by Val Wood
He was free and she was shown into his study, where on introduction he said how very nice it was to meet her and asked if he might offer her refreshments, which she declined.
‘Are you well now, Mrs Dawley? Restored to good health? And how is young Laurence?’
‘Laurence is very well, thank you, and is here with me in London, but as for me, I have been lucky enough to have always enjoyed good health, especially since living in the country.’ She gazed at him and thought him a very pleasant and personable man. But he seemed puzzled. ‘Have you been told otherwise?’
‘A misunderstanding, I’m sure,’ he said evasively, and sat down again. He seemed rather embarrassed, but then asked, ‘Can we expect the pleasure of having Laurence back with us?’
She was completely thrown. She had been sure that she would find harshness and bleakness here, but there appeared to be neither. Yet Charles had hated it, even though he had wanted Laurie to come. Why?
‘I think I will have a cup of tea after all, Mr Robinson-Gough,’ she said. ‘I have several things to discuss.’
‘Gough will do, Mrs Dawley.’ He smiled. ‘Robinson-Gough is rather a forkful to swallow, I admit.’ He shook the bell on his desk and she relaxed.
She told him of Charles’s sudden death, and that she had come to London only the day before completely unaware of it. He was stunned and shocked and offered his condolences; he told her that although Charles had been an old boy of the school he hadn’t known him himself, but his brother Stephen had been in the same year. He didn’t think they were close friends, but Stephen had once visited the Yorkshire estate at Charles’s invitation, along with several other students.
‘Stephen has always had an enquiring mind,’ he said. ‘He hadn’t been to Yorkshire before and that was possibly why he accepted the offer.’ He hesitated slightly before adding that his brother had been captivated by the county and had made subsequent visits. ‘So much so,’ he added, ‘that he married into a Yorkshire family and subsequently set up a law practice in York. He specializes in property and estate matters and the custody of children; he was most impressed by Mrs Caroline Norton’s writing. No doubt you have heard of her?’
Beatrix nodded, and breathed in; a subject close to her heart, of which she now had no need. ‘You must give me his details, Mr Gough.’
They parted company with Beatrix saying that she would consider sending Laurie back to the Hampstead school; but not yet, she said. ‘We must get over this dark period in our lives, and for the present I wish to keep my children close by my side.’
Dora was waiting on a small sofa in the hall, having been offered tea and biscuits, and dipped her knee as the headmaster escorted Beatrix out.
‘One more call, Dora,’ Beatrix told her as they walked towards the cab and its driver, who was sitting on a wall patiently waiting, ‘and I might need your help with finding an address somewhere close to Judd Street.’
Dora looked up so sharply that Beatrix marked it. ‘What?’ she asked once the carriage moved off. ‘Do you know it?’
‘My mother lives at the bottom end, ma’am. I cut through from Judd Street when I go to visit her.’
‘Is that the way we went when I visited her with you all those years ago?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Dora mumbled. ‘It is.’
When they got to the top of the street, the cab driver slowed and Dora pulled down the window to give him directions. ‘It’s this end,’ she told Beatrix. ‘The better end. My ma lives at the other end.’
How does Dora know where I’m going? She knows something, but she’s keeping it to herself.
Dora knocked on the roof and the driver slowed the horse; she opened the door and helped Beatrix down, calling to the driver to wait.
‘It’s a little further on, ma’am.’ Dora’s face was white.
‘You saw him, Dora? You saw my husband here?’
Dora hung her head. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she whispered. ‘And someone else.’
She opened a gate to one of the terraced houses; the path led through a small patch of garden with a few rose bushes and shrubs of lavender and bay and pots of herbs. The door was closed.
‘I’m going inside, Dora. I have Charles’s key.’ Beatrix opened her palm to show her the iron key. ‘It was given to me at the police station. Sit in the carriage if you wish.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Dora turned and went back to wait.
There was no need of the key. The door was not locked and Beatrix stepped quietly inside. There was a smell of beeswax and lavender and something else, faintly exotic. She looked up the narrow staircase and saw that the stair carpet was well brushed; she opened the door into what she thought would be the parlour and saw a bright fire burning and brasses gleaming by the fire. Two small sofas had silk shawls draped over the backs and soft plump cushions.
She listened. She could hear a clattering of dishes coming from a door at the other end of the room and a voice. She listened but couldn’t hear the words, and pushed open the door and saw a woman, much older than her, with a mass of dark hair streaked with white, and her hands in a bowl of soapy water.
She turned and they looked at one another and Beatrix, with a catch in her throat, said, ‘Maria?’
‘Si.’ She dried her hands on a towel. ‘M-Mrs Dawley? I am – I am cleaning the ’ouse for you. I – I have a key. I will give it back when I finish.’
Beatrix saw a slow trickle of tears running down Maria’s face. She knows about Charles. Do they – did they live here together?
‘May I sit down?’ Beatrix went back into the parlour and sat down anyway, and Maria followed her. The enormity of what had happened suddenly hit her and she bent her head: so this is the other woman in Charles’s life. She looked up. ‘Is someone here with you? I thought I heard someone talking.’
Maria shook her head and patted her chest. ‘I – I was talking.’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘I clean my kitchen and talk to Charles. I ask him – I ask him why we quarrel? Why was he angry with me?’ She choked back a sob. ‘He want me to look after his children – your children – and I say no, I cannot.’
She sat down on the opposite sofa. ‘He fell,’ she said. ‘He hit me when I say no, and I hit him back and he fell over.’ She pointed to the mantelpiece. ‘He fell and hit his head.’ She began to sob. ‘I try to help him.’ She held her hands palms uppermost and looked at them, bending her fingers. ‘There was blood. I wash it off but he had gone; so quick,’ she whispered. ‘I never think that death come so fast.’
Tears ran swiftly down her cheeks and overflowed down her chin and her neck and she brought out a handkerchief to pat them away, a handkerchief with a red flower embroidered on it.
So it was hers; Beatrix thought, but she doesn’t seem to have the guile to think of planting it in Charles’s pocket. So him then, to torment me? Or simply by chance? And so perhaps after all she was the only one?
‘How long – how long have – have – had you known Charles?’
‘Oh, a long long time. He was just a boy. He finish at university and come to Madrid for ’oliday with ’is friend for a good time.’ She wiped the tears which flooded her eyes. ‘I was what you call sirvienta – a maid in hotel. I was very unhappy and he made me smile.’ She gave a watery smile. ‘Then he come back, he look for me and bring me to England. He was good to me.’
Her face creased and she looked very sad. ‘He say to me that it was our house. Mine and his, but then he change his mind and said it was not mine, that it was his. He say that women cannot have houses.’
Beatrix nodded. Her relief that Maria had been the only other woman was profound. ‘He was right. There are rules. It’s the same for all women. But sometimes …’ She had a sudden thought. Maria has been faithful to him all these years and what is she left with? Nothing. It’s the same for me. Old Stone Hall is not mine. It belongs to my eight-year-old son. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘the rules can be changed.’
She got up to leave. ‘Maria, Charles’s funeral will be h
eld very shortly. Will you stay in the house until then and take care of it? Keep it safe, and then I will come back and talk to you again. Please?’
Maria nodded, her face awash with tears. ‘I will stay until you come. I clean it for you and I will remember Charles. My dearest love.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Early the following morning, Beatrix dressed in the black gown to travel back to Yorkshire, and as she did so she realized her life would be changing once more.
When she came down to breakfast, the children were already eating theirs and were dressed ready for the journey. Laurie looked at her, and putting his head on one side asked, ‘Why are you wearing that strange gown, Mama? I don’t like it very much.’
‘I don’t either,’ Alicia said. ‘I like your blue one best.’
‘I like it, Mama,’ Amby said contrarily.
Beatrix sat down at the table with them. ‘Well, first of all, Laurie,’ she said, ‘it is not polite to comment on ladies’ apparel, so I’d like you to remember that.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t like it very much either, but your grandmama has very kindly loaned it to me for this particular time, which I will explain just as soon as I’ve had my cup of coffee.’
‘Sorry, Mama.’ Laurie hung his head. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘I didn’t mean to be either,’ Alicia piped up. ‘But I still like the blue one best.’
Beatrix hid a wan smile; this was meant to be a serious time, and the children had to be taught. She drank half her coffee. She didn’t want anything to eat. Her appetite had disappeared.
‘There’s a reason why I’m dressed in this way,’ she began, ‘and I want you to sit very still and listen whilst I tell you what has happened and why we are going home again today.’
She told them only that their father had had an accident from which he hadn’t recovered and had died. The children sat quietly, as she had told them to, and only Laurie asked a question when she finished speaking.
‘Does that mean I won’t have to go back to school?’
‘You will have to go to school, but I haven’t yet decided where. Perhaps you would like to come to the Hampstead school when you are older and spend the weekends here with Grandpapa and Grandmama?
Laurie nodded his head. ‘Yes, that would be all right,’ he said brightly. ‘There’s a wooden board in the Grand Hall and there are quite a lot of Dawleys on it.’
‘Are there?’ she asked. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Yes. Papa is on it and Grandpapa Alfred and some others, someone called Neville and – I can’t remember any more.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘I’d quite like my name on it.’
‘Come here,’ she said, and put out her arms to give him a hug. ‘We’ve plenty of time to consider.’
‘I want to as well,’ Amby butted in. He always wanted to be the same as his brother and sister even if he didn’t always know why, and so he and Alicia had a hug too.
As they dressed in their outdoor clothes, Dora came in carrying black armbands for the children to wear on the sleeves of their coats. ‘Look,’ she said, and showed them her sleeve, also with a black band.
‘Oh! I’d like one on mine, please,’ Alicia said. ‘Laurie and Amby can have them too, and then we’ll all be the same.’
Beatrix kissed her mother goodbye and told her she’d see her the next day; her father was travelling with them and would escort her on the return journey. Her mother remarked that Beatrix would be worn out with all the toing and froing, but Beatrix claimed that she wouldn’t be. She asked Dora if she would like to return to London with her the following day and visit her mother; she said that she would and asked if she might be permitted to attend the funeral. Beatrix agreed at once – she would be glad of Dora’s support.
‘Papa,’ Beatrix murmured to her father when they were alone, ‘when we return tomorrow, would you seek out or write to Charles’s father and tell him that I don’t want too much ostentation at the funeral? No plumes on the horses, or long scarves on the mutes. Charles wouldn’t like it and neither do I and there is no one we wish to impress.’ Her father raised his shaggy eyebrows and said that it might be too late for that, but Beatrix insisted. ‘We’ve several days yet before the ceremony. Time enough for him to cancel instructions if he has already issued them.’
They caught an early train, and as they travelled homewards Beatrix made numerous notes, but uppermost in her mind was the need to speak to Charles’s solicitor regarding his Will, and what was to happen about Laurie and the future of the estate.
It was an odd homecoming, with much to plan. First of all Beatrix asked Mrs Gordon to come to the study; the housekeeper had of course guessed that there had been a death on seeing Beatrix arrive in mourning dress, but not that it was Mr Dawley who had died. She offered her sincere sympathies and said that she would inform the other servants.
‘I’m returning to London tomorrow and leaving you in charge of the household, Mrs Gordon. I will be away for a few days, at least until after the funeral service, but I will come home as soon as I can. Would you ask Aaron to come in, please, and I’ll send a note to Mrs Newby and her husband. They’ve known my husband since he was a boy.’
She knew that Mags, on a word from her, would send the news around the district. She would also write a note to her friend Rosetta so that she and her parents would know the circumstances that would preclude her from socializing until the mourning period was over.
Mrs Gordon assured her that she need not worry about the household or the children, and within no time at all all the servants were wearing black armbands. Beatrix spoke to the nursery maid and gave her strict instructions about the children, and told her that she must speak to Mrs Gordon if she had any worries.
Within half an hour of Aaron’s departure on his errand, Mags appeared at Beatrix’s door in tears and wearing a black shawl. ‘I’m so sorry, ma’am. So very sorry for your loss. I wish he had been here with us and not in London; his passing might have been easier on you.’
Beatrix thought of the desolate Maria and how much worse it would have been for her if Charles had died elsewhere. Then she thought that if Charles had been at home with them he wouldn’t have died. At least now, with what I have in mind, Maria above all others will have fond and loving memories of him. I have so very few; I cannot claim to have more, for it would be an untruth.
She took a deep breath which she hoped Mags, sitting across from her, would think was one of sorrow, but was in fact a sense of reprieve that her children would now be safe in her hands. I did not wish for Charles’s death; never would I wish that for anyone. She felt choked with tears and regret, and wondered if his death would have been bearable if there had been love in their lives to remember, rather than strife.
Mags stood up to leave. ‘I’ve told Mr Newby,’ she said. ‘He is not able to come himself, but he sends his condolences. I’ve told Edward too, and that you are leaving for London again tomorrow. I’ll look in on the children if you’d like me to?’
‘Thank you, dear Mags. I would like that. It is such a comfort to know that you are near at hand and that you feel real sorrow at this sad time.’
‘It’s time to put away hard feelings, ma’am.’ Mags wiped her eyes on the corner of her shawl. ‘Should mebbe have been done with many years ago, but some old memories tend to linger, I’m afraid. God bless you, Mrs Dawley, and your bairns.’
She let herself out of the room, leaving Beatrix wondering what she was actually referring to.
Dusk was gathering as Beatrix opened the front door, stepped outside and went down the steps. Bats were swooping across the front lawn and she looked up as a skein of geese honked and whistled as they flew down the route of the estuary, making a dark V formation in the evening sky.
The children were in bed, tired after their early morning travelling, and Beatrix, tired and emptied out with shock and melancholy, felt the need of solitude and cool evening air on her skin to ease a lingering headache. She was wearing a white cotton cap as wa
s the custom for widows when indoors; preferable, she thought, to the black bonnet and veil that she had worn on their journey.
She heard the rattle of wheels on the gravel and turned. Who was calling at this hour?
Edward was driving the trap and Hallam was with him. Both men got out and each put his hands to his chest.
Edward spoke first. ‘It’s late, ma’am, but I understand you are leaving again in the morning, and I – we – wanted to give you our deepest condolences on hearing of Ch— the loss of your husband.’
She nodded her thanks; his manner was formal and he could almost have been a stranger offering his sympathy, apart from that little slip of the tongue over Charles’s name. Then Hallam said almost the same thing, except for using ‘Mr Dawley’, and assuring her that everything would continue as usual in her absence.
Beatrix made an appropriate reply, and to her surprise Hallam went on to ask if it would be permissible to call at the kitchen door to have a word with Miss Dora. She saw the uncertainty on his face as he said, ‘I thought that perhaps she’d be travelling back with you to London, ma’am.’ A faint blush caught his already ruddy complexion.
‘She is,’ she said, ‘but if you’re quick’ – she pointed over her shoulder to the front door – ‘you will find her downstairs in the sitting room.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ With a quick bow, he ran up the steps and opened the front door.
She turned to Edward. ‘Have we a burgeoning romance here?’
He smiled briefly. ‘Yes, I’m sure so.’
‘I won’t know whether to be glad or sorry,’ she said softly. ‘I would be lost without her. She came as a maid to my parents’ house when she was fourteen. I’d forgotten she’s only about four years younger than I am.’
‘What happened?’ he asked quietly. ‘To Charles.’
She swallowed. No one else had asked about the circumstances. ‘An accident. He caught his heel on a rucked carpet and fell backwards and hit his head on the mantelpiece.’ She heaved a breath and put her hand to her throat as she embroidered the detail. ‘It was instantaneous.’
