by Anna Jacobs
‘Oh? Who are “they”?’
‘I went to see a doctor. A while ago now. Before my luck turned and I lost all my money. He said it might help me to go and live in a warmer climate. The illness is in the early stages, you see. I stand a fair chance of recovering if I can get away before the winter. I even thought,’ he laughed, a dry laugh that turned into a cough, ‘I thought I'd make it. I was on a good winning streak.’
He avoided her eyes as he added, ‘But my luck turned. Amy, the woman I was living with, well, she nursed me for a while - then, when my money ran out, she left. The cursed landlady turned me out, too, the next day. They’re all harpies, landladies are. Well, look at this one you’ve got here.
Won’t give me the time of day.’
Helen ignored the reference to living with another woman. She didn't care about him in that way now, certainly not enough to be jealous. ‘How did you find me?’ She’d told the Hendrys not to pass on her new address.
‘Through the theatre. Knew you still worked there. Kept my eye on you, in my own way.’
Only in case you desperately needed money, Helen thought. But he hadn’t, so she’d had her godmother’s money to herself. They’d lived very comfortably, she and Harry. Not grandly, but with warm food and clothing, a roof over their heads. It was all she asked.
He stared at her for a moment. ‘Didn't think you'd take me in like this. But there was nowhere else to go. So I took a gamble. And I won.’ He smiled at her and nodded several times. ‘I reckon my luck must have turned again.’
Another pause, then, ‘Why did you do it? Why did you take me in?’
‘Not because your luck had turned!’ Her voice was sharp and for a moment it reminded her of her mother’s voice, the last time she had seen her. That made her shudder and try to speak more gently as she added, ‘I did it because you once married me. Or had you forgotten? And because of the vows I took. I meant them, you know. For better, for worse.’ There was silence, then she said thoughtfully, ‘It's been mainly for worse with us, though, hasn't it?’
He flushed and closed his eyes. His face was pallid and covered with sweat. His hair had lost its lustre and hung damply on his forehead, like dirty smears of butter. After a while he said stiffly, ‘I never meant to hurt you, you know. I didn’t even set out to seduce you.’ Well, not exactly. ‘It just -
happened. You were - you still are - very lovely.’
She patted his hand, feeling more like his mother than his wife. ‘And I was too ignorant to realise where it would all lead.’ She gave a bitter laugh that turned to a sob in the middle. ‘I didn't even know how babies were made in those days. What a stupid little fool I was!’
A tear of sympathy trickled down his face. ‘But you were so beautiful with your hair spread across your shoulders. I can still remember those times in the woods.’
It was a while before either of them spoke again.
He jerked into a more upright position. ‘Helen, this is the second time you've saved my life, nursed me better. Perhaps my luck has turned. And if it doesn't work out - going to the sun, I mean -
then you'll be rid of me for good one day.’
She put down her sewing. ‘It'll do you no good to get maudlin.’ She spoke quietly but firmly as if to a naughty child. ‘You’d do better to concentrate on ways of finding the money to send you to a warmer climate.’
‘You'll help me, though?’
‘If I can.’ But she didn’t intend to go with him.
He swallowed convulsively. ‘I'll not go without you.’
She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Because - because I think you're lucky for me. I should have stayed with you before.’ There was another of the long heavy silences which always seemed to punctuate their conversations. When he did speak again, his voice was gentle. ‘And because you saved my life this time. I truly believe that if I leave you again, I shall die. With you, I stand a chance of living. My only chance.’
She kept her head bowed over her work, hoping he couldn't see the dismay on her face. She’d learned the hard way how much importance gamblers placed on their luck. But she didn’t stop sewing, even for such an important conversation. She did extra personal sewing and mending for some of the actors. In fact, she sewed in every spare minute she could find and her fingers were always roughened where she’d pricked them with the needle. ‘I hadn’t thought to go with you,’ she managed at last. ‘Nor desired it.’
‘Well, I’m not going anywhere from now on without you!’ He might have been a child, clinging to its mother's skirts. ‘Besides, I don't even speak the language over there! You do! You speak excellent French, thanks to that blasted mother of yours.’
‘But we haven't the money to send you, let alone the three of us!’ And I don't want to go, she thought, oh, I don't! I’m happy here, with just me and Harry, and Roxanne to chat with from time to time. But she did not say the words aloud.
‘Only wait till I'm better! I've still got my signet ring. I always keep that for when the next run of luck starts. I'll pawn it and get a stake. You’ll see. The guineas will start rolling in again.’
His cheeks were poppy red, his eyes glittering feverishly. She didn’t dare argue with him. ‘We'll see,’ was all she could manage.
He captured her hand. ‘Just help me to get me better, Helen, then I'll look after you, both of you. I know you won't leave the boy.’
It was as if Harry were no connection of his, she thought sadly.
That night she lay awake on the makeshift bed, not feeling the hardness of the floor, but agonising over the decision she might have to make.
So torn was she between conscience and common sense that on the way home from the theatre the next day, she called in at the parsonage to beg Mr Hendry to advise her.
Gravely he listened to the full story of her marriage, while Harry played outside in the garden. Mr Hendry bent his head in thought and when he raised it, his eyes were sad. ‘My dear, it's not easy, but you must keep your marriage vows. You took the man for better or for worse. In sickness and in health. For richer or for poorer. Those phrases are quite explicit. I only wish I could say something different, find a solution which would be easier for you - and better for the boy.’
She looked down at her clasped hands, seeing only a pink blur. ‘I knew the answer really. I just -
didn't want to admit it.’
When she managed a smile, he thought it one of the saddest he had ever seen.
‘I don't care for myself,’ she went on. ‘It's Harry I worry about, you see. I can accept the consequences of my own foolishness - ’
‘Ignorance,’ he corrected. ‘And the ignorance wasn’t your fault.’
She shrugged. ‘Whatever you care to call it - I can keep the promises I made before God, but it's hard to see a child suffer.’
As he showed her to the door, he offered the only comfort he could. ‘Margaret and I will both pray for you. But, at a more practical level, if you are ever in need - well, we can always offer you the shelter of our roof.’
‘Thank you.’
That offer warmed her as she walked home. How kind! How very kind! And there was Roxanne, too. Helen was sure her friend would help her if she was ever in need. God had been very good to her.
When Harry was asleep the next evening, Helen took her sewing over to the bed. ‘We need to talk, Robert.’
‘Come to tell me of your decision, fair gaoler?’ he asked, trying to make a joke of it.
But she could see the fear lurking in his eyes. She could see it quite plainly and that made her decision easier, somehow.
‘Yes. I've decided to do as you wish. I’ve decided to stay with you.’
‘Ha! Told you my luck had turned.’ His voice was triumphant. He tried to take hold of her hand, but she moved it away. ‘You won't regret it, Helen. I promise you won't regret it. Things will be different this time. I know they will.’
She took a cloth and wiped his forehead. ‘There
is just one condition.’
‘Anything!’
‘I couldn’t share a bed with you again. Not after the other women.’
He scowled, forgetting his gratitude. ‘I'm not diseased, you know! And there weren’t that many other women.’
‘I believe you. But my feelings won't recover, not in that way. I don't love you any more, Robert.
So I must warn you that if you ever try to - to force me - then I shall leave you. Immediately. Within the hour. I cannot do that sort of thing without love.’
He shrugged. ‘If that’s the only condition, you’ve no need to worry. I've never forced myself on a woman yet. Besides, we couldn't risk having another child, could we?’ He scowled across at Harry.
‘One's more than enough.’
She did not make the obvious retort, that he had never looked after Harry in any way, never shown any interest in being a father.
I feel as if I have two children, she thought, looking at her husband. What had happened to the handsome, laughing man she had married? What had happened to her, come to that? She felt old - so very old and tired.
She looked sideways. Ah, but there was Harry – and he made up for everything.
Thanks to another lucky gambling streak that had her husband crowing with triumph at the return of his luck, Helen spent her twentieth birthday in Calais. She didn't mention to Robert that it was her birthday. She had nothing to celebrate, after all. It had been a smooth crossing, but eve so Harry had been unwell, turning white and fractious before the boat had even left the harbour.
When they disembarked, they found a cheap pension, dined early and surprisingly well, and went to bed. Although Robert and Helen shared a big bed, he made no attempt to touch her, but he smiled wryly when she looked at him watchfully as they undressed.
In the morning they began their long journey to the south of France, travelling by easy stages in the cheapest ways possible, often by carrier's cart. When Robert began to look tired, she would insist they rest for a day or two.
It was better for the boy as well. Harry grew so tired of the jolting and he wasn’t a good traveller.
He was a good child in every other way, though, such a joy to her, even now. She took care to point things out to him, talking about the countryside they were passing through and teaching him a few French words. She didn’t want him to grow up ignorant of the world around him.
But she took care to hide the pride she felt, because Robert easily became jealous of his son and that made him spiteful. It must be wonderful, she thought wistfully, to have a husband who cared about his child. But perhaps she was expecting too much of the world. Her experience hadn’t included that sort of man.
Twice they met up with men who shared Robert's taste for gambling. Twice he came back to their room flushed with success. ‘See what good luck you've brought to me! Didn’t I tell you things would improve?’
Why did he always ascribe his success to her? It made her feel uneasy. Would he blame her for his bad luck, too? Good luck never lasted. How could he not realise that?
But some of the recklessness seemed to have gone out of him. He didn't return to the game on the following night on either occasion, but said he'd not push his luck at the moment, just use the money he’d won to continue the journey.
It was cheaper to live well in France than in England. The meals at even the poorest auberge were usually excellent. A couple of times Helen managed to earn a little money herself, or payment in kind, which was just as good. It was nothing like as much as Robert could win on a good night’s gambling, but it was enough to pay for a meal or for their room.
Once, when a maid was ill at an inn bursting with guests, she helped in the kitchens and served at table. She had no shame in offering her services, but explained quite frankly about her husband's illness and their need to conserve money.
The second time, they stayed on a few days at another inn and she sewed for their keep. The landlady's daughter was planning to be married, the village seamstress had just died and Helen volunteered her help. Robert was tiring again and needed a rest, so he was very willing to stop. Harry was sent to play with the ostler's children, and seemed to get on with them well, experiencing few problems with the language differences.
Indeed, everywhere they went, Harry was petted and made welcome. He soon began to use French words without seeming to differentiate them from the English, which annoyed his father, who had no gift for languages. The little golden-haired boy enchanted the women and amused the men with his precociousness. He was also a passport into conversations with strangers and therefore into chances of finding cheaper means of transport or accommodation.
As the weather improved and they drew nearer to the Mediterranean, Helen found to her surprise that she was enjoying herself. It was an adventure and Robert was exerting himself most of the time to be a pleasant companion, not grumbling too much at setbacks.
And Harry, dear little Harry, was thriving on the fresh air and the stimulation of travel, growing apace and enjoying himself hugely. That mattered most of all to her.
At Avignon, however, the enjoyment stopped abruptly. They had a disagreement because Robert wanted to make for Nice and Helen refused. This developed into their first big quarrel since leaving England. There would be too many rich people wintering in the sun at Nice, from what she’d been told, which meant too many chances for Robert to find a cosy little gaming house or a group of fellows who wanted to test their skill with the cards or the dice.
‘If you want to get better,’ she insisted, ‘really better, we must go somewhere quiet and live very simply. You still get tired easily, Robert. You know you do!’
He hunched one shoulder and turned partly away from her, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.
‘We'll die of boredom if we stay somewhere with no congenial company.’
‘And you'll die of other things, if you don't give your body a chance to recover! Anyway, I refuse to go to Nice! We can't afford it. So if you go there, you go alone.’
In the end, they compromised on a city called Beziers, which a chance acquaintance had praised.
It was an old town in the south-west of France, large enough to offer Helen a chance of finding employment, yet near enough to the Mediterranean to have a mild winter climate.
When they arrived, Robert was not at all impressed. ‘The place is too damned quiet for me. What if it does have a very old cathedral? The place looks ready to fall down to me. Someone ought to knock it down and build a new cathedral.’
But Helen liked Beziers, especially when they found two tiny rooms with a friendly widow in a narrow side street. Madame helped Helen find employment teaching English and soon she had so many private pupils that Robert condescended to teach a few of them as well. He wasn’t good with the younger children, but he was very successful with the teenage girls, and even more so with one or two ladies who had decided to alleviate their luxurious boredom by learning English from ce cher monsieur Perriman.
Helen didn’t inquire too closely into his linguistic progress with these ladies and closed her ears to hints of other activities. As long as he left her alone, she didn't care if he bestowed his attentions on others.
He had regained something of his good looks, only now he was slender, with large brilliant eyes, which made him appear a very romantic figure – something she knew he wasn’t. He even obtained a commission posing for an aspiring artist as the young David about to kill Goliath.
He and Helen laughed together over this, but she and Harry never saw any of the money he received for it so it couldn’t have stayed long in Robert’s pocket.
By the end of the winter, Harry had grown several inches and could chatter in both English and French. The widow with whom they lodged had taken a great fancy to him and looked after him willingly most of the time, for he was the same age as Madame’s grandson, whom she only saw once or twice a year. The two of them would do the marketing together, or play long complicated games.
; But all the time, Helen felt deep within her that the whole interlude was just a breathing space, a pause before life rushed her on again. She continued to hoard what little she could save and to hide her money very carefully about her person. She would never trust her husband again, however pleasant he seemed. But at least she was feeling well and energetic. And so was Harry.
During the winter, Robert had found ways of gambling again, very small amounts at first, on card games or even dominoes in the local cafe. He enjoyed any game of chance and even a small win would put him in an expansive mood. A fellow needed a bit of fun, he kept telling Helen, else what use was life?
By the end of the winter, he was out more evenings than not, and they had had several nasty little quarrels when he lost the money he had earned by teaching English, instead of giving it to Helen for their living expenses. Madame tut-tutted at this and slipped Harry little titbits, but sometimes Helen was at her wits’ end to find food for herself and her son without dipping into her precious savings.
By May, Robert had made up his mind to move on to Nice, whatever his wife said. The quarrels over this raged for days, and Harry spent a lot of time shivering under the table in the Madame’s kitchen.
In the end, Helen refused to discuss it any more, telling Robert to go to Nice on his own, if it was so important to him, and leave her where she was. She could, she felt, settle down quite happily in Beziers.
But he wouldn’t even consider leaving her. ‘You’re my lucky piece. Without you, I never win for long.’
One day, driven nearly to screaming point, she shouted, ‘You don't honestly believe that! You can’t, surely!’
‘Oh, but I do! That's what makes me a successful gambler. I know that I must have you with me.
You are my luck!’
‘You're utterly ridiculous!’ And he was not a successful gambler, so how he could think she brought him luck, she didn’t know. But she didn’t say that. It would only have made matters worse.
‘And you, madam wife, are being as stubborn as a mule! But I will get you to Nice. It's the only place to be!’
A week later, Helen came home to find Madame in tears. ‘ Il a pris mon petit ange!’ she wailed as soon as Helen entered the house.