by Maggie Ford
Suddenly Florrie’s laughter faded. She grew serious. ‘If the mistress was to find out what you’ve been up to, she’d send you away like a shot, much less get me a decent mattress.’
Ellie too stopped laughing to frown. ‘What do you mean – what I’ve been up to?’
‘You and that tutor.’
As Ellie stared, completely taken aback, she went on, ‘Mrs Jenkins knows about it. It was one evening when she couldn’t sleep, she thought she ’eard a noise in the kitchen. She said she went to investigate and saw you and him outside the back door, him with his arms around you, and you was both kissing. She said she felt she had to tell the master.’
‘What she needs to do is mind her own business!’ Ellie blustered, ‘prying into my affairs. I’m nothing to do with her any more.’ But her heart was racing.
He knew. He must have known for ages then, and had said nothing. It brought sudden goose pimples to her flesh. Surely, if he had been at ease with it he would have mentioned to her what he’d been told, but his having kept it to himself gave a feeling of menace, showing a side to him she had never suspected.
Had he spoken of misgivings about her and Michael’s developing relationship, it would at least have been honest; but concealing what he’d been told… All the attention he had been showering on her, all this kindness, and all the time he’d probably been watching her like a hawk.
She hadn’t truly realized how far he was eaten up with this obsession he had for her. Now she had no idea where she stood and her plans to leave, which had once seemed so simple and easy, suddenly made her wonder.
Seventeen
‘I am thinking, my dear, it may be time to find you another tutor – one who can teach you so much more than you are learning at present.’
His tone was kind, his smile gentle, but Ellie was ready for him. ‘Mr Deel is a very good teacher,’ she said, trying not to sound too anxious.
‘Maybe,’ came the mild reply, ‘as far as his abilities go. What you really need now is professional tutoring. There is many a fine art academy here in London, in Paris, Milan. With your exceptional talent any one of them will accept you. You could be a great artist at the end of it.’
He was warming to his subject. ‘Think of it, my dear: to be considered among today’s great painters. And I shall be there for you, to fund you, so you’ll have no worry on that score. All you have to do is dedicate yourself to art. No, I fear Michael Deel cannot do that for you.’
‘He still has a lot to teach me before then.’ She had to be careful how she chose her words. ‘And he charges you no fees, and he likes coming.’
She stopped. It was the wrong thing to have said. Of course he didn’t charge fees and of course he liked coming here. And why? The answer stood out like a beacon.
‘Any other tutor would be ever so expensive,’ she said hurriedly. ‘And I don’t really warrant all that outlay. If I was really gifted then—’
‘I consider you are.’ His easy smile had vanished. ‘Exceedingly so.’
‘No, I’m not!’ For all her efforts she couldn’t help the sharp outburst. His false concern for her made her angry. ‘I’m just a bit better than some, that’s all. It’s only you who think I’m some sort of genius with a paintbrush. Well I’m not! There’s ’undreds and ’undreds of people can paint like me.’
In fear and anger she forgot for a moment what she’d been taught. She saw him frown and realized that this wasn’t the way to go. ‘I’m just an ordinary person, that’s all I am,’ she ended on a note of entreaty.
Was this his plan – to send her to some college of art, miles away, far enough away to make it impossible for her to see Michael – somewhere like Milan, in Italy? Beneath this mild mien of his there beat a devious heart. He wanted to keep her all for himself, even sacrificing her to a year or two away from him – anything to stop her and Michael seeing each other. But he didn’t realize he was heading the right way to losing her.
It came to her suddenly. This was the time. It had finally arrived. She had enough money saved. She’d have liked more. For all his cunning, he had no idea how independent of him she was becoming. Yet…
In her breast conflict was beginning to rage. What if she did comply, manipulated him just a little longer? Michael would stand by her when he learned what really lay deep in this man’s heart. He would wait for her. And if she did become a great artist – it might open all sorts of doors. She might even become wealthy in her own right. And she would stand over her father, see him a little man before her vast wealth.
Her father – he was never far from her thoughts. After all these months since the episode at King Edward’s opening of Parliament back in February, it still played on her mind.
She’d chided herself so many times for having too vivid an imagination, telling herself that it couldn’t have been her father who had clutched her around the waist from behind, unaware it was his own daughter; that it had to be too much of a coincidence; that it couldn’t have been his voice she’d heard. If he’d been in London, surely he’d have found out by then about her mother’s death? Perhaps he had. Perhaps he didn’t care. Perhaps he was only too glad to be free.
The thought brought a wave of hatred. And determination. She must work towards having more money, even if that meant being sent somewhere a long way off, or all her plans would fall apart.
Money had a habit of melting away before it could be put to proper use. Even with what she already had she might be broke in no time, trying to look after herself. If she wanted wealth and prestige, she would have to do Bertram’s bidding.
But what if she lost Michael? Could she expect him to wait a year, maybe two years for her? Quickly she pushed away all her previous airy-fairy notions. She did have enough money to escape this man’s cloying possession of her – now, the sooner the better. Anyway, she’d be out of her depth in some academy, here or abroad, and the thought of being alone in some foreign country was frightening. She would never be happy.
It was time she was gone, she and Michael together. His family was quite well off. He worked in his father’s practice, in Harley Street, and one day he’d be well regarded in his field. With Michael behind her there was no need to worry about money. He loved her and she loved him and in time they would be married.
She looked at Bertram Lowe, his blue eyes alight with plans for her, unaware that she had her own plans, and smiled. There was a need to keep him in the dark just a little longer, to let him think she was content.
‘Perhaps you ought not to dismiss Mr Deel too soon,’ she said sweetly. ‘It would look a bit rude and inconsiderate after his father has let him teach me how to talk nicely, and paint, and for no fees as well.’
A sigh of relief filled Ellie’s lungs as this advice was met with a thoughtful nod. Reprieved. Time earned for her and Michael, so long as they could keep Bertram Lowe at bay.
* * *
She and Michael stood by the coffee stall in Cambridge Road. These days it seemed to be their only haunt, and the November chill crept into their bones; but they were together.
It was two months since Bertram Lowe had frightened her with sending her to another tutor or some distant school of art. No doubt he’d thought better of it, perhaps fearing Michael might defy his family’s plans for his future and go after her.
He’d no doubt reasoned that those in love would follow each other to the ends of the earth and he’d lose her anyway. Here he could keep an eye on them and, Ellie guessed, be on hand to stir up feelings of doubt in each of them.
He no longer took her places. Maybe the effort had caused his practice to suffer, or maybe he no longer saw any point to it. But he was now refusing to sanction Michael accompanying her anywhere on his behalf as on those few occasions before he had become alert to the direction their relationship had begun to take.
He was now aware, of course, that they were continuing to meet, if not in secrecy any more, then discreetly; but there was little he could do about it. He could hardly lock
her up or, she now realized, send her packing. It was probably tearing him apart, but she didn’t care, deaf to his warnings that, though they might continue to meet, Michael’s upbringing would never allow them to wed if that’s what she hoped for.
Ellie didn’t quite know what she hoped for. She knew she was in love with Michael. At the same time her need to find her father still occupied her mind, like a cancer lurking there in her brain, tormenting and ravaging her and spoiling any hope of happiness. She hated it and the one who caused it to be there. She wanted Michael so much – a smooth, contented life; but how could it be so when this blight was consuming her? Would it ever shrivel and die? Probably not – or not until this stubborn need for revenge was satisfied.
She huddled against Michael, more for reassurance and comfort than from the cold, and sipped the steaming beverage the coffee stall grandly liked to call coffee, trying not to think of her father. But now Bertram Lowe’s words milled in her brain:
‘You will never be his wife, you know, if that’s what you are hoping. His family would never agree to a marriage between their son and someone of the poorest of poor upbringing. When he marries they will see he marries well. You will see.’
He had never used to refer to her background. It struck her as churlish and cruel, unlike him, and if he hoped in this way to earn her affection, he was going entirely the wrong way about it, driving her further from him, if he did but know it. That was bad enough. Worse were moments when he would express his fondness, say how sweet she was, how he wanted to shield her from harm and remind her just how much she owed him for taking her in and saving her from poverty. Such a kind man; but his kindness was cloying.
She shivered and felt Michael’s arm come about her shoulders.
He glanced down at her. ‘Cold?’
‘It is cold,’ she admitted, allowing an even bigger shudder.
‘We’d best be getting back. Don’t want you to catch a chill. I’d hate to be the cause of you going down with a cold,’ he added with a light chuckle.
‘You’ll never cause me any harm,’ she said earnestly, and felt his arm tighten about her.
‘Come on then,’ he said briskly. Releasing her, he took her empty mug and placed it with his own on the off-white, stained counter.
They walked slowly despite the cold, with its first thin curling of mist promising to develop into yellow fog by midnight. Her thick-gloved hand was through the crook of his arm, she not wanting to be seen in public with his arm around her; but she clung as close as possible, wanting so much to express how much she loved him.
He must have gleaned her thoughts, for he slowed to a stop where it was darkest between two of the sparsely spaced street gas lamps. There he took her by the shoulders and turned her gently towards him.
‘I do love you very much, Ellie. I’ve not been able to say this before, not as I’d have liked. I’ve always felt it was a bit too soon, or too dramatic, or I’d take you by surprise and turn you away. But I really, really love you.’
It had taken her by surprise, but pleasurable surprise. ‘I love you too,’ was all she could find to say. It was hardly enough, but she looked up into his grey eyes and read the adoring glow in them.
‘I was never sure if you loved me enough,’ he whispered. ‘You always seem so far away in your thoughts. I would wonder what you were thinking. And you were always so wrapped up in your painting. You seemed excited when you said Doctor Lowe was talking of sending you to some art school or other. You mentioned Milan at one time and my heart nearly stopped. I don’t ever want to lose you, Ellie. Don’t ever go away.’
He sounded so desolate at that moment that Ellie caught his face between her gloved hands and brought his head towards her. Kissing him on the lips and hanging on to the kiss, she felt him pull her to him.
‘Oh, my sweetest!’ she sighed as the kiss finally broke off. ‘I’m so very happy and I’ll never go away. No one can ever make me. I don’t belong to him. I’m not his daughter. He can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to. I’ve always known that, but I’ve stayed with him because—’
She stopped abruptly, not daring to explain. ‘I don’t know why,’ she lied, hating it. But to voice her motives could easily be the death of their love. He might even think that she was using him. Once again she shuddered.
‘You’re cold!’ he said again. ‘Let’s get you home as quick as possible.’
Together they began to hurry. ‘I’ll leave you at the gate to the yard,’ he said, as if their meeting were still in the utmost secrecy. ‘And I shall see you again on Wednesday. Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she gasped.
It was a quick goodnight kiss, considering the passion of the last one, but somehow it seemed that any longer embrace would spoil that earlier one.
As she entered by the back door there came a scurry. She was being watched for. What would they, whoever it was, report to Bertram Lowe? she wondered idly as, with no one about, she quietly mounted the silent stairs to her room on the second floor, the room his daughter had once occupied, the room in which she’d taken that girl’s place. The thought made her feel a little like a usurper, oddly and suddenly sickened by it. Quietly she closed the door on the silent hall, but the impression of listening ears remained.
Her mind changed: the quicker she got away from here the better.
* * *
Bertram held his breath the more clearly to hear the footsteps on the stairs, cautious though they were. He had been standing at his study window for around half an hour, waiting for the two young people to appear. When finally they did, the girl was holding the young man’s arm, leaning close to him, as lovers do. They wandered slowly, reluctant, so it seemed, to reach that moment when they must say goodnight.
He watched as they stopped by the wrought-iron back gate. She still crept into the house by the back entrance, even though their secret meetings were secret no longer. Hastily he stepped back from the window as he saw her glance up at it; then, as her gaze returned to the young man, resumed his earlier position in time to see the man enfold the girl in his arms for a lingering kiss, the sight bringing a tight and distressing feeling of suffocation to his breast.
He’d stood here many times since told of these clandestine meetings, knowing that he was causing himself suffering yet unable not to wait and watch. He had tried to do all he could to part these two without being too obvious, but what they felt for each other was stronger than his will.
The girl was opening the gate, the young man walking away, turning to give her a final wave. Hastily Bertram left his study, hurrying along the long passage to his bedroom, hoping Mary wouldn’t hear him from her room.
Carefully he closed his door and, with his flabby cheek to the wood, listened for the light step on the stair, the click of the bedroom door closing. As all fell silent, he slowly prepared for bed, knowing she would be doing the same. And all the time he was aware of the heavy beating of his heart, heavy with the weight of jealousy that lay there.
* * *
There had been another listener. Mary Lowe had heard the ungainly tread of her husband, out of breath with the effort. When they had first been married, he had been trim – not slim, but trim. She hadn’t then noticed the promise of fleshiness to come. But then she herself had been slim and shapely.
Mary Lowe smiled mockingly at herself and went back to concentrating on listening. There came the quiet click of his bedroom door closing, then moments later the faint creak of a stair as the girl crept up to the room where she slept, the bedroom she now violated with her presence, occupying the very bed where once had lain her own sweet Millicent.
The girl had no scruples. She’d wormed her way into this house and into her husband’s foolish, vulnerable heart, making full use of his grief to secure a comfortable little niche for herself. Wriggling her way into his affections, she was worse than a thief. But Mary wasn’t prepared to let it go at that. She could never forgive Bertram for the way he had behaved – think
ing to replace his own dearest daughter with an urchin from some poverty-stricken back street, indulging in her to ease his loss.
With no care how she felt about it, he’d set about selfishly filling his own emptiness by giving the girl whatever she asked for, completely blind to the fact that she was winding him round her little finger. Now he was letting himself be eaten up with jealousy because she had done what most young girls did – fallen in love.
He was in terror of losing her. That was how stupid he’d become, and he was doing all he could to break up the two young people. But she would make sure he’d fail. If he did but know, he had played into her hands with this obsessive jealousy of his. She had tried for so long to be rid of the girl and now this young man offered a way out that all her complaining, her nagging, even her temporarily leaving her own husband had failed to achieve. And now she had him. It was time to act. As the house fell silent, Mary crept back into her bed to think it out properly. It was so simple: make sure those two remained together – that was all she needed to do. She could hardly wait.
It had all come to her ears through Dora. Though Ellie had confided in her sister, she had sworn her to secrecy. Mrs Jenkins, however, being no fool, had discovered what had been going on and out of a strong sense of duty had reported it to her employers. The woman could usually be relied on to keep things to herself, but one chance word carelessly dropped had had that Chambers girl enlarging on it to the kitchen maid. Though everyone was aware of it, only she, his wife, knew of Bertram’s fear that he was about to lose the girl to Michael Deel and intended to break up the young lovers with whatever means came to hand, no doubt even going to the boy’s father.