by Valerie Wood
Eventually, the driver drew to a halt outside a redbrick house with an iron railing round the front garden. There was a double gate, which was closed. The cabbie opened the cab door for Eleanor and she stepped out and paid him. ‘Will you be all right on your own, miss?’ he asked. ‘I’ll wait if you like, though there’s a light showing.’
‘Thank you, I’ll be quite all right,’ she told him. There was a light in the basement, another in one of the front windows and one upstairs. ‘I am expected,’ she lied.
He tipped his hat and drove off. Eleanor mounted the front steps to the house and rang the bell, which she heard echoing down the hall. In a minute or so a maid opened the door.
‘Oh,’ she said. By her expression she was expecting someone else. ‘Good evening, miss.’
‘Good evening,’ Eleanor replied. ‘May I speak to Mrs Morton James, or Mrs Kendall?’
‘Please step inside, miss. Who should I say is enquiring?’
‘Eleanor Kendall,’ she said faintly. She was very tired after the journey, and felt quite weepy when she thought of what she had to tell her mother.
The maid knocked on a door off the hall and stepped inside, and a few minutes later came out again, followed by a rather large lady done up in purple velvet and strings of pearls. She came fluttering along the hall towards Eleanor whilst the maid ran upstairs.
‘My dear girl, whatever has happened to bring you here? And alone!’
Eleanor barely remembered her aunt, though as she submitted to a kiss on her cheek and dipped her knee, a faint recollection came to her of overpowering perfume and being dandled on her knee.
‘Is Mama here?’ she asked. ‘I must speak to her, Aunt Maud, and beg her to come home.’
‘Eleanor!’ Her mother was hurrying down the stairs. ‘What are you doing here? You haven’t – your father hasn’t brought you?’
‘No, Mama.’ Eleanor felt a build-up of emotion on seeing her mother, who looked lovely, dressed in a flowing lilac gown which Eleanor had never seen before. Her hair was dressed with pearls and she looked as if she was about to go out to the theatre or to supper. ‘Papa … Papa is not at home.’ She felt faint with tiredness and hunger and swayed on her feet.
‘Come inside. Come inside,’ her aunt said. ‘Rosamund, this poor child is exhausted.’ She clapped her hands. ‘Letty. Bring tea and cake at once.’
The maid, who had been hovering, darted off below stairs and Eleanor was shepherded into the drawing room, where a man was standing with his back to the fireplace.
‘This is your uncle, Mr Morton James,’ Aunt Maud said. ‘Move along, dear, and make room for this young lady.’
Obediently he did. He seemed to be the kind of man who would always obey his wife, and he plumped up a cushion on the sofa for Eleanor to sit down.
‘Where is your father, Eleanor, if he is not at home?’ her mother asked. ‘I’m surprised that he allowed you to travel all this way alone.’
The doorbell rang as she spoke and she looked significantly at her sister.
‘He doesn’t know I’ve come,’ Eleanor said, and wondered how much she should say in front of her aunt and uncle. She swallowed and looked from one to another. ‘It’s a very private and difficult matter, Mama.’
‘You may speak in front of your relatives, Eleanor. I have no secrets from them.’
Eleanor’s uncle harrumphed as if he wished she had, and turned to gaze at the window, though he could see nothing but the reflection of the room and the people in it.
‘I rather fear,’ Eleanor began, ‘I rather fear that Papa is in some kind of trouble. I’ve come to ask you to come home.’
‘What?’ her mother said hoarsely. ‘Never.’
Eleanor heard the knock on the door and knew that Letty was about to announce another visitor. ‘I think he’s been arrested,’ she said hurriedly, in a low, trembling voice. ‘He went away with some police officers and took a night bag with him.’
Her mother gazed at her, her face tense, and then turned to greet the man who had just been announced. He bowed to Aunt Maud and her husband, and then, smiling, he took her mother’s hand and put it to his lips.
‘Rosamund,’ he said. ‘How delightful you look.’
She gave him a faint smile and clutched her throat. ‘My dear,’ she said, ‘this is my daughter, Eleanor. I’m afraid she has brought disturbing news.’
Eleanor knew she should rise to greet the gentleman, but she was rooted to the chair. Her mother had called him my dear! Eleanor could not recall her ever saying that to her father.
‘Eleanor,’ her mother said, and she had a nervous though slightly defiant expression on her face. ‘I would like you to meet my good friend, Mr Timothy Walton.’
Eleanor wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. I didn’t know that married women could have men as good friends. She gazed at Mr Walton. He was dark-haired and had an aristocratic face which just now wore an amused expression as he gazed back at her and gave a bow.
He’s my mother’s lover, she realized, and almost choked at the idea of it. Her paramour!
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eleanor was shocked to the core. Horrified. It wasn’t possible; not her mother and this man. This stranger who was gazing at her with an amused smile as if she was just a child without any understanding. Who was he, anyway, and how did her mother know him? She had been staying with Aunt Maud for such a short time that it wasn’t possible that she could have become so familiar with anyone. Not even a female, let alone a man. I won’t honour him with the term of gentleman, she thought, for he certainly isn’t one.
‘I am delighted to meet you, Eleanor,’ he was saying. His voice had a deep, velvety timbre. ‘Your mother has spoken of you, and of your brother Simon.’
Eleanor rose unsteadily from the chair and gave a slight dip of her knee. ‘Sir,’ she said, and stood with her eyes averted.
‘Eleanor,’ her mother said, ‘we need to talk, but I – we – are on our way to the theatre.’ Her cheeks were flushed. ‘Your arrival was quite unexpected and I cannot cancel.’ She glanced at Mr Walton. ‘But we shan’t be late back. It isn’t a long performance.’
‘Eleanor will be quite all right with us, Rosamund,’ Maud broke in. ‘She can change and rest from her journey and then we’ll have supper.’ She beamed at Eleanor. ‘And we can catch up with news. It’s such a long time since we last met.’
Didn’t they understand? Eleanor gazed from one to another. I’ve just given them shattering news about my father and it’s as if they haven’t heard me.
‘Yes,’ her mother said. ‘And then later you can tell me what has happened.’ She gazed at Eleanor. ‘I’m not wholly surprised, Eleanor,’ she said softly. ‘I knew that one day there would be repercussions.’
‘Off you go, my dears,’ Maud said brightly. ‘Do have a lovely time. We’ll get a room ready for Eleanor in no time at all.’
Eleanor’s mother gave her a hesitant smile as she left, but Eleanor didn’t respond. Have I come all this way for nothing, she wondered. What am I to do? Do I go home alone? Who will pay the servants or the household bills?
The maid brought her tea and cake, which revived her, and then her aunt took her upstairs to where a room had been prepared.
‘I always keep a room in readiness,’ Aunt Maud said breezily. ‘We only need to put a match to the fire and a warming pan in the bed and it’s ready for occupation.’
‘Aunt Maud,’ Eleanor said impulsively. ‘Who is Mr Walton? How does Mama know him?’
‘Ah!’ her aunt said cautiously. ‘Well, your mother has known Mr Walton for some considerable time; but she didn’t meet him here, if that is what you are thinking. Oh dear no! Indeed not. My dear girl, your mother has been very unhappy for a number of years, and at last she has had the courage to escape.’
‘But – but she’s married to my father!’ Eleanor exclaimed. ‘She shouldn’t be seen with another man. People will talk!’
Her aunt shook her head. ‘People round h
ere don’t know your mother or Mr Walton either,’ she said. ‘And although I do not condone social intercourse between gentlemen and ladies who are not married to each other, I feel that in view of your father’s unfortunate circumstances, your mama does deserve a little happiness.’
‘But you didn’t know about my father until I told you,’ Eleanor said heatedly, ‘and they had already made arrangements to go to the theatre together. And how does she know him? Mama never goes anywhere except to her meetings.’
Her aunt nodded slowly. ‘Indeed!’ She took a breath. ‘How old are you, Eleanor?’
‘Sixteen.’ Eleanor’s lip trembled. She felt about six, unsure about everything. Wanting to do right but knowing she would do wrong.
‘Then you are old enough to know.’ Aunt Maud meditated. ‘What I meant about your father’s circumstances wasn’t anything to do with the tidings you have brought, but a matter I was already privy to.’
Eleanor waited. What was her aunt about to tell her? There couldn’t be anything worse than her father’s being arrested.
‘Your father is a tyrant,’ Maud began. ‘Harsh and unyielding. He always has been, though we didn’t know it when he first met your mother. Our father, mine and your mother’s, didn’t care for him. He was against the marriage to begin with but was persuaded by our mother, who was a very foolish woman, though I say it who shouldn’t, that it was a very good match. Your father had an excellent career ahead of him, but unfortunately he also had an exceedingly large appetite.’
Eleanor frowned. Her father was a very picky eater and only ever ate lightly.
Her aunt raised her eyebrows. ‘For the ladies,’ she said softly. ‘He had an eye for the ladies.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Eleanor said. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Well, of course you don’t, child,’ Aunt Maud said. ‘But it’s time that you did. Edgar Kendall strayed from time to time. First it was with servant girls, who could hardly refuse him, but then his tastes became more varied and he began frequenting houses of ill repute, and this, I fear, has led to his downfall. He spent more and more money on entertaining these girls, or perhaps I should say being entertained by them, and I suspect that he has looked for illicit means to fund that pleasure.’
Eleanor was silenced. She couldn’t comprehend that her strait-laced, moralistic father, who regularly beat Simon for misbehaviour, could possibly have sunk so low.
‘He has an unhealthy appetite for these so-called ladies of the night,’ her aunt murmured.
‘Stop!’ Eleanor cried. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’ She felt sick and angry. Hot furious anger, torn between the loyalty she thought she should feel for her father and her dismay at the betrayal he had wrought on her mother, her brother and herself. Yet her mother had betrayed her, too. She had left her behind knowing her father’s character, and what was worse she had probably planned to meet Mr Walton here.
‘You said that Mama had known Mr Walton for some time, and that she hadn’t met him here; does that mean that they travelled here together?’ Her voice was shaky as she asked the question.
‘Not to my knowledge. Mr Walton called last Tuesday and left his card. He came to visit your mother yesterday and they walked in the garden. They were within my sight the whole time, and then he came in and took tea with us. Tonight is the first time they have been out together. There is no harm in it, my dear.’
Eleanor began to pace the floor. ‘I beg your pardon if I appear rude, Aunt Maud. I came here uninvited but I didn’t know what else to do or where to go. I wanted to see Mama. I was so sure that she would know the answer to our dilemma, but now I think that she will wash her hands of it and won’t come back home.’ Tears trickled down her face. ‘She doesn’t care about me or what becomes of me. She never has; she only really cared for Simon, and we don’t even know where he is. He hated my father too.’
‘I’m sure you are wrong, my dear,’ her aunt said in a conciliatory tone. ‘Of course your mother cares for you, but mothers and sons, you know, have a special relationship.’ She hesitated and pressed her lips together. ‘On the subject of Simon, I could enlighten you, but I think it best that your mother should do so.’
‘Enlighten me?’ Eleanor wiped her eyes. ‘Have you heard from him? Is there word?’
Her aunt gave a slight nod. ‘Your mother must tell you. It’s not my place.’ She wouldn’t be drawn further and left Eleanor to wash her hands and face and prepare for supper.
Eleanor flung herself across the bed after her aunt had left. She still felt full of tears and yet she was so tense, so knotted up with anger, that she couldn’t cry them out. What am I to do? Do I go back home? How will I live?
Then she took stock of the situation. Perhaps Papa wasn’t guilty of any charges; perhaps what Aunt Maud said was untrue; after all, how would she know? She rarely saw her father.
Simon! So has he written to Aunt Maud? He would never write to Mama at home for fear of Father finding the letter first. It’s five years since he left; why write now? He will be eighteen – a man! Perhaps he is no longer afraid of our father, or perhaps he has done well for himself and wants to tell us.
She sat up. I could go to him! If he has a house he would give me shelter until such time as Papa is exonerated. She still clung to the belief that her father must be innocent, even though the facts seemed to show that he wasn’t.
She would speak to her mother when she came back and find out what Simon said. Perhaps her mother would let her read the letter. Eleanor felt a flutter of excitement. If I read it and there’s an address, then I’ll go to him. I’ll turn up on his doorstep just as I have done today at Aunt Maud’s.
She rinsed her hands and face and brushed her hair and went down to supper.
‘You seem a little calmer, Eleanor.’ Aunt Maud smiled. She was wearing a shawl over her gown and a lace cap on her head, and was presiding over the supper which had been laid out on a small table in the drawing room. ‘I thought that you and I would eat in here, dear,’ she said. ‘Uncle Morton has gone to his club so there’s just the two of us. I always think it’s such a waste of effort using the dining room for a simple supper.’
‘I agree, Aunt Maud,’ Eleanor said. ‘Papa always insisted that we eat at the dining table even if we were only having a cold supper.’ She paused and thought too about the ritual of dressing he demanded. How very proper he always is – was, she amended – and yet they are saying he has done such unspeakable things.
She shut her mind to it and concentrated on her plate, but although the cold chicken, boiled ox tongue and crusty bread was satisfactory, her appetite was minimal and she simply toyed with the food, despite Aunt Maud’s urging to eat more.
After supper was cleared away, her aunt yawned and Eleanor fidgeted as they made desultory conversation. She felt very tired and her body ached. She was trembling and shaking, just as if she was still travelling on the train.
Finally her aunt said, ‘If you will excuse me, Eleanor, I’m going to my bed. Stay here by the fire by all means, if you wish to wait up for your mother. There are magazines in the rack and Uncle Morton’s newspaper if you wish to read.’
Eleanor thanked her and rose to her feet as her aunt stood up. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Aunt Maud,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to have descended upon you without warning.’
Her aunt tut-tutted and said it was nothing. ‘You are always welcome, my dear,’ she said, giving her niece a peck on her cheek. ‘Such a pretty girl you have become. I’ll see you in the morning, but not too early. I never rise before nine.’
Eleanor sat again after she had gone and gazed into the fire. She didn’t want to read, but only to think of what Simon might have said, and what action she could take.
After a while, her eyes closed and she drifted off into a light doze. The house was quiet and she heard the clock strike but lost count of the chimes. Was it nine or ten? She thought she heard the whistle of steam and the slam of carriage doors, and felt the sway
of the train as it rattled along the track.
‘Eleanor! Eleanor!’ Her mother shook her gently. ‘Wake up.’
‘Mama!’ Eleanor roused herself. ‘What time is it?’ she said thickly.
‘Time you were in bed,’ her mother said. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
‘No.’ Eleanor cleared her throat. ‘Now. I’ll never sleep otherwise. Aunt Maud said you’d heard from Simon.’
Her mother looked slightly cross. ‘Yes. There was a letter waiting for me when I arrived here. Simon had written and asked your aunt to send a message to me.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘So is that why you came?’
Her mother sat beside her. ‘That was not the only reason,’ she said. ‘I had already decided to leave your father; but when Maud wrote and invited me to stay, and implied that it would be a good time for me to come, I knew that he had been in touch. I have waited and waited for a letter from him, and I always knew that he would write here rather than to home.’
She gazed at Eleanor and swallowed. ‘It was an opportunity for me to do what I had planned to do for a long time, which was to leave your father.’ She looked down at her lap and went on, ‘I will be considered an outcast, I know, but I can’t help it. I cannot live any longer as I was doing. I can’t tell you how dreadfully unhappy I have been for years and years, and how much I have longed for my freedom.’
‘But – Mr Walton?’ Eleanor asked. ‘How do you know him?’
A deep flush suffused her mother’s cheeks. ‘I met him in Hull,’ she said quietly. ‘At one of the meetings I attended. He introduced himself and we found we had a lot in common. We used to sit together, until people remarked upon it, and then we sat apart but within the same social circle. Then one evening I couldn’t get a cab and he offered to walk me home. We became friends,’ she said simply. ‘He’s a widower, a kind, sympathetic man, and I confided in him.’
