He went to the office, ran up the stairs and spoke to Albert. ‘Come with me for a drink, Albert. I need to talk to you,’ he said.
They crossed the market square. There were no stalls on Mondays but it was still hazardous with horses, carts and cabs. A flock of starlings beat their wings as one, swooped and turned, silver and black like a sheet of patterned silk above the churchyard, then settled for the night in chattering lines on the belfry sills.
‘We’ll have storms before the week’s out!’ Oliver prophesied.
‘Country bumpkin, are you, lad?’ Albert grinned, reminding Oliver of their first meeting.
‘Aye. At heart I am. But I’ve come a long way since then, Albert,’ Oliver said. ‘And I’m going to tell you about it.’
They seated themselves in the back room of The Bull where Oliver ordered a decanter of whisky and poured drinks for them both. He regarded his friend carefully. ‘You didn’t know I had two sons, did you?’ he said, waiting for Albert’s reaction, wondering if his friend had ever guessed at the outcome of what Edith and he only ever referred to as ‘that early business’.
‘Edward?’ Albert asked, surprise in his voice.
‘Yes. Edward’s mine,’ he told him solemnly. ‘Did you guess?’
‘Not until this very minute. It was the way you said it,’ Albert said. ‘Why are you telling me now?’
‘You haven’t seen him?’ Oliver pulled a wallet carefully from his inside pocket, took out a photograph and handed it to Albert.
‘Good God!’ Albert looked up from the portrait. ‘He’s you, James and your Tommy all rolled into one,’ he said. ‘How did you keep it secret?’
‘I told him I was his brother – his half-brother.’ Oliver put the photograph back in his wallet. ‘Edward was with his mother when she died. She was a patient in the hospital. It was her husband who was blackmailing me. She can’t have known. I guessed when Edward told me he had a patient called Mrs King.’ He smiled now. The whisky was having its effect. ‘I’ll not tell Edward about the blackmail though.’
He took another gulp of the fiery liquid. ‘She recognised him, Albert. She must have known as soon as she saw him. She told him everything. I’m grateful to her.’
‘Have you told Florence?’
‘Aye. She was wonderful about it,’ he said. The whisky was loosening his tongue. ‘To Florence!’ he said as he drained the glass.
‘You still love her, don’t you?’ Albert asked. ‘I take it that the actress affair is over?’
‘We’ve never been close, you know,’ Oliver said slowly, considering every word. ‘Me and Florence.’
He’d tell him everything, he decided, now that he knew about Edward. ‘It was never like it was with – with the other one. That was all good physical stuff. Florence seemed to pull back at the last minute. She never took the brakes off.’
‘There’s a lot like that,’ Albert said. ‘They usually come round to it eventually. Then there’s no stopping them.’
Oliver reached for the decanter and filled his glass again. ‘And now it’s too late,’ he said in a mournful voice. ‘The doctor said it could be years.’
‘You’ll maybe have learned a bit of patience by then,’ Albert said. ‘Anyway, let’s drink to Edward.’
Oliver went early to Southport on the day he was to meet Edward, for the first time as his father. He had to break the news to Dolly, give her time to compose herself before she, too, learned how Edward had taken the truth of their years of deception.
He was not confident that Edward would be forgiving, for now he realised how he had wronged his son. All that had been revealed to him, all his memories of Edward’s young life, now pointed inexorably to the conclusion that it would have been in his son’s interests to have known, from the start, of his parentage.
He had asked himself, in the days that had passed since he had spoken to Edward, what his own reaction would have been, had his father not acknowledged him, and he knew that his nature was such that he would have struck back at those who had denied him. Edward’s nature was one that grew strong on truth and courage. Edward had needed a proper father and he had denied him this, and, lastly and even more regrettably, Oliver knew that his own insistence on secrecy had denied his son the freedom to court the girl he loved.
Only Dolly had given without reserve. Only Dolly had seen so long ago that they were doing wrong and even she, with her sharpness and unsophisticated insight, had not seen that what her children felt for one another went beyond affection.
Dolly was fully recovered, and in high spirits when he arrived on Friday afternoon.
‘There’s a nice fire in the drawing room. Let’s go in there,’ she said after he’d congratulated her on the hennaed hair and her slender figure. ‘Bert’s just gone. He has his lunch here, on Fridays.’
She went ahead of him to the front of the house. ‘All my clothes have had to be taken in, Oliver,’ she said. ‘I’m that pleased! Bert liked me when I was fat but I like it much better being thin.’
She was her old self again, full of chatter, full of plans. ‘And Edward’s coming home tonight. I miss him. And I miss Lizzie. I’ve had a letter from Lizzie. She’s coming home soon.’ She was almost dancing with excitement. ‘And do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to go to Australia to visit our Tommy and his wife. I’m that glad to be alive.’
He stood with his back to the window of the sitting room, waiting for her to finish and at last she stopped and cocked her head on one side.
‘You’re quiet,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing’s up. Edward knows I’m his father,’ Oliver answered baldly, then wished he had been more tactful as he saw colour drain from her face.
‘How did it happen?’ she said in a whisper.
‘He was with his mother. In London, when she died,’ he said. ‘He rang me up and called me Father.’
Dolly dropped on to the settee and looked at him with frightened eyes. ‘So he knows I’ve lied to him,’ she said. ‘What did he say?’
‘He said he’d be home on Friday. That’s all,’ he answered. He went to her and sat beside her. ‘Don’t take on,’ he said. ‘You know as much as I do, now. We’ll both have been looked at in a different light by Edward. We won’t know what he thinks of us until he’s home.’
‘Oh, Oliver.’ She leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘My hands are shaking. My knees have gone to water. Will he hate us?’
‘No,’ he comforted her. ‘I’m sure he won’t.’
‘I can’t just wait here until he comes,’ she said. ‘I’m too agitated. Let’s meet him at the station.’
She went into the hall and reached for her brown velour coat with the astrakhan collar and her wide-brimmed hat.
‘He used to stand at the gate, Oliver, when he was little, and as soon as he could pick me out he’d fly up the road and throw himself at me,’ she said, remembering the little boy he had been. ‘You used to do that an’ all,’ she added. ‘Only it wasn’t in the streets. You used to hide behind trees near the big house, waiting for me.’
‘I never knew that,’ Oliver replied.
The Southport streets were always brushed clear of snow. It was piled in the gutters, a knee-high gritty barrier, with slabs of yellowed and straw-laden ice beside the tramlines with gaps cut through for the pedestrians to reach the trams. There was a strong wind, with the smell of snow to come and Dolly had to hold on to her hat with one hand and Oliver’s arm with the other.
‘You wait outside, will you?’ she said to Oliver when they reached the station. ‘I want to see him on me own, first. Because I’ll know, Oliver. I’ll know the minute he looks at me what he thinks of it all.’
Tonight, even the power of the train, the piercing thrust of steam hitting the glass roof and rebounding in enveloping clouds around the passengers, the noise and the fumes of sulphur, could not take Dolly’s attention from the coming meeting with Edward.
Would he be nervous too? Was Edward, even n
ow, as the brakes ground on to the iron wheels, preparing to accuse her of playing false with him? She could not make out a single face in the crush of people who approached and passed by. Had Edward missed the train?
There was an arm around her shoulders, a well-known cheek against her own, the warm, familiar sound of his voice and it was all right. ‘Mother! Hello, little Mother. Look at you! Your hat’s all crooked,’ Edward was saying. He straightened her hat and held her shoulders as he looked into her face. He looked at her, held her at arm’s length for a moment while his big brown eyes looked at her, from her head to her feet, and he smiled the broad, happy smile she knew so well.
There was no need for him to tell her. It was written all over his face that he was happy to be her son. A glow spread through her, right down to her toes. She wondered why she’d ever imagined that Edward might hate her; might think she’d betrayed him. She took his arm, as she’d always done, proudly, with not a little touch of vanity at being seen with so tall, so dark, so handsome a son.
‘Come on, love,’ she said. ‘Oliver’s outside. Best not keep yer dad waiting.’
Dolly stood back a few yards as the two Wainwrights, father and son, whom she had brought up as her own children, clasped one another’s hands and did not let go. They were finding it difficult, here in the street, to hold back the dam of their feelings.
‘Let’s get home and sort ourselves out,’ Dolly said as she took an arm of each of them, placing herself between them. Soon they would not even notice her presence when the talking began in earnest but just for these few moments they needed her.
Dolly had made their favourite food for their ‘little private party’ as she called it, saying it was a twenty-first and a christening party in one, making them laugh at her.
Nellie and Bertha had laid the table with the best china and silver on a handmade lace tablecloth. The wines were ready, the red uncorked, the white in a silver bucket of broken ice, brought from the icemaker that morning. A fire burned in the dining room and the curtains were pulled when they reached the house.
They were hungry from their walk in the cold. She had made an onion soup, and to follow it an open lobster tart in thin, flaky pastry filled with mushrooms and sieved tomato in a thick cream sauce.
They were laughing together, she saw with satisfaction, now at ease with one another, filling each other’s glasses. She brought in the fillet steaks and watched as they heaped vegetables upon their plates. It’s funny, she thought, how men will remember what they’ve eaten long after they’ve forgotten what was said at the most important times of their lives. She’d opened a jar of her best apricots in brandy and served them with cream until they declared that they could not eat a single morsel more. They would, they said, leave the fruit and cheeses until later.
She left them, talking by the drawing-room fire and made her contented but light-headed way to her bedroom.
It was over a week since dear James and the pretty little girl had gone to Scotland and still Laura had not been able to search the study for the blue notebook James wanted. There were too many servants around, following her and watching. Soon Oliver would tell her to return to Balgone, saying she was recovered from her seizure.
‘When do you expect to see James?’ she asked Florence on the eve of Oliver’s birthday. She had drunk nearly all her medicinal brandy and it was only three o’clock. It would not be too wrong of her to open another bottle. At times of strain it was permissible, she was sure, to drink two bottles in a day. It was bitterly cold in the blue sitting room too. It had been a mistake to use blue to decorate it.
‘Tomorrow. He’ll be here for his father’s birthday. He is being rather a trial to us, Mama. I can’t tell you how upset Oliver is at James’s behaviour.’
‘Isn’t James married, then?’ Laura faltered. ‘I thought he had run away. He said he was going to elope with the pretty child.’
‘They were stopped, Mama! How often must I tell you?’
Florence appeared to be annoyed with her. Laura frowned and searched her mind for something to say. ‘I did not stop them, Florence. They had my blessing.’
‘Oh, Mama. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be short with you.’ Florence took her arm. It was such a comfort. ‘But James has not married. And Oliver wants James to come home.’
‘Oliver hates James. You know he does,’ Laura said.
‘Mama! Oliver does not hate James. He wants to make a man of him, that’s all,’ Florence replied crossly. ‘James says he is going to join the army. I shall speak to James myself, tomorrow – Oliver’s birthday – when James comes home. Do you understand, Mama?’
Laura’s hands shook noticeably. Tomorrow! What would darling James think of her if the book was still in Oliver’s study? ‘Ask the servant to bring brandy, Florence,’ she said. ‘I’ve had only a single drink today and my nerves are unsteady.’
Florence rang for a maid before continuing. ‘Lizzie is coming to Suttonford tonight, Mama. She will be here for dinner. I so want to hear all about her apprenticeship.’
Florence poured the cognac for her and Laura drank quickly, feeling the warmth spread through her. Now her thoughts clarified. It was essential that she destroy the notebook today. Oliver would be late this evening; he had told Florence so. They would not dine until half-past eight: an hour later than normal. He would not go to his office, much less miss the notebook, when he was late for dinner.
Laura couldn’t bear to imagine what might happen if Oliver discovered the loss before dinner. The memory of his disgraceful behaviour, in front of the servants, on the day Mr Smallwood broke the news of the elopement to him still sent shudders of horror through her. She had been made ill by it and had been unable to leave Suttonford. The medicinal brandy did not calm her until Florence ordered the increased dose. She had told Florence, time after time, that one pint daily would not suffice under such desperate circumstances.
‘Do you think James and Alice are married by now?’ she asked and was rewarded with a sigh of irritation from Florence.
Lighted lamps were being brought into the drawing room and placed on the side and centre tables. Lowering clouds had taken the last shreds of daylight from the long windows and servants were drawing the heavy curtains and refilling the coal box. Florence drew her brows together in a warning frown, so she would not speak too freely until they were alone. Laura’s eyelids drooped ostentatiously when the door closed behind the butler and two maids. ‘Sometimes, my darling, I feel it would be better to dispense with servants completely,’ she said. ‘It becomes a strain, having to be aware all the time of their gossiping habits.’ Laura’s slurring words were coming slower. ‘Have you rung for tea?’
Florence nodded. ‘Nanny Gibson will bring Maud down after we’ve taken tea and then I’ll go and change. What will you wear tonight, Mama?’
‘My purple velvet.’
‘I’ll wear the plum silk,’ Florence said. ‘Oliver likes me in that colour.’
‘I won’t see baby, today, Florence. I shall rest after tea,’ Laura said. She wouldn’t take a lamp to Oliver’s study. That would be foolish. It might be missed. She would take candles and matches. As the brandy cleared her head so her plan simplified. She would go down when the servants were absent, bring back the notebook and give it to darling James tomorrow, when he returned.
As soon as she entered her bedroom Laura saw that Mason had ordered the extra bottle of brandy. Mason was proving a most loyal and helpful companion. ‘Did you ask a maid to brush and iron my purple velvet, Mason?’ she called through to the little sitting room that lay between their two bedrooms. ‘And did you ask the girl to bring candles and matches for me to use in the night?’
She poured herself a large measure and swallowed it greedily before pouring a still bigger one, which she sipped rapidly at first, then slower until the level was down to a respectably low point in the bulbous goblet.
Her bedroom faced the eastern side of the drive where it curved round the front of the house. Th
is was the quiet wing of Suttonford; the side furthest from the servants’ quarters and kitchens. Suttonford was not noisy but footmen, servants or Wilkins seemed constantly to be present in the large rooms or the hall.
There would be fewer people about at half-past six. ‘That’s when I’ll do it,’ she told herself. ‘The servants have their supper then. Oliver insists on strict observance of his rules. We must not expect service, except for personal maids, between the hours of six and seven.’ Laura’s hands shook as she recited these points to herself like a litany. She drank quickly to steady them. She heard Nanny outside her door, talking quite loudly to the maid.
‘What’s that strange smell, miss?’ the woman asked.
‘I’ve been cleaning Mrs Mawdesley’s dress, Nanny, with petroleum spirit,’ the girl replied. ‘It should be hung in the air to freshen afterwards but I couldn’t put good velvet out in this damp weather.’
‘I hope the smell goes away, miss.’
Really! Laura thought. What airs Nanny Gibson gives herself. She’d have a word with Florence about her. It was a good thing that she was here to supervise Florence’s handling of the staff. Oliver had been far too tolerant, so much so that soon, she believed, the servants would be allowed to voice their own opinions in front of the family.
The nursery suite was beyond the three doors she and Mason had and its four doors opened on to the east landing. It was well staffed with Nanny and two nursery maids but the maids would join the other servants at six and Nanny would be busy bathing Maud and settling her down before her own meal was served to her at seven.
Laura must dress immediately and be ready to go as soon as Nanny returned. Florence would be in her dressing room with her maid and she, Laura, would give the nursery maids five minutes to reach the kitchen quarters before she began her journey to the study. She would order Mason to rest before dinner.
Mason helped her into the purple velvet. ‘If you had asked a little earlier, ma’m, the dress could have been cleaned and aired,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you want to wear this one? The black taffeta and your grey silk dresses are both here.’
The Runaway Page 45