by Nancy Carson
‘Drink can do that to you. Too much drink … You do drink too much, Lawson, I hate to tell you.’
‘You’re nagging me already.’
‘I’m your wife,’ she sighed. ‘I want to help you. I want to look after you. I’m trying to keep you on the straight and narrow …’
‘But you don’t have to nag me. As I said, I know my faults.’
‘Sorry.’
‘As I was saying … I have a vile temper as well, I’m excitable, impulsive, I couldn’t care less what my friends or anybody else—’
‘Lawson, you are the most intelligent, the most generous, the nicest, the most interesting person I’ve ever met in my whole life.’
‘Yes, I’m all of those things …’ He smiled with a sham smugness that amused her, but was almost immediately sombre again. ‘I’m sometimes over-emotional. Intellect and emotions seem to rule me, Daisy. I also get very jealous, you know …’
‘You’ve no reason to be jealous where I’m concerned.’
‘No, I don’t think I have. But I want you to know what I’m like under the skin. I need you to understand me and, when you understand me, to direct me.’
The waiter brought their brandies and deposited them on the table with a flourish and Lawson thanked him.
‘You’re untidy,’ Daisy proclaimed when the waiter had gone. ‘I’ve noticed that already.’
‘And you don’t mince your words …’ He smiled again and tasted the brandy. ‘We shall have a successful marriage, Daisy, you and I,’ he said expansively. ‘You are the exact opposite of everything I am. I envy you your virtues, you know. Your innocence, your warm-heartedness, your affability … You’d give away your last penny if you thought it would help the person you were giving it to, whereas I wouldn’t – I’m far too selfish. You’re patient. I’m not. You’re organised, I’m generally in utter chaos. I’m volatile, I’ve never once seen you flustered. You’re even-tempered—’
‘I’m also free of my monthly scourge,’ she said quietly and dipped her nose into her brandy glass without looking at him.
He guffawed and his eyes brightened. ‘Then why are we sitting here? Come on, let’s go upstairs … Lord, I’ve got a stirring in my loins already. Take the brandy with you …’ He rose from his chair eagerly, then went round to Daisy and drew back her chair as she rose, a radiant smile on her face. ‘Why didn’t you say so sooner, save me rambling on the way I did.’
‘At least I know you better because of it,’ she said as she took his arm. ‘At least I know what to expect in future.’
‘Oh, ignore me, Daisy. It was the drink talking …’
They undressed by candlelight. As she lay naked in bed awaiting him, the dipping flicker of yellow light added warm colour to her pale skin and threw dancing shadows on the wall behind him as he got into the right hand side of the bed and lay beside her. At once they were in each other’s arms. He was instantly aroused as he savoured the sleekness of her body, the feel of her soft, silky skin pressed lightly against his. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience this, the very first time with a virgin wife, and he was not about to rush it.
‘Aren’t you warm enough?’ he whispered. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘I’m not cold, Lawson. Just a bit nervous, that’s all.’
‘There’s nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart. I love you. I’ll look after you.’
Her baptism of sexual experience was upon her as he traced faint lines all over her body in gentle strokes with the tips of his fingers. She shuddered with delight at the sensations and this new experience of intimacy incited a warmth of desire that welled up inside her. With his eyes shut, he found her mouth and kissed her tenderly, but eagerly and there was no mistaking his hunger, his need for her. While they kissed, his right hand explored more of her, sending fresh, delectable shivers up and down her spine. He pressed himself against her and cupped one round, yielding breast in his hand and felt her nipple harden between his fingers. Then he left a trail of kisses down her neck and across her breast till he found that nipple and nuzzled it like a suckling child.
His tongue flicked delectably across it and the sensations astonished her. She had tried to imagine all this before of course, alone in her bed in Baxter House and in the boxroom at Campbell Street. But she had not expected that his warm, firm flesh against hers would be so stimulating. She could feel that familiar wetness between her legs and, when he touched her there, she was surprised at how utterly pleasant it was. His fingers caressed her so skilfully that she could not help but utter little sighs and groans at the pleasure of it. After a while, he rolled onto her and slid down her body, leaving a moist trail of tender little bites that went rapidly cold across her belly. He slithered lower, until his face was snuggled in her dark, moist curls. His tongue lapped inside her and around her, and the sensations were mesmerising. She arched her back and held his head to draw him further into her and, when he gave her tender little bites she lay and wriggled, and gasped in a crisis of ecstasy and stupefaction. Her heart was pounding hard as he slid his body up over her again and she received his wet, lingering kiss with a hungry, open mouth. He raised himself up on his arms to relieve her of his weight, then looked down between their bodies to where he was nudging her, to where he was pressing for entry.
‘I’ll try not to hurt you,’ he breathed. ‘But it might, for a second or two.’
‘I don’t mind, my love. I want you …’
Her hands were on his hips, half expecting to have to hold him back if the pain was too great. She felt him enter, winced as he seemed to stretch her, and she whimpered at the sudden, sharp but anticipated twinge at his first gentle push.
‘I’m sorry …’ He halted.
‘No … It’s all right,’ she cooed. ‘Don’t stop … Slowly …’ Holding her breath, she gripped his buttocks and, without further thrusting, he allowed her to pull him into her at her own pace. She let out a little groan as slowly, cautiously, he filled her up. In some distant recess of her mind she could hear herself quietly sighing as she felt him moving gently inside her, against her … So this was lovemaking … This was how it felt … Well, it was not at all unpleasant, this ultimate expression of love … In fact, the longer it went on the more pleasant it became, the more heightened became her emotions … Soon, she felt Lawson pulsing within her and he let out a great grunt … and then he ceased to move any more, to her disappointment. He slumped, relaxed, spent.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, unsure whether this was normal.
He nodded, his face in the pillow. ‘Never better.’
She hugged him. ‘Have I made you happy, Lawson? I haven’t disappointed you, have I?’
He shook his head, then rolled off her onto his back and closed his eyes. She ran her fingers gently across his chest, moist with perspiration. By the dancing candlelight she glanced adoringly at his handsome face, at his dark hair all ruffled, at his pulse beating fast in the hollow of his neck.
‘I love you, Lawson Maddox,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, I love you so much.’ She had given herself eagerly, earnestly, and now it was all over. ‘Hold me, Lawson,’ she sighed, snuggling up to him. ‘Love me …’ She wanted to share with him the spiritual closeness, this newly reinforced bond. It had been a wonderful experience, far more pleasant than she had expected.
He stirred slightly, his breathing steady as she waited for his response. She realised with frustration that he was asleep already and she drew the bedclothes up around them. She blew out the candle and lay awake for ages, overjoyed that they had consummated their marriage, that it was much nicer than she had dared hope … Yet she felt there should have been something more … She was disappointed as well that Lawson was not awake to talk about it, to tell him how she felt.
Then he stirred again.
‘Don’t forget to wash yourself out,’ he muttered, and rolled over onto his side.
Next morning they awoke early. She greeted him, her eyes bright with tenderness, her lips smiling her commit
ment. He made love to her again. This time, there was no lengthy foreplay to make her squirm with desire, and Lawson’s whiskery growth was scratchy against her smooth face as he thrust inside her more urgently than he had last night. But afterwards, she held him lovingly and was pleased to see him contented.
Bath was wonderful. They visited everywhere there was to visit, saw everything there was to see. That day they managed a tour of the city centre, peering in the shop windows of Milsom Street. They visited the recently discovered suite of Roman baths, they took tea in the Pump Room and tarried to listen to the fine band that played some beautifully serene music. When they had satisfied their curiosity as to the peculiar taste of the warm mineral water, they returned to their hotel and made love again.
Next day, Daisy was enchanted by the King’s Circus with its exquisite relief carvings, and thrilled to learn that some of the houses had been owned and occupied by such legendary figures as William Pitt the Elder, Clive of India and David Livingstone. They saw the Assembly Rooms, sadly dilapidated, but she imagined the genteel balls of a bygone age, the tea-parties, the card-playing. Queen Square fascinated her with its houses which were on one side the mirror images of those on the other. She was amused at the Bath chairs and the people who used them. Pulteney Bridge was a treasure trove of little shops and tea rooms that fooled her into thinking she was on a street and not walking over the river. Only when they walked along Grand Parade and she could see the bridge did she marvel at the illusion.
Every day they made love, usually more than once – at times of the day her mother would have frowned on – and Daisy was content that her husband found her so desirable. But she remained disappointed that always, afterwards, she yearned for some tenderness, some show of added affection, while Lawson always seemed oblivious to her needs, usually dozing off. When he touched her, when they laughed and teased and it was obvious they were going to make love, she was always excited, always pleased to give herself. Always there was the promise that some scandalously astounding pleasure was about to explode within her, though it had not yet. Oh, lovemaking was nice, to be sure. It made her toes curl … But surely there was more to it if what some of her friends had told her was true …
And why did he expect her to wash herself out afterwards every time? Surely he realised she wanted his children?
Chapter 8
On their first full day back at home in Himley Road, Daisy got up, washed and dressed before Lawson. While she waited for Lawson to venture downstairs she explored the cellar and foraged for coal. She lugged a bucketful up the stone steps to light a fire in the scullery range. Using a draw-tin, the coals quickly ignited, so she would soon be able boil a kettle and brew a pot of tea. As she washed her hands she realised that having returned too late the previous evening to do anything about it, she was now faced with the disturbing reality that there was no food in the house to make breakfast, and no fresh milk to make tea. Pondering whether she should don her hat and coat and rush to the nearest corner shop, she stepped into the sitting room. At once she was drawn to the magnificent painting of the young girls draped over their Italian marble bench and could not help pausing to look at it for a few seconds, before turning to the bleak, uninspiring landscape outside her front window. As she peered out, she saw a milk float coming down the hill. She rushed to the front door, waited for it to approach, then hailed the milkman. He stopped, touched his cap and alighted from the cart.
‘Morning, ma’am,’ he greeted cordially. ‘Can I be of help?’
‘I take it you don’t deliver milk here?’ she said.
‘No, ma’am. Never bin axed.’
‘Could you? In future?’
‘Cerpaintly, ma’am. Am you the missus?’
She smiled at this description of herself. ‘Yes, I’m the missus. And could we have a couple of pints this morning, do you think?’
‘No trouble. I generally carry extra milk. Yo’ never know who’ll be wanting extra.’
‘I’ll fetch a couple of jugs then. I won’t be a minute.’
When she returned the milkman was making a new entry into his well-worn record book.
‘Maddox is the name, in’t it?’ he queried.
‘You know it already,’ she remarked with some surprise.
‘I’ve heard it mentioned.’
‘Well I’m Mrs Maddox. To tell the truth, I’m new over this side of town. We were only married a little while ago.’ She held out the enamelled jugs. ‘It’s our first day back from honeymoon.’
He ladled milk into both of them. ‘Honeymoon, eh? Bin somewhere nice?’
‘London and Bath.’
‘London and Bath, eh? Very nice. Yower husband must be as wealthy as folk mek him out to be then, eh?’
‘Wealthy? I wouldn’t know. I’m not privy to his financial affairs.’
‘Well, ignorance is bliss, or so they say. Eh, Mrs Maddox?’
‘I daresay you’re right, Mr …’
‘Turner. At your service. Would yer like me to call tomorrer?’
‘Please. Every day, if you would.’
‘No trouble. I collect me money of a Saturday.’
‘I’ll have it ready … Tell me, Mr Turner, is there a butcher locally you could recommend. And a grocer?’
‘There’s Randall’s in Salop Street.’ He nodded in the direction he’d come from. ‘Top of the hill and turn left. They say his meat’s all right. Next to him there’s a grocer and greengrocer.’
‘Thank you, Mr Turner. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Mr Turner returned his ladle to his milk churn, touched his cap and stepped up onto the float again.
Back inside, the fire had caught nicely. Daisy filled her kettle from the tap in the brewhouse outside and hung it on a gale hook over the fire. She looked around the freshly whitewashed scullery. It was all new to her and she had to find her way around. She located the teapot, the caddy, and spooned tea-leaves into the pot ready, then searched the cupboards and the cellar head for food. There was nothing she fancied; only stuff she would have to throw away. She made a note of the kitchen utensils, which were a legacy from Lawson’s father’s days, and decided she would need everything new.
Lawson came down and stood in the door frame, smartly dressed.
‘I see you’ve lit a fire already.’
‘There’s not much coal in the cellar, Lawson. We’ll need more. We’ve nothing for breakfast either, save for some milk I just got from the milkman I saw coming down the road. I asked him to call every day. I think I’d better run up the road and get some bacon or something.’
‘There’s some ginger biscuits in a biscuit barrel in the sideboard,’ he said. ‘They’ll do for now. I’m not particularly fussed about breakfast, to tell the truth.’
‘I’ll need some money, Lawson,’ she said apologetically. ‘For meat and bread and provisions. I could do with finding a hardware shop as well. We don’t have any pots and pans to speak of. Nor knives and scissors and such like. Lord only knows how that cook you hired managed.’
‘You’re the housekeeper. How much do you want?’
She shrugged. ‘Hard to say. But I do need to stock up.’
He fished his wallet out of his pocket and rummaged through the coins. He began picking out gold sovereigns. ‘Will ten pounds do?’
‘Ten pounds? Good God, yes. Ten pounds should be plenty.’
He handed her the coins.
‘Are you able to drive me there and back, Lawson?’ she asked. ‘I’m only thinking about carrying all that stuff.’
‘Not today, Daisy. I’ve got a busy day today. First I’ve got to fetch the horse from Jones’s stables. Then I’ve got business to attend to, people to see. I’ve been away more than a week, remember. You’ll have to manage as best you can.’
‘What time shall you leave?’
‘As soon as I’ve wet me whistle.’
The kettle started boiling, spitting water into the fire and hissing impatiently. She took a cloth and lifted it from the gal
e hook and poured water into the teapot.
‘So when shall I see you back?’ she enquired pleasantly.
‘I’ll be back for tea, I daresay.’
She stirred the pot, put the lid on and smiled at him. ‘And I’ll have a lovely hot dinner ready for you … Now, let me see if I can find that biscuit barrel …’
When she returned, Lawson said, ‘I can see that you’re going to need a maid, Daisy. Remind me to see to it.’
‘Oh, I can see to it, Lawson. I’m used to it. I’ll put a notice in the window at the post office or something. A maid-of-all-work is what we need.’ The thought of having a maid enthralled her. A maid would underline her own uplifted social status. ‘A maid-of-all-work would be very useful … and wouldn’t cost a fortune either.’
A long queue of women waited to be served in Randall’s, the butcher’s shop the milkman had told her about, and Daisy just managed to squeeze through the door at the end of it. Rabbits, chickens, and half pigs hung stiffly from galvanised steel hooks attached to the ceiling on the other side of the counter. In the window was displayed a pig’s head made of plaster and painted in glossy paint, with a painted plaster apple in its mouth and surrounded by sprigs of real parsley, all on a white enamelled tray. Near it were some plaster representations of pork pies and sausages. The chopping block, a cylindrical section of a thick tree trunk, stood upright in a corner behind the counter, its top scrubbed and uneven with wear, but now spattered with blood, flecks of meat and shards of bone from the day’s butchering. Sheets of tripe draped the far wall like thick curtains, and two strips of fly paper, dotted with dead flies, hung three feet apart above the wooden counter. The wooden floor was strewn with sawdust.
While waiting to be served, Daisy watched the butcher’s obsequious way with the ladies and his technique, which seemed so laborious. ‘There y’am, Maude, my lover,’ he said with feigned warmth to one customer. He counted the change into her hand as if he were endowing her with a personal gift. ‘Three an’ nine, four shillin’, four an’ a tanner – an’ a tanner for yerself meks five bob.’ Daisy wondered why he couldn’t be quicker.