He had turned from her and was looking straight ahead, and she knew that she had annoyed him, not only annoyed, but made him angry. She didn’t want to make him angry, ever; he was so kind, so good to her. She…she loved him.
The thought, like a spur, lifted her close to him. She put an arm across him, her head on his shoulder knocking her hat askew, and, with tears in her voice, she said, ‘I’m…I’m sorry, Denny, I am. I didn’t understand. Please don’t be annoyed with me.’
His arms were about her now; he was holding her tight. His voice changed, he was soothing her, saying, ‘There, there. No, I’m not annoyed with you, of course not. How could I be? All I want is to make you happy.’
She raised her head from his shoulder. Her eyes blinking, her lips trembling, she said softly, ‘I…I love you.’
He didn’t move: he did not hold her tighter; he just stared into her face in the dimness, then pressed her gently from him, took his silver mounted walking stick and rapped the roof of the cab and, when it stopped, spoke in rapid French. Then, sitting back, he drew her into his arms again, saying softly, ‘We are going home.’ There was something in his tone that made her repeat, ‘Home? You mean to the hotel?’
‘No,’ he answered, ‘back to England, to London. We can stay there overnight, or longer if you wish, but…but we are on our way home.’
Four
Nancy Ann was five months pregnant and the mound in her stomach definitely indicated this. For the first four months she had felt unwell, but over the past few weeks her feeling of well-being had returned. And tonight would be the third function she had attended in as many weeks; but she was once again complaining of the tightness of her corset.
Since returning home, she had refused to engage a personal maid, but had compromised by saying that she would have the assistance of Pattie Anderson, the top-floor maid, when she felt it necessary. One of Anderson’s functions, she had been told, was to attend to the needs of lady guests who were without maids. Lady Golding had already prompted her, she must never address her as Pattie, but give her her surname, as she must do with all her staff. This, at the beginning, she had found awkward, having been used to Peggy, Jane, and Hilda. Now she was saying, ‘It is much too tight, Anderson. I can hardly breathe.’
‘You’ll not get into your mauve gown else, ma’am.’
‘Then I’ll have to get into something else. Slacken the bottom tapes, please.’
She didn’t like Anderson. She was a woman in her mid-thirties and the tallest of all the female staff. And Nancy Ann compared her manner with that of a chameleon’s change of colour, for she had the habit of putting on a superior tone when they were in the room together, but should her master come in, then her voice would change to a soft persuasive note and her manner suggest that of an older, wiser woman only too eager to help the young mistress over the pitfalls in the way of dress.
The pale mauve brocade dress on, the myriad of small buttons fastened, Nancy Ann sat at the dressing table, and when the woman went to touch her hair she flicked her hand away, saying, ‘Thank you. I can manage.’
‘What jewellery were you thinking about wearing, ma’am?’
Nancy Ann had noticed the pause before the use of the title ‘ma’am’, not only with this woman, but with other members of the household too.
‘I think I’ll wear the pearls.’
‘Pearls, with brocade? I would have thought, ma’am, the diamond necklace.’
She swung round on the dressing stool and, looking straight up at the woman now, she said, ‘I am wearing pearls, Anderson, and I can manage to put them on myself. Thank you. That is all.’
The woman drew herself up. There was an almost imperceivable nod of the head, then, her voice stiff, she said, ‘Very good…ma’am,’ and on that she turned and walked out.
Alone in the bedroom again, Nancy Ann leant her elbow on the dressing table and rested her head on her hands for a moment. There was a war going on in this house. She’d felt it from the moment she had come back after the honeymoon. It was understood she would see Mrs Conway each morning and discuss with her the menu for the day, or the meal if they were entertaining company. But from the beginning the housekeeper had informed her, by a look, if not by words, that she was well capable of arranging the menus and for providing for any guests that might come.
The butler’s manner to her was polite, as it would be to any guest. But there was one person on the staff that she actually disliked, and that was Dennison’s man. She knew her grandmama’s name for his manner would have been oily. She had even expressed her feelings about the valet to Dennison, and he had been surprised, saying in the man’s defence that he was a very good valet and he had found no cause for complaint during the six years he had been with him. But he had gone on to explain to her that servants were a different breed altogether from…well, the class. They were brought up to be subservient, and this, at times, could give the impression that they were sly. This was the word she had used about Staith. And he had ended his little sermon by saying that she mustn’t expect too much of them. Each of them had his appointed work and if this was done well, that was all she need worry about; in fact, she need not worry about the house at all; she could just leave it in the capable hands of Conway and Trice.
She often longed for the proximity of the girls back in the vicarage, and to be able to go into the kitchen any time she liked and talk to them. She had only once entered the kitchen of this house, which wasn’t a kitchen, but kitchens, and she knew this had caused some consternation; especially to the young woman Mather who had stood at the doorway watching her as she spoke to the boy, David.
The morning following her visit, the housekeeper had said, ‘If you wish to visit the kitchen, ma’am, I will make arrangements.’
And to this Nancy Ann had coolly replied, ‘It won’t be necessary for I don’t know when I shall be feeling so inclined. But should I do so, I think I can find my way there.’
However, she had realised during the past month that although many of the staff looked upon her still as that chit from the vicarage, they were, nevertheless, coming to realise just what liberties they could take with her. There were just two of the house staff who had shown her small kindnesses since she had become their mistress, and these were Henry Robertson, the second footman, and Jane Renton, the first housemaid. Renton was small and thin with dark merry eyes, and her countenance was not always stiff. She put Nancy Ann in mind of Hilda.
Her mind on the vicarage, her thoughts dwelt on her papa. She was very worried about him, as were her grandmama and Peter. He had become very forgetful of late: only a week ago he had kept a congregation waiting; then, instead of a sermon, he had just read them the twenty-third psalm; and he had not afterwards stood at the church door to bid them good day, but had stridden away into the countryside and had not returned until late in the afternoon. The doctor was to call today, and she was anxious for the morrow to come so that she could slip over and find out what his advice was regarding her father. It was evident that there was something mentally wrong with him, yet, when he spoke, his words sounded reasonable enough. But he always had to recollect himself before he could give an answer, and that wasn’t like her father.
Her toilet finished, she rose from the stool, passed the big high heavy satin-draped four-poster bed to where the open door led onto the balcony, and there she stood looking out over the gardens towards the village and the vicarage, and her thoughts weren’t happy.
She turned now from the balcony railings when she heard Dennison come from his dressing room. As he walked towards her his smile widened; and now, his hands on her shoulders, he looked down into her face, saying, ‘My dear, you look delightful. Curves suit you.’ Then he added softly and mischievously, ‘I must see that you are never without them.’
‘Oh, Denny.’ She turned her head away from him then, and, walking back into the room, she said, ‘Do you know how many are expected?’
‘Not all that many; I don’t think their t
able will hold more than a dozen or so. As Pat said, it’s a breaking-in for Flo and Arthur. You would never think that Arthur and Pat were brother and sister; he’s so retiring, can’t get a word out of him at times.’
‘I rather liked him.’
‘Yes, I like them both.’
‘Who…who are likely to be there?’
‘Oh, the Maddisons I suppose, and the Ridleys, and of course Jim and Maggie O’Toole. There’s a pair for you. To listen to them you wouldn’t think there were any troubles in Ireland. They are the funniest people I know. And…and likely Bunny and May Braithwaite. Well, that would make fourteen all told. That would be about the lot.’
He picked up her silk coat from the back of the chair and put it round her, and as he fastened the buckle at the neck he said, ‘If it’s a cosy do, private, after dinner you must do them a mime. George loves to see you doing a mime.’
‘Do a mime, like this?’ She patted her stomach.
‘Why not?’ His face was serious. ‘That’s not going to object.’
She pushed him and, laughing now, she turned away. And he was still smiling at his own joke when, some minutes later, he helped her into the landau.
The June night was warm, the air was still clear, and as they drove over the bridge at Durham towards their destination, which was on the outskirts of the town, she looked down on the river, saying, ‘This is a most beautiful town, don’t you think?’ She was about to add, ‘Look at the river, isn’t it lovely!’ when she remembered he wasn’t fond of the river, and with cause.
He answered, ‘Indeed it is, beautiful. The cathedral can hold its own against any other in the land.’
She said now thoughtfully, ‘I would like to spend some time just wandering around it. My acquaintance with it is mostly what I read at school, yet Papa once spent his holiday in it.’
‘Your father spent his holiday in the cathedral. How on earth did he do that? Take services?’
‘No. He came down every day and either strolled about or just sat, or chatted with the Dean.’ She added now, ‘I’m worried about Papa. I…I don’t know what’s going to happen. I…I don’t think he can carry on much longer, even if he wanted to.’
‘Well, my dear’—he took her hand—‘I’ve told you, he and your grandmama must come to us. There are rooms going begging in the east and west wings.’
She looked at him, her face straight but the light in her eyes soft. He was so kind. But she couldn’t say to him, ‘He will never come to live in your house…our house.’ Only last week her grandmama had said, ‘I think our time here is short, but there’s one thing sure, he will never accept your offer to live at The House.’ And she’d had no need to add, ‘He would accept nothing from your husband, because his opinion of him has not changed.’
This was something she couldn’t understand about her father: he had always been such a forgiving man. Often of late she had recalled that Sunday long ago when he had cried from the pulpit, ‘Let him first cast a stone.’ That was the day she had suggested to James that she would tell Eva McKeowan he was engaged. It was odd about Eva. In those days she had seemed such a flighty stupid young woman. But since she herself had known love she realised what Eva’s feelings must have been at that time. Now she quite liked her. And apparently she wasn’t the only one. But she could hardly take in the fact that Peter might be taking a fancy to her.
Peter spent every other Saturday afternoon and Sunday, which were his leave days, at the vicarage, and on a Sunday she would often see him stop and speak to Eva McKeowan. When the idea first entered her head she told herself that Eva was three years older than Peter, and surely Peter would never think about marrying a woman older than himself. But why not? Anyway, that was Peter’s business.
She wished she weren’t going to this party; yet she always enjoyed the company of Pat and her husband George. It had become routine over the past months for them and the Goldings to alternate in inviting each other to a card evening on Wednesday nights. The game they played was whist. She had become quite proficient at it, but always felt guilty when they played for money. The highest winning never exceeded five pounds which, except for herself, they found amusing. And if Dennison and she should win, for he always partnered her, he would ceremoniously divide the spoils when they returned home.
He had made one or two trips to London lately, and she knew that they were connected with business and that in all probability there would have been no gambling; nevertheless, his visits to Newcastle were always for that purpose alone. After one such visit he spilled seventy sovereigns into her lap, saying ‘You have nothing in writing so I’m not going to give you half, merely a percentage.’ On other occasions, on returning, he had either not mentioned his gaming or simply spread out his hands, smiled at her and said, ‘The gods weren’t with me.’ …
A short drive led up to the Rowlands’ residence, and to one side of the house was a large lawn dotted with flower beds among which she could see a few people strolling.
Florence and Arthur Rowland were at the door to meet them. Their one manservant took her cloak and Dennison’s hat, and then they were walking towards the open doors of the drawing room, behind which she could see a number of other people, among them, Pat and George Golding.
Pat immediately came towards them, talking rapidly as usual. ‘Hasn’t it been a swelter! I can’t stand the heat. How are you, my dear? Is it getting you down?’ And without giving Nancy Ann time to say whether or not the heat was affecting her, Pat went on, ‘You know everybody, so come into the garden straight away, it’s cool out there.’
As they made their way up the room, a lady came through an alcove, a gentleman on each side of her and laughing with her. But on the sight of the latest guests, the lady paused for a moment and in a high and almost childish voice that did not match her appearance she came towards them, crying, ‘Oh, Denny! Hello there. And what is this latest I’ve just heard about you, my boy…Parliament? Never! Never you!’ And she dug him playfully now with her fan. ‘Arnold tells me you’re trying to get your foot in.’
It was evident that Dennison was both taken off his guard and embarrassed, but on a laugh he replied, ‘Not my foot, I always go head first,’ causing further laughter from the two gentlemen whom Nancy Ann knew to be Mr Bunny Braithwaite and Mr Edward Ridley. And it was Mr Ridley who said in a loud voice as if he were shouting from the other end of the room, ‘That was an answer for you, Rene.’
Nancy Ann was looking at the woman before her. She was small of stature, being only five foot three; she was plump—a more correct description would be fat—so that the flesh flowed out of the top of her gown showing the curve of her breasts. But the skin, a light cream coloured with a blush to it, was perfect, as was that of her face. Her eyes were large and round and of a steely blue.
Nancy Ann felt a sickness riving her chest. Try as she might, she could not get the idea out of her head that, in some way, this woman menaced her life. She knew she had been a close friend of Dennison’s, and once before when the woman, as now, was completely ignoring her, she had later said to him, ‘That woman dislikes me intensely. She cannot forget the episode on the road with the dog,’ and had then naively asked him, ‘What kind of a friend was she to you?’ And she recalled it was a long moment before he answered, ‘She was a friend, like any other of my neighbours.’
She watched her now thrust her hand through his arm, saying, ‘Come. I have something to show you. You think you have a fine garden, but you’ve never seen a specimen like this.’
Dennison glanced at Nancy Ann as he left her side. His eyebrows were raised and there was a puckered smile on his face as if he was helpless in the situation.
Florence Rowland, happening now to come to her side, said, ‘Would you like a cool drink, Nancy Ann?’ But before she had time to reply Pat put in, ‘Yes, she would, but I’ll see to it, Flo. Come along, my dear, let us indulge ourselves.’
Pat now led her through an archway and into a room, to a long table on which wa
s an assortment of coloured drinks, with two maids standing behind the table ready to serve. But Pat did not guide her towards the table, but to the further end of the room where there was a deep window seat and, gently pulling her down, she said, ‘Get that look off your face.’
Nancy Ann made no reply but swallowed deeply, and Pat went on, ‘Flo did not invite them, not really. Arnold Myers is in the Diplomatic Service, the same as Arthur, and so, apparently, they occasionally meet, not only in town and abroad, but here and there. Well, Arnold had just come back from a trip and was pleased to find that Flo and Arthur had settled near here, and when they dropped in it was natural for Flo to ask them to stay on.’
‘That woman ignores me, Pat. I’ve told you before.’
‘Oh’—Pat wagged her head—‘she ignores all women. She’s a maneater. Anyway, you have no need to worry about Denny.’ She patted Nancy Ann’s hand as she now said, ‘I’ve never known Denny to be in love before, and now he is wallowing in it and with one whom I imagine to be a very sensible girl, even if she was incarcerated in a vicarage all her young days.’
Nancy Ann smiled faintly as she replied, ‘There was no incarceration. From what I have noticed these last few months with regard to the upbringing of young ladies, I had extreme liberty; in fact, I realise now, I ran wild for most of my young days.’
‘Well, it certainly didn’t do you any harm. And now, don’t let that little bitch get under your skin, because, let’s face it, she is a bitch. However, I must admit, not of the mongrel type: she comes from a thoroughbred stock and, like most thoroughbreds, she has been pampered and spoilt all her days. And like many of them coming under that category, her intelligence is not as bright as her pedigree.’
Pat was now laughing widely at her similes; then pushing Nancy Ann gently, she ended, ‘If she was a common mongrel bitch one would know how to deal with her: you would grab her by the hair, kick her in the backside, and fling her out of the door, preferably naked. But with her special kind, you must use guile and finesse.’
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