by Val Wood
Not even that, Charles reflected. Beatrix doesn’t ask for much; nothing for herself, in fact. Perhaps I won’t proceed with the idea of divorce, but I might drop a hint or two simply to keep her on her toes.
It was after supper time when he arrived at the house. Beatrix was alone with sewing on her knee when one of the housemaids took his coat and hat and opened the door into the sitting room.
‘Have you had any news?’ were his first words. ‘He apparently travelled as far as Doncaster, according to the King’s Cross stationmaster.’
She gave a little gasp. ‘Did you not receive my telegram? I sent it immediately Laurie arrived home. The police brought him in a Black Maria! Here we were worried to distraction and he’d had such an exciting time. I hadn’t the heart to chastise him, I was so relieved.’
Charles gazed stonily at her. ‘No. It must have arrived after I left,’ he lied, realizing that she would have sent the telegram to the bank. ‘So where is he?’
‘In bed, fast asleep. I think he was quite exhausted. He said the stationmaster’s wife in Doncaster looked after him during the night and then he was put on the first train to Hull and a police constable was waiting for him at Brough station.’
‘I’ll have a few choice words with him in the morning,’ Charles muttered. ‘I’ve been chasing all over London trying to find him.’
‘Yes, you must have been just as worried as I was,’ Beatrix agreed. ‘He wouldn’t have thought about the concern he was causing us; he said he was sorry if we’d worried about him and that he wouldn’t do it again.’
‘I’ll make sure of that,’ Charles said grimly. ‘I’ve already had words with the headmaster. It won’t do his or the school’s reputation any good at all, allowing a small boy to run off. No supervision,’ he added. ‘Whoever was supposed to be in charge of him should be dismissed.
Ring for coffee,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ve had a very difficult journey.’
‘Of course. I’m so sorry.’ She put down her sewing and got up from her chair to press the bell, wondering why he hadn’t asked the maid who let him in to bring a pot.
The maid knocked and brought in a tray just a minute later, and Beatrix suppressed a smile of satisfaction that the staff were well trained enough to know to bring refreshments as soon as Mr Dawley arrived.
She waited until he had finished his second cup of coffee and had eaten the warm buttered scone before she asked, ‘What are we to do, Charles?’
He wiped his mouth of crumbs. ‘About what? Laurence?’
‘No,’ she murmured, ‘although the children are at the heart of it. I meant about us, you and me.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked brusquely.
‘About our life together; a life we don’t have. Can we resolve it somehow? Could I perhaps bring the children during the school holidays so we could spend some time together at your London house, as it seems that you are too busy to come here very often? We could visit the galleries, show them the parks and the gardens and the lovely houses – perhaps even—’
‘No,’ he barked. ‘The place isn’t big enough; it’s not a family house by any means.’
‘Oh!’ She was silent for a while, and then went on, ‘What if we stayed at my parents’ house? They wouldn’t mind at all and they’d love to see the children. My mother certainly would, and I could bring them to the bank to see where you worked,’ she continued, trying to rouse some enthusiasm when there was none forthcoming. ‘Laurie would be interested; he has a good head for figures, even though he’s a country boy at heart.’
Charles stared at her. She’s taking control, he thought. This was not part of my plan. I was going to give her an ultimatum and here she is stepping in and making suggestions before I’m prepared.
‘A bank isn’t a place for children,’ he said tersely, and it seemed as if to every suggestion she made Charles gave a negative answer. ‘They would disrupt the running of the bank. I do believe you are becoming neurotic – unstable – disturbed even – to mention such a ridiculous thing.’
She was silenced. There seemed to be nothing else to say. A great chasm lay between them. An abyss.
‘I suggest that I divorce you,’ he said at last, completely ignoring his friend Paul’s advice.
Beatrix was stunned. ‘What? Divorce me! But…? On what grounds?’
He took a deep breath, and then shrugged. ‘Adultery is the only possible cause.’
She put her hand to her throat. ‘How – how could you suggest – I have never been unfaithful. In spite of your rare visits and so many lonely days and nights there has never been – not – and with whom?’
‘Really, can I believe that?’ He gave a scornful grunt. ‘A rich and attractive young woman, ripe for the plucking—’
‘How dare you!’ She rose to her feet, furious. ‘Don’t be so coarse. Keep that kind of language for your male friends if you must; do not bring it here to this house where our children live.’
‘My children,’ he reminded her. ‘Don’t forget you have no rights over them. Well, yes, the younger ones at present, but Laurence, no, no rights at all. I can remove them and you from this house whenever I wish.’
‘Why? Why would you want to do that? I’ve brought them up with love and without your help; I have improved the estate since we married, made you more money than you ever had.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And have you thought of Laurence at all? He is heir to the estate. I think you should look at the Will again and you will find that you must leave it to him in a desirable condition. If you let it slide, the Will might be invalidated.’
She had no knowledge to support this statement; no proof that what she was saying was true, but neither did she think that Charles would have read the Will in its entirety.
He stood up and faced her, then suddenly grabbed her slim wrist. A wrist that he could span between his thumb and forefinger. He looked down at it. So fragile. He could snap it quite easily. He compared it with Maria’s. He couldn’t span hers.
‘We’ll sleep on it,’ he muttered. ‘I will take advice from my lawyers, but I see no way out of this impasse. I told you all those years ago that I wasn’t a farmer. I’m a city man, and as such I cannot spend time here.’
‘Then don’t,’ she said passionately. ‘Leave if you must and live your life as you think fit and I will run the estate for you and for Laurence and his brother and sister. Please don’t leave it in jeopardy. I’m begging you, Charles. Don’t do this.’
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
She didn’t sleep. She was on edge all night, listening for the sound of footfall; afraid that Charles might come to her room. She had left the door unlocked as always in case the children needed her during the night, as sometimes they did, padding from the room they still shared in three single beds, and she would often wake with one or the other climbing into bed with her. Or at times she would look into their room early in a morning and find them all in one bed; since Laurie had gone away to school this had happened frequently with Alicia and Ambrose.
But no one had come during the night and she was apprehensive that she had challenged Charles too far; given him an ultimatum that he would not condone. But what else can I do, she worried? I can’t divorce him; the law is against me and all women in a predicament like mine. She drew in a sob. Neither can I risk losing my children, for again the law is against me, despite Charles’s being an absent husband and father.
She wept into her pillow. I will apologize; ask him what he wants from me. She fell asleep again, an uneasy slumber in which she was constantly searching for children who were hiding from her.
She awoke at seven to a grey, overcast morning and a maid tapping on her bedroom door carrying a tray of tea and toast as usual.
‘Should I take a breakfast tray to Mr Dawley, ma’am?’ Ruby asked: yet another relation, a niece or a cousin of Cook’s family who was being trained by Mrs Gordon.
‘N-no,’ she said. ‘Let him sleep in. He had a long journey last night.’ She didn’t know why s
he should excuse her husband to anyone, let alone a young country maid, and yet she felt that she should. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll eat breakfast with the children this morning. They can come downstairs for a treat as their father is home.’
Except that he wasn’t. At nine o’clock, as breakfast was about to be cleared away, she asked Ruby to knock on his door and Aaron drove round to the back of the house with a note in his hand for Mrs Gordon to give to Mrs Dawley, which she was about to do just as Ruby appeared to say that Mr Dawley wasn’t in his room.
‘He’s probably been up since dawn and gone for a walk,’ Beatrix said excusingly, knowing that that was the very last thing Charles would think of doing.
Mrs Gordon waited until the maid had left the room before she handed the note to Beatrix. ‘Aaron is waiting, ma’am. He asked if he could have a word.’
‘Yes, of course. Laurie, would you and Alicia entertain Amby in the nursery for ten minutes, please?’
‘Yes, Mama; and then may I go outside? I’d like to see what’s been happening whilst I’ve been away.’ He chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. ‘Will I have to go back to London with Papa?’
‘Mm, not sure yet.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘Papa and I have to talk it over. Have a discussion, you know.’
He nodded, and ushered his siblings out of the room in a very grown-up manner.
Aaron came into the room and apologized for disturbing her at breakfast.
‘We’ve finished, thank you,’ she said. ‘Where have you been this morning?’
‘I – I took ’master to Brough railway station, ma’am. He came round to ’stables at about half past six. I’d washed ’trap and was brushing ’pony down ready for putting him out to grass when he came and said he needed me to drop him off at ’station. I said I didn’t think there was a train till eight, but he said he wanted to go anyway and he’d wait at ’station if necessary.’ He seemed anxious, she thought. ‘I had to wait with him, ma’am, as he said if there wasn’t a convenient train I’d have to drive him into Hull and he’d go by a different route, Leeds or York, he said. But there was one after all. Then he gave me this letter to give to you. But what I wanted to say, ma’am …’ He fidgeted, tapping his fingers together, and went on, ‘He seemed to be in a bit of a state, ma’am, and I wondered if mebbe he wasn’t well and I should have suggested that he came back here instead of travelling to London.’
Beatrix shook her head. ‘No, he had to get back, Aaron, but thank you for the kind thought. He only came because he wanted to be sure that Laurie had arrived home safely after his escapade.’
How easy it was to lie, she thought, to make up a fantasy just to save someone’s pride or self-esteem. But why would Aaron think that Charles was unwell? What had he been doing or saying to make Aaron so concerned, as if Charles would take any advice from a horse lad anyway?
She slit open the envelope when Aaron had left the room and read the letter. It was brief and to the point, and without any courteous address to her he had simply written in an uneven hand:
Beatrix. We have come to an impasse. I have had enough of your cold-hearted behaviour towards me and my children. I have left for London to consult with my lawyers who on my instructions will begin a lawsuit against you for divorce on the grounds of your adultery with other men. I will make preparations to remove the children as soon as I have made arrangements for their care.
Charles Neville Dawley.
Beatrix bent and put her head in her hands. She felt faint and sick and her mind was in a whirl. How could he say such a thing? How cruel. How shameful, when he knew it wasn’t true. Would the lawyers, the courts, believe him? Did he have to prove it, or did the courts, all men, simply accept it as fact because he said so?
And the children? Where would he take them? Who would look after them? Little Amby didn’t even know his father, hardly ever saw him, and Alicia … how could Charles look after a little girl?
Someone knocked on the door. She heard it open but she didn’t, couldn’t, lift her head.
‘Mrs Dawley, ma’am. Are you all right?’ It was Dora, faithful Dora who was not only a lady’s maid but a confidante too.
‘Ma’am? Are you unwell?’ She bent down to peer into Beatrix’s face and lifted her chin. ‘Ma’am,’ she murmured. ‘What is it?’
Beatrix simply pointed to the letter that had fallen to the floor. Dora picked it up, and glancing at her mistress began to read. In a moment she sank on to a dining chair; not something she would normally do. ‘He can’t do this. Surely he can’t.’
Beatrix lifted her head. ‘It seems he can do whatever he likes.’ Her voice was thick with unshed tears. ‘He can lie and scheme and say anything, and my children can be taken away from me – not all of them, only Laurie at present, not Alicia or Ambrose as they’re too young – unless …’ she hesitated, trying to recall what she had read of the Custody of Infants Act, ‘unless I am proved to have committed adultery.’
Dora breathed out a sigh. ‘That’s all right then,’ she said.
Beatrix turned to her. It was a relief to think someone trusted and believed her, but she shook her head and whispered, ‘I would still have to prove that I was innocent of the charge.’ She put her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. ‘What am I to do? The law leans towards the husband, and I have no money to put up a fight against him. Everything I have belongs to Charles; even the clothes on my back.’
‘I don’t know, ma’am. I’ve never known of such a thing.’ Dora hesitated, and then stammered, ‘It’s, erm – that is, I’m probably speaking out of turn, but I know – or think I know – something about Mr Dawley if it would help.’
Beatrix gave a wry grimace that turned into a sob. Servants always seemed to know more than one expected and it appeared that Dora would be no exception.
‘If you’re going to tell me that you’ve seen him with another woman on your occasional visits to London, Dora, no, it wouldn’t help at all.’ She cleared her throat. ‘If he was seeing any number of women it wouldn’t make the slightest difference; he can do whatever he likes, and according to the law of the land I cannot divorce him or do anything at all about it.’
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Charles sat with his arms crossed for most of the journey, glowering at anyone who made any attempt to come into his carriage when they stopped at a station. It was a slow journey, as there were many stops and two changes, and despite leaving so early it was almost three o’clock before the train pulled into King’s Cross.
‘I’m sick of this,’ he muttered aloud, and a couple looked at him and moved away. Sick of travelling up and down. He shoved his ticket at the guard, who tipped his hat and stepped back. I’m going to see my lawyer and I’ll find out what divorce will mean with regard to the Will if I decide to sell. She must be wrong. It’s too late. The estate is mine.
I will not have any woman telling me what I can or can’t do. Then the thought came into his head that if he took Laurence away from his mother he would have to make arrangements for someone else to look after him; the school wouldn’t keep him over the holidays.
Maria had already said no. Beatrix’s parents? No. That would mean Beatrix would have access to him. My parents? No! I wouldn’t let them look after a dog! Not that Mother would agree in any case. She doesn’t like children; she didn’t even like me or Anne, just thought us a nuisance.
Anne! He continued his contemplations. What about her? But no, she wouldn’t. I don’t know where she is, in any case; she took off in a hurry as soon as she received her inheritance, before anyone else got even a chance of a sniff at it.
He hopped on to a horse bus. Had he change? No, he hadn’t. He hopped off again and was nearly run down by a cabriolet. He shook his fist at the driver and set off walking again, turning round every few steps to look for an empty cab. Those drivers always had change though they often were unwilling to give it.
He kept on walking, his temper worsening. So, it has to be Maria. Never mind that
she doesn’t know anything about children; that’s a lie, he decided. She has brothers and sisters; she comes from a large family – ah! Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like them. Well hard luck, Maria, you’re going to have to get used to them.
It might take time, of course, for everything to be completed; can I take the children away before the divorce? That might be inconvenient, especially with three of them. Could they attend nursery school, or would I have to employ a nanny? Perhaps it would be easier to only take Laurence.
Thoughts rolled around in his head like a bouncing ball but he reached no conclusion and his irritation increased.
He was nearly home; two more streets and he was there. He looked ahead. Two women in front, their gowns brightly coloured, both wearing gaudy shawls over their jackets. Maria? Yes, probably, and Bianca? He heard them laughing. Jolly laughter as if they had heard something funny; happy laughter as if they hadn’t a care, which they probably hadn’t.
He didn’t know Bianca well; she was the younger and to begin with he had been pleased as he thought she would be a good companion for Maria, but then he began wondering if Maria gave her money. She was inclined to be very generous, which he resented – it was his money, after all – although he didn’t mind so much when he married Beatrix, as having Bianca to fill in the gaps and keep Maria entertained was very convenient.
But now he narrowed his eyes; they had been having a good time. They were both carrying parcels. Shopping, he thought; spending my money.
The two women parted company at the top of the street, bidding each other extravagant goodbyes. ‘Adios, nos vemos pronto.’
What was that? Goodbye … erm, see you soon, I think. In spite of knowing Maria so long, he had never mastered her language. His temper didn’t abate. If she had been out shopping there would be no food ready and he was hungry, having missed breakfast and only managing to buy a small cake when he had changed trains.
