She was reluctant, but the thought of never seeing him was worse than the threat of ruin. She couldn't bear to lose him, and although she knew it was wrong she agreed. If they took care, no one would become suspicious.
'Half past three then. An apparently accidental meeting in the street, when it would be perfectly natural for me to speak to you, would do no harm. It's a busy street, and perfectly respectable,' he reassured her.
The only other disagreement came when she insisted on being set down before they reached the gates of Gordon Villa.
'It's almost dark. No-one will see us,' he protested.
'Someone always sees.'
'Then I'll say I saw you near the station, recognised you, and offered you a ride,' he said, unwilling to let her go for the sake of a few more minutes.
'No. Please!'
'Are you afraid of gossip?' he asked bluntly.
'Yes. I daren't risk losing my job, I need the money to give to Mom.'
She couldn't tell him, for she was ashamed that she could put her own feelings above the needs of her family, that it would hurt even more deeply if the others began gossiping about her, sullying this precious new experience in her life with their speculations and innuendos.
As she went in to the house she hugged to herself the bliss of her memories, still feeling his hand in hers, his arm about her waist. She barely responded to Cook's greeting as she passed through the kitchen and went straight upstairs.
Ethel was preening before the small mirror in their bedroom, pinning up her hair in a new way, coiling it low at the back of her head.
'Like this fashion?' she asked. 'Had a good time?'
Marigold nodded, and smiled. She'd no intention of telling Ethel just how good a time it had been for her. Apart from her father's odd behaviour 1913 promised to be a New Year full of unexpected delights, undreamed of promises, and an ecstasy she had only begun to comprehend at its very edges.
Richard was utterly special, wonderful and incredible. Their friendship was something magical to be cherished in a cocoon of precious secrecy known only to the two of them, hidden from the prying eyes of others.
*
Richard sighed as Edwin entered his study. He was deep in a difficult book and resented the interruption.
'What is it?' he asked abruptly.
'You've been like an unsociable bear with the proverbial sore head since Christmas,' Edwin replied, throwing off his heavy overcoat and sprawling into an ancient but comfortable armchair.
'I'm working.'
'Too hard to visit Flo? She's been asking me for weeks past where you are.'
'I told you, I don't want to see her again.'
'Taken to religion? You're uncommonly prudish of a sudden. Not got the clap, I trust?'
'Of course not! I'm just tired of rapacious harpies like Flo! She's never satisfied. It's not even an honest trade, sex for money. She has to try and pretend it's different in order to prise more expensive presents from me.'
Unlike Marigold, who'd asked him for nothing, who was gentle and uncomplicatedly friendly, and whose face he couldn't dismiss from his dreams.
'She wants to see you. I'm going to see Bessie this afternoon if you need company.'
'She'll have to want.'
'I think you'd better come. Her brother's threatening to make a fuss with the Dean if you don't.'
'What!'
Richard leapt to his feet and stood over Edwin, his expression both shocked and angry.
'Don't kill the messenger, old man. He was threatening to come yesterday but gave you a day's grace when I said I'd tell you today. I promised you'd be there.'
'What the devil for? How can he make trouble for me? Those girls are nothing but whores, whatever they pretend.'
'Even whores make mistakes, and Flo's mistake is growing bigger daily.'
'I don't believe it!'
He had to accept, when he saw Flo later that day, that she was pregnant. He utterly refused, however, to accept sole responsibility.
'You can't persuade me I'm the only man your sister's been to bed with,' he told the burly man who stood threateningly by. 'I've seen other men coming from the house, and sometimes when I've called she's not been dressed, in the middle of the afternoon.'
'But 'ow can you prove the brat's not yours? It's not as though she be expectin' you to marry 'er,' he went on in a wheedling tone, and Richard shuddered at the very thought. 'She just needs a bit of 'elp.' His tone changed to one of menace. 'An' I'm going to mek sure she gets 'er due! You'd not like the Dean an' your pore fam'ly to know, now, would you?'
'I'll think about it,' Richard stalled.
'Do that, an' I'll expect you to be 'ere again tomorrow.'
'The day after,' he insisted, and retreated after this minor victory, his dignity severely dented.
'What the devil ought I to do?' he demanded of his cousin Archie.
Archie Cranworth was smaller and slighter than Richard, ten years older, a former soldier. He had spent a good deal of his time abroad, but a year ago was wounded in India, and returned to England for good. Now he was connected with the University in Birmingham, although he had his own money.
A hurried exchange of telegrams sent Richard to Birmingham the following morning. Archie met him at the station and they were sitting in a discreet corner of the waiting room.
'You'll have to pay her off, you young fool. Serve you right for mixing with a girl who isn't a simple whore. Give her enough to keep her for a year, and forget about it.'
'I'd never feel safe if she stayed in Oxford. They'd be threatening me and demanding more the whole time I'm there.'
'Then send her to me. I'll pay her the money on condition she doesn't see you again.'
'Thanks, Archie. I'll let you have whatever you think is enough. But can you persuade her?'
'Don't worry. I'll find a room somewhere in Birmingham for her, and keep my eye on her to make sure she stays there, at least until you've left Oxford. You can be sure that before the brat's a month old she'll be back at her trade.'
'The child? What will become of it?'
'You said you couldn't be sure it was yours?'
'No. I know she went with other men.'
'Then the chances are it isn't, but you're the richest one for plucking. Forget it,' Archie advised.
'But if it is, brought up by such a woman? What would become of it?'
'If you prefer I'll insist she sends it to an orphanage. I know of a good one in north Birmingham, where the kid will have a better chance than with her.'
'That would be best. I wouldn't like to condemn any child to her care.'
'Many are worse off.'
'I know, but this one could be mine.'
Partially satisfied, Richard returned to Oxford where he made arrangements for Flo to go to Archie for the money, and tried to forget the whole sordid business.
***
Chapter 6
Poppy picked up the last of the eggs and turned to go back into the house. It was really Ivy's job to collect them, but as usual Ivy was out with her friends.
A year, even a few months ago Poppy would have railed bitterly against the injustice, but she had given up. Besides, it was a chance to get out of the hot, stuffy house and breath some fresh air. As fresh as it could be with the pig sty a few yards away.
'Ivy just smiles sweetly, hangs her head, pretending she's sorry, and promises not to forget tomorrow,' she complained to Marigold when her sister came home again in the middle of February.
'And then forgets?'
'Not always. That's how sly she is. She does it for a day or so, just so much that when I tell Mom she's off again, she can say she's been doing it, and Mom just tells her to be good next time.'
'What's she doing? Playing with Lizzie and her friends?'
'Sometimes. But she's taken to roaming up on the Chase collecting flowers to draw, she says.'
'And does she?' Marigold asked.
'She brings plenty home. Leaves and roots and all sor
ts of nasty things. She does draw lots,' Poppy added slowly.
Later on, when Ivy came home and tea was cleared away, Marigold asked to see her drawings. She was startled not only at their accurate detail, but the beauty Ivy managed to capture in the simple drawings. She didn't know what it was, except for a sense of grace in the pictures of dainty flowers or waving grasses. Each precisely delicate petal, shaped and shaded, seemed alive, ready to float off the page if a mere breath of wind caught it.
'Johnny showed them to his teacher at the evening institute he goes to in Birmingham,' Ivy said proudly. 'He said I should go to art college.'
'Art college? But where could you do that?'
'There's lots, in Lichfield, or Birmingham. I could go to a big college in London and learn all sorts of things, painting as well as drawing.'
'We could never afford it, luv,' John said wearily. 'You know I'd love to give you the chance, but it's just not possible for the likes of us.'
He was sitting as usual in the chair beside the fire, carving his little animals. That must be where Ivy got her talent, Marigold thought, both proud and regretful. If only Pa had been able to have a better start in life he might have become famous. His carvings were so very lifelike.
Pa was beginning to look old, Marigold realised with a pang. His fair hair was receding fast, and turning almost imperceptibly grey. This time he had not shown the frightening anger which had terrified her so at New Year, and Mom, in the few snatched words they'd managed alone, said he was better. Marigold couldn't see it. He was not much more than forty, but had worked hard, and suffered a lot of pain and worry and disappointment. There were deep grooves on his forehead, and his mouth was drawn, his cheeks looking sunken.
She glanced at Mary, sitting by the window to take advantage of the daylight as she did her endless embroidery. She too looked old, her once dark hair much greyer than Pa's, her face lined. Her trim figure had thickened, and although she laced herself into tight corsets she no longer had the slim waist and straight back of her youth.
It made Marigold unbearably sad to see her parents growing old. They were still determinedly cheerful in front of their children, but the early sense of optimism that life would one day have more to offer than endless toil and mean living conditions seemed to have gone.
Ivy was full of questions about Marigold's job.
'What do you have to do when you help at table? Do you have to wash up the silver? What patterns are on the china?'
After much more of this Mary looked up and spoke firmly.
'Ivy, it's time for bed. Church in the morning, and there's a lot to do before we go.'
Ivy pouted, but said no more and went into the scullery to wash. Poppy went soon afterwards, and then, to Marigold's surprise, Mary asked John if he'd take a jug and get a quart of cider from Thomas Bailey's beerhouse on Church Hill.
'I thought it would be a change from my parsnip wine, a special treat for Marigold,' she explained, and with an indulgent smile John heaved himself to his feet.
'I'll go, Mom,' Marigold said quickly.
'Sit still, love, you've had a long journey, and have to go back tomorrow,' John said.
'Did you come by train?' Mary asked the moment the door closed.
Marigold cast her a swift glance. Did she suspect? Mom so often seemed to know things long before you thought anyone else could.
'Yes,' she replied slowly. Richard had wanted to bring her but she'd insisted that this time she went by train. It was too risky, and their weekly drives into the country round Oxford, though making her tremulously happy, also filled her with dread of discovery.
'Not in the big red motor car?'
Marigold sighed. It was, she realised, relief. Now she could talk to Mom, and perhaps begin to understand the odd feelings which even the thought of Richard sent coursing through her blood.
'How did you know?'
'I saw you driving away in it last time, up the hill to Heath Hayes. Who is it, love, and why didn't you say? How did you come to be riding like the gentry in a big motor car?'
'He's one of Professor Roberts' students,' she said quietly. 'He lives near Newcastle-under-Lyme, and his father keeps some horses with Mr Coulthwaite. He spent Christmas with the Roberts, because his family are in America. Last time he was coming the same way to visit Mr Coulthwaites and offered to bring me.'
'You shouldn't have let him, love! What would people say? You know what some of these young men want!'
'Richard's not like that!' Marigold defended him.
'It's Richard, is it? Have you seen him again? Since he took you back to Oxford?'
'Yes. A few times. Mom, it's not what you think! We like to talk. That's all, I swear it is.'
'It may be all now, but rich young men don't make friends with maidservants, Marigold. They just don't. It's my duty to warn you, pet. I had one or two young men who wanted to make friends with me when I worked for Mrs Nugent, but all they really want, and no doubt this Richard's the same, is to use you for their sport. And then you'd be ruined and they couldn't care less. It's not right! You'd best wait for a decent working lad who'll want to marry you before persuading you into his bed.'
Marigold had little inkling of what that involved, or why girls like Ethel set so much store by it. Richard had not kissed her, although sometimes when he lifted her down from the motor car she thought he wanted to. She loved the strength of him as he held her in his arms. But she was still unawakened.
A vague assumption there was something more she'd not yet experienced hovered at the back of her mind. Never, though, could she associate the crude descriptions of Ethel and her cronies with the magic of what she felt for Richard.
They came from totally different worlds, yet her feelings for Richard, and his for her, for she had an inner certainty they felt the same, were special, reverent, and gentle. She dared not call it love, for how could a man like him love a servant. But it had nothing whatsoever to do with the warnings her mother hinted at.
'Does Pa know?' she asked. 'No, and I won't want to worry him if you stop seeing this man and promise not to do anything wrong.'
To Marigold's intense relief, for she knew she could not bear to give up seeing Richard, her father could be heard walking up the yard.
She nodded, thinking guiltily that her Mom might believe it to be the promise she'd demanded. She had never before deceived her parents, and had no wish to now, but her father's return had saved her from uttering a promise she knew she couldn't keep. The tug of attraction Richard held could not be denied.
There was no more opportunity for private talk. When she went to catch the train the following afternoon it was as if Marigold had escaped, and she was ashamed to realise she now thought of leaving her home as an escape.
What had happened to her? Had knowing Richard, which should have been all joy, turned her into an ungrateful daughter who didn't want her family?
*
'Richard, you really have become most exasperating! Surely you don't have to spend all your time this vacation studying your wretched books?'
'I do, mother. Next term I sit my final examinations. I must do a lot before I go to Archie's. I've promised to visit him for a couple of days on my way back to Oxford. I can't afford the time to pay calls on the entire neighbourhood.'
'Don't exaggerate. I propose visiting Lady Thornton, that's all.'
'And yesterday it was Mrs Blake, and tomorrow it will no doubt be some other mother with an eligible daughter or two!' Henry, Richard's younger brother, chimed in mischievously, with a wry glance at Richard. 'Why are you so anxious to get him married off, Mother? He doesn't need to marry a fortune, he's got his own money and part of the business.'
Sophia gave him a look which would have annihilated anyone less repressible than Henry, Richard thought, hiding a grin.
'It has nothing to do with money, Henry. You are not now a man of the world just because you've travelled a little. I want both you boys to meet suitable young ladies, girls who can be moulde
d into conformable wives. Heaven knows what sort of dreadful, opinionated blue stockings Richard is meeting at Oxford, and now you want to go there too. I lose sleep worrying one of you might come home saying you wish to marry one of these frightful suffragettes.'
'I promise I won't marry either a blue stocking or a suffragette, Mother. In fact I have no desire to marry for years yet, and it would hardly be fair if I did meet some eligible young lady to expect her to wait for ten years or more, would it? Now please excuse me, I really do have work to do.'
'And that silenced dear Mama for at least a minute,' Henry told him later that day. 'Oxford is doing you good, old fellow. In the past you'd have agreed to go with her just for the sake of peace.'
Richard supposed he would. His mother, though deeply devoted to her family, was overbearing. It had always been easier either to keep out of her way or agree to her demands, as his father did by immersing himself in business affairs. Until recently he had avoided open conflict, but he had discovered unexpected pleasure in his academic work, and when the demands of study clashed with his mother's unreasonable plans, made without consultation, he summoned the strength both to refuse her and withstand the subsequent storms.
'Maybe I've grown up at last,' he said now. 'At least you've defied her since you were in the cradle, so you'll not face the same problems.'
'Only when it suits me,' Henry pointed out. 'Most of the time it's simpler just to agree, and hope she doesn't find out I'm not doing what she said.'
'Which she rarely seems to do. You almost always get away with it.'
'Our dear Mama, Richard, is so supremely confident she never dreams anyone could disobey her!'
Richard laughed. 'Did she try to throw any American heiresses at you?'
'The ones old enough to marry had no interest in me, I'm too young, so even though she tried it was in the knowledge she had no hope of succeeding. I think it was that failure which makes her even more determined to tackle you as soon as practicable. But don't you know anyone at Oxford? Surely they can't all be ugly women even if they do have brains!'
'There are lots of pretty girls, but you'll have to wait till you get there and find out for yourself!'
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