It had been all too much, really. Lily, having spent the last few days in high-pitched excitement, plaguing any member of her family who would listen with a series of ‘what ifs’ and lording it over her sisters as if she was already ensconced in her manorial home, felt tears begin to prick. The man beside her had been politely respectful, showing his good manners at every twist and turn, but there hadn’t been any warmth in his conduct towards her. Did he really care? she wondered.
According to Harriet, the sister who was to marry the clergyman, there had to be friendship and a little humour in a marriage that had to stand the test of time. Bertha had said there had to be trust, knowing that a husband loved you only and there wasn’t a dusky maiden hidden on an exotic shore. Her mother had remarked on duty, especially in the marriage bed. Though her mother hadn’t gone into any dutiful detail, Lily was willing to be obedient at anytime.
It was Mabel’s allusion to something rather distasteful that happened between a man and woman that had Lily feeling nervous now that she was actually on her way to lying in the marriage bed. There had been hints, subtle comments and innuendoes from the sister who had a secret that she had been told not to tell. It appeared that a man had a dangly thing, which was lodged between his legs. Lily knew that because she had seen something that might have dangled between Frederick’s legs once, when she had spied on him as he lay on top of his bed when they were younger, though she had been horrified to see that the dangly thing was standing to attention at the time. If Mabel was to be believed, this thing was the instrument used to create a little baby in a woman’s stomach and the process that occurred in the marriage bed. When pushed by Lily to elaborate, Mabel had clammed up like a shell and rushed out of the bedroom instead.
Mother must have been very dutiful, Lily thought anxiously, given that she has produced nine children for the Griffiths family. She gazed up at her new husband, nervously twisting the thin, gold wedding ring around on her finger and listening to him tutting irritably, because according to his fob-watch the train that was steaming into the station was going to be two minutes late.
Chapter Nine
“So, guess who’s wedding I attended today?” Mary said, as she arrived back from the town hall where she had been employed as a waitress for a special function.
“That girl who, according to yer mother, yer were sweet on.” It was announced in a slightly aggrieved voice, as Charlie still had his head in a book when she had walked through the cottage door and hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge her arrival.
“Oh.” Charlie’s reply was a shrug of the shoulders. It didn’t do to show his wife a scrap of interest, or she’d harp upon the subject until he felt his ears were going to drop off.
“I suppose you’ve sat there all day doing nothing, while I’ve bin out workin’ me fingers to the bone?”
Still Charlie said nothing. His silence was meant to irritate, but actually he had been up to the allotment, weeded between a few rows of vegetables, fed the hens after mucking out their hen house and brought back half a dozen eggs. The allotment had been kept on by Charlie, even though there were now no cut flowers being sold outside the cemetery, nor produce sold from a market stall. Even Mary, who liked to earn her own money apart from the wage of Charlie’s she insisted he handed over, was loath to continue in Jane’s footsteps. She liked to work at Bella’s, where men from the shipyard bought their pies, lapping up the ribaldry that made her life more fun.
“I suppose yer want me to fry these up fer yer?” she said, noting the eggs that had been placed in an earthenware bowl on the kitchen table. “Yer lucky, I pinched a bit of ham. There was enough food there to feed an army. It’s all right fer some, ain’t it?”
“One of these days you’ll get caught, Mary,” Charlie said grimly, as he watched his wife bring out a heel of ham from the pocket in her apron. “It’s not as if I keep you short of money that you’re forced to steal from these places you work in.”
He noticed her shrug of indifference, then turned back to his book while she set about cooking their supper. He had known that Lily Griffiths was to marry that day, he had seen her betrothal announced in his newspaper, but it didn’t do to dwell upon it. What was the point? He had lost any chance of marriage to his beloved when he had taken Mary Casson down the aisle.
He must have asked himself a million times why he had been so stupid and let himself be persuaded into marrying her, though in hindsight he had been feeling numb with shock at his mother’s demise. He didn’t love Mary and that feeling hadn’t improved as the months had gone so slowly by. She was ignorant, illiterate, crude and could be cruel in both word and deed. He had learnt to give her total deference, not wanting to stir up a hornets’ nest and become the focus of her malicious tongue, but he dreamed of his escape all the while.
“Yer should ‘ave seen her, Charlie. She was like Lady Muck, looking down her nose at the likes of us lot. Her shit still stinks like anyone else, so she ain’t no better in my book.”
Charlie nodded and moved to sit at the kitchen table as she brought his plate over. If he hadn’t, he’d have been for it.
“Anyway, what about you and me ‘avin’ another go at this baby making? We can pretend we’ve just got married like that Lily has.”
He flinched when Mary trapped his hand in hers as she placed his meal in front of him. “I thought you said you didn’t want any children?” he stuttered. “I thought you said your mother has had enough for both of you?” His heart began to sink fast at the thought of all the shenanigans he would have to put himself through later and there would still be no satisfying her.
“I can change me mind, can’t I? A little baby might just be the makings of our marriage and anyway, we’ve bin married six months now and me pals are thinkin’ there’s somethink up with yer.”
“Which there is, according to you.” There, it was said. He waited for an angry reaction.
“Please Charlie,” she said in a wheedling voice. “Take me to bed later and give me a baby.”
I’d rather walk on hot coals, he thought, remembering back to that first night when he’d had a nosebleed. He’d been flaccid and unprepared for what was to come, and for some strange reason had thought that gentle Mary would have been as innocent as him in the marriage bed and that nine months later the midwife would have brought their baby along in her medical bag. He had spent the rest of that night trembling beneath his overcoat on the sofa, after she had turned on him savagely. Still, he was having problems with his manhood, according to her.
“I could always find another man who would give me satisfaction,” she said, her voice becoming full of anger at his reluctance. She rattled the dirty crockery in the scullery sink, before walking through to the kitchen to get the steaming kettle.
I wish, thought Charlie, moving back to his chair in the window quickly, in case she had any notion of scalding him out of frustration. He wouldn’t put it past her, but next time she went for him, he’d pack his bags and run! In his wild imaginings, Charlie could see himself walking up the gangplank of a clipper ship at anchor over in Liverpool, then setting sail for a new life in one of the British colonies. Australia, perhaps, or maybe Canada – anywhere a million miles away from Mary.
“I’m off out later,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. By this time he had got as far as imagining himself with Lily in a little cottage in the country. “Mam wants me for somethin’, so see yer in bed when I get back.”
Like one of your sisters or brothers, he thought bitterly, but glad of the opportunity for some time alone so that he could mull over an opportunity that had come his way that morning, via Mr Hammond, the office supervisor. The company was looking for some gallant young men to sea trial a new type of vessel up in Scotland. It would be just up his street, though he had been warned that the journey may be hazardous and the vessel could be highly dangerous, but what a chance to do something with his life! A pioneer, or an adventurer, not just plain old Charlie Wilson with a heart that beat like
lead each waking moment. The prospect of being away from Mary for at least three months and becoming his own man again was very tempting.
He wouldn’t tell her, he resolved, as she checked her appearance in the mirror, smoothing her hair down quickly before placing a large, navy, feather trimmed hat upon it. He would go to the shipyard, board the ship that would carry him and the other workers who had volunteered for the secret mission, jump ship in the Scottish Highlands and never be seen again. He could rent a croft from a farmer – he had a little money tucked away in his office desk that Mary wasn’t aware of – then disappear like his father did, away from this soulless marriage.
Lily, who had only been married for a just a few days, was already beginning to rue her hasty decision. Roland had been a perfect gentleman, both on their honeymoon in Chester and for the few days he shared with her and his mother at Brookvale, before leaving to join his unit in the Cheshire countryside. They had enjoyed walking around the walls of Chester together and Roland had been a fountain of knowledge regarding the historical events of Roman times. The afternoon was spent sitting lazily on the banks of the River Dee, where he regaled her with tales of life in the tropics, and she’d had her first ever taste of ice cream, which they shared with two spoons from an earthenware pot. The Grosvenor Hotel, the bill footed by an indulgent Mannion, had been a place of splendor, where richly-clad ladies sauntered through the marble pillared rooms and bowing waiters served their every need.
It was the nights that were causing Lily problems. Advised by her mother to be dutiful in the marriage bed, Lily waited that first night for whatever it was she was to be dutiful about. She had worn the most beautiful white, bridal nightdress, which was cut to outline her slender body, made from satin and worn with a matching peignoir. She had brushed her hair until it shone, put a little bergamot oil on her neck and wrists, then waited in the huge canopied bed for her bridegroom.
Her heart was beating madly, as she listened to the noises of a man at his ablutions in the well-appointed adjoining bathroom. Tonight she might even make a baby, which she assumed would be the dutiful outcome of their nuptials.
How wrong was she, Lily had pondered, as she had sat with her mother-in-law in the kitchen one morning, after saying goodbye to Roland, who had set off down the driveway to meet the hire carriage that had been arranged to convey him to the train station. She had waited for the magical event that first night in the Grosvenor Hotel until her eyelids had closed, whilst lying beside a nightshirt-attired husband, who seemed to be in a state of mediation, before he said goodnight and turned away.
It had been the same when they had arrived at Brookvale. Lydia had shown Lily to the room that was to be the couple’s bedroom; cosy, this time, with a warming fire, a big bed covered with a heavy white counterpane and a large cupboard taking up three quarters of the wall, in which hung her trousseau of clothes that her father had sent over by carrier. Perhaps he was considering holy orders, she had wondered, when each night Roland lay beside her, after saying goodnight and kissing her cheek in a friendly fashion. Or perhaps he was as ignorant as she was on how to make a child.
Lydia, brought up by parents who owned substantial property in the West Kirby area, was an earthy type of woman, more suited to being a farmer’s wife than army personnel. She had met her now-deceased husband at one of the weekend parties held by members of the gentry, whose parents liked to keep an eye on their offspring under the same palatial roof. Concerned for her new daughter-in-law, as the girl was looking a little peaky and she hoped that Roland hadn’t been overdoing the nuptial thing too much, she asked if the newly become Mrs De Crosland was resting enough.
“Marriage can be a great strain on a gal, initially,” Lydia began, hoping she was correct in her assumptions, or this discussion that she was about to embark on would be an embarrassment to them both. “I remember when I first came to live at Brookvale. I wasn’t sure what was expected of me; Roland’s father, God rest him, was a pleasant enough man, but he was a bit of a bear in the bedroom.” There, she had said it and had tried to make a joke of it. “Shall we have another cup of tea Lily, and then you can tell me what’s troubling you?”
“I am sure it is nothing really, Mrs De Crosland.” Lily’s face was a fiery picture. “But if it isn’t too much trouble and you do not mind me asking, could you explain to me how a baby is made?”
So, that was how it was done, thought Lily, as, feeling quite nauseous, she digested Lydia’s detailed explanation and asked to take a walk outside, as she felt a headache coming on. Brushing aside Lydia’s offer of accompanying her and quickly donning her light summer coat, she rushed down the drive as if Old Nick had been after her, intent on running all the way back to Rock Ferry if needs be. How could anyone behave in such a beastly fashion? Had her mother really had to do that nasty deed nine horrid times?
She sat on a hummock, the same one she had stood on when she and Lydia had taken their first walk together, trying to come to terms with her dilemma. If all that had been said by her mother-in-law was true, how was it that Roland hadn’t tried to be a bear in the bedroom, like his father had been?
Lydia, left in the kitchen with her thoughts after Lily had pleaded a headache and had disappeared down the driveway, was in a state of confusion over her son’s wedded bliss. She hadn’t expected that look of horror on her daughter-in-law’s face, as she had gently explained the intricacies of what went on in the marriage bed in order to make a baby. Why was it that it had been left to her to give the girl an explanation, when surely that was the role of Lily’s mother or her grand-mama?
However, knowing a little of the family’s history, having gleaned a bit of gossip from Millicent Broster, it was highly probable that Victorian straitlaced values had been fully embraced in Margaret Patterson’s household. Her heart went out to the poor, unworldly girl faced with her son, who, being part of a battalion of voracious young men, would have most definitely known what to do with his baby maker. Though somewhere in the back of her mind there lurked a few misgivings, given that Lily hadn’t an inkling of anything she had said. Was it possible that the bridal pair were innocents and even her son hadn’t a clue what to do?
Lily, having wrestled with the worrying images given to her by Lydia in the hope of enlightenment, had left the grassy hummock and was determined now to face the realities of her hasty marriage, striking out for a bracing walk in the sunshine. She had decided that she really had no option other than to stick to the vows she had made in St. Peter’s; how would she be looked upon by her family if she arrived on their doorstep without a good enough tale? How foolish she would feel, given that most of the last few months had been one long flurry of selfish indulgence and boasting, if the only reason she could find to leave her husband was because of non-communication in their bed.
She could imagine the look of surprise on her mother’s face if she imparted that information, albeit with a great deal of embarrassment on both their parts. Then Bertha, smug in the knowledge that their cousin Lawrence had preferred her above all others, would look down her nose at her returning sister, no doubt thinking that she couldn’t stay the course. Mabel would shrug and tell her that she had told her so, Harriet would throw up her hands in despair and Grand-mama, no, she couldn’t face her grand-mama. It was she who had arranged this blessed marriage in the first place and probably would turn her around and send her back to Brookvale.
Chapter Ten
The man who walked along the shortcut from the landing stage was unrecognisable as the callow youth who had left the shores of the River Mersey nine years before. Charlie Wilson, who had always had trouble growing even a whisper of fluff on his upper lip or chin, had over the years grown full ginger sideburns, a moustache and a beard upon his face. Life as a crofter (or market gardener, as he liked to think of himself) on the four acres of land, which he rented from a farmer near Tobermory on the Isle of Mull, had filled out his small frame, leaving him stocky, fit as a flea and more assured of himself than he had ev
er been.
He wasn’t quite sure what had driven him to leave his Scottish haven. The fact that the ground he worked was solid with the frosts of winter was perhaps one reason; he had spent the previous winter snowed up in his croft and this was something he was anxious not to repeat. A diet of carrots and neeps – the only things he had left in his vegetable pit the previous winter – had soon begun to play havoc with his guts. Nostalgia was also playing a part; a yearning to see his home again, to watch the shipping on the river, to check out their names from the Lloyds Shipping Gazette, or perhaps to hear of news of his beloved Lily, even if she was betrothed to another. There was also the need to ease his conscience; he had been a scoundrel by abandoning Mary and he hoped she had managed to survive without him.
Looking back to that night all those years ago, when he had suddenly made his dash for freedom, still caused him certain shame at his cowardice. Once Mary had put on her jacket and had checked her appearance in front of the mirror, she had warned Charlie again that he should be in bed on her return. After waiting for the sound of her footsteps to disappear along the pavement, he had packed a small portmanteau with a change of clothing, put in as many past copies of the shipping gazettes as he had room for, checked he had his fob-watch, hair brush, notebook and his good pair of shoes, then spent the night wrapped in his overcoat on a bench in one of the wooden shelters on Victoria Park. As luck would have it, the air was balmy from a day of June sunshine and once daylight had spread its tentacles on Charlie’s slumbering face, he ambled along to the shipyard to volunteer his services.
He stopped for a moment to catch his breath, as he had forgotten how steep the incline was from the esplanade. Leaning against a stone wall at the side of a whitewashed cottage, he recalled his spirits plummeting when Mr Hammond had declined his offer. The men had already been chosen and had set off at the light of day. Charlie’s face had said it all. Concerned with his sudden pallor, the slump of his shoulders and the trace of tears beginning to form in his eyes, Mr Hammond, a compassionate man, drew his employee into the office and asked if he would like a cup of tea. Perhaps he would like a confidante, he was known to have a sympathetic ear.
Her Heart's Desire Page 10