquired.
He nodded and motioned that I should follow him. Charles, however, had lost interest already but had noticed a bookcase in the study to which he was immediately drawn.
I made my way down a stone stairc
ase to the basement. A large pine table dominated the room, blanched pale through scrubbing. The range was unlit and consequently the room was dark and chilly, and I noticed the cobwebs in the corners of the adjoining scullery and judged that there was no housekeeper here at present. I remembered the irascible cook who had worked for my parents, her hands red raw from work, her large bunch of keys jangling at her waist. There was little chance of any food escaping unnoticed from her larder! I could almost hear the crisp crackle of roasting chicken on the spit and her stern words not to get too close to the range. But this lifeless space showed little signs of activity other than a spinning spider in the scullery and with no cook to offer hospitality or a recipe tip, I followed the butler back into the main house where I found Charles engrossed in a book.
‘Charles, why don’t you come and see the nursery where Mary and I used to sleep?’
Grudgingly he put down the novel and accompanied me and, as I held the banister to go up the stairs, an image flitted across my mind: I was a child again, peering through the spindles and watching Mama and Papa leave for the theatre. I heard the imagined echo of their voices, ‘George! We are going to be late.’
‘Hush, my dear, we will make it in good time, don’t worry, now.’
And I smiled at the memory.
We continued up the stairs and at the end of the landing opened the door to what had once been my bedroom. The curtains billowed from an open window into an empty room and the butler crossed the room to close it. There was neither crib nor toys and I shivered, suddenly filled with an overwhelming sadness: an image of Mary crawling across the nursery floor had come unbidden into my mind and I expelled it with a sigh.
‘Are you all right, Kate?’ Charles asked with uncustomary concern.
‘Just unexpected memories, that is all,’ I replied, as the nursery door was closed.
Feeling now more sadness than joy, I walked around the remainder of the house disengaged, lost in thought; visiting the house had fulfilled a wish that I had long held, but it had been a mistake. I would not come back again.
Driving away, Charles picked up the morning newspaper and returned to something that had caught his eye earlier.
‘Look at this, Kate!’ he enthused prodding the open pages of the Morning Chronicle. ‘Coach and two horses for sale – forty guineas. If it’s as good as it sounds then we’d have no more need of hiring a carriage. What do you say?’
Having very little interest in any moving vehicle, I nodded and smiled, feigning interest. He directed the driver to a nearby farm.
‘We’ll go and have a look, Kate, eh? Might as well while we’re in the area.’
It had grown dark.
‘Where on earth are we?’
Charles strained his eyes to look out into the night. The darkness was foreboding. ‘What is this terrible place?’
Over the last few days we had left Edinburgh, and travelled on to Stirling and Melrose, and were now on the Glencoe Pass.
The carriage creaked and moved from side to side, jolting me repeatedly against an angry and frightened husband. The windows did not provide a water-tight barrier between the storm and ourselves and the driving rain found an opening, its icy fingers darting into the coach and gradually dampening us. The visit to the farm had been a waste of time; the coach and horses had not been worth forty guineas at all and the farmer would not budge on his price.
A flash of lightning illuminated the carriage, transforming Charles and myself into ghostly images. Charles banged on the roof and called to the driver.
‘How much further?’
If the driver replied his voice was carried away by the wind and for a terrifying moment I imagined an unmanned coach driven by two possessed horses heading for Hades. When the lightning flashed once more I saw that we were on the Glencoe Pass on a steep decline, and that the bridge across the river was flooded.
I clutched at my husband’s arm. ‘Charles, I’m frightened.’
The carriage was swaying violently now and seemed to be gaining speed. Suddenly the driver made his presence known shouting, ‘Sir! Madam! You must jump out! We are heading for the river!’
I was paralysed with fear and could not move.
‘Kate, you heard him, we have to get out.’ Charles threw open the carriage door and held out his hand, but, as the coach hit a hard place in the road he was hurled through the open door, leaving me behind. The driver leapt clear too and the carriage hurtled uncontrollably into the swollen river. With incredible bravery the man dived into the moving waters and managed to pull me free. One of the horses struggled to loose itself from the harness and succeeded, but the other poor creature was pulled away to its death. Charles staggered to his feet and waded part way into the water to help. His hair was caked with mud, and streaks of blood washed onto his face with the rain. Back on dry land I was lifted onto the remaining horse and that dear lame animal limped through the darkness until we found shelter in a remote inn.
Charles pressed several coins into the driver’s shaking hand and thanked him profusely. The man tugged his forelock and sat down to drain a large tumbler of whisky. The innkeeper’s wife wrapped us up in blankets and we sat and stared into the fire trying to expel from our minds the image of the carriage turning over and over. The other patrons attempted to disguise their furtive glances and in the low hum of chatter we heard the words, ‘Dickens … almost killed … his poor wife nearly drowned….’
When we had warmed through sufficiently to go to bed, neither of us could sleep, being woken with a frightening start each time our eyelids finally closed. Charles held on to me tightly and cried intermittently.
‘Kate, I was so frightened… I thought that I had lost you forever … if I….’ He choked on his words and then tried again. ‘If I ever seem…that is, if I sometimes struggle to express how I feel about you know now that I care more than I can say, almost losing you has made me realize that.’
In spite of the day’s events, I felt a strange sense of peace: a woman can exist a long time on the memory of such words.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
November 1841
Devonshire Terrace
It was a dull morning: a dense cover of grey, without sign of where each cloud began and ended. I sat in the drawing room, struggling to sew in the poor light. I was trying to alter the children’s clothes; they were growing up so quickly. Charles would remind me again and again that he was a man of means now and that there was really no need for me to make do, but it gave me a meaningful way to spend my time, and losing myself in the rhythmic cycle of the needle was soothing when my old anxieties returned.
I heard my husband’s striding gait across the hallway and waited for the turn of the door knob which I knew would follow. The door flew open with the words:
‘Ah, there you are, Kate! Kate, I have decided: I want you to accompany me on a trip to America, I can’t do without you for any great length of time and there is no point in my going for a short trip, so you must come with me.’
He dropped into the chair opposite me, as if the speech had momentarily taken all the life out of him. A second later his foot was tapping impatiently, willing me to hurry up and make a decision.
‘But Charles, I don’t think the children would be up to such a strenuous tour, they’re still so little.’
He dropped his eyes to the floor and brushed an imaginary speck from his trousers. Putting my sewing aside I leaned forward earnestly.
‘Charles, you can’t begin to think of asking me to leave them, and how could you yourself bear to leave them for so long?’
He got up from the chair and turned away, not wanting me to see his face. Although he mastered his emotions well enough in front of others, I knew him too intimately to be fooled.
‘Well?’ I persisted.
He cleared his throat. ‘The children will be fine. I have asked Macready and his wife to see to them and they are quite willing.’
He strolled about the room straightening a chair, the tabl
ecloth, a protruding book on the shelf; arranging everything around him as he was now arranging my life, as if he knew that I would protest no more than those inanimate objects to being moved about where I might not want to go.
I picked up my sewing again with a decisive action.
‘Well, I shall not leave them, even if you can,’ I said petulantly.
Charles spun around suddenly, his eyes blazing. ‘I do not think you understand me, my dear. I have said that I cannot do without you and I that want you to come with me. Now I have made all the arrangements and everything is set, so please do not upset me with one of your moods. We will not be leaving for a month, so you will have plenty of time to sort out your wardrobe and say goodbye to the children.’
He turned to leave, desperate to avoid further discussion and, with a swift bang, closed the door behind him.
‘Sort out my wardrobe and say goodbye to the children.’ As if one could be as easily done as the other! I paced about the room, seeing their little faces, imagining them crying, thinking about not seeing them for months, maybe never seeing them again if we were lost at sea.
‘No! I can’t leave them. He shouldn’t ask me to.’
I grasped at the curtains, burying my face, finding comfort in their softness like a child seeking refuge in her mother’s skirts. Why couldn’t he let me stay? He could take Forster, or one of his other acquaintances. Why me? Yet how often had I anguished over the times when he had seemed cold and distant, appearing to prefer everyone else’s company above mine. Now here at last he was asking for my companionship and my support on this adventure. If I refused to go, he might never forgive me. And how could I ever rightly complain of his neglect again? If only I did not have to choose my duty as a wife above my devotion as a mother. But maybe the children were more resilient than I knew. Perhaps they would enjoy their stay with the Macreadys.
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