I don’t know,’ confessed Peter. ‘Just avoid the dunners, I suppose.’
‘For the rest of our lives?’ exclaimed Mercy in horror. ‘That’s no sort of an existence! No, we must see what we can raise on my jewels and clothes; we can move to somewhere small and dismiss the servants—’
‘Hold on a minute!’ protested Peter laughing. ‘Things aren’t too good at the moment but they aren’t so bad we need to live like paupers, you know. There’s no necessity for you to go out scrubbing floors for a while.’
‘There isn’t?’ She could not understand how he could admit to thousands of pounds worth of debts and still smile. She was also realizing how little she knew about his financial affairs. Until now it had seemed unimportant, he had always spent money so confidently, it had never occurred to her to query if it were there to spend.
‘No, of course not. This embarrassment is purely temporary. Everything will be paid off in a couple of years.’
‘Then why wait?’
‘Because I can’t get my money till then – not until I’m twenty-five. That is a condition of my father’s will.’
‘Oh!’ Mercy was so relieved that her knees gave way, and she sat down suddenly. ‘Who has control of your money – your mother?’
‘Yes. I have a regular allowance in the meantime, a mere pittance of £500 a year.’
Once she would have thought such a sum to be a king’s ransom. Now, although she only had a vague idea of their living expenses, she knew they were far in excess of £500.
‘What do we live on?’
‘Tick,’ said Peter frankly. ‘And you don’t need to worry about the rent; I paid the first quarter which will keep the landlord quiet for a while. As for the servants, I don’t suppose they expect to be paid regularly.’
‘You don’t suppose the servants expect to be paid regularly?’ she demanded. ‘Why not? They have to live – like anyone else!’
‘They have their bed and board provided,’ said Peter, as though that explained everything.
‘That’s not enough…’ A sudden dread thought seized her. ‘When did you last pay them? This quarter-day? Last? You have paid them something?’
‘Well…’ Peter looked uncomfortable.
For the first time anger took hold of Mercy. How could he have let their affairs get into such a mess? Anger was not her only emotion, however. She also felt hurt and disappointed: hurt because he had not seen fit to confide in her and disappointed at finding such a major flaw in the man she loved, for the inability to manage their finances was a major flaw. She had been too poor for too long to think otherwise. Owing money to anonymous traders was bad enough, but not paying their servants was going too far.
‘You haven’t paid them, have you?’ she cried furiously. ‘We owe them their wages, don’t we? Well, it won’t do! I refuse to face Poole and his airs and graces knowing we owe him money. Something must be done!’
‘But what?’ Peter was startled by this outburst.
‘Firstly we’ll raise money for the wages. I’ve got more than enough stuff that can be sold. Then you are going to write to your mother to tell her of our marriage and explain that as a married man you have greater responsibilities and therefore need a larger allowance.’
‘I’ll write soon,’ promised Peter.
‘Now!’ declared Mercy firmly. ‘Or else I will write it myself!’
‘Oh, I don’t think that would be a good thing.’ He looked alarmed at the idea. ‘Very well, if you think I should.’
‘I know you should!’ came the emphatic reply.
* * *
Agnes Lisburne read her son’s letter with a sense of mounting triumph but no surprise. There was little about her son’s domestic affairs she did not know, thanks to information regularly received from his manservant, Poole; information for which she was at pains to pay promptly and well. Never for one minute had she considered interfering. If there was one thing which Agnes understood it was the value of impeccable timing; after waiting patiently, she had received the letter from Peter, with its undertones of urgency, right on cue, just as she had known she would.
Agnes was forced to admit to herself that Peter’s marriage had come as a shock. But then it was so like Peter to marry a girl he could have had for a few pretty dresses and some cheap jewellery! Agnes allowed herself a moment of satisfaction, like a general who sees his carefully laid plans gradually come to fruition, then she meticulously refolded the letter, put it in her writing-desk – and deliberately ignored it for the next two months.
* * *
If London had been warm in June it was stifling by August. Even the most impressive buildings had acquired a dusty look, and there was an airlessness about the streets which Mercy found enervating. Peter, also, was feeling uncomfortable.
‘Let’s go up to Scotland for a while,’ he suggested. ‘The best shoots will be taken, but I dare say we’ll find something. Fresh air, wonderful scenery, and I’ll teach you to shoot grouse! It’ll do us both good.’
Mercy did not think this a good idea. Much to Peter’s horror she had pawned a lot of her jewellery, an act which had caused some dissension between them. The money raised had paid the servants and cleared one or two of the more pressing debts. Having made a step in the right direction she was determined there would be no backsliding.
‘Perhaps when we get a reply from your mother—’
‘If we get a reply!’ Peter broke in. ‘She’s deliberately tormenting us, playing cat-and-mouse.’
‘Surely not?’
‘It’s obvious you don’t know her. She’s a woman who likes to have her own way at all costs. Believe me, if she ever does agree to help us financially it will be at a price.’
‘What can she do to us now we are married?’
‘I don’t know. But my mother will think of something, if only to prove she can still manipulate me.’
Mercy thought that Peter was exaggerating, though she said nothing. As the weeks went by, however, and their repeated pleas to Mrs Lisburne went unanswered, she did begin to wonder if his words had contained more than a grain of truth.
Summer slipped by into a crisp autumn as their finances grew steadily worse, in spite of Mercy keeping a tighter control on the household spending. It was becoming increasingly obvious to her they could not keep on the house; they would have to move somewhere smaller in a less fashionable area. She determined to speak to Peter about it that afternoon, when they took tea together. But before she got the opportunity the unthinkable happened. They had a visitor.
‘Mrs Lisburne, Madam!’ For once Poole’s imperturbability cracked a little as he made the announcement.
Peter and Mercy were too astonished to do more than stare at each other in bewilderment.
Then Agnes entered, pausing in the doorway to regard the pair of them, self-possession personified.
‘Mother!’ Peter leapt to his feet.
‘I’m afraid I may have come at an inconvenient moment,’ said Agnes coldly.
‘Not at all – we weren’t – this is such a surprise,’ Peter stammered. ‘We’re having tea. Won’t you join us?’
‘Don’t you think that introductions are in order, first?’
‘Yes, of course. I was forgetting that you two have not met. Mother, this is Mercy, my wife.’
If Mercy was expecting to see a hint of kindness in Peter’s mother she was disappointed. Instead she saw a well-dressed woman with Peter’s colouring and his same neat air of elegance; a woman who would have been considered beautiful if only there had been one spark of warmth in her being. Mercy looked into blue eyes that were like Peter’s, but so much colder, and she began to fear her husband’s assessment of his mother’s character might be right. Those eyes continued to glare, assessing her icily.
‘You forgot we had not met? What a strange lapse of memory, not to realize your mother and your w— the woman to whom you are married are not acquainted!’
Agnes recovered from her slip masterfully, refusing t
o refer to Mercy as her son’s wife. She did not bother to address one word to her.
Peter had recovered from his surprise sufficiently to fetch his mother a chair.
‘You will join us for tea, Mother?’ he asked.
‘Very well.’ Agnes stared pointedly at the table which was laid for two. ‘But if it is too much trouble…’
Mercy realized with a start that both Peter and his mother were looking in her direction. Of course, it was up to her to ring for another setting and more hot water, wasn’t it? Flustered, she reached for the bell. In doing so she caught her plate with the sleeve of her tea-gown and knocked a scone on to the floor. It lay, butter-side down, on the green carpet, thrusting her into an agony of indecision as to whether to pick it up or not. At that moment Poole entered in answer to the bell and she opened her mouth to give him his orders; there was no need – he already had more crockery, hot water, and fresh scones on a tray. She closed her mouth, feeling foolish and also irritated at having her wishes anticipated yet again.
As the manservant began to withdraw Agnes regarded Mercy steadily, as if expecting some action; when Mercy did nothing she said, ‘Poole, there appears to be a mess on the floor. Clear it away, if you please.’
‘Certainly, Madam.’ Poole dealt deftly with the scone and withdrew. Mercy wished that the floor would open and swallow her up.
Sitting bolt upright on the edge of her chair Agnes took one sip of tea before discarding it. Then, without any undue preliminaries she spoke of the purpose of her visit.
‘As soon as I heard of this marriage I made inquiries about having it annulled,’ she said bluntly. ‘This was impossible, as no doubt you intended it to be.’ Turning to Mercy she addressed a remark directly to her for thetime. ‘Since legally and irrevocably you two are married we must make the best of it. After all, I have but one son, the hope of the whole Lisburne family.’ Her voice could hardly restrain her scorn. ‘Well, if I must have you, whatever your name is, as my daughter-in-law then I must. And here is how we will go about things. I will see to it your allowance is doubled, and any debts – there are debts, I assume? - cleared up. There are some conditions pertaining to my generosity: you—’ She fixed Mercy with her cold blue eyes – ‘you will never again have communication with your family in any form whatsoever; I will not have it known that we are allied with a bunch of hobbledehoys. To ensure your abstinence I am willing to send that rabble the lavish sum of two pounds per week, a donation which will stop immediately if you contravene my wishes.’
‘No!’ cried Mercy, appalled at the idea. ‘You can’t ask such a thing! It’s inhuman!’
‘Inhuman?’ Agnes regarded her coldly. ‘I presume you have been sending money home ever since your marriage? How much longer would you be able to continue subsidizing your worthless relations without my help, eh? Have you considered that?’
Mercy was struck dumb by the thought.
The other woman nodded triumphantly. ‘If you want my assistance you must abide by my conditions,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘In addition, I insist that you are educated to fit your new station in life. I have already engaged an excellent governess who will go with you and give you regular tutelage.’
‘Go with us? Where?’ demanded Peter.
‘Did I not say… ? You are to go abroad for a spell. I have already taken a house for you in Brittany, at a quiet resort where you are unlikely to meet any English people. After a suitable period has elapsed I will permit you to return to the Villa Dorata. I will openly accept this woman into my home, though we may have to devise some story about you having met and married abroad.’ Mercy was too stunned by these bewildering terms to reply but Peter asked quietly, ‘And if we refuse?’
‘You are in no position to refuse – unless you wish to go on living in obscurity on £500 a year until you are thirty.’
‘No, twenty-five,’ said Mercy, stirring from her stupor. ‘You only have control of Peter’s money until he is twenty-five—’
‘I might have expected you to have a good grasp of his financial affairs,’ retorted Agnes. ‘I fear you have been misinformed. Under normal circumstances I do have control until he reaches twenty-five, but in the event of his marrying someone of whom I disapprove my control remains for another five years.’
‘Is this true?’ asked Mercy, horrified. She could not believe that yet again Peter had been less than open with her where money was concerned.
He would not meet her eyes. Instead he faced his mother. ‘I congratulate you on a thorough piece of work,’ he said. ‘I can see now why it took you so long to reply to my letters. But you have wasted your efforts. We’ll have nothing to do with your conditions, even if it means having financial problems until I’m fifty, let alone thirty!’
‘You use very brave words now. You will sing another tune in a year or two,’ said Agnes. ‘You have scarcely been bred to poverty, have you? Doubtless this woman could manage, but not you.’
‘I can learn!’ Peter retorted. ‘And I could get a job!’
As Agnes burst into humourless laughter, Mercy gently took Peter’s hand in hers. Her anger with him had melted. She was proud of him for standing up to his mother in such a way; but she had been doing some serious thinking of her own. It was a bitter decision to make: she must either renounce her family or condemn her husband to a life of poverty and exclusion. The choice tore her in half with a pain which made her gasp, but she knew that there was only one possible solution.
‘Perhaps we should do what your mother wants,’ she said.
‘How can you say that?’ Peter stared at her aghast.
Mercy glanced over to where Agnes sat, imperturbable. She would have preferred to discuss this in private with Peter but her formidable mother-in-law showed no signs of withdrawing.
‘When you think of it, it’s the only solution to our problems,’ she said at last. ‘We can’t go on as we have been doing. I’m not talking just about money, though goodness knows we’re finding it impossible to manage on your present allowance. No, I mean about you missing your friends and the busy social life you have been used to. By marrying me you lost all that.’
‘None of that is important!’ declared Peter.
‘But it is, my darling! I hate to see you becoming more and more isolated because of me. Now, if we agree to your mother’s terms you would be accepted by society again and I would be better fitted to be your wife – which is something I want very much indeed.’
‘Even though it means giving up your own family?’
She drew in her breath at the enormity of what she would lose. Joey and the rest would be hurt. No matter how she might try to explain they would think that she had abandoned them, grown too grand to acknowledge them. But at least they would be secure financially. A steady income of two pounds a week would seem like a fortune to them.
‘You’ve made sacrifices, so must I,’ she said quietly.
‘I still won’t agree!’
‘Can you think of an alternative? What work could you do to bring in the sort of income you are used to or give you back your old place in society? I only want you to be happy. Can’t we at least try it?’
‘No!’ Peter, his face flushed with emotion, thrust her hand away from him. ‘You don’t know what you are asking. It will be giving up our freedom…’
‘Freedom to sail straight into the bankruptcy court?’ Agnes broke her silence.
Two pairs of eyes stared in Peter’s direction, one pleading, one mocking.
‘Oh, very well!’ he cried, and stormed out of the room.
Mercy faced her mother-in-law. She had had enough of retreating. It was time to take a stand.
‘You think I am agreeing to your terms because of the money, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Well, I am not! I am doing it to help my family financially, certainly, but that is not my only reason. I love your son very much. No one knows better than me that I’m not a fit wife for him. And I am determined to change all that! He’ll never have cause to be ashamed of
me. Never!’
‘Indeed?’ Agnes raised a supercilious eyebrow but her words lacked their customary sting. For a fleeting moment she wondered if she had made a mistake and that this little nobody might prove to be more intractable than she had expected. Then she dismissed the thought; she had been manipulating people all of her adult life, she was certain she would never be defeated by a tuppenny-ha’penny laundress!
* * *
That night as they lay in bed, Mercy slid her arms about Peter. For once he did not respond. Instead he turned an unyielding back to her and pretended to go to sleep. Ever since his mother’s departure he had been silent and remote. Undismayed Mercy snuggled closer and gently kissed the back of his neck, only to have Peter move away sharply with an exclamation.
She rolled back to her side of the bed and curled herself up into a miserable ball. Peter had never rejected her like this before and she did not know what to do about it. They had had disagreements in the past, so minor they had never survived the first loving overture. Now, though, Peter was so hurt and angry he wanted nothing to do with her. How she wished that Agnes had never come. Even their financial worries were preferable to this. Then totally without warning her distress evaporated, to be replaced by a burning resentment. What right had Peter to be so surly? This was all his fault. It was because of his incompetence that they were in debt, yet it was she who was making all the concessions and the sacrifices. She was the one who would never see her family again. A picture came to her of Joey growing up to be a complete stranger, of Blanche growing older and becoming more dependent upon alcohol now that there was no one to dissuade her, and as for Ma… Poor Ma had never been very capable, how was she to cope with Lizzie and Pa and Blanche all alone? The tears began to flow down Mercy’s cheeks, and being unable to find a handkerchief she sniffed quietly to herself. But not quietly enough. Peter heard her.
‘Mercy?’ His tone was concerned and distressed.
To Dream Again Page 11