The Lonely Wife

by Val Wood

  Charles didn’t mention school again, but Beatrix sent for prospectuses from various private local day schools and from boarding schools in Pocklington and York, so that if he should bring up the subject she could show him them to prove that she wasn’t against Laurie going away to school, as long as he remained within easy reach.

  It seemed that Laurie was keen to learn; he was a lively child and absorbed whatever his tutor, Miss Andrews, taught him, but it was apparent to everyone but Charles that his heart was in the countryside, and with the animals that grazed in the fields, and he gladly went in the cart with Aaron to deliver the lowance, as the labourers called their midday meal of bread and cheese or slices of ham or beef and bottles of cold tea.

  ‘I’ll not have him mixing with the navvies,’ Charles said when he arrived one day, quite unexpectedly, to discover that Laurie had gone with Hallam to the fields where the horse lads were ploughing.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Beatrix stammered. ‘They’re not navvies; we have regular full-time farm workers, for haymaking and harvesting and right through to winter ploughing with the oxen; and then there are the horse lads who look after the Shires …’ Surely, she thought, he must have looked at the wages book to see how many they employed, both in the house and on the land.

  He caught hold of her wrist. ‘I don’t care what you call them or what they do, I’ll not have my son mixing with them and picking up their bad habits and language.’

  ‘He’ll be so disappointed,’ Beatrix pointed out. ‘He loves being outside. I was going to ask—’ She stopped. Perhaps this wasn’t the right time, and his grip was tight on her slim wrist.

  ‘What!’ he said. ‘What were you going to ask for now?’

  Have I asked for much recently, she thought? I don’t recall. Nothing for myself, of that I’m sure. ‘He likes the horses,’ she stammered. ‘The dray horses and the Shires. I wondered, could – could he have a pony of his own and be taught to ride, do you think? He rides the pony, but he’s very old now.’

  She could see that he was considering, his narrowed eyes flickering over her face, and she could tell that his sharp mind was calculating whether or not it would be to his advantage.

  ‘Some of his young friends have ponies,’ she dared to continue; Laurie had been on visits with her and had met the children of local farmers and gentry, some with vast acreages of land and some with only few; most of the children around his age were able to ride or were about to learn. ‘They have tuition,’ she went on; ‘they are not allowed out on their own.’ Which she knew wasn’t strictly true. Many of them were as competent on horseback as they were on their own two feet.

  He let go of her wrist and she rubbed it gently. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said abruptly. ‘He can’t have everything he wants. There’s a limit. And besides,’ he added, ‘what will we do with a pony when he’s away at school?’

  She swallowed. ‘Alicia could ride it,’ she offered, ‘and if he were a weekly boarder he’d—’

  ‘Alicia! Don’t be so ridiculous! She’s still an infant, and I’ve told you that Laurence is going to my old school. I’ve put his name down already so there’s nothing more to be said on the subject.’

  She felt faint. He could change his mind before Laurie reached school age, but would he? Charles had said Laurie would start when he was seven, but some children were sent away to boarding school much earlier; dare she cross him further and risk his doing that?

  ‘Please, Charles,’ she begged. ‘Give him longer at home. He’s only a little boy.’

  He laughed. ‘Two years,’ he said. ‘Two more years for you to make him into a namby-pamby mother’s boy. Don’t spoil him too much or he’ll never live it down when he gets there. They don’t like weaklings.’

  He drew a breath, and for a second Beatrix thought she saw contrition and that he was going to change his mind and say he was only joking. But he turned away from her and left the room.

  Charles ran up the stairs and into his room and stood for a minute trying to still his pounding heartbeat. What was it that had brought back that vivid memory so sharply: a small boy backed into a corner with other boys nipping and pinching, standing on his toes and making him cry? He hadn’t known who to reach out for in his mind: not his mother, for she had never shown much interest in small boys, not even her own son, and certainly not his father, who would have told him to stand up for himself and be a man.

  Was this what he wanted for his son? He drew himself up, lifted his chin. It hadn’t done him any harm, had it? A teacher had come along just in time; he hadn’t had to sprag on any of them, and they very soon found others to torment. He had joined in, finding satisfaction in getting his own back as he pummelled some unfortunate younger boy.

  He’ll be all right, he thought. It will make a man of him, just as it did for me. His mother spoils him, giving him everything he wants. A pony! Some part of him wanted to say yes, that he was rich enough to buy his son a pony; well, he thought, we’ll see. I’ll decide later. We all have to wait for the things we want most. Look how long I had to wait before old Neville popped his clogs and left me the estate. Years. We all thought the old beggar was going to live for ever.

  For Beatrix the following year flew by; she had told Laurie on his sixth birthday that when he was a big boy of seven he would go away to school and come home in the holidays. At first he was excited at the thought of being with other boys, and then he said that perhaps he’d like to stay at home after all and learn with Miss Andrews, because he’d miss bringing in the harvest and seeing the calves and the lambs and even the little pigs; he’d turned his blue eyes towards his mother and his lips had trembled.

  ‘I’d miss you, Mama, and I don’t think Alicia would like me being away, and Amby will cry cos really he’s still only a baby.’

  She nodded and felt like crying herself, but they still had a year, she said, trying to comfort herself as well as Laurie, and explained that he would be almost a big boy when he was seven.

  But Charles, for reasons best known to himself, arrived one day in late October, all smiles, and told Beatrix that the next day he was taking Laurence to Beverley as he had an early Christmas present to collect.

  She couldn’t think what it might be and was full of tension as the next morning Charles told Aaron to bring the clarence to the front of the house and ushered Laurie into it. He climbed in after him and called, ‘We’ll be home for supper,’ and Laurie waved an anxious goodbye.

  He never considered asking me along, she thought. I would have quite liked a day out in Beverley. She had been on a few occasions but never seemed to have the time to visit the minster or St Mary’s church, both of which she was told were worth a special visit.

  ‘Where has Laurie gone, Mama?’ Alicia asked, her forehead puckering. ‘He’s gone wivout me.’

  ‘He’ll be back soon,’ she told her. ‘Papa wanted to show him something.’

  ‘But I wanted to see it as well,’ the child pouted. ‘Why couldn’t I?’

  ‘You and I will do something special,’ Beatrix told her. ‘What shall it be?’

  ‘I’d like to go and see Granny Mags,’ Alicia said. ‘I’m going to bake a cake; she said that I could, but we’ll have to take Amby because he’ll cry if we go wivout him.’

  The children are close, she reminded herself as she put on her jacket and hat. I must try to keep it that way. Charles and his sister don’t appear to have anything to talk about, whereas Thomas and I always did, even though he used to tease me. I wish he were nearer, she thought, as she always did when she had a confidence to impart. There are things I can’t tell him in a letter, for he wouldn’t understand; and I can’t possibly write and tell him that I’m afraid of my husband.

  Mags was delighted to see them; she only occasionally called at Old Stone Hall now that it had a permanent housekeeper, and when she did come it was mainly to see her sister Hilda.

  It seemed that the last time they had called on Mags she had indeed promised Alicia that
they would make cakes on her next visit, and she didn’t let the little girl down. She got out her baking bowl and together they mixed little cakes or fairy buns as Mags called them, and when they came out of the oven Alicia spread sugar icing on top of them, on herself and on Ambrose who wanted to help, whilst her mother and Mags spoke in low voices.

  ‘He’s a well-adjusted lad,’ Mags murmured as Beatrix spelled out her fears about Laurie. ‘He’ll probably settle very well.’ She sighed. ‘But I don’t understand why well-off folks send their bairns away to school just when they’re getting to an interesting age. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on their growing-up years; nor would I have wanted anybody else influencing them. Learning their letters and numbers I understand, but ’meaning of life and behaviour should come from their parents.’ She sighed again. ‘But then, some might say I’m just a countrywoman with no learning and so I am, but what I do know is ’difference between right and wrong, and that’s what we – Luke and me – taught our bairns, our Edward and his sisters.’

  She looked up at Beatrix and saw the tears on her cheeks. ‘Now then, ma’am. He’s had a good beginning. I dare say he’ll manage very well.’

  Beatrix heard the carriage wheels as tea was being served. Aaron drove the clarence round to the stable block at the back of the house whilst Laurie flew in through the kitchen door and up the back stairs into the hall, shouting out for her.

  ‘Mama! Mama, where are you? Come quickly. Oh, there you are.’ He grabbed her hand as she appeared. ‘Come on, I want to show you what Papa has bought me. He said it was a late birthday present and an early Christmas gift.’

  A six months late birthday present, Beatrix considered, but she smiled with relief that he was home and said nothing, and then the front door swung open and Charles appeared. ‘Oh, we must have tea first, before we show Mama,’ he said to Laurie. ‘Come along.’ He led the way to the sitting room. ‘Ring the bell for more tea, Alicia.’

  Alicia folded her arms. ‘What else do we say?’

  Her father looked at her. ‘What?’

  She looked at him pertly, and he gasped and then laughed. ‘If you please, Alicia,’ he said obediently, hanging his head.

  She nodded at him, slipped off her stool and pressed the bell on the wall. ‘We must always say please and fank you, mustn’t we, Mama?’

  Beatrix glanced at Charles; to her relief, he seemed amused. ‘Of course we must.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Laurie was thrilled as he showed his mother and Alicia his pony. ‘It’s a Shetland,’ he said. ‘And the lady at the stables said he’ll grow a thick coat in winter so he never ever gets cold, but in any case he’s very – erm …’ He looked at his father.

  ‘Hardy,’ Charles said, and Beatrix was pleased that he was taking an interest.

  ‘Hardy, yes,’ Laurie said, jumping up and down. ‘I think I might call him that; it seems like a good name if that’s what he is. Aaron said he’d teach me to ride and how to groom him.’

  ‘For the time being,’ Charles clarified to Beatrix, ‘I’ve told the stable lad to walk Laurence round on the pony’s back with a leading rein until he gets used to the rhythm, and then we’ll find someone to teach him.’

  ‘He could practise in the paddock where the goats are,’ Beatrix said. ‘Goats are supposed to be good company for horses, so I understand,’ she added, knowing that Charles didn’t really like her to know too much about animals, or anything really, but she had learned so much about so many things since coming to live here and she wanted her children to learn too.

  Aaron took Charles to the station early the following day and on his return asked Mrs Gordon if he could have a word with Mrs Dawley. She made him take off his boots and cap and wait in the hall until Beatrix came down. She smiled at him standing in his socks and clutching his cap, and asked him if Mr Dawley had caught the train all right.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I like to tek him in good time so’s he don’t miss it. I, erm,’ he shuffled his feet, ‘I know that Maister said I should tek young Master Laurie on ’leading rein round ’orchard or paddock and I will for ’first time, cos ’pony’s got to get used to him as well as ’other way round. But I learned to ride when I was about his age and I think he’ll be fine if I tek him out on ’road to one of ’other fields. I’ll run aside of him to mek sure he doesn’t tummel off. Will that be all right, ma’am?’

  ‘If you’re sure, Aaron?’

  He assured her that he was, and as Charles had also bought a new riding jacket, cord trousers and a hard hat for Laurie, the little boy was eager to put them on and have his first riding lesson.

  He had been out for half an hour, Alicia had gone up to the nursery for her alphabet lesson with Miss Andrews and Ambrose was playing with the nurse. Beatrix sat down in the study with a cup of coffee, and was preparing to look over the accounts when the front doorbell pealed.

  ‘I’ll get it, ma’am.’ Dora was just crossing the hall, and went to the door. Beatrix heard her voice. ‘Good morning, ma’am. Please come in; Mrs Dawley is right here.’

  Rather early for calling, Beatrix mused, and opened the study door wider, to see her sister-in-law standing in the hall and several large trunks on the doorstep.

  ‘That stupid driver!’ Anne bellowed. ‘He could at least have brought the luggage inside.’

  ‘Anne! Hello. How – how nice to see you.’

  Charles’s sister glared at her. ‘I’m glad you think so!’ She gave a deep exasperated sigh. ‘I’m pleased that I didn’t inherit this place. I thought I was never going to get here. You’re in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘Actually, we’re not,’ Beatrix answered. ‘But come in, come in do.’ She took her through to the sitting room, nodded at Dora to get someone to help with the luggage and arrange refreshments, and invited Anne to sit down. She was pleased that the sun was streaming through the windows, a fire was burning in the grate and there were vases of flowers and greenery gathered from the garden dotted about the room. It looked very welcoming.

  They hadn’t met since Beatrix and Charles’s wedding day and Beatrix hadn’t missed her in the least. She searched for something to say.

  ‘You’re very welcome, but what are you doing here?’ she managed. ‘Have you come to see the house?’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Anne said loftily. ‘Our parents brought us, Charles and me, when we were young. Father wanted us to meet the old uncle. Charles was supposed to make a good impression on him, except that he didn’t, and I was brought’ – she waved a hand in the air – ‘because I couldn’t be left, or something.’

  She looked about her, at the good furniture, the lovely curtains, the comfy cushions on the sofas, for this was where Beatrix and the children gathered at the end of the day, not the elegant drawing room upstairs. ‘It looks a lot better than I remember it. This must be your taste: it certainly isn’t Charles’s.’

  Beatrix said nothing. Coffee and biscuits were brought and she murmured to the maid to ask Cook to set lunch back by half an hour.

  ‘Why have you never visited before? You’ve been invited.’ Beatrix served the coffee. She was prepared to be polite to her husband’s sister, but no more than that until she was told of the reason for her presence.

  Anne shrugged and sipped her coffee. ‘I didn’t want to. I thought the whole thing abhorrent. The grand arranged wedding! The honeymoon abroad! Paris, was it? What a farce.’

  ‘Three days in the Lake District,’ Beatrix corrected her, and thought how rude she was. ‘Charles brought me here and went back to London a couple of days later.’

  Anne’s eyes shifted sharply to Beatrix and she frowned. ‘What? Left you here on your own?’

  Beatrix nodded as she recalled that day, which now seemed so long ago. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘Quite alone until a neighbour called and then went to fetch his young nephew to stay with me so that I wouldn’t be nervous.’

  ‘I can’t believe that Charles would sink so low,’ Anne muttered. ‘Did you ex
pect that when you agreed to marry him? Was it part of the bargain that you’d look after the house whilst he continued his cavorting back in London?’

  ‘Bargain? There was no bargain,’ Beatrix said sharply; she could see no reason to be pleasant to this disagreeable woman. ‘Charles brought me and my mother to look at the house; he said I should see the house first before I decided – about marrying him.

  ‘And I loved it: the house and the garden, the wood and the estuary running along its edge, and I saw the possibilities. But …’ She paused. ‘I was young and a dreamer and I thought there would be love too.’ She was almost thinking aloud, and when she looked up at Anne she saw that she was gazing at her with her lips parted as if she had never seen her before.

  ‘So it wasn’t just because of the money that you agreed to marry him?’

  ‘Money? I haven’t seen any money. I knew that Charles would receive a large sum when we had a son, but I haven’t seen any of it, and besides,’ she said hotly, ‘I keep the accounts. Every penny that is spent on the house and the servants, the children, everything, is accounted for; including the farm. Charles doesn’t ever question the expenditure, which is on his behalf in any case, but I don’t have a personal allowance.’

  Anne put down her cup. ‘I’m sorry.’ She seemed almost contrite. ‘It’s true that I hadn’t expected you to be as young as you were when we first met, but I had you down as being of the same ilk as Charles. Covetous beyond the point of greed.’

  Beatrix gasped. She was lost for words, but Anne wasn’t.

  ‘When he said he had found a young woman who had agreed to marry him, I thought that you’d agreed on the basis of him giving you a good allowance to spend as you wished; not the house, of course, because only a male can inherit it. He said that our father and yours had agreed the terms of the marriage.’