by Annie Groves
Gideon was openly glowering now.
‘I have told you before,’ he burst out angrily, ‘I do not want your charity.’
‘Indeed not!’ Mary returned smartly. ‘And I’m afraid that I must correct your misapprehension that you are about to be offered it. Charity in the form of engineering for your benefit a job that does not exist is simply a luxury I cannot afford, Gideon! This is not charity. It is a genuine offer of a job, and your acceptance of it would not only benefit you, it would benefit me as well.’ Emotion filling her voice, she whispered, ‘You cannot know how much it would mean to me to go to Florence. It would be a pleasure beyond any price.’
Her use of the word ‘pleasure’ made Gideon’s mouth twist with cynical contempt. ‘Pleasure’ was not something he was ever likely to experience now, was it? The damage to his hand had destroyed for ever all his hopes for the future, all his plans.
‘I shall leave you to think about it,’ Mary told him gently. ‘I have to go out for a few hours, but on my return we can discuss it again.’
Mary’s step quickened as she hurried into the house and out of the raw November wind. By now, she hoped, Gideon would have had time to calm down. She was eager to talk to him about her plans for them both. They would use Mr Thomas Cook’s services to organise their journey…
Mary hurried across the landing at the top of the stairs and pushed open the door to Gideon’s room.
Empty!
Gideon could not have gone! But as she stared around the room Mary knew that he had.
TWENTY-FOUR
Bitterly, Connie hunched her shoulders against the cold and cast an angry look towards her aunt. They were going to visit the parish poor, a task Connie loathed.
Shivering she pulled her thin, shabby coat closer to her. Only the previous day a large parcel had arrived from Hoylake, containing some of Ellie’s clothes that she had sent for Connie. But after taking one look at them, Aunt Simpkins had declared that they were far too good for a wicked girl like Connie to be permitted to wear, and had refused to allow her to have them.
Connie longed to cry, but she was not going to give her aunt the satisfaction of seeing her do so. The coat Ellie had sent had been in the prettiest colour and had had a thick fur collar. Connie’s eyes ached with the pressure of her forced-back tears.
In another few weeks Ellie would be getting married and she, Connie, was to be her bridesmaid. Her Aunt Parkes was having her dress made for her.
Lucky Ellie. Enviously Connie kicked out at a stone in the road. Why couldn’t she have been the one to go to Hoylake and Ellie be forced to live here with horrid Aunt Simpkins?
Connie had decided that she was going to use the opportunity of the wedding to beg her Aunt Lavinia to let her take Ellie’s place and live with her. Connie soon became lost in a wonderful daydream in which she was the spoiled and pampered niece of the Parkeses.
Ellie was the meanest sister anyone could have! Had she been in Ellie’s shoes she would immediately have sent for her sister to be at her side whilst she prepared for her wedding, Connie told herself virtuously, but, of course, Ellie was far too selfish to think of her!
Nauseously, Gideon leaned against the wall of his cold bedroom. His whole body ached, not just his injured hand. It even hurt him to breathe, the cold raw air burning his lungs.
He had not thought of pain or discomfort, though, when he had dragged himself down the stairs and out of Mary Isherwood’s house, determined only to reject her charity.
The damp air in his lodgings, left empty and unheated for weeks, made him shiver. He looked at the empty grate, but he felt too ill to go down and get sticks and coal to light it.
He was shivering violently now, his teeth chattering audibly, whilst the inside of his head felt as though it were on fire, clouding his thinking.
Somehow he managed to find the strength to crawl into his bed, pulling the damp bedding around himself, and then lying there, half in and half out of consciousness, whilst John’s dog, who had been at Mary’s with him and whom he had collected before leaving, jumped up onto the bed and curled up next to him.
When Gideon woke up it was light. He was shivering and there was frost on the window, his breath vaporising in the icy cold. Rex was still curled up around his feet. Gideon’s whole body felt stiff, and his hand ached and throbbed. He threw back the bedclothes and frowned to realise he had gone to bed in his clothes.
His head throbbed with fever, but he ignored both it and the pain in his body as he forced himself to go downstairs into the yard. The fire had to be lit and he had a business to run, although God alone knew how the hell he was going to do it.
Reaching for the shovel, he winced as he automatically tried to use his right hand and the shovel fell uselessly to the floor. Cursing savagely he tried again, clumsily attempting to use his left hand.
Half an hour later, in a raging temper, his face as burning hot as his body was freezing cold, Gideon gave up any attempt to use the shovel and instead started to pick up individual pieces of coal with his left hand.
‘Morning, Gideon. How’s thee hand this morning? T’usual, is it?’
Ignoring the landlord’s cheery enquiry, Gideon nodded his head, picking up his gin as soon as it was poured and demanding another before heading for the seat that had become his. It was over a week since he had left Mary Isherwood’s.
Will Pride, coming into the pub and seeing him, frowned a little.
‘In here every day he is,’ the landlord told Will as he saw the direction in which he was looking. ‘Standing outside waiting for me to open this morning, he were. Aye, and back again come tonight, he’ll be.’
Picking up his glass, Will made his way over to where Gideon was sitting.
‘Let me get thee a drink, lad. What’ll it be?’ he asked amiably.
‘Gin,’ Gideon told him curtly.
‘You don’t want to be drinking spirits,’ Will told him warningly. ‘If tha wants a drink –’
‘If you don’t want to buy me a drink, Will, then I’ll get my own,’ Gideon retorted, struggling to his feet.
‘Nay, lad, I didn’t mean that!’ Will told him, also hastily getting to his own feet. ‘Sit thee down whilst I go to the bar.’
When Will returned with their drinks Gideon picked his up with his left hand and took a large swallow.
‘I’d ha’ thought thee’d be working this time of day, lad,’ Will told Gideon.
‘Working?’ Gideon shot him a mirthless look. ‘Oh aye, I’m in fine fettle to do that, Will Pride. See this?’ He held up his right hand. ‘Watch,’ he commanded, and reached for his glass.
‘Nay, lad,’ Will stopped him pityingly, as Gideon failed to grasp the glass. ‘But thee could still oversee apprentices and such,’ Will suggested.
Gideon looked at him scathingly. ‘Aye, I’m sure,’ he sneered, his voice starting to slur as the gin took effect. ‘Who the hell is going to want to be apprenticed to a crippled cabinet-maker? Have some sense, Will.’
‘But thee could tek on other men to do the work for ’e, Gideon,’ Will insisted.
Moodily Gideon refused to answer him. What craftsman worthy of the name was going to work for a crippled wreck like him when he could just as easily work on his own behalf? And besides, Gideon didn’t want to work building cabinets and the like any more; he wanted to be an architect. Somehow, through the foggy blanket of the gin the pain still managed to slice into him.
He emptied the glass and staggered to his feet, demanding, ‘What’s yours, Will, another bitter?’
‘Nay, lad, I’ve not finished this one yet,’ Will protested. ‘Wait up a bit.’
But Gideon wasn’t listening.
When he came back, the glass he was holding in his left hand held a double measure, and Will looked at him anxiously.
‘Look, lad, if it’s money thee needs, well, I’m allus looking for an extra drover, thee knows that.’
Gideon gave a harsh bitter laugh. ‘Droving!’ His face contorted. ‘Aye, h
appen that’s all I’m fit for now, Will, but no thanks. The rent’s paid up until quarter day and I’ve got a bit put by.’
The bit put by was the money he had been saving towards his studies.
Gideon was still drinking when the landlord rang time. Staggering drunkenly to his feet, he finished his drink and called to Rex, who had been waiting patiently beneath the table.
The dog at his side, Gideon lurched out into the cold November air.
‘Ellie, there is a letter for you from your father. I expect he has written to congratulate you on your engagement.’
Beaming, Ellie took the letter from her aunt and opened it. Mr Parkes had left early to go to the city and the post had only just arrived.
‘Dear Ellie,’ her father had written,
I have had your letter informing me of your engagement, and I have some news of my own for you.
I am to be married this Saturday to Miss Margaret Chadwell, who you have met. I know you will wish me happy, and I wish that to you as well.
Yrs, your loving father, Robert Pride.
Ellie read the letter again, her hand trembling, tears blurring her eyes. Saturday, he had written, and today was Monday, which meant that he was already married!
‘Ellie, what is it?’ her aunt asked, seeing her distress.
Too upset to speak, Ellie handed her the letter so that she could read it for herself, which she did very speedily, putting it down on the table and saying wrathfully, ‘Well, I must say that I am shocked that your father has so quickly overcome his grief and found himself a new wife!’
Ellie wasn’t listening. Miss Margaret Chadwell – was she the redheaded woman Ellie had seen in his bed? Was that what he had meant by writing that she had met her?
‘I…I would like to telephone my father, if I may?’ she told her aunt.
‘Well, you know that Mr Parkes does not –’ Lavinia began, and then stopped, saying instead, ‘But perhaps in the circumstances he will not mind, Ellie.’
Ellie was trembling as she picked up the telephone, and gave the telephonist her father’s number. It was several minutes before she was connected and heard not her father’s voice but that of a woman, demanding to know who she was.
‘Ellie Pride,’ Ellie answered. ‘I…I would like to speak with my father, please.’
‘Oh, you would, would you?’ came back the truculent response. ‘Well, I’m afraid that won’t be possible, seeing as your pa is still sleeping off celebrating our marriage!’
The moment she had heard her voice Ellie had known that the woman her father had married was the redhead. Her stomach churning sickly, she put down the receiver. How could her father have put someone like that in her mother’s place?
TWENTY-FIVE
‘Oh, Ellie, you look beautiful. Your Aunt Simpkins says that in view of Connie’s wilfulness and headstrong ways, the sooner a husband is found for her the better, and, in fact, she and your Aunt Gibson both agree that an older gentleman would be the best kind of husband for Connie – a gentleman who knows how to be firm with her. But no matter who she may marry she will not make as beautiful a bride as you.’
Ignoring her aunt’s compliment, Ellie exclaimed, distressed, ‘Aunt, surely Connie is far too young for my aunts to be thinking of seeing her married! I know she can be headstrong, but that is just because she is not yet mature. And an older husband – I cannot –’
‘Ellie, you must leave these matters to those who know best,’ her aunt stopped her sternly. ‘Remember, we only want for you what we know your dear mama would have wanted. Ah, if only your dead mother were here today, Ellie.’
Ellie’s eyes misted as she saw the tears in her aunt’s. On her right hand she was wearing the ring her mother had left her, and she touched it gently, and then suddenly remembered, ‘Aunt Lavinia, has my father arrived yet, only –’
‘Ellie,’ immediately her aunt’s expression changed, and she touched Ellie’s arm as she told her firmly, ‘your other aunts and I decided…that is, we felt that under the circumstances…I mean in view of his recent marriage and…well, we felt that it would not be appropriate to invite your father to the wedding.’
Ellie stared at her aunt in shocked disbelief. ‘Not invite him? But he must be here: he is my father!’ she exclaimed in bewilderment.
‘Mr Pride has recently remarried, Ellie, and neither I nor my sisters could endure to see him – not when our precious sister…’ her aunt trailed off, biting her lip.
Pain and misery filled Ellie. ‘But if my father is not to be here then who is to give me away?’ she asked slowly, still trying to comprehend what her aunt had told her.
‘Why Mr Parkes, of course. Who else should do so? He is, after all, paying for your wedding, Ellie.’
Mr Parkes! Mr Parkes was to give her away! Ellie threw down her bouquet, her hands trembling.
‘No, no, he cannot…I cannot…’ she began, and then stopped. What was the use of her saying anything, she asked herself bitterly. Silently, she reached for her flowers. ‘I wish you had not done this, Aunt,’ she whispered despairingly. ‘I wanted my father to give me away.’
Lifting to his lips the bottle of gin he had bought as he left the station, and taking a deep swig, Gideon stared at the church.
Flowers and white silk ribbons had been tied to the gate and the ribbons tangled in the cold December breeze.
He had heard about Ellie’s wedding from her father, drowning his sorrows as he told Gideon, ‘Our Ellie don’t even want me there. Her own father…Wants her uncle to give her away. I’m not good enough for her any more, seemingly! Our Connie’s to be a bridesmaid but she’s not even thought o’ asking our Will’s lasses! Our John’s been invited, and the babby is going to be a pageboy, along o’ some of her fine new relatives’ young ’uns,’ he’d hiccuped as he’d ordered them both another drink.
The wedding guests were arriving: fancy folk in fancy clothes, Gideon noted bitterly as he concealed himself behind one of the churchyard yew trees.
Ellie had been obliged by Elizabeth Fazackerly’s heavy hints to ask her children to be her attendants, and Connie, who was in charge of the little bridesmaid and the pageboys, gave Godfrey Fazackerly a sharp nip on his velvet-clad upper arm when she caught him aiming a kick at little Timothy.
‘Ow!’ he bawled. ‘I’m going to tell my mother of you.’
Connie pulled the kind of horrid face at him that she had once used to terrify John, enjoying his instant silence.
Kitty, Cecily’s younger sister, was also a bridesmaid, but since Connie was in a bad mood and had resolved not to enjoy herself one little bit, she ignored her cousin’s attempts to make conversation with her, turning her back when Kitty complained, ‘Brrr, it is so cold. I wish we could go inside.’
Henry had already arrived, and was inside the church.
An elegant carriage, drawn by matching greys, was sweeping down the road towards the church. Sulkily, Connie refused to look.
From his vantage point, Gideon had an excellent view of Ellie as she was handed out of the carriage and given her uncle’s arm. Her veil covered her face, but Gideon could still see her lips part and her small teeth clench on her bottom lip as she stood still for a moment, almost as though she was reluctant to move.
Reluctant – that would be the day when Ellie Pride was reluctant to do something to her own advantage, Gideon thought bitterly. If he was lucky he should be able to slip into the church behind all the guests without anyone seeing him.
Ellie could feel Henry trembling as they walked together back up the aisle, now man and wife. He had been ashen-faced all through the ceremony, and twice had had to be prompted with his words by the bishop.
Ellie blinked fiercely. His wedding ring felt cold and heavy on her finger. Then she tensed and missed a step as a movement in the shadows beyond the congregation caught her eye. Abruptly she stopped walking.
Gideon! But it couldn’t be! Not here. Her aching heart was playing cruel tricks on her. She looked again, but ther
e was nothing…no one.
Behind her she heard Connie hissing fiercely, ‘Ellie, do get a move on, otherwise I shall be treading on your train.’ And automatically she responded, her movements jerky and uncoordinated as though she were a clockwork doll.
Gideon – a trick of the light, Ellie decided. Yet he had looked so real. She was married now and she should make the best of her new life with Henry. She must put all thoughts of Gideon Walker out of her head.
But even as she made her resolve, Ellie admitted to herself that once before she had decided to do exactly that – and had utterly failed.
TWENTY-SIX
Tiredly, Ellie looked at her new husband. They had arrived just over an hour ago at the small hotel in the Lake District where they were to spend their honeymoon. As they sat silently, picking at the meal that had been served to them, Ellie reflected that Henry looked as apprehensive and ill at ease as she felt. Ellie pushed her plate away.
‘It has been a long day. If you should wish to retire…’ Henry began, and then stopped, his face going brick red.
‘I-I am tired,’ Ellie admitted, unable to bring herself to look properly at him.
Coughing nervously and then clearing his throat, Henry stuttered, ‘Thought I-I might take a turn around the g-gardens before turning in. That is, unless you –’
‘No, no,’ Ellie assured him quickly, her own voice as constrained as his. ‘I will go and ring for Lizzie. She can…’ Biting her lip, she stopped.
Only just over a week ago, Cecily had been with her when the final items of her trousseau arrived. Examining the pretty ribbon-decorated stays, Cecily had commented ruefully that Ellie was so slender she barely needed them.
