Nancy Ann stared at him in pity. She had heard that word before from Peter. She went on now listening to his voice low and hesitant: ‘But that wasn’t all. Her mother took complete charge of the children. I could do nothing about it. Ours wasn’t a real house; we only had apartments in her father’s schoolhouse. I…I tried to talk to her father but he wouldn’t listen. And then there was my salary. The second year, it was handed to her under the excuse that I had been wasteful, having bought a pair of boots and an overcoat, and both necessary. My children hardly know me. They refer to her or their grandparents all the time.’ He turned towards them again, and, his face blanched, his teeth ground together now, he seemed to spit out the words: ‘I’ve been made to feel like an animal, kept there for stock.’
‘Oh, Jamie. Jamie.’ Jessica put her arms around him, and he drooped his head onto her shoulder and hot tears sped down his face.
If it had been happening to herself, Nancy Ann could not have felt more anguish. She thought of the love that was showered on her by Dennison, and of her longing to be in his arms when he was gone from her.
James pulled himself upwards and turned away from his grandmother, rubbing at his face vigorously and saying, ‘I’m sorry.’ And when, presently, Nancy Ann said, ‘What do you intend to do, James?’ he stood up and, his hands gripping the mantelpiece, he looked down into the fire, saying, quietly, ‘I…I want to go to Canada. Henry Bolton, a friend I knew up at Oxford, he’s got a little business out there. Nothing very special from what I understand, but he’d be pleased to give me some kind of a job. It would be manual, but I wouldn’t mind what I did. The only thing is’—he paused—‘I haven’t a penny. And yet that’s not quite right. I’ve got fourpence. You could say I stole my railway fare; I took it from her cash box.’
She noticed that he always referred to his wife as ‘her’ or ‘she’, never by name. He turned now and, gazing sorrowfully at Nancy Ann, he said, ‘Could you loan me enough to get across? I’ll…I’ll repay you. I promise, Nancy Ann.’
She too was on her feet and, going to him, she put her hands on his shoulders saying, ‘Oh, James, don’t be silly, talking like that. Of course I’ll help you. How much do you want?’
‘I…I don’t know what the fare and all that would cost.’
‘Would two or three hundred be enough?’
‘What!’ Jessica was sitting bolt upright. ‘Where will you get two or three hundred without asking Dennison?’
‘Grandmama’—Nancy Ann looked down into the wrinkled face—‘I’ve got over six hundred pounds of my own. You see’—she paused—‘Dennison always gives me part of his’—she did not like to say the word but was forced to—‘winnings.’
‘Oh, Lordy! Lordy!’ Jessica sat back in her chair with a flop. ‘’Tis a good job your father isn’t here at this moment, else that news would surely kill him. Although’—she nodded her head vigorously—‘it doesn’t affect me. And, yes, when I do have time to think about it, I’ll surely consider it a nice gesture on Dennison’s part. Yes, I will. Anyway’—she looked at her grandson—‘there you are, that part’s settled for you. But…but what will happen at that end—down in Bath? Will they follow you here and try to stop you?’
‘Oh, very likely. I shouldn’t wonder but her father will be on this doorstep very shortly; my absconding will be very bad for his school. You might think Father is narrow in his views but they’re as wide as the ocean compared with my father-in-law’s.’
Suddenly becoming practical, Nancy Ann said, ‘Well now, if that’s the case, you want to get away from here. And get yourself a decent suit and travelling clothes. I’ll go back to Rossburn. I’ve got over a hundred pounds in my cash box and I shall give you a cheque for the rest. But the quicker you make a start the better, for if your father-in-law should arrive, there’ll be a scene, and I don’t think Papa could stand it.’
He nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, you are right, Nancy Ann. And…and thank you. I’ll pay you…’
‘Oh, be quiet! Don’t be silly. I have more money than I know what to do with.’ She smiled gently at him, then hurried from the room.
As she was going out of the front door she almost ran into the arms of Graham, who, before she could speak, asked, ‘Were you going in search of your father? Don’t worry, he’s in the library. He often drops in there.’
‘In your library?’
‘Yes’—he smiled now—‘in my library.’
‘He…he goes in without your knowledge?’
‘Oh, I am so glad he makes use of it, and I’m pleased to have him there. At times he’s very good company.’
She noticed, the ‘at times’. And now she said, ‘I wasn’t about to look for him; I’m…I’m just going to run to the house. I’ll be back. James has come. It’s…it’s to be a very flying visit. I’m…I’m sure he’d like to talk to you.’
‘James here? Oh, yes, yes.’ He moved to the side to let her pass, and as she hurried from him, she was aware that he remained standing on the step watching her …
The parting between her and James was very painful; both knew they might never see each other again. For a moment they stood entwined and with their grandmother’s hands on their shoulders, and they all cried.
Outside, a trap was waiting to drive James to the school to see Peter. One of Graham’s men was already seated in it, and Graham himself was shaking James’s hand and saying, ‘I’m more than sorry to see you go like this. But keep in touch. You will, won’t you?’ Then nodding towards the man in the trap, he said, ‘John will take you to Peter’s and wait for you there, and then see you to the station.’
James was now too full of emotion to speak. He stepped up into the trap, then looked to where Nancy Ann and his grandmother were standing close together, and beyond them to Peggy and Hilda, but he did not even lift his hand in farewell, he just kept his eyes on them until he could no longer see them.
When the trap had disappeared from their sight, Jessica turned and walked slowly into the house; but Nancy Ann and Graham stood in silence looking along the short drive to where it turned into an avenue of trees.
When they entered the house it was to find that Jessica had gone to her room. In the sitting room once more Nancy Ann looked at Graham who was seated opposite to her and said quietly, ‘It’s strange what is happening to our family, isn’t it? We were all so close just a short while ago. What has happened to us?’ Her hands made an appealing motion towards him as if he could provide the answer.
‘One of you died,’ he said, ‘and another couldn’t stand the loss; the rest grew up.’
She nodded at him. ‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ she said. Then sighing, she added, ‘It’s been a strange day. I woke up this morning feeling happy and excited. I was to go with Dennison to Fellburn. He was to meet some committee members there, you know with regard to…well, as Grandmama says, getting his foot into politics, and we were then going down the river in one of the steamboats. But it was all changed when I got the note about James. But that wasn’t all. I happened to go up to the nursery and there I saw my daughter being held in the arms of the boy. I suppose, Graham, you know all about Dennison’s brother’s son, David, because that’s who he is. And it pains me that Dennison will not recognise him in any way. It’s odd, a really weird situation, that the boy is still in the house and, from what I gather, has been brought up among the lumber in the attic. Well, there he was, sitting holding Rebecca. He’s a lovely looking boy. He must be eleven now and…and really speaks quite well. He’s had no schooling, but his mother must have taught him to read and write, because once when I spoke to him, last year down by the river, he talked of reading books. He should be at school, Graham, a good school, but I cannot bring his name up with Dennison. He came across him once in the wood and his reaction towards the child was terrible. Can you understand it?’
It was some seconds before Graham replied, ‘Yes, yes, I can understand it, strange as it may seem to you, for I know he loved his brother dearly. We all act in
different ways when faced with the loss of loved ones. And I can see it would be impossible for Dennison to recognise the child. You mightn’t like what I’m going to say, but I think it is to his credit that he allows him to stay there.’
When she gazed at him in silence he leaned towards her and said quietly, ‘I myself have been through, you could say, a similar situation in that I…I lost someone I loved. I don’t need to relate my story to you either, for it is common knowledge. But whereas Dennison’s loss made him take up a high, wild life, because he is of an extrovert nature, I, being of the opposite, an introvert, scuttled into seclusion, because I couldn’t bear what I thought of as the shame. I was a quiet young man, but when Miss Constance Beverley, a beautiful young girl, accepted my proposal, it was as if I had been endowed with the stature of a god. This is a small estate. We’ve never been enormously rich, though quite comfortable, but I went about as if I had become king of a country.’ He looked at his hands. They were lying palm down on his thighs, the fingers spread as if he were pressing something away from him. Then he added, ‘When I was deposed, the day we were to marry, it was just after Tim’s tragedy, and I nearly joined him. If I’d been anything of a strong character, I would have gone abroad, or even to London and found a new bride whether I loved her or not, and brought her back and flaunted her just to show my friends how little I had been affected. But no, being me, I had to make a tragedy out of it; although I must admit I didn’t think at the time I was doing any such thing, nor for some years afterwards. My house, the seven hundred acres, my books and my cello became my life.’
She hadn’t known he played the cello. She wanted to remark on it, but it would have been too trivial at this moment. Instinctively, she put her hand out towards him, and when both of his covered hers, their gaze held, hers soft with pity and understanding, his full of something that she recognised but would not put a name to. What she said now sounded inane: ‘There’s plenty of time for you to find happiness.’
He withdrew his hands from hers and, rising slowly, he said, ‘The happiness you refer to, Nancy Ann, is past for me. I’m a dull fellow and quite stupid in a way: because I’m always looking inside, I’m blind to what’s happening under my nose.’
‘No, no. Good gracious, no. I don’t see you like that, nor does anyone else, I should say.’ Her declaration sounded vehement.
‘That’s kind of you, Nancy Ann. And I must say one thing, I’ve felt much happier since your family have come here. I’m very fond of Mrs Hazel, she’s such a sensible person. And…and if I may say so, I value your friendship, Nancy Ann. Above everything else I value that. And, as I have said before, if ever you need a friend in any way and for whatever purpose, I should be happy to be that friend.’
Her eyelids blinked. She could feel the colour hot on her cheeks, and her voice was low as she murmured, ‘Yes, yes, Graham, I know, and I could not imagine a better or firmer friend.’
After an ensuing few seconds of silent embarrassment, she put in, her words tumbling over each other, ‘I…I’d better go. I’ll…I’ll just say goodbye to Grandmama. And…and thank you for being so kind and understanding to James. Poor James.’ She nodded at him now, then turned hastily away, forgetting that, in courtesy, she should have seen him to the door.
She ran up the stairs but did not go into her grandmama’s room. There were two spare rooms on the opposite side of the landing and she went into one and closed the door. Then turning and leaning her forehead against it, she asked herself what was wrong with her; she was all wrought up inside. Well…well, she would be, wouldn’t she? James leaving his wife and family and going off to Canada. She turned now and leant her back against the door and stared across the room, and she knew that the turmoil inside her hadn’t been caused so much by her brother’s unconventional departure as by the conversation she’d had with a man who thought of himself as dull and of little consequence. And there arose in her mind the image of Dennison. Dennison would never consider himself dull or of little consequence: Dennison was outgoing, strong, forceful, and he knew it and impressed it on others.
She stood away from the door and felt a sense of guilt sweeping over her. It was as if she was criticising her husband’s character aloud. But that was silly—she shook her head at herself—she loved Dennison and everything about him…everything.
Then a thought obtruded into her mind: what had her father said? That Peter was proposing to marry Eva McKeowan? Oh no. Dennison wouldn’t like that. No, he wouldn’t. Did she like it? Well, now she came to think about it James would have been much happier had he married Eva. But did she like the possibility of Peter marrying her? Well, one thing was sure, it wouldn’t enhance her family’s standing in the eyes of the staff.
Eight
For the last two months of her pregnancy Nancy Ann felt definitely unwell. The baby was due towards the end of December. She hoped it would come on Christmas Day; in fact, she was now almost willing it to come on Christmas Day. Hang on, her grandmama had said, and you’ll get your wish.
It was the beginning of December and the weather was vile, as it had been during all of November and late October. There were days when she couldn’t venture outdoors, even to go to the Dower House, and on these occasions she felt exceedingly lonely and especially so when Dennison was in London.
During the past six weeks he had made two longish visits to the city. He was negotiating the selling of the Scottish estate to help pay his election expenses. Elections, as he kept saying, were very costly businesses. When she tentatively questioned him as to what he did in the evenings, he always replied, ‘What do you think, my dear? Take your choice: roulette, cards, or dice.’ And she left it at this, for she realised he did not favour this kind of questioning. Nevertheless, he always seemed so glad to be back in her company; and, of late, it was simply just her company, for he had not shared her bed for some weeks now, his reason being, and which he had put plainly to her, that he would be unable to bear being near her without loving her …
She was in the nursery. Between them, she and Mary had bathed Rebecca and got her settled for the night. And now Mary, taking the high guard away from the fire, and pulling up an old button-backed upholstered chair, said, ‘Sit yourself down, ma’am, for a moment. You look a bit drawn. Are you all right?’
‘To tell the truth, Mary, I’m…I’m not feeling too well. I haven’t for the past day or so, but I suppose this is the pattern.’
‘No, no, it shouldn’t be, ma’am, not if you’re feeling bad like and it not due for another three weeks. Only once did ma feel bad when she was having them, and then it came a bit early.’
Nancy Ann already knew the whole history of Mary’s family, and she was going to become better acquainted with another one of them as soon as the baby was born because Mary’s younger sister, Agnes, was coming to act as assistant nursery maid. This last appointment to the staff had been made without consulting Mrs Conway and so had not warmed the relationship between them. Nancy Ann did not feel any compunction in lessening the housekeeper’s authority in this way, for she knew that the woman was lining her pockets, and doubtless those of the butler and valet, through co-operation with the tradesmen. She had learned a lot about housekeeping during the months of her mother’s illness; the meagreness of the amount allotted to their daily needs had made her question the price of all commodities.
‘Will I make you a cup of tea, ma’am?’
‘No, thank you, Mary. I’d better be getting down; it’s about time for Mrs Conway’s round.’
‘Yes.’ Mary looked at the brass-faced clock on the mantelpiece and they exchanged smiles and Nancy Ann, about to rise from the chair, suddenly opened her mouth wide and gasped at the air as her two hands grabbed at the mound of her stomach.
‘Oh, my goodness! No!’ Mary was bending over her, saying now, ‘Lie back. Take it easy. That’s it. That’s it. Has it gone?’
Nancy Ann let out a long shuddering breath as she said, ‘Yes…but’—she looked up into Mary’s face—
‘it can’t be, can it?’
‘It could, ma’am, it could. What was it like? Sharp like?’
‘Oh, yes, yes.’
‘I…I think you had better get down to bed, ma’am.’
‘Yes, I think so, Mary.’
As Mary helped her from the couch the door opened, and the housekeeper stood there, a look of disapproval on her face, and Mary, turning her head towards her, unceremoniously said, ‘She’s started.’
‘What?’
‘I said, Madam’s started.’
‘Nonsense, woman. It’s not…’
‘I know it’s not due, but I tell you, anyway, it’s comin’. Give a hand; get the other side of Madam.’
For the moment the housekeeper was too flustered to put the upstart maid in her place, but going towards Nancy Ann, she said, ‘Do you think it has, ma’am?’
‘I…I don’t know, Mrs Conway, but…but I shouldn’t be surprised.’ She had hardly got the last word out before she doubled up again and they were both supporting her.
A minute later, the housekeeper left her to go to the cord at the side of the fireplace, and she pulled on it vigorously. ‘The men must help,’ she said; ‘those stairs are steep. She…she shouldn’t be up here.’
Nancy Ann, straightening her body as much as she could, gasped and, looking at the housekeeper, she said, ‘It’s…it’s all right. I’ll manage the stairs. Just…just let me get down.’
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