by Val Wood
A pianist came in to play and the guests moved to comfier chairs in another room where Beatrix and Charles circulated between them all. He murmured to her, his hand resting on her shoulder, that they should change and depart in about an hour. She was pleased that they were going on elsewhere, for she didn’t want to spend her first night as a married woman beneath the same roof as her parents, Charles’s parents or their friends, as that would be embarrassing both that evening and the following morning.
‘Will you help me change, Mother?’ she asked quietly at the appropriate time. ‘And take my gown home?’
Her mother gave a sad smile. ‘And take it to my home, Beatrix?’ she murmured. ‘And keep it there until you come back to London? Yes, of course I will.’
Of course, Beatrix considered, the only home I’ve ever had in my life is now my parents’ home and not mine. Old Stone Hall, which I must make into my home, is hundreds of miles away. She felt anxious, rather uneasy and yet excited too.
‘That’s what I meant.’ Her voice cracked. ‘The gown will get dusty at Old Stone Hall. The workmen are already there clearing out and getting ready for our … occupation.’
They went up the stairs to her parents’ room, where Beatrix’s luggage was waiting. She took a deep breath as she took off her veil and headdress, and then as her mother unfastened the buttons she slipped out of her gown, which billowed like a cloud at her feet. Her mouth trembled, and as her mother picked it up and laid it on the bed, ready for packing later, she whispered, ‘Oh, Mama, what am I going to do, so far away from you?’
They waved goodbye as everyone came outside to see them drive off. Both had changed into comfortable yet smart and fashionable travelling clothes, and their luggage was packed on top. Dora was up with the driver. She was being dropped off once they were back in London and would make her own way to Russell Square, where she was to stay until it was time to travel to Yorkshire.
They had been blessed with fine weather all day and Beatrix half wished they could have stayed in Richmond a little longer so that they could have walked in the park, but the driver was going very steadily so that they could enjoy the view of rolling countryside, stately trees, acres of green meadowland and an occasional glimpse of London’s tall buildings on the skyline.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked. ‘Am I allowed to know, or is it to be a surprise?’
He gave a merry grin. ‘You’ll be surprised to hear that we are not travelling far; only a few miles, in fact. Tomorrow we have a very long journey north. Our destination is Windermere, in the Lake District, where we shall be spending our honeymoon.’
‘Oh, how lovely.’ Beatrix was delighted. Then she exclaimed as she saw a herd of grazing deer. ‘Look!’ Not more than a few yards away maybe fifty or more red and fallow deer were cropping the grass. The driver had slowed right down so as not to startle them, and his passengers had a good view.
‘So I hope you don’t mind,’ Charles went on, ‘that I’ve booked a rather splendid hotel within a short distance of Euston as our train leaves at six fifteen in the morning. You’ll see lots of deer whilst in the Lake District, and mountains too, and waterfalls,’ he added, as if to make up for the foreshortened stay near Richmond Park. ‘We shall have to buy you some sturdy boots and then we can go fell walking.’
‘That sounds lovely,’ she said, her eyes still on the deer. Then she turned to look at him and wondered why he hadn’t thought of having the reception in the splendid London hotel instead of travelling to Richmond for just a few short hours. Was it meant to impress her, or their guests? He must have had a reason, but she couldn’t think what it might have been.
The London hotel was very grand and they were given an en-suite dining and sitting room adjacent to the bedroom, where she saw with a fluttering inside her there was a very large bed. Charles had ordered afternoon tea to be served on their arrival and a light supper with champagne at eight o’clock.
‘Ah!’ Beatrix sighed and sat on the sofa. ‘It was a lovely day, wasn’t it? Do you think your sister enjoyed herself? She seemed rather quiet, but perhaps she always is?’
He shrugged, unfastened and took off his coat, and sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘There’s no knowing with Anne,’ he said. ‘She isn’t interested in people, and particularly not in men. Father has tried to marry her off several times, but she’s not having it. She’ll be an old maid, she says, and please herself, not a husband.’
‘Your father will make sure she’s comfortably off, won’t he?’ Beatrix asked. ‘Otherwise, how will she manage?’
‘There’s money in the family, Beatrix,’ he said idly. ‘She won’t be without, and besides, she’s very smart and is aware that London is full of gold.’
‘What!’ She was astonished. ‘Real gold? Really?’
He put his head back and laughed. ‘London’s bank vaults are brimming with gold bars.’
She turned to stare at him. ‘But there’s so much poverty! So many people with nothing!’
He shrugged. ‘That’s their hard luck; it’s a matter of being born in the right place at the right time.’
As she was about to protest there was a knock on the door and Charles called, ‘Come in.’ As Beatrix expected, it was a maid pushing a trolley piled high with dainty sandwiches and luscious cakes; she placed them on a low table, dipped her knee and backed out again. Beatrix smiled and thanked her, but Charles simply stretched his arms as if he hadn’t noticed her.
After the comment he’d made she felt quite guilty at eating in such luxury, but she was hungry, having been too nervous to eat during the wedding breakfast, and thought that it was a long time until supper. She poured tea for them both, remembering that Charles took milk with his, and handed him the cup and saucer, a small jug of milk and a plate for the food.
He seemed quite relaxed, eating and drinking and commenting on the hotel and on various aspects of the day, and then got up from the sofa and wandered over to the window. ‘It’s a lovely afternoon,’ he murmured.
Beatrix swallowed. It was hours from supper time – and afterwards; what would they do now? ‘Shall we take a stroll?’ she suggested.
He turned his head and smiled quizzically. ‘No, I don’t think so. An afternoon nap sounds more appealing, don’t you think, Beatrix?’
She took a nervous, shortened breath and moistened her lips. During the day, she speculated. Is that when …? I suppose it doesn’t matter, yet I always thought that bedtime was …
In truth she hadn’t given the matter much thought until recently, as she had never had any reason to, but now she found herself blurting out, ‘I must tell you, Charles, that I know nothing.’ She swallowed hard again. ‘I don’t … know what to expect of you … or know what you expect of me.’
Leisurely he came towards her and put out his hands to pull her up towards him. He put his arms around her waist and drew her close, nuzzling into her neck. ‘Knowing nothing sounds perfect to me, Beatrix.’
He gave her gentle kisses on her cheeks, her eyelids and her lips, and she drew in small warm shallow breaths as he aroused her.
‘It will give me the greatest of pleasure to teach you, Beatrix,’ he said softly. ‘Trust me,’ and he turned her face up towards him with his hands and ran them, firm and strong, from her chin down her throat and round her neck, and she had a slight feeling of panic as she thought how easy it would be for a man to choke a woman with a slender neck such as hers.
‘Trust me,’ he repeated softly. ‘I will do my best not to hurt you.’ His hands ran down to her breasts and on around her waist and found the buttons on her gown, which one by one he unfastened.
He’s done this before. The thought came with certainty as her gown slipped to the floor; she had no doubt that he was an expert as she stepped out of her gown and he took her hand and dizzily she followed him as he led her to the room next door with the bed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was early; dawn’s pale light was filtering through
the curtains when she awoke after a fitful night’s sleep. She couldn’t at first recall why she was naked and wondered what had happened to her nightgown. Was she wearing it when she came to bed? Her body ached and felt bruised and sore, and she had a blinding headache; she was alone, and remembering the previous night thought briefly that Charles might have left. Had she been so useless as a wife that he had walked out?
It had been wonderful to begin with as he pulled her on to his knee and explored her body with his fingertips. He had placed two glasses on a side table and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket at the side of the bed and insisted that they both drank; but then quickly and silently he had aroused her to a pitch that ended in pain, and didn’t seem to realize that he was hurting her and wouldn’t hold back no matter how she gripped his arms with her fingernails or gasped for him to stop.
But where was he? She would have to explain that she was – had been – a virgin and that she hadn’t been ready. She lay back on the pillows. I suppose that no one thought to tell me that it might hurt. She listened. Who was whistling? And then she heard the splashing of water and humming. She sat up, listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom. Charles? He was in the bath!
‘Beatrix! Are you awake?’ His voice sounded thick and slightly slurred. ‘Come on. Bath time; we have a train to catch.’
She climbed out of the high bed and pulled the sheet after her to cover herself. Where was her nightgown? She frowned as she saw that her trunk hadn’t been opened. Then she began to remember, though she had difficulty in bringing to mind which had been day and which was night. They had had tea and gone to bed where they drank champagne; her mind closed over what happened next, before she fell asleep. Then they had got up and Charles had insisted that they ate dinner in their dressing robes and drank wine with the meal, even though she had little appetite as she felt so uncomfortable. And then Charles had opened a brandy bottle and poured a small glass for her and a large one for himself.
‘I can’t,’ she had said when he put it in front of her. ‘I haven’t ever drunk brandy.’
‘This is a very special occasion, my dearest little wife,’ he’d said firmly. ‘We have just married and must drink a toast to us and our son.’
‘But,’ she’d protested, ‘we can’t have made a child yet, surely?’
He’d patted his nose. ‘I think you are probably right. What a clever girl you are.’ He’d drunk his brandy straight down and got up, topped up Beatrix’s glass and held it to her lips. ‘Come on! Open wide.’ He’d stroked her neck so she had to open her mouth and had gently poured in the brandy, which had burned as it trickled down her throat.
‘That’s better,’ he’d said, and carefully licked up the spillage from her chin. ‘Don’t want to waste it; it’s the best money can buy. Come on, just a drop more.’ And he’d held the glass against her mouth, even though she protested, and poured in the rest of the brandy so it spilled down her neck and on to her breasts.
I can’t recall what happened next, she thought as she stood outside the bathroom door. I only know that I wasn’t in control of my head or my body and neither am I now. How am I going to get through the day?
Charles came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and smiled at her. ‘Aphrodite standing before me,’ he murmured and reached out to pull the sheet from her, but she snatched it back and held it against her to hide her nudity.
‘Beatrix!’ he said patiently. ‘Dearest Beatrix, you’re my wife! You mustn’t be shy of me. Come here.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’ve run a bath for you.’
She took his hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t – I don’t know—’
‘Shh,’ he said and led her into the bathroom. He slipped the sheet from her, and with a hand on her waist carefully helped her into the bath, then turned his back and closed the door behind him.
She lay, almost comatose, with the water easing her aches and wished she could stay longer, but was aware of pressing time if they were to catch the early train. I suppose I will learn, she thought. I wonder if all men are the same in their desires?
The hotel brought a carriage to the door to transport them to nearby Euston Station for the train to Manchester. Two porters hurried with their luggage and they caught the train with minutes to spare before it departed with a great huff of smoke and steam.
The hotel had packed them a hamper for lunch as they had had only a snatched breakfast of buttered toast and a slice of ham. They had the carriage to themselves on this first leg of the journey, and at Charles’s suggestion they ate something from the hamper to sustain them.
Beatrix began to relax now that they were on their way. After eating they watched the scenery as it rushed past and soon began to doze a little. Charles came and sat next to her, and putting his arm around her tucked her under his shoulder so that she might lean on him and sleep. Perhaps, she thought sleepily, it will be all right after all.
It was almost dark by the time they reached Oxenholme station, after changing trains at Manchester. ‘Nearly there,’ Charles murmured. ‘Next stop Windermere, and a good night’s rest.’
Beatrix peered out of the window. They had been lucky once again to have the carriage to themselves. ‘You have been before, Charles, haven’t you?’
‘Only once,’ he said. ‘When I was a boy. I loved it; beautiful scenery, mountains to climb if you have enough breath, deep lakes to sail on. Yes, it will be a nice break for a few days.’
‘Only a few days?’ she asked, having hoped for more.
‘Afraid so. Then we shall cross into Yorkshire and see how things are at the house. I’m sure you’re looking forward to being there?’
‘Oh, I am,’ she said eagerly. ‘We can decide on which of the bedrooms to paint. Although perhaps the morning room and sitting room should come first, or maybe the kitchen. And then we’ll need furniture—’
He interrupted her. ‘I’ll only be able to stay a day or two before going back to London. I’ll see you settled in first and ask Mrs Newby to find you a permanent housekeeper. You’ll be able to sort out housemaids and so on yourself, won’t you? And what about your London girl?’ He went on without pausing for breath. ‘Shall I ask your mother to send her on to you with an address label pinned to her coat?’ He laughed as he spoke, and she knew he didn’t have a good opinion of Dora.
‘No,’ she said, drawing in a breath at the magnitude of the challenges in front of her. ‘I’ll write to Mama and arrange that. I’ll need her to bring a few things with her.’ He hadn’t said anything about money, and she hesitated before saying bravely, ‘What shall I do about paying tradespeople and ordering furniture and suchlike, Charles? Will you give me the details for setting up accounts and ordering?’
‘Ah, of course! Sorry.’ It seemed by his expression that he hadn’t given it a thought. ‘We’ll discuss all that when we arrive at the house and I’ll set up a bank account when I’m in London.’ He smiled and nodded and seemed relieved. ‘You seem to be very organized already, Beatrix. Well done!’
She had never seen such beautiful countryside; never in her life had she seen such high craggy mountains or such a huge lake as Windermere, where white sails and white swans floated serenely in harmony. They stayed in Bowness, a village of old cottages and cafés where they had tea and cake, and being blessed with sunny skies took a sail on the mere.
To her delight they followed in the footsteps of her favourite poets, Wordsworth, Coleridge and Shelley. They walked the fells, higher than she had ever been, and came down in the evenings to their hotel to eat suppers of freshly caught fish and tender venison, and delicious desserts made from local eggs, butter and honey.
They stayed two whole days and on the third day caught a train to take them into Yorkshire. Beatrix was disappointed to leave such a beautiful place, but was nevertheless looking forward to seeing Old Stone Hall again, although with some trepidation at the thought of being there alone until Dora arrived.
I’ll ask my mother if she will come wi
th her, she decided as the train chugged along. And I’ll ask Thomas to come too if he hasn’t already gone back to his soldiering duties.
She thought of enquiring if her father would visit too, but she doubted if he would, and felt a little sad, despite his being a funny old stick, fixed in his odd ways. She would miss him precisely because of that.
This is being grown up, she contemplated, gazing unseeingly out of the train window. It’s a wholly different world that I’ve entered, one in which I have to make decisions for myself without my parents to advise me or suggest what I might do.
‘You’re very quiet, Beatrix.’ Charles interrupted her thoughts.
‘Oh, just contemplating,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve loved the Lakes, Charles. Perhaps we’ll go again some time?’
‘Yes,’ he said steadily. ‘Of course we will.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Builders and carpenters had been in the house under Mrs Newby’s supervision; they’d checked the roof to make sure that it was watertight, fixed drainpipes back to the walls and replaced some of the rotten window frames.
Mrs Newby was in the house when they arrived, having lit a fire in the kitchen and another in the main bedroom, and Charles asked her if she knew someone who could come in and give the inside walls a fresh coat of paint throughout.
‘Mr Newby can do that, Master Charles,’ she said. ‘No need to pay some expensive painter when he can do it for half ’price they’ll charge. He used to do it for Uncle Nev.’
Beatrix saw Charles’s cheek muscles tense when Mags voiced the name of Uncle Nev, but he must have thought her idea a good one for he agreed. He nodded. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Ask him to speak to Mrs Dawley and she can decide what she wants.’
