Leaving the Tempests that morning, on an impulse she mounted the steps at Micklegate Bar to walk part of the city wall. Way below the ramparts, trams and cabs formed a constant and noisy stream. A series of staccato protests announced the departure of a gleaming express from the new station’s great arcade, and Louisa stopped to watch, wondering where it was bound.
She liked the new station, its noise and bustle having an aura of excitement and importance. Within the walls, in silent shadow, stood a group of freight wagons and sooty, ancient engines, mute remnants of a previous generation. The old station looked dirty and forlorn against the backdrop of Tanner Row. For a moment, she looked and remembered her childhood. For all their lives’ upheavals, Elizabeth and Mary Elliott had travelled a lot in those early years, and Louisa felt a stab of envy for their independence. Then, with a sharp admonition to herself, she walked on.
The sight of the Minster lifted her flagging spirits. She loved this view on such a day, the white wall stretching like a ribbon ahead, broken by the town’s rusty pink brick, white towers and pinnacles soaring above those humbler roofs, in perfect poetry of form against a bright blue sky. There was a sense of eternity about it, a comforting continuity which proclaimed all else as transitory. In a hundred, two hundred years, it would still be there, while she, with all life’s little anxieties, would be nothing more than a handful of dust. Nothing was so important after all.
There was salad, cold meats and potatoes for dinner, with early strawberries and cream, Louisa’s favourite and a rare luxury. They ate early, which surprised her, and afterwards Mary Elliott disappeared upstairs, to return in her best summer dress and attendant finery, announcing that they were going out.
It was too late for Louisa to plead illness or a headache. She tried to protest on account of the crowds there were sure to be on the Knavesmire, but her mother would not be swayed. She had made up her mind that they were all, including Bessie, going to see the Field Day, and would brook no refusals.
Edward rolled his eyes in mock despair, while Louisa controlled her panic under a thin veneer of laughter. Under the pretext of finding a prettier hat and a parasol to protect her face against the afternoon glare, she dashed upstairs to calm herself in private. Dabbing her face with cold water, her wrists with cologne, she breathed deeply, finally reassured by the thought that the Dragoons would be at some distance, and therefore indistinguishable.
A horse-drawn tram took them past the Tempest house on Blossom Street to the terminus. Crowds were already walking down The Mount towards the racecourse, well-heeled citizens mingling with a lesser breed, albeit with some disdain. In high good humour, Mary Elliott stepped out more smartly than she had done for some time, chivvying her daughter and exchanging amusing comments with her nephew, whose arm she had appropriated. Even Bessie, her face hot and rather flushed, seemed happier than Louisa, whose cheeks grew paler with every step.
They found a place with a good view, quite close to the rails. The huge green arena created by the course was empty, but at last, to enthusiastic cheers, the Dragoons and Hussars rode in, their full dress uniforms a brilliant sight, their chargers magnificent, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Riding by squadrons, in single file, by sections, they performed their intricate, perfect manoeuvres to cheers and applause and yells of delight. The cavalry were the flower of the armed forces, a perfectly disciplined symbol of invincibility. The thought was in every mind that day: what ragged bunch of rebels could hold out against such might? With such men at its head, the Empire would live forever!
Mary Elliott praised and exclaimed as loudly as the rest, her eyes never leaving those bright red tunics, constantly trying to pick out the Captain. While the squadrons were moving, it was impossible to tell one face from another, but as they advanced by gallop in line to the rails, wheeling off to right and left, Louisa suddenly spotted him, and could not tear her eyes away.
The two regiments displayed their dexterity with swords, silver blades flashing in the sun; and suddenly they were at a gallop again, pursuing some imaginary enemy for the benefit of the crowd. At a gallop and away.
His ears ringing with cheers, Edward stood in silence, watching not the retreating body of men, but Louisa; studying every fleeting change in his cousin’s face. There had been tense, unsmiling vigilance, a momentary flush of pleasure, and now this wistfulness. He knew now what brand of unhappiness burned within her, the reason for that lack of appetite, the pale and slender visage which had formerly been so rosy. He admired her stoic silence, but he wished she could have confided in him, as once, long ago, he had confided in her.
Drawing her hand through his arm, he looked into her eyes. ‘I understand now,’ he said softly, under cover of his aunt’s bright observations. ‘Won’t you tell me about it some time?’
Louisa tilted her frilly parasol until it shaded her eyes. With a half-smile, she said: ‘There’s not a great deal to tell.’
‘Isn’t there?’
Sighing, she patted his arm. ‘Well, perhaps there is.’
‘I’m always here,’ he reminded her.
‘I don’t deserve you,’ she said.
Eighteen
The summer wore on, the usual mix of sunshine and showers; grey days succeeding clear skies of palest eggshell blue, which were followed in their turn by brilliant sun. There was a spate of election fever during the dry days of late June and early July. The Tories and Liberals fought a bitter duel, every harsh criticism and dire insult reported at length in the papers and jubilantly repeated by Albert Tempest. On July 16th, with the promise of Home Rule for Ireland, Gladstone was returned to power. Wondering how Robert felt on that particular issue, Louisa read that his squadron had completed a successful two weeks of manoeuvres at Strensall Camp, and that they were due to be replaced by the group Tommy commanded.
By the middle of August, there was talk of a drought. Trapped by a sulphurous veil of coal fumes, the city sweltered in the afternoon heat. The sky took on a brassy, unnatural tinge, giving a jaundiced look to the streets. Dogs panted in the shade while listless horses went plodding by; old women sat on doorsteps, sleeves rolled up, toddlers playing listlessly at their feet. Wealthier citizens talked of Sunday picnics and open countryside, while on Blossom Street, Louisa was praying for rain.
She stood close by the open window, plaiting Victoria’s hair, her hands hot as she pulled long golden strands into place. The child complained she was hurting, but eventually it was done, the braids looped neatly off her neck. Straightening the child’s collar, she reached for the starched white pinafore, already going limp, and tied its ribbons in two neat bows at the back.
They were invited with Rachel to tea at the Bainbridges’, and Louisa would have given much to wave the girls off alone. She felt she had never been quite forgiven for her rudeness all those months ago; and that awareness, coupled with apprehension about Robert, made every visit a trial.
Had Albert Tempest approved these visits to Fulford, it would have been less worrying. But he criticized Rachel for going, and was barely civil to Sophie and Arthur when they returned the compliment. That was when he was at home, of course; more often than not he left Louisa to do his chaperoning for him. Which was all very well, but she felt too much was left to her discretion. In the period of grief following Robert’s departure, she knew she had been less than vigilant, and Rachel had taken advantage.
Not wishing to tell tales, and reluctant to bring down Albert Tempest’s wrath on his daughter’s head, Louisa had tried reasoning with her. But experience had taught Rachel to be both secretive and stubborn. Louisa had also sought opportunities to mention her fears to her employer, but opportunities were too few and Louisa evidently too discreet. When she did see him alone, he was strangely dismissive, as though the subject of his daughter bored him, as though he wanted only to sit in silence, feasting his eyes on the woman before him. His speech, breaking into these long moments of highly-charged unease, seemed deliberately abrupt, almost offensive. Louisa began to dr
ead his company, torn between anxiety over Rachel and fear of an unreasoned and perhaps uncontrolled outburst from the girl’s father.
She could hardly wait for the week to be over. The Tempests would soon be off on their annual pilgrimage to Bridlington, and she had been persuaded to take up Cousin John’s invitation. Her mother had talked her into it, and even Edward had agreed that it would do her good to get away from York for a few days.
In the meantime, however, there were the Bainbridges to face.
At the rear of the house, Sophie and Lily were playing croquet with two other young women. Their strident voices competed with the excited cries of children playing a noisy game of skittles near the terrace. At the far end, stretched out in a reclining wicker chair, Mrs Bainbridge greeted Rachel with a complaint about the heat.
‘My dear, we hardly expected you this afternoon! You must be exhausted – it really is too hot to bear. Do sit down and have some of this fresh lemonade.’
As Rachel took a seat, Mrs Bainbridge called to the child. Victoria clung to Louisa’s hand, shy and uncertain at first; but eventually, lured by the older woman’s smiles and lavish compliments, she consented to sit beside her, accepting a sugared almond and a glass of lemonade.
‘Now then, dear, why don’t you go and make friends with the other children? I’m sure they’ll let you play.’
Victoria was less sure; with Louisa in tow, she approached them hesitantly. The two boys were boisterous, greeting each other’s scores with boos and yells, but the eldest girl decided to play the little mother. Taking hold of Victoria’s hand, she led her over to the steps, where she had placed her small collection of dolls. Never sure of the child’s reaction, Louisa waited a moment before taking a seat.
The little scene reminded her so very much of her last employment; children’s parties in the grounds of a lovely but decaying mansion; excited, piping voices; the tinkle of tea-cups as nannies and nurses took tea and gossiped. The heady scent of honeysuckle, tumbling over the low balustrade in front of her, heightened the memories, bringing a wave of nostalgia and sudden longings.
Against the tense, unnatural atmosphere of the house on Blossom Street, this moment, this echo of another day, was so perfect, she longed to wind time back twelve months and preserve it, without the Tempests, without her knowledge of Robert. She had been happy then, secure and sure of herself; a little dull, perhaps, but unencumbered.
With an effort, she pushed the memories away, turning to the nanny, asking questions about the children and their families. The web of relationships, some well-known names, made clear that the Bainbridges were wealthy and reasonably well-connected. With the arrival of Arthur, she wondered how they would view an alliance by marriage with the Tempests. Albert Tempest had money, but it was new money, accrued by business acumen, not inherited. Although they clearly liked Rachel, would they approve of her as a daughter-in-law? If not, Rachel could be in for a difficult time; that is, if her sights were really set in that direction. Louisa rather suspected that Rachel loved the idea of Arthur Bainbridge, and what he represented, more than the young man himself.
Coquettish, provocative, the girl played up to the young Lieutenant, allowing him to put his arms around her, a lesson in croquet to be sure, but an alarming display to Louisa’s eyes. Sophie giggled, lending encouragement, but as Arthur caught his mother’s disapproving stare, he dropped his arms, contenting himself with verbal instruction.
Viewing the flirtation, Louisa failed to notice Hugh Darnley’s quiet presence on the terrace behind her. Tommy Fitzsimmons’ firm step and hearty greeting startled her. Tensely, she listened for Robert’s softer, deeper voice, but hearing only Darnley’s reply, she turned to find Tommy’s eyes upon her. Smiling, he acknowledged her presence with a slow inclination of his head.
Whether from disappointment or relief, Louisa felt light-headed. Her sudden pallor provoked a solicitous question from the young woman at her side.
‘I’m all right – really. It’s just the heat.’ Accepting a glass of lemonade from her companion, she studiously avoided the temptation to turn again. But it was impossible to ignore the conversation going on behind her; catching Robert’s name, she began to listen in earnest. It seemed that his squadron had performed well at the summer camp at Strensall, whereas Tommy had suffered the usual fiasco at musketry training, and fared little better on manoeuvres. While Darnley commiserated, Tommy seemed to find it amusing.
It seemed to Louisa that he laid a little too much emphasis on Robert’s name, as though he spoke for her benefit as much as the other man. Then Darnley moved off to join the young people. Behind her, a footstep warned of Tommy’s approach, but she was not prepared for his invitation to join in the game. With a smile, she shook her head emphatically. ‘I’m sorry, Captain Fitzsimmons, I’m afraid croquet is not on my list of accomplishments.’
‘Then why not let me teach you, Miss Elliott?’
Recalling Arthur’s attempts to improve Rachel’s game, Louisa suppressed a smile. ‘I don’t think so, but thank you, Captain.’
Tommy was not to be put off, however. ‘Well, now,’ he murmured, bending closer, ‘I must confess your refusals are most frustrating. You see I had hoped to sound you out — as an informed source — on the rumours I hear of an engagement. Miss Tempest is such a fascinating young lady, and I’d not wish to press my suit where it’d not be welcome.’
The young woman at Louisa’s side looked first at the tall Dragoon, lounging so casually against the balustrade, and then at the prim governess, and seemed unable to believe that this conversation was taking place.
Louisa’s smile disappeared. ‘I don’t think you should worry about that, Captain. Common knowledge is rarely accurate, and should not be taken too seriously. Is that not so?’
He laughed. ‘Touché, Miss Elliott.’ For a long moment, his eyes studied her, their expression unfathomable. ‘So, you won’t play. Well, how are you? What shall my report be? That life is treating you fair, or ill?’
Rising abruptly to her feet, Louisa unsteadied the little wooden table at her knee. She bent to rescue it, righting the empty glasses and flushing uncomfortably as she did so. ‘Really, Captain!’
But before she could move away, Tommy was beside her, his arm beneath her elbow. ‘Leave the table — the croquet lawn awaits your first lesson. Please excuse us,’ he added in an aside to young woman, and proceeded to steer Louisa down the steps.
‘I would appreciate it if you’d remove your hand from my arm,’ Louisa hissed at him. ‘What will Mrs Bainbridge think? Not to mention the children’s nanny!’
Having achieved his object in removing Louisa from the terrace, Tommy dropped his hand. ‘Forgive me, Miss Elliott, I thought you might appreciate news of Bob — or do you call him Robert?’
‘I don’t call him anything,’ said Louisa stiffly. ‘I haven’t seen Captain Duncannon for some considerable time, as I’m sure you are aware.’
Handing her a mallet, Tommy demonstrated how to tap the wooden ball. ‘Ah, yes, I am indeed. It’s a matter, in my humble opinion, for grave regret. He misses you most dreadfully.’
For a second, Louisa’s heart lurched, and she was unable to speak. Undisturbed, Tommy tapped the ball through a hoop and bent to retrieve it. ‘You know about Charlotte? Yes, of course you do. So, you will understand that his life does not lie easy. And I feel some responsibility for that – because, you see, it was I introduced them, and by the Grace of God, he married her, with me standing by as best man. I loved her once — and you see how things turned out? His life could have been mine... ’
He might have been discussing the finer points of the game, Louisa thought, so easily did he speak of these personal matters.
‘For twelve years now, we’ve known each other. Taken a drink or two when the going got rough — lived with Charlotte between us, you might say. The worst times being after home leave. But speaking as what you might call a connoisseur of Bob’s somewhat volatile temperament, I’d say that things ar
e worse now than they’ve ever been.’
Louisa sent the ball wildly off course. ‘Charlotte?’ she asked faintly, wondering what more damage Robert’s wife could have wrought. Her heart was pounding painfully beneath her tight stays, and the heat of the afternoon seemed suddenly unbearable.
‘No, it’s himself I’m worried about. He spends far too much time on his own, brooding. Refuses most invitations, and hardly ever drinks in the Mess. Did I not know him better,’ Tommy added with a laugh, ‘I’d swear he was hell-bent on promotion, and his men almost fainting from the effort! He goes on leave tomorrow week — the poor devils can hardly wait for that. I swear even Harris will heave a sigh of relief!’
‘Harris?’
‘His servant. A most devoted fellow. So you see, Miss Elliott, why I’m so concerned.’
Louisa did not see. Was he deliberately trying to sow the seeds of doubt and confusion? ‘I’m sorry, Captain, but I really don’t understand. What are you trying to say?’
Tommy cocked his head. ‘He’s going on leave. To Ireland. To White Leigh.’
‘Well, yes, I see that,’ she said. ‘He’s going home, to see his child.’
With a defeated sigh, Tommy let his mallet fall to the grass. ‘After all that’s happened in the past, Miss Elliott, and in his present frame of mind, White Leigh is the last place for him. I’ve tried to tell him, but he’ll not listen to me. I was thinking — but no, don’t mind me, I’m a rambling fool...’
He turned away, but Louisa caught his arm. ‘What did you think?’
With a shrug, he said, ‘Only that you might persuade him not to go...?’
‘Me? But how? Captain Fitzsimmons, you don’t understand — I cannot see him, no more than I can tell him what to do!’
Louisa Elliott Page 16