She never protested at his stealing a kiss lately. She no longer rushed away when there was a chance of a few moments alone with him. In fact she seemed to be as eager as he was for them to be alone. She woke him every morning and dawdled at his bedside until he pulled her down for a kiss. Perhaps tonight she’d come back into the living room after they’d all gone to bed and find him, sitting by the fire, waiting for her.
There was a knock at the front door. Sam rose from the table and went to the Rivergate door, at the front of the house. James heard his father’s voice. What the deuce did the old man want? His father wouldn’t be here to see how his son was enjoying life, that much was certain.
His father came into the room, filling it, making the place seem overcrowded. James stood up.
‘Will you have supper with us, Mr Wainwright?’ Mrs Smallwood asked.
‘I will if it’s no trouble,’ his father replied. ‘Thank you. Sit down, James.’
Alice set a place for him quickly, beside James, and the table chatter became more subdued. ‘It’s more fitting for visitors,’ Ellen Smallwood always said, ‘if we keep our opinions to ourselves.’ Talk was general. Alice was congratulated on her studies and Ellen on her cooking and little of significance passed between the men. James wondered if his father had come to see Sam or himself. Whichever one it was, he thought, it’ll probably be about the union meeting.
At last supper was over. ‘Can I talk to James in private, somewhere?’ Oliver asked Mrs Smallwood.
‘Take your father into the dining room, James. It’ll be cold in there though. Shall I light the fire?’ Ellen said.
‘No, Mrs Smallwood. It won’t take me long,’ Oliver assured her. Ellen Smallwood went ahead and lit the gas. ‘How’s work going, James?’ his father asked cheerfully as they followed her. But as soon as the door closed behind her he asked, ‘Are you still in the union?’
‘Work’s all right, and yes, I’m still in the union,’ he told his father, unsmiling. He never knew what the old man had in mind until he actually said it. It’s got something to do with work though, he thought, since Father’s put on his strong accent.
‘Do you like the work?’
‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘I didn’t at first, but I like it well enough now.’
There was a pause as James waited for his father to speak. ‘I want you to come home, James; back to Suttonford. It’s time you and I saw eye to eye. Time we stopped doing battle. Time we worked together.’
He hadn’t expected this; his father speaking to him as if he ought to be grateful for the few crumbs of his charity. What did the old man think he’d do? Drop down on his knees and say, thank you, Papa? He was in for a disappointment. ‘I am home, Father. This is home now,’ he said.
‘What do you mean by “This is home” …?’ His father’s voice rose in annoyance.
‘I can’t go back to Suttonford. I mean to stay here,’ James answered, pleased at the angry expression on his father’s face.
Father pulled forward one of the dining chairs and sat with his long legs outstretched, feet apart, head back; looking at him as if trying to guess what lay behind his son’s refusal to do as he was told.
James was enjoying himself. They hadn’t had a confrontation since he was brought here from school. Let the old man stew for a bit, he told himself.
‘It’s the girl, isn’t it?’ Oliver said. ‘The pretty daughter? Alice? You’ve fallen for her.’
‘I want to marry her,’ James replied. That’d show him.
‘Sixteen, are you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how do you think you can support a wife, at only sixteen?’
‘I’m working. Earning money …’ There was a smirk on his father’s face. ‘One day I’ll have plenty,’ James added.
‘When I’m dead you’ll have Suttonford,’ his father said, ‘but no girl’s going to wait that long. Have you asked her?’
‘No.’
‘Spoken to her father?’
‘No.’
‘You haven’t taken advantage of her, have you?’
‘No. She’s not that sort of girl,’ James said. His father could see for himself that Alice was a decent girl. The imputation was levelled at him.
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’ James was losing his grip on the exchange and wished to change the subject. He was not prepared to talk about Alice.
‘What have you done then?’
‘Kissed her.’
‘Where?’
‘Father! Where do you think? On her mouth, of course.’ His father was laughing at him. James saw it in his eyes, though his lips hadn’t moved. How he hated him. Now he’d have to ask him to keep quiet about it. He hadn’t even told Alice about his plans to marry her.
‘I haven’t said anything about marriage to Alice, yet, so don’t say anything outside,’ he said.
‘I see. You’ll need time to give her a proper courtship, James. I take it you’re going to wait until she’s a teacher?’
James thought he detected a note of sarcasm in his father’s tone but the old man’s face gave nothing away. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Does she have any plans of her own? For afterwards? For when she is a teacher?’
‘She says she wants to teach at her old school.’
‘You’re going to have a long wait, then.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And you want to stay here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that wise? Is it fair to the girl to distract her from her studies?’
‘I don’t distract her. I’m out a lot.’
‘Union meetings?’
‘What if it is?’ Now, at last, James thought, we’re getting to the real reason he came.
‘I want you to leave the union, lad. Come and work for me. You can’t have a foot in both camps. You’ve got to be on one side or the other.’ His father stood up, as if he was ready to depart. ‘Unfortunately, James, for your position in this house, your side is the same as the owners.’
‘I’m only a mill hand at present, remember?’ James told him.
‘You were.’ A look of triumph was on Father’s face. ‘I spoke to your boss before I came here. I told him I didn’t want you to work for them any longer. I told him you were setting up union meetings and I told him that I’ve got a list of names, some of his men included.’
‘You bloody … bastard!’ James made a move towards his father, raised his fist; but Father was too fast for him.
He pushed James against the wall and held his shoulders against it, pinning his arms to his sides. Their faces were only inches apart and James saw the anger his father had been holding in check.
‘You’ll not make a fool of me, James. I can’t have my son going behind my back, setting my workers against me. You’ll be at my office in Churchgate on Monday morning. I’ll find you a job in Wainwright and Billington’s. On the same side of the fence as me. And I’ll pay you what you’re worth. No concessions.’ He released him and James did not try to attack his father again.
‘You can live here for as long as it suits you,’ Oliver told him. ‘You’re a free man. Think it over tonight. Talk to your friends about it. But if you want independence you’ll work for it, the same as everyone else does.’
James closed the front door behind his father before returning to the dining room and sitting alone at one of the tables, elbows resting on the table top, chin on hands that no longer shook with rage. He had to get out of this somehow, with his pride intact. He would not turn up at Churchgate on Monday like the prodigal son. His father should have known better.
Alice slipped into the room beside him, carrying his tankard of ale. ‘Here you are. Has he gone?’ she whispered and she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
James tightened his elbow, fastening her hand against his side. He turned around to face her. ‘Alice,’ he said. ‘Will you marry me?’ She blushed and looked at him as if to make sure he wasn’t teasing her.
‘I
love you, James,’ she said softly.
James stood up and closed the door, keeping hold of her arm all the while. Then he took her in his arms, properly, and kissed her hard and long. ‘Will you run away with me, to Scotland?’ he said. ‘I’ll be a good husband to you, Alice. I’ll never desert you.’
Alice cast trusting eyes upon him. ‘Yes. Yes, I’ll do it. But how?’
‘I’ll go to see my grandmother tonight. She goes home to Balgone at six every evening. She’ll be there now. She’ll give me money. She hates Father and I know she’s going to leave everything she has to me. I’ll ask her for enough to see us through.’
Urgency was making him think fast. It could be done if Grandmother helped him with money. James studied her face. ‘Do you think your mother will let you come to Balgone with me? I’d like grandmother Mawdesley to meet you.’
‘They’ll let me go, if I take Sarah with me. How far is it?’
‘About two miles. We’ll have to walk.’
‘All right. I’ll go and ask. And get Sarah. Put your coat on.’
James heard her asking Sam Smallwood. ‘Aye,’ Sam said. ‘I’m going out. Come with me. I’ll wait at the corner for you at ten o’clock and walk there and back with you.’
When she and Mason arrived at Balgone Laura felt better than she had for weeks. She and Florence had had a wonderful time, looking at samples of silks for Florence’s autumn wardrobe, sent over from Paris by Monsieur Worth. They had chosen three and dear Florence had even persuaded her to order a gown in an irresistible shade of lavender. When they travelled to Paris later in the spring, to see the new collection, their clothes would be ready to bring home.
They had played for hours with baby Maud, taking her from the nursery more often than Nanny liked to release her, but as Laura confided in Mason on the wearisome journey home, ‘I never let a single day of Florence’s life go by without having her by my side for at least two hours. I believe that mothers should be with their children, Mason; for at least two hours a day.’
Laura always dined with Mason in the morning room. It was a more inviting room in winter when the fire was alight, as tonight, and the oval, wheeled table set before it. They dined at eight and it was seven already and she had not changed. ‘Bring brandy to the dressing room for me, Mason,’ she said as she ascended the stairs.
Tonight she would wear her black taffeta. Sometimes she thought it seemed hardly worth the effort of dressing but the servants expected it. They would think it odd if she remained in her afternoon dress.
‘There are visitors to see you downstairs, ma’m,’ Mason announced when she brought the tray to Laura’s room, ‘Master James and a young girl.’
‘James? Darling James? Here to see me? Show them into the morning room, Mason. Say I’ll be down directly.’ Laura drained the brandy glass. Her hands were shaking but the cognac would soon settle that. She had little use for her looking glass, these days, mainly leaving it to one of the maids to arrange her hair, but she looked tonight, and powdered her face lavishly to hide the paleness and wrinkles. She applied rouge from a small, enamelled box she kept beside her scent, rubbing it well in until her cheeks looked young and rosy again.
Laura stood, riveted to the spot, thrown quite out of true by the couple who waited in the morning room. ‘I am sorry, my darling,’ she said to James. ‘So sorry I stared. You look so like your father, standing there with the young lady at your side. It gave me quite a shock.’
Twenty years rolled back in an instant. Florence and Oliver stood before her again, vowing everlasting love. She knew that James was on the same errand. She saw it in his posture, in his eyes, and on the face of the pretty little blonde girl whose hand he held so protectively. This time she would not refuse them.
‘This is Alice Smallwood, Grandmother. My future wife.’ James had such beautiful manners. What a handsome boy he was, so dark and tall against the tiny girl.
Alice bobbed a little curtsey to her and reached for James’s hand again.
‘Sit down, my dears. Tell me all about it,’ Laura drawled. ‘You may leave us, Mason.’
James had known it would be easy; Grandmother had always indulged him but he had not anticipated her being so pleased at the prospect of his elopement. He could see that she had taken to Alice. She led them to her dressing room and opened her jewellery box. They were to have Aunt Lucy’s wedding ring, she told them. Aunt Lucy had eloped to Scotland. James had never known that. She gave Alice a string of good pearls and a brooch set with tiny rubies and diamonds.
She hugged them. James thought it embarrassing in front of Alice, to be treated like a little boy, but he had warned Alice that Grandmother was peculiar. Tonight, thankfully, she did not appear to be sodden with drink.
‘Do you need money, James? Have you enough of your own?’ she demanded.
‘I’ve no money, Grandmother. None that I can get to, that is. I understand there’s money in trust, from my great-grandfather, but I can’t touch that until I’m twenty-five.’
‘That is quite shameful, James. Your father has no right to make you earn every penny. When I think of you, living with the poor creatures in Rivergate, I could cry.’
Grandmother managed a good flow of tears as she spoke and James had to tell her that he did not live in abject poverty. ‘Alice is the daughter of the family I live with. I think you can see that she is not a poor creature,’ he said.
‘Of course. How dreadfully rude of me. Forgive me, child. How much do you need, James? I have about a hundred sovereigns in my safebox. Will that be enough?’
‘Half of that should be enough,’ James said. ‘We’ll return to Middlefield when we’re married. I thought we might live with you for a time.’
‘Would you? Oh, how wonderful. I’ll be very happy to have you here.’
Grandmother was nearly insensible with the excitement of their presence. ‘Will you make use of my carriage to go to the station?’ she asked. Of course he wouldn’t use the carriage. One didn’t elope by carriage. James told her of his plan. ‘We’ll leave the house, as normal, and make our separate ways to the station. With any luck we’ll be far away by the time we’re missed.’ He caught Alice’s hand and held it tight. ‘We’ll be married before they can come after us and stop us.’
He’d ask her the other favour too. ‘There’s something else, Grandmother. Father has got a small, blue-bound notebook holding the names of the union men who were at the meetings I attended. I don’t want to be thought of as a traitor. Can you find the book and destroy it? He’ll leave it in his office; he puts the really important papers in the second drawer from the window.’
‘I will do that for you, James. Naturally I will. Of course you can’t be branded as a traitor. Whoever heard of such a wicked thing? I’ll destroy it for you.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Edward found a medical student who was prepared to share a small flat with him and he moved his things. He could not bear the loneliness any longer and in Charlie’s company he’d be able to forget. He would give all his attention now to his studies and, more immediately, to the patient he’d seen at the fever ward.
‘There’s not much on Mrs King,’ the sister said, when he went back. ‘Just the information she gave us and doctors’ reports.’
The notes were scanty. Mrs Rosalind King. Age: Forty-nine years. Married to Gregory A. King. Born Bradford 1851. Worked in weaving mills until 1880. Lung infections intermittent. Periods of mania from the age of twenty-nine. The manic illness was becoming more pronounced and the patient, it was thought, would end her days in an asylum when found unfit to care for herself. She had already been transferred to the new mental hospital.
Should he follow up this patient? Was his interest simply curiosity? He did not want either to think or talk about Oliver. But suppose the woman was suffering from a fever and was not being treated for her condition? She’d be in a desperate state by now if she needed medication. It was this last thought that made him decide to visit her on Saturday
afternoon.
He dressed in his dark suit. ‘Where are you off to?’ Charlie asked. ‘Are you meeting a girl?’
Edward knotted his tie at the mirror and called through the open door. ‘I’m visiting a patient, Charlie, the woman we saw at the fever hospital. I thought I’d do her for my case study. I think Dr Hart’s got it wrong this time. I had a feeling the woman was in a fever.’ He ran a hand along his jaw to check that it was smooth and, using his finger, tidied up his moustache with water from his washing jug.
‘I remember her – the one who thought she knew you. Come back in time to go to the theatre. I’ve got a couple of extra tickets for the Alhambra. Margaret and her sister would be willing, I think.’
‘I’m not looking for a girl, Charlie,’ Edward said as he went into the study they shared. ‘But if it means you’ll have to waste them, I’ll go,’ he added when he saw the crestfallen look on his companion’s face, ‘but I don’t want to give the girl ideas.’
‘She’s not so short of men’s company,’ Charlie teased, ‘that she’d throw herself off the bridge for you, old thing.’
‘I didn’t mean …’ Edward answered.
‘All right. I’ll tell her you’ll come but she’s not to go swooning all over the place, when she sees your smouldering brown eyes … your sensual mouth, your …’ Charlie laughed.
‘Fool!’ Edward cuffed his friend across the ears. He was glad he’d moved out of the rooms. It was easier to stop thinking about Lizzie when he was surrounded by lively idiots like Charlie. ‘Shall I give her flowers? The patient, I mean.’
‘It’s probably enough for her to see a dashing young doctor. You don’t want her passing out at the sight of you, as well as Margaret’s sister,’ Charlie replied.
It was no use trying to be serious, not in Charlie’s company. Edward grinned at him, picked up his overcoat and left the hostel to look for a flower-seller.
There was one on the corner of the street and he bought a posy, made from bright yellow mimosa heads and tiny lily-of-the-valley. Nearer the hospital he found a chocolate shop and bought a brown-ribboned box of soft-centre chocolates, which he asked the shop girl to wrap.
The Runaway Page 42