A Woman of Substance

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Adam looked at Adele pointedly. ‘At least he sees the sense of it. And I must say, he has been most diligent under the circumstances, trying to continue his studies on his own. But that’s hardly good enough for me, Adele.’ Adam cleared his throat and softened his tone. ‘You must consider Edwin, my dear. He misses school and his friends, which is only natural. And so’—Adam hesitated and then went on softly—‘and so, I came to inform you that I intend to drive him to Worksop myself. Tomorrow.’

  Adele smothered a small gasp. So soon, she thought, and tears sprang into her eyes. She turned her head so Adam would not see. Her hand shook as she brushed away the tears surreptitiously. Adam was doing this to thwart her. It was not for Edwin’s sake at all. He was jealous that Edwin preferred to stay at home with her. She had a sudden physical compulsion to jump up and fly at him with her hands, to strike him, to tell him he was cruelly taking away the only person who loved her and whom she loved.

  But she looked back at Adam and at once saw the implacability etched across his sternly handsome face and she knew then, with a sinking feeling, that she would not achieve anything by fighting him. He was inexorable. ‘Very well, Adam, whatever you say,’ said Adele, her voice still quavering and filled with incipient tears. Gathering a little more strength, she continued, ‘But I wish you to know that I am only agreeing to this—this—ridiculous decision of yours because you say Edwin himself has expressed a desire to return to school. Although I am not so sure he’s such a reliable judge of his fitness to return so quickly. Personally, I think it’s preposterous when half term is imminent. He’ll hardly get there before it’s time for him to come home. All that travelling back and forth is debilitating, especially to a little boy who has been so sick. I think you are very hard on Edwin, Adam. I really do.’

  Adam could not resist the impulse of retorting caustically, ‘Edwin’s no longer a little boy. Furthermore, I don’t want him growing up to be a sissy, Adele, and he will if he remains tied to his mother’s apron strings. You’ve always tended to spoil and pamper him, and it’s a miracle that he’s turned out so well. So far.’

  Adele gasped and her pale face flushed with deep colour. ‘You are most unfair, Adam. Edwin’s never been tied to my apron strings, as you so vulgarly put it. How could he have been? You sent him away to school when he was only—’ Her voice was so filled with emotion she could not continue, but after a moment she went on tearfully, ‘Only twelve. And if I’ve spoiled him a little it’s simply because he is sensitive and has always been put upon by Gerald.’

  Adam stared at her, taken aback, and then he smiled sardonically. ‘Well, well, my dear, you are more observant than I believed you to be. I am glad to know you realize Gerald hectors him incessantly and behaves most churlishly towards poor Edwin. That’s another reason I want him out of this house—to remove him from his brother’s taunting. He will be much happier at school, until he’s old enough to defend himself on Gerald’s level. Although personally I hope he’ll rise above it. Not a very admirable offspring, our eldest son,’ he finished softly, but with enormous scorn.

  This comment went over Adele’s head. A weary look settled on her face. She sighed deeply, and passed her hand over her brow. A rising feeling of nausea was making her dizzy and she fervently wished Adam would go away and leave her in peace. This effort to maintain her sense of balance and appear coherent was sapping what little vitality she had left. She felt enervated. ‘The matter is settled then, Adam,’ said Adele quietly, fighting the pressing need to retreat into her inner world where nothing could touch her. ‘I have a splitting headache,’ she whined, ‘and I’m sure you have other urgent matters to attend to yourself.’

  ‘Yes, I have.’ He scrutinized her thoughtfully, and a strange sadness enveloped him. There was sympathy in his voice as he said, ‘I hope you feel better, my dear. I am sorry this conversation has been painful for you, but you know I am only thinking of Edwin.’

  Considering the conversation to be concluded, Adam inclined his head courteously and turned on his heel. Something made him pause and he looked back at her frowning, suddenly conscious of the obscure expression in her eyes, the glassy sheen coating her face.

  ‘I can assume that you will be well enough to grace us with your company at dinner this evening, can’t I? You know we are expecting guests,’ said Adam.

  She sat up startled. ‘Tonight!’

  ‘Yes, tonight. Don’t tell me you have forgotten the dinner party Olivia has planned for Bruce McGill, the Australian sheep rancher. She mentioned it to you earlier in the week,’ Adam said sharply, holding his irritation in check.

  ‘But that is on Saturday, Adam. Olivia told me it was Saturday. I know she did. I wouldn’t make a mistake like that,’ she cried peevishly.

  Oh, wouldn’t you, Adam thought, and stared at her with coldness. ‘Today is Saturday, Adele.’

  Flustered, she touched her forehead nervously. ‘Of course. How silly of me,’ she murmured hurriedly. ‘Yes, I am sure I will feel well enough to come down for dinner.’

  ‘Good.’ He half smiled. ‘Please excuse me, Adele. I have to see Wilson at the mill, and then I am going into Leeds. I look forward to seeing you this evening, my dear.’

  ‘Yes, Adam,’ Adele said, and fell back into the chair, feeling faint, and also great alarm at the prospect of facing people, and in particular a stranger.

  Adam closed the door softly behind him. He was considerably surprised. It was a major achievement for him to have wrested Edwin from her clinging hands with so little opposition. In a way, even her momentary show of spirit had been a relief to him. Usually her entreaties to keep Edwin at her side were accompanied by floods of tears, vapourish swoonings, and the most irrational display of hysterics that he always found himself incapable of dealing with. The scenes in the past had been insupportable and had mortified him.

  Emma, working in the bedroom, had not been able to avoid overhearing this conversation, even though she never consciously eavesdropped, as the other servants often did. She finished making the bed and pursed her lips and thought: Poor woman. He’s such a bully, and so mean ter her. Like he is ter everybody.

  Although Emma’s hatred for Adam Fairley was unreasonable and without any foundation, it was quite real. So was her enormous dislike for Gerald, who never lost an opportunity to torment her. But she held no grudge against Edwin, who was always sweet with her, and she did respect Olivia Wainright. Now she wondered if she had been uncharitable about Mrs Fairley earlier, and she paused, clutching a silk pillow to her chest, and thought hard about this. Perhaps it’s him that makes her act queer, she said to herself. He gets her ever so flustered and upset. Maybe that’s why she’s always forgetting stuff and things, and walks around in a flipping daze. Emma replaced the silk pillow, smoothed it over, and pulled up the eau-de-Nil green coverlet made of heavy satin, her mind still lingering on Adele Fairley’s strange ways. A rush of sympathy for Adele flowed through her and quenched the feelings of anger mixed with animosity she had been harbouring, and for some reason, quite unknown to herself, Emma felt decidedly happier about this change of heart.

  Emma was dusting the Venetian glass-and-mirrored dressing table in front of the oriel window, humming to herself, when Adele walked into the room. Her face was tense with concern and her cheekbones stood out starkly, sharp ridges under her eyes, which were clouded with misery. Her anxiety about the impending dinner party had forced her to push aside both the desperate desire to retreat into herself and her longing for the soothing whisky. In his present unrelenting mood, Adam struck terror in her heart, and it was imperative that she made an appearance that evening and behaved with decorum and dignity. Whatever it cost her in effort, she must be controlled and at ease and charming, and no one must have the slightest inkling of her emotional turmoil.

  Then the cunning in Adele surfaced and she smiled to herself. She had a card up her sleeve and it was always a winning card. Her beauty. Adele knew that her incredible looks never failed to stun people.
So much so that their attention was deflected from the idiosyncrasies of her personality, which otherwise might be quickly detected. She decided she must look absolutely breathtaking at the dinner. She would hide behind the façade of her beauty.

  She hurried to the wardrobe, which Emma had just restored to order, and opened the huge double doors impatiently. Emma’s heart sank into her boots. She had an instant picture of Adele scattering the clothes all over the room again, and she looked up and said quickly, ‘I put all yer clothes away, proper like, Mrs Fairley. Is there summat yer looking for? Summat in particular like?’ Startled, Adele turned around abruptly. She had forgotten Emma was in the bedroom. ‘Oh! Emma. Yes. I am wondering what to wear for the dinner party tonight. Quite important people have been invited, you know.’ She rustled through the gowns and went on in a querulous tone, ‘You will be here to help me dress, won’t you, Emma? You know I can’t possibly manage without you.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Mrs Wainright asked me ter work over the weekend, ‘stead of having me time off as usual, ‘cos of the dinner,’ said Emma quietly.

  Thank goodness!’ Adele cried with relief, and continued her search for an appropriate gown. The fact that Emma had been forced to forgo her weekend at home with her family failed to register or make the slightest impression on Adele. She was only concerned with herself. Finally her hands lighted on a gown and she pulled it out, holding it up to show Emma. Lately, Adele had found it difficult to make decisions without conferring with Emma, and she now elicited her advice about the dress she was holding.

  ‘Do you think this is beautiful enough?’ she asked, pressing the gown against her body. ‘I must look my best tonight—outstanding, in fact’

  Emma moved away from the dressing table and stood in front of Adele. She cocked her head on one side and screwed up her eyes, looking at the dress carefully and critically. She knew the gown was expensive and that it had come from Worth. Mrs Fairley had told her that before. And it was beautiful, all rippling white satin and delicate lace. Yet Emma did not really like it. She thought it was too fussy and not at all flattering to Mrs Fairley.

  After a few moments’ thoughtful consideration, Emma said, ‘Well, it is beautiful, ma’am. But I think it’s a bit—a bit pale for yer, if yer don’t mind me saying so. Yes, that’s it, Mrs Fairley. It makes yer look ever so washed out, so ter speak, next ter yer pale skin and with yer blonde hair.’

  The pleasant expression on Adele’s face dissolved and she glared at Emma. ‘But what will I wear? This is a new gown, Emma. I have nothing else that is at all appropriate.’

  Emma smiled faintly. There must be at least a hundred gowns Adele could choose from and all of them very beautiful.

  ‘What yer need is summat more—more—’ Emma paused, searching her mind for a word. She thought of the illustrated magazines she had read that showed photographs of the latest fashions, and the word she needed instantly flashed into her mind. ‘Yer need summat more elegant, that’ll make heads turn. Yes, that’s it, Mrs Fairley, and I knows just the right dress.’ She ran to the wardrobe and pulled out a gown made of black velvet. It was the ideal colour to show off Adele’s beautiful ivory complexion and the lustrous silvery-gold hair. Then Emma frowned as she looked at it again. It was trimmed with blood-red roses that swathed one shoulder and fell down the side of the gown in a long trail.

  ‘This is the one,’ she exclaimed with absolute sureness, and added, ‘If I tek them there roses off.’

  Adele stared at her in horror and disbelief. ‘Remove the roses! You can’t possibly do that. You’ll ruin the dress. And anyway, without the roses it will look too drab.’

  ‘No, it won’t, Mrs Fairley, ma’am. Honest, it won’t. It’ll look more elegant. It will. I just knows it will. And yer can wear that luvely necklet, the sparkling one, and them there earbobs. And I’ll put yer hair up in that pompadour style I copied for yer, from the picture in the magazine yer showed me last week. Oh, yer’ll look ever so luvely in this dress, Mrs Fairley, yer will really.’

  Adele seemed doubtful and sat down heavily on the green satin chaise, frowning and biting her lip. Emma flew to the dressing table, picked up a pair of nail scissors, and, undeterred by Adele’s cry of protest, she expertly cut the stitches holding the roses in place.

  ‘Look, now it’s really elegant, Mrs Fairley,’ exclaimed Emma excitedly, pulling off the roses unceremoniously. She held up the gown with a triumphant flourish.

  Adele was furious. ‘You’ve ruined it!’ she gasped, her voice shrill. ‘And it is drab! Just as I said it would be.’ For once she was angry with Emma and her eyes blazed.

  ‘It won’t be drab when yer gets it on, and with yer beautiful jewels,’ Emma said firmly, ignoring the small burst of anger. ‘And if yer wants, I’ll sew them blinking roses back on later. But first we’ll try it this way, Mrs Fairley. Please,’ she pleaded.

  Adele was silent, her face like a thundercloud, and she gave Emma a petulant look as she twisted her hands nervously together in her lap.

  ‘I can put them roses back on in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, when I helps yer ter get ready. So don’t worry about it, Mrs Fairley,’ said Emma reassuringly.

  ‘Well—all right,’ said Adele reluctantly, somewhat pacified, although still pouting.

  Emma smiled confidently. ‘I’ll pop it back in the wardrobe for now. Don’t worry, Mrs Fairley, yer’ll look luvely tonight, yer will that. I promise. Now I’ll go and draw yer bath for yer, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you, Emma,’ said Adele dully, still worrying about the dinner. Emma returned the gown to the wardrobe and hurried into the bathroom.

  Adele went to her dressing table and took out the red velvet case that contained her diamond necklace, bracelets, and matching earrings. She lifted out the necklace and held it up to her throat. Its shimmering brilliance caused her to draw in her breath in surprise. She had forgotten how magnificent it was and, now that she thought about it, the black velvet gown would set it off perfectly. Perhaps Emma had been right, after all, in her choice. Adele smiled with delight. She would look so ravishing tonight even Adam would be speechless.

  FIFTEEN

  Later that day, when Emma finished her general chores, she returned to the upstairs sitting room with afternoon tea for Adele Fairley. Adele had declined to come down for lunch, claiming a headache and fatigue, and so Emma had taken great care with the tea, being determined to make Mrs Fairley eat something to keep up her strength for the important evening that lay ahead. Having overheard the conversation between Adele and Adam, and later witnessing Adele’s concern over her gown, Emma had intuitively sensed her apprehension about the dinner party. She felt protective of Adele, now that her sympathetic feelings were restored, and she wanted to assuage Adele’s nervousness as best she could. Pampering her a little was the only way Emma knew how to do this.

  For these reasons, even though she was more overworked than usual because of the dinner party, Emma had painstakingly prepared some of the things Adele enjoyed for tea, hoping to tempt her jaded appetite. There were tiny cucumber sandwiches and others filled with egg, cream crackers spread with shrimp paste, hot buttered scones, home-made cherry jam, Cook’s delicious shortbread biscuits and Eccles cakes. She had also made a huge pot of the tea Mrs Fairley preferred, although Emma didn’t know how she could drink it. To Emma it tasted funny, like smokey water, and not at all like real tea, even if it was expensive and was specially ordered from Fortnum and Mason in London. But there was no accounting for the tastes of the rich, Emma decided, as she trudged up the staircase with the tea tray. They ate and drank the strangest things, to her way of thinking. She liked good plain food herself, and didn’t hold with fancy dishes and rich sauces and peculiar delicacies, which never tempted her. She also believed the gentry ate too many meals with too many courses. To Emma it was disgusting the way they gorged themselves gluttonously like ravenous pigs. No wonder they suffered from indigestion and were liverish and bad-tempered. It was all that food and drink that did
it. Even when I make me fortune, I’ll still eat simple, she commented to herself as she went into Mrs Fairley’s rooms.

  Adele had been resting all afternoon. She was still lying in the great fourposter bed, propped up against the pile of pale green pillows, reading the Yorkshire Morning Gazette, when Emma entered the room and carried the tray over to the bed. Adele looked up from the newspaper and smiled sweetly.

  ‘I’m glad you suggested I take a rest,’ said Adele, adjusting her position against the pillows. ‘I slept for quite a long time and I do feel more rested and refreshed for tonight, just as you said I would, Emma.’ She smiled again and there was a hint of gratitude in her eyes.

  Emma stared at Adele intently. The tense lines that had etched her mouth with anxiousness that morning had vanished. Her face was relaxed and calm, and her eyes were so clear and bright they were almost merry. Even the badly swollen lids had lost their red puffiness and the deathly pallor had been replaced by a delicate glow that perfectly reflected the pale pink satin nightgown she wore.

  Why, she looks ever so beautiful, Emma thought, and said, ‘I’ve brought yer summat ter eat, Mrs Fairley. Yer must be right famished, seeing as how yer didn’t have owt since breakfast. Try and get summat down yer, even if it’s only a few mouthfuls.’ She placed the tray next to Adele on the bed and continued, ‘I even made that funny tea yer like.’

  Adele laughed and for once there was gaiety in her voice. ‘You mean the Lapsang Souchong, Emma. Thank you.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Lapsang Souchong—’ Emma repeated slowly, and hesitated. Then she said questioningly, ‘Do I say it proper like, ma’am?’

  ‘You do indeed,’ asserted Adele, somewhat amused, as she poured a cup for herself.

  Emma smiled slightly. She liked to learn things, for future reference. She would need to know a lot when she went to Leeds to make her fortune. Now she cleared her throat and said, ‘Begging yer pardon, Mrs Fairley, but I’d like ter look at yer dress again, if yer don’t mind. I wants ter be sure that there’s nowt wrong with it. That there’s nowt that needs fixing. I wants it ter be perfect for the dinner. Will I be in yer way?’