He whipped his razor strop out of his pocket. Raising his arm, he brought it down across her shoulders with all the force he could muster. She screamed and covered her head with her arms as the wicked leather strap whistled down on her again. Four months of suppressed outrage were vented on her, as she sought to crawl away from him and reach the door.
‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ he yelled at her. ‘I hope you enjoy it.’ The strop came down again across the back of her head.
Her screams stopped. She lay immobile.
He paused, scarlet-faced, panting over her, the desire to rape her urgent in him. He heaved up her heavily gathered skirt, but she was tightly entangled in her three petticoats. He tore at his trousers and emptied himself over her.
‘You damned Jezebel,’ he snarled and kicked her in the stomach. She did not move.
‘Go to hell,’ he shrieked. ‘Look at another man, and I’ll make sure you do.’
He flung open the door, and ran down into the hall, buttoning up his trousers as he went. He seized his hat and stick from the rack and went out of the front door muttering like a madman. Five minutes later, he was sitting primly on the horse-bus on his way to visit Mrs Jakes.
Chapter Five
I
Fanny found her when she came to rake the cinders out of the fireplace before going to bed.
With a frightened squeak, she dropped her coal hod and knelt down to turn her mistress over. When she saw the swollen lips and tear-stained cheeks, she knew what had happened; she had seen the same thing so often in her aunt’s home.
‘Oh, Missus! Can you sit up, Missus? Look, I’ll turn yez on your back and give you a heave up.’
Elizabeth moaned as she managed to turn and raise herself sufficiently to lean her head against the little skivvy’s shoulder. Fanny swallowed, and looked desperately around. ‘Is anythin’ broke, d’yer think?’ she asked.
Elizabeth shuddered, then whispered, ‘I don’t think so.’ She began to cry.
Well, let’s try and get you on that low chair there, and then I’ll run and get Maisie to help you up to your bed.’
‘Not Maisie,’ Elizabeth murmured. ‘Or the others.’ She paused, her breath coming slowly and heavily. ‘Ask Polly – she’ll mind her own business.’
She cried out in pain as Fanny slowly sat her upright while she brought the small chair closer, and moaned again as she was eased up on to it.
‘There, Ma’am. Lean your head against the high back, and I’ll be back with Polly in half a mo’.’
As she flew to the door, Elizabeth halted her by saying hoarsely, ‘Not a word of this – from either Polly or you – to the other servants.’
Fanny had been thrilled at the idea of telling everyone about the drama on which she had stumbled. But, as Elizabeth spoke, she realized that to her mistress it was a terrible humiliation. She warmed with pity and said reassuringly, as she went out, ‘Of course, Missus. Don’t worry, Missus.’
Once Elizabeth had been laid gently on her bed, Polly sent Fanny back to the kitchen, where Mrs Tibbs promptly scolded her for being so long in doing her raking out, and sent her off to bed.
Elizabeth said stiffly, ‘I shall be all right now, Polly.’ She lay on her side, legs curled up, arms crossed over her injured face.
‘I’ll help you undress, Ma’am. Fanny said she thought your back was hurt. Let me have a look, Ma’am. If you’ve got any arnica, I could paint it on the bruises. First, will I get some brandy from the Master’s study?’
‘No!’
‘Don’t worry, Ma’am. He’s out. He won’t miss a small glass, Ma’am.’
With one hand, Elizabeth gestured to indicate reluctant agreement.
In the hope that it would ease her mistress’s pain, Polly brought a generous glass of Humphrey’s brandy, and, after Elizabeth had swallowed it, she allowed Polly to unbutton her dress.
‘Jaysus!’ Polly exclaimed, when she saw Elizabeth’s back. Weals ran across it from the hairline to just below the waist. Where her corset had softened some of the blows, the marks were scarlet; above that, they were purple. ‘It’s a miracle if nothin’s broken, Ma’am. We should get the doctor.’
‘We can’t, Polly.’ She looked up at the other woman, tears beginning to course again down her ravaged face. She had given no explanation of her situation, because it was obvious that both Polly and Fanny had guessed what had happened; wife-beating was common enough amongst the lower classes, though it might have surprised them how often it occurred amongst their so-called betters.
‘No, Ma’am. I do understand, Ma’am. I’ll get the arnica from your medicine chest and maybe that’ll do the trick.’
While she carefully sponged the bruised back with cold water and then applied the arnica, she was thinking fast. ‘Would it be best, Ma’am, if you went to stay with someone? ’ave you got a sister or anybody? Till things blow over, like?’
Her mistress winced, as Polly dabbed on the tincture, and replied frankly, ‘Last time he beat me, I went to my sister in West Kirby. She told me it was my fault and I shouldn’t provoke him. She’s unmarried and doesn’t understand,’ she finished brokenly.
Polly sighed. ‘What about Miss Florence’s?’
‘She has a difficult life herself – and her baby is due any moment.’ Elizabeth’s voice strengthened. ‘I don’t want anyone to know, Polly. The disgrace would be more than I can bear. That’s why I sent for you instead of Rosie or Maisie. You seem to keep to yourself.’
‘Aye, you was right. I’ll keep me mouth shut.’ She eased her mistress’s nightgown over her head, and then she blurted out, ‘It were that Maisie wot is the root of the trouble. She told ’im every time, accordin’ to Rosie.’
Elizabeth’s eyes opened slowly. ‘Told him what?’
‘Told ’im when Mr Crossing called – and ’ow long ’e stayed.’
‘Good Heavens!’
‘He give ’er a shillin’ every time.’
‘Ach!’ Elizabeth was sickened. ‘Are you sure, Polly?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past her.’
Never in her life before had Elizabeth spoken so frankly to a servant. But never before had she needed an understanding friend more. Now she said grimly, ‘I’ll dismiss her. And I’ll make sure she’s gone before Humphrey finds out.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Polly was putting her mistress’s clothes away. Now she examined the back of the gown Elizabeth had been wearing. ‘I think your dress is ruined, Ma’am.’ She held it up for Elizabeth to see and lifted the candle closer to it.
Elizabeth heaved, and Polly hastily dropped the dress and picked up the bowl holding the water she had used to bathe the bruises. ‘Take a big breath, Ma’am,’ she ordered the sickened woman.
The nausea subsided, only to rise again each time she remembered what Humphrey had done. ‘Oh, Polly,’ she moaned, ‘how could he?’
‘Better outside than inside, Ma’am,’ replied Polly with a quick quirk of humour. ‘You can do without another baby.’ Elizabeth heaved and brought up the brandy and what little dinner she had eaten. Afterwards, she said, ‘Wrap up the dress and put it in the midden – bury it under some of the rubbish.’
‘Oh, aye, Ma’am. Don’t you worry about it.’
Polly put it about that Elizabeth had tripped over her gown and had fallen, hitting her face on the doorknob of her room. ‘Made a couple o’ rotten bruises on her cheeks and mouth,’ she told Mrs Tibbs.
Mrs Tibbs had heard similar excuses several times before and simply shrugged slightly and went on with her cooking.
While Humphrey went on with his life as if nothing had happened, Elizabeth stayed in bed for three days. When she was ready to descend, she put on a black silk dress with a high neck edged with white frilling and dressed her hair low on her neck, to disguise the terrible bruise now yellowing there. A heavy dusting of rice flour helped the marks on her face. She sat silently in her favourite chair in the morning-room, her sewing untouched on her lap, and hoped Florence would not ca
ll for a few days more.
At dinner, she sat at her usual place at the foot of the table. She never raised her eyes, except to order Maisie to serve or to clear the table. Humphrey smiled at her – it was not a pleasant smile and it filled her with dread; in the months that followed she rarely spoke to him.
For several months, she cancelled her At Homes and invited no one to dinner, neither did she accept any invitations; she gave as the reason that Alicia’s birth had been difficult. As time went by and Andrew Crossing did not communicate with her, she felt physically and mentally ill.
She waited patiently until Humphrey went to Manchester to stay with his brother, Harold, for a few days. Then she gave Maisie a week’s pay in lieu of notice and told her to pack her bags. When Maisie protested, Elizabeth told her that they had decided to reduce staff.
‘I want to speak to the Master,’ retorted Maisie mutinously.
‘Don’t be insolent,’ ordered Elizabeth coldly. ‘I decide who works in this house. And it is I who will write references for you. Do you want to be turned off without a reference?’
At this deadly threat, Maisie caved in. Rosie was promoted to wait at table. When Humphrey noticed that Maisie was missing, he was forced to ask his wife where she was. She told him frigidly, between clenched teeth, that she was not going to be spied upon by a servant and that Rosie was quite satisfactory as parlourmaid. To get even with her, Humphrey told her that she would have to manage without a replacement girl.
Rosie came into the room, bringing another bottle of wine for which Humphrey had sent her, so Elizabeth sat stonily eating her dessert and did not reply.
Rosie and Fanny had to carry the work of a housemaid between them, and Rosie remarked thankfully that she would be married to the milkman by the end of the year. Fanny, who to her joy had had her wages quietly raised by a shilling a week, said nothing. She was learning to be a housemaid and that was real promotion for her.
II
‘When is Alicia to be christened, Mama?’ inquired Florence, when finally her mother ordered a carriage from the stable and went out to visit her.
‘Well, I thought dear Clarence might do it in your church. It would be so nice to keep it in the family, wouldn’t it? I’ll get Mrs Tibbs to make a christening cake.’ She paused and took a nervous sip of the Reverend Clarence’s atrocious sherry from the glass in her hand. Then she babbled, ‘Charles went straight from school this year to stay for a few days with one of his friends – I thought as soon as he came home – a nice little family party?’ Her voice trailed off. She knew she could not face having the christening in her own church, St Margaret’s in Princes Road. It was almost certain that Humphrey would not attend it – and that would cause enormous speculation, a fresh flurry of unwanted interest.
Florence felt that her mother was being unreasonable in getting her to have the party; it could be quite a large one, she thought wearily, if all her father’s relations came and her mother’s friends, not to speak of Aunt Clara from West Kirby, who was such a professional invalid that she would rearrange the whole Browning house to suit her convenience. ‘I hope that I’m not taken to bed at the wrong moment, Mama,’ she said anxiously.
‘Well, then we’ll make it a joyful double christening,’ responded Elizabeth unfeelingly.
III
Elizabeth had been thankful that her younger son, Charles, had been away in boarding school during the more obvious period of her pregnancy and during her lying-in; she had certainly not wanted the cold, dark blue eyes of a ten-year-old examining her during this confinement.
When confiding to Sarah Webb, her oldest friend, the secret of her unwelcome breeding, she had wept on Sarah’s shoulder, afraid of Humphrey, afraid of the hazard of giving birth at forty years of age. Speaking of Charles, she had added, ‘Children always sense when something is wrong. And Charles always wants such precise answers to a question.’
Sarah sighed, and stroked her friend’s dark hair. She had not only known Charles all his short life, but had been friends with Elizabeth and with Andrew Crossing since they first attended the same children’s Christmas parties together. She had watched with pity, as her beautiful young friend had been bullied by her parents into marriage with Humphrey.
But Elizabeth had loved languid, charming Andrew, fair as some Icelandic god, a boy who appeared slow and lazy to her parents. His charm had, however, served him well in his subsequent career as a family lawyer, Sarah ruminated; even she herself, plain and studious, had worshipped from afar. She had been present at a ball, a few years back, at which Elizabeth had met and danced with him again; up till then, his old senior partner had always dealt with the affairs of Elizabeth’s father’s estate, so they had rarely seen each other. That winter, Andrew’s senior partner died and the care of Elizabeth’s affairs came into the hands of Andrew. Sarah had been greatly worried when Elizabeth promptly asked him to her next At Home.
’is it wise, my dear?’ she had asked, as she arranged her furs in front of Elizabeth’s mirror before going home. She was the last guest to leave and Elizabeth herself was prinking before the mirror.
‘I don’t care,’ Elizabeth had hissed savagely.
‘Well, ask his wife as well,’ suggested Sarah.
‘I did – but you know and I know she can’t stir out of the house – she’s stiff as a board with rheumatism and she has to be carried everywhere. And, anyway,’ she went on defiantly, ‘anybody may call on At Home days.’
Sarah sighed glumly. ‘It’s foolish, my dear – very foolish.’
Elizabeth bridled, and twirled in front of the mirror to show her fine, plump figure.
Over coffee in Elizabeth’s morning-room the following day, Sarah had argued again.
‘I can’t help it, Sarah.’ Elizabeth’s wide dark blue eyes, so like those of her son, Charles, had a hint of tears in them. ‘I must see him,’ she said, ‘I simply have to. Humphrey has his fancy woman – surely Andrew and I can be friends.’
Sarah bit her lips and said no more.
IV
When young Charles finally came home at the end of June, Elizabeth met him at Lime Street station.
Charles had spent his Easter holidays with his Uncle Harold and his cousins in Manchester, so he had not seen his mother since the previous Christmas. She looked suddenly much older than he remembered, but when he inquired about her health as the hackney carriage traversed Lime Street, she told him brightly that she was quite well. She added that he now had a baby sister called Alicia – and, of course new babies were notorious for being rather tiring little people.
‘Well, that’s nice,’ he responded politely, ‘having a little sister, I mean.’ He was not really very interested. Babies came in all the households that he visited; they often died. He vaguely remembered having a baby brother who had died very young, though, when he thought about it, it was the memory of his elder brother, Edward, being upset about it that had stayed with him. Death had always upset Edward; funny that he should have become a soldier.
Reminded that Edward was now a fixture in the 11th Foot, he also recalled a conversation he had once overheard between his father and Edward. His father had been furious when Edward had refused to join his brokerage firm and had asked permission to join the army instead. He recalled his father shouting that it cost money to maintain a son as an officer in the army, and Edward replying nervously that it might not cost as much as sending him to university to study Divinity, so that he could enter the Church.
Charles guessed that the main thing Edward wanted to do after finishing boarding school was to leave home. He had been awfully stubborn and finally his father had given way.
Their father had, later, talked to Charles about the advantages of joining the family firm. Though Charles thought that buying and selling stocks and shares would be a dreadfully dull way of earning a living, he had not dared to say any such thing to his father; he had merely smiled what he hoped was a nice little-boy smile, and said nothing. His maths teacher, old Fancy Mop
pit, wanted him to take more chemistry and maths and think about going to university. He wondered, now, if his father would pay for university.
‘Have you heard from Edward lately?’ he asked Elizabeth. ‘I got a card from him at Easter, but I haven’t heard since.’
‘Not got a card, Charles – received a card.’
Charles grimaced, and said, ‘Yes, Mama.’
‘I heard from Edward quite recently. He is in Burma – and he’s a full Lieutenant, now.’
‘Oh, cheers!’
Charles was glad to be home for the remainder of the summer. Though nothing very interesting ever happened there, Mrs Tibbs produced all his favourite dishes and his mother didn’t mind how much he read. Probably the family would go, as usual, for two weeks’ seaside holiday in North Wales, and he would be able to add to his extensive collection of shells; he already had a glass case full of them, each neatly tagged with its Latin name.
After he had been down to the kitchen to see Mrs Tibbs, he climbed the five flights of stairs from the basement to the top floor, to see his new sister, Alicia. ‘Her nurse’s name is Polly. Be polite to her,’ his mother had instructed.
Rosie and Fanny were left to toil up the stairs with his trunks.
‘Holy God! Wot’s he got in ’em?’ puffed Fanny, as they paused for rest on the second landing.
‘Books,’ opined Rosie. ‘Proper little bookworm, he is.’
Polly was glad to have a young boy sleeping in the back room across the landing. As Fanny had said, it could feel ghosty away at the top of the house; Rosie and Fanny shared a basement room and Mrs Tibbs had her own private bed-sitting room off the kitchen.
In case Charles came into the nursery while she was feeding Alicia, Polly took to wearing a shawl over her shoulders so that she could cover her breasts. She had been instructed by Elizabeth to keep Charles out of the day nursery at such moments, but, as Fanny said, ‘If he don’t learn now how a baby’s fed, he may not know never.’ So Charles learned a few interesting facts of life that summer. He also watched her being bathed, one day, and observed that she did not have a penis; this confirmed what other boys had told him, that girls did not have such appendages. He found it very peculiar.
Yes, Mama Page 5