The Lonely Wife

by Val Wood

  She leaned back in her chair and took another sip of tea and a short silence enveloped them. ‘So what was the real reason for you and Hallam coming today?’ she asked. ‘Not to discuss the coming harvest.’

  He gazed at her for a second and then replied quietly, ‘It was my proposition, not Hallam’s; he simply followed my suggestion in good faith.’

  She put her cup on the table and waited. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just a pause in conversation between friends; but he kept his gaze on her as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his legs clad in rough working cords, his hands clasped loosely together.

  ‘Have I got a smut on my face?’

  He shook his head. ‘If you had, I’d be tempted to do the unforgivable act of touching your skin to brush it away, but no,’ he shook his head again, ‘you haven’t.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘But I still have the utmost desire to feel the touch of your skin beneath my fingers. I’ve missed you, Beatrix.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  It wasn’t the first time she had sensed his intense gaze upon her but she had always tried to convince herself that the reason for it was the subject matter they were discussing. She hadn’t seen him for several weeks; she had kept herself from public gaze as her confinement came nearer, and he never came when Charles was here. It seemed as if he had learned to work out when Charles would visit and deliberately stayed away.

  Visit, she thought vaguely. Like someone who only stayed a short time and didn’t make himself at home here; that was Charles exactly. She was fairly sure that some of the younger maids were unsure of what role he played.

  Edward dropped his gaze and she took the opportunity to stand; she had her back to the house, and no one looking through the windows would have seen anything amiss, just two people who knew each other engaged in conversation. She was unnerved but not disturbed, though she felt a pulse in her throat gently throbbing. He too stood up.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, but she lifted a hand and with a slight movement of her fingers indicated that there was no need for apology.

  ‘Would you allow me to escort you?’

  ‘Yes, please, Edward.’ Her calm answer suggested that there wasn’t any concern over his previous words. ‘If you would accompany me up the steps to the door. I’m still a little unsteady on my feet.’

  ‘Of course; you must take care!’

  She saw the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, aware, she thought, that he had spoken of things he shouldn’t. ‘Yes,’ she said, crossing the terrace and lifting her skirts over the bottom step with one hand, conscious that she was holding one of his with the other.

  The door was opened by Dora. ‘I was just coming for you, ma’am,’ she said primly. ‘The doctor said you must have only a short stay outside.’

  ‘How everyone looks after me,’ she remarked lightly. ‘Thank you, Mr Newby. Perhaps we can discuss the matter again, although I’m sure that you and Mr Hallam will manage perfectly well without me for a little longer.’

  Edward gave a slight bow, his hand on his chest. ‘You brighten our dull talk of everyday matters, Mrs Dawley. We’ll try not to disturb you too much.’

  He backed away and Dora closed the door behind him. ‘You’d better take a rest, ma’am,’ she said censoriously. ‘You’re a little flushed.’

  ‘It was the talking, I expect,’ Beatrix said, but in truth she felt animated and alive. ‘I’ll sit downstairs in the sitting room, Dora, and then I’ll feel part of household life again rather than being cut off upstairs. And will you ask someone to bring the children down? Laurie and Alicia I mean, not the baby. I must give them lots of attention, and not let them think that their noses have been pushed out of joint by Ambrose.’

  Dora smiled. ‘It’s good to see you looking better, ma’am,’ she said. ‘The fresh air has done you good. I wonder what pet name you’ll use for Master Ambrose?’ she added.

  How odd, Beatrix considered, that such a tiny baby is already Master Ambrose. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Amby? Brosy? I expect the children will decide.’

  I don’t suppose it will be Nev, she thought. I don’t think Charles would allow that, even though it’s his name too.

  The children came downstairs to be with her. I will not have them confined to the nursery; they will have the run of the house. It’s their home after all. They had chosen books to bring down with them and Beatrix took them from the nursery maid, telling her that if Ambrose was asleep she should go to the kitchen and have a cup of tea. As the young maid dipped her knee and thanked her, Beatrix tucked a child under each arm and began to read them a story.

  Charles alighted from the train at King’s Cross and crossed the concourse. Outside he saw a horse tram coming towards him and put out his hand for it to stop. The journey would save him some walking time and he was tired. Tired of the repeat journeys he had to make between London and Yorkshire.

  He didn’t take a seat but stood on the platform and put his hand in his trouser pocket for a coin to give the conductor. Waving away the change, he felt a little swell of conceit that he could do so with impunity because he was rich.

  He pondered that if he had a bigger house in London he could keep the carriage there, rather than in the mews stables a ten-minute walk away. He didn’t allow his driver to collect him from or drop him at the house and was adhering to his rule that his address was only known to close friends such as Paul; even his parents didn’t know it.

  If I had another house in a better district, I could rent an apartment in one of the hotels for Maria, except that she would never agree. She likes her leetle ’ouse as she calls it, thinking that it belongs to her. The tram slowed and he jumped off at a corner, and gave a satisfied huff of breath. Women, he thought. They have such an exalted sense of themselves, Maria with the London house and Beatrix with the children, when in fact they have nothing except on their husbands’, fathers’ or lovers’ say-so.

  There was no way round it, he considered as he walked on. A better house in a better district would attract attention and soon neighbours would find out who he was and be even more interested in Maria. She was a woman who was noticed and word would get around that she was his mistress and not his wife, and then … He sighed. People were so nosy, groping about to find some juicy titbit that they could gossip about. Not that it would matter if Beatrix did find out about Maria, for she could do nothing about it, but it would reduce her standing in the local community if whispers were heard, and she would be diminished, like that London society woman from a few years ago, Caroline something. She had an affair with Melbourne, so it was said. Many of her former friends deserted her, but she fought back, went to law, and wrote a book. You had to admire her spirit. But Beatrix wouldn’t retaliate against what she might consider injustice. She’s a true gentlewoman, he thought, and yet it’s quite incredible how she’s looking after the estate. I can’t fault her on that.

  He gave a wry smirk as he approached his front door. Beautiful, gentle, she brought out the worst in a man. He put his key in the lock but it wouldn’t turn. Damn Maria, she’s left the key in the lock again. He hammered on the door.

  Yes, he thought. I’ll take my boys if Beatrix makes any objection about their schooling, and she can keep the girl. Alicia. Sweet as she is, I couldn’t look after a little girl. Unless of course I asked Maria to take care of her if Beatrix made any trouble; I could hold it against her as a threat. But no, he thought as he heard Maria fumbling at the other side of the door. Not Maria. She wouldn’t bring her up to be a lady, not as the lovely Beatrix would.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ he snapped as she eventually opened the door.

  ‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ she said. ‘You are late.’

  ‘The train was late.’ He threw his top hat on to a chair. ‘I wasn’t. I told you I was coming back tonight.’

  ‘Huh,’ she mumbled, picking up the hat and brushing the pile with her fingers. ‘You have been to Yorkshire again; you are always lat
e when you have been there. You have been to see your new son. Yes? What is he like?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just like the others. Small, pink, not much hair.’

  ‘But a boy; you are pleased, I expect?’

  She was peeved, he could tell. Probably a little jealous, but she wouldn’t say so. He breathed heavily. ‘Is there anything to eat?’ he said. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He saw the change in her as she relaxed; happy not to speak of things she knew nothing about.

  ‘I have coffee ready for you and I have made chicken and chorizo stew with rice. Good, yes? And from the market today I buy shrimp to start.’ She kissed the tips of her fingers in an extravagant gesture to show how delicious they were. ‘Nothing better, eh?’

  He smiled and patted the sofa for her to sit. He kissed her plump cheek. ‘Perfecto,’ he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Beatrix quickly recovered her health and gave much thought to the few minutes of being alone with Edward. She must, she decided, steer clear of any private conversation with him, and always be sure that someone else was in the room or nearby in the garden so that nothing questionable could occur.

  It was a pity, she reflected, for she enjoyed his company, and there was no one else, apart from Rosie, with whom she could be so completely at ease.

  Edward’s demeanour towards her that day had revealed that he was more than fond of her, and it wasn’t appropriate behaviour for an unmarried man to display towards a married woman. She had been kept awake on many a night since as she reflected on the issue, and had come to the conclusion that it was not only a dilemma for him. How could she be sure that he wasn’t merely playing games, for wasn’t that what men did? But her main worry, the one that caused her to toss and turn, was that she was also attracted to him, yet she dare not show it. She could not possibly give Charles any reason to even think she had taken a lover.

  It seemed that he had come to the same decision for his visits dropped to occasional calls; his reasons to see her were few, as Hallam was running the estate very efficiently and Edward considered that he was, in fact, superfluous, which didn’t suit him at all. From childhood he had been used to calling at Neville’s home, but it no longer belonged to Neville. Those days were gone, and as he was a thinking man, and knowing Charles as he did, he realized that any slip or impropriety regarding Beatrix could mean a ban on his ever seeing her again; and as for her, he wouldn’t take the risk of her being in peril of Charles’s anger. He had seen it in action when they had both been young, although Charles should have been old enough to control it.

  Once a month, Beatrix and Hallam had a meeting in the downstairs study to discuss various plans for the future; originally she had assigned the room to Charles, but he clearly didn’t want it, and had never brought a chair of his own as she’d suggested.

  So she made it her own. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and she bought a mahogany desk with deep file drawers which were kept locked and the key hidden. There were two comfortable leather chairs, one for her and one for Hallam, or Charles if he deigned to sit upon it, and two leather-covered stools. Whenever Hallam came she kept the door open on to the hall, or if it were a sunny day they sat outside in full view of the house.

  I must be cautious, she considered, for I feel as if I should be on my best behaviour at all times.

  When her parents came to visit her mother often played with the children whilst Beatrix discussed monetary matters with her father. When she had lived in London with her parents she had thought her father exceedingly measured and often slow; she realized now that he was simply careful, and never in any calculations did he make mistakes or errors of judgement.

  She never told Charles that she discussed business with her father or asked his advice as he sat opposite her at her desk, for intuitively she thought that he would object. She knew that her father was an honest and honourable man; she couldn’t be completely sure that she could put Charles in that category. Once, he had asked her if Hallam helped her with the books, for, he said, they were as perfect as any bank clerk’s.

  ‘Hallam! Certainly not!’ She had been upset. ‘It is his business to run the estate efficiently and to give me the prices we are paying for grain and livestock. It is mine to add up the figures and make sure we are in profit.’

  They had bought a small herd of prize cattle to see how they would thrive. They would need at least another twelve months, Hallam said, to find out if it was a worthwhile venture. The manager had also suggested they bought Berkshire pigs, which proved to be a good idea. ‘It’s an old pedigree pig, ma’am,’ he told her as they stood watching them grunting and snuffling happily in the orchard, chasing the hens and eating up the windfalls. ‘Docile and easily managed.’ Someone had told her that Neville Dawley had brought pigs into the old orchard to do the same but she couldn’t recall who. Probably Edward, she considered, for he knew as much about the old man as anyone.

  When the sows farrowed Laurie and Alicia were taken to see the tiny black piglets. They squealed in delight when they saw them wearing what they called their white socks, and wanted to play with them. She decided not to make the children aware of the pigs’ ultimate fate as she considered that they were as yet too young to know.

  Again on Hallam’s advice she bought a pair of goats to clear up some of the overgrown pasture land. When the nanny gave birth to a pair of kids she took the children to see them being born and it reminded her of when Edward had taken her to watch Nellie whelp her pups, to give her an inkling into birthing: a lesson, she thought, especially for her.

  She had never forgotten that day, his kindness and tenderness towards the dog as she delivered her pups and, too, his strong arm as he helped her back to the house. The pup she had chosen had become a good yard dog, always on the prowl, and she had chosen another when Nellie had her next litter.

  On the eve of the start of harvest, she drove alone in the governess cart to the top of the hill that ran alongside the house, to the very edge of their land. Coming to a narrow track she had stopped, tied the reins to a tree branch and trod carefully down the steep bank to lean on a fence and look out at the distant view.

  Never did I think, when I was a young city girl, that I would one day be scratching at pigs’ ears or rubbing ears of corn through my fingertips to discover if it was ready; or standing, as I’m doing now, at the top of a hill contemplating a perfect golden landscape with woodland below me and a walk running through it where a glimpse of the Humber can be seen.

  Never in a million years could I have imagined this. I’m almost completely happy. I have three beautiful children, a lovely home that I have made; what more could any woman want? She heaved a deep regretful sigh that had been gathering inside her for a long time. Just a husband who loved me. That would have been my dream. Someone who cared for me above all others and all things, with a love that we shared.

  Not a man who had married me so that he could achieve his dream of immeasurable wealth. He could have chosen anyone to attain that, but I just happened to be there, and suitable. My poor papa. A sob caught in her throat. He thought he was doing the right thing, and I think he realizes now just what he really acquired for me. A loveless marriage.

  Did I expect too much? Was I just a foolish romantic girl? Is this what happens when women and girls are under the control of their fathers and husbands? Would I have made the same choice if I had had the freedom to do so? Many would think I’m lucky, and so I am. I know that I am. But I’m also afraid. Afraid that my life isn’t under my control; and afraid most of all of losing my children, as Charles once said that I could.

  And then, all of this – her eyes swept the landscape, the golden corn ready for harvesting, the deep estuary sweeping on towards its destination, the songbirds high in the blue sky, and she lifted her arms as if to reach it – without my children, it would all be worthless.

  She turned away to climb the bank and go back to the pony and cart, her eyes blurred by te
ars. Someone was standing there beside it: a figure dark against the bright sky. She wiped her eyes and cheeks with her fingertips but couldn’t stop the flow. Edward! The one person who might have given her comfort; the one with whom she had taken the decision never to be alone.

  He stepped down the bank to reach her.

  ‘You followed me,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘I did. I saw you pass by and wanted to be sure that you were safe.’ The reason he gave wasn’t strictly true. His true instinct had been to see her alone again just one more time.

  ‘Why should I not be?’ she asked defiantly. ‘One day women will rise up and be able to choose what they want to do with their lives; some do, even now.’

  ‘Not women like you,’ he said softly. ‘Women like my mother and sisters.’

  ‘Yes,’ she insisted, her emotions high and therefore blaming him for all inequalities. ‘Cosseted women just like me.’

  He gazed at her with the same look of tenderness she had seen before, which took her breath and anger away.

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ he murmured and reached for her hand, ‘but my intention was only to ensure that you came to no harm on this unstable track – it was not to interfere in your life.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She began to sob, all her fears tumbling in a torrent of uncertainty. ‘I do know that – that you have my interests at heart …’

  ‘You don’t know everything.’ He gently stroked her fingers, the forbidden skin that he so wanted to touch. ‘You don’t know that I want to take care of you and I can’t; all I can offer you is the promise that if ever you need me, if you are ever afraid, then run to me and I’ll be waiting.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  When Laurie reached five, Beatrix arranged for him to have a female tutor. He now knew the whole alphabet and all his numbers and she didn’t tell Charles that she had taught him herself up to now. She had also begun to teach the children to play the piano as she had done when she was young; now she played it with Ambrose on her knee and allowed him to bang on the keys with his tiny fists. The plink plonk sound made him chortle with glee.