The first train was going to Exeter. Once she’d settled herself in the carriage, she felt she could breathe out again.
As reality hit her, she wondered how she had ever really thought it would work being married to Thomas. Each time he’d seen her at Willow Cottage, the colour, comfort and warmth of that cottage must have made him imagine she’d always lived that way. Clara saying she was her ‘companion’ had fed the idea into his head and heart that she was genteel but without money of her own.
So what a shock it must have been to him as the trial unfolded and he learned how different her childhood and early adult years had been to his own! He was a kind man; he would have felt deep sympathy and want to make a better life for her.
Even now, two days on from hearing all that, she doubted he’d thought through what an obstacle her background was to their future happiness. It might be weeks before he did. But eventually, as he planned their wedding, who they were going to invite and where they were going to live, he would start to think about whether she’d be able to hold her own with his relatives and friends. He might even worry that she would want to invite people from her old village.
But she knew he would remain protective of her. If he felt anyone was looking down on her, he was likely to round on them. But that wouldn’t help anyone. It would just create a vicious circle of gossip and retaliation until it spiralled out of control.
The same evening as Mabel was checking into a guest house near Exeter station, Thomas was knocking on the door of Willow Cottage.
He’d telephoned earlier to plan this evening with Mabel, only to find Clara had just discovered that Mabel had packed her bag and run away. Clara was in floods of tears and wasn’t making much sense, so Thomas went around to her home.
‘It’s all my fault,’ she sobbed out to him when he arrived. ‘I should’ve been much more careful about what I said.’
It was a surprise to see Clara so upset, she was usually so calm and measured, never emotional. Thomas sat down with her and listened to the whole tale.
When Clara explained how Mabel had finished her work and then, without saying a word, had packed her bag and just disappeared, she cried even harder. ‘I was so shocked,’ she sobbed. ‘I ran down the path by the river, hoping to catch her, but she was long gone.’
‘That Lily Hargreaves is such an unpleasant woman, I’m surprised you even shared the same lunch table with her, let alone listened to anything she had to say,’ Thomas said. He was very angry. Not so much that Clara hadn’t realized Mabel would take what she said so personally, but that people would make such cruel and unfounded remarks about Mabel when they hadn’t even met her.
‘Lily Hargreaves had me earmarked for her half-witted daughter, and since I made it clear I had interests elsewhere, she’s probably been waiting for an opportunity to spite me. Odious woman.’
Clara looked at him with such a bleak expression, it made Thomas feel even worse. ‘I can’t bear the thought of her being all alone somewhere. Do you think she’s gone to Bristol?’ she asked.
‘I doubt it,’ Thomas said. ‘One thing I know for absolute certain about Mabel is that she would not want to foist herself on anyone. It’s more likely she’s in an unfamiliar city somewhere now, feeling like she’s utterly worthless.’
‘I was only trying to say we should make people see us as friends and companions, rather than mistress and housekeeper,’ Clara said, desperate for him to understand that she hadn’t intentionally hurt Mabel. ‘I see now that I was tactless in the way I said it. But you know, Thomas, that to me she is a friend, I have never thought of her as a servant.’
Thomas sighed deeply. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Clara. Blame the stupid, snobbish people who make such a big deal about this class thing. But now I know how hard her childhood was, especially losing her mother so young, I can understand how far she has come since leaving that village, and how sensitive she is about her background. From the age of eight onwards she was virtually her father’s housekeeper and assistant. Then, of course, that witch Agnes took over and made it her business to order her about, so it’s hardly surprising she feels she is doomed to stay in a lowly station in life.
‘But I’m not going to let her go, Clara. I love her, I’m going to find her and marry her, and if anyone dares to say she isn’t good enough for me, I shall make them eat their words.’
‘But how will you find her?’ Clara asked. ‘She could be anywhere?’
‘She would go to a big town or city where there’s more chance of finding a job. Southampton, maybe. Or even London. But I’m going to go up to the station now and ask the porter if he saw her today, and which train she caught.’
The porter hadn’t noticed anyone much that afternoon; he went on to say his back was killing him, as if that would prevent him noticing passengers.
It was too late to start looking for Mabel that night, but Thomas thought he’d start looking in Southampton the next day.
He postponed all his appointments and drove off to Southampton first thing in the morning. He left his car by the station and then, working systematically along the streets nearest to the station, he checked every single guest house. Some of the landladies and landlords were helpful, others less so, but they all said they hadn’t got a guest who fitted her description.
The second day, he made a wider sweep of the streets further from the station, but still with no joy.
He was beginning to lose heart.
But on the third day, just as he was about to set off for Bridport, a letter from Mabel fell through his letter box.
He read her letter several times, at first disappointed by its brevity, and upset that she hadn’t enlarged on her reasons for going, but by the fourth reading it dawned on him that she just didn’t know what to say. He rang Percy, Joan’s friend in Bristol. When Percy rushed across to Joan, to bring her to the phone, he discovered she too had received a letter, as had Clara.
Both women were clear on certain things. Mabel did love Thomas, but she was very aware of the social gulf that separated them. And she had a noble nature, which meant she would sacrifice herself for Thomas’s happiness.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ Thomas exclaimed to Joan over the phone. ‘I love her, she’s the woman I want as my wife and the mother to my children. Without her, I’m nothing. I don’t care if I lose a few clients because they don’t approve. Such people are stuck in the dark ages.’
‘You’ve got to understand that she’s put aside her own feelings and needs,’ Joan said. ‘She’s spent her whole life so far looking after others, she can’t change that selflessness now. She really believes she can only hold you back.’
‘But she’s intelligent, how can she believe that?’ Thomas said, exasperated now.
‘I don’t think you fully appreciate that it is people from the upper classes, with their high-handed ways and the demands they make on their servants, who create this belief in working people that they are inferior,’ Joan snapped back at him.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Hardy,’ Thomas said, realizing she felt intimidated by him. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, but if Mabel does contact you, please tell her that I love her and always will.’
‘I will,’ she said. ‘But Thomas, if it’s any help, the postmark on the letter she sent me is Exeter. Maybe you should try looking for her there.’
The next day, Thomas took the train to Exeter but, like Southampton, he drew a blank at all the guest houses near the station. Feeling completely deflated by five in the afternoon, Thomas sank down on to a bench and put his head in his hands.
‘Can I help?’ a voice asked close to him. ‘You look so dejected.’
He sat up and saw a plump middle-aged woman with cheeks like apples, standing in front of him.
‘I am, I’m trying to find someone,’ he replied. ‘Without any luck.’
She sat down on the bench beside him and he told her an edited version of his story. She asked how old Mabel was.
‘What’s that got to do with
it?’ he asked.
‘Well, a younger woman might walk further, and look for somewhere pretty to stay, even if she was unhappy. So why not try the guest houses overlooking the river.’
Thomas realized it was too late now to go on searching, it was already dusk and starting to rain. If he got a move on, he could catch the five-thirty train back to Dorchester and try again in the morning. He thanked the woman effusively and hurried back to the station.
He told himself, that night, if he couldn’t find her the next day he was going to give up. Even as he silently told himself that, he knew he would continue, resorting to putting a private detective on the case if necessary. Saying it to himself made him feel more empowered.
It was tipping down with rain in the morning and a strong wind had sprung up. Autumn had arrived with a vengeance, and the Indian summer was over.
Thomas put on an overcoat, and took an umbrella; it paid to be prepared. As he stood on the station platform waiting for the train, the bleak outlook, the driving rain and the hopelessness he felt, all reminded him of those endless days and nights in the trenches. Sometimes, it felt better to have to blow the whistle and go over the top, rather than spend further hours in the mud just waiting.
He had a vision then of all the young soldiers, braced, shoulders back, ready to go. Such earnest, trusting faces, believing that courage and serving your country was everything. Each day fewer of them came back, and he had to write yet another letter to parents who would sooner have given their own arms and legs than see their sons killed or maimed.
Pulling himself out of such dark thoughts, Thomas concentrated on the day ahead. He had a map of Exeter, and last night he’d marked the streets overlooking the river.
At the Byways Guest House Mabel returned to her room after her breakfast and packed her bag. She was leaving now, to go to the Red Griffin public house in the centre of Exeter, where she had managed to get a live-in job, without any character.
The Red Griffin was a bit of a rough place, the kind that working men went to after work. It was an ancient inn, and very gloomy; her room was damp and dark, with only the most basic of furniture. But all the other positions she’d inquired about wouldn’t take her on without a character.
She was extremely tempted to stay longer at the guest house. It overlooked the river, not too far from the station and close to lovely shops, it was clean, comfortable and reasonably priced too. If she spoke to the owners, she was sure she’d get a reduced weekly rate as the season was over now. But common sense prevailed, if she didn’t get another job soon her money would all be gone. Besides, she needed to work to take her mind off Thomas.
She had spent her first few days in Exeter crying almost continually. She had never felt so alone and abandoned. The things Clara had said kept going round and round in her head, and she smarted to think she had imagined a one-time fishwife could raise herself up enough to marry a lawyer.
On the third day, she rallied herself to go out and buy a newspaper and have something to eat. There was a paragraph or two in the newspaper about the date of Agnes’s execution. It was scheduled for the 2nd of November, at Plymouth prison. That was in five weeks’ time, and Mabel wished for Agnes’s sake they’d made it sooner. It seemed as if the main story had been told a couple of days before. All this piece did was give the bare bones of the trial, stating that the accused had confessed to murder just minutes before the jurors were being asked to vote. Thankfully, Mabel wasn’t mentioned, but she wondered if her name had been given in the previous article.
Having a meal and being out in the fresh air had made her feel marginally better that day. When she’d got back to Byways, she’d felt able to write letters to Thomas, Clara and Joan, to explain her sudden disappearance. But she didn’t put an address on them.
Clara’s was easy enough to write; she just said that after thinking over what Clara had said, she felt it best to get out of Thomas’s life before she spoiled it for him. She told Joan what had happened at the trial, and that Thomas had turned up, but said she’d realized she would only ever hold him back and so had decided to go away.
The letter to Thomas was extremely hard to write, especially as her tears kept falling on to the paper and making the ink run. In the end she kept it simple and short, saying she wasn’t right for him, and she hoped he’d find happiness with someone who was better suited to be his wife.
All three letters were badly written and disjointed, but she hadn’t the energy to rewrite them. She thought that all three recipients would see the letters as proof of her lack of breeding and education, and perhaps think that she’d made the right decision.
Now, as she fastened her bag, she felt like bursting into tears again. The thought of starting again in a new job, meeting new people and being asked about her past, was awful. She knew in a public house she would need to be jolly, appear interested in her customers, and make an effort to sparkle. She didn’t think she could ever do that again, but she had to try. She’d come through so much before this, a broken heart could be considered the least of her worries.
Fixing the buckles on her bag, she lifted it on to her shoulder and said a silent farewell to a room that had been a sanctuary when she most needed it.
She glanced at herself in the mirror by the door. She was always astounded that her curly red hair was invariably the same, day after day – shiny, bouncy, the kind of hair that ought to belong to one of life’s winners. But she looked pale, too much crying had made her eyes puffy, and redness around green eyes wasn’t attractive.
‘Good luck at the new job,’ Mrs Wyatt, the guest-house owner, said as she left. ‘I’ll always have a room for you here if you need it.’
Mabel turned to smile and blow a kiss. Mrs Wyatt was a good woman, one of those who realized when people had a problem, but didn’t pry, yet gave the impression you could tell her anything.
Out along the quayside, by the river, the rain was so fierce it was like being showered with darning needles. Mabel hunched her shoulders and, with one hand holding her hat on securely, she began walking towards the centre of town.
Thomas arrived in Exeter just after twelve noon. He paused before leaving the shelter of the station. The driving rain was so heavy that he felt most people would say it was madness to walk in it, unless it was absolutely necessary. To him it was; he had to find Mabel, however soggy he became. So turning up his collar, and opening up his umbrella, he stepped out into the downpour.
Two hours later, he was completely dispirited. Water had got into his shoes, down his neck and he felt like a block of ice. He had called at dozens of boarding houses, guest houses and small hotels to ask if Mabel Brook was staying there, and had asked many shopkeepers if they’d seen a pretty red-headed woman. Most of the shopkeepers seemed suspicious of him, as if he was searching for a prostitute. Thomas realized that, without a photograph of Mabel, it was a pointless exercise.
‘Just four more places, then I go home,’ he told himself as his umbrella blew inside out for the third time. The rain stung his face and he had to cling on to his bowler hat.
Byways Guest House was the second of the final four. The door was opened by a middle-aged woman with a pleasant face and a welcoming smile.
‘Goodness me, you look wet,’ she said in sympathy. ‘Are you after a room?’
‘No, I’m sorry I’m not,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m trying to find a dear friend of mine. Her name is Mrs Mabel Brook. Would she happen to be staying here?’
‘Oh, my dear, you’ve missed her by just a couple of hours,’ she said. ‘But do come in, sir, at least get warm and have a cup of tea.’
Nothing had felt so good as to be ushered into a warm, cosy living room at the back of the house. The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs Wyatt, shooed a tabby cat off one of the chairs by the fire, then told him to take his coat off and sit down.
‘So where did she go when she left here today?’ Thomas asked as he hung his coat and hat on the back of the door.
The kettle wa
s whistling in the scullery that led off the living room. Mrs Wyatt scuttled off to make some tea.
‘She’d found herself a job,’ she called back. ‘A live-in one, so she won’t be back, I’m sorry to say.’
Thomas’s heart sank. He thought she’d meant at first that Mabel had only popped out on an errand. He felt this woman was the motherly sort and, as such, he could be frank and honest with her.
‘Such a nice young lady,’ she said as she came back with a pot of tea. ‘I was really sorry to see her go, but I hope she’ll be happy in her new job.’
‘What is her new job?’
‘She didn’t say, only that she’d be living in. I’m hoping she’ll find happiness, anyway – she seemed awfully sad to me. It’s a shame you didn’t get here before she left. Maybe you could’ve cheered her up?’
‘I think, Mrs Wyatt, I was partly the cause of her sadness,’ Thomas said, taking the proffered cup of tea. ‘I want to marry her, but she got the idea into her head that I’ll be marrying beneath me.’
‘Ahh …’ Mrs Wyatt sighed as she sat down on the other side of the fire to Thomas. ‘She told me she’d done housekeeping. Was she your housekeeper?’
‘Oh no! For a lady in Dorchester. In fact, it was she who inadvertently gave Mabel the idea she might wreck my career. She wouldn’t – and anyway, I have no time for snobs who care about such things. I love Mabel, and I want to marry her. I don’t believe people are that small-minded, not since the war,’
‘Well, many are.’ Mrs Wyatt sighed again. ‘But Mabel would be a fool to turn down a personable young man like you. If she was still here, I’d tell her so. I was surprised when she said she’d been in service, I thought she was the school teacher kind, or perhaps a vicar’s daughter.’
‘Quite,’ Thomas said, pleased by Mrs Wyatt’s perceptiveness. ‘So will you help me to find her?’
‘I don’t know what I can do,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘She avoided telling me where her new job was. Whether that was because she felt ashamed of it, or because she thought you might find your way here and didn’t want you getting any closer, I don’t know. But if she does come back, I’ll be sure to tell her she’s a silly girl passing up a lovely man like you.’
You'll Never See Me Again Page 29
