Becoming Lola

by Harriet Steel

  ‘Eliza?’

  His voice was much nearer than she had expected. ‘I’ll just lie here at the edge of the bed,’ he whispered.

  They lapsed into silence again but his breathing sounded very loud to her. She felt the heat of his skin. When his hand touched her thigh, she jumped. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he murmured. ‘I just want to hold you. It’s cold in here, we could keep each other warm. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’

  His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her to him. She felt the rough linen of his shirt but his legs were bare. His moustache scraped her skin as he nuzzled the soft place at the base of her throat and his lips travelled down to her breasts. Her voice was unsteady. ‘Please don’t do that, Thomas.’

  ‘Just a bit of a kiss and a cuddle, my dear, what’s the harm in that?’

  ‘No, I don’t want to.’

  ‘Don’t want to?’ he asked huskily. ‘I know what you want better than you do, my pet. You pretty little things giggle and talk at school together, don’t you? Wondering what a man has between his legs and what he’ll do to you with it when he gets the chance?’

  ‘Let me go.’

  His lips closed over her nipple. The soft flesh hardened and she felt a fierce, unfamiliar thrill race through her body. ‘No,’ she gasped.

  ‘Oh but yes! I think you’re ready to find out, my darling.’ He chuckled. ‘Like a little flower, all ready for the bee.’

  With a swift movement, he pulled her nightgown up to her waist and slid a finger inside her. She shuddered. ‘That’s it,’ he crooned, as if he was gentling a horse. ‘Good girl. Here we go, in with the old soldier.’

  Eliza felt him withdraw his finger then press something hard into her. The stab of pain made her scream. Thomas clamped his hand over her lips and began to move with an insistent rhythm, faster and faster, gasps and grunts drowning his endearments until at last he let out a long, visceral howl and slumped on her breast. Terrified, Eliza looked down at him with a sensation even more alarming than the ache she felt inside her. What if he had died?

  When he looked up, there was a moment of relief before her tears came, trickling into the damp locks that stuck to her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t cry, my darling,’ Thomas mumbled. ‘My wonderful girl. It wasn’t too bad was it? You’ll see, you girls all love it in the end.’

  He took her hand and pulled it between his thighs. ‘There, the old soldier promises to be gentler next time. He didn’t want to hurt you. It was just he’d waited for so long.’

  Eliza gulped down a sob. ‘You said you would be a father to me.’

  He let her hand go with an awkward laugh. ‘You weren’t such a fool as to believe that were you?’

  She shivered. Perhaps in her heart she had suspected something but chosen to delude herself. Everything was so confusing. It was too difficult to remember.

  ‘What will we do?’ she asked in a small voice.

  He got up and went to the window then pulled the curtain back a little. Moonlight crept into the room. When he came back and sat on the bed beside her, he had a rueful grin on his face. ‘Do? I suppose we’ll have to marry; that’s if you’ll have me. Not that I’ve left you much choice. No other man will take you after this.’

  She drooped. He did not mention love.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Do you love me, Thomas?’

  He leant forward and kissed her lips. ‘Of course I do. We can be happy together, trust me.’

  Cautiously, she let him draw her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder and she closed her eyes. If he loved her, then this must be right.

  ‘Tomorrow we’ll take the road west and find a boat for Ireland,’ he soothed her. ‘We’ll go to my family’s house. We can be married from there.’

  Chapter 6

  Ireland.

  Eliza sat on the window seat in the gloomy, over-furnished drawing room of the James family’s ancestral home. She preferred to be as far apart as possible from the rest of the company.

  Since they had argued at breakfast, Thomas had been gone all day. Irritably, she stared out at the gardens and the parkland beyond and wondered if it would ever stop raining. The steady downpour leached every colour but grey from the view, leaving dull smudges where trees and shrubs should have been. Beyond the parkland, sodden hedges divided the fields into a drab patchwork that eventually gave way to the dark slopes of Mount Leinster.

  It seemed as if years rather than months had passed since they had left Bath. In those months, she had grown up a great deal and not everything she had learnt was pleasant. Unconsciously, her fingers went to the bruised place on her arm and she winced. Thomas as a husband had proved very different from Thomas as an admirer. With what I know now, she thought grimly, my advice to all young girls who contemplate a runaway marriage would be to hang or drown themselves before they set off. An admirer devotes himself to flattering and amusing you. Your smiles are payment enough. A husband thinks he owns you and never lets you forget it.

  Her mother had refused to meet them and it had fallen to Thomas’s family to arrange a hasty wedding. Eliza sighed as she remembered what a disappointing affair it had been. She had hoped to marry in one of the fashionable Dublin churches. The plain chapel at Rathbeggan had been a poor substitute. Thomas’s brother, who held the living there, had conducted the service with a face as long as a dull sermon. The only other people present had been his wife and nephew who had acted as witnesses.

  She drummed her fingers on the windowsill. It was no wonder she and Thomas argued so. The lack of entertainment in this cold, rambling house oppressed her spirits and brought out the brute in him. She couldn’t understand why anyone wanted to spend their time here, with no society but tenant farmers, and most of them too poor to be anything but an object of charity.

  ‘More tea, Eliza?’ The voice of her sister-in-law, Sarah Watson, broke in on her thoughts. She pretended she had not heard the question. These endless cups of tea, drunk with methodical regularity in the same quantity, in the same rooms, and with such unshakeable solemnity drove her to distraction.

  Before Sarah could ask again, the door opened. Thomas strode in and flung himself down in a chair.

  Sarah looked at him sympathetically. ‘Poor Thomas, what a shame there’s no hunting today.’

  He grunted.

  ‘Will you take some tea?’

  ‘Can’t abide the stuff.’

  At least we have something in common, Eliza thought wryly.

  He stood up and walked over to the window seat. His face was pale. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you this morning,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t turn away from me, dammit.’

  Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Deep lines furrowed his brow then he tried again and she heard the strain in his voice. ‘Forgive me. I wronged you.’

  Her heart softened. She knew it must be hard for him to ask forgiveness. She wouldn’t let him off too easily but perhaps she might unbend a little. She raised her voice so that the others might hear. ‘As there’s no hunting and you don’t want to drink tea, shall we go to the library and read together, Thomas?’

  He brightened and offered her his arm. ‘That seems an excellent idea. I hope you will excuse us, ladies?’

  The library was a small, dusty room whose shelves contained little but tales of hunting exploits and musty tomes of Irish history. Early in her visit, Eliza had exhausted such pleasures as it afforded.

  Thomas closed the door and put his hands on her waist. ‘There, that’s better,’ he grinned.

  ‘Stop that, Thomas.’ She pushed him away and took a book down from one of the shelves. ‘Shall we read this?’

  He swore under his breath. ‘I don’t want to read some damned book. I love you, Eliza. I want to make love to you.’

  ‘If you love me, why don’t you want me to be happy?’

  He took a step towards her but she raised the book as if she would strike him with it. He groaned. ‘All right, all right, if you hate this place so m
uch, I’ll do my best to get us back to Dublin. It may take some time though. The old man can be damned tight with money and I fear my army pay won’t stretch far there.’

  She turned on her heel and walked to the window.

  ‘Eliza, look at me,’ he begged. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I just need time. I’ll find a way, I promise. I can’t stand much more of this. Why must we always quarrel?’

  ‘Because I detest this place and you are cruel to keep me here.’

  ‘I’ve told you, we’ll leave, but you must be patient.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She stroked his cheek and he seized her hands, covering them with kisses. At least there’s one thing we like doing together,’ he muttered thickly.

  She looked down at his bent head and felt a tremor go through her. Yes, she did like it, and it was pleasing too that he was always in a much more pliant mood afterwards. ‘Lock the door,’ she whispered.

  The key turned in the lock and he came back and stood behind her, fondling her breasts.

  ‘Help me undress,’ she said softly.

  When they were both naked, she pushed him down on the library sofa. His face was flushed. ‘The old soldier’s got to raise the white flag today, has he?’ he asked in a thick voice.

  Eliza giggled and straddled him. A ripple of excitement went through her. She guided him deep inside her and leant back, rocking gently. Thomas gave a low moan and pushed himself up towards her.

  ‘Slowly,’ she whispered. ‘It’s better that way.’

  They moved together until it seemed to her as if the whole world narrowed to the sensation of pleasure she felt. Her veins were filled with fire and a wave of ecstasy broke over her. She clamped her hand over Thomas’s mouth as, with a shout, he spent himself into her. Her whole body throbbing, she fell forward and laid her head on his chest.

  ‘My God, Eliza,’ he gasped. ‘I swear you have a cunt fit for a king.’

  Later when he dozed, flushed and sated, she edged quietly off the couch, put on some of her clothes and went over to the window. Through the leaded lights, she saw the rain was still falling. All at once, the sadness she often felt returned. With a sigh, she twitched the curtains across to shut out the gloomy view. That day in Bath when she had thrown in her lot with Thomas seemed so long ago now. How she wished she had not been forced to choose him as a means of escape. She enjoyed making love with him, but she would never love him. With a grimace, she thought of her mother. Did she ever feel any remorse for her part in the affair?

  On the sofa, Thomas stirred. ‘Eliza? Where are you?’

  ‘Here, Thomas.’ She went back and snuggled up beside him. ‘Where shall we live in Dublin?’ she asked.

  *

  Eliza could not accuse Thomas of failing to keep his promise. When the roads and the weather improved, he ordered his favourite hunter saddled and rode away to Dublin to find lodgings. Eliza waited impatiently, and on the day he had sent word that he would return, she hardly stirred from the window that overlooked the drive. He arrived when daylight was fading, tired and mud-spattered from the journey. Eliza rushed out to meet him as he slid wearily from his horse and, with a peremptory remark, threw the reins to a groom.

  ‘Have you found somewhere?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t I get a kiss first?’

  She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘There: now tell me.’

  He took her arm in his and they started for the house. ‘It’s in Westmoreland Street. I hope you’ll like it. I’ve engaged a maid and a cook too.’

  ‘When can we go?’

  ‘The landlord wants to rent it as soon as possible. I’ve agreed we’ll come in a fortnight’s time.’

  After the dreary months in the country, Eliza loved playing the mistress of her own little establishment. True, the parlour of the house in Westmoreland Street was smaller than she would have liked and furnished with cheap pieces. The hall and stairs were cramped and the dining room looked out onto a weedy alleyway frequented by stray cats. But what did that matter? She was in Dublin with everything it offered. With a little wit and style, it would not be hard to distract visitors from the place’s shortcomings.

  The first weeks flew by. As she dressed for dinner one evening, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Her hopes had not been disappointed. Her parties were becoming quite the rage in Dublin.

  Her fingers brushed the pearls at her throat. Of indifferent quality, they still set off the luminescence of her complexion and the sultry intensity of her deep-blue eyes. Tonight, one of her dinner guests was Thomas’s brother, the vicar of Rathbeggan. How amusing that he now sought her invitations. In fact, he even tried, rather comically, to play the gallant.

  She picked up her fan. Some of Thomas’s brother officers and their wives would make up the numbers. ‘But I,’ she told her reflection, ‘will out-dazzle them all.’

  Through the half-open door of the bedroom, she heard the first ring of the doorbell and elderly Bridie, the parlour maid, bustling to answer it. She had better have remembered to put on a clean apron as I told her to, Eliza thought. And if Cook burns the dinner again, I’ll throw all of her saucepans at her.

  Downstairs, the rooms blazed with candles and a bowl of yellow, hothouse roses, her favourites, stood on the console table in the hall, filling the air with spicy perfume. Thomas would carp about the expense later but she didn’t care. It wouldn’t be hard to mollify him. Indeed, Dublin seemed to have worked magic between them. Probably, she reflected dryly, because between the theatre and the opera, the parties and the calls, we are hardly ever alone in each other’s company. And if that’s what’s needed for us to be civil to each other, long may it remain so.

  *

  Spring gave way to summer. At Westmoreland Street, guests came and went. Eliza and Thomas filled the rest of their time with other amusements. There were picnics and plays, card parties and dances, rides and drives in Phoenix Park with hired horses and carriages, and races to attend at the Curragh.

  Eliza gloried in it all and refused to let the knowledge that it could not be for ever spoil her fun. She strolled along Grafton Street one fine June morning and stopped to admire a bonnet in one of the shop windows. It was made of straw so fine that it shimmered like silk and decorated with sky-blue ribbons. She clapped her hands. ‘How pretty that is. It would be just the thing for the Anstruthers’ picnic next week and then Mrs McGarry says she will be taking a large party to the races in July.’

  Thomas pulled at the collar of his regimental jacket and didn’t answer.

  ‘Thomas? Don’t you think it would suit me?’

  She looked at his preoccupied expression and frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’

  He hesitated. ‘Eliza, I’ve been meaning to tell you for days now. I’ve had our orders to return to Calcutta. I have to say, I expected it. I’ve been away almost two years now.’

  She looked at him with dismay. Even though she’d known the time must come, the feeling of disappointment was overwhelming.

  ‘When must we leave?’ she asked in a small voice.

  ‘We sail on the 18th of September. I thought we might travel to England before then and I should like to visit my family in Scotland too. It may be years before we see them again.’

  He looked at Eliza’s downcast face. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do. But I’m sure the bonnet will look just as fetching in India. Come along, I’ll buy it for you.’

  *

  The following month, Thomas gave notice on the house and let Cook and the maids go. On arriving back in England, he and Eliza travelled north from Liverpool to Scotland to visit Thomas’s family as well as the Craigies and Aunt Catherine. The roads were rough and Eliza was soon weary and out of sorts. By the time the post coach lumbered over the final miles to Montrose, her patience was near its end.

  The house had not changed since she left it as a child. The same olive-green wallpaper and prim chairs in the parlour. But I have altered, she tho
ught, I am a grown woman now. And since I am, why is it that Aunt Catherine’s sharp eyes can make me feel so uncomfortable? Perhaps it was because, remembering her kindness, of all the women she knew, it was Aunt Catherine whose approval she valued.

  She hugged her when the time came to say goodbye. ‘Promise you won’t forget me?’ she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. She saw Catherine swallow hard before she spoke.

  ‘Dear Eliza, you must follow your husband now. I shall pray every day that you will do so with a willing heart.’

  Chapter 7

  Midnight approached and below decks on the boat taking them from Calcutta to the garrison at Karnal Eliza lay awake in the small cabin that she and Thomas shared. The ill-seasoned timbers wept resinous tears that filled the heavy air with their pungency, competing with the lingering smell of the curried mutton and rice the native cooks had served for the evening’s dinner. Beside her, Thomas snorted and twitched in his sleep. She rolled away trying to find a cooler part of the bed. If only they had been able to afford a cabin on the upper deck.

  She sighed. If she never saw a ship again, it would be too soon. The journey out from England had been a daily penance. The sea, she confided to her diary, makes women sick and men extraordinarily unpleasant. In the marital cabin, you are constantly bumping into one another. You cannot turn around without finding yourself in an unwilling embrace.

  To be fair, the shipboard routine had not been as exasperating as those first months of married life in Ireland. She had found other passengers to talk to in the day and at night a small orchestra had played for dances. Thomas, however, had soon reverted to his boorish, insufferable manners. His breath stank from the endless glasses of porter he consumed, after which he grunted and snored all night.

  In the moonlight that shone through the small cabin’s porthole, she made out a flat shape on the bedside ledge beyond Thomas’s sleeping form. It was the diary he had kept since they left Ireland, but all that was written in it was a list of his complaints about her. What kind of husband kept a record of those? If she kept a list of his shortcomings, she would need far more than one book. With a sigh, she rolled on her side, closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She might go mad before the journey ended.