by Jess Foley
‘More? Whatever it is, does it change the situation?’
A little silence, then he said, ‘No.’
Another silence. He stood looking at her, and she stood with her eyes downcast, fixing on her agitated fingers. Then she said simply, ‘I loved you, Kester. For the first time in my life I loved. And I loved you.’
‘Oh, Grace –’ taking a step forward, ‘don’t put such words in the past. Don’t say it like that, I beg you.’
‘What else can I say?’
‘Grace, to hear those words from you. You never spoke them before, and now when I hear them you’re speaking of something in the past. Grace, please.’
‘And what of you?’ she said. ‘What were your feelings for me? Did you love me as I thought you did, hoped you did? Or was this some kind of game? And did you play the same game with Miss Lewin?’
‘Don’t bring her into this. She has no part in my life.’
Sadly, Grace shook her head. ‘And I’m afraid that I have no part in your life either.’
She turned then and started back over the grass, around the trimmed privet and onto the first lawn. Seeing with a glance over her shoulder that he was following, she said, ‘Please, don’t come with me.’
‘But I can’t let you leave like this.’
‘Please.’ She stopped and turned to face him. ‘You must tell Sophie that I’m sorry I cannot give her lessons any more. You can find some reason. I’m sorry to be leaving her, but there’s nothing else I can do.’ She paused, then said, ‘Goodbye,’ – avoiding his gaze – and turning again, hurried around the side of the house.
PART THREE
Chapter Sixteen
Grace could recall little of her walk back to Asterleigh House from Berron Wick station that late afternoon; so little of it stayed in her memory that it might just as well have happened to someone else. It did not matter that the occasional carriage driver slowed to offer her a lift along the road, or that others, younger men in a group, called out provocative comments; if she had been aware of them in the first place, she did not care enough to heed them.
By the time she got back to the house it was after 6.30. On arrival she went straight up to her room, praying as she did so that no one would appear to say that Mrs Spencer required her presence. All she wanted was to be alone. She wanted to see no one, no one at all.
Lying on her bed, on her back, the tears ran down the sides of her face onto the pillow. She would never be happy again, she knew.
Later, she went along the landing to her brother’s room and tapped on his door. He called out to her to come in and she entered and found him stripped to the waist and drying himself. He had just got in, he said, from helping Mr Johnson with the horses. She could smell the stable on him. He looked at her closely, seeing the redness in her eyes, the puffy flesh around them. ‘Grace,’ he said, ‘what’s the matter? Why are you upset?’
‘I’m all right. I just came to see how you were.’
‘I’m well, very well.’
‘I haven’t seen you all day.’
‘No, after Sunday school I put on my old clothes and went straight to help Mr Johnson. Grace, what’s wrong?’
‘I shan’t be going to Birchwood House any more,’ she said.
‘Not going to Birchwood? Why?’
She shook her head. ‘Oh, Billy, don’t ask me to talk about it now.’
He gazed at her. For the first time in his life he saw her completely at a loss. At all other times she had been able to cope. Whatever difficulties had come their way she had somehow managed to deal with them. But now here she was, looking lost.
‘Is it to do with Mr Fairman?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I shan’t be going to teach Sophie again. Mr Fairman and I – we shan’t be meeting again.’
‘Did you – quarrel, Grace?’
In spite of her sorrows she smiled at his naïvety. ‘That’s one way of saying it.’
On Monday morning Grace had her breakfast and then stayed in her room. Mrs Spencer would, of course, as would the maids, wonder why Grace was not being picked up from the house and driven to the station as on other days. After some consideration Grace went downstairs and asked Jane where Mrs Spencer was. On being told that she was in the drawing room, Grace made her way there and tapped on the door. A moment later she was entering the room.
‘Grace,’ Mrs Spencer said, ‘I’ve been wondering about you. Clearly you haven’t gone to Upper Callow.’
Grace said, ‘No, I’m not going this morning.’ A little pause, then: ‘I shan’t be going again. That’s what I came to tell you.’
Frowning, Mrs Spencer looked at her for a moment, then said, ‘Come and sit down, Grace.’
Grace did not want to, but she could not refuse, and she sat in the chair across from the sofa.
‘Something has happened, hasn’t it?’ Mrs Spencer said.
After a moment Grace said, ‘Things – are not the same. I shan’t be going there again.’
‘I gather that this is all to do with Mr Fairman?’
Grace nodded.
Mrs Spencer nodded also. ‘And I can guess what’s happened. You went to see him after talking to Mr Spencer, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
Mrs Spencer sighed. ‘I hope I’m in no way responsible for the unhappiness you’re suffering. But you had to know. I told my husband of your news – that you and Mr Fairman were approaching a – an understanding, and that you were so happy – and then he told me. He told me what he told you – that Mr Fairman’s wife is still very much alive.’
Grace hung her head. She could find no words.
Mrs Spencer went on, ‘I couldn’t understand why Mr Spencer hadn’t told me before, after all, he had known for several weeks.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Men and their loyalties. He had determined to tell no one, he said, until he had spoken to Mr Fairman himself about it – not that it was any of my husband’s business.’ Another little shrug. ‘Anyway, it’s done. And you had to know. Having that knowledge, Grace, he couldn’t keep it to himself and see you get hurt.’
The clock ticked into the silence between them.
‘And it turned out to be the truth, I’m guessing. Am I right?’
‘Yes.’ Grace’s voice was the merest whisper.
‘Oh, dear. What a sad business. When my husband told me that you had gone over to Upper Callow to see Mr Fairman – well – an outcome like this was certainly a possibilty.’ She paused. ‘Can you tell me anything, my dear? Can you tell me what happened?’
‘I put it to him,’ Grace said. ‘I put it to him – what Mr Spencer had told me – and he admitted that it was true. His wife is – he is not a – a widower.’
‘What a dreadful shock for you.’ Mrs Spencer sighed. ‘Until that moment, when my husband told me, I had thought that Mrs Fairman had died some years ago. I believed the story of her having died of cholera. There was no reason I should not. I must admit that at first, when my husband told me of having met her in London, I was dubious. I thought he must have made a mistake. But now he’s been proved correct.’
Tears filled Grace’s eyes and she put up a hand and roughly wiped them away.
‘What is to happen now, Grace?’ Mrs Spencer said.
‘What is to happen? I don’t understand.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘What can I do? There is nothing to be done. Mr Fairman and I, we shall not meet again. And that is something I must think about. I don’t want to risk running into him at the market or other places so – perhaps we should think about moving on, Billy and I.’
And now tears rose in Mrs Spencer’s eyes and glistened there. ‘I’m angry about this,’ she said. ‘Why should a man lie so much? And why on earth did he ever have to come here in the first place? Why couldn’t he have stayed in London? If he had, there wouldn’t be all this heartache.’
There was a letter from Kester on Tuesday, asking Grace if she would agree to see him; could he call at the house to see her
? She did not reply but wept and put the letter aside. On Saturday came a second letter, asking again for a meeting. And again she did not respond.
From that time on, Grace tried to put her energies and her thoughts into her work, such as it was. And whatever it was it could only depend on the wishes and requirements of Mrs Spencer, who seemed to be very much aware of Grace’s needs and did what she could to help. Over the following days, Mrs Spencer called on Grace to a degree that she had not for some considerable time; they played chess, and with the weather brightening and growing warmer, they took their sketchbooks out into the woodland and onto the heath. They played the piano together also, and sat over their sewing and tapestrywork. And for Grace everything was just another diversion, and she knew that the calls upon her time were for just such a purpose. But she was glad of it. There were times when she wanted nothing but to lie in a dimly lit room and give herself up to her misery, but she did not, and when the aching desires had passed she was glad of the responsibilities of her work.
Billy was so understanding too, and did all he could to alleviate his sister’s unhappiness. And she accepted his efforts and was grateful for them, and in a way they helped also. As did Mr Spencer’s understanding. He said nothing in so many words to Grace, but he showed – in the little time he was there about the house – that he understood her unhappiness and regretted it and wished her well.
And then came word from Mrs Spencer: she had heard from Mrs Sandiston that Kester Fairman was planning on leaving Birchwood House. Grace knew moments of panic on hearing the news, and doubted the veracity of it. And then came another letter from Kester:
Birchwood House
Upper Callow
Dear Grace,
I have so much regret that you could not bring it upon yourself to see me. I have so much I could tell you. Though perhaps nothing of it would persuade you otherwise in your determination.
My purpose now in writing to you, is to tell you that I am leaving the area. I do not wish to compromise you in any way, and also I do not wish to cause you the slightest embarrassment or misgiving – which I am well aware could happen if we were to encounter one another while moving about in the vicinity. Therefore, as I say, I am leaving Birchwood. It is too late to find a school for Sophie this year but I have found a school for her for the new school year in September. In the meantime she will come with me when I leave here this weekend. We will spend a little time on the coast and then she will stay with one of her aunts. She is not happy at the prospect of leaving Upper Callow – or indeed, at losing all opportunity to see her friend Miss Harper – but there is no alternative. For myself, I only want to get away from the area, the scene of so much recent happiness and unhappiness. I cannot ever regret the former, but the latter, which I have brought to you, will be a matter for the deepest remorse for the rest of my life.
Sophie misses you. As do I. I wish you well in your life, and please do not think it presumptuous, but please understand that if ever you need my help you can depend on
Your true friend,
Kester Fairman.
The days passed, in the meadows the buttercups and vetch were in bloom, as on the hillsides were the gorse and broom. In the high grass at the roadside the poppies and the moon daisies stood tall. Grace went from day to day, and became less employed in her duties with Mrs Spencer than before. Now, as the time went on she found herself for a greater part of each day with little or nothing to do. She was available to help Mrs Spencer at any time, but now there simply was insufficient call on her services.
And what was Mrs Spencer doing with her time? Grace wondered. She was sure that her employer was no longer working in her studio at her painting. Nor did she go outside in the fine weather – though there were numerous opportunities – with her sketchbook and pencils. There were no more games of chess, no more backgammon; no more sounds of the piano issued from the drawing room, and the mallets and the rest of the croquet paraphernalia lay forgotten in the box in the garden shed.
On some occasions when Mr Spencer was away on business Grace would be asked to dinner or coffee with Mrs Spencer. But they were not happy, carefree times. On the contrary, there was the strange sadness about her employer that Grace had noticed on occasion before. But now it seemed stronger; now it sat with Mrs Spencer like a shadow. Whether it was brought on by her employer’s increased drinking, or was a result of it, Grace did not know. But it was there.
There was no word of Kester Fairman now. Soon after receiving the letter from him, Grace had learned that he and Sophie had left the house and gone away. Where they had gone to, she did not know.
The summer wore on, and Billy, faithful to his earlier interests and loves, found work with a local farmer and helped in the haymaking and then the bringing in of the harvest. And each evening he returned to Asterleigh House suntanned and exhausted, but happy, and Grace longed, for his sake, for his contentment to continue. For herself, in her resignation over Kester, she felt wretched, and the days dragged by with no breath of happiness or joy to distinguish one from another.
October came in with a cold snap and there were cases of influenza reported in the newspapers. When it came to the area of Berron Wick Mrs Spencer was one of the first victims.
And now, finally, Grace felt she was useful again. Mrs Spencer lay in her bed, prostrate, her head pounding and a dry cough hacking at her lungs. Mr Spencer was away and not expected back for two days. At Grace’s insistence, Mrs Spencer finally agreed to sending for the doctor, and Jane went with a message for Johnson to ask Dr Ellish from Berron Wick to call at the house.
Dr Ellish turned out to be small and elderly and, where Grace was concerned, with a rather offhand, cold manner. ‘Who are you?’ he asked as Grace opened the door to meet him on the landing.
Grace hesitated before answering, ‘Mrs Spencer’s companion.’
‘What?’ the doctor sniffed as he strode past her into the bedroom. ‘She’s in need of a companion?’
Ten minutes later, while the doctor was still there, Mr Spencer returned. Being told by the maid that Mrs Spencer was ill, he hurried up the stairs to find his wife with a raging fever and the doctor in attendance.
‘How long has she been ill?’ he asked Grace, who replied that it had been three days.
Dr Ellish, who had had Mrs Spencer as a patient since her arrival in the area, said it was such a severe case that he feared the infection going to the lungs. That, he said, would be a most serious complication.
Mr Spencer was due to leave again a few days after his arrival but had Rhind go and send off a telegraph to say that he would be detained for a while. He could not, he said, leave while his wife was so sick.
But Mrs Spencer’s illness did not pass swiftly. After five days her condition had worsened; there was a marked rise in her temperature, her pulse rate became very rapid, and her breathing sounded painful and difficult in the extreme. A strange dusky red colour came to her lips, cheeks and ears, and Dr Ellish looked at the varied symptoms and nodded. They confirmed his fears: as he had been afraid might happen, a new infection had taken hold; severe bronchial-pneumonia had set in.
For days and nights Mrs Spencer lay prostrate, a steam kettle gently hissing away near her pillow, and throughout it all Grace and Mr Spencer attended at her bedside. Mr Spencer had calls on his time for business in Corster and Redbury, and on those occasions his wife’s care was left solely in the hands of Grace.
When Dr Ellish came Grace could tell from his demeanour that he regarded Mrs Spencer’s condition as very grave. When he had gone – saying that he would return in the evening – Grace tapped on the bedroom door and, on hearing Mr Spencer’s voice telling her to enter, went into the room. She found him sitting at his wife’s bedside. He got up and, beckoning to Grace, moved to the other side of the room.
‘I don’t want my wife to hear,’ he said in a whisper as Grace came to stand beside him. ‘But I have to tell you that Dr Ellish regards the situation as very serious.’
; ‘Oh, sir,’ she said at once, ‘I’m sure she’ll be all right. We’ll give her all the best care we can and –’
‘There’s so little anyone can do,’ he said. ‘Her fever is so high – it doesn’t seem to go down. And there are no real medicines to fight something like this.’
He turned away, and Grace saw a tremor go through his shoulders. ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘I’ll do everything I can to help you.’
‘I know you will. I know.’
The next morning Mrs Spencer’s fever had abated, and the doctor, calling on her just after eleven, declared that he thought the worst was over and that she was on the way to recovery.
Grace and Mr Spencer took turns in watching over her, and it was clear to both of them that her temperature was down and that she was getting better. All she needed now, Dr Ellish said, was careful nursing and continuing rest.
A further three days and Mrs Spencer’s condition had visibly improved even more, and Dr Ellish gave his opinion that she was well out of danger.
Mr Spencer came out of the bedroom after spending some time with his wife and said to Grace that he felt that he might now safely make his long delayed trip to Italy. What did she think? he asked her.
‘Of course madam would rather you stayed with her, sir,’ she said, ‘but I have no doubt that she’s going to be all right now. The doctor has every confidence in her situation and she’s making headway every day. Anyone can see that.’
So Mr Spencer rapidly made his new arrangements and a day later was ready to go. At 1.30, with Johnson waiting on the forecourt with the carriage to take him to the station, Mr Spencer, dressed for his journey, came from the bedroom down the stairs to Grace who stood in the hall.
‘I leave her in your care, Grace.’
‘Yes, sir. And don’t worry – she’ll be all right. I’ll take good care of her.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ He half-turned and glanced up the stairs towards the first floor. ‘She’s quite calm and peaceful now. I told her I’ll be back in just over a week – by which time I shall expect her to be on her feet again.’ He gave a grave smile. ‘Though Dr Ellish says this is a little too much to hope for after such a serious illness. It’ll take a couple of weeks yet, I understand. But the important thing is that she’s improving all the time.’