Once satisfied with her own appearance, Temperance called her father and instructed him to clean himself thoroughly in the now tepid bathwater. She supervised his dress, combed his hair flat and bade him sit quietly in the small front room she had temporarily transformed into a parlour. With the tea laid out on the table and a few small fancies on a good china plate, all that was left to do was to wait. Temperance knew that the rest of her life depended on the next few hours and she had never been as nervous or as excited or as terrified. When the knock finally arrived at the door she almost choked on her own heart.
Little did Temperance know, but she needn’t have bothered to go to so much trouble and effort. Arthur Angel was already frantically in love with her. He wouldn’t have cared less if he’d had to pick his way through the worst of slums to get to her. When Temperance answered the door to him the rest of the world fell away. Arthur could have been in a palace or a hovel. He didn’t notice the damp in the corner of the room, or how threadbare the rug was. He didn’t notice how the delicate china teacups that Temperance poured the tea into didn’t all match. He barely noticed her father sitting quietly in the corner of the room and he certainly didn’t taste the sweetness of the pastries that Temperance had gone to so much trouble choosing. All he noticed was how Temperance shone. He feasted his eyes on her long white neck and drank in the greenness of her eyes. He had never wanted something so much in his whole life and within half an hour of his arrival he was down on his knee asking for her hand in marriage.
As luck would have it, Charles Angel, who was not entirely in agreement with his only son marrying so low, met with a nasty accident while observing the installation of a new roller at the mill, leaving his entire fortune to Arthur and giving the inhabitants of Bridgwater a reason to gossip when St Mary’s church hosted a funeral and then a wedding within two days of each other.
Temperance took to running Lions House as if she had been born to it. Arthur agreed with her suggestion that a newly married couple should enjoy complete privacy in the early days of wedlock, so the Angel sisters and Charles’ widow were dispatched to a small but adequate cottage on the outskirts of town. Temperance looked at her grand new home, at the fine furniture and large army of servants it contained, she looked at her costly trousseau, that had all been handmade for her by a Bristol dressmaker, and she could not believe how easy it had been to get the life she had always dreamed of. Arthur, for his part, could not believe how lucky he was to have the wife he’d always dreamed of. Neither of them could have been more satisfied with the way things had turned out.
Within a year, Temperance had produced a son they named Eli and a year later a daughter named Alice. If Arthur was puzzled by the change in Temperance that came about after the children were born, he never said a word about it. He adored his wife and if she was not as enthusiastic in the bedroom any more, well maybe that was to be expected after the rigours of childbirth? When she moved out of their bedroom altogether, he meekly accepted it as her right to a good night’s sleep. He grew used to containing his passion for her and counted his blessings instead: that he was fortunate enough to have the most beautiful wife in the whole of Bridgwater.
Temperance’s beauty dominated the Angel household. It drew everyone towards her and made them want to please her: from the lowliest maid-of-all-works to all of Arthur’s business associates. By the time any of them recognised the dark truth behind Temperance’s perfect façade, it was too late. She had them caught in her trap, and none was brave enough to speak out against her. No one, that is, except for her daughter, Alice Angel.
Alice saw straight through her mother. From the moment she was born, Temperance was aware of the baby’s small black eyes following her around the room. Temperance found it disconcerting that a mere baby could make her feel so uneasy. She would dream of the child’s miniature fingers digging into her face and peeling back the skin to reveal the ugliness of the blood, bone and muscle underneath. Temperance spent as little time as she could with the child. She called her difficult, awkward and wearing, although the nanny she engaged to look after the child found Alice to be nothing but sweet and lovable. In truth, Temperance could not bring herself to even like her daughter. Temperance felt different towards her eldest child, Eli. If love made your insides turn soft for a moment, then Temperance assumed she loved her son. She could feel his adoration of her: it poured from him. He would hold his arms out to her and when she picked him up he would press his velvet cheeks against hers as he wrapped his little arms around her neck. He was a beautiful boy. He had inherited Temperance’s auburn hair and green eyes, and Arthur’s soft nature. Eli grew into a gentle and caring young man and, best of all, his love for Temperance never wavered.
Alice, on the other hand, grew worse the older she got. Once the girl learned to speak, there seemed to be no way of training her tongue. She questioned her mother endlessly and challenged her on every decision. But, why must I wear that? Why can’t I play outside with Eli? Why can’t I go and see Papa now? Why do you love Eli more than me? The girl was insufferable. She didn’t act at all like a young lady should; she was ridiculously untidy and raced around the house like a common street urchin. Temperance despaired of her. She could barely bring herself to look at the girl at times. It didn’t help that Alice looked so different. She hadn’t inherited her mother’s ethereal beauty, but neither did she take after her father’s side of the family. Alice had an intensity to her. Everything about her was more than it should have been. Her hair was blacker than coal, her skin creamier than the freshest milk and her eyes sharper than a kitchen knife. If Temperance believed at all in changelings, she would have sworn that Alice had been swapped for an otherworldly creature at birth.
It was Alice that Temperance was thinking about as she stood admiring herself in the mirror. The damned girl was suffering from hysteria, she was sure of it. She was sixteen now and should have long since ceased to be a thorn in Temperance’s neat side. But she was so wilful. Everything with her was a battle. She should have been completely corset trained by now. But no, Alice being Alice, she would take the thing off at night, complaining that it was too uncomfortable to sleep in. Of course it was uncomfortable. A good, straight and comely posture could not be gained without a modicum of discomfort. But Temperance had got her own way as usual. She saw to it herself that every night now, Alice’s hands were strapped to her bed. There was no tampering with corset laces now. A few more weeks should do it, then hopefully Alice’s wayward mind would be restrained, along with her figure.
Temperance checked the clock on her mantelpiece. It was seven o’clock. Time for the day to begin in earnest. She would go and untie Alice first, say goodbye to Arthur before he left for Bristol, then instruct the cook on exactly what was needed for Lady Egerton’s visit.
Three
I smell Mama before she even enters my chamber. The cloying scent of her lavender announces her arrival at my door. My body tenses and I am aware that I am holding my breath. I turn my face away from the door and listen as the key clunks in the lock. I hear the rustle of her skirts as she walks to my bedside. She lifts the covers from me and runs her hands down the length of my body to feel the sheet beneath me. I feel the cool of her fingers on my wrists and she makes a tiny grunting noise as she pulls at the buckles and frees my hands. Then she is gone. Without saying a word. But she’s left her lavender scent behind and I need to rid my room of it.
First though, I pull the chamber pot from under my bed and relieve myself, thankful that I didn’t wake to cold wet sheets again. Whenever I have disgraced myself in this manner, Mama has me carry the bundle of sodden linen down to the kitchens so all the servants may witness my shame. I am spared this at least today.
I sit on the edge of the bed and rub at my wrists. The skin is red and sore and there are welts where the straps have cut into me the deepest. I reach under my pillow for the pot of ointment hidden there. I open it and scoop out a fingerful of the oily cream to smooth on both wrists; it’s cold
and soothing. I stole the pot from Mama’s room. It is called Rowlands Kalydor and the label declares it to be ‘a cooling and refreshing milk for the face, hands and arms’. Mama has a dozen of these pots and has not noticed that one is missing yet. Just in time, I hide the pot back under my pillow. The door opens and Lillie comes in with my wash water. ‘Can you open the windows?’ I ask her.
‘But it’s so early,’ she says, looking at me disapprovingly.
‘What of it?’ I say. ‘Open the windows please.’
Lillie tuts and makes a great show of tugging the curtains across and pushing the windows open a crack.
‘Open them wider,’ I tell her. She looks at me as though I am mad, but pushes the windows open anyway so that a welcome rush of air and the smoke of early morning fires comes swirling in. I feel better now I cannot smell Mama any more.
Lillie is breezing around the room now. She opens drawers and cupboards and lays an assortment of underclothes on the end of the bed. ‘What gown will you be wearing today, miss?’ she asks me.
‘Whichever one,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t really care.’
Lillie tuts again. I stand and stretch to try and relieve the aches and soreness in my sides and under my ribs. I pull my nightgown off and walk stiffly to the washstand to begin my morning toilet. Lillie watches me closely. Most of me despises having to wear these dreadful stays, but there is a small part of me that is glad the cursed thing inspires envy in Lillie. She would give her right arm, I know, to be tight-laced, and to swan around in a well-made gown.
I stay silent as Lillie dresses me in a blue silk. I am so exhausted I can barely lift my arms to push them through the sleeves. Lillie brushes my hair and tugs hard on the knots. I won’t give her the satisfaction of complaining. Eventually I am ready and it is time to go down to breakfast. I hope that Eli will be there. It is too unbearable to think I may have to dine alone with Mama.
I hear his voice as I near the door to the dining room and the knot in my stomach loosens. It is the first good thing of the day. And every good thing, no matter how small, makes each day easier to live through. As I open the door, I hear him telling Mama of his plans. How he is going for a ride on the moors this morning before lessons with his tutor begin. He stops mid-sentence as I come in the room and he greets me warily. ‘Good morning, Alice.’
I bend to kiss his cheek and catch my breath as a bone in my stays jabs under a rib. Eli’s brow creases in concern. ‘Are you well?’ he asks.
‘She is quite well,’ says Mama tersely. She ignores me and feasts her eyes on Eli, as if he is the only person in the room. ‘Now,’ she says to him. ‘Finish telling me of your plans.’
‘Yes, Eli,’ I say brightly. ‘Tell us of your plans. It is a beautiful day for riding.’ Mama’s face hardens for an instant. She will punish me for this later. She will punish me for speaking to my own brother and for taking his attention away from her. But I don’t care. I want to hear Eli describe how he will ride like the wind across the wide, open space of the moors into the shadows of the Quantocks; how he will look out for wading birds and maybe stop for a while to watch the peat gatherers. All of me aches to be able to join him. Even though I have never even sat upon a horse, I can imagine the feel of it and the power and the freedom. Eli does not know how fortunate he is.
I spoon some eggs onto my plate and push them around as I listen to Eli talking. It is easy to pretend that everything is ordinary while there is his voice to hide behind. Ordinary is what I wish for. Ordinary is what everyone else takes for granted. But for me, to be ordinary would be so very special.
I watch how easy he is with Mama and how easy she is with him. I sigh. It will be a long week without Papa here to soften the edges.
Eli wipes his mouth on his napkin and beckons one of the maids over. ‘Will you let the stable boy know that I will be ready to leave in twenty minutes?’ She scuttles off to do his bidding and I turn cold inside as he pushes his chair back and stands to leave. ‘Have a good day, ladies,’ he says. He kisses Mama on the cheek, but doesn’t see how she glares when he comes over to me to do the same. Eli leaves the room and suddenly the air turns cold too. Mama doesn’t speak for a moment. She sips her tea and looks out of the window. I chew and swallow my eggs quickly, though they are rubbery and tasteless; I may not get the chance to eat again today. I let my cutlery fall clanking onto the empty plate. I might as well let it begin now, so it will be over all the quicker.
Mama whips her head around at the noise. ‘Will you never learn?’ she hisses. ‘You dare to interrupt me when I am talking to Eli, and you have the table manners of a ruffian!’
‘I am sorry, Mama,’ I say. ‘I did not know it was a crime to be interested in my brother’s life.’
Mama puts her hand to her head. ‘You dare to be so insolent to me,’ she says through clenched teeth. ‘You will go back to your room and stay there! It was too much to hope that you could have taken tea with Lady Egerton today. Too much to ask that you would not continue to embarrass me.’ She lunges across the table and slaps me hard across the cheek.
I blink in shock, but I won’t let the tears come. I take a deep breath. ‘Lady Egerton is nothing but a primped and powdered old windbag,’ I say. ‘Why would you want to impress her?’
Mama’s face turns white with rage. ‘Get out!’ Her voice trembles and I am glad to see her perfect brow crinkle into ugly creases.
I have been in my room but a minute, when I hear the key turn in the lock. Mama isn’t taking any chances. I go to the window and press my head against the glass. My room looks out over the street, and I can see that the day has barely even begun. It is mid-July, but the sun has not yet lit the pavements yellow. The few people that are scurrying about their business are the early risers: servants, hawkers and dustmen. Lady Egerton would not be seen dead out and about at this time of the day. Her sort is rarely seen about before midday. I hate it that Mama thinks more of the woman than she does of me. I bang my forehead slowly against the window and the rhythm comforts me. It is going to be another long day.
I pass an hour or so writing in my journal. It soothes me to lose myself in words. I write of happy things: of sitting on Papa’s knee in front of the fire when I was small and giggling as he sang me nursery rhymes; of chasing Eli around the flower beds in the garden; of picnics in the summer and of tending to a small grey pony called Rose. I write of a mother who loves me. A mother who shows me kindness instead of scorn. A mother who does not stick pins into my arms because my sampler stitches are less than perfect. It is all nonsense of course. These things are only wishes. Pages and pages of wishes that have never come true.
I hear a clattering from outside, so put down my pen and go to the window. It is Eli, back from his ride. He dismounts and hands the reins to the stable boy. As he turns towards the house he looks up at my window. When he sees me looking down at him, the exhilaration on his face slips and turns into disappointment. He cannot understand why I continue to anger Mama so much. He tries his best for me, I know. But like everybody else, Eli is blind to her faults.
I sit in my chair for a moment, listening carefully. I knew it would come, and soon there it is; a small knock at my door and the sound of the key turning. Eli comes creeping into the room. He closes the door quietly, then looks at me seriously, with Mama’s green eyes. ‘What has happened, Alice?’ he asks.
‘Just the usual,’ I tell him. ‘I shouldn’t have talked to you at breakfast. You know how Mama hates me taking your attention away from her.’
‘Oh, Alice,’ he says. ‘She wouldn’t punish you for that. What really happened? What have you done now?’
‘You honestly don’t see, do you?’ I shake my head. ‘It’s so different for me than for you, Eli.’
‘Well, of course it’s different, Alice.’ He drags his hand roughly through his hair. ‘I am a man and you are a girl. A young lady now, in fact. I hate to say it, but maybe it’s time you started acting like one.’
‘And how should I do that, Eli?
’ I challenge him. ‘Should I allow Mama to tighten this thing … ’ I jab my fingers at my waist, ‘ … so much that it cuts me in half? Should I never say what I think or feel? Should I just sit quietly in some corner with no mind of my own?’ My voice has grown shrill and Eli puts his finger to his lips and looks nervously at the door. ‘What’s the matter, Eli?’ I say stiffly. ‘Are you afraid Mama will lock you in your room too, if she finds you in here with me?’
He looks at me sadly.
‘Or,’ I continue, ‘are you afraid she will stop loving you?’
‘Alice.’ Eli sighs. ‘I cannot talk to you when you are like this.’ He digs around in his pocket and brings out a packet. ‘Here, take this.’ He holds the packet out towards me, but I don’t move. ‘You will be grateful for it later,’ he says as he throws it onto the bed. ‘Please, Alice.’ He looks at me as he opens the door to leave. ‘Please see sense. Apologise to Mama for whatever it is, and let us have a good week while Papa is in Bristol.’
Then he is gone. I stare at the back of the door and listen as Eli turns the key in its lock again. I would laugh if I did not feel so wretched.
The Beloved Page 2