by Jess Foley
Now, turning her head and looking at the clock on the mantelpiece above the flickering fire, she saw that it was almost 10.30. She yawned; she was tired. She would like to go to bed, but she could not, must not; she must wait up for Edward. She had learned early in their marriage that he expected her always to be awake and alert when he returned home late. On an early occasion when she had gone to bed before he had come in he had entered the bedroom calling for her, irritable and angry, demanding that she awake and give him attention and company. Afterwards he had apologized: ‘I’m sorry; forgive me. But I’ve been travelling all day, and the thought that kept me going was the knowledge that you would be waiting for me at the end of the journey. You can’t imagine how dispiriting it is to find that there is no one there.’ And she had kissed him and told him that she simply had not known, but that she would in future always be there.
So there she sat, while the moon moved across the sky and the tea grew cold in the cup.
In the kitchen Mrs Sandiston had left a cold plate for him – chicken and ham with pickles, potatoes and, to follow, a cold fruit dessert. Everything must be ready for him – that was another thing Grace had learned.
Today Edward was travelling back from Italy, from Milan, where he had been for a few days seeing to the business of the factory there. And he always came back exhausted from such a trip. And although he complained about it, he could not let it go. ‘People always get dirty,’ he said. ‘That’s something you can rely on. People always need clean clothes. Soap will never go out of fashion.’ Grace herself had tentatively touched on the subject of his selling the factory, but he had become angry, questioning her right to give an opinion in the face of her ignorance, and she had quickly backed away from what threatened to be a confrontation.
There had been several such incidents of late, she reflected, and she had not known how to respond. He was at times like a spring that could be released by the slightest vibration, set off by almost anything. And yet again she wondered at the reasons for his sensitivity. Could it be partly to do with money? He was desperate to make money, it seemed to Grace, and generally his businesses were doing less well than he hoped or needed. When money did come in, so much of it went in expenditure on the house. ‘The house must be finished.’ He had said the words to her more times than she could remember. And when money permitted, the plasterers would come in, and the painters and the carpenters, and another room in the house would be a little closer to completion. ‘But we don’t need the other rooms to be finished,’ Grace had said. ‘We have plenty of room for all our needs.’ And it had been the wrong thing to say, for who was she to know better than he, particularly where the matter of the house was concerned?
So she had learned to hold her tongue in matters of the furbishing of Asterleigh, and learned not to be surprised when she heard banging or hammering from the direction of some distant, unused, unfinished room.
And in order to pay for the developments certain cost-cutting measures must be applied. It came to Grace eventually that the completion of the house was the most important thing in Edward’s life – more important at times, she thought, than she herself.
And yet, strangely, he never stinted on her clothes or her carriage. And she eventually realized why: she, Grace discovered, was in a way to him like a part of the house itself. Perhaps she was like a possession also, and as such he wanted her always to look her best, and to be shown in the best setting. So he might suggest cutting back on certain items such as food, and wages for his workers, but at the same time Grace, as befitting the wife of a prominent man, must always be well dressed and a credit to her husband.
Mrs Spencer had believed that the house had driven him, and Grace had no doubt that she was correct.
Yes, it was the house. This had not been apparent to her at the very start. After their marriage they had spent just one night at Asterleigh and then had gone to London for two weeks on their honeymoon. And he had been kind and considerate and caring, and she had thought that a marriage without love on her side might not be such a bad thing after all. They had gone to the opera and the theatre. But Grace had soon learned that it was not because he enjoyed such things but because they were part of the lifestyle that he aspired to. And he soon learned, even then, what he could get away with. When discussing a visit to the opera house it was: ‘Oh, not Wagner – he takes too long. He’s much too great a piece to take out of life. Find something shorter, that won’t send me to sleep. And preferably where the soprano doesn’t sound like a cat on heat.’
It took a little while, but before too long Grace learned of the scope of Edward’s aspirations. He never said as much, but in time she divined that his aim was to be on equal terms with those on a social scale above. He professed so many times not to care for position, but it became very clear that his ambition was to join those who enjoyed by right and birth a plane on a stratosphere above his own. He was resentful of old money, Grace discovered, yet all his efforts, with every breath he took, was to that one end, to be one of them.
‘Look at you,’ he had said in admiration and with great pride while they were on a trip to Redbury some months after their marriage, ‘ – you’d show them all up – all the lords and ladies in the kingdom.’ Grace had been trying on a gown in a dress shop and had come out of the dressing room to show off the gown to Edward. ‘You must have it,’ he had said. ‘You look wonderful.’ But Grace had protested, ‘Edward, it’s an extravagance we can’t afford. When do we get invited to a ball or a soirée?’ And his face had darkened and he had exclaimed, ‘My wife will be a credit to me, no matter what the occasion.’ And so the dress had been bought, and hung now in the wardrobe, never worn since that first fitting.
‘What I want, and what I plan,’ he had said on that night after their return from Redbury, ‘and what I intend to have, is to live a better life than this. The time isn’t ready yet, but the time will come, and come soon, when we can hold up our heads with all the gentry around here – around anywhere. We shall have grand balls and I shall show you off – and I’ll be the envy of all those namby-pamby bluebloods who think they’re so grand. And you shall give afternoon teas to the wives of the gentlemen, and we shall have croquet parties, and archery and tennis, and in the winter we’ll go skating on the frozen lake, and afterwards everyone will come back here to get warm, and we shall serve hot rum punch.’
And she had nodded yes to all he said, for she had learned by this time that it was unwise to deny the possibility of any of his dreams.
‘And,’ he had said, ‘I want a son. A son to carry on my name and my blood.’ He had kissed her, passionately. ‘Give me a son, Grace, and you’ll make me the happiest man.’
Now, picking up her cup, she drank from it. The tea was cold. As she set the cup back in its saucer she heard the sound of a carriage, and looking from the window again, saw the lights of carriage lanterns as the trap, driven by Rhind, came up the drive.
On a much earlier occasion when Edward was returning home she had seen Rhind as he was about to set out to meet his master at the station. ‘But what if he’s not on that train?’ Grace had said to Rhind. ‘Then I shall simply wait for the next train, ma’am,’ Rhind had said.
Now she moved from the window and sat beside the fire, and minutes later heard the front door closing and then Edward’s steps crossing the hall. Seconds later he was entering the room, closing the door behind him and coming towards her.
‘You waited up for me,’ he said after he had embraced her and kissed her.
‘Of course.’ Their words were a charade, she said to herself; they both knew that she was never again likely to do otherwise.
With a groan and a sigh of relief he threw himself down onto the sofa. ‘Please, Gracie,’ he said, and lifted his right foot.
Grace eased off his boots. ‘Your supper’s in the pantry,’ she said as she handed him his carpet slippers. ‘Shall I get it for you?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Will you eat in here?’
‘Yes, I will.’
Grace set a place for him on a small table by the piano, and poured him a glass of wine. As he preferred, she sat not too far from him as he ate.
‘I was tempted to eat something on the train,’ he said, ‘but it looked such disgusting muck I managed to resist it.’ When he had finished the meat he poured himself another glass of wine. ‘That’s better,’ he said, smiling at Grace. ‘I’m a nicer person when I’ve eaten.’
‘How was it?’ Grace asked, when he began to look a little more relaxed. ‘How was the business?’
He groaned. ‘Oh, God, it gets so trying. It seems that whenever I go back there there’s trouble of one kind or another. I really must think about getting rid of it. Sometimes I think it’s not worth all the effort, the constant travelling back and forth. If I had somebody there I could trust that would be a different matter, but I haven’t, and it’s not likely that I shall have.’
Grace removed the tray and placed it on the sideboard. ‘Would you like more wine?’
‘Just a drop more.’
When she had poured his wine she got the post that had come for him in his absence. ‘Will you look at it now?’
He nodded, and Grace took a letter opener and slit the envelopes one by one and placed them before him in a neat little pile. Turning up the lamp he began to go through them, putting some aside immediately and looking at others with interest.
‘Ah,’ he said, tapping a letter he held, ‘this is interesting. I’ve found a sculptor to mend the figure. It will be good to get that done. He’s based in Redbury. He’s the only one who answered my advertisement. Still, it’ll only need one if the man is the right one.’
Had Grace been more foolish than she was she might have said: why go spending money on a not very good piece of sculpture when you need it for more pressing matters? But she knew that such words would anger him, besides which, having just returned from one of his trips abroad his temper was never the best in any case.
He made love to her that night, taking her with a passion born not only of his feelings for her, but also his hunger after being several days away. And Grace did her best to respond, and tried to say the appropriate words and make the appropriate sounds and moves. And although she was not happy with the situation, he seemed to be. If it was a charade on her part, then it seemed that she was the only one who was aware of it.
When it was over, he lay with his arm across her body and said, ‘I shall arrange to go into Redbury and see that artist on Friday. You might care to go in with me, would you? You must have some shopping to do.’
It was her instinct to decline the invitation; there was no particular reason she wished to go into the city. But refusal of his offer would not have been well received, she knew.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve been out much while I’ve been gone, have you?’ he said.
‘I haven’t been anywhere.’
‘Then come in with me. I can leave you there to do any shopping you need and I’ll meet the artist and then go on to Swindon. I have an appointment there – and the next morning as well. So I shan’t be back tomorrow night. I’ll stay over. Save all the travelling.’
On Friday the two set out for Berron Wick station with Johnson holding the reins. They started early: Edward, once up and on the move, was never one to tarry, and as soon as breakfast – and hardly a leisurely one at that – was over, he was ready and eager to be on his way. Rhind, he said, would have driven them to the station, but he was already out of the house on various errands.
Arriving in Redbury, Edward walked with Grace to the main street, and then left her there to pursue his business with the sculptor. Grace, on her own, wandered about the shops buying various items. She stopped to have some coffee at one point and then, having made one or two further calls, set off back to the railway station. With luck, she thought, she might make the 12.50.
She arrived on the platform just seconds after the train had pulled in, and was met by a throng of people leaving the train to go into the town. She hurried towards the carriages, and then came to a sudden stop as a man swung out in front of her.
‘Kester …’
‘Grace …’ He was facing her, having just got off the train. He wore his grey ulster and carried a small case.
Grace stayed there looking at him, unmoving. She could not simply step around him and get onto the train. And he, seeing that this was nevertheless her intention, put out a hand, palm out, and said: ‘Don’t. Oh, Grace, don’t go.’
She remained where she was, while people hurried past carrying their baskets and bags and umbrellas. And along with all the bustle came the sound of the carriage doors slamming, and then, moments later, the guard’s whistle. At this Grace took a step forward.
‘I should –’ she began, but got no further.
And then from beyond Kester’s tall form came the sound of the engine starting to get up steam. The decision was made, it was too late for any other course now, the train was leaving the station.
‘Thank you.’ Kester inclined his head slightly as he murmured the words. And then, ‘Oh, Grace, I’ve been so hoping to see you. I didn’t dare write.’
She had said hardly more than three words, and realized that she was almost breathless. She gave a foolish sounding little laugh, and said, ‘That wasn’t clever, I’m afraid. There isn’t another train for half an hour.’ They were almost alone on the platform now, and the train was swiftly receding in the distance. ‘Did you just get off the train?’ Grace said.
‘Yes. I’ve been working in Marshton. So, what brings you to Redbury?’
‘Oh, nothing of importance, just a little shopping for this and that.’
He nodded. ‘I have some brief business here in the town and –’
‘Then I mustn’t keep you,’ Grace broke in.
‘Don’t say that. It’s such a pleasure to see you again. I can hardly believe it.’ A little silence fell between them, obvious and awkward, then Grace said:
‘Are you still living here in Redbury?’
‘No, we’re in Corster. Crescent Gardens, do you know it? A decent enough little villa, I suppose. The White House it’s called, though it’s not white by any means. Still, it’ll do until the lease on Birchwood becomes free again.’ He paused a long moment, then added, ‘Will you walk with me a little? I have to visit a house not too far away.’
She hesitated, and he, seeing her hesitation, gently touched her arm. ‘Please – walk with me.’
As he took a step beside her she found herself turning and falling in step with him. And so they left the station platform and the station and walked together, a little apart, along the street.
‘Is it far?’ Grace asked as they crossed over at the corner.
‘No, just five or six minutes.’
She did not want to leave his side, but at the same time she felt uncomfortable walking beside him. ‘If you have business,’ she said, ‘I shall be in the way.’
‘No, you won’t, believe me. Trust me.’
Having reached the other side of the street, he came to a stop, Grace halting with him. ‘It’s just along here,’ he said. ‘Have you got to get your train so soon?’
‘Well …’
He read the uncertainty in her voice. ‘No, you haven’t, am I right?’
‘Well, I mustn’t be too late.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Where is your husband?’
‘He has several errands to run. Some here in Redbury and then others in Swindon.’
A moment’s pause, then: ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘let me do what work I have to do here, and then let’s have a drink somewhere and talk. Please don’t say no. I have to know about you. How you’ve been. Sophie still asks after you.’
‘How is she?’
‘Oh, she’s fine. She’s absolutely fine.’ He turned, and took her arm, and for a few moments she allowed her arm to be held. ‘Come …’
‘What do you have to do here?’ she asked.
They came to a stop outside a tall Georgian house. ‘Is this it?’ Grace said.
‘Yes.’ He took keys from his pocket.
‘You want me to wait here for you?’
‘No, come in with me. There’s no one there. The place is empty, and it’ll only take a minute.’
She hesitated, but on his urging moved behind him as he pushed open the gate and started up the short path to the front door.
‘Are you sure this is all right?’ Grace said. Her heart was hammering now, and she felt like a child at risk of being caught out in some major wrongdoing.
‘Perfectly all right.’ He turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. ‘The owners are away. No one’ll come in.’ He walked ahead of her, opened the door on the left and stepped into a spacious drawing room. After a moment’s hesitation, Grace followed. The room had very little furniture in it. The carpet, though clean, was old and worn. ‘The owners have just bought the house,’ he said. ‘All this –’ he waved a hand, taking in the spare furnishings, ‘is to be thrown out.’ He gestured to an old sofa along one wall. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get this bit of work done and we can leave again. Take your coat off if you like. I shan’t be more than fifteen minutes.’