The Lonely Wife

by Val Wood

  I expect I’ll find out at some time, but I won’t like it. Whatever the reason.

  She asked to be excused whilst she took her trunk upstairs to the room she had been allotted, but Beatrix insisted that Aaron would carry it and to Dora’s surprise Mr Fawcett offered to help him and carried some of the lighter things. Dora had brought all of her belongings, knowing that she would be staying a long time with only the occasional journey home.

  Her room was on an upper floor but not in the attic as she had imagined; not that she would have minded, she thought, as the view over the meadowland and down to the estuary was superb. But perhaps she had been given this one as it had already been cleaned and there was a fire burning, though it can’t have been prepared for me, she supposed, as I wasn’t expected yet.

  Beatrix’s father was prowling about, opening and closing doors to look into various rooms, and when he came down from the attic he saw Dora through her doorway.

  ‘Well, this is a how-de-do, don’t you think, miss?’ he commented, obviously forgetting what her role was. ‘However will Beatrix manage all of this?’

  She came to the door. ‘It is very large,’ she agreed. ‘Mrs Dawley will need a great deal of help to manage it all; a housekeeper and maids for a start.’

  He seemed to puzzle over the name Mrs Dawley, but then his face cleared. ‘Ah, yes, yes indeed. And are you here to help her? What will you be doing – or are you a friend?’

  Dora hesitated, and then answered, ‘I’ll be Mrs Dawley’s personal maid, sir. I will do whatever she wants me to do.’

  ‘Good,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m very pleased to hear it. She’s going to need someone.’ He turned towards the stairs. ‘Can’t imagine why her husband had to dash away to London. Bank directors were never so busy in my day that they couldn’t take time off whenever they wanted to.’

  Dora’s eyes followed him as he went down. Had he forgotten that she had been a maid in his house? When they journeyed here he hadn’t questioned his wife as to why she was travelling with them. She smiled. He had always been absent-minded, often calling her by different names, and she had answered to them all.

  She sat on the bed and looked about her and thought of his comment about Charles Dawley. Charles certainly hadn’t had bank business on his mind when she had last seen him.

  Mid-afternoon on the day before they were due to catch the train from London to Yorkshire and after she had finished her chores and her packing, she had asked Mrs Fawcett if she could visit her mother to say goodbye as she didn’t know when she might see her again. Beatrix’s mother said that she was sure that she would be given time off at least once a year, but of course she must go whilst she could.

  ‘Wear something nice and appropriate so that your mother might see how you will look in your new role,’ she suggested. ‘She will be pleased.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Dora had said, but had had reservations about visiting her family’s district in her new finery. But Mrs Fawcett didn’t know that and so she dressed in her navy dress and coat, with a rose-coloured scarf at her neck and a navy hat trimmed with grosgrain, and carried downstairs a grey cloak which she put over the banister rail whilst she went to show Mrs Fawcett how she looked in her new attire.

  Mrs Fawcett murmured her approval – well, she would, as she had been with Dora to choose it – and then off Dora went to call on her mother.

  She had taken a different route from her usual one to avoid the Rookeries, which could be safely walked through during the light of day, providing you knew where you were going and didn’t lose your way and find yourself in a court from which there was no exit; but never ever, without fear for your life, during the hours of darkness.

  Dora’s family had lived all her life within walking distance of the Rookeries, an area packed with sooty courts in undrained narrow streets where the poorest, meanest of houses, many without doors that had been burnt for firewood, or with broken windows patched with cardboard or rags to keep out the cold and rain, were rented to those who could afford nothing else. Barefoot children sat unclad on the coldest of days in grimy doorways that gave little shelter; and criminals, drunkards, prostitutes, thieves and murderers shared this place with innocents and called it home.

  The area had seen much in centuries past, first the plague and then the Great Fire which had partially destroyed it; every schoolchild, including Dora, had known of its history. Now it was promised that clearance would begin, and it had, but slowly, for first a place must be found to house the vagrants and those without hope.

  Ten minutes’ walk away and still within sight of St Giles church, which Beatrix had considered for her marriage vows, were houses of working people who were comfortably off, though not rich: senior clerks and grocers, managers of businesses not necessarily their own, dressmakers and chemists, who kept their doors and windows locked and often kept a dog.

  It was on the corner of one of these streets that Dora had paused by a grocer’s shop window and, whilst seemingly viewing items on display, buttoned up her cape to hide her coat and dress and pulled her hat down over her eyes. Several people passed as she did so, and when they were in front of her she stepped out to turn the corner.

  Several individuals had sloped off into adjoining streets but she kept walking straight on and almost caught up with a couple she had noticed previously. She slowed her footsteps rather than overtake them and kept her head lowered. They turned a corner and so did she.

  Most of the houses along here were rather nice, she thought; very respectable, with clean lace curtains covering the whole of the windows, shiny front doors and locks on the gates of the minuscule front gardens. The kind of house she wouldn’t mind living in herself, if ever her ship came in.

  Her attention was caught by the couple in front. Both slightly the worse for drink, she mused as she watched them swaying from side to side, the woman giggling and pushing the man away as he leaned towards her to kiss her and grab her skirts.

  ‘No. No, you must wait,’ she heard her say. ‘It is not far. Wait until we get ’ome.’

  She was foreign by the sound of her protests, but he appeared to be English, with fair hair beneath his lopsided top hat.

  ‘Come on, come on.’ His words were slurred and his hands reached for his companion. ‘Can’t wait.’

  Dora was about to cross the street to avoid them when the woman grabbed the man and pulled him across to the other side. She was a big woman, with a mass of dark hair which was pinned with some kind of exotic flower.

  ‘’Ere we are,’ she said. ‘Now we are ’ome; you see I tell you that it is not far.’ She opened the small gate, which apparently wasn’t locked, and pushed him towards the door, where he staggered and made another grab for her. It was then that Dora had seen his face, as he’d turned towards the woman, and she was wholly convinced that it was Charles Dawley.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Before her parents went home, Beatrix and her mother went through the catalogues of furnishings: curtains, carpets, furniture, and another catalogue which was advertising the latest accoutrements in kitchenware. In this was a column headed Situations Wanted and Required, and Beatrix eagerly scanned the pages before passing it to Dora.

  ‘Here’s an interesting one, ma’am.’ Dora began to read: ‘Yorkshire-born housekeeper with many years’ experience of working in London, wants to come home!’

  ‘Oh!’ Dora looked up and saw Beatrix’s bright expression. ‘Does she give more detail?’

  ‘Yes. Very well experienced, I’d say, ma’am. She’s forty and has worked in only two situations in twenty years, and she says her present employers who are retiring abroad will give her an excellent reference.’

  ‘Why don’t you write to her, Beatrix?’ her mother suggested, looking up from another catalogue, ‘and I could give her an initial interview in London.’

  ‘Yes!’ Beatrix agreed. ‘Please. You could tell her what I require, and I expect she’ll have to give notice first in any case.’

&nb
sp; ‘Not if her employers are moving abroad,’ her mother said. ‘They will probably release her as soon as she gets another position, so let’s hope she’s suitable. Good. Things are moving on.’

  And indeed they were, for the day after her parents left a wagon pulled by two Shires arrived with two men on board and a load of Yorkshire stone which they stacked neatly at the side of the drive. They asked if they could tether the Shires on the grass and then took out their spades and picks and began to dig up the drive in front of the house steps.

  ‘How are they getting on?’ Edward asked when he came by mid-morning and saw Beatrix issuing instructions to the men. An area of grass as well as the stony drive had been dug up and piled next to the mountain of stone slabs.

  ‘Very well,’ she told him, ‘but this isn’t going to be big enough. It needs to be twice the size to make a decent terrace.’

  ‘Ah! A terrace, is it?’ His lips lifted into a grin.

  ‘Yes. It has to be large enough to take a small fountain in the centre and to have tables and chairs to sit at when the weather is warm.’

  His grin widened. ‘This is Yorkshire, ma’am,’ he said. ‘And we’re near the Humber. Can’t say it’s ever warm enough to sit out.’

  ‘Oh, it will be,’ she responded gaily. ‘You’ve probably been too busy to notice.’

  ‘I notice at harvest time,’ he laughed. ‘That’s when we want it to be hot!’

  ‘Well, there you are then! What did I say?’

  ‘And where’s the water coming from for your fountain?’ he asked.

  She was stumped by that. ‘Ah! Mm! I don’t know.’ She paused to think. ‘I’ll have to find someone who knows about these things. I should have asked my father; he might have known.’

  Edward had briefly met her father whilst her parents were staying and was quite convinced that Mr Fawcett wouldn’t have the slightest idea of how water might be brought into a garden except by turning on a tap. He couldn’t help a big smile crossing his face and then he laughed out loud as she pressed her lips together and scowled at him.

  ‘You know, don’t you?’ she demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ he spluttered. ‘Yes, I do. Or at least I know someone who does.’

  He couldn’t explain it; couldn’t possibly articulate why he had the absurd manic desire to pick her up as she scowled at him and swing her round and round until he made her laugh. He felt it in his chest, in his throat, in his very breath. But he only gazed at her, his heart pounding, until at last she said, ‘What!’

  He swallowed. ‘What?’

  ‘I asked first! The water! How do we get it to the fountain?’

  He relaxed. ‘Oh, that! I’ll ask my father. He’ll know. There are deep wells sunk throughout the grounds that store water in case of drought. I’ll ask him if there’s one here at the front.’

  A superior smile slid across her face. ‘You see! I knew there’d be a solution.’

  He nodded. ‘You were perfectly right.’ He gave a sweeping bow. ‘I bow to your superior intellect, ma’am.’

  Beatrix narrowed her eyes. She was enjoying this game. ‘Quite right!’ she said haughtily. Then she laughed too. ‘One to me then. Will you come in and have a cup of tea? I need to ask you something.’

  Anything, he thought as he bent over the kitchen table and looked at a sketch she had made, her head next to his. Ask me anything and it will be done. I’m on dangerous ground here; if Charles should come in right now I’d be banned from the house and her presence. But where on earth is he? Why isn’t he here discussing the things she wants? Or perhaps I can guess.

  They’d debated the fountain and how big the terrace would be and now they were discussing the woodland at the bottom of the meadow.

  ‘This morning when I woke – which was quite early, about six o’clock. I never woke at that time in London, but I’m sleeping so well here – I looked out of the window and saw that the sun was shining on the tree tops and making a golden trail across the middle of the wood. Does that sound silly?’

  He gazed at her and shook his head. He hadn’t really been giving his full attention to what she was saying, only watching the way her lips moved and how her eyebrows rose when she was expressing something which pleased her, and how her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and committing all these images to his memory.

  ‘And I wondered,’ she continued, ‘if – well,’ she put her head to one side, ‘how would it look if we thinned out the trees down the middle and made a walkway through so that we could see the estuary properly from the house?’

  He nodded. ‘You could do that; but then you wouldn’t see the golden trail of the sun in the morning if the trees were cut down.’

  ‘That’s true,’ she said thoughtfully.

  ‘But some of the trees could be thinned out to make a woodland path to walk down, and other tree branches trained to meet and make a canopy. And you could plant climbers, like wisteria or honeysuckle, or even roses if there’s enough light. The woodland does need some work,’ he added. ‘It’s been neglected for a number of years. But you’ll need a landscape gardener for that, or someone who understands trees and their habitat. They’d give advice on what will work in this location. There’s ash growing in there, and beech, and an understorey of hazel and holly and probably wild cherry too, so you need someone who knows what they’re doing.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m trying to run before I can walk, I suppose,’ she said wistfully. ‘It’s so lovely just as it is, but it needs something more to make it perfect.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps I should concentrate on the house first. The woodland can wait.’

  He picked up his battered old hat. ‘No, I don’t think so. We’ll find somebody for your woodland and they can get on with the plans and the pruning whilst you’re organizing the house. You’ll want it looking its best when folks start sending out their calling cards.’

  She stared at him. ‘Do you think that people will start to call?’

  ‘Sure to,’ he answered. ‘I get asked all the time if I’ve met the new owners.’

  ‘Really? But I can’t invite anyone back until we have furniture to sit on.’

  ‘But there’s nothing to stop you visiting, is there? You have your maid now. She can go with you, can’t she? Is that the done thing?’ He grinned teasingly, but he saw that she was perfectly serious.

  ‘Dora,’ she said softly. ‘Yes, that will be acceptable, I think, as I haven’t a husband at home.’

  Charles arrived early evening two days later and she greeted him enthusiastically, even though she had seen him frown as he stepped down from the carriage and saw that the grass and some of the drive had been dug up.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded as Beatrix ran down the steps to greet him.

  ‘This is to be our new terrace,’ she enthused. ‘These young men are doing such a good job of work.’

  The men, who were working late, touched their foreheads to him.

  ‘Whose idea was this?’ he asked tersely.

  She clasped her hands together. ‘Why – mine, Charles! Who else? I thought – I thought it would enhance the front of the house and in the summer we could sit out and – and take tea.’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Don’t you like the idea?’

  He took a moment as he gazed at the area that had been staked out on the grass and some of the stone that had already been laid, then turned to her and taking her by the elbow led her up the steps.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a good idea.’ He looked down at her, and patted her arm. ‘But another time, if you want to start a big project you must discuss it with me first.’

  ‘I would have done,’ she said, almost tearful with relief, ‘and I would have written, but I didn’t know where to find you. They only started two days ago, and have worked so well. It should be finished in a week.’

  ‘Where did you find these men?’ He frowned. ‘Are they local?’

  She swallowed and told a partial lie. ‘I think so. Luke Newby came to see me to ask if there was anyt
hing he could help with and I mentioned this; I’d been thinking about it for a few days. I’d seen a picture in a magazine that I’d been looking through with my mother.’ She led him through into the kitchen, where most activities still continued. ‘But of course you don’t know – my parents came, and brought Dora. You remember Dora, don’t you?’ she prattled on, not sure why she was nervous. ‘My father was most impressed by the house. Such a pity that you missed them. But I’m so glad you’re here, Charles. There’s so much we have to discuss.’

  She moved across the kitchen to fill the kettle and put it on the bars of the range; he looked at her curiously. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going to make you some tea; or coffee if you’d prefer? Mrs Newby’s sister has agreed to come in part-time to help out, but she’s not here at the moment.’

  He took hold of her wrist. ‘I will not have my wife doing menial work,’ he said cuttingly. ‘Call your maid and tell her to make the tea.’

  ‘You’re hurting me, Charles.’ She tried to pull away. ‘Let go and I’ll call her.’

  He dropped her wrist. ‘Are there no bells in here?’

  ‘Bells? What bells? I don’t understand. Oh! No,’ she gasped, rubbing her wrist, and registering his meaning. ‘Only on the board.’ She pointed up on the wall where the bell board via which the servants could be summoned to every room in the house was fixed. ‘I don’t even know if those work.’

  ‘Then call her,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Charles,’ she said tearfully. ‘I don’t think you realize how difficult it has been for me. I’ve been alone here since you left for London until my parents came with Dora. There’s a limit to what I’ve been able to do myself.’

  He put his arms around her. ‘Poor little wifey,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘You’ve done so well.’ He kissed her cheek and then the tears that had gathered on her eyelashes. ‘This wasn’t your expected role, was it? Your role was to be my wife and mother to my sons.’