“We’ve missed you Charlie and I wondered if there was a problem I could help you with? Not that I could help you with anything… erm… you know… to do with matrimony… as you know I have never had the pleasure of having a wife, but something else perhaps?”
“I will make you a cup of tea then, Minister, seeing as you’ve taken the trouble to call. I was about to eat a sandwich and Mary has gone to the park with some of her younger sisters and brothers.” Charlie walked on ahead to the kitchen, his face set in grim resignation that he might be missing out on some vital moment in the river’s history.
“Ah Mary,” the minister said quietly, whilst settling himself on a dirty blanket that Charlie had thrown over the sofa, in an effort to stop the children wrecking it whilst using it as a jumping board. “How are you and Mary? If you don’t mind me saying so, I was surprised when Mrs Casson announced that you and Mary were to wed, especially as you had only just buried your poor mother. But besides that, it didn’t seem to me that your marriage had been made in heaven. Chalk and cheese, the both of you.”
Charlie’s answer sounded muffled, given that he was over by the kettle bringing it back to boil for the minister.
Encouraged, the man carried on. “Yes, I was very surprised, you being employed by Lairds in their offices and Mary waiting on for a living; you being an only child and Mary one of a big family; you living in this very nice cottage and Mary living in what I can only describe as a slum. Such differences, Charlie; marriage is for the rest of your life!”
Charlie felt like crying as he passed over the man’s cup of tea, trying to stop his hand from shaking and slopping the hot liquid into the saucer. It was the last of Jane’s saucers from a tea set that she had managed to buy through a voucher system, as the children had smashed most of the others. How could he tell this well-meaning man, innocent of the ways of women, how much he regretted not standing firm and telling him on that fateful day of his mother’s funeral that the announcement of his betrothal was incorrect and he wouldn’t touch Mary with a barge pole?
She was ignorant, loudmouthed, cruel when the drink was upon her and a slut in the bedroom. He could show the man the bruises around his stomach and genitals, where she had lashed out in frustration at his inability to get ‘his end up’. He could tell him of the time she had ripped up his notebooks when she had gone through his father’s sea chest, laughing as she watched the flames of the fire licking around those dedicated hours of noting down the shipping activity on the Mersey. Later, she had mockingly stumbled over the words of one of his love poems, calling him a weakling.
It was true, he had conceded at the time; he didn’t have the gumption, or was it the inclination, to stand up to her. Though if truth was told, wouldn’t that make him as bad as Ernie Morris? So he had put up with the pain from the Chinese burn she’d inflicted when he was slow in tipping up his wages one payday, turning a deaf ear to the ribald remarks about his sexual ability made by his wife’s ‘know it all’ mother. Where was this God that the man before him had extolled on a weekly basis, he wondered? Had he been such a sinner that the omnipotent being seriously had it in for him? The thought of being wed for life caused his bowels to turn to water. He’d only been wed for a mere five weeks, so how was going to cope with a lifetime?
But he said none of this to the man sipping at his cup of tea, no doubt thinking that Charlie hadn’t made a good job of it, considering he hadn’t used the tea strainer, nor had asked if his guest took sugar. What was the point? Talking about his problems wasn’t going to make them disappear and admitting that he was a henpecked husband wasn’t going to help his self-esteem.
On reflection, it was probably his fault when he thought back to that first night spent together after they’d been married. Mary had taken down the curtain that separated his and his mother’s sleeping area, putting the two narrow beds together, as there was no money to spare on buying a bigger bed. She had spent the last of the insurance money from Jane’s death policy on a fancy bed cover, no doubt wanting the bedroom to look nice for their first married night, but he hadn’t cottoned on to that. She had made them a simple meal of toast and some fried bacon then gone upstairs to dress herself in a faded calico nightdress, whilst he had his head in one of his books on the sofa.
He wasn’t tired and innocently told her so, then wondered why she had tamped down the fire with a shovel of slack and flounced back up the stairs to bed? Perhaps she thought she was going to be lonely, given that she was used to her siblings hanging from picture rails all over the place and wanted his presence in the bedroom. He had followed her reluctantly, taking his book, having the intention of reading by the light of the oil lamp as he usually did. But after he had got into bed, still wearing his socks and his undergarments, he was very surprised to have his book snatched away.
He had thought that she was probably tired and the light from the oil lamp was going to prevent her from going to sleep. It had been a long day, starting with the very simple ceremony at the chapel, after which she and her mother had been busy cutting sandwiches in Charlie’s house. Then they had what his new father-in-law had called ‘a piss up’, when most of the regulars, including Ernie Morris, from the taproom of The Grapes had filled the small cottage and helped to demolish a barrel of ale. So it came as a bit of a surprise to Charlie when he was forcibly made to lie down in his bed, as his new wife was now astride him. He felt the buttons of his long johns being opened by impatient fingers, at the same time as enduring her sherry ridden breath as she clamped her mouth onto his, making him gag at the sickly smell. He hadn’t realised that this was the kind of thing that went on between a woman and her husband.
In his dreams, which were usually full of marrying Lily, they had lay together holding hands, whilst shafts of moonlight showed through a crack in the bedroom curtains and they would talk of the pretty babies that would be the result of their union. Lily would drift off to sleep after accepting his affectionate kisses, then somehow, because of something, he wasn’t sure what, a baby would start to grow in his beloved’s tummy.
This woman, this wild woman who seemed to have abandoned any sort of decorum by trying to make him behave as if they were animals in the jungle, hadn’t been wearing any underwear! Charlie had found that quite distasteful, after he had managed to push her off him and saw that she had hauled her calico bed gown to the top of her ample thighs. To cap it all, his senses told him that he was about to have a nose bleed and so, trying not to listen to the obscenities that began to flow from the mouth of this harpy who was supposedly his wife, he had jumped from the bed and fled from the room.
When he had dashed down the stairs to the scullery and found that he was indeed dripping with blood, he had felt too scared to go back to the marital bed in case of repercussions. Instead he had spent the night on the sofa, trembling with emotion at first, whilst trying to understand why his wife had turned from gentle Mary to some sort of voracious lion. She appeared to have been versed in some kind of carnal knowledge, when she should have been as inexperienced in bed as he. While his clothing dried and he took slight comfort from the warmth of his overcoat, still wary of her descent down the stairs and finding it difficult to sleep, Charlie came to the conclusion that he didn’t know very much about women. He knew that they didn’t have a willy like he did, because he had once seen his mother without any clothes on, when he had thoughtlessly gone into her side of the bedroom one cold morning hoping for a maternal cuddle. He had also listened to smutty comments made by ignorant boys in the classroom, when a teacher, at the end of his tether with a backward child, had put them together in the hope that some of Charlie’s intelligence would rub off on the little soul. Together with various sightings of local mongrels on the backs of hapless bitches in the park and Ernie’s crude conversations in the pub, Charlie was persuaded that – unlike his dreams of romantic aspirations and the purity of his love for Lily Griffiths – the disagreeable reality of his union with Mary was something he was going to have to overcome.
Chapter Eight
The wedding of Lily Griffiths and Roland De Crosland was the most talked about subject in every refined drawing room for weeks after the event. How had a coal agent’s daughter, though a well educated one it had to be said, managed to ensnare a man of Second Lieutenant De Crosland’s standing? The reception, after the ceremony at St. Peters, had been held at the banqueting room in the newly built town hall. Not many well-to-do families could boast of that, though a lot of the town hall dignitaries had been on the guest list.
It had been a fine day in June 1894 when Lily, dressed in a cream satin, floor length gown with an overlay of cream flower lace, a small puddle train and a short veil pinned down in her shoulder length hair by an ivory tiara, came down the church aisle on the arm of her proud father, followed by two little nieces dressed as flower girls. Roland, a handsome man, tall and standing erect in his dress uniform with a face bronzed by the hot sun of the tropics and, underneath his helmet, sporting fair hair cut in a soldierly fashion, waited almost nonchalantly, as if this kind of occurrence happened every day. No nerves it seemed for the bridegroom, but Lily’s hand trembled as she carried her long trailing bouquet of Madonna lilies.
That fateful weekend in December had sealed her future in a way that she could never have expected. She got on very well with Lydia and, after her initial concerns regarding being buried deep into the countryside, she had been agreeably surprised with her rural surroundings, after she and her prospective mother-in-law had gone out for a walk next day. Grand-mama, scorning the offer of being pushed along the lane in the bath chair, was left behind as the two women walked towards the crossroads.
“Not a lot has changed around here since I came to Brookvale as a bride,” Lydia remarked, as they wandered along the narrow lane with its neatly trimmed hedges. “The farmhouse and buildings over there are on land which extends to the border of Greasby and Irby, both places being country villages with the usual tavern and manorial halls. The Thorntons’, who have the farm opposite to Brookvale, are a nice family, consisting of four daughters and two sons. Martha, the second eldest, was especially close to Roland when they were children.”
But not a rival for Roland’s affections, I hope, thought Lily, skirting a large muddy puddle that lay in the rutted lane.
“They’re doing some repairs at the moment – replacing a few roofing slates, putting in a drain that will run into the brook and building a new privy. Farmer Thornton must be getting a good price for his crops if he can afford all that.”
Lily nodded, not liking to remark on the fact that the exterior water closet at Brookvale needed some modernisation too, given that she’d had to come to grips with the sensitive tippler system, which was liable to drown one’s bottom if water came surging from the scullery at the same time as one was doing what came naturally. At Rosemount, Mannion had installed a ceramic flushing toilet, commonly known as ‘Grand-mama’s throne’.
“And if you look over there, see? Stand on that hummock you’ll see better – in the distance you can see the Irish Sea.”
It was definitely the walk with Lydia that day that influenced the decision on her future. She and her prospective mother-in-law had got on well too, especially when Lydia had said that Lily would perhaps become a replacement in her affections for the daughter, who had brought shame on the De Crosland family by falling in love with a man who was socially beneath her. She hadn’t gone into detail, though her voice had sounded thick with emotion and Lily was left to think that it wouldn’t have been of Lydia’s choosing to have an estranged daughter, rather her husband’s. Being high up in the army, he would have stringent views on what his daughter had done.
The surrounding area was beautiful with extensive farmland, deep forests, babbling brooks and tidy-looking farmhouses. If Brookvale was falling into disrepair, what of it? Her father had been tardy in finding her a wealthy man, Lawrence had betrayed her and although the De Croslands may not live up to Mannion’s expectations financially, he would be overwhelmed by their position in life. She could sense his pride, as he slowly walked her up the aisle, nodding to the many guests who were looking over.
She had only met the man she was to marry twice; the first time was on the Monday morning as they were about to leave. Whilst thanking Lydia for her hospitality and wishing her a pleasant Christmas with her homecoming son, the man himself had arrived. Dressed in mufti, a perfectly tailored suit and hat, as befitted a Victorian gentleman, having changed out of his uniform at headquarters earlier, he had arrived in a hired hansom cab, travelling from the Thurstaston railway station a few miles away.
Lily had been overwhelmed in his presence. Suffice to say, Lawrence had become a mere shadow in the background when she had first set her eyes on this prepossessing man. The hand that was outstretched to Lily, after he had solemnly told her grand-mama that he was very pleased to make her acquaintance, was firm and his voice was perfectly modulated, given that he had attended a prestigious Cheshire school, courtesy of his maternal grandparents.
His clean-shaven, flawless face, save for a dark blemish on his left cheekbone, had looked with interest on his mother’s guests as they were being introduced, no doubt noting the leather valises and portmanteau as a sign that these women were not penniless. The younger female must have been a candidate for his hand in marriage, whom his mother had hoped would impress.
“So very pleased to meet you, Lily,” he had said charmingly, looking into her eyes as if she was the only person in the vicinity. “I trust you enjoyed your weekend here at Brookvale with Mama and agree that it is in a beautiful place?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Lily fluttered nervously. “Your mama has been very kind and showed me some of the area yesterday. We also went to worship at the local parish church.”
“And thus said, we must be away,” said Grand-mama, the jury still out on whether she was going to allow her granddaughter to live in such a depressing place. She had spotted Tommy, their driver, hurrying up the driveway. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lydia. It was good to catch up on all those precious years and the people who have gone on to great and good things.”
“Yes, amen to that,” Lydia replied, looking upon her son as if she could eat him. “Here is my soldier returned safely from foreign shores. Are you sure you can manage without the bath chair, Margaret?”
Grand-mama nodded, passing over the luggage to a breathless Tommy. He’d overslept that morning and had had to use the horsewhip on his poor old nag.
“Don’t worry about me, Lydia. The rest has done me good and, if I may say so, the track doesn’t look as muddy. You go in and see to Roland, you’ll have a lot to talk about, I dare say.”
That was the one thing that was going to spoil Lily’s happy day: Grand-mama was unable to attend her nuptials. She was at that moment confined to her bed, having lost the use of her legs completely and Ellen had been chosen to keep her company. Grand-mama had been there for the betrothal meeting, though, when Roland, having pre-arranged an appointment by post with Lily’s father, to discuss the possibility of an arranged marriage with his youngest daughter, had been invited on a Sunday afternoon early in the New Year for an informal discussion. Roland was to return to his army headquarters the following day, but with gentle insistence on his mother’s part he had agreed that marriage to Miss Lily Griffiths was a sensible move, given that the name of De Crosland must be continued.
It was as easy as that, Lily thought, though Grand-mama had advised caution on jumping in too early with an acceptance of the proposal, because it might look as if Lily was being too eager. She drew level with her espoused and smiled a timid smile, given that she didn’t know the man that she was going to spend the rest of her life with. The last few months had been a flurry of arrangements and with Roland being away on a secret mission, he hadn’t got around to presenting her with an engagement ring. But apart from not having a ring to show off to her family, it had to be said that she felt extremely satisfied, as she had beaten sister Bertha
up the aisle!
Mannion had paid for two nights’ accommodation at the Grosvenor Hotel in Chester and so, after the lavish six course dinner for 150 guests served by scurrying waiters and waitresses, listening to repetitious toasts by well-meaning relatives and having waltzed demurely to the music of the hired five-piece band, the newly wed couple bid farewell to friends and family.
Lily had gone to the ladies room and, with the help of Harriet and Mabel, had changed into her going away outfit of a pale blue slub satin material, which had been made into a high necked, floor length bustled dress with a row of Cossack-type fastenings down the bodice. With it she wore a pair of darker blue high-heeled kid boots and a short cream cape, in case the weather turned chilly that evening.
Roland, helped by his groomsman in the gentleman’s room, had also changed. He wore a grey herringbone suit with a rather swish dark blue waistcoat. His fair hair, which was inclined to be springy, was kept down with sweet smelling pomade. Their overnight valises were placed into the hansom cab, which would convey the happy couple to the nearby railway station.
It was quite eerie standing on the platform beside a man whom she didn’t know, joyous wishes from the wedding guests still ringing in her ears and wearing the most splendid outfit (apart from her wedding gown) that she had ever owned. Her father had been very generous, both in the provision of a lavish day for the happy couple, a financial settlement for her husband (the details of which Lily wasn’t privy) the continuation of her dress allowance and of course this sumptuous weekend at the Grosvenor Hotel.
Her Heart's Desire Page 9