by Jane Feather
Jonathan said nothing but a little smile hovered on his lips. “There is someone,” Petra crowed. “I knew it, you’ve been too busy to visit me for weeks. Who is it?”
“Not yet,” he said, putting a finger to his lips. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”
“Or do you mean when the lady is ready?”
“Perhaps I do.”
Petra had to be satisfied with that, but the news of her brother’s present and prospective happiness cheered her up. It gave her something else to think about other than her own present misery. And maybe the weekend wouldn’t be as hideously awkward as she feared. Maybe the change of scene might make Guy a little easier to talk to . . . might give them back some of their old ease, the loving touch that she now knew was so essential to her happiness. She settled back for the long journey, watching the countryside as the train huffed its way toward the bustling port city of Bristol, steaming into the station three hours later.
Petra followed Joth to the platform and waited while he hailed a porter to fetch their bags from the luggage compartment. She had come a few days early to Ashton Court to arrange the details for the Friday to Monday, a necessary duty of any good hostess, one that in any other circumstances she would have taken on cheerfully. Guy would follow on Thursday, when he would expect everything to be in order.
It would be, of course. Whatever the state of affairs between herself and Guy she would not fail to play the part of Lady Ashton, perfect in every detail. As she looked around the platform, she stiffened suddenly. The unmistakable figure of Clothilde Delmont, statuesque and elegant as always, stepped down from a first-class carriage, her hand firmly held in that of an equally elegant gentleman standing on the platform. He embraced Clothilde and they exchanged a brief kiss of greeting, before he turned to a liveried footman behind him, gesturing to the luggage compartment. A woman, clearly a maid from her sober dark coat and hat, descended after Clothilde and busied herself straightening her mistress’s fur stole.
Now, what had brought Clothilde to Bristol? Petra wondered. Was it pure coincidence? That seemed hard to believe. People didn’t just go to Bristol on a whim. But someone had met her, so perhaps she had good friends in the city. It seemed a little unfashionable though for someone of the vicomtesse’s stature.
“Do you know who’s with Lady Delmont?” she asked Joth when he returned with the porter and their luggage.
Her brother followed her gaze. “I wouldn’t have expected to see Lady Delmont here,” he commented. “Oh, but that explains it. That’s Lord Harrington with her. He has a house just outside Bath. I heard a rumor she was showing a particular interest in him.”
“As his mistress?” Petra was intrigued.
Jonathan shrugged. “The lady usually finds a protector when she needs one and I’ve heard tell she’s been without since Guy finished with her.”
“Why’s she here at this particular time?” Petra mused. “I’d have thought there was more than enough in town to keep her amused.”
“Who’s to say? Come on now, your motor is waiting outside.”
“Motor?”
Jonathan chuckled. “Apparently Guy sent word that you were to be met by his motor, not the barouche.” He flung an arm around his sister’s shoulders and steered her toward the station entrance. “You should be at Ashton Court within the hour.”
The driver in a chauffeur’s livery stood at the door of the sleek motor vehicle on the cobbled drive outside the station. He tipped his hat and opened the low-slung passenger door. “Welcome, Lady Ashton. We’ll have you home in no time.”
Petra kissed her brother goodbye and stepped into the car. The chauffeur tucked a fur lap robe around her. “There’s a hot brick for your feet, m’lady.”
Her booted feet encountered the brick, its warmth instantly soothing. “Lovely, thank you.” She waved goodbye to Joth and as she did so caught sight of Clothilde and her escort emerging from the station. Clothilde paused and looked directly at Petra. In the gloom of late afternoon Petra felt rather than saw clearly the malice in those lavender-blue eyes. She felt the hairs on her nape lift for an instant, as she realized the woman was making her way across the cobbled forecourt toward her.
“Lady Delmont? What brings you to Bristol?” She greeted her with a bland smile.
“Oh, a private matter,” the lady responded. She leaned toward Petra. “Are you perhaps rusticating in the country, Lady Ashton? I understand there was something of an embarrassing spectacle in town the other day. The newspapers appeared to find it amusing, but I doubt Lord Ashton appreciated it.” Her smile flickered, reminding Petra of the darting tip of a snake’s tongue.
“How very well informed you are, Lady Delmont,” she returned. “But perhaps you don’t know everything. I bid you good afternoon.” Pointedly, she turned her head to the front as the car rumbled out of the forecourt leaving Clothilde still standing on the cobbles.
Petra’s renewed sense of cheer had disappeared the moment the woman had approached her. The malice in her eyes as she’d taunted Petra with Guy’s reaction to the spectacle his wife had created plunged her anew into misery. For all her bravado she couldn’t deny that in this matter Clothilde Delmont knew how her former lover would react all too well.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Guy stepped off the train on an overcast Thursday afternoon and made his way directly to the front of the station, expecting to find his chauffeur and motor waiting for him. He was not prepared for the sight of his wife, standing beside the open door of the vehicle, looking impatiently toward the station entrance. His heart lifted at the sight of her; Berkeley Square had seemed strangely desolate for the last few days. He had tried to untangle the mess of his feelings, his anger fueled by his sense of Petra’s disloyalty that she had not given a thought to the position her actions would put him in, clashing with his knowledge deep down that she was her own person as well as his wife and was entitled to hold her own opinions, whether they suited her husband or not. And in absolute truth, he had to admit that he held no strong opinions against the idea of universal suffrage. Until Petra had come into his life it had never been an issue at the forefront of his mind. He certainly hadn’t met any female advocates of the cause in his own social circles.
“I thought I’d come and meet you,” she said unnecessarily as he approached the car. She lifted her face for his kiss and he pecked her lightly on the cheek.
“You didn’t need to do that,” he said, tossing his bag into the dickey.
“No, I realize that,” Petra said dully, climbing back into the car. Somehow she had hoped that surprising Guy might surprise a warm reaction from him. A false hope, clearly.
Guy felt a wash of guilt at her crestfallen expression. He didn’t want to behave the way he was behaving, he wanted to crush her to him, feel her in his arms, slight and warm and so responsive. He wanted to hear her ready laughter, her quick-witted banter, her loving responses. He’d had enough time in the last few days to realize that matters between them couldn’t continue in the same vein. There had to be some resolution. He reached out a hand and took hers, enclosing it lightly in his own. She looked at him, startled, a hopeful question in her hazel eyes.
“This evening,” he said quietly, conscious of the chauffeur sitting in front. Petra nodded and slid down in the seat a little, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder, and they passed the drive in a silence that was almost companionable although redolent with the unspoken waiting in the wings.
Guy waited until after they had eaten a subdued and somewhat stilted dinner before facing the issue head-on. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were planning to take part in that protest, Petra?”
She looked at him in surprise. “How could I have done? You would have tried to stop me.”
“How do you think I would have done that? If you were determined to do something against my wishes, regardless of my reasons, what action could I take to prevent it?”
“I don’t really know,” she said, realizing for th
e first time the truth of that. “I . . . I didn’t want to upset you and I suppose I thought that if you didn’t know about it you wouldn’t be.”
“How the hell did you think I wouldn’t know about it when you’re invading Westminster and getting your face and name splashed across the front pages?” he exclaimed, his anger rising again. “At least if I’d been expecting it I could have done something to avert the publicity. Instead I’m left on the back foot looking like a blind fool.”
“I didn’t think of it like that,” she said. “It’s such a vitally important matter, Guy, I didn’t see anything else around it, just the need to force the government to at least acknowledge the issue. I’m so sorry if it seems to you that I was deliberately causing you embarrassment. I truly didn’t think of it like that.”
“It seems to me you didn’t think at all,” he responded curtly.
“How else are we to get the government to listen to us?” she asked. “We’ve tried asking politely, we’ve tried delivering petitions, the only response we get is a blanket refusal even to debate the subject.”
Guy was silent for a moment. He knew the truth of her statement. The government was not prepared to consider women’s suffrage.
“We would be overjoyed to discuss it in a civilized fashion,” Petra pressed. “But we’re dismissed like overexcited children wanting an impossible toy. It’s not right, Guy. I can’t back away, I’m sorry. But I promise I will tell you before I take part in any further action.”
Guy rubbed his eyes wearily. “Then I suppose we’ll have to leave it there,” he said. “There’s no point going around in circles.”
“What do you have against women voting?” Petra asked abruptly. “You’ve never given me a straight reason.”
“I don’t know why you’d want it,” he responded. “Women are welcome to give their opinions and the government is always willing to listen. What point is there in your having the vote?”
“Women won’t settle for being mere supplicants,” she stated. “You must see the difference between having an equal voice and having to rely on a man to speak for you.”
He shook his head. “I’m too tired to argue the points with you tonight. Let’s go to bed. We have a busy weekend ahead.” He opened the door for her, gesturing she should precede him.
He made love to her that night for the first time since the invasion of Westminster and it brought some return to normality between them, enough at least for them to present a united front when their guests arrived the following morning.
Petra was as charming and efficient a hostess as she knew how to be and Guy was her equal as a host. Politics were not discussed when the whole party was together. It was as if the men considered it taboo around their wives, although Petra couldn’t fail to notice the occasional speculative glance sent her way when the general conversation touched lightly on the government, but it was only ever a fleeting moment. For the most part she concentrated her attentions on the ladies of the party, who required some form of entertaining while the men were participating in a shooting party on Saturday morning, playing billiards or closeted for many hours in the library discussing detailed political issues.
Only once was Petra forced to bite her tongue in the drawing room after the ladies had withdrawn from the dining table, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cigars, and the wife of Viscount Barber brought up the subject of the WSPU. She expressed her disgust for the behavior of women of their own social standing who dared to shame their sex by blatantly breaking the law and behaving in a manner more suited to a peasant mob than the affluent wives of powerful and influential men, and it became rapidly clear that she was not alone in her opinion. None of their remarks seemed addressed directly to Petra, so she assumed her own participation in the Union was not generally known. Probably the ladies didn’t read the news sections of the papers, she thought with some derision. Their interests would be focused on the engagements and the court pages.
She maintained her hostess smile, poured tea and coffee, passed around sweets and engaged in social chitchat as if it were all that mattered in her world.
Guy was still playing billiards when she went up to bed, and she had turned the lights down low and was feigning sleep when he finally came up. She didn’t think she could bear to discuss anything about the drawing room conversation with him, and it was all she could think of at the moment, her complete bewilderment at the pathetic apathy of her own sex. She didn’t think he was fooled by her pretense at sleeping, but he had the delicacy not to invade her silence. He was up at dawn the next morning for the day’s shoot and Petra murmured a sleepy goodbye when he bent to kiss her on his way out of the bedroom.
“You and the women will be joining us for lunch by the lake,” he said. “Babbit has the lunch organized and carriages will bring you all at noon.”
“Yes, Guy,” she confirmed in a tone of exaggerated patience. “I’ve gone over all the arrangements with Cook and Babbit. We shall be waiting for you in the lake pavilion. Have a successful morning.”
He hesitated a moment before saying, “If I haven’t already told you how much I appreciate your doing this, Petra, I’ll say it now. You are a superb hostess. You have everything at your fingertips.”
“Even suffragists can be capable hostesses,” she murmured, keeping her eyes firmly closed. If she’d hoped for a response she was disappointed as she heard the door close behind him.
Petra lay back against the pillows. Things were still far from right between them. If they had been, the old Guy would have responded to her teasing provocation in some lighthearted way. She sighed, contemplating the rest of the day to be spent entirely in the company of politicians’ wives. A day of pure tedium, she thought, but tomorrow there would be some leavening. Guy had invited some of the local prominent families for lunch which would dilute the company somewhat. And after that it would all be over and who knew what the immediate future would hold.
She lay down again, closing her eyes. She knew exactly what she wanted the very immediate future to hold. A day at the seaside, alone, revisiting a childhood haunt and the rich memories of carefree days. Ashton Court was only a few miles from Weston-super-Mare, at the mouth of the Severn Estuary. The pier was a children’s paradise, with its theatre and magicians and little trinket stalls. There was usually a band playing either on the pier or in the bandstand on the beach. It would be too cold to swim, but the sandy beach was always lovely. She could get fish and chips from the little café on the beach and eat them in the beach pavilion. A day just to herself where she could let her thoughts go where they would and maybe find some peace in the present turmoil of her mind.
* * *
Just before noon Petra and her guests climbed into carriages and pony traps and were driven across the estate to the lake with its open-sided pavilion. Babbit was supervising footmen, who were laying out lunch for the guests. There was a brisk breeze coming off the lake but no one seemed troubled by it. The women were all dressed in furs and several braziers had been lit in the pavilion. Hot soup simmered on trivets over spirit lamps, and platters of cold roasted chickens, ham, and game pies covered the long white-clothed tables. Bottles of wine were arrayed on a table to one side, together with decanters of sweet sherry, whisky and cognac for those who needed spirituous warming.
The shooting party arrived soon after, their guns carried by the gamekeepers and their assistants, who also carried the morning’s spoils. Petra was not in favor of shooting innocent creatures but knew it was an unpopular viewpoint in this society and once again kept her opinion to herself. Jonathan was one of the shooting party and looked very pleased with himself as he took a glass of whisky from a footman and came over to greet his sister.
“I bagged three pheasants and two hares,” he announced, taking a chair beside her, close to one of the braziers. “It was a good morning. Guy certainly knows how to look after his game.”
“Well, his estate manager does,” Petra corrected, taking a sip of sherry.
&
nbsp; “That’s ungenerous,” Jonathan chided. “It’s Guy who gives the orders. If he didn’t care, neither would the estate manager. Poachers would be rife and the gamekeepers wouldn’t pay attention.”
Petra laughed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t see the appeal in killing the poor creatures, particularly the pheasants, when they’re born and bred and looked after on the estate before they let them loose just so that they can shoot them.”
“What are you taking issue with now, madam wife?” Guy came over to them, looking as pleased with himself as Jonathan. His tone was lightly teasing but his dark eyes were sharp.
“Petra’s never approved of shooting,” Joth said.
“I don’t see the point of raising the birds just to shoot them dead,” Petra stated.
“That’s certainly a legitimate point of view,” her husband said. “But as with so many things, we must agree to differ.”
Petra heard the note of sharpness in the statement and bit her lip, turning her head aside to hide her dismay. The gap still yawned between them. Guy’s expression, however, was even, unperturbed, he was clearly much better at maintaining a façade. Perhaps she had imagined the sharpness but she knew she hadn’t. Any more than she could ignore the conviction that the foundations of her marriage were not as steady as they used to be. One violent kick and the foundation would give way and the whole glorious edifice come tumbling down about her ears. With an effort she forced her attention back to her guests, who were seating themselves at the long tables.
* * *
Petra was in her dressing room that evening dressing for dinner when Guy came in holding his onyx cuff links. “Can you fasten these, Petra, my fingers are all thumbs for some reason.”
Petra turned on her dressing stool and obliged. “I shall be glad when this evening is over,” she confessed.