‘It’s okay, Wills,’ Olly whispered. Then he bent over and brushed his lips against his friend’s face. William’s fatigue slipped away, miraculously disappeared, and all he wanted was to pull the other boy into his arms. He wanted it so much and he thought that maybe Olly wanted it, too. But it was a step too far. Chaps didn’t do that sort of thing, at least not the chaps he knew. What would his father say? What would Olly’s father say?
But Oliver was fearless. He bent his head again and, this time, his kiss was not for William’s cheek, but full on his lips. William’s body quivered. He thought that now his heart might truly burst. He didn’t care. He raised his head, and cradled Olly’s face between his hands. Then he kissed him back. Full on the lips.
*
A narrow streak of sunlight had nudged its way through a gap in the drawn curtains, its bright beam circling the pillow on which William lay and travelling upwards over flocks of papered bluebirds, landing at last on the dark wood cornice above. William tossed himself to the other side of the bed and saw that Oliver was already up and about. His friend was an early riser and the sun-filled morning must have tempted him outside. He would be walking, running – leaping in all probability – through the length of the gardens. William longed to have the same energy. Longed to be out there with Olly, but he was weary. Even now, lying flat on his bed, his arms and legs felt as though anchored by cumbersome weights. It was an effort to push back the bedclothes and swing himself to the floor. He mustn’t be feeble; he mustn’t let Olly down.
He didn’t dress immediately, but sat on the window seat and gazed out at the perfect day beyond. His mind’s eye was elsewhere, savouring again and again the most perfect moment of his life. Last night he and Oliver had kissed, kissed properly, and as soon as they had, he’d realised that this was what he’d wanted for weeks. At that moment, all the jagged pieces of his world had slotted together into one splendid whole. But this morning it was different. The memory was still magical but he’d been left even more uncertain. Because he’d wanted that kiss so much, because it had felt the best thing ever, didn’t make it right. And what would happen now? How were they to go on? He was still thinking, when the door was thrust open and Oliver himself bounded into the room.
‘Guess what?’ His friend was almost dancing with excitement.
‘You’ve been down to the lake.’
Olly came to a halt, temporarily distracted. He had to think for a moment. ‘Yes, I’ve been down there. Mr Harris is supervising the fish. Well, not the fish, of course, but the men putting the fish into the lake. Bass and bluegill.’
‘There’s going to be angling? But who’s going to fish? Pa wouldn’t know one end of a rod from the other.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Oliver said impatiently. ‘It’s not important. But this is. We’re at war.’ His eyes were wide and sparkling with excitement, and when he saw William’s mouth drop open, he said, ‘Yes, really, Wills. Something about a deadline being passed. Your pa’s newspaper is full of it. I went into the kitchen – I thought there might be a slice more of the lemon sponge going and Ripley was ironing his paper. He let me look at it. It was on page seven. “England defied by Germany” and then just below, “England’s Declaration of War Against Germany!”’
‘Gosh!’ William said. ‘What happens now?’
‘It said that the King has issued a message to the Fleet, telling them they’re the shield of Britain.’
‘Gosh!’ William said again.
Oliver climbed on to the window seat and settled himself beside his friend. ‘Mind you, the Fleet didn’t much help the minelayer I read about. It was sunk yesterday by the Kaiser’s ships. And don’t say gosh again.’ He ruffled his friend’s hair. ‘You need to get dressed. There are stirring deeds afoot!’
‘But we won’t be part of them. We’re too young to join up. I wish we could.’
‘It might be fun,’ Oliver agreed. ‘On the other hand, we might get our heads blown off.’
‘But we’d be together.’ He looked shyly across at his friend and wondered if he remembered last night.
‘We can be together anyway,’ Olly said, hugging him tight.
He had remembered, William thought, and he was right, they could be together without risking their lives in battle. At school, though, it wasn’t a real togetherness. There were too many unkind eyes, unkind voices. But it was better, far better, than not having Olly at all. He was the only thing that made school endurable. With Olly by his side, he could bear the disdain, the contempt, for having a father in trade.
‘C’mon,’ Oliver hurried him, ‘you’re missing all the fun. Stirring things are happening at Summerhayes, too.’
He didn’t know what Oliver meant but he thought that he should.
‘What if I told you that your sister is getting married?’ his friend goaded.
‘I’d say you were talking rubbish. Elizabeth doesn’t want to get married. She said so only a few days ago.’
‘I reckon she must have changed her mind then. Where will she live, do you think?’
He ignored the question. Olly was being deliberately provoking, but there was a dread in him, deep down, that somehow his taunting might contain truth. ‘Who would she marry anyway?’ he demanded petulantly. There was a pause while his friend’s eyes teased him. ‘Not Aiden Kellaway?’
‘No, stupid. The man that’s here now, talking to your father. Ripley says his name is Audley. Do you know him? Ripley says he’s a relative of your mother’s.’
‘Of my uncle’s, more likely.’ It was an instinctive response.
But how could there be a man, any man, wanting to marry Elizabeth? He’d heard nothing of it, not from the servants, not from his mother, not from Elizabeth herself. If Oliver were right, stuff had been happening of which he had no inkling. So what to make of those notes that his sister had asked him to deliver? What to make of the architect fellow? Aloud he said, ‘Audley sounds a familiar name, but I don’t think I’ve ever met the man.’
‘He’s downstairs right now, so let’s take our chance.’
‘We can’t just barge in.’
‘No, but we can eavesdrop. The balcony has some very clever fretwork – useful too – we’ll be able to hear and see without being spotted. At this moment, he’s probably falling to his knees and begging your sister for her hand.’ Oliver gave a melodramatic sweep of his arm and clutched at his heart with one hand. ‘Let’s creep down,’ he urged, ‘and find out what’s going on.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Earlier that morning, Ivy’s breathless appearance in her room was the first intimation Elizabeth had that Giles Audley was in the house. When she heard her maid’s knock, she was midway through exchanging a dress of figured cotton for a paint-spattered smock. This morning she was bound for her studio, intent on distracting herself. She hated to treat her work in this way, as a diversion – it deserved so much more – but losing herself in paint was her sole refuge. She knew what was coming. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t. But with a force of will that surprised her, she had tried to blot it from her mind. It was Aiden’s words that were filling her head and her heart: Marry me. Words of hope, of joy, words that at one minute could lift her spirits to the sky and at another cast her into complete dejection. She wanted nothing more than to spend her life with him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave her home, her family, her country, and travel into the unknown. She lacked the courage to break free. Or, more kindly, she lacked the ruthlessness to abandon what she loved.
She looked up to see Ivy fidgeting in the doorway. ‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ she greeted her. ‘You can help me with this smock. The back fastenings always defeat me.’
The girl cleared her throat. ‘I think mebbe you should change back again.’
‘Why would I do that?’
She knew the answer almost before she asked the question. She’d heard Giles Audley’s declaration that he would call today. And now she was sure that he was here, ready to lay his circumst
ances before Joshua, and ask her father’s approval to their marriage.
‘It’s Mr Audley, Miss Elizabeth,’ Ivy said quietly. ‘He’s downstairs and wishes to speak with you. Here, let me help you dress again.’
The moment had come at last. She must find the strength to face the battering that awaited: the zealous persuasion, the censorious stares, the furious voices. She would be forced into the tightest of spaces to defend the choice she was making. But she would hold the line. She would not marry a man she did not love.
Down the golden oak staircase, a breath away from telling Giles the news he didn’t wish to hear. Or maybe – she grabbed at the thought – he might wish to hear it after all. He might be relieved. Perhaps he, too, had been pushed into this. She could imagine the way her uncle must have managed the affair, cajoling, exhorting, even coercing his younger relative towards a marriage he’d never before considered. Perhaps the promise Giles Audley had made last night to her father had been his way of buying time. If so, he had bought himself a few hours only.
Ripley had shown him into a room known rather grandly as the library. It certainly possessed the necessary shelves and the books to fill them, but apart from these and a few ancient copies of Punch and a tattered Badminton series explaining the intricacies of different sports, there was precious little else. The one or two chairs that had found their way here were horribly uncomfortable. The room faced north and rarely caught a glimpse of the sun. It was a sober and gloomy place, a perfect setting for the scene they were about to play.
‘Elizabeth.’ He strode forward to grasp her hand. ‘How are you?’
*
‘You refused him!’
She stood at one side of the desk and tried to regain the sense of purpose that had temporarily deserted her. Her father, his face blotched, the loose skin around his jowls visibly shaking, had half risen from his chair. He lunged towards her, as though he would drag her across the desk’s wooden surface and into his large, angry hands. She fixed her eyes on the mantelpiece above his head and swallowed hard. The ornamental clock, a square of Delft blue tile, showed it was barely midday.
‘I didn’t actually refuse him,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t allow him to propose.’ She had spared Giles that humiliation at least, but if she had thought it might improve her father’s temper, she had been wrong.
‘You turned him down before he could even ask you!’ Joshua bellowed. ‘What is wrong with you, girl?’
She didn’t attempt to answer. Whatever was wrong with her, it wasn’t something her father could fix. He continued to shout into the silence. ‘Here was a decent man, an honourable man, who would have made you a good husband, and you refused even to hear him out!’
A decent man who would have smoothed your path into the social circle you so much covet. But it was disloyal to think in that way; whatever defence she mounted, must be her own. Her father’s face was still contorted, still frightening. She fixed her gaze again on the blue and white clock. ‘I don’t love Giles Audley, Papa, and I can’t marry him.’
‘Love! What has love to do with it?’ He abandoned his lowering pose and pushed away the ladder-backed chair to walk around the desk. Instinctively, she took several paces back, but when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. His face, too, was a little less blotched, and she drew a small breath of relief.
‘You must rid yourself of these stupid, romantic fantasies, Elizabeth. They are not worthy of you. Remember – you’re no longer a child. You’re a grown woman and you must begin to act responsibly.’
‘So marrying a man for whom I have no feelings is acting responsibly?’ Now the first shock of Joshua’s aggression was over, she was touched with anger herself.
‘You lie. You do have feelings for the man and don’t deny it. You like him. I’ve seen the two of you chattering away twenty to the dozen.’
It was what Giles Audley had said himself barely half an hour ago. I’m a disappointed man. A bewildered one, too. I thought we got on famously. But liking a man, enjoying his company, was a world away from loving him with a barely containable passion. Her father would never understand; he could never have loved so.
He was by her side now, close enough for her to see the worry in his eyes. ‘I do like him, Papa,’ she agreed, ‘but not enough to spend my whole life with him.’
Her father seemed to disregard this scruple. ‘Is it because he’s a widower?’ He reached out and stroked her hand with a gentleness that belied his previous fury. ‘If so, my dear, you should disregard it. And disregard the difference in ages between you. Age brings sense and reason. And since the man has been married before, he’ll know the demands that marriage makes. He’s likely to be an even better husband.’
I can understand your reluctance, Giles had said wryly. I’m a good deal older than you and a widower to boot. I’m not exactly an enticing marriage prospect, am I? Until I met you, I hadn’t seriously considered marrying again. But being with you has made me happy. Enough for me to think we could make a good future together. That I could make you happy, too.
‘I’ve not refused him because he’s a widower or because he’s a good deal older than I.’
Her voice cracked. The effort of containing her frustration was taking its toll. Her father had married without love, a marriage of utility, and refused to understand why anyone would not do the same. For him, it was simple. Her future was best secured by marriage to a man like Audley.
‘If that’s not the problem, what is? What else do you want? He’s a good man, he has independent wealth, he admires you and likes your company. That surely should be sufficient.’ When she made no reply, he dropped her hand and went to stand behind the desk once more. A barrier, she thought. A barrier to any real understanding between us.
‘A person cannot always have exactly what they want in life. This is a lesson you need to learn,’ he said now.
‘What did you want, Papa?’ she dared to ask.
‘What!’ His exasperation had returned.
‘When you married Mama. What did you want? Whatever it was, it didn’t happen, did it?’
His face was wiped of expression. ‘You will speak of your parents with more respect. You have been given a good life, you and your brother. Neither of you have lacked a thing.’
‘Except a happy home.’
‘Now you’re talking namby-pamby drivel. A happy home! How many of those do you know? They don’t exist. What does exist is shelter, food, clothes. I grew up with none of those things, but you have never known a life without them. For years, I worked every hour God gave me and you have been the beneficiary. You have been gifted everything you’ve ever needed. Last year, I spent hundreds of pounds on a London Season, and what did you do with it?’
‘I refused two proposals.’ She said it defiantly.
‘And now you can chalk up a third. Feel proud of yourself. But don’t think there’s another bridegroom in the wings who will be more to your liking. You’ve had your chances and they won’t come again. Be ready to wither into an old maid.’
It was his trump card, she could see, but she took the threat calmly. ‘If I must, I will.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking of. A woman who stays unmarried knows nothing but misery. As you’ll find out. She is despised by all, my dear – by men and by other women, too.’
‘But not by herself. And that’s what matters, at least to me.’ She could feel herself grow taller with the words. ‘I have to do what feels right.’ If she could not marry where she wished, she must find her way to an independent life. With barely a pause, she spat out her challenge. ‘The fate you prophesy, Papa, is not inevitable. I could escape it. If I became a respected artist, I’d be celebrated rather than despised.’
‘You have taken leave of your senses,’ he muttered.
She took a step towards him, her chin jutting. ‘You think I cannot paint?’
‘You can paint all right, but be recognised by the world? Sell your pictures? That’s an illusion. You h
ad better think again.’
Her father’s dismissal hurt, but more hurtful still was the knowledge that he was right. It was an illusion. She could paint all she wanted, but without connections in the market, without patrons, a woman artist cut a lonely figure. Attitudes were changing, but only slowly. There might come a day when women artists lacking the genius of a Laura Knight might still gain acknowledgment. But that day would come too late for her. There was no future; in every way, she was rendered bereft.
Joshua must have sensed the deep unhappiness crowding in on her. He walked back and took her hands in his. ‘This is getting us nowhere, Elizabeth. You must reconsider your decision, if not for me, for yourself. It is a good future you are being offered. If you marry Giles Audley, you’ll be free to paint to your heart’s content. He won’t object, I’m sure. It’s perfectly acceptable for a lady to pursue such a pastime. He might even find a small market for your work.’
He was trying to be kind, but every word he uttered stoked an angry blaze. Just as Giles Audley’s had. Would it not be easier to be an artist if you were married? I have no animosity to lady painters. And I have the perfect space in my house that I’d willingly assign to you as a studio. I have some strings, too, that I could pull, some influential patrons who might come calling if I asked. Giles had been trying his best to win her over, but if she were tempted to waver, he could not have said anything more to stiffen her resolve than the notion that she be given a space in which to perform for an audience whose praise had already been purchased. She would be little better than a circus animal.
‘In the meantime,’ her father was saying, ‘let me speak to your uncle. Once Audley tells him the news, he will not be well disposed, but we can smooth things over. As for Giles himself, he will understand your change of mind. You’re still a young girl, still trying to find your way in life.’
The Buttonmaker’s daughter Page 19
