by Val Wood
He held her away from him and gazed at her. ‘No sign of that yet?’
‘Hardly.’ She gave a hiccuping mumble. ‘It takes two people to make a baby, you know, and as you haven’t been—’
She reeled, staggering into the table, as the slap across her face shocked her completely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
She eased herself down on to a chair and took several deep breaths. She had caught the side of her hip on the corner of the kitchen table as she tumbled, and felt the throbbing there as well as on her face.
Charles was leaning towards her. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling,’ he said softly. ‘You took a nasty fall. It wasn’t my fault, was it? I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
Her mouth trembled. Did he mean that? Was it accidental?
‘I – what happened?’ she said shakily, and with trembling fingers touched her burning cheek. ‘I need some water. Will you call Dora, please?’
‘Of course. Just stay still.’ He walked swiftly to the stairs door and opened it, calling loudly. ‘Dora! Dora! Come quickly.’ He went up a few steps and called again until Dora appeared at the top.
‘Sir,’ she said, hurrying down. ‘I didn’t realize you were here.’
‘Be quick,’ he said sharply. ‘Do you have sal volatile? Or know where it is kept? Mrs Dawley fainted and fell against the table, injuring herself. Hurry. Have you any brandy?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I’ll look in the kitchen cupboards. We’ll give her some water, sir.’ Dora rushed past him and saw Beatrix leaning against the back of the chair with her eyes closed.
‘Whatever has happened, ma’am?’ She took a cup from the cupboard and poured water into it from the kettle, but Beatrix didn’t answer. Dora put her hands round the cup; it wasn’t too hot. She put a small amount of sugar in it and swished it round, then knelt by the side of the chair and put her hand at the back of Beatrix’s neck to lift her head and help her drink.
Charles unearthed a half-bottle of brandy from a cupboard. ‘Here we are, this will help.’ He took the cup from Dora and poured a generous amount into the warm water. ‘A hot toddy is just the thing.’ He took over the giving of the pick-me-up and Beatrix sipped though her teeth chattered against the china.
‘Thank you, Dora,’ he said. ‘I’ll help her upstairs to bed. You’ll be all right now, my love,’ he said to Beatrix. ‘Just rest for a while and you’ll be fine.’
‘Madam is going to have quite a bruise on her cheek, sir,’ Dora said. ‘She must have hit the table as she fell.’
‘She did,’ he agreed. ‘I tried to catch her but she slipped out of my grasp.’
He helped Beatrix upstairs, unbuttoned her gown and gently sat her on the bed before stepping towards the window and drawing the curtains, even though it was still light. Beatrix watched him. Had she really fainted? She gently touched her cheekbone. It was tender, but the skin wasn’t broken. She closed her eyes as she saw Charles begin to turn towards the bed and drew her legs beneath the sheets, lying back on her pillow. She began to shake, and tried to control the tremor.
She hadn’t fallen and she hadn’t fainted, no matter what Charles had said to her and Dora. He had hit her across her face, causing her to fall, but she wasn’t going to confront him. If she had to do a little playacting so that he believed his own lies, then that was what she would do. She could only hope that it was just a misunderstanding and wouldn’t happen again.
She drank the rest of the brandy and water and decided to stay in bed; she didn’t want to speak to him, not yet. Charles, urging her to rest, said he would ask Dora to bring her a light supper later and went downstairs.
She heard him open the front door and she slipped out of bed and from behind a gap in the curtains watched him as he inspected the work the men had been doing. She saw him walk across the grass and drew back as he turned and scrutinized the front of the house. As he strolled towards the steps she climbed back into bed, sliding between sheets, blanket and eiderdown and closing her eyes.
She heard him come up the stairs and move in and out of the bedrooms, and was pleased that she had asked Mags and Mrs Parkin to take down all the old curtains and wash the windows and woodwork prior to the decorating that would start the next day when Mr Newby was able to come.
A light knock fell on the door and she didn’t answer, but the door was slowly opened and from beneath her eyelashes she saw Dora coming over to the bed.
She opened her eyes as Dora whispered, ‘Can I bring you some hot milk, ma’am?’
‘Later, thank you, Dora,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll just rest for now, if you’ll help me into my nightgown. Is there anything we can give Mr Dawley for his supper?’
Dora beamed. ‘There is now. Mrs Parkin has just this minute come to the kitchen door and brought a meat pie. She said she’d made two and thought you’d like the second one. I’ll scrub some potatoes and put them in the oven to bake. She also brought a bag of peas, so I’ll shell them to serve with it.’
Tears came to Beatrix’s eyes. ‘How kind everyone is,’ she murmured. ‘Did she ask where I was?’
‘I forestalled her and told her you’d gone to lie down as you had a bad headache; but not that you’d fallen, ma’am. She said she’d be here tomorrow morning.’
Beatrix closed her eyes again and from the effect of the brandy must have fallen asleep. She woke some time later when she heard a knock, and again didn’t answer; the door was quietly opened and she heard Dora whisper at her side that she had brought her hot milk and now was going to bed and hoped that she would have a good night.
She sat up to drink the milk and wondered if Charles had also gone to bed, in the bedroom that he had used on their visit with her mother before their marriage. She thought perhaps he would continue to use that room once the decorating was finished and new furniture installed; he would surely expect his own bedroom and not assume he would share hers. She hoped that that would be the case. She put the glass down on the bedside table and drawing up the sheets slid down and closed her eyes.
But he hadn’t gone to bed. She heard him pause on the landing outside her door, and then she heard his knock and the doorknob turned.
Charles had finished off the brandy and sat staring into the fire before going up to his room. He’d mishandled the situation, he realized that. He hadn’t meant to hurt Beatrix, but he had taken offence at her words and the slap was spontaneous.
Of course he knew that she couldn’t conceive if he wasn’t there, but she shouldn’t have made it so obvious. He sighed. It was not going to be easy to deal with two women of entirely different temperaments; Beatrix clearly wasn’t used to confrontation, unlike Maria. He and Maria often had fights; he had had many a scratch to show for them. But always, always, the issues were discarded and forgotten as they tumbled into bed.
But it wouldn’t be the same with Beatrix. She had led a sheltered existence and he would lay money that she had never received more than a mild rebuke from her parents, and that her brother had never felt the strap from his father’s hands as he had from his when he’d been a boy.
Yet he didn’t feel that Beatrix was made of china; she hadn’t cracked at that first blow and gone into hysterics, but she would question the impulse behind it. She would ask why and he would make up a plausible reason, but he must also establish that he was master here.
He undressed and put on his dressing robe, crossed the landing to Beatrix’s bedroom, and knocked softly. Receiving no reply, he turned the doorknob and opened the door. If she were asleep, all well and good: she would be more malleable than if she were awake and ruminating on the events of early evening.
He bent over her. She appeared to be sleeping, and he whispered her name. She made a small response in her throat, and crossing to the other side of the bed he slipped in beside her.
‘Beatrix, my darling.’ His voice was muted and gentle. ‘Are you awake? Do say that you are.’ He stroked her neck and shoulders, which were bare except for the thin silk straps on her nig
htgown, and he felt a yearning desire as he ran his hands down to her small waist and over the curve of her hips. He heard her breathy gasp and smiled. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘All right,’ she murmured. ‘A little achy. I’ll be all right.’
‘Of course you will, my brave girl.’ He continued to stroke her and he heard her breath quicken and her body move against his hand. That was better, he thought. A little hesitancy or reluctance was tantalizing and seductive; he wouldn’t rush, they had all night. He had been in too much of a hurry on their honeymoon, used as he was to the fiery temperament of his mistress.
‘How lovely you are,’ he whispered. ‘And how lucky I am to have you as my wife.’
She turned to him. ‘Do you mean that, Charles?’ she murmured sleepily.
He lifted her hand and gently kissed the inside of her wrist. ‘Of course I do. I am so fortunate.’
And at that moment he did believe it. She was not only desirable and lovely, she was capable too: he had seen the forethought that had gone into the design of the terrace when he’d observed how the men had set out her plan with sticks and string where the terrace and fountain would be, and he had no doubt whatsoever that she would create the house interior with the same passion, elegance and flair.
He had originally thought that she would follow the style of her parents’ home, taking her inspiration from them, but she hadn’t; she was definitely a woman with her own ideas, foresight and creativity. A cut above many women he had known.
He gathered her into his arms and she didn’t resist. Yes, he thought as he kissed her, forgetting that his introduction to Beatrix had come from his father and hers. I have done very well in choosing such a wife.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Charles stayed four days, overlapping the weekend, and discussing her various suggestions; he really couldn’t find fault with any of them, yet he questioned most before giving his approval, including hiring a landscape gardener to thin out the woodland and make the path that Beatrix longed for.
He talked to Luke Newby about the decorating of the main house and suggested he brought in a team of men to help him; Luke couldn’t climb a ladder or even a pair of steps, and the rooms were large, the hall big enough to use as a ballroom. The stairs and banister and upstairs landing were oak, and they were badly in need of cleaning up and waxing to bring them back to their original beauty.
There appeared to be no tension now between him and Beatrix, and although she had a slight mark on her fair skin and a bruise on her hip where she had hit the table, she was not suffering any other ill effects from her fall. He kissed her gently every morning and came to her bed every night, and as she responded to his touch he no longer compared her to his mistress, for they were, he decided, as unlike as it was possible to be, one innocently seductive and the other earthy and shameless.
Going back to his own bed each night, spent and exhausted, he couldn’t help but muse that as soon as Beatrix produced a son and he could claim his final inheritance, his life would be perfect.
Although Beatrix reluctantly admitted to herself that she was easier in her mind now she and Charles knew each other better than they had previously, she was still cautious and considered carefully what she said or suggested, and tried not to do anything that might cause him any annoyance. He appeared to be repentant about the blow he had given her, though he never admitted that he was at fault. She admitted to herself that she was naive in the ways of men whilst he was obviously experienced in his love-making and knew how to tantalize and tempt her; and yet there was something missing in their relationship. She couldn’t determine what it was; perhaps because they hadn’t known each other for very long before their engagement and didn’t yet have that ease of friendship and understanding that came with time? But that didn’t explain the sudden anger that had erupted. Was that in his nature? Do I have to tread on eggshells to keep him calm?
Perhaps it takes every couple years to embrace each other’s foibles, behaviours and idiosyncrasies before they can ease themselves into a happily married state, she pondered; she thought of her father and his habits: the way he tapped his pipe, for instance, and how he made that whooshing sound in his throat as he sat down. Her mother’s little cough, too, which always indicated that she was about to say something she felt was important. But she had never been aware of any tension between them and surely she would have seen the signs.
But now I can get on, she thought, feeling reprieved as she stood on the steps and waved Charles goodbye. The terrace was almost finished and Charles had expressed his approval; they were waiting for the fountain and statuary to come and be put in place and then the water to be piped in from the underground well.
Aaron had asked his Uncle Luke if he could borrow his pony and cart to take Mr Dawley to the local station to catch the train. Luke only ever used old and patient ponies since his accident and the one he had now was very elderly and needed great encouragement to move on.
Beatrix reminded herself to ask Edward if he had found her a pony and trap. She thought that she would learn how to handle one before Charles came home again. Coincidentally, Edward called at the end of that day and found her in the annexe discussing paint with his father.
‘Maister gone, has he, missus?’ he asked with a wry grin. ‘Everything in order for him?’
She frowned and looked sternly at him, covering her smile with her hand. Luke didn’t see the smile and scowled at his son.
‘Now then,’ he said sharply. ‘You mind your manners in front o’ Mrs Dawley.’
Edward pulled his hat off and clutched it between his hands with his head down. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,’ he muttered. ‘Meant no offence.’
Then he laughed. ‘My father can’t shake off his serfdom,’ he said. ‘It’s ingrained in him.’
His father grumbled at him. ‘Nev Dawley allus treated us well and don’t you forget it.’
Edward nodded at him. ‘He did. He was a gentleman, not like some.’ Then he turned to Beatrix, losing his smile. ‘Only joking, Mrs Dawley.’
She didn’t answer. There was obviously an old feud still festering between Edward and Charles and she had no intention of becoming involved in it.
To change the subject, she asked what he thought of the colours she had chosen.
‘What are you going to do in here?’ he asked her.
‘I thought plain cream walls to brighten it up. The floors have been cleaned and are waiting to be polished when we’ve finished painting, and if anyone should come to stay, say my parents, or …’ she paused, ‘Charles’s, they could stay here. It’s going to take a long time to do the main house.’
‘Charles’s parents won’t come,’ he assured her. ‘Not unless you invite them to something grand, a ball or a dinner where you invite notable guests. Then they’ll come, prepared to lord it over everyone, not knowing that some of your neighbours are people of breeding who don’t care about money or those who are involved in it.’
Beatrix pressed her lips together. ‘My father was involved in banking,’ she said in a low voice.
‘He didn’t own the bank though, did he?’ Edward looked at her. ‘That’s a different matter entirely.’
A letter came from her mother a week later saying she had interviewed the Yorkshire-born housekeeper and was very impressed. She gave such a glowing report of Lily Gordon that Beatrix was inclined to say send her at once, but instead wrote a list of questions and asked her mother to arrange another interview, and if the responses were all positive to suggest to Mrs Gordon that she come on a six-month trial contract as soon as she was able.
There! she thought as she screwed the lid back on the ink bottle and put away her pen. That’s another thing done; and Mrs Gordon can advise me on what staff we’ll require, for I’m convinced that eventually we’ll settle into this community and when the house is decorated and furnished we’ll be able to invite guests to stay.
I love the openness and fresh air of the countryside, she thought,
but I admit that I would like to have a little company. I miss the chatter of my friends when we used to walk along the city streets to look in the shop windows.
The first calling card arrived the next day, with an invitation to her and Charles to visit a Mrs Stokes, who lived in nearby Hessle. She had brought the card herself, but Dora, who answered the door, told her that Mrs Dawley was not at home. She had learned such things at her training class, though this particular task would not usually be her role, but that of the housekeeper or a housemaid.
‘How lovely,’ Beatrix exclaimed when Dora handed her the invitation card. ‘I will return the compliment. I must ask Ed— erm, Mr Newby about a pony and trap and then I will be able to drive myself on such occasions. But this is for tomorrow; it says she is holding a charity event. What can I wear, Dora? Most of my clothes are still in boxes. The lemon silk, perhaps; will you search it out and tidy it up, please? Oh, how exciting! Such a pity that Mr Dawley isn’t here.’
But she was quite pleased that he wasn’t when she arrived at Mrs Stokes’s house the following day in Luke Newby’s old trap, driven by Aaron wearing his best tweed jacket, who said he would wait if it was to be only half an hour, which, Beatrix knew, was more than the maximum time visits were expected to last in London. However, it turned out to be far too short a visit for Mrs Stokes, who expected her guests to stay all afternoon, helping themselves to savoury and sweet fancies and buying the objects on sale.
Charles wouldn’t have liked it at all, she thought, and I am overdressed; it was an informal gathering held in a very grand but untidy drawing room. Mrs Stokes told Beatrix that the house was hers and that it was so tightly tied up with legalities that her husband couldn’t get his hands on it.
