The Lonely Wife

by Val Wood

  She exclaimed at seeing the river so close by, the tide high and lashing the banks. ‘Do people fish here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Dover sole, flat fish, some cod, eels.’ They continued on towards Hessle and drew into the square. ‘There are good shops here, too: butcher, grocer and so on. It would please them if you gave them your custom.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I will. Perhaps I might visit the butcher now? Do you have time? I could buy some lamb chops for my supper. I’ll have to open an account.’

  ‘He’ll be delighted.’ His grin returned. ‘Shall I take you in and introduce you?’

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘My mother always told Cook what she wanted, and Cook gave the butcher or grocer the order.’

  ‘I expect you’ll do that too,’ he said kindly, ‘once you have some staff. But the butcher will be most impressed if he thinks you’ve come in especially to meet him.’

  He drew up outside the shop, where there were rabbits and chickens hanging on a rail above the window, still dressed in their fur and feathers. Beatrix carefully avoided looking at them as she followed Edward inside.

  He was right. The butcher was very pleased to meet her; he gave her the lamb chops she asked for, telling her they were local, then insisted on wrapping up a parcel of pork sausages and a quantity of minced beef, telling her that they would all keep for a week in her cold larder, and finally saying that it was good to know that there would be a lady living in Mr Dawley’s old house after so many years.

  ‘Well now,’ Edward remarked as they left the shop, ‘we’d better visit the grocer and greengrocer now or we’ll be accused of favouritism, as Mr Bull will certainly spread the word that he’s been honoured by a visit. And you must be sure to share your custom with the Ferriby community too, and some of the other villages, Swanland and Brough; it will be expected of you. Most of the villages are self-sufficient, with their own butchers, bakers, dressmakers, shoemakers, carpenters – and undertakers,’ he added with a grin. ‘I might suggest you visit church as soon as possible, too.’

  ‘I will,’ she said nervously. ‘But I’ll wait until Dora can come with me.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Edward’s young cousin Aaron was overjoyed at the prospect of working at ‘Uncle Nev’s house’ and rushed to get his things together so that he could travel back with them. Beatrix decided that as everyone was still calling the house Uncle Nev’s, she must do something about it before Charles returned; she was quite sure that he wouldn’t like it.

  As she sat waiting for Aaron with her hands folded in her lap, she told Mrs Parkin that the house that now belonged to her husband Charles Dawley would be known in future as Old Stone Hall.

  ‘Old Stone Hall!’ Mrs Parkin exclaimed. ‘Is that because it’s built of old stone?’

  ‘Erm, yes! Indeed,’ Beatrix said. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, my word.’ Mrs Parkin put her fists on her ample hips. ‘I wonder what folks’ll mek of that? It’s allus been known as Nev Dawley’s house!’

  Edward rescued Beatrix from the need to answer. ‘Neville died, Aunt Hilda,’ he said. ‘You knew that his next o’ kin would be coming, and if the name of the house changes it has nothing to do with anyone else.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ she flustered. ‘I didn’t mean owt, miss, erm, Mrs Dawley, ’course not, and I’m very grateful for ’opportunity for Aaron. He’s a good lad, not a slacker, not by any means.’

  Beatrix rose to her feet as Aaron came back into the room with his possessions in a canvas sack he had flung over his shoulder. ‘Cheerio then, Ma. I’ll mebbe see you at Martinmas, if not sooner; if I’m tekken on, that is.’ He gave his mother a kiss.

  ‘Aye, be a good lad,’ she told him. ‘And behave well in front o’ your betters as you’ve allus been taught.’

  It could have been a moving scene, Beatrix thought as she said goodbye to Mrs Parkin, but for the fact that Aaron was only going to the next village a couple of miles away; just a nice walk on a fine day. But on the other hand, she considered, as Edward handed her into the cart, it was probably a huge step for a schoolboy starting his very first job and hoping he would do well.

  ‘Sorry,’ Edward mouthed and gave her a grin as he tapped the pony gently on the back with his whip to move her on. Beatrix lowered her head and smiled.

  ‘We sometimes say not quite all there in ’top attic,’ he murmured so that Aaron didn’t hear. ‘Though we’d fight anybody outside the family who said it. She’s kind-hearted, thinks the sun shines out of her family, and …’

  ‘Doesn’t like change,’ she finished for him. ‘I understand that.’

  ‘And trustworthy,’ he said. ‘And that’s worth a lot. She’s also a widow, and has had a struggle to keep her head above water.’

  Edward left them at Old Stone Hall with the promise that he would come back later to see if there was anything he could do. Aaron found a corner near the kitchen range where he dropped his sack and immediately went out to fill coal hods and buckets and chop wood. When he came back, he stood cap in hand and asked if he could take a look round the yard and the stables and have a tidy up.

  ‘There’s quite a lot o’ mess out at ’back, dirty straw an’ that, and it’s best to be burnt so’s not to attract vermin. Oh, and there’s not much coal left; you’d be as well ordering another load from Jim Dring.’

  Beatrix wrinkled her brow. ‘Jim Dring? Is he…?’

  ‘Aye, ’coalman,’ he answered. ‘He lives down in ’village. I can slip out later and ask him to deliver if you like. It’s cheaper if you can afford a load.’

  She didn’t understand all he was saying, not yet tuned in to the local accent and missing words. ‘Where is it?’ she asked. ‘The coal cellar? I haven’t been through the whole house yet.’

  ‘Oh, not a cellar, miss – missus, beggin’ your pardon. It’s a shed. Brick built so nice an’ dry. It’s out at ’back. There’s still a bucket or two left and quite a lot o’ sleck, so no hurry.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘Mebbe I’ll go tomorrow and finish tidying up today.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘Probably best to make a plan for what needs doing, and then when you’ve decided on that come and discuss it with me.’

  She saw how he straightened his shoulders and put his head up, full of pride that he had been given the opportunity to organize his own tasks and work on his own initiative rather than be given orders; and she too was pleased with herself for behaving like the mistress of the house.

  Mags Newby came in at noon, driving the cart that Edward had used earlier and bearing a large pan of vegetables peeled and scraped and ready to cook. She tipped a hod of coal into the range to heat it up.

  ‘I’ve tekken ’liberty of ordering a load o’ coal, Mrs Dawley,’ she told Beatrix. ‘It’ll come tomorrow morning, first thing.’

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Beatrix said. ‘I’ve been discussing it with your nephew Aaron; he said we’d need more. That will save him a journey.’

  ‘I heard he’d come over. My sister’ll be right pleased; he’s a grand lad is Aaron. Allus willing.’

  ‘Mrs Newby,’ Beatrix said, ‘could I ask you something? What is sleck?’

  ‘Sleck?’ Mags looked puzzled. ‘Do you mean like in coal sleck?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘It’s coal dust. It can put a fire out if you put too much on, but it can also keep a fire in all night. Why do you ask, miss?’

  Beatrix gave an inward sigh. She obviously looked too young to be called Mrs. ‘Aaron said there was quite a lot in the coal shed, and I didn’t understand what he meant.’

  Mags Newby suddenly smiled and Beatrix saw her son Edward in her. ‘You’ll soon pick up on local sayings, miss – Mrs Dawley,’ she corrected herself. ‘You’ll have to forgive me – you look such a slip of a girl to be running a place like this, but I’m sure you’ll manage. And do you think you could call me Mags, like everyone else does? And mebbe it would come easier if I called you ma’am, rather than Mr
s Dawley? Your husband is still Master Charles to me as I’ve known him since he were a lad; except in company, o’ course. I know my place.’ She grinned.

  Beatrix found herself choked up with emotion; everyone she had met had been friendly and welcoming, easing her into her position of mistress of this great house. Even Aaron was eager to please and she was sure that it wasn’t only because she would be paying him a wage, which hadn’t even been discussed yet. I might have to ask Edward about the appropriate amount, she thought, for I have no idea.

  Mags put the kettle on the hob and when it had boiled she made tea, telling Beatrix that if she would make a list of her immediate needs she would help her out with them if she could. Paint for decorating the walls was the first thing Beatrix thought of, followed by old sheets for covering the floor. Mags said they should first take up the carpets and get rid of those that were past redemption, for she was sure that Master Charles would want new.

  An hour later, Beatrix felt positive that Mags and her husband Luke would be able to organize everything that was needed, including asking Mrs Parkin to come in and scrub through the whole house, starting the next day.

  ‘She’ll be glad of ’work, ma’am,’ Mags said. ‘She’s also ’best washerwoman and cook in ’district, though she’s backward in coming forward, if you get my meaning.’ Then, seeing Beatrix’s look of bewilderment, added, ‘Too fearful to ask.’

  ‘I do understand,’ Beatrix said. ‘I feel that she might be useful, though, and I need all the help I can get, so perhaps you could tell her that I’d be very grateful if she could help out.’

  Edward came back later, as he’d promised, and had a word with Aaron about clearing out one of the lofts above the stables. ‘Choose the one you prefer,’ he told him, ‘bearing in mind there might be hosses coming, and we’ll make it comfortable for you if Mrs Dawley finds you satisfactory. You could make a nice den up there,’ he added, and the boy’s eyes gleamed.

  By the evening Beatrix was exhausted with planning and decision making, and when she had eaten the lamb chops and a dish of vegetables, and Aaron had finished the sausages and mashed potatoes that his aunt Mags cooked for him, he curled up in his corner by the range and fell asleep immediately, cheered by the thought that he would see his mother in the morning. Beatrix went upstairs to her bedroom, where there was a bright fire burning and the bedsheets had been turned back. She changed into her nightgown, but before getting into bed she looked out of the window and saw a full moon riding high in the sky.

  She saw the stars, too, and was suddenly filled with a longing to see them, not through glass as she always had done in London, but from outside. Impulsively, she put on her dressing robe and then, thinking the night air might be cold, picked up a shawl from a chair and wrapped it about her shoulders.

  The bedroom door creaked slightly as she opened it, and she paused, mindful of Aaron in the kitchen. But the kitchen was a long way down and she felt that he probably had a child’s ability to fall asleep easily. She crept down the stairs and across the hall, turned the key in the door, and stepped outside.

  She gazed up and was delighted that she had come. The sky was filled with stars, more than she had ever seen in her whole life, and the moon was shining above her. She was as thrilled as if she had captured the night, and sensing that it was a good omen for a new life she walked down the steps on to the drive and then the grass, and felt the dampness seeping through her slippers.

  She lifted both arms and held the shawl above her head, swaying as if she was dancing; she swirled, her head tipped back to see the vault of never-ending sky in all its glory, and felt a dizzying freedom that surprised and enchanted her. She kicked off the slippers and danced barefoot across the grass, running and leaping, and turned to see the old house with its long windows reflecting the moonlight and lighting up the meadow down to the deep pool of darkness which was the wood that bordered the edge.

  She was content after a day well spent, and feeling secure because she wasn’t alone; there was someone else in the house, and even though Aaron was only a boy he was broad-shouldered and strong and would protect her. Not that she was afraid, even out here alone under the stars, and she knew now with complete surety and confidence what changes she would put in hand to make this house her own.

  She thought of Edward saying that Charles shouldn’t have left her alone, and wondered, not for the first time, why he had gone back to London so quickly. What was so urgent that he couldn’t wait a day or two longer and share this experience with her? But if I’m truthful, she thought, as she made her way inside, locked the door and climbed the stairs, I’m quite pleased that he’s not here. She gave a soft chuckle. I am at least assured of a good night’s sleep.

  She snuggled down between the sheets and felt the warmth of the stone hot water bottle against her cold toes. She could relax now, undisturbed whilst she thought of her wedding day and the short time she had spent in the Lake District. She hadn’t known how lovely it would be; and neither, she thought as she drifted into sleep, did I ever imagine that I would one day become mistress of such a lovely house as Old Stone Hall.

  Nor did it cross her mind that her barefoot dancing had been watched by another. Edward Newby, reviving the nightly patrol he had begun during his frail old friend Uncle Nev’s final illness to check that the old man and his nurse were safe, had come to be sure the young mistress and his cousin were locked up for the night, and instead saw a slender and graceful young woman dancing on the grass beneath the silver moonlight.

  He stood, mesmerized and unseen in the shadow of trees and bushes, his arms folded across his chest, his lips parted, hardly daring to breathe but his heart beating fast, as this loveliest of young women, like an ethereal will-o-the-wisp, performed her moonlit dance.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Charles stepped off the London train and hurried towards the entrance, hoping to beat the other passengers out of the station and catch a hackney. He paused momentarily to pick up some flowers from the usual seller and thrust coins into her hand, and then ran to the cab stand.

  He gave the driver instructions and leaned back against the seat, blowing out a breath. How long can I last in this charade, he wondered? In some aspects, the double life he was leading was stimulating and exciting, but it was also tiring. Fortunately Beatrix wasn’t demanding, unlike Maria.

  Would she be home? He hadn’t written to say when he would be back, but had sent her a picture postcard of the Lake District and the mountains, knowing that she wouldn’t know it wasn’t Scotland and writing on it Missing you!

  The driver dropped him two streets away, as instructed. It didn’t do to advertise that you could afford to hire a carriage and let everyone see where you lived, even though it was at the better end of the narrow street. When he walked briskly towards his house with his small amount of luggage and the flowers clutched in his other hand, he saw lamplight shining through the curtains of the front window.

  Ah, he breathed. Let’s hope she has had a good time and spent plenty of money, and doesn’t ask too many questions. To save searching for his key, he rapped firmly on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ he heard her shout, and he smiled. She had strict instructions never to open the door.

  ‘Buy a bunch o’ flowers, lady,’ he called back in what he hoped would pass for a woman’s high-pitched voice. ‘I ain’t had nuffing to eat today!’

  ‘Go away, villain. I ain’t got anyfing you’d want.’

  He put his mouth near the door. ‘You’d be surprised, lady,’ he said gruffly. ‘Just open the door and let me show you.’

  He heard the rattle of the bolt and chain and the door opened a crack, enough to show one dark eye shining back at him.

  ‘Pity a poor old woman,’ he went on. ‘Got one last bunch o’ flowers, kept especially for you, missus.’

  ‘Don’t call me missus,’ she screamed.

  ‘Open the damned door then,’ he said in his normal voice, tiring of the game. ‘I’m ready for a dece
nt glass of wine.’ He sniffed. ‘And you’re cooking; what is it?’

  The smell of something fishy – prawns, salmon, maybe mussels, something hot, paprika – ah, paella, came drifting from the door. ‘You’re cooking paella! Let me in before I break the door down.’

  ‘All right, all right! I open it.’

  He heard her removing the chain and turning the doorknob and there she stood with a knife in her hand.

  ‘For God’s sake, Maria, put that down!’

  ‘It might not be you,’ she said, holding the knife in the air. ‘Might be someone sound like you.’

  He gave a deep exasperated sigh. ‘Who would know what lengths I go to to persuade you it’s me!’ He took hold of the wrist which held the knife and squeezed; she gave a yelp and opened her hand. ‘I’ve told you before, you lift your knee or foot and aim where it hurts the most. Now come here.’

  He dropped his bag, threw the flowers on the table and hugged her, nuzzling into her neck.

  She put her nose to his face, sniffing him as a dog might. ‘Hmm, you smell nice. You pig, you ’ave been with a woman.’

  He nibbled her ear. ‘Those Scottish women, they wouldn’t leave me alone, dozens of them. It’s the whisky you can smell. They made me bathe in it.’

  She widened her eyes, unsure whether to believe him or not.

  ‘How was Paris?’ he asked, sitting down on a small sofa and pulling her on to his knee. ‘Did you meet any handsome Frenchmen?’

  ‘No!’ she pouted. ‘They not interested in Spanish girls. Only in fair Eenglish ones. But, I tell Bianca, Charles will kill me if I have affair with these foreigners, so I restrain myself. Restrain, that is a good word, yes?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, a very good word.’ He put his head back, tiredness suddenly enveloping him. ‘Come on. I’ll wash and change out of these travelling clothes and we can eat and then go to bed. I’m really tired. Heavens, Maria,’ he said as she raised herself off his knee. ‘You’ve eaten well.’ He smiled. ‘Lots of curves.’