A True Love of Mine

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘Are you sure? How do you know?’ asked Bella.

  ‘Oh, word’s come through from London. I heard it from somebody on t’ town council, no less. It’s true enough, more’s the pity.’

  Bella decided to shut the shop straight away out of respect for the king. It was nearly closing time anyway and it was doubtful if there would be any more customers that day.

  ‘Oh deary me!’ sighed Miss Phipps. ‘The poor king. Just imagine; we’ve only just got used to being called Edwardians instead of Victorians, and now it’s doubtful that we will be for much longer. I do hope he recovers.’

  ‘Of course he’ll recover,’ said Bella. ‘We’ll have to try and look on the bright side. He’s got the best doctors in the land looking after him, hasn’t he, so he should be all right.’

  ‘Yes, I expect so…’ replied Muriel a little doubtfully. ‘We’ll all have to say a special prayer for him.’

  And that, indeed, was what happened that evening in churches and chapels throughout the country. Prayers were said for the recovery of King Edward the Seventh. Miss Phipps remarked to Bella the following morning that she had been along to a prayer meeting at her chapel.

  ‘I must admit though, Bella, my dear,’ she added, in a confidential manner, ‘that I think his conduct is somewhat…scandalous at times. But he is our king when all is said and done and we’ve got to try and look up to him.’

  ‘Quite so,’ replied Bella, smiling to herself. She knew that King Teddy was not the sort of man that Muriel would approve of wholeheartedly, but she, Bella, thought he was a real good sort, though admittedly a bounder. ‘He certainly enjoys himself with his big cigars and his race horses…and his lady friends,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope he gets better again to enjoy them.’

  ‘Yes…lady friends.’ Muriel sniffed. ‘He does have a wife. A lovely wife and he should be more considerate of her.’

  ‘Oh well, I dare say there’s one rule for royalty and another for the rest of us,’ said Bella with a shrug, and with her tongue in her cheek. She guessed that Muriel knew nothing of her ‘affair’ with Ralph Cunningham. It was all ancient history anyway.

  ‘Perhaps he will alter his lifestyle after he’s had a close encounter with death,’ Muriel went on. ‘It’s sure to make him think about what he’s doing. Kings and queens are only human like the rest of us underneath all the pomp and glory.’

  ‘Yes, it’s possibly he might change, but I doubt it,’ said Bella. ‘Some folk thought he might change his ways when he became king, but there hasn’t been much sign of it.’ She gave a quiet laugh. The king’s weaknesses and misdemeanours only made him the more likeable as far as she was concerned.

  Long before the closing years of his mother’s long reign and the start of the new century Prince Albert Edward – Bertie – had been a well-known national character. Everyone had seen, in newspaper photographs or in advertisements for various products and shop window displays, his large and splendid uniformed figure performing his ceremonial duties as the representative of the queen. But the public also knew about his large appetites, for food and drink, for shooting, horse-racing and gambling, and for beautiful women.

  ‘Queen Alexandra must be a very understanding wife, that’s all I can say,’ said Miss Phipps. She pursed her small mouth before going on to say. ‘I have heard that she is very fond of small animals. She collects lapdogs while her husband collects ladies.’

  ‘Yes, it’s amazing what some women have to put up with,’ said Bella a trifle wearily. She was beginning to get bored with this conversation. Muriel Phipps, like many woman of her age, loved to tittle-tattle when the opportunity arose.

  The doorbell rang as a customer entered; a well-dressed woman who would usually, with gentle persuasion, purchase several garments.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Hetherington,’ said Bella, with just the slightest touch of subservience in her tone; a manner that befitted a shop assistant, even one in a managerial position, but one that was completely assumed. Bella Randall considered she was as good as anybody. She stepped forward to greet the lady. ‘A lovely day, isn’t it? Apart from the news about our dear king, of course.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mrs Hetherington.

  ‘Miss Phipps and I were only just this minute saying that we hope the prayers of the nation will be answered… I will attend to Mrs Hetherington, Miss Phipps. Would you go over and see if Polly needs any help with her customer, please? She seems to have taken out every pair of gloves in the store…’

  Seemingly, the prayers of King Edward’s loyal subjects were answered because, in a few days’ time the news from London was favourable. He was making a good recovery, far more quickly than had been expected. And before long a new date had been fixed for the coronation. It was to be on 9th August, which fell on a Saturday. An odd choice of day, many people thought, assuming that it would have been in the middle of the week.

  ‘Hmm…not a good day for a special performance,’ said Percy Morgan to his troupe. They had already planned one for the earlier date, 26th June, which had been a Thursday, but that, of course, had had to be cancelled. ‘Saturday’s change-over day for one thing. One lot of visitors leaving and another one coming in. Folks haven’t got themselves settled enough to come and watch a show.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be on exactly the same day,’ Pete pointed out. ‘So long as it’s after coronation day and not before it. There’s many a slip…as they say.’

  They decided to have the Coronation Special, as they called it, on the Tuesday following the big day. Percy pleaded with Louisa Montague to do a ‘rush job’ on their costumes, with which she was pleased to comply. She added red, white and blue ribbon trimming to the ruffles on their tunics and red and blue pom-poms to their hats, working until almost midnight on the Monday evening. They would wear them for the rest of the season, of course, and be proud to do so in honour of the king. And Louisa, along with the Moon and Barraclough families, had a special invitation to the show, an afternoon performance so that young and old alike could enjoy it.

  Maddy was as excited as anyone about the forthcoming show, especially as she had been invited to sing a solo. She had been astonished, but delighted as well, when her father had told her, earlier that summer, about Percy’s suggestion that she might take part in some of the shows.

  ‘Percy mentioned it to me last year, to be honest,’ he told her, ‘just after you won that talent thing, but I thought you were a bit too young then. Besides, it was not long after – you know – your mother… But you’re twelve now, and next year when you’re thirteen I dare say you’ll be leaving school. You’re growing up fast. So…what d’you think of the idea, eh?’

  ‘You mean…to be a Pierrot?’ said Maddy. ‘With a costume and hat and everything?’

  ‘Well, not an official one,’ her father smiled. ‘Just a guest artiste, like, now and again. And not until August, mind, when the school holidays start.’

  Maddy could hardly speak for excitement. ‘It’ll be wonderful!’ she gasped. ‘Ooh, thank you, Dad, for saying I can do it. And Jessie’ll be here an’ all, won’t she? I must write and tell her straight away…’

  The coronation concert would be the second time she had performed. The first time had been the previous week when she had sung last year’s song, ‘Scarborough Fair’. But she had a new song for the show on Tuesday and it had been decided that she would, again, sing unaccompanied by the piano. Uncle Percy and Letty had told her that she had a lovely lilting voice that was just right for singing folk songs.

  ‘What are you going to sing?’ asked Jessie, the day before the concert.

  ‘Wait and see!’ said Maddy mysteriously. ‘It’s another folk song, sort of, but it’s an Irish one. And I’m wearing a white dress; Aunty Louisa made it.’

  ‘When you wrote and told me you were going to be in the shows I thought you might be wearing a costume like the others,’ said Jessie.

  ‘No… I’m not really a proper Pierrot,’ said Maddy. ‘Not yet anyway…’
she added thoughtfully. ‘Don’t tell anybody, will you, Jessie, but that’s what I’d like to do when I leave school. I’d like to join the Pierrot troupe, for all the time, I mean. But I don’t know whether Uncle Percy would want me all the time; and probably Dad wouldn’t let me anyway…’

  ‘I thought you wanted to be a dressmaker,’ said Jessie, ‘and work in a shop like Miss Montague’s.’

  ‘Oh, that was before,’ replied Maddy, going all starry-eyed again at the thought of becoming a fully fledged Pierrot. ‘But I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see,’ she added with a shrug of resignation. ‘I’ve got the rest of this summer, anyway, haven’t I? I’ll probably do a few more shows.’

  It was a memorable performance, which was talked about long afterwards by the folk who watched it. There was a patriotic feeling to it throughout. Susannah, dressed in a royal blue satin dress with a red feather boa, sang saucy musical hall songs, such as might be enjoyed by His Majesty; Carlo sang the Major General’s Song from The Pirates of Penzance, then he was joined by all the Pierrots in the chorus of ‘When the Foeman Bears his Steel’; and Queenie, not to be outdone, sang ‘Poor Wandering One’ with scarcely a wobble on the high notes.

  There was the usual mixture of wisecracks and dances and sketches, and a rousing medley of national songs to end the performance, finishing off with ‘Here’s a Health unto His Majesty’ and three deafening cheers.

  One of the highlights of the show was Maddy’s solo spot. She was introduced again as Miss Madeleine Moon. She stood all alone in the centre of the stage, a diminutive figure in a simple white dress with a white satin ribbon in her hair.

  ‘I know where I’m going,’ she sang,

  And I know who’s going with me;

  I know who I love,

  But the dear knows who I’ll marry…’

  Those who had not heard her before remarked on her simplicity, her totally unaffected manner and the lyrical silver-toned sweetness of her voice. And those who knew her felt justly proud of their own little local lass.

  Her own family members did not over-praise her. William did not want her to become swollen-headed, not that he thought she ever would, but he wanted her to retain her modesty and innocence as long as she could.

  His tender feelings for Faith were growing stronger. She and her husband were living apart permanently. Faith had told him the previous year that Edward wished to marry his lady friend eventually, which, William supposed, was to the fellow’s credit when he could have continued to keep her as his mistress, as many men did. But they seemed to be no nearer in reaching a divorce settlement, and divorce was still, to Faith, a disgraceful matter, even though she was the completely innocent party. There was one rule for men and an entirely different one for women, regarding divorce. A man could divorce his wife for adultery, but she could not divorce him, however unfaithful he might be, unless he committed another matrimonial offence, such as cruelty. And Edward, whatever his other faults, had never been cruel to her.

  It was towards the end of August when William confessed his feelings to Faith, although he knew she must have been aware of how he felt about her; just as he had guessed how she felt about him. They had managed to spend a little time together away from their families, but they both knew they must behave with the utmost prudence. However, William had decided, for once, to throw caution to the winds, and he invited Faith to accompany him one evening to a concert of classical music at the Spa Pavilion.

  He put his arm around her instead of holding her elbow as they walked back over the Spa Bridge and through the town, then up to her holiday home near the castle. All the children, who had been left in the care of Samuel, had gone to bed, including her elder son.

  As soon as they stepped over the threshold William gently put his arms around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. When she turned to look up and smile at him he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her, for the very first time, tenderly and reverently.

  ‘Faith, my dear, I think you know how much I care for you, don’t you?’ he asked. She nodded.

  ‘Yes, William; I think I do…’

  ‘Faith… I love you,’ he whispered.

  ‘And I love you too,’ she replied.

  They sat and held hands, contented to be in one another’s company with their feelings out in the open at last. But they both knew that they must be circumspect in their behaviour. It could be quite a long while before they were able to be together as they wished, openly and for the rest of their lives.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bella caught sight of William and Faith one evening during the first week in September. She was at the Theatre Royal in St Thomas Street enjoying a performance of The Importance of Being Earnest by Mr Oscar Wilde. She had seen the play before and she found the character of Lady Bracknell particularly amusing. She had decided to visit the theatre on her own as she found the company of Muriel Phipps to be somewhat irksome at times. Sometimes Bella preferred her own company to that of anyone else, seeing that she could not have the company she would have liked.

  At least she had been enjoying the play, until the interval, when she caught sight of two familiar heads a few rows in front of her in the stalls. One dark head and the other with hair of a bright chestnut colour. She was not absolutely sure until she saw William turn to smile at his companion. Quickly Bella looked down, studying her programme until the lights dimmed again. She did not want them to see her.

  Her appreciation of the rest of the play was quite spoilt, and when the performance ended she loitered, making doubly sure she had her programme and her bag and hat, and stooping down to retrieve a dropped glove until the couple had passed along the aisle.

  Their way home – for she felt certain that William would be going back to Faith’s place – led along the same route for part of the way. She followed them, keeping a good distance behind them as they walked along St Thomas Street. She knew she was only rubbing salt into a very tender wound, but she could not stop herself from watching them. The street was fairly busy, not as much as it would have been during the daytime, but there was a fair number of theatre-goers making their way home, some of them hailing passing hansom cabs. William and Faith, however, seemed oblivious to the people passing or following them. She saw William put his arm around Faith’s shoulders; she saw Faith turn to smile up at him, and then he lowered his head to place a kiss on her forehead.

  At the junction with Castle Road the couple turned right, with Bella continuing on until St Thomas Street merged with North Marine Road. She let herself into the door at the side of the shop and went up the stairs to her flat above the store. Bitterness and anger and frustration were building up inside her, more than ever before. She pulled off her hat and jacket and flung them on to a chair.

  It wasn’t fair! It just wasn’t right… She had been William’s willing slave in all sorts of ways for the last – how long? – it must be seven years or more since she had first come to work at Moon’s Modes. She would have loved William faithfully, if only she had been allowed to do so. She did love him, and when Clara had…gone, she had felt that there might really be a chance for her.

  Then…along had come that vision of loveliness. How could any man resist beauty such as that, for Bella had to admit that Faith was a beautiful woman. William was infatuated. That, maybe, was all it was. He had allowed his head to be turned by a pretty face. But it could not come to anything, could it? The woman was married and it was more than likely that her husband would not want a divorce. And she could not imagine William Moon – the steadfast and highly principled William Moon – ‘living in sin’. As she, Bella, had done with Ralph Cunningham, a little voice in her head reminded her.

  Deep down, though, she knew that she was trying to delude herself. William was not merely infatuated; he was in love with the woman. She had seen tender glances pass between the two of them before and had guessed which way the wind was blowing. She felt tears of anger and unhappiness welling up inside her and she was powerless to s
top them. She raged and sobbed for a while, beating at the sides of the armchair with her fists until her fury was spent. Then she went to the sideboard cupboard and took out a bottle of whisky. She poured a good measure into a glass and gulped it down. She felt the fire in her belly at once and already a slight lessening of her mental anguish. She would take the next measure to bed with her, diluted with hot water. It was one of the few comforts she enjoyed at the moment. At least it guaranteed her a good night’s sleep and, hopefully, respite from her despair and the demons that possessed her…until the next day.

  Maddy and Jessie, too, could not fail to notice the growing friendship of their respective parents.

  ‘D’you think they’ve fallen in love?’ Maddy said to Jessie as they sat together on Jessie’s bed, one early evening during the first week of September. Maddy had returned to school that week and had been invited to tea at ‘Jessie’s place’. Her friend would be going back home to York the following weekend.

  The idea of her father and Faith did not trouble Maddy too much. Her father often talked to her about her mother and when he said that he would never forget her…well, she believed him. They were able to talk about her mother now and smile together as they remembered the happy times they had enjoyed together as a family. But Aunty Faith was a very pretty lady, and she was nice and friendly as well as being beautiful. Maddy could not blame her dad for liking her a lot, as she knew he did. There was a girl in her class whose mother had died, a few months after Maddy’s mother. And her father had got married again just before the summer holidays. Agnes – that was the girl’s name – didn’t seem to mind about it.

  ‘I think they might have done,’ said Jessie, in answer to her question. ‘Fallen in love, I mean. I wonder if they’ll get married…’

  ‘They can’t, can they? Your mother’s got a husband, hasn’t she?’