Sandringham Rose

by Mary Mackie

  ‘Of course he’ll come home,’ I consoled. ‘He always does.’

  Her face contorted as her agony returned and fresh fits of sobbing shook her. A bony hand came out and fastened painfully in the flesh of my upper arm. ‘I must have my medicine! I must, Rose! I need my rest!’

  I tried to loosen her grasp. ‘Please let go. You’re hurting me.’

  At that she released me and threw her hand over her eyes to hide the flow of more tears. As I rubbed my sore arm, she muttered, ‘I’m hurting, too. I hurt all the time, knowing he doesn’t want me. He never wanted me, Rose. He married me because he pitied me. And even then I failed him.’

  ‘Mama—’

  ‘I did. I did! You mustn’t blame him, Rose. It was my fault! Oh, dear God, how can I go on bearing it, year after year? Rose. Rose! Help me! I must have some sleep or I shall go mad.’

  Because I feared that I was partly to blame for this, because of diluting her opiate, I mixed another thin draught of it and helped her take it. She drank it down as greedily as if it were the first liquid she had tasted in days. The mere taste of it seemed to calm her.

  The breeze through the window caught the small flame in the lamp and, the oil being low, snuffed it out, leaving only the faint dawn light creeping grey into the room. I sat with Mama, holding her hand, hearing her breathing grow more even as her distress faded and she lay watching me with agony in her eyes.

  ‘I tried so hard,’ she croaked. ‘I tried to be a good wife, even though…’ Her fingers tightened on mine as she added in a voice choked with distaste, ‘Marriage has its dark side, Rose. Men… men have needs and desires. Animal desires. Do you know what that means?’

  ‘Yes, I believe so.’

  Her nails bit urgently into my flesh. ‘I thought so, too. But nothing had prepared me for the reality. I could not believe that such… Oh, I cannot describe it to you, I haven’t the words. You cannot possibly know what a wife must endure.’

  Dear innocent Mama. If ever she had suspected the reasons for my disgrace, she had long ago sealed them off from her conscious mind.

  More tears welled in her eyes and dripped over to run in rivulets down her face. In a small, breathy voice cracked with despair, she said, ‘I wanted so much to give your father another son. But after Grace came, every time I conceived, after a few months the pains would start. So much pain, Rose. So much blood. Every time, I thought I must surely die! And then, when again it happened, when I started with Johnny… I lived nine months of fear. Terrified of losing the baby. Terrified of dying – as your mother did. And then the birth…’ Remembering, she writhed and laid a hand on her stomach. ‘I gave your father his son. But I couldn’t have gone through that agony again. I couldn’t, Rose! I had to deny him my bed, didn’t I?’

  Horrified as I was to be offered such intimate secrets, yet pity surged through me – pity for them both. I glanced at the yawning darkness that was the open doorway to the dressing-room on whose couch, I guessed, my father usually slept.

  ‘You mean you haven’t…’ I could hardly frame the shocking words, ‘you haven’t lived as man and wife since…’

  ‘Since before Johnny was born.’

  How had I gone through life without realising that so much was wrong between my parents?

  ‘Only Narnie knew,’ Mama said, and her lips formed a strange little twisted smile. ‘I tell Narnie everything. I always have. I need someone to talk to. Someone who will listen to me. He won’t. He never would.’ As she stared at me, fresh tears formed in her eyes and she thrust the back of her hand against her mouth, saying unclearly, ‘Oh, Rose! Does he talk to her? Does he? This woman… this whore—’

  A tiny sound made me turn and straighten, seeing Father standing in the doorway, one arm braced against the jamb. I had the impression he had been there for some time. He looked tired, his body drooping, his clothes creased, his hair dishevelled. In his still face his eyes glinted as they rested on me without expression.

  I heard Mama catch her breath. ‘Dear God!’ she whispered. ‘Will! I didn’t mean… Oh, dear God. Oh, dear sweet God!’

  Five

  His voice low and even, Father said, ‘Leave us, Rose.’

  ‘No!’ With a high yelp of panic, Mama caught my hand and held on, digging her nails into my flesh, crushing the bones of my fingers together. She pulled herself over in the bed, so that she was behind me, out of Father’s sight.

  I stood between them, facing my father, feeling that I must defend Mama. ‘She’s sick. She’s delirious. I tried to tell you—’

  ‘That’s right!’ Mama breathed. ‘That’s right, I don’t mean it. I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just… I’m frightened, when I’m alone. I shouldn’t have listened to wicked gossip. I’m sorry, Will. I’m sorry. It was Narnie. Narnie told me.’ She sounded like a child, terrified of a beating, telling tales to deflect a parent’s anger.

  Father’s thin brown face hardly changed, but all at once disgust was written clear amid his weariness. ‘Dear Narnie,’ he said softly. ‘Dear, good old Narnie. The serpent in my Eden. Working against me, poisoning my wife’s mind.’

  My hand was going numb from the grip Mama had on it. She huddled on the bed behind me, sobbing and muttering to herself. Afraid for her, I said, ‘Father, please… Not now.’

  ‘Then what is it she wants of me? A divorce? Is that it?’

  ‘No!’ Mama whispered, clinging even more tightly, her legs drawn up as if she were in agony. She rubbed her face hard against my hand and I felt the warm flow of her tears on my skin. ‘Don’t let him leave me, Rose. I can’t bear that. Anything! I’ll do anything.’

  Two strides brought Father within inches of me, glaring into my face. ‘Get out of my way, Rose.’

  I held my ground, though I was shaking. ‘You’re not to hurt her.’

  ‘What do you take me for?’ He thrust me aside. The force of it pulled Mama, still holding tightly to my hand, half out of the bed. I sprawled to the floor, jarring my hip and the wrist I landed on.

  As I righted myself, rubbing my strained wrist with a hand that tingled as blood flowed back to it, Father helped a weeping Mama back into bed. His solicitude was strangely at odds with his recent temper. He drew the covers around her and sat beside her, stroking the damp hair from her face, saying in concern, ‘Flora…’

  ‘Only don’t leave me!’ she wept. ‘Only don’t leave me, Will. I can’t lose you. I need you. I need you!’ Taking his hand, she drew it to her lips and kissed it fervently, in an agony of love and despair that was painful to watch.

  Father turned his head, looking over his shoulder at me. ‘You can go back to your room now, Rose. I’ll look after your mama.’

  * * *

  In the morning, Father gave me a letter to take to the post office in Dersingham. ‘See that it’s posted,’ he said. ‘See to it yourself, don’t trust it to one of the servants.’

  The letter was addressed, in Mama’s hand, to Narnie at her sister’s home in Northumberland. Judging by the ill-formed, spidery writing, it had been written in distress.

  I hurried upstairs and found Mama at her dressing-table, listlessly brushing her hair. She gave me a tired smile.

  ‘Rose… My dear, I was having such bad dreams in the night. I don’t know what I said. You must discount it, whatever it was. I was not myself. All is well now. Your father and I… we have come to an understanding. I feel so much happier. Yes, much happier.’

  ‘Then I’m glad.’

  Through the mirror, she managed another tremulous smile, though panic peered from behind her eyes. ‘I do wish dear Grace were here. I miss her. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her… You see, Rose, your father… your father and I have decided that that it’s time for Narnie to retire.’

  I caught my breath. Narnie was to leave us? Was that the price my father had exacted?

  ‘We’re going to find her a cottage,’ Mama added, ‘though she may prefer to stay with her sister, in the north. What do you think?’
<
br />   ‘Oh, Mama…’ Awkwardly, I rubbed her shoulder, feeling the bones beneath thin flesh. ‘Narnie won’t desert you. I’m sure she won’t.’ I was sure of nothing. Being summarily dismissed after forty-odd years of dedication, Narnie might easily decide to take umbrage and stay away. ‘Oh… how can Father do this to you? I don’t understand him!’

  She laid her hand over mine, watching me through the mirror. ‘It’s all right, Rose. I don’t mind, really I don’t. If it means he will be happy… He’s right, anyway – Narnie is growing old. She deserves a rest. Besides, with the farm doing well, we can afford a proper lady’s maid. Your father has promised to advertise at once for a suitable person. Won’t Grace be pleased! But for now… would you mind?’

  Knowing the futility of trying to talk to her, I took the hairbrush and began to stroke it through soft dark hair in which thick threads of grey were showing.

  * * *

  Only two days later, I came in from exercising Dandy to be informed by Howlett that the carrier’s cart had arrived, and with it Narnie, returning from her stay in Northumberland. She had started on her journey before the letter could have reached her.

  ‘She’s in the parlour with the missus,’ Howlett said.

  Mama was on the sofa, her hands clasped at her lips, staring over them with tear-bright eyes at the rigid figure standing framed by the lace curtains at the window. Evidently the awkward news had been told.

  Narnie looked grim. She was still dressed in her travelling outfit of black and grey, her figure made broader by a cape that trailed down to meet crinolined skirts, her grey kid gloves – a present from Mama – in her hand. She drew them slowly through her fingers as she glanced at me, her mouth set in angry lines that I knew well.

  ‘So this is my thanks for all the years of faithful service,’ she said. ‘Soon’s my back’s turned, you set my Miss Flora against me.’

  ‘Narnie…’ Mama croaked. ‘Don’t blame Rose.’

  ‘Why not? Did she speak up for me? Well, did she?’ Regarding me balefully, she took a step towards me. ‘After all I’ve done—’

  ‘Please,’ I broke in, afraid that some indiscreet word might betray things I had hoped forgotten. ‘I know you’re upset, Narnie, but it will be for the best. We’ll look after you, I promise. There’ll be a cottage, and an allowance. I’ll bring Mama to visit you, frequently, and you can come here to see us.’

  ‘I wouldn’t set foot in this house again if the devil were after me with a red-hot poker,’ she said, and stumped towards the door.

  ‘You’re not leaving?’ Mama cried.

  Narnie looked round. ‘No, my lamb, not yet. Never you fear, Narnie’ll be here for a while. I’ve my things to pack, and there’s a cottage to be found. Or will he throw me out on the street?’

  ‘Of course he won’t!’ But, fearing that he might, she added defiantly, ‘I shan’t let him!’

  ‘Calm yourself, my lamb,’ the old woman soothed. ‘Narnie won’t be deserting you yet awhile.’ With a look at me that bade me follow her, she made for the door.

  In the hallway, with the parlour door closed so that Mama couldn’t hear, she turned on me. ‘What’ve you been doing to her? She’s sick. Anybody can see that.’

  After her long journey she smelled unclean, of sweat and elderly flesh, and for the first time I noticed the liver spots that were beginning to show on her brow and on the hands that still toyed with her gloves. Her deep-set eyes fixed on my face in a stare as hard as stone.

  Narnie’s stare had often unsettled me, turning me to jelly inside despite my outer defiance. Now, for the first time, I saw her as a helpless old woman, a servant, reliant on my father for her existence. Beneath her bluster, she was afraid of being cast out to loneliness.

  ‘Mama’s distressed because she’s losing you, that’s all,’ I said. ‘Don’t make it worse, Narnie. If you care for her—’

  ‘Care!’ she spat. ‘I’ve cared for her all her life, since she was a tiny scrap of a thing, all great brown eyes and baby softness. I’ve cared for her more than you can ever understand.’

  ‘I know that,’ I said.

  ‘You know nothing! Miss Flora looks worn out. If Miss Grace had been here, it would have been different, but you… All you ever think about is yourself. Have you been taking proper care of her? Seeing she takes her medicine? Or has she been lying awake, exhausting herself?’

  My temper snapped. ‘That “medicine” was destroying her. Don’t you realise that? She hasn’t been sick, she’s been unhappy. You were helping her to kill herself.’

  Narnie paled, her mouth working in a fury of real distress. ‘That’s a wicked thing to say. I’d never hurt my Miss Flora. Never in this world. She’s all I’ve ever cared about. How dare you say—’

  ‘I don’t doubt you were doing it for the best. But you were acting in ignorance, Narnie. Laudanum, and all drugs of that kind—’

  ‘Ignorance!’ she spluttered. ‘Well, that’s a fine word to throw at an old woman that hasn’t had the education you’ve been allowed, young lady. I’ll have you remember it was this ignorant old woman who taught you how to dress yourself. Who stood for hours doing your hair? Who fretted over you, trying to make you into a young lady when all you wanted was to be a hobbledehoy? And when you finally went and disgraced yourself, who was it held her tongue and kept her counsel?’

  Casting a glance at the door to the rear passageway, I grasped her arm and drew her further away, for fear the servants might hear. ‘We were talking about Mama. Narnie… she’s unhappy because things are not as they should be between her and Father. He seems to blame you for it. So you must help her by leaving without fuss.’

  ‘And what’s your precious father going to do to make her happy?’ she raged. ‘Force himself upon her again? She always hated that side of it. But he never cared what she was feeling. He never cared for anybody. Except your mother, God rest her. No mortal woman could hope to take Hester Colworth’s place. How d’you think it’s been for my Miss Flora all these years, having to live with another woman’s portrait in pride of place over her mantel? It’s broken her heart, but does he care? Not he! Oh, yes, he’ll get rid of me, and gladly. He’s been looking for an excuse for long enough. And if it kills Miss Flora, well, that’s probably just what he’s hoping for. If she were dead he could marry his fancy woman!’

  I was so angry I wanted to hit her. ‘Don’t try your lies on me! I know my father. He would never—’

  ‘Wouldn’t he?’ Her face pinched into ugliness. ‘Little you know! He was never good enough for my Miss Flora. But she was in despair after the squire died and left her penniless, and she had the misfortune to be in love with the only man who offered for her. Oh yes, she loved him, if ever woman loved man. Loved him so much that she gave up the life she was born to and agreed to be the wife of a common farmer. She should have wed a gentleman of means, that she should. But she loved your father. She couldn’t see that he never felt anything for her beyond pity – and fleshly, filthy pleasuring.’

  ‘That’s not so!’ I denied.

  ‘Of course it’s so!’ She shook her gloves at me in a bunched fist. ‘She was young and alone and he needed a mother for his children, and a woman for his bed. He used her until she was worn out, and when she was too frightened to let him use her any more, when she asked him to be patient, what did he do? He went and got himself a more willing vessel to be used at his pleasure and convenience. That’s the way men are. Haven’t you learned that?’

  I found myself shaking, my hands clenched in my skirts, my heart so unsteady that its loud thudding in my ears made me feel ill. No wonder Mama had been terrified of the marriage bed, with this twisted old woman as her only guide. Father had been right. ‘You hate him. You really hate him.’

  ‘He earned my hatred for the way he treated Miss Flora. She was brought up sheltered, nurtured like a tender flower by her dear father, and by me. Why, we’d both have died sooner than see her hurt. And then along comes Will Hamilton, when she was mo
st helpless…’

  ‘He gave her a home. He gave her his protection. Without it, she’d have had nothing – and neither would you, Narnie. Don’t you owe him some small loyalty?’

  ‘I owe him nothing but contempt!’ she spat. ‘That’s what he’s earned, for turning my sweet young lady into a sick and sad woman.’

  ‘And haven’t you played your own part in that? Haven’t you worked on her, trying to turn her against him? It was you who told her there was another woman, putting fears into her head so that—’

  A bitter laugh cut me off. ‘You think I made it up?’

  As I glanced again at the baize door to the rear passage, Narnie grasped my arm and swung me round, saying maliciously, ‘Don’t fret who may be listening, Miss Rose. This isn’t news to the servants. Everyone knows about Will Hamilton and the widow Stead. Everyone!’

  Disquiet pricked my skin and brought sweat out on my palms. If this ‘other woman’ had a name…

  Her nostrils flared as she glared at me from under drawn brows, saying in a low, steady voice, ‘She lives in King’s Lynn, on St James Street, not far from the Walks. Stead is her name – Jane Stead. She was widowed by the war in the Crimea. She takes in sewing for a living. And every Tuesday market day she takes in your father for—’

  ‘No!’ The low gasp made us both look round. Mama was leaning weakly in the parlour doorway, her face ashen as she clung to the jamb. ‘How could you, Narnie! I didn’t want the children to know. You knew I didn’t want them to know!’ A trembling hand stretched out as she came unsteadily towards me. ‘You mustn’t blame him, Rose. It was my fault. I drove him to find consolation elsewhere. But he won’t see her any more. He has promised me. It was a part of our bargain. Oh, Rose, don’t think badly of him. Don’t…’

  Before I could reach her, she crumpled to the floor.