by Iris Gower
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No Ellie, love, I wasn’t getting at you, not in any way.’ Jubilee took her hands in his. ‘You know I’ve no room to criticize, I’m a man who had no pips, as they say. Even if I was up to making love to you, I couldn’t give you a baby.’
‘Oh Jubilee, don’t let’s say any more on the subject,’ Ellie pleaded. ‘I don’t want to quarrel about it, if you want Matthew brought into the business then it’s your privilege to do so.’
‘I want to know you’ll be protected, love,’ Jubilee spoke softly now. ‘When I’m gone, Matthew will be here to take care of you.’ His voice changed, became more robust, ‘By then, Mat will be married, have a brood of kids, he’ll be that much more responsible, I’ve acquainted him with my wishes in that respect. Everything will be above board, you’ll see it’s for the best then.’
Ellie knew there was nothing she could say, Jubilee felt he was doing his best for her, how could she disillusion him?
‘I’m going up to bed. I’d like some hot milk, please love.’ Jubilee appeared tired, quite suddenly, and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. ‘Good night, God bless, Ellie.’
On an impulse, Ellie went to him and hugged him. ‘I love you, Jubie, you’re a darling man.’
‘There’s a flatterer if ever I saw one, go on with you, get about your business, woman.’
She listened to his footsteps on the stairs, they were slow, heavy, those of an old man. Ellie sighed, she really should not upset Jubilee, if it eased his mind to take Matthew into the business then she would have to put up with it.
She measured out some milk and edged the pan onto the fire hob in the kitchen. The milk hissed against the bottom of the vessel and Ellie watched as it began to boil. She sighed, she was tired too and she would have to dampen the fire down before she went to bed, cover the flames with small coal just enough to keep the embers alight until morning.
As she climbed the stairs with the mug of steaming milk in her hands, she felt uncertainty settle over her. Jubilee had worried her with his talk of dying, did he know something she didn’t? It would be just like him to make every effort to protect her from what he might see as an unpalatable truth.
‘Here we are then, my darling.’ As she entered the room, she saw that Jubilee was almost asleep. She put down the mug and sat beside him, wondering if she should disturb him. He opened his eyes slowly and smiled sweetly at her.
‘Come to bed, love,’ his voice was dry, ‘give your old man a bit of fussing, I feel the need of it tonight.’
‘I’ll just see to the fire, Jubie,’ Ellie handed him the mug, ‘and then, I’ll be with you, don’t you worry.’
She did her chores as quickly as she could and returned to her bedroom. She washed in the water from the jug on the stand and, shivering a little in her cotton nightgown, she slid into bed beside her husband.
‘My precious little girl.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Have I ever told you how happy you’ve made me these past years?’
‘Aye, you have. We’ll have many more happy times, too, Jubie, don’t you worry.’
‘Put out the lamp, love, let’s get down under the blankets and keep warm together. It’s not much to offer a red-blooded girl is it?’
Ellie was silent, there was nothing she could say. Even if she protested to Jubilee that she wanted nothing of men ever, that she would never fall in love again, he wouldn’t believe her.
‘Will you marry, after a decent interval, of course?’ He spoke in a matter-of-fact way and yet Ellie felt fear crawl along her spine. ‘Don’t talk like that, Jubilee, I won’t have it.’ Her effort to sound stern failed dismally. ‘I can’t imagine a life without you in it,’ she added almost pleadingly.
‘There, there, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve had a good innings, I’m grateful to God for what he saw fit to give me. I’m not even bitter about what he saw fit to withhold,’ he sighed heavily.
‘No more talking now, I’m tired.’ He held her close and, as she listened to the beat of his heart, Ellie had difficulty holding back the tears.
‘The piece on the preacher went down very well with the public.’ Mac was standing before the windows of The Swansea Times staring out into the street. ‘I wrote it rather well considering I’ve no time for religious claptrap.’
Arian was drawing off her gloves, she had been out shopping, a rare event indeed; these days she seemed too busy to even keep her wardrobe up to date.
The coat and skirt she wore now were good worsted but too heavy for the fine weather that was promised by the cloudless skies. Her hats were old-fashioned without the flair of the modern milliner. And her shoes! Looking down at her feet, she felt her mouth quirk with amusement, what would her old friends, Eline and William Davies, both of them excellent cordwainers, make of the shabby, down at heel boots she was wearing?
‘No comment?’ Mac’s dry tones intruded into Arian’s thoughts, ‘I expected a little praise for my efforts or is that asking too much?’
‘You did a fine piece of writing, Evan Roberts should be grateful to you.’
Arian moved through the busy offices hearing distantly the noise of the printing presses. She breathed deeply, this was the stuff of life to her; the pressure, the constant crisis, even the harassment from townspeople who thought The Swansea Times had maligned them, she looked upon it all as a challenge.
The inner office was strident with the noise of clacking typewriters; here her army of editors, sub-editors and juniors worked at producing decent copy, free, it was to be hoped, from errors of the kind Bridie Marchant had complained of.
Arian paused, scenting the atmosphere of industry, brought about, no doubt, by her appearance. Sometimes her reporters took time off to smoke, or to drink the coffee, which was now becoming more fashionable than tea, from the pot constantly bubbling on the stove. But these practices, considered indulgent by some, seemed to Arian conducive to producing good copy. Well written pieces that had flair and verve.
One of her best writers was Daniel Bennett, a young man scarcely able to grow a moustache let alone a beard, who gazed up at her now in open adoration. He was about twenty years old, she guessed, fresh out of college, an intelligent young man from a fine Swansea family. The fact that she was at least five years his senior didn’t seem to worry him.
Arian concealed a smile, that the boy had a fancy for her was apparent to anyone who worked alongside him. But, Arian mused, he would get over it. Once Daniel met a suitable young lady he would forget his infatuation for the proprietor of The Times.
‘Afternoon, Daniel,’ she stopped at his desk and saw with a dart of pity that his face had become bright red above his immaculately starched collar. She took up the sheet of paper from his desk and read it with interest. ‘I think you are going to make a very good reporter. Have you mastered that infernal machine, then?’ she pointed at the gleaming typewriter. ‘You seem very quick at it.’
‘I found it quite easy to pick up, Miss Smale. It helps me get my thoughts down more quickly than my handwriting would allow.’
‘Perhaps you should learn Sir Isaac Pitman’s method of writing at speed, Daniel, I’m sure it would be of great value when you’re out interviewing.’
‘I do know some shorthand, Miss Smale.’ Daniel volunteered the information slowly as though reluctant to appear too eager. No doubt the epithet ‘teacher’s pet’ had been thrown in his direction more than once by some of the more seasoned reporters.
She supposed there would be more than a little scepticism shown by her employees to the young college boy. Many of her reporters had come up the hard way by sheer initiative, not to mention guts. It wouldn’t help the young man at all if she were to pay undue attention to him.
‘Keep up the good work, then.’ She walked on and through to the passage that led to the stairs. It would be good to get into her own apartment and kick off her boots.
Later, she would bathe, she would prepare herself to receive Calvin into her home and into her be
d. The thought brought her a fleeting happiness and then the moment was gone. That was the pattern of her days, brief interludes of happiness with Calvin. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could show her love openly? For that to happen she would have to be married to Calvin, something that was outside the scope of her wildest dreams.
Guilt seared her; it was high time she visited Gerald, her flesh and blood husband, not mooned about someone she could never have. Tomorrow, she decided, tomorrow she would go to the asylum. What a stark name but then it was a stark place. A place of doors with locks, a place of misery and lost souls. Arian shuddered, it was just as well that her husband was not in his right mind, otherwise, finding himself in a mad house, he would surely kill himself.
And yet wasn’t she, deep down, glad that he was locked away from her? Arian became aware that she was standing poised at the foot of the stairs leading to her rooms. She took a deep breath and made her way upstairs, anxious to leave the dimness of the passageway.
Her memories brought her only unhappiness, the despairing memories of a marriage that she had never wanted, that had been forced upon her. How many times had she lain with her husband dreading his touch upon her breast, her thigh?
In her rooms, she turned up the gas lamps and shifted the coals in the fire. The maid had heard her and brought a pot of hot tea and a tray bearing a fine china cup. Arian nodded her thanks absently, she was still in the thrall of the past, still feeling the repugnance of body and soul that belonging to Gerald Simples had brought her.
‘Tomorrow,’ she murmured, she would go to see him tomorrow, it was no more than her duty to make sure that he was being adequately cared for.
Sedated, that’s how he spent his life; his senses, his angers, his illusions, his dreams drowned under the effects of his medication.
‘Run me a bath would you, please, Mary?’ Arian said not looking at the maid who was, she knew, bobbing her acquiescence. ‘Don’t make the water too hot, mind.’
It was as though she could bathe away her memories. But even when she was lying in the scented water, staring up at the whitened ceiling, she felt again his hands upon her, his cold insistence that she do her wifely duty, that she please him in the marriage bed. She would never be free of him, she thought dully, the touch of his hand, the look in his eyes as he took his pleasure of her, his insistence on her subjugation, these were memories that would always be with her.
That night, she told Calvin something of her feelings, he drew her close in his arms. ‘I could kill him, I wish I had killed him when I had the chance.’
Arian shook back her hair. ‘No, you know you couldn’t have done such a thing, even though he had threatened both of us with a knife. How ever much of a danger he was to me, to anyone who stood in his path, you could no more kill him than I could.’
‘I wish I was as sure of that.’ Calvin was leaning up on one elbow now, looking down at her. She caught sight of the dark shadow of hair beneath his arm and she was unaccountably touched by the sight.
‘I love you, Calvin, I don’t tell you often enough.’ She turned her face into his chest and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him. Her being melted with love, it seemed to surround her with happiness.
‘The past is over and done with,’ she said forcefully, ‘let’s be grateful for the present.’
Even as Calvin bent to kiss her, to possess her once more, she knew that for her the past would never be dead, not while Gerald Simples lived.
Ellie woke slowly, early rays of sun spread prying fingers into the room, catching the side of a flower vase, touching the lace cloth of the table with slivers of gold. It was going to be another fine, spring day. She would have liked the window to be open, to watch the soft breeze ruffle the curtain but that was not possible, not if the stink of the tannery was to be shut out from the bed chamber.
Slowly, she stretched out her limbs, careful not to disturb her husband, she would slip out of bed, mend the fire that hopefully would still be alight, so that when Jubilee rose he would find the rooms downstairs warm and welcoming.
She washed quickly, the morning air was chill in spite of the sunshine, and dressed in her Sunday clothes. Today, there would be no work in the tannery, it would be a quiet day spent reading the Bible and if Jubilee was up to it attending morning and evening service at St Mary’s church situated at the centre of the town.
Ellie tied a fresh linen apron over her good skirt and stood for a moment staring down at Jubilee. He was breathing heavily in his sleep. His eyelids fluttered as though he was beset by dreams. Ellie smiled indulgently, he was so precious to her, her buffer against the world.
It was cold in the kitchen, the rag mat before the blackleaded fire grate offered little protection from the bare flagstones beneath. It was surprising that in such a finely built house, so gracious in its proportions, there was little comfort.
When the fire in the kitchen was glowing with life, Ellie moved to the parlour and lit the fire there. It was lit only on Sundays, to save coal, most of the weekdays and nights were spent in the kitchen.
She cursed the cold fire grate and tried again to kindle the sticks. She was as inept at this sort of work as she was at any other but then she had never been used to manual labour, not of the rough kind.
In her parents’ house, there had been servants to do the menial tasks and Ellie had accepted the everyday luxuries her comfortable way of life had afforded her without a second thought.
It took some time to set fire to the sticks and the paper and lumps of strategically placed coal but at last there was a cheerful glow in the parlour.
Back in the kitchen, the kettle danced and spat, issuing forth steam. She poured some of the boiling water into an enamel bowl, she would cool it with water from the jug in the bedroom, then she poured hot water into a mug ready for Jubilee to shave.
She wished for a moment that she could afford the services of a cook and a maid but Jubilee would have laughed at such an idea.
Jubilee liked his day of rest to be special, Ellie liked it too, the ceremony of Sundays made a happy break in the working week. She would rouse Jubilee from his sleep and then, when they’d talked awhile, she would cook him a huge breakfast of bacon, eggs and fried bread. Or maybe today he’d like some salt fish for a change, she had a few pieces soaking in a bowl overnight just in case.
She climbed the stairs, balancing the bowl on her arm and pushed the door open with her foot. The sun was filling the room with bars of light now. She rested the bowl on the table near the sunwashed window and turned to the bed. Jubilee’s eyes were open but he didn’t appear to see her.
Ellie sat down on the patchwork quilt beside him and stroked his face. His eyes seemed to focus then, lucidity returned.
‘This is it, my love, time to say goodbye.’ His voice was thin, his chin under the stubble of his beard quivered but with weakness rather than fear. ‘Time to say goodbye,’ he repeated.
Ellie felt a moment of sheer panic. ‘No, Jubie, you were fine yesterday, you were talking about the future, about Matthew being married with a brood of children. Oh, I must do something, I must call the doctor.’
‘Don’t bother with the doctor,’ Jubilee was struggling to speak, ‘too late for that, my lovely girl.’ His eyes closed for a moment with the effort. He opened his eyes very slowly again, staring into her face, as though memorizing it.
‘I’ve loved you the best way I knew how, Ellie. I’m sorry I’m going to leave you before I’ve sorted everything out.’ He sighed softly, ‘Matthew will be married soon, he told me, it will be all right . . .’ His voice faltered a little, ‘You must think only of what’s best for you now, my girl.’ His chest heaved once and then the light slowly faded from his eyes. He looked, Ellie thought abstractedly, like a small boy fallen asleep.
‘Jubilee!’ she said his name urgently but there was no response. In truth, she had expected none. She put her head on his chest where only hours ago she had felt the beat of his heart, now there was only stillness.
Ellie wished she could cry, tears would bring some relief but her pain went too deep, she had lost the man who had become dearer to her than her own father. She tucked the covers under her husband’s chin as if, even now, she could warm him to life.
She didn’t know how long she sat there with the spring sunshine patterning the bed, the walls, the ceiling, in a mockery of lightness and hope, she only knew there was a great emptiness inside her, love had gone completely from her life. But then love was a painful thing, it was best done without.
At last, she rose to her feet; there were matters to attend to, she must occupy her thoughts and her hands with necessary arrangements, arrangements that would remove the last vestiges of her husband for ever from her life. Perhaps, she thought, though with faint hope, once the funeral was over, once Jubilee was laid properly to rest, the pain within her would ease but she did not believe it.
At the door she turned and stood for a long moment, looking back at her husband. Already he had changed, he was a mere shell, he was no longer her Jubie.
‘God bless, my love,’ she whispered the words before she closed the bedroom door firmly behind her.
CHAPTER SIX
‘You want me to go to see Mrs Hopkins, just me?’ Daniel felt excitement flow through him. He squared his shoulders, this was his first real assignment for The Times and though he would only be writing an obituary, at least Miss Smale was evincing a measure of trust in his abilities that was gratifying.
‘You will handle it sensitively, of course.’ It wasn’t a question, Arian was speaking matter of factly and Daniel was flattered.
‘I will choose my words with care, you may be sure of that, Miss Smale.’ He picked up his pen from the desk and tucked his notebook into his pocket. ‘How many words would you suggest?’
‘I’ll leave that to your judgement, Daniel.’ Arian looked beautiful this morning, Daniel could hardly keep his eyes from her. She wore a crisp white blouse with a frilled neckline and the black, rather plain skirt emphasized her slimness.