The Lonely Wife

by Val Wood

  ‘My father was misled,’ Beatrix said. ‘He thought he was doing his best for me.’ She thought of her much-loved children and the lovely old house; had her unhappiness in the marriage been a price worth paying? Yes, she thought. It had.

  When the luncheon bell rang Alicia came running down the stairs and Laurie appeared, flushed and excited about his first ride. Both children were introduced to their aunt, who seemed rather bemused by them, before Laurie was sent to wash his hands and face and Ambrose was brought down to sit in a wooden high chair and have lunch with them as he always did.

  ‘What about Children should be seen and not heard?’ Anne asked cynically. ‘Charles and I never ate with our parents until we passed our twelfth birthdays.’

  ‘How do children learn manners if they are not taught by example?’ Beatrix said. ‘And I like to know about their day and if they’ve enjoyed it.’ She helped Ambrose, putting his child-sized cutlery into his hands and spearing a sliced carrot with a fork for him. ‘You still haven’t told me why you’re here. Shall I ask for a room to be prepared? Are you staying?’

  ‘Please. If I may,’ Anne said quietly. ‘I’ve been very rude – I apologize. And I’m sorry if I’ve thought ill of you in the past, but my excuse is being brought up to mistrust everyone.’

  She forked a small piece of meat into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed and paused, looking first at the children and then back to Beatrix. ‘If I might take you into my confidence, Beatrix? Yesterday I ran away from home. I am in my mid-thirties!’ She gave a cutting laugh. ‘I caught a train from London early yesterday morning. I hadn’t thought of coming here until I arrived in Hull, which was my planned destination as I didn’t think it would occur to my parents to look for me there.’

  ‘Why?’ Beatrix asked, a tremor of humour in her voice. ‘Why have you run away?’

  Anne licked her lips, and for a moment Beatrix thought she looked sultry and rather attractive with a gleam in her eyes and much more animation than Beatrix had ever seen on the two occasions when they had met.

  ‘I too have come into an inheritance. One of my father’s sisters. The only one who actually spoke to us,’ she added grimly. ‘I used to talk to her when I was growing up; I could ask her things that I couldn’t ask my mother. She was a single woman with her own property and she named me as the sole beneficiary in her Will. My father knew I was in it but he expected that there would be others who would benefit too, but when Aunt Frances died I went to her lawyers and instructed them not to send any letters home and told them I would call on them for the details. I also requested them to set up an account with another bank, not my father’s. I don’t trust him. I knew that he would harass me into buying shares or investing in companies in which he had an interest.’ She sat back in her chair and smiled. ‘I haven’t told anyone else about this, Beatrix, so I hope you feel supremely privileged!’

  I couldn’t count her as a friend, Beatrix mused, although perhaps I understand her better now than I did. ‘You haven’t explained why you’ve come to Yorkshire. Or why you’ve run away,’ she added.

  ‘Oh, no, of course I haven’t, have I?’ Anne took a satisfying breath, and looking at the children, who were busily eating, she lowered her voice. ‘I’m catching a ferry from Hull to Holland tomorrow evening and thought I’d rest here rather than at the hotel I stayed in last night, and your coachman could drive me to the dock. There’ll be a hired carriage waiting for me in Rotterdam to take me to a railway station where I shall catch a train to Paris. I’m meeting an old friend who lives there and I’ll stay with her whilst I decide what to do with the rest of my life.’

  She paused, her mouth tensing, her eyes narrowing. ‘I have been pressured all my life, since I was fifteen years old, to find a good – meaning rich – husband.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Hah. The things women have to put up with; no expectations of being able to choose a life for themselves. But now,’ she glanced defiantly at Beatrix, ‘thanks to my aunt I have the freedom to choose for myself, and that will not include a husband or playing nursemaid to my beloved parents as they slip into their dotage, which is what they expect me to do.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  ‘Oh, Bea! I have something to tell you.’ Rosetta called one sunny morning in May, just before Laurence’s seventh birthday when Beatrix was feeling particularly low at the thought of his going away to school. Charles hadn’t given her any information, even though she had asked him several times; he’d simply said he would let her know when he heard.

  ‘Come in,’ she said to Rosie. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes. I’m tired of my own company.’

  ‘Is Charles still away?’ Rosie shed her jacket. She’d driven over in her pony and trap. ‘I haven’t seen him at all this year.’

  It was only ever by chance that when Rosie called Charles was here on a short visit.

  ‘Yes,’ Beatrix said. ‘He is.’ She was sure that people who knew her or saw her frequently must be wondering about her absent husband, and, she thought, there would be rumours spreading.

  ‘Mm!’ Rosie pressed her lips together. ‘It’s such a lovely time of year. He must be very busy if he’s missing it; the trees are in full blossom and some of the petals are falling like snow. I love spring. The ditches are full of cowslips and primroses, and the hawthorn – the May tree, Mother calls it – is in flower and smells wonderful.’

  ‘Charles wouldn’t notice,’ Beatrix said dully, and thought that the only thing he ever wanted to know was whether the estate was in profit.

  Rosie sat down and heaved out a breath. She seemed buoyed up about something. The two young women were good friends, very easy in one another’s company; they were never formal.

  ‘What is it, then?’ Beatrix smiled at Rosie’s expression, one that showed she had something to share.

  ‘I’m in love,’ Rosie whispered, even though there was no one to hear. She clasped her fingers together. ‘I have met the most perfect man!’

  ‘Really? Who is he?’ Beatrix was beginning to think there was no such person.

  Rosie had fallen in love several times since Beatrix had met her, but the emotion had never lasted. The chosen suitors seemed to fail on various counts within just a couple of weeks, the main problem being, it seemed, that they had thought her extremely wealthy and had disappeared on urgent business when she had told them the lie that she wasn’t and that there was no expected dowry.

  ‘He’s a friend of my Wiltshire cousins; they came on a visit for a few days and brought Esmond with them. He’s lovely, Bea,’ she said on a sigh. ‘We both knew from the minute we met. This is definitely it. The cousins have gone home, but he – Esmond – is staying on. Mother likes him, Papa likes him. He’s an artist,’ she said ardently. ‘And a musician; he plays the cello beautifully. He’s never been to this part of the country before and he loves it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you bring him with you? I could have given you my assessment of him.’

  ‘Because Papa has taken him off for a drive around the district; he wants to take a closer look at the estuary and then he’s going to paint. He likes to paint landscapes,’ she said dreamily. ‘Or seascapes and riverscapes. And he’s not after my money, not that I have any just yet.’

  ‘You’ve talked about that already, have you?’ Beatrix hid a smile.

  ‘Well, only in general conversation. I always tell possible suitors that I haven’t a dowry, and I also told him that I’d decided not to marry, and he didn’t turn a hair and said he quite agreed with me and thought it wasn’t really necessary if you loved someone; he said he had friends who had chosen not to marry and simply lived together.’

  She saw Beatrix’s astonishment. ‘They’re artists, apparently,’ she rattled on. ‘So they are a bit different; the wife, who isn’t really a wife, paints miniatures and the husband, who isn’t really, paints landscapes in the style of the Romantics, like William Turner. Do you know his work?’

  Beatrix nodded. Sometimes Rosie took her breath
away. ‘So how long is he staying?’

  ‘Oh! For ever,’ Rosie said, as if surprised at the question. ‘Mama says he can have one of the attic rooms and if we’re both still of the same mind in three months then we’ll pledge our troth beneath the apple trees in the orchard.’ She heaved a great breath. ‘I’m so happy, Bea. I can’t believe it has happened so fast.’

  Nor can I, Beatrix thought as she waved her friend goodbye. Can Rosie be serious? She had assured her that she was and had promised to bring Esmond to be introduced. ‘People do take lovers, you know, Beatrix,’ she had said as she left. ‘Marriage isn’t the only option as long as you’re both committed to being faithful.’ She had appeared to hesitate, as if she was going to say more, but then gave a little smile and said she must be going.

  Could I have done that, Beatrix wondered? Would I have agreed to be married without the blessing of a man of the cloth to say it was legitimate? My parents would never have allowed it, I’m convinced of that; they would have felt shame, I know. She sighed and felt sad; would it really have made any difference? ‘To love and to cherish,’ she murmured beneath her breath, ‘until death doth part us.’ That hasn’t happened in our marriage. No love, no cherishing.

  It was a month later when Charles came again; he seemed to be remarkably cheerful and Beatrix guessed that he might be coming to give her news of Laurie’s schooling. It will be bound to be the September term when he begins, she thought tearfully. I must prepare myself; I know that Charles won’t change his mind, so I must accept it.

  But she dared not ask him and neither did he mention the subject during the three days he was there. Even when he and Beatrix were alone, he spoke up on diverse subjects but never on Laurie’s schooling. Neither did he mention his sister, and she wondered if he knew what had happened and if he did, did he care?

  On the morning of his departure Beatrix came down in her dressing robe to see him off. He was wearing his summer coat and a top hat, and turned to her, ran his finger down from her mouth and chin to the cleft of her breasts, and bent his head to kiss her lips. He had not come to her bed and she had felt great relief as she hadn’t wanted him to.

  ‘By the way,’ he murmured. ‘The rules have changed at the old school. They’re not taking boys until they’re eight now, so our precious son will be home for another year. I expect he’ll be very disappointed, but he has his pony to distract him, hasn’t he? He can take comfort in that, and a year will soon fly past.’ They heard Aaron drive up in the carriage to take Charles to the railway station. ‘Will you tell him?’ he asked casually. ‘Just as well I hadn’t ordered his uniform. He’ll have grown inches in another year.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I hope you have a trouble-free journey.’

  He nodded, and turning on his heel he was gone. A minute later the carriage wheels were clattering over the gravel drive. She sat down on the window seat and watched as it continued along the long track and out of the gates.

  He knew. He already knew that the rules of entrance had changed, and he chose not to tell me! Why? He knew how anxious I’d been. Why does he do this? She felt bile in her throat. What pleasure does he get from tormenting me?

  Her own voice echoed in her head: He does it because he can. No other motive is required in Charles’s reckoning. It’s like taking a toy from a child and hearing him cry. It’s like pulling the wings off a fly. He does it simply because he can.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  As Charles had said, the year did pass quickly and they were now in September. Laurie was doing well with his lessons, his tutor said; Miss Andrews had given way to a quiet and patient young man who taught Laurie French as well as arithmetic and English, and in between lessons if the weather was fine he took him outside, where they ran races across the grass for fifteen minutes before coming in to eat lunch.

  Laurie was encouraged to eat his lunch in the schoolroom, so that he got into the habit of ‘schoolroom mode’, as Mr Greenwood called it.

  ‘He won’t be allowed to linger over his meals at school,’ the tutor explained to Beatrix, ‘not as he would normally do at home. He will have time to wash his hands and eat. When he has there will be a short break outside and then he will be back into the classroom to continue lessons.’

  Beatrix nodded. Her own home schooling had been much more relaxed before she went away to school. It is time, I suppose, she admitted reluctantly, although I would prefer it if he were nearer home. She confessed this to Mags Newby one day, who replied sensibly that Laurie would probably enjoy being with other boys.

  ‘Our Edward enjoyed being at school,’ she told her, ‘though he was only down ’road at Pocklington.’ She gave a sudden laugh. ‘He once walked home; twenty miles or so it is, but he hitched a ride for part of the way. He said he wasn’t miserable at school but he fancied some of my meat pie and apple crumble. I’d cooked some that morning as it happened, so he ate it and then one of Uncle Nev’s men drove him back in ’trap, cos Luke wasn’t well that day.’

  Beatrix was puzzled. It was expensive to send a boy away to school; had the Newby farm been doing well enough to justify sending Edward away to be educated? She had previously assumed that he’d gone to a local school until he went to agricultural college.

  Edward came in whilst Beatrix was having a cup of tea with his mother. Mags had told her that she could come whenever she wanted to or if she felt the need to chat, and she often did.

  ‘Your mother was telling me that you were at Pocklington School and once walked home because you missed her cooking!’ she said, as Mags went to make another pot of tea for him.

  ‘Aye, I did,’ he grinned. He sat by the table and looked across at her. ‘Have you heard anything more from Charles about Laurie’s schooling?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she sighed. ‘But I’m prepared, and so is Laurie.’

  ‘He’ll be going to Charles’s old school, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what he wants – what Charles wants, I mean.’ She paused. ‘Which is rather odd, as I’d understood that Charles didn’t enjoy it; that it was a rather punishing regime.’

  ‘I believe it was, in Charles’s day, but it might not be now. Uncle Nev …’ He hesitated. ‘Well, I overheard him telling Ma, years ago, that the headmaster had been removed from his position. He’d been rather too heavy with the cane, and I think that Charles might have been one of the unlucky ones to feel the brunt of it.’ He reached out and patted Beatrix’s hand. It seemed to her that he always wanted to touch her. ‘It won’t happen now.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘That was a long time ago. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I’ll try not to,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that he’ll be so far away. I don’t even know where in London the school is,’ she confessed. ‘Just as I don’t know where Charles’s London house is.’

  He frowned, but didn’t comment as his mother came in just then with a tray of fresh tea and a ham sandwich for him, and he got up to take it from her and put it on the table.

  Mags went out again to call for Luke to come in for a hot drink and Edward said, ‘I don’t know where the London house is, but I do know where the school is. It’s not in London itself, but in Hampstead; you’ll probably know it? I remember Charles telling me about it when I was a young lad. He boasted about being there, even though he hated it.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper and scribbled down the name of the school. ‘There you are,’ he said jokingly. ‘At least you’ll be able to write to the little monster.’

  She thanked him, and left shortly afterwards. She felt a sense of relief that at least she knew where Laurie would be. She knew Hampstead; all Londoners did. It was part of London, contrary to what Edward had said; it was one of London’s most famous landmarks, a grassy heath set high above the city where the air was good, with natural ponds where people swam, woods and long walks, and not least the tremendous views over London.

  She had often seen schoolboys running up there from nearby schools, and
people flying kites. Laurie will love the area, she mused. I’d been worried that he might have been in the heart of London, all traffic and noise, when he is such a country boy. I’ll write to Charles care of the bank and ask him to tell me what date he’ll be starting. Laurie’s my son and I need to know. It is my right, surely!

  Charles didn’t answer her letter but he arrived during the last week in September with a medium-size trunk and Laurie’s new uniform packed in it. Laurie gasped when he tried on the knickerbockers and the red stockings for size. ‘My legs will be cold,’ he objected. ‘I thought I’d wear long trousers now that I’m old enough to go to school!’ The coat was a miniature version of a frock coat and beneath it he would wear a starched white shirt with a high collar. He scowled at himself in the long mirror.

  Beatrix smiled. She thought he looked rather sweet, but then he put on the top hat and she couldn’t help but laugh at her little boy in grown-up clothes.

  ‘What?’ Charles came into the bedroom. ‘What are you laughing at?’

  Beatrix put her hand over her mouth. ‘Our little boy in a top hat!’

  But Charles wasn’t laughing, even though Laurie now had a grin on his face as he moved the hat to the back of his head and then over his eyebrows.

  ‘My son will be a credit to my old school,’ he said brusquely. ‘It is not a laughing matter. He will be commended for the Dawley name or I’ll know the reason why.’ He seemed angry and she didn’t understand. He had told her he hated his time at school and yet had been insistent that their son should go there. ‘We leave tomorrow, so make sure his clothes are pressed and ready to pack.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’ she stammered. ‘Surely not? A few days more to make sure we have everything!’