Seasons of Love

by Anna Jacobs

  Then her thoughts came to an abrupt halt. The idea that there was a baby to consider was terrifying. It would stop her finding work. You had to stay home and look after babies. She smiled in spite of her pain. She loved babies. They were such warm little creatures and smelled so sweet if you looked after them properly. She’d held them many a time when she and her mother were making parish visits. They always smiled at her.

  Then she frowned as something else occurred to her. How did one have the baby, anyway?

  Was it - was it like the cat having kittens? Helen fingered her stomach and wished desperately that she wasn’t so ignorant. She’d asked her mother once about such things, and received such a tongue lashing for her immodesty that she had never asked again.

  Oh, if only Robert would come for her! Why did he not come? She didn’t know how many days had passed since their last meeting, but surely he would be wondering what had happened to her? Surely he would make inquiries?

  When Helen had recovered somewhat, Septimus Merling rode over to Stowby to take counsel of Lord Northby, who was a Justice of the Peace, as well as a relative. When he got to the Hall, he sent in a terse note, saying there was trouble in the family.

  His lordship stared at the scrap of paper and made a disgusted noise. ‘Damn fellow! I suppose you’d better show him in, Barns.’ His valet had already told him about the beating, which had become quite a scandal in the district. And since no one had seen Miss Merling since, there were even folk who said the father had beaten her to death.

  Basil Northby thought badly of a man who would treat his own daughter so harshly. The man’s father had been just as bad and he’d wondered at the time how his cousin Rosamund could ever have married John Merling, for the fellow had nothing but looks to recommend him. It might be reprehensible, but after she’d run away, Lord Northby had always nursed a secret hope that sin might have made her happier than virtue and prayers ever had.

  Septimus was shown into the room and made his usual fuss, bowing and scraping.

  ‘Get on with it, man!’ snapped His Lordship. ‘You said there was trouble in the family.’

  Septimus sighed. ‘I fear so, my lord.’ He explained the horrifying situation, then bent his head to await judgement.

  Lord Northby nodded slowly. ‘Hmm. She’ll have to be married off, then. Is there some local fellow who might take her or do you want her to wed the actor?’ Was this the only reason for the beating? What did the fellow think young girls were? Saints?

  Septimus reared back, affronted. ‘I don’t want her living anywhere near Dendleford. All I wish is to ensure that she marries the rogue, for the sake of the child. After that, I shall have nothing more to do with her.’

  No, you’d never think of helping someone! thought his noble relative, pinching his nose. ‘Very well, then,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll go and see this scoundrel myself.’

  ‘We’ll be extremely grateful for your help, My Lord. Extremely. We - ’

  ‘I’ll find out what his intentions are and let you know.’

  He got up to signify the interview was at an end. As he said to his wife later, the poor girl would probably be better off married and away from that canting hypocrite, with his penchant for beating helpless women.

  The interview with Robert Perriman was conducted in the best parlour of the Angel Inn, to which the actor had been summoned peremptorily by a message from his lordship.

  ‘What’s that about?’ demanded Rugely, the ageing actor-manager, who was there when the summons came. ‘Is there some trouble, Perriman?’

  Robert shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’ But he did have an idea. The girl had stopped coming to the woods, and she hadn’t been at the market, either, last week, for Robert had made careful inquiries.

  The parents must have found out, then. Pity. There were still a few weeks to go in the town. But good things never lasted.

  But he’d have had to leave her behind, anyway, at the end of the month. So perhaps, it had saved him the trouble and tears of a parting. For he’d no intention of getting married and been secretly amused when she just assumed they would wed. He’d never met anyone as naive as Helen Merling, poor little bitch. Hardly knew what colour the sky was, that one, hadn’t even asked for presents, just a show of affection.

  ‘See you don’t offend him, then,’ Rugely warned Robert. ‘I can soon replace you, you know.

  But Northby owns half the county - and has connections in London, too.’

  At the inn, His Lordship eyed the raffish young man with extreme disfavour and didn’t ask him to sit down. ‘Hear you’ve got a young girl in trouble.’

  Robert blinked. In trouble? Oh, hell, the bitch was whelping! ‘I, my lord?’

  ‘Yes, you, damn your eyes! She’s a connection of mine, Helen Merling is, so I take this matter very seriously.’

  Robert stiffened. Damnation! If she was related to this stiff-necked lord, there would definitely be trouble. Rugely would throw a fit. So would Roxanne. ‘She’s with child?’ he asked cautiously, admitting nothing until he saw exactly how the land lay.

  ‘Didn’t I just say that?’

  ‘And she claims it’s mine?’

  His lordship thumped the table. ‘Aye, she does. Are you going to deny it? Because if so, I’ll call you a liar to your face.’

  After one look at his lordship’s empurpled countenance, Robert abandoned that idea. ‘Alas, what can I say? I was tempted and succumbed. She’s very beautiful. And was very willing. I didn’t force her.’

  Lord Northby leaned forward. ‘And also – she was very innocent. I’d bet you were the first.’

  Feeling somewhat afraid of this crusty old nobleman, Robert tried to think of something to say that would sweeten him a bit, make him see reason, but wasn’t given the chance.

  ‘Well, the matter’s quite easy to settle. You’ve had your fun, and now you’ll have to pay. She has already paid very heavily, I might add, because her father’s beaten her senseless. Back’s a bloody mess, apparently. He hit her with his belt.’

  Robert felt slightly sick at the picture this painted. He felt even more sick at the thought that the damned father might come after him next.

  Lord Northby thumped the table and his voice became even louder, ‘If you don’t do the right thing by her, Perriman, and marry the poor girl, not only will you never act in Stowby again, but neither will your company. And what’s more,’ he leaned forward and shot the words out like bullets, ‘I have enough connections in the theatrical world to ensure that your name will be blackened beyond redemption, even in London.’

  Robert stared at him open-mouthed. Impossible not to believe this threat.

  Another pause. ‘Do I make myself plain? Hey? Answer me, you dolt! Do I make myself plain?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. Very plain.’ Robert was sick to his soul at being trapped like this, when he had successfully avoided marriage until his thirtieth year. He contemplated, and as quickly rejected, the idea of making a run for it. His face was his fortune and he would easily be recognised the minute he set foot on stage.

  Another look at his lordship’s angry face and riding crop tapping furiously against a highly polished boot made him quail, and he decided there was nothing for it but to make the best of a bad case. After all, the wench did have connections. This thing might even work to his advantage.

  He drew himself up. ‘I have no intention of refusing to marry Helen. Had I known that she was with child, I would have gone to see her father at once.’

  ‘Hah!’

  ‘Unfortunately, I have to confess that the takings in Stowby have been so bad that I don’t even possess enough money for a special licence, let alone a ring.’ He sighed and tried a wistful look.

  ‘An actor’s life is not without its problems, my lord.’

  ‘I’ll see to all that. You just be there.’ Lord Northby pondered on his coming engagements. He didn’t want to miss a day’s shooting. ‘Monday next. Noon. At Stowby parish church. And don’t try to run for it in
the meantime or I’ll send my grooms after you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord.’

  ‘I’ll bring the girl and her belongings into town for the ceremony, then she’ll be your responsibility. Her damned parents have disowned her.’ His voice became heavily sarcastic. ‘No doubt you can attend to such trifling details as finding lodgings for the two of you?’

  ‘Indeed I can, sir.’ Robert was about to mouth some platitudes about love and being the happiest of men, but the old fellow walked out on him.

  He turned and thumped the table instead. ‘Damn!’ Then he called for brandy and got royally drunk.

  A pale bruised travesty of Robert’s wood nymph was led into Stowby’s parish church on the Monday by her father, who declined to take part in the ceremony, or even to give her away.

  ‘I have come,’ said Septimus Merling coldly to Robert, folding his arms and taking up a position at the rear of the church, ‘only to ensure that justice is done and the baby given a name.

  Albeit a disgraceful name.’

  Helen said nothing. She was white as a sheet and swaying on her feet. Even Robert Perriman felt shocked. What had they done to that poor child? The old fellow had said she’d been beaten, but this - He looked at the lank hair and dull eyes in dismay. Where was his glorious wood-nymph?

  Lord Northby poked Robert with his cane. ‘Go and wait at the front, you.’

  Blank-faced, Helen stumbled down the aisle on Lord Northby’s arm. At the altar, Robert had to support her or she would have fallen.

  Neither of the two principals ever remembered the words they spoke at their wedding ceremony. Helen was conscious only of the pain in her back and the difficulty of standing upright.

  Robert was bitterly aware that he was now trapped in marriage.

  When the ceremony was over, Septimus Merling left the church without speaking to his daughter.

  Lord Northby waited for the newly-weds at the church door. ‘You should know, Perriman, that Helen brings with her a marriage portion of some forty pounds a year, a legacy from an old aunt.’

  Robert smiled. This was more like it.

  ‘It’ll be paid to her quarterly. Here, this is the lawyers’ address in London.’ He gave Perriman a folded piece of paper.

  ‘And the capital sum?’ Robert asked delicately.

  Lord Northby snorted. ‘That’s untouchable and is entailed upon Helen’s eldest daughter.’ Well, it was now. He turned to Helen. ‘I wish you well, my dear. If you’re ever in trouble, you can come to me for help.’

  He then turned and marched out, going across to the Three Feathers for a noggin of ale to take the nasty taste out of his mouth. Merling had half-killed that poor girl. This would be the last favour Lord Northby ever did for him. In fact, he’d tell his servants never to admit the fellow again.

  Helen didn’t even hear what his lordship said. Even clinging to Robert, she could barely manage to stand upright.

  Very conscious of the small group which had gathered outside, Robert helped his wife tenderly down the church steps, found a boy to carry the pitifully small pile of luggage which Merling had dumped in the porch, and took her back to the lodgings he’d found for them.

  There, Helen collapsed on the bed and begged her husband to help her off with her dress. At the sight of his wife’s back, Robert felt distinctly sick, but gathered his wits together and hurried off to find Roxanne and beg her to help him. She might have her faults, she might criticise his acting ability, but the leading lady had a kind heart and a practical disposition. She would know what to do.

  For the time being, Robert forgot his anger at being forced into marriage in his anxiety for the trembling creature lying on the bed, the creature who was the source of forty pounds a year for doing nothing.

  Dammit, the thing might work out very well, he thought optimistically, as he left Roxanne to deal with Helen. A wife could be dashed useful, and not just in bed.

  Chapter 3

  It would be no exaggeration to say that Helen Perriman owed her life to the actress's nursing and support. Roxanne Marlborough, born a mere Janet Snape in the back streets of Manchester, took one horrified look at her back and sent Robert hot-foot for the doctor.

  ‘Who did this to you?’ she asked Helen gently.

  ‘My father.’

  She exchanged disgusted glances with Robert., but her voice was quite even as she replied,

  ‘Well, if that's an example of fatherly love, I'm glad mine died before he had had time to show his for me!'’

  ‘My father hates me,’ Helen whispered. ‘He always has done. And I've never understood why.’

  Tears of weakness were trickling down her pale cheeks.

  ‘Who ever can understand men?’ The look Roxanne threw at Robert included him in this general condemnation.

  He scowled at her, but said nothing.

  The doctor came bustling in, a fat man exuding self-importance. He tutted over the back, approved Roxanne’s treatment, then gave the patient a draught of laudanum.

  ‘Sleep,’ he announced. ‘Nature’s own nostrum.’ He found himself looking at the back of Robert’s head. The new husband, who had got over his access of pity for his wife, was standing looking out of the window, yawning and scratching his armpit.

  The doctor was unused to being ignored. He tapped Robert on the shoulder. ‘Did you hear me, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Right. She needs to sleep.’

  ‘And I'd advise you to apply a lotion to the back, which I can supply at a modest cost, but to leave the injuries uncovered as much as possible.’

  ‘How much?’ Robert demanded.

  The doctor made a quick estimate of his client's means and regretfully reduced his intended fee.

  ‘A mere two shillings, sir.’ He remembered Lord Northby’s involvement and added hastily, ‘For the lotion, that is.’

  Robert growled, but didn’t quite like to protest with Roxanne standing there looking at him so scornfully. ‘And how much for this visit?’

  ‘The same, sir. The same.’

  ‘What? You’re going to charge me four shillings, just to give us a bit of grease and tell us to let her sleep! Four shillings!’ Why, that amount of money would allow him to toss a few dice in the inn, or buy himself several drinks.

  The doctor’s face turned bright puce and he made a gobbling noise in his throat.

  Roxanne nudged her fellow actor in the ribs. ‘Shut up, Robert!’

  ‘But - ’

  ‘Shut - up! I'll lend you the money if you're short, but she needs help.’

  His expression brightened, but his words were still grudging. ‘Oh, very well!’

  Roxanne breathed deeply and poked him in the chest. ‘And you needn't think you can get out of paying me back, either. I'm doing this for your poor little wife's sake, not for yours.’

  Given this lack of appreciation for his services, the doctor didn’t bother to return. Roxanne showed Robert how to tend his poor young wife and stood over him to make sure he carried out her instructions with every care.

  When they’d finished, she decided it was no use appealing to his better nature, because she'd never seen any signs of one. ‘If you don't do it properly, you'll be paying out a lot more to the doctors than four shillings. It’ll be more like four guineas.’

  He shuddered. ‘I heard what you said. I do understand English.’ And he didn’t intend to waste any more money on doctors, thank you very much.

  ‘Then make sure you do it right, or that back’ll not heal.’ She was satisfied she’d got through to him, but decided to keep a close eye on things, nonetheless.

  Helen was so grateful for her husband's care and asked so little of him, seeming to regard him in the light of a hero who had saved her life, that even Robert Perriman's heart couldn’t fail to be touched.

  ‘You're so good to me,’ she whispered the following morning as he carefully washed her back.

  He patted her arm, liking this new, benevolent image of himself. ‘Well, you are
my wife now.’

  Her smile was glowing and reminded him of how beautiful she was normally. If they did something about her clothes, she would be a credit to him once she had recovered. He made himself a bed on the floor and since he had the happy knack of being able to sleep anywhere, slept like a log until a damned cockerel crowed its head off and woke him up in the morning.

  In the days that followed, Helen wept softly over the baskets of fruit and other delicacies that were sent to their rooms by anonymous well-wishers. Robert wiped away her tears and coaxed her to eat by setting a shining example. He had always been partial to a piece of fruit, and with two people to feed from his slender share of the company’s takings, the gifts were a godsend. Robert was, in fact, a hearty trencherman, given the chance, even to the extent that he was considered a greedy devil by those less besotted than his wife.

  It was nearly two weeks before Helen was well enough to leave their room and take the air upon her husband's arm. Robert, knowing what a picture they presented, she so slight and pale, and he so handsome, made the most of it, bending over her solicitously as they strolled down the main street of the busy market town.

  There was considerable sympathy for her in the district, which helped boost the numbers at the company's performances. Never had Robert been so dashing and gallant on stage. Never had audiences applauded him so loudly.

  At his suggestion, Helen sat at the doorway and helped take the money, blushing at the attention she received.

  Roxanne watched all this very cynically, but didn’t say anything, since as a part-owner of the small company, she benefited even more than the Perrimans from the increased takings.

  On the whole, during the first month or two of his marriage, Robert was inclined to think that matrimony wasn’t nearly as bad as people made out. Once she grew stronger, Helen was able to make him comfortable in dozens of little ways. She was a skilful laundress, which saved him the considerable expense of sending things out to be washed, and she could mend things in the most invisible way possible, which also helped a fellow who had to make his clothes last.