by Nancy Carson
‘And you’re sure you want to marry him? You’re in love with him?’
Such a stupid, stupid question. Kate sighed with exasperation. ‘Yes, on both counts. Else we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.’
The old fool could not win. The old fool had no protection. The old fool had no valid reason which would satisfy the world as to why he should deny them his blessing.
‘It sounds like she’s yours, young man. She’s of age now anyroad, so she can do as she likes.’ He got up from his chair. ‘I’ll leave the pair of you alone together to celebrate in private. Just how soon is this here marriage going to take place?’
‘Next week. By special licence … Look, you don’t have to go, Mr Osborne. Please.’
‘Yes, I do, lad … Yes, I do …’ He glanced desolately at Kate, and picked up his hat. ‘I’ll see you when you get back home, ha?’
Kate nodded, without looking at him. Of course, she would be in for a verbal lashing, but she would deal with that when it came.
‘I’ll cancel me dinner on me way out …’ Murdoch said, as his parting shot.
It was June of the same year. The new Stokes family had had time to settle down to a normal and exceedingly happy life. On Marigold’s arrival, Clara had relinquished any sovereignty over the household, of which she had once been queen. She was now entirely dependent on her son, and content to give way to Marigold on matters of looking after Algie, and even on raising Algie’s delightful little daughter.
As for Marigold, she had arrived at the house unsure of herself at first. She could not at first believe that she was the wife of Algie Stokes but, as the weeks and months passed, she became aware of her new importance. Nobody in Dudley, where they continued to live, was aware that she had had Algie’s child out of wedlock and only later married. Everybody assumed she had married first; thus she was treated with utmost civility and respect from those with whom she came into contact. She brimmed with hope for the future, filled with ideas that could only enhance their lives. She felt she had a real purpose in life, something she could never have imagined living a nomadic life on the canals in a narrowboat. Her daughter was the epicentre of her world, and she idolised the child. Nor was Algie ever far from this epicentre. She made sure his meals were ready on time and sufficient in quantity, that his clothes were clean, that he always made the best of himself, for she was inordinately proud of him and what he had so far achieved. She established a good accord with her mother-in-law, and many tasks they shared; Monday was washing day, and they maided and rinsed and mangled and pegged out together, contentedly sharing jokes. They became close, sharing secrets and exchanging gossip.
Marigold made the best of herself, too. Her weeks living with her Aunt Edith had changed her for the better; Aunt Edith had tutored her, not in the academic sense particularly, but in the ways of the world; what it was acceptable to wear, how to wear it – everyday things that had escaped her on the canals despite her mother’s example. Aunt Edith also taught Marigold her letters, for Aunt Edith had enjoyed some schooling, and Marigold’s ability to read was thus all the while improving. Her confidence increased accordingly, as did her self-esteem, and her natural loveliness was enhanced because of it. Even now, despite the hard work and relatively new responsibility of running a home, she remained radiant. Algie was inordinately proud of his wife in return.
As to the matter of Aurelia, Algie suspected that the second child she had had in the late summer of the previous year could well be his. He now understood and appreciated even more fully, that if so, the sacrifice she had made in returning to Benjamin just so that Marigold, who was after all her half-sister, could be redeemed and reunited with the man they both loved. Whilst Marigold regularly saw Aurelia – they had established a sisterly loyalty and affection laced with mutual admiration and respect – Algie tended to remain in the background as far as that relationship was concerned. However, he was aware from the gossip that Marigold brought back home, that all was not well between Aurelia and Benjamin, and Algie felt responsible. Benjamin had, apparently, got wind that she’d had an affair and was doubting the parentage of his second child, although he had no idea with whom she had conducted this ‘alleged’ affair. On the other hand, Benjamin did not have much of a leg to stand on, since their former nanny, Maude, had also had a child which was patently his. Thus they faced each other like two enemies, each with the power to destroy the other. And because each had that power they did nothing, coexisting, just in case the one who began an offensive ultimately lost the battle. Algie was prepared, however, to assist his sister-in-law and erstwhile lover if the need arose, for he felt his responsibility acutely, but never would he allow any assistance to adversely affect his own marriage. His marriage was sacrosanct, his wife and child were absolute priorities.
The only thing that materially blighted their days was the shortage of money. Algie was trying manfully to make a success of his bicycle manufacturing business, and to a large extent he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He had customers galore and it was a struggle to produce his bicycles fast enough to render the exercise profitable. He could sell every bike he made, and more besides, but slow payment and the lack of capital was impeding him. He needed money to invest in more modern equipment; he needed to employ men who were reliable and skilled in what they were doing. And to get the best you had to pay the best wages. There was vast potential to make a fortune but, unless he could raise investment money somehow, he lived in fear and dread that he would have to fold the business and return to working for somebody else. It would be a monstrous pity, but his family came first. They were paramount. They had to be fed and clothed.
Two items of mail had arrived in the post one day. Clara handed them to Algie unopened when he returned from his workshop on a bicycle of his own manufacture.
‘One’s addressed to you, Mother. Mrs Clara Osborne. It looks very official …’
‘Read it to me, our Algie.’
He opened the envelope and unfolded the letter with due ceremony.
‘It’s from somebody called Stothert, French and Stothert, Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths,’ he said, reading the heading on the notepaper and raising his eyebrows with instant curiosity. ‘It says, “Dear Mrs Osborne, It is with deep regret that I am obliged to notify you of the death by suicide of your estranged husband, Mr Murdoch Jeroboam Osborne, on the 14th of May 1892. I apologise for the delay in advising you of these very unfortunate tidings, but our efforts to trace you only bore fruit when we lodged enquiries with the Parish Church of St Michael in Brierley Hill which, we understand from your esteemed daughter, Lady Chesterton, is the parish in which you dwelt until recently. The fact that your son was recently married there afforded us the connection which enabled us to trace you.
‘Your late husband made his last will and testament in May of this year just prior to his death, which document was deposited with us for safe keeping. It nominates yourself as the sole beneficiary to his entire estate. In order that we can complete our legal administration and assess the total value of the said estate please forward any documents which you feel are relevant to our enquiries, such as bank books, deeds of the properties he owned in the parishes of Kingswinford and Brierley Hill, any share certificates, et cetera. Your marriage certificate is also required to confirm your marital status. Once I have received these documents I shall be in touch with you again shortly thereafter. I remain,” blah, blah, blah …’
‘Murdoch’s dead,’ Clara said, quietly astonished at the news. ‘The poor devil killed himself. I wonder why he did that. I wonder who told them he had a wife.’
‘Kate, I imagine,’ Algie responded pensively, folding the letter up. ‘Her conscience getting the better of her for once in her life. It sounds as if she’s done well for herself – Lady Chesterton, by God. I pity Sir Chesterton, though, whoever he is, the poor devil.’ There was no doubt in Algie’s mind that Kate had done all right for herself, that she would have latched on to somebody daft enoug
h to be beguiled by her big brown eyes and exquisite looks … ‘I never told you, Mother, but I saw her name in the News of the World a month or two back. It was an advertisement. She was the star of some burlesque show at a theatre in London – her name was in big letters. She’s done well for herself all right.’
‘At Murdoch’s expense, by the sounds of it.’
‘He knew what he was taking on, Mother,’ Algie said without sympathy for the man. ‘It’s my guess that he bit off more than he could chew with our Kate. I bet she led him a merry dance.’
Marigold looked from one to the other apprehensively, while Rose sat on her lap gurgling with contentment. This was obviously significant news. ‘I wonder why he killed himself,’ she said.
‘Because he’d ruined his life and any chance of happiness by running off with our Kate,’ replied Algie, correctly divining the situation. ‘I imagine he couldn’t face the shame of coming back here once she’d found and married somebody else. In any case, it’s my guess he got so engrossed in Kate that his heart was broken …’ A broken heart was something with which Algie had had some experience, and therefore some sympathy. But feelings of sympathy for Murdoch did not dwell long in him, for the silly old fool knew what he was doing when he plunged headlong into his highly illicit affair with Kate, devastating everybody’s lives. ‘I reckon this is his comeuppance, Mother. You can’t say he didn’t deserve it.’
Clara shrugged and sighed, a look of sadness clouding her face. She would not have put it as strongly as Algie had done. She had married the man, she once had feelings for him, she’d lain with him. Suicide was the way of desperate men. She hated to think of him being in such straits. It was also obvious that he had not forgotten her. He must have been planning his own death to have made a will in her favour just days prior to killing himself. For that reason she could not condemn him. In any case, she hated to think of him suffering to such an extent that he was driven to it.
‘D’you reckon he was worth much?’ Marigold asked.
Algie shrugged. ‘It depends how much he owes, and how much he squandered when he and our Kate ran off together.’
‘I wonder how our Kate is,’ Clara mused. ‘I wonder if she’s content now she’s evidently married so well. I often think about her, despite what she did.’
‘Oh, I daresay she’s got quite a story to tell, Mother. But never mind her. Just think … you might be rich. Murdoch can’t be short of a shilling or two. That house of his in Kingswinford must be worth something. You could sell it. Better still, rent it, and get some income from it.’
‘I want none of his money, our Algie,’ Clara declared resolutely. ‘However much, or however little he leaves, his daughters should have it. None of them have ever had any life with him, no love, no attention. I think they deserve it between them … All three of them.’
The ‘three of them’, of course, included Marigold.
‘That’s a noble gesture,’ Algie remarked, putting the folded letter carefully back in its envelope. ‘And I can understand how you feel. But I reckon you deserve a share as well, the trouble he brought you. None of his daughters would begrudge you a quarter share, if you really want to share it out. Would they, Marigold?’
‘No, not a bit,’ Marigold agreed. ‘I daresay Aurelia could do with a bit of extra money to fall back on, what with her new baby and everything, and the way Benjamin’s behaving … And heaven knows we could use the money in the business, couldn’t we, Algie?’
He smiled lovingly at her. ‘That, we could, my flower. We need to build a secure future for our little Rosie, eh?… And for any others that might come along after her,’ he added as an afterthought.
‘But none of us would begrudge you any of it, Clara,’ Marigold added. ‘Anyway, Algie, what about that other envelope?’ she asked, nodding in the direction of where he’d left it lying on the table, evidently forgotten in the agitation caused by the first letter. ‘Aren’t you going to open it? It’s addressed to you.’
‘So you were able to read the address?’ he said, delighted that his wife had made such remarkable progress in her reading.
‘Yes, I could read it,’ she replied with a proud smile.
‘Then why don’t you open it, and read it out to us? Let me have Rosie while you do.’
He took his daughter in his arms and murmured baby talk while Marigold opened the envelope. She looked at it, studying it with an intense expression, while Algie and Clara watched her expectantly.
‘It’s a wedding invitation,’ she said at last. ‘It says, “Mr and Mrs Eli Meese request the pleasure of the company of Mr and Mrs Algernon Stokes and Rose, and Mrs Clara Osborne, at the wedding of their daughter, Harriet, to Mr Clarence Froggatt on Sunday 4th September at 2.00 p.m. at St Michael’s Church, Brierley Hill”.’ She looked up with a broad smile, proud of her reading, but also delighted by the news.
‘Well, I’m blowed,’ said Algie. ‘Yet I can’t say I’m surprised. But I don’t remember hearing that they’d got engaged.’
‘Getting engaged don’t mean much, Algie,’ Marigold said. ‘We never got engaged. Anyway, are you pleased for her?’
‘I’m pleased as Punch. I had the feeling it was on the cards from the outset.’
Marigold looked at the invitation again. ‘What does RSVP mean, Algie? It says that here.’
‘It means you have to reply to let them know whether we shall go or not.’
‘We shall, shan’t we?’
He grinned. ‘Course we shall. You and Mother will have to have a new outfit each as well. And Rose. I won’t have you seen in anything inferior to theirs.’
Marigold smiled happily.
Author’s Note
The Bottle and Glass public house featured in this story was built around 1780. In 1976 it was carefully dismantled, each brick and timber numbered, and was transported from its original location in Moor Lane, Buckpool in Brierley Hill, to be reconstructed at the Black Country Living Museum in Dudley. It now operates there as it always has done, as a focal point for companionship and refreshment. The museum setting is 1910, and the Bottle and Glass is virtually unchanged from the 1890s, in which this novel is set. I acknowledge the assistance given to me in my researches there by Deborah Boddison, the publican of the Bottle and Glass at the BCLM.
In my efforts to make my novels as historically accurate as possible, I discovered that there was an incident at 10.10 p.m. on the night of Saturday the 1st of November 1890 in Brierley Hill’s High Street, involving a steam tram, when the car decided to take a different line to that of its engine. The incident was reported in the Brierley Hill Advertiser dated the 8th of November. It fitted perfectly in time and place with the story.
The winter of 1890/91 was also the worst in contemporary living memory and I have not exaggerated its harshness nor its effects for the sake of the story.
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About the Author
Nancy Carson lives in Staffordshire and is a keen student of local history. All her novels are based around real events, and focus on the lives and loves of the people of the Black Country.
By the same author:
Poppy’s Dilemma
The Railway Girl
The Dressmaker’s Daughter
The Factory Girl
A Family Affair
Daisy’s Betrayal
Rags to Riches
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