Seasons of Love

by Anna Jacobs

  Only when she had finished and arranged all the sewing materials neatly inside the box again, did she speak her thoughts aloud. ‘I've not been clever enough! Roxanne was right. I can only rely on money from now on. And myself.’

  When Harry awoke, she fed him, for he was now weaned and becoming very active, on a piece of bread and butter and the last of the stewed fruit. Then she played with him for an hour, until he fell asleep. She could always put aside her own grief or anger when Harry needed her, and she made sure that the child had a lot of attention and love, from his mother at least.

  Afterwards she examined everything she owned, looking for hiding places for her money. There must be several places from now on, so that Robert could never again find it all. Her petticoats, of course, and the belly of the toy dog she had sewed for Harry, perhaps. Oh, yes, her hoard should be well-scattered from now on!

  Robert came back in the early hours of the morning, flushed with success. He shook her awake and poured a pile of guineas on to the bed. ‘Didn't I tell you? Here, take back what you lent me and put it in your box. And take some more to pay for our rent and food. Only don't be mean with the food this week. We all need feeding up if we are to look our best for London. Now, go and put that sponge thing in. I need you.’

  ‘But Robert, I'm tired!’

  He gripped her arm fiercely. ‘With or without the sponge. Your choice!’

  She did as she was told, though she got no pleasure nowadays from this parody of love. She had long realised that a successful night brought him home with this urgent need upon him, while a bad patch left him uninterested in his wife's body. She had come to resent this blind need, which had nothing to do with love or tenderness, and was only a wild lusting for relief.

  Chapter 5

  The Perrimans went up to London the following week by stagecoach. The driver grumbled at the amount of luggage they had and charged them extra for it, after a few sharp words with Robert.

  Harry, fretting at being kept captive upon his mother's lap, alternated between roaring with frustration, wriggling like an eel (to the annoyance of the other passengers) and sleeping like a golden-haired cherub. After one of their stops for food, he was sick all over his mother, so that for the rest of the journey the other passengers complained about the smell. By that time, Helen was too weary to care.

  Robert took no part in anything to do with his son and didn’t address a single word to Helen unless she spoke to him. He might have been a complete stranger, just another traveller, and one who was very disapproving of such a fractious child at that.

  In London, however, he brightened up and took charge again. He summoned a cab with one flick of the wrist, which put him in a better humour, then deposited his wife and son at a seedy inn, where he seemed to be known.

  When he had changed his linen and smartened himself up, he said casually, ‘I’ll have to leave you for a while.’ He was already moving towards the door without waiting for a response.

  Helen moved over to bar the way. ‘Robert, wait! Where are you going?’

  ‘I need to go out, make a few inquiries about finding work.’

  He didn’t look like a man searching for employment. He radiated what Helen thought of as his eager gambler’s air. But it would do no good to say that. He’d only turn sulky. When he had gone, she sighed and turned her attention to Harry. After cleaning him up, she took him downstairs to the dining room where she bought herself a meal and shared it with him. There she tried and failed to make friends with the landlady, a shrewish woman whose stringy body spoke the truth about her own cooking even before Helen had sampled it.

  Back in their dingy bedchamber, she also tried and failed to keep Harry quiet, expecting Robert back at any minute. In the end, she took the child out for a walk to distract and tire him.

  Not that he could walk properly yet, but he loved to go out and see things. He was heavy to carry and she was still run-down after nursing her husband, so when she returned, she was feeling more tired and depressed than ever. But at least the fresh air made Harry sleep, so she could rest.

  She had bought some bread while she was out, secreting it under her cloak so that the landlady wouldn’t notice it. She ate a slice dry for her supper, not feeling able to summon up the energy even to toast it on the fire, to add a bit of taste.

  Robert didn’t come back at all that night and she kept waking up, worrying that he had deserted her and the boy. That she could even think such a thing showed, she thought despondently, how far apart they now were, how very unsuited. And, saddest of all, she felt that she could hardly blame him if he did desert them. He was the last man on earth to settle down happily to marriage and raising a family. She realised that now. The ignorant girl who had tumbled headlong in love with a handsome face now seemed like another person to her.

  And yet, such benefits as this hasty marriage had brought had been to her. She had escaped from her family and the threat of marriage to Mr Wintermaine, and for a time had been very happy indeed. And whatever happened, she had her son. All Robert had gained was two extra mouths to feed, a responsibility he’d never sought for two other lives.

  She wondered if he’d ever really loved her. She was certain he hadn’t. Had what she felt for him been love? No, in the dark hours of the night she decided it had been more a craving for affection on her side, something she had never known from her family.

  She wondered, as she sometimes did, if she should have obeyed her parents and married Mr Wintermaine. At least with him she’d have had a comfortable life and her children would have had a roof over their heads and good food in their bellies.

  Yes, but they might have resembled Mr Wintermaine, said the stubborn voice which sometimes spoke inside her head when she tried to lie to herself, and then you might not have loved them as you love Harry!

  She felt absolutely sure that the curate’s children couldn’t possibly have been as beautiful as Harry, so the fantasy of a secure home never lasted for more than a minute or two. She had made her bed and must now lie in it.

  In the morning things seemed a little brighter, the landlady a trifle less surly and even the food more palatable. Her gown had dried overnight and the smell had gone from it now, so Robert wouldn’t feel ashamed to be with her. She wouldn’t have bothered to buy breakfast for herself, but the landlady clearly expected her to spend some money and besides, Harry was hungry.

  As she sat in the busy common room of the inn, watching the other travellers - a seedy, furtive lot - Helen told herself she’d been foolish to fret away the night. Of course Robert wouldn’t have deserted them. Of course he would come back today.

  When they went back up to their room, she washed her hair and some of Harry's clothes, bribing the chambermaid to fetch up some water. Then she played with her son and tried to wait patiently for her husband to return.

  It was hard to be patient, though, when she was eager to get out and see something of London! When worries would keep creeping into her mind.

  Robert sauntered in during the afternoon, looking very pleased with himself.

  ‘Oh, I'm so glad you're all right!’ exclaimed Helen. ‘I was worried when you didn't come back!’

  He patted her shoulder. ‘You look a lot better today. You should wash your hair more often.

  And that dress you were wearing smelled awful.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Oh, here and there. I ran into a few old friends and we had some drinks. I’m afraid I drank a bit too much, for we cracked on till quite late, so in the end, I slept on their couch. Cabs can cost a lot in London, especially late at night, and it's dangerous to go out on foot alone after dark.’

  He went to study his reflection in the mirror and added airily, ‘You'll get used to my staying out overnight sometimes in London, I dare say. It's much safer than walking back through the dark streets.’

  She nodded, wrinkling her nose, trying to trace the smell. Was it hair oil? It had a very flowery aroma to it, not the sort of perfume m
en usually wore. She hoped Robert had only borrowed some from a friend, for she couldn’t like it on him. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘So, wife, I've been busy on our behalf,’ he announced, lounging in the one comfortable chair and looking very smug.

  He had not, Helen noticed, even looked at Harry, let alone said anything to him. But it would be no use pointing that out. You couldn't force a man to love his son.

  ‘I think I've done rather well for us.’ He began to tick the items off on his fingers. ‘First, I've found us some lodgings. Two rooms, so that Master Harry can have his own sleeping place - or I can. Whichever we decide.’

  ‘How nice!’

  He didn’t even notice the sarcasm in her voice. ‘ And I've found you some work. Same as before. Sewing costumes and all that.’

  She stiffened. ‘How kind of you!’ He was supposed to have been looking for work for himself. And what was she to do with Harry while she worked?

  He appeared quite unaware of her anger. ‘I thought you'd be pleased. Now you'll be able to hoard your pennies again.’

  ‘Will I?’ And for how long would she be allowed to keep them? He was avoiding her eyes, which meant he had something to hide.

  ‘And finally, best of all, I've heard of a couple of chances for me. My friends think it suits me to have lost some weight. It can only be a matter of time before I pick up a good part. With a better theatre company this time. The Marlborough was a bit run-down and Roxanne was well past her best. A more skilful whore than actress, she was.’

  Helen dug her fingers into her palms. He was deliberately goading her. In this mood, he was like a boy tormenting a puppy, or pulling the wings off a fly.

  ‘But you've found nothing definite for yourself?’ she pursued.

  ‘My dear girl, after only one day back in town? No one is that lucky! You have to meet people. Show yourself around. That sort of thing. Which reminds me, do I have a clean shirt?’

  ‘Yes.’ She got it out without speaking and when he pulled a face at its wrinkled condition, she set her hands on her hip and looked him straight in the eyes, daring him to say anything.

  He didn't. The victory was small, but it gave her some satisfaction.

  When she’d packed their things, he summoned a cab to take them across London to their new lodgings. The vehicle smelt of unwashed bodies and mouldy straw, but she didn’t comment on that. Looking out of the window, she was amazed at how many people there were and how the streets went on and on with no greenery to be seen.

  As the journey progressed Robert cheered up, for she kept asking questions about the places they passed and he clearly enjoyed the feeling of superiority as he explained them to her.

  When she saw the lodgings, she was unstinting in her praise. Here, Robert had done well for them. A pleasant landlady, who picked up Harry for a cuddle. And two rooms as well as use of the small garden. One room was hardly bigger than a cupboard, but it was large enough for Harry, and as it abutted the kitchen chimney, it was warm, too. This proved a godsend, because April blew in cold and windy, coal was expensive and Robert still had no regular work.

  Helen, however, had work in plenty, mending and altering the costumes for the New Moon Theatre, a nasty little place which produced melodramas so like each other that the same costumes could be used again and again, as long as they were kept mended, retrimmed from time to time, and altered as necessary to fit the constantly changing leading ladies. To her relief the landlady was happy to mind Harry for a shilling or two more.

  Helen soon found out that the theatre also acted as a place of encounter for a better class of prostitute than those who haunted the street corners. The actresses themselves were much in demand with the patrons, but when she complained of that to Robert, he stared at her as if she had lost her wits.

  ‘What the hell does that matter? You earn your money honestly, don't you? No one's asking you to go a-whoring.’ He tittered as if the mere idea of anyone paying for her services was ludicrous in the extreme.

  ‘But - ’

  ‘Anyway, you're not that much better than them, if it comes to that.’

  She gasped, so shocked at this accusation that she couldn’t speak for a moment.

  ‘After all, you used your body to trap me, didn't you? I shouldn't be surprised if you didn't fool me about being a virgin, too!’

  Tears filled her eyes. ‘You know better than that.’

  After a long silence, he said, ‘Well, you must just mind your own business at the theatre and let others mind theirs. Unless you want to earn a bit of real money for yourself the same way?’

  She turned white and drew herself up. ‘I'd kill myself first.’

  ‘Pity. There's more money to be earned on your back than by plying your needle.’

  She knew then that if she’d agreed to do it, he’d have let her.

  Later, as she tried to understand her changing feelings towards him, she decided it was this conversation which wiped away the last traces of her love for him. But she was still tied to him, however much her morals were offended. For better, for worse, she’d promised.

  Anyway, she knew too little about London, and she and Harry would be vulnerable without a male to protect them.

  Helen had to work long hours at the theatre and when the landlady was busy, she took Harry with her because she didn’t trust Robert to look after his son. In fact, he only came home nowadays for the occasional meal and she began to worry that he was on the verge of leaving them for good.

  He slept at the lodgings two or three nights a week, made love to his wife if he had been lucky at the gaming tables and had nothing better to do, and changed his linen there regularly, getting angry if there wasn’t a clean shirt always waiting for him.

  He was out gambling nearly every night, and wasn’t even trying to find a job in the theatre, but luckily for her, he seemed to be doing quite well. Every now and then he would toss her a coin, even a whole guinea sometimes, and say mockingly, ‘Here you are, wife, for you and the boy.’

  A few weeks passed, then he began to do less well and the coins became few and far between.

  Some weeks he didn't even give her enough to pay the rent. She came home from the theatre with a tired, grizzling Harry one day to find her belongings scattered all over the room and her workbox lining slashed to ribbons.

  Robert had taken the coins which she’d deliberately left in there and a couple more she’d sewn into her spare petticoat, but that was all he’d found.

  She smiled grimly as she began to tidy up. You'll never take my last penny again, Robert Perriman, she thought grimly. If you won't think of your son, then I must.

  She said nothing to him about the incident when he came home again two days later, and he didn't mention it either.

  When she felt she could face her friend again, Helen wrote to Roxanne through the lawyer, delivering the letter to his rooms herself one afternoon when they had no work for her at the theatre. She enjoyed the walk across the city.

  Harry tottered along beside her on unsteady legs and from time to time she picked him up and carried him on her hip. She talked to him and he tried to form sounds in reply. They both enjoyed themselves very much indeed. He’d learned to be quiet inside the theatre, and to play with the toy dog she’d sewn for him, but out of doors she encouraged him to talk and run about as much as he liked.

  On the way back she bought them both a hot potato from a street vendor and then, on a sudden impulse, called in at a little church near their lodgings to pray for a few moments. She hadn’t been to church for a long time and was feeling guilty about it.

  A lady was arranging a very small bunch of flowers on the altar, and when Harry went over to watch her, thumb in his mouth, she began to talk to him and then to Helen. She was a plump woman, plainly dressed, with kind eyes and a ready smile.

  ‘Are you new to the area, my dear?’

  ‘We've been here for three months now. We have lodgings nearby. I - I haven't been to church for a while.’
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  ‘That’s a pity. I think you’d enjoy my husband’s sermons. He’s beginning to be well thought in the district.’ She stared at Helen when she spoke, obviously assessing her status.

  ‘I'm sure my husband would welcome you into our congregation.’

  ‘Would he? Even though my husband is an actor?’ asked Helen. Her own father would not have welcomed an actor's family into his church.

  ‘What difference does that make? Our Lord wasn’t too proud to associate with Mary Magdalene! And an actor isn’t dishonest in his occupation, however much some people disapprove of the theatre.’

  Tears filled Helen's eyes. ‘I'm no Mary Magdalene! Just a foolish parson’s daughter who ran off to marry an actor and was disowned by her family!’

  The woman made a soothing sound and shook her head in sympathy.

  Helen suddenly realised why her son was quiet and dived to stop him. ‘No, Harry! No!

  Naughty!’ Gently she disentangled the remains of some flowers from his chubby little fingers.

  ‘I'm so sorry! He doesn't understand. Let me see if I can do something with these.’

  Deftly her fingers rearranged the flowers, thanks to the old skills acquired during the years of helping her mother to decorate the church with whatever they could find in the woods or the parsonage garden.

  ‘My dear, they look beautiful! Much better than I can ever manage! I wonder - would you like to help me with the flowers now and then? I’d be very grateful.’

  ‘Oh, I’d love to!’

  After that, to Robert's loudly-expressed amusement, Helen took her son to church on Sundays and helped arrange the flowers on the altar every Thursday if she could manage it.

  Sometimes she would take a cup of tea with Mrs Hendry and perhaps chat with the parson when he had time to spare from his busy parish.

  Helen even confided in her new friends the dreadful fact that Harry had not been christened.

  Robert had no interest whatsoever in religion, no belief in anything but the urgency of his own needs. He’d refused to bother about his son's christening and she had been too embarrassed by his attitude to go and see a clergyman on her own.