by Annie Groves
‘I was so nervous on my wedding night, worrying about how I would manage, since Evans was Mama’s maid, and I was not sure how I would go on with the servants in the hotel. But in the end it was my own darling Paul who unfastened them for me. One of the advantages of having a husband I had not looked for!’ Cecily had exclaimed, dimpling Ellie a conspiratorial smile.
Ellie knew that Cecily had been seeking to reassure her, as well as drop her a delicate hint of what to expect, but the truth was that Cecily’s words had only intensified her anxiety and apprehension. To her relief, though, her aunt had seemed to take it for granted that Lizzie would accompany her on her honeymoon.
Ellie had received rather more essential practical advice from Iris. Since Iris had spoken of marital relations not solely to conceive children, Ellie had wondered if Iris, who was, after all, training to be a doctor, would be able to advise her. She had eventually plucked up the courage to ask Iris how she might avoid conceiving a child on her wedding night. Iris had been so sensible and so kind, and now, putting into use the little sponge and bottle of vinegar her friend had recommended, Ellie felt a little more ready to face her ordeal.
‘Why, you’re chilled to the bone, miss,’ Lizzie remarked, bustling into the hotel bedroom in response to Ellie’s summons, and immediately adding extra coals to the small fire. ‘I’ve had them put hot bricks and a warming pan over the bed, but I could swear the sheets are damp. It will be a mercy if you don’t catch a cold sleeping in them. What Mr Charnock was thinking of, bringing you to such a place for your honeymoon, and over Christmas too, I do not know.’
‘The Lake District is reputed to be exceedingly beautiful, Lizzie,’ Ellie told her.
‘Beautiful!’ Lizzie gave a disparaging snort. ‘Aye, well, as to that, it may well be on a fine summer’s day when the sun is shining!’
Ellie had to hide a small smile. Lizzie was a city girl at heart, who constantly grumbled that even Hoylake was too ‘countrified’ for her.
‘Goodness, miss,’ Lizzie exclaimed as she removed Ellie’s dress. ‘If you lose any more weight we shall have to be padding you out and not lacing you in.’
The very thought of having to wear the horsehair pads some ladies used to enhance their figures into the S-shaped curve dictated by fashion made Ellie shudder.
‘There…’ Lizzie helped Ellie into her satin peignoir and waited for her to sit down at the dressing table before beginning to brush her hair.
The brand-new travelling case, with its silver and tortoiseshell bottles and brushes, had been a special wedding gift to Ellie from Cecily, who had given it to her with a whispered, ‘I found mine so useful when I was on my own honeymoon, Ellie dearest.’
‘Not like home, this isn’t, miss,’ Lizzie informed her with a disparaging sniff as she finished brushing Ellie’s hair and then helped her into the double bed with its brass bedstead. ‘They’ve no proper bathroom to speak of – leastways not what I would call one – but I’ve arranged that hot water will be brought up to you in the morning, and I dare say that Mr Henry will need some as well so as he can have a shave –’ She broke off as they both heard a discreet knock on the door. ‘That will be Mr Henry now,’ Lizzie guessed, giving the covers a final pat, and going towards the door.
‘Lizzie…’ Ellie began, and then stopped as the maid turned to look at her. She felt cold and sick, and wished passionately that she had not married Henry. Guilt and shame that she should feel so, added to her distress, so that the set look on her face as Henry walked into the room and saw her lying stiffly beneath the bedclothes brought him up short, his face betraying his own discomfort and uncertainty.
Whisking herself through the open door, Lizzie closed it firmly behind her.
Despairingly Ellie closed her eyes as Henry began to undress behind the heavy dressing screen, but although she could blot out the sight of what he was doing she could not escape from the sounds: the thud of boots hitting the floor; the stiff squeak of buttons forced through new buttonholes; the alien jarring noise of male clothing.
Henry was not Josiah Parkes, Ellie reminded herself over and over again, repeating the words inside her head as though they were some magic charm that had the power to transform what she was feeling – the fear, the embarrassment, the sheer sickening, loathsomeness of the thought of what was to come, what had to be. He was her husband…and a husband had rights…expectations…a husband…
Ellie shuddered, her eyes snapping open as she felt the other side of the bed depress. The only other men she had seen in their night attire were her father and her brother, and Henry, with his thin legs in his thick winter combinations, emphasised how very different a husband was to a father or a brother.
She could see the agitated movement of his Adam’s apple, and the slight tremble of his hand as he edged back the bedcovers, and suddenly her fear began to relax its savage grip on her. Poor Henry was as apprehensive as she was herself!
Clearing his throat, he told her hoarsely, ‘You looked very lovely today, Ellie, and I-I-I want you to know how proud I am to have you as my wife.’
His wife! Ellie’s fear returned. She knew perfectly well what the act of consummating their marriage entailed – in theory – but the experience of it…the result of it, should she conceive Henry’s child, as eventually she must, these were the things that were making her whole body quake with dread.
She held her breath as Henry snuffed out the candle. Only the dying glow of the sea-coals in the fireplace illuminated the room now.
She tensed as she felt the dry tremor of Henry’s lips against her cheek as he turned his head to kiss her, and a huge aching swell of anguished misery broke inside her.
Somehow, as perfect in every detail as though it had been a photograph, she could see the day she had spent in Avenham Park with Gideon. With her senses she could relive the touch and feel of him, the scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth. She knew that her body would never, ever ache for Henry in the way it had ached for Gideon, in the way it was aching right now, just at the thought of all she had lost.
She could feel Henry’s hands moving awkwardly over her body, his breathing becoming heavier, and she closed her eyes.
Henry was fumbling beneath her nightgown, his hands so cold that his touch made her shiver. Resigned, Ellie waited, the bright shiny hopes of her youth draining from her in a slow flood of misery. When Henry’s hand touched her breast she squeezed her eyes as tightly closed as she could, turning her head away so that his clumsy kiss reached her cheek and not her lips. The hand he had placed on her breast felt damp and soft. A huge wave of despair engulfed her, but she made no sound of protest when Henry heaved up his own nightshirt, and removed his combinations.
In the end it wasn’t as bad as Ellie had dreaded. True, Henry had panted and moaned in a way that had chilled her body, his breathing hot and hard in her ear as he thrust against her and into her, in unrhythmic bursts of energy that caused her more distaste than pain, until at last he lay gasping for breath on top of her.
Mindful of Iris’s careful instructions, Ellie got up quickly and hurried behind the screen, carefully removing the little sponge she had soaked in vinegar, and then washing it out.
When Ellie climbed back into the bed, Henry was fast asleep, lying on his back, his mouth agape.
Blankly Ellie looked at him as though he was a stranger, someone she didn’t know…someone she didn’t want to know?
Her eyes dry with the painful weight of her misery, Ellie clung to her side of the bed, keeping her body as far away from Henry’s as she could.
Gideon gave a moan as he woke. His head felt as though it was about to split apart with pain, and he could hear Rex whining close by. As he looked round he realised that he was lying out in the freezing cold yard. Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet, the shock of discovering where he was making him suddenly stone-cold sober. If the dog hadn’t woken him, he would more than likely have frozen to death, he recognised, as he stumbled on numb legs towards the door.
He had no recollection of returning home from Liverpool – from Ellie’s wedding – and no idea how long he had been lying outside in the hard frost. He cursed at the pain that shot through his limbs as circulation returned to them.
In the clear, cold air he could smell the scent of the gin on his own breath, and his stomach heaved with nausea.
He only just made it to the privy, retching until his stomach was sore.
Bitterly Gideon made his way inside the house. There was no point in trying to relight the fire. Calling the dog to him, he curled up on the sofa, dragging the dusty rug from the floor on top of him to keep himself warm.
He was still lying there, deep in an alcohol-induced sleep, when Will Pride, finding the door open, walked in and woke him.
‘What the…?’
‘Door were open, lad, and so I thought I’d best come in,’ Will told him, giving an unhappy look at the chaos of the cold room, the empty gin bottles on the floor, and the state of Gideon himself. The lad was obviously finding it hard to manage – and no wonder with no work.
Will had always had a soft spot for Gideon, and it led him to say sorrowfully now, ‘Nay, lad, tha’ canna go on like this.’ Nodding towards Rex he added, ‘T’ pair of you are as thin as whippets! I know thee’ve paid t’ rent until quarter day but that’s not that far off now, and then what’ll ‘e do? Bloody landlords,’ he cursed. ‘Money for nowt it is, if you ask me, letting out a house.’
Whilst Will was talking, Gideon had sat up, grimacing at the sour taste in his mouth.
‘What you need, lad, is some food in your belly,’ Will told him, nodding towards the empty bottles as he added firmly, ‘and a bit less of that! I’m a drinking man mesel’ but I would never touch spirits, Gideon! Gut rot, that stuff is. You and our Robert are as bad as one another…and likely to be in the poorhouse, the pair of you, if you don’t mend your ways.’
With that piece of advice, Will went over to the fire and started to wriggle the ashes. John’s dog, Rex, pushed his cold nose into Gideon’s hand. Frowning, Gideon looked at him. He was thin, Will was right. Guilt filled him. He ached from head to foot, and as for his hand…How on earth could he drag himself out of the mess his life had become?
TWENTY-SEVEN
A little nervously Ellie stared up at the stark façade of her new home. It was late in the afternoon and they had brought snow back with them from the Lake District. Small white flakes of it dusted Ellie’s shoulders as she shivered in the fading winter afternoon light.
Naturally, prior to her marriage she had never visited the mistress-less Charnock house, a large, well-proportioned villa with a big garden, set in a row of similar properties, and now she stared at it curiously.
Henry had come to stand at her side, whilst the hackney driver took their bags round to the servants’ entrance.
Henry had to bang on the front door, and Ellie’s eyes rounded in surprise when she saw the grubby, waiflike scullery maid who opened it. Surely her father-in-law employed a housekeeper.
A gust of cold air rattled through the dark hallway, making Ellie shiver and quickly close the front door, whilst the maid stared open-mouthed at her. Gaslight flickered in the old-fashioned light fittings, revealing an unpolished floor and a shabby Turkish rug.
‘Thank you, Maisie,’ Ellie heard Henry saying. ‘Is my father –’
‘The master isn’t home yet, sir, and he said you was to go straight down to the office the minute you got back,’ the girl told him, bobbing him an uncoordinated curtsy before starting to back away.
Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes! It was four o’clock in the afternoon and they had been travelling all day. She was freezing cold and tired, and she had expected to be welcomed to her new home by a competent housekeeper, who would show her to her room and provide her with some much-needed afternoon tea, instead of which she was faced with a grubby untrained maid, who, she suspected, would not even be able to boil a kettle of water!
Turning to her husband, she began, ‘Henry –’
‘Maisie will show you to our room, Ellie,’ Henry told her, looking uncomfortable. ‘I had best obey my father, but I shouldn’t be too long.’
He was gone before Ellie could object, leaving her alone with the maid.
‘Will I show you to yer room then, miss?’ she asked.
‘Thank you, but I should like to speak with the housekeeper first,’ Ellie responded firmly.
‘The housekeeper?’ The girl’s eyes rounded. ‘There bain’t no housekeeper here. There’s no one here but me and Cook.’
Ellie was too tired to query her statement and said wearily instead, ‘Very well, then I think you had better show me round the house, if you please.’
An hour later Ellie stood in the large but damp and grubby bedroom she had been told was to be hers and Henry’s, and wondered how on earth her husband and her father-in-law could bear to live in such a cold, uncared for and frankly dirty house.
When Ellie asked Maisie to bring up sticks and coal so that she could light the bedroom fire, the maid looked nervously at her and told her, ‘Begging your pardon, madam, but Mr Charnock, he don’t allow no fires in the bedrooms.’
No fires? Ellie was dumbstruck. The maid could not possibly be right!
‘Perhaps you will ask Cook to send me up something to eat then,’ she suggested, trying to remain calm.
Maisie looked terrified. ‘Cook’s asleep and I durstn’t wake ’er.’
Ellie took a deep breath. ‘Very well then, Maisie, I shall go down to the kitchen and see Cook myself,’ she said as pleasantly as she could.
Ellie discovered that Cook was indeed sound asleep – and in a drunken sleep too, she suspected.
The further discovery that the only food available for her supper was some cold meat and the kind of bread her mother would have refused to give her children to feed to Avenham Park’s wildlife left her virtually speechless.
When Henry returned he found her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen, whilst Maisie, whom Ellie had quickly realised was a little ‘simple’, stood by, open-mouthed, watching her, and the cook snored loudly in her chair.
‘Ellie –’ Henry protested, red-faced.
‘This kitchen is a health hazard, Henry,’ Ellie cut him off. ‘I must speak with your father. He –’
‘No, Ellie. I…it’s late and you should be in bed…and besides, my father is not in at present.’
As she followed him out of the kitchen, Ellie told him worriedly, ‘I am sure that your cook is drunk, Henry. She should be turned out immediately. I am surprised that your father doesn’t have a housekeeper, by the way. Oh, and Maisie said that your father would not allow me to have a fire in the bedroom. I am sure she must be mistaken.’
When Henry stopped walking and turned round to face her, Ellie almost bumped into him.
‘I realise that things here are not…what you are used to, Ellie,’ he told her unhappily. ‘But my father –’
‘I do understand, Henry,’ Ellie tried to reassure him. ‘The house has not had a mistress for a long time, I know. Even the sheets on the bed are damp,’ she told him, wrinkling her nose. ‘If your father will allow me I shall speak with the agency my aunt uses first thing in the morning and ask them to find us a suitable housekeeper and a new cook.’
In the shadows of the stairway, Henry made an unhappy noise in his throat, but Ellie didn’t hear it, her mind busy with all that she would have to do.
Ellie was up early in the morning, leaving Henry asleep as she washed in the icy cold bathroom and in equally cold water.
Downstairs she found the cook coughing over a pan she was stirring on the stove.
‘Good morning, Mrs Reilly,’ Ellie offered.
When her greeting was ignored Ellie felt her face begin to burn. Maisie had appeared from outside the house and was standing, wide-eyed, watching.
‘Mrs Reilly, it be Mrs Charnock,’ she told the cook in a loud whisper.
‘Mr Charnock is master he
re and it’s him as I take me orders from,’ the cook announced without looking at either Ellie or Maisie.
Ellie knew that her mother would have dismissed the woman on the instant for such insolence, but of course she had no right to do any such thing.
‘There was no hot water this morning, Mrs Reilly, and –’
‘If it’s ’ot water you want then youse’ll have ter come down here and boil it yourself,’ came the uncompromising response.
‘Surely the furnace heats the water,’ Ellie demanded.
‘The master won’t have it lit, madam,’ Maisie hissed. ‘Uses too many coals.’
Ellie could not believe her ears.
A smell of burning porridge assaulted her nostrils and she screwed up her nose.
‘Tek the master up his jug o’ ’ot water, Maisie, and look sharp about it,’ Mrs Reilly commanded, still ignoring Ellie as she filled a ewer of water from the large kettle on the range and Maisie rushed to obey her.
The moment Maisie left the room, Mrs Reilly cursed her and said, ‘Not right in the head, she is…useless article!’
‘What time is breakfast served, Mrs Reilly?’ Ellie enquired coolly, ignoring her comment.
‘Breakfast?’ The cook turned round and gave Ellie a glare. ‘Hoity-toity, ain’t we, to say youse only a butcher’s daughter! The master has his tea and toast in his room, and as for anyone else, if they wants breakfast then they comes in here and gets it.’
Ellie was lost for words. What was Mr Charnock thinking of, employing such a person? And as for her comments about Ellie’s parentage…It was on the tip of Ellie’s tongue to tell her that she was very proud of her origins and her father but, reminding herself of her position, she bit back her answer. It would never do for the mistress of the house to lower herself to recognise the cook’s insult.
By the end of her first week in her new home, Ellie’s hands were red raw from scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom with strong soap. And Mrs Reilly had handed in her notice. Maisie was incapable of taking any kind of instruction but, tender-heartedly, Ellie had refused to think of having her turned out, knowing that she would be unable to find another place. Instead she had acknowledged that she could only give her the simplest of familiar tasks to do.
