A Dream of her Own

by Benita Brown

  Then, as he pushed open the door, she heard him say, ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Matthew. But I thought I’d bring Constance in today.’

  ‘John . . .’ Constance caught at his sleeve. ‘Matthew is here?’

  He turned and smiled. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I brought him home with me and he came straight up.’

  ‘I see.’

  Constance tried to hide her disappointment and, as she followed her husband into the room and saw his friend standing there, a startling thought came from nowhere.

  Is Matthew trying to hide his disappointment, too?

  Nella climbed the stairs of the theatrical lodging house in Spital Tongues. It was a respectable establishment but the liberal use of lavender polish never quite overcame the odours of boiled mutton and cabbage rising from the basement kitchen.

  Spital was just up the road from the Haymarket, and the terrace of houses looked on to the south side of the Town Moor. Mrs Small, the landlady, had been in the theatre herself and, as a former dramatic actress who had married a minor playwright, she thought of herself as being a step above the likes of Lucy Lovekins. But the house was clean and the food, although unimaginative, was supplied in generous portions.

  Nella was still sharing a set of rooms with Lucy, because Harry thought it best, although she could well afford a place of her own now. Soon she would be able to buy a nice little house, somewhere she could retreat to and get away from the others in between engagements. And she needed somewhere private to keep the nice things she had started buying.

  The wardrobe mistress who had made her first theatrical costume was an experienced needlewoman who didn’t seem to mind the extra work it took to get a dress to hang just right from Nella’s crooked shoulders. Apart from the outfits she wore on stage, Nella had started building up a wardrobe of her own to replace the sad collection of rags she had left behind at the Sowerbys’ house.

  She sometimes wondered what had become of them. She’d sent a letter to Alice, asking her to sort through and give the lot to the rag-and-bone man. She’d told her to keep any pennies he might give her. Alice had never written back: perhaps she’d never got the letter; perhaps she couldn’t read. Nella didn’t really care.

  When the theatre she was appearing in was too far to travel back to each day, Harry had started getting her a room in a nice hotel as near to the theatre as possible. Nella questioned the amount she had to pay for the privilege but Harry said that she had to start living like a star. She couldn’t afford to make herself look cheap.

  Nella paused on the landing. Lucy was singing, practising her scales, and Nella grinned. She could understand why the other lodgers complained. Lucy had never had much of a voice and her dancing would never had got her out of the chorus line if she hadn’t been so beautiful. Not beautiful in the way Constance was beautiful. Constance was refined and delicate, whereas Lucy Lovekins was bold and curvy and eye-catching. Well, she had been once upon a time, when she was a young soubrette; the effect now was a little overblown.

  Poor Lucy, she’d never bothered to save up for her old age and she had no man to keep her when she retired. I won’t let that happen to me, Nella thought. I doubt if I’ll ever get a husband but at least I can start saving me money. Yes, and buy a nice little property somewhere. Not something like this - I divven’t want to hev to take lodgers like Mrs Small - I’m aiming for something grander. Perhaps across the moor at Gosforth or Brunton, with a servant or two to keep the place in order for me ...

  Lucy stopped singing when Nella opened the door. ‘Hello, pet,’ she said. ‘Did you see your old friend, then?’

  ‘Yes. Any chance of a cuppa?’

  ‘Of course, love,’ Lucy busied herself in the tiny kitchen. Mrs Small provided most of their meals on request, but they could always boil an egg or brew up tea or coffee for themselves. ‘I bet she was surprised to see you!’ Lucy called.

  ‘She was.’

  ‘And delighted, no doubt. I mean, she must have thought you’d forgotten all about her now that you’re making your way.’ Lucy appeared in the doorway bearing a tray.

  Nella didn’t bother to explain that Constance had known nothing about her new career until this very day. She simply grinned as she loosened her cloak and eased herself down on to a chair near the dark green chenille-covered table. ‘Yes, I think she was delighted.’

  Lucy put the tray down and began to pour the tea. ‘And did you give her the present?’

  ‘Present?’ Nella frowned. She hadn’t told her roommate about the broken chain and how she’d had it mended.

  ‘You know,’ Lucy put a small square of oilcloth on the table in front of Nella and placed her teacup on it, ‘the bonny hatpin you bought for her, with a pearl as big as a pigeon’s egg!’

  ‘Oh, that. No, I forgot.’

  ‘What a pity.’ Lucy sat down at the table and stirred two spoonsful of sugar into her own cup. ‘Never mind. Next time, eh?’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps.’

  But Nella hadn’t forgotten to give Constance the hatpin. She had decided not to the moment she saw the one that her friend was already wearing. From a distance it looked the same but close up, when she had helped her remove it, Nella had seen there was no comparison. She didn’t imagine that it was a real pearl, any more than the one she had bought in the market was. But the way it was set into the filigree, rather than clasped crudely between two claws, the way the ‘pearl’ glowed rather than shone like a painted bead, that told her how much more expensive it had been than her little gift. She simply hadn’t removed it from her bag. Constance would never know.

  She’d been disappointed, of course, but that disappointment was nothing compared to the pangs she’d suffered when Constance’s husband had come home. Oh, she’d smiled and tried to tell Constance that John was simply peeved not to find his wife alone. But she’d known the truth of it straight away. She’d seen that expression too often. He’d taken one look at her and recoiled in disgust.

  She drained her tea and gestured to Lucy that she’d like a fill-up. Constance loves the man, she thought, so I mustn’t make a judgement too quickly. But I wish I didn’t feel so uneasy . . .

  Constance sat in the small armchair near the fireplace in the sewing room and John kneeled on the floor beside her, watching her face as she looked at the sketchbook. A small fire burned in the hearth, and husband and wife were enveloped in a circle of soft, warm light. Matthew, sitting at a distance by the sewing-table, felt excluded and it hurt.

  How beautiful they are, he thought, like two fairy children. He smiled at his own fancy. For of course they weren’t children and neither were they fairy folk, they were only too human and adult enough to be going to have a baby of their own. He was surprised that the idea of John as a father was so disturbing. They had both known that it was necessary in order for John to come into his inheritance and, indeed, they had planned it - in a way. They hadn’t exactly set out to find a wife for John, but the moment they had met Constance in the park that day, their half-formed ideas had become reality.

  The fact that Constance was beautiful had been more than John had hoped for. He had a keen sense of aesthetics. The fact that she was well-spoken and obviously used to a better way of life than that of a servant had not made him as curious as he should have been. He had been happy to accept Constance as an orphan - indeed her being an orphan with no family to take care of her was exactly what was required - but he hadn’t seemed to care enough to want to know more about her.

  I suppose that should make me happy, Matthew thought, the fact that he doesn’t care. And yet what about ordinary human curiosity? No, I have to accept that John is too self-centred to wonder about other people’s lives. Even mine . . . When we are together he is all that I want him to be but what if I had to leave him for any length of time? Would he wonder what I was doing? Whether I was happy? Or would he simply worry about the effect it was having on his own life? And how soon would he find someone else to take my place?

  ‘John, t
hese designs are wonderful,’ he heard Constance say. ‘I had no idea that you had done so much - worked so hard.’

  ‘What do you think I do when I lock myself away in here?’ John replied and then he laughed. ‘Even when Matthew comes to visit I do not allow myself to be distracted. No - in fact I work even harder. Matthew is a hard taskmaster, isn’t that right?’ He smiled up at his friend.

  John’s eyes were shining as he sent an unspoken message of shared knowledge. Matthew felt a stab of excitement in his loins.

  ‘Taskmaster?’ Constance asked. ‘Why should that be so?’ She was frowning.

  Take care, John, take care, Matthew thought.

  ‘Because Matthew is investing money in my enterprise. Without his help I do not think I would ever be able to break free from the tyranny of Uncle Walter and the family business.’

  ‘But I understand that the business will be yours one day. Esther has no brothers and your grandfather’s will—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ John said impatiently. ‘But I cannot wait until that day in the future when Uncle Walter dies. He would never agree to anything so revolutionary as ladies’ fashions. I must start now or my best years will be wasted. Don’t you understand?’

  ‘Of course.’

  But Matthew guessed that Constance was puzzled. Not by her husband’s desire to forge his own way - indeed, she obviously admired him for that. No, she was beginning to wonder why a man from his own background should be interested in helping John set up as a glorified dressmaker. Perhaps she was intelligent enough to have begun to wonder about their very unlikely friendship.

  Constance leaned back in the chair and rested her head in her hand. Matthew could no longer see her expression. ‘Are you tired, Constance?’ he asked. ‘John is so enthusiastic about his plans that it may not have occurred to him that you might like to rest a while before dinner.’

  ‘Dinner?’ Constance dropped her hand and looked at her husband. ‘Will you be staying at home tonight?’

  ‘I ... I hadn’t planned to. Matthew and I were . . . we . . .’ John had the grace to look uncomfortable. He glanced at Matthew and, in that moment, Matthew felt a surge of dislike for his friend. He knew this reaction to be unfair. He was equally to blame for Constance’s loneliness.

  ‘John, I’m tired of dining alone!’

  Matthew had never seen Constance look so mutinous and he guessed that John hadn’t either. Something had upset his friend’s wife today, that was obvious, otherwise John would never have brought her into the sewing room like this. A friend of hers had been here when they arrived; had the friend been unsettling Constance? Hinting that her husband ought to spend more time with her?

  ‘John, that little maid of yours,’ Matthew asked suddenly, ‘what kind of a cook is she?’

  ‘Not bad. Why?’ John frowned.

  ‘Well, why don’t we both stay here with Constance tonight? I’ll go out and buy some decent wine and even if Polly can only come up with cold meats and salad, we’ll make a feast of it.’

  ‘Stay here? But—’

  Matthew ignored him and turned to Constance. ‘What do you say, Constance? Will Polly give notice if we ask her to provide a meal for the three of us?’ He smiled his most engaging smile and he saw Constance begin to respond.

  ‘No, she won’t give notice. And she’s not a bad cook; I’ve been teaching her... well, telling her about the things I like and she’s always willing to try. And, tonight, I’m sure Mrs Green would come in and help her.’

  ‘Mrs Green?’

  ‘Next door,’ Constance said.

  ‘Oh, yes. Young Albert’s mother.’ He glanced at John, who smiled slightly and shrugged.

  ‘Well, then. That’s settled. Here,’ he took a couple of sovereigns from his pocket, ‘tell your maid that she must hurry out and buy anything she needs.’

  ‘No, that’s not necessary—’ Constance began.

  ‘I insist. It’s my idea, my treat. Is that all right with you, John?’

  John was looking sulky. ‘I suppose so. But I thought we were . . . I mean . . .’

  ‘If you mean that we need to be alone to discuss business then that’s all right, too. Constance will go and instruct Polly and then she will go and lie down until dinnertime. No, Constance, I insist. We want to spoil you today.’

  John’s wife stared at him for a moment and then her shoulders seemed to relax. She arose from the chair and took the money from his hand although he could see that that made her uncomfortable. He would have to be careful. She may have come from the workhouse but she had more integrity than her husband.

  John saw her to the door. ‘Come down with me,’ she said. ‘Polly is less likely to make a fuss if the request comes from you.’

  John smiled. ‘Very well, sweetheart. And then I shall tuck you up in bed myself.’ Matthew could see that his good humour had been restored.

  While John was gone from the room Matthew wondered whether he should tell him what he had discovered. John may not have been curious about his wife’s former life but Matthew had been. And, really, it hadn’t been very difficult to discover her story. Bannerman was not a common name and people in the business community remembered how Richard Bannerman had gone bankrupt and then died.

  Matthew had also learned that his widow and small child had ended up in the workhouse because the Meakins, the parents of his first wife, had refused to help. But they had taken their grandson to live with them. Constance had a family after all, a half-brother who was now living in Newcastle and managing the family shipping business; and not too well, if the rumours were accurate.

  Matthew wondered if Constance knew the whereabouts of her half-brother, Robert Bannerman, and whether she would want to get in touch with him. If she did the brother might want to assume responsibility for her. John would have to take care how he treated her . . .

  When John returned he was pleased with himself. ‘Mrs Green is already installed in the kitchen, Polly has gone to the shops and I’ve sent Albert for the wine and a bottle of brandy. Hargreaves will put it on my account.’

  Which, no doubt, I shall settle, Matthew thought; but all he said was, ‘Albert?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I told him exactly what to buy.’ He locked the door behind him and turned to face his friend. ‘I’ve told them to take their time, to make sure everything is perfect.’ He laughed. ‘Mrs Green is actually pleased that we are entertaining. She thinks Constance needs cheering up.’

  ‘And does she?’

  John frowned and then he sighed. ‘Yes, I think she does. I should have realized that my wife lacked company.’ He moved over to the fireplace and rested one arm on the mantelpiece. ‘You know, Matthew, when I returned home earlier and found her chatting with that... that little witch, I was shocked to the core.’

  Matthew sat in the armchair that Constance had recently vacated and looked up at him. ‘Yes, what was all that about? As far as I can make out you chased her friend away and dragged the poor girl up here.’

  ‘She was pleased to come here. She’s interested in my work.’

  ‘But was she pleased to have her friend dismissed?’

  ‘No. But, Matthew, if you had seen her!’

  ‘What on earth is the matter with the girl?’

  ‘She’s deformed. Humpbacked and twisted. Rickets, I suppose, and that’s sad, but when I saw her standing over Constance with her pointy face silhouetted against the firelight, it was as if she were casting a spell on my wife and my unborn child.’

  ‘What nonsense! I had no idea that you were so ig—superstitious!’

  John’s face became suffused with temper. ‘Ignorant. That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? Well, perhaps I am. I haven’t had the advantages of your upbringing and education. Your wealthy background!’

  Matthew stared at him. He knew that it would be no use telling him that wealth had nothing to do with it. Nor even education. There had been other boys at Eton who would have been just as cruel about Constance’s poor little frien
d, perhaps more so. No, prejudice was a character flaw that occurred in all levels of society and John should know that. After all, beautiful as he was to look at, there were aspects of his personality that would not bear scrutiny.

  ‘John, don’t let us quarrel.’ He smiled. He knew that he had to charm John out of this mood otherwise their time together might be wasted and, although John did not know it yet, they might not have much longer.

  ‘No,’ John sighed. ‘But, perhaps you would do me a favour?’

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Persuade your sister to come and visit again. She will cheer Constance up enormously.’

  ‘What? And expose your wife to my sister’s dangerous views about women’s emancipation?’ He laughed.