The Lonely Wife

by Val Wood

  He had met her ten years before, when he and his friend Paul Constable had taken time after university to spread their wings and have a roistering time before settling down to a normal life of business, finding a wife and bringing up a family in time-honoured fashion as was expected of them. They were both well-to-do young men with great expectations; Charles especially with the prospect of a vast inheritance and another on his father’s demise.

  It was unfortunate that the young men had chosen Spain to do their roistering, for they found that desirable young women there were as firmly attached to their mothers’ sides as English women were, apart from those who made their living in bars and hotels.

  It was in a Madrid hotel that he had met Maria, married to a man her father had chosen for her. She was working as a chambermaid and had been red-eyed with weeping one morning when she arrived in his room to change his bedding, in which he was still sleeping. He’d sat up and asked her what was wrong and she’d poured out a sorry tale and showed him the bruises that she’d received from her brute of a husband the night before.

  Once he arrived back home he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and at the earliest opportunity he went back to Madrid, travelling long hours by ship, train and local transport, and found her still working in the same hotel. It was there that they became lovers. She was five years older than him, and totally obsessed by her he hatched the craziest of plans, went back to London and rented a house which he subsequently bought, returned to Spain, and brought her over to England to live with him as his mistress.

  Whether his parents were aware that he had a mistress he neither knew nor cared, but eventually over the years he thought that his father had probably guessed, and if his mother did know she would emphatically deny it and would never accept her. Otherwise he took care who knew about Maria, for she couldn’t live in isolation and she needed friends when he was working at the bank. She had accepted that there were certain places where he couldn’t take her, and those who didn’t know him well considered him to be a confirmed bachelor, which didn’t deter some mothers of eligible daughters from inviting him to their balls and parties.

  He had told Maria of his need to marry to claim his inheritance, for his great-uncle, a bachelor himself, had deemed that the beneficiary of his Will must be married before he was thirty-five and the father of a son who in turn would inherit the estate. If he did not comply with these conditions, then the bulk of the legacy would go to the next in line, some second cousin Charles had never met who was married with two sons already.

  ‘It’s not as if it will make any difference to us,’ he told Maria now. ‘It will be a marriage in name only, except,’ he said with some reserve in his manner, ‘that she will have to give me a son.’

  ‘Pfft,’ she exclaimed, pushing him away from her. ‘And then you will stay in this Yorkshire place and leave me alone here in London.’

  ‘You know that I won’t; haven’t I already set up a bank account for you? It is true that I will have to stay there for a while to settle – erm – Beatrix in the house and discuss the new arrangements with the estate manager and the farmers.’

  Before he had met Beatrix, he had taken Maria on a visit to the area, staying in an inn near the market town of Beverley where no one would know him. He had shown her the old house above the estuary from the top of a hill and she had admitted that it was very pleasant, but she had not expressed any wish to live there.

  ‘I am a London woman,’ she had said haughtily. ‘I live near gardens. I know Kensington and Russell Square.’ She had shrugged. ‘I like these places, and they have lots of people in them. Here’ – she had cast her hand to describe the view – ‘it is very green, yes, and big sky and rushing river, but not like London.’

  ‘So you’ll be happy to stay in our little house whilst I come to Yorkshire from time to time,’ he had asked, and was gratified when she said yes.

  He had increased her allowance and booked her on a course to improve her English but was never sure if she attended; her accent didn’t change one jot and she never came up with any new words except sometimes unsavoury ones that she had heard out in the street. She had found her own friends, women like her who had come to London with a man; once a year she went back to Spain and stayed in a good hotel where her mother came to visit her, but never her father, for when he discovered that she had gone to England he had called her a whore and said she was dead to him.

  Charles adored her. She was full of life and merriment; she could cook, and she cleaned the house herself, saying that no English maid or cook could do it better than she could. He was pleased, for it meant that their cosy love nest was never invaded by anyone they didn’t know, but only by people they allowed in. The house was full of colourful cushions and exotic shawls draped over the furniture, and there was always a tantalizing aroma of food when he came home.

  ‘So when you marry this Eenglish woman,’ she asked now, ‘will you tell her about me?’

  ‘No,’ he spluttered. ‘I will not! You are my secret. She is very young, only a girl; she wouldn’t understand. If she found out she would call off the wedding, and then …’ He assumed a very serious expression. ‘If the news got out I would lose the entire inheritance.’ He lifted his hands in mock despair. ‘Everything! We would have nothing, not even this house, and you would leave me and look for a rich old man to keep you!’

  She clasped her hands to her chest. ‘Ah! Yes, it would have to be an old man, for no young man would want me now I am getting older. Thirty-three I am now. I have passed the first hotness of my youth.’

  He gave her a startled look and then smiled. It wasn’t only her English that hadn’t improved; her ability with figures was failing too. He was fairly sure she would be thirty-six or seven on her next birthday.

  ‘So,’ she went on. ‘You may marry this Eenglish girl and we won’t tell her. You will buy her a ring, yes?’ She scowled at him.

  ‘Yes. It is the usual thing to do. Would you like one?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, of course, but I will choose it. I will have ruby, I think.’

  He sighed. Whatever was he getting into? But if it would pacify her, so be it. He had yet to tell her that he would be travelling up to Yorkshire the following week. He would do it later today and get it over with.

  She put out her hand to him. ‘Come,’ she said, and shook back her mane of dark hair. ‘I have present for you too.’

  He rose from the sofa and picked up the flowers from the table. ‘Better put these in water first.’

  She smiled and took them from him and placed them back on the table. ‘Later,’ she said softly. ‘First you must come with me.’

  He felt his pulse quicken. How could any young English woman compare with Maria who was leading him by the hand up the narrow stairs to their room on the first floor? The room was filled with light that could be shrouded in seconds by the muslin curtains that hung at the window and fell in graceful folds around their huge double bed, veiling them in secrecy and mystique.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Charles collected Beatrix and her mother in a hired cabriolet to take them to the railway station. He had reserved a compartment for them for the first part of the journey, but there would be several changes before they arrived in Hull. He bought newspapers at the news stand and made sure the women were comfortable, for he said, sighing, that it was a very long journey and he hoped they wouldn’t be bored. ‘But there are several stops on the way that will give us enough time to stretch our legs and buy refreshments.’

  ‘You really needn’t worry about us, Mr Dawley,’ Mrs Fawcett told him. ‘Beatrix and I are quite used to travel, unlike my husband who doesn’t like it at all. That is why I didn’t invite him to come with us this time even though I knew he would grumble about being left behind.’

  ‘Which he did,’ Beatrix interjected, laughing. ‘He was not well pleased that we were coming to Yorkshire without him.’

  Charles nodded. ‘Well, another time. There will be plenty of op
portunities for him to visit once you have settled in and made the house as you like it.’

  Beatrix looked at him and then at her mother and back at him again. The train whistle shrieked and a head of steam blew just as she began to speak, and her voice was drowned out by the clamour.

  ‘Sorry, you were about to say?’ Charles said politely as the noise died down and the wheels began to turn as they got under way.

  ‘I was expressing surprise that I am to be given complete freedom to design the house, when the only thing I have ever designed is my own bedroom!’

  ‘Carte blanche,’ her mother murmured. ‘How wonderful.’

  For a fleeting moment, Charles thought of Maria and the style she had imposed on their home. He suspected that the young woman he was about to marry would have the same sense of design as her parents, or her mother at least, which from what he had seen on his visits was without any originality or flair whatsoever.

  ‘We will bring someone in to decorate. My great-uncle hadn’t touched it in years, in fact he shut up some of the rooms that he never used. If you would prefer it, we could bring in a designer. The house needs some loving care.’

  It will be a challenge, Beatrix thought. Am I up to it? The thought of designing her own style using colour, fabric and furniture excited her, yet also made her fearful. It is to be my home – our home, she reminded herself, looking across at Charles, who was opening a newspaper; it should reflect both our personalities. But I know nothing about him; we know nothing about each other, not our likes or dislikes, our foibles or dispositions. We’re total strangers.

  She glanced at her mother. She wore the faraway expression that sometimes appeared when she was sitting in silence, when any previous conversation was over, considerations and opinions were concluded, and Beatrix’s father had determined the outcome. Beatrix had noticed this often when she was a child and thought that her mother had withdrawn from the present and gone off on a journey of her own, leaving everyone behind. This, she considered, was what she was doing now, but wherever she had gone she appeared to be happy.

  At one point on the journey, when Charles had left the train at a station halt to take a walk, Beatrix murmured to her mother that she hoped she would be able to help her in choosing materials and furniture. ‘You will know the best places to buy such things,’ she said, and was gratified to see her mother’s expression come alive.

  ‘I would love to, Beatrix, and I would expect that you will be able to obtain the best quality fabrics in the north, which is renowned for its textile industries.’

  ‘I don’t know what to expect,’ Beatrix confided. ‘I’ve been looking out of the window as we’ve travelled and we’ve passed lots of green fields and little villages when I was expecting mills and tall chimneys.’

  ‘There will probably be plenty of factories in Yorkshire, and rightly so if the area is to thrive, but in Hull there’ll be fishing as well as heavy industry; your father said it was a major fishing port and famous for shipbuilding too.’

  ‘Oh,’ Beatrix said, and spied Charles striding back towards the carriage. ‘I didn’t know that.’ She privately thought that it wouldn’t be the quiet little backwater she had expected after all.

  It was late when they arrived in Hull, and Charles asked whether they would prefer to stay at the Station Hotel or travel on for another hour up to the house. ‘We can hire a carriage easily enough,’ he said. ‘But only if you’re not too tired.’

  ‘I’d love to go on,’ Beatrix said eagerly. ‘Mama, what about you? Are you tired?’

  ‘Not in the least,’ her mother said. ‘We must make the most of the time we have.’

  ‘Very well.’ Charles signalled to a porter to take their luggage. ‘You can have a pot of tea and perhaps a slice of bread and beef in the hotel whilst I see to the hire of a vehicle. I will try to find the driver that I’ve used before.’

  He took them in through the door leading from the station, saw that they were comfortable, and ordered a pot of tea. When a young maid came to take their order for food he slipped away.

  ‘It’s rather nice to be looked after, isn’t it?’ Beatrix said, gazing up at the domed ceiling in the entrance salon, where chairs and small tables were available for the convenience of guests.

  ‘It is.’ Her mother followed her gaze. ‘It’s not something I’m used to.’ She gave a little smile. ‘Perhaps you are going to be lucky in your father’s choice of husband after all.’

  Beatrix turned to look at her. ‘Did you have doubts?’

  ‘Some, at first. I thought it was all being finalized too quickly. But my reservations are gone now, Beatrix. I’m sure everything will be splendid.’

  I hope my mother is right, thought Beatrix, sitting alone with their luggage whilst her mother went to the washroom. We are all being very polite with each other, and even after this long journey I am no nearer knowing anything about Charles or his ideas for our future. She let her mind wander free. Or is he waiting for me to be alone, without a chaperone who can hear everything he says?

  Charles came back to tell them there would be a carriage waiting outside the hotel in half an hour. He leaned his head against the back of his chair and gave a deep sigh, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them he saw her observing him.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. ‘Nervous? Excited?’

  ‘Both of those, in truth,’ she said candidly. ‘I’m going into the unknown. I’ve never been to Yorkshire. I’ve never had a friendship with a man, let alone an engagement to be married.’

  ‘I said to you that I wouldn’t hold you to the engagement if you changed your mind,’ he said softly. ‘You haven’t yet received a ring, although I have seen one that I think you might like. A diamond, classic cut, set in gold.’

  She pressed her lips together. ‘What would you do if I changed my mind?’

  He laughed. ‘Die of a broken heart, of course.’ They both saw her mother returning. ‘See the house first,’ he said quickly. ‘And then decide.’

  ‘I have decided,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It was a promise. I don’t break promises. I’m just nervous.’

  He nodded, as if he were satisfied, and then suggested that as soon as they had eaten they should depart. Beatrix rushed away to the ladies’ washroom before they left, and Charles turned to Mrs Fawcett. ‘Beatrix is nervous,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what I can do to allay her fears.’

  ‘She’s young, Mr Dawley – Charles. Besides, every bride is nervous. They are told what to expect from a marriage and yet not all marriages are the same; some bring joy, but many bring dissatisfaction.’ She gazed at him quite frankly. ‘I’m sure it’s the same for men, except that they are usually more aware of the truth.’

  Her voice had a steely edge to it as she went on. ‘For people like us, the odds are stacked against women being equal partners in a marriage. People from the lower orders of society might find love and equality, but if they are living hand to mouth and every day is a struggle, there will be little enjoyment of it.’

  ‘You sound bitter, Mrs Fawcett,’ he said mildly.

  ‘I am not,’ she answered. ‘Only disappointed.’

  ‘For your daughter?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ She gave a mocking half smile. ‘For myself.’

  Charles told them that they would travel west from Hull, first along Hessle Road, where the fishing boats and trawlers were docked, into the village of Hessle, and then making an uphill climb from the flat lands of the estuary through the lower reaches of the Wolds to their destination above the village of North Ferriby.

  His description meant nothing as the area was unknown to them, and darkness had fallen when they arrived at the house, though there was half-light from a three-quarter moon hidden behind thin cloud. They dropped down from the summit of a high hill, and as the carriage turned up a private track Beatrix saw the gleam of water far below. At the top of the track, which had the driver swearing as the carriage rocked in the deep, uneven ruts, she saw the ou
tline of a large house with other buildings she took to be barns nearby.

  She turned to her mother, who smiled and murmured, ‘Nearly there.’

  Beatrix nodded and said quietly, ‘It’s a long way from home, isn’t it? No neighbours, no shops.’

  ‘It’s a different life.’ Her mother took her hand and said hesitatingly, ‘If you really don’t like it—’

  ‘I’ve promised,’ Beatrix broke in. ‘I will like it.’

  A short, stout woman, wearing a long woollen coat and a bonnet, opened the door to them and they stepped into a large hall. The walls were lined with dark wood, deep alcoves set in them holding some kind of statuary; they couldn’t make out what as the only light was from a low fire at the end of the hall and a floor-standing ironwork candle holder with spluttering candles burned almost to extinction set against the wall halfway down the hall near a heavy door.

  ‘Welcome, ma’am, miss,’ the woman said. ‘How de do, Master Charles? You’re a bit late. Thought mebbe you’d stopped over in Hull for tonight.’

  ‘No, we decided we’d come all the way here. The ladies will be glad of refreshment; it’s been a long journey.’ He turned to Beatrix and her mother. ‘Mrs Fawcett, Beatrix, may I introduce my great-uncle’s houseskeeper, Mrs Luke Newby? Mags, this is Mrs Ambrose Fawcett and her daughter, Miss Fawcett.’ The woman gave a nod of her head to them both, and Charles disappeared to see to the luggage.

  ‘It’s most kind of you to wait up for us, Mrs Newby,’ Mrs Fawcett said. ‘Do you live in?’

  ‘Oh no, ma’am. Never have done. We onny live next door. I was allus here afore Mr Neville Dawley was up of a morning, preparing his porridge and mekking the fire in his study. He was an easy man to please.’

  She paused a second, and then, looking straight at Mrs Fawcett, asked, ‘Would you mind tekking a bite to eat in ’kitchen, ma’am? It’s ’warmest place to offer you right now. Chimneys have been swept and I’ve been lighting fires in each room in turn to keep them aired over ’last few weeks; no sense in lighting them all with nobody to enjoy them, but ’beds are all aired now and made up ready for you.’