by Anna Jacobs
‘He is, and has a nature to match. You won't get a show of temper from Jervis here, however tired he is. You can't beat a grey, young fellow. The Captain always rides a grey.’
‘Can you not? I don't know very much about horses, I'm afraid. But one day I'm going to learn to ride them. My mother’s promised me.’
‘That's the ticket, Master Harry! A gentleman should always know how to ride.’
Another frown from the boy. ‘My mother says I'm not exactly a gentleman. We have to earn our way in the world, you see.’
‘Well, there's nothing wrong with that, as long as you do it honestly.’
The bells of the church started to ring and Harry sighed regretfully. ‘I must go now. My mother will have finished giving her lesson. Will you - will you be here tomorrow?’
‘I will.’
‘Then - may I come and look at the horse again?’
‘You may indeed. And I'll show you how to bridle him, if you like.’
The boy's face lit up. ‘Will you, sir? I'd like that!’ He nodded to Alfred and ran off to meet his mother.
Alfred went off to report this useful encounter to his master.
The next day, after observing from his window the arrival of a golden-haired lad, Charles sauntered down to join his general factotum in the inn yard, and soon had the boy standing on a box, while he gave him his first lesson in bridling and saddling a horse.
With a grin, Alfred stepped back and left him to it. The young widow was going to have a very difficult time repulsing the Captain, with her son in a fair way to becoming a disciple of his. And no one could deny his master’s considerable expertise on the subject of horses, or his knack of passing it on to youngsters. A pity he'd never had a son of his own. He’d have made a good father.
Within three days, Harry was following Charles around like a tame lap dog. His conversation at home consisted mainly of eulogies about Jervis, upon whose back he had been allowed to sit while Alfred led the animal slowly round the inn-yard and Mr Carnforth corrected his posture.
When Harry wasn’t talking about horses, he was telling his mother what the Captain or Alfred had said and done.
Helen was torn in her reactions to this friendship. On the one hand, she had a strong desire to allow Harry to spend some time with an English gentleman, so that he would have someone upon whom to model himself. On the other hand, she had a feeling she ought to stop the association before her son got hurt or worse still, she herself got dragged into it.
In the end, she decided that she couldn’t help getting involved, at least to the extent of keeping an eye on her son to check that he wasn’t making a nuisance of himself.
‘Mother's coming to pick me up today,’ announced Harry. ‘She wants to see Francesca and she wants to see you too, sir, if you have time.’
‘See me, eh?’ Charles hid a smile. ‘Do you know why?’
‘She wants to thank you for teaching me about horses and things. I say, sir, may I hold the reins myself today?’
‘’Fraid not. You're too small to control him.’
Harry's face fell.
‘We'll have to see if there's a pony we could hire for you, then I could really teach you to ride.’
Harry looked at him, head on one side, then shook his head firmly. ‘I'm sorry, sir, but Mother can’t afford to hire a pony.’
‘But I can.’
Another shake of the head. ‘That wouldn't be right, sir. We don't allow others to pay for us. We didn't allow il Conte to do it, either, and Mother says he was a good friend to us. I used to sit in the corner and talk to Maria - she was his housekeeper - when we visited him, you know. Maria used to give me cake and lemonade.’
So rumour was wrong, Charles mused. Not that anyone who had the slightest acquaintance with her would have believed that Helen Perriman would behave immorally. But it was nice to have it confirmed from an unimpeachable source. He saw that Harry was still waiting for an answer, searched his brain to remember what they'd been discussing, and recalled the question of a pony. ‘Couldn’t you even let me pay for its hire if you would be doing me a favour by keeping me company when I go riding?’
‘I don't think so, sir. Mother and I - we often talk about things like that. We like to stand on our own feet, sir, and not be beholden to anyone.’
Harry's expression was curiously adult for a lad of seven, as was his conversation. In fact, thought Charles, a nicer lad I have never met. Though I'd like to make him laugh more. He's a very solemn child. He still wanted to further his acquaintance with the mother, but he’d begun to enjoy the son's company for its own sake.
Helen arrived at the albergo a little before noon. She allowed Harry to re-introduce her to the man who had so quickly become his idol. ‘I have to thank you, Mr Carnforth, for the interest you’ve shown in my son.’ She smiled at the boy as she spoke and her whole face lit up with love.
She could be a beauty if she were properly dressed, thought Charles. ‘It's been a pleasure,’ he said formally. ‘I've greatly enjoyed his company. You have a fine son.’
‘I think so.’
‘Mrs Perriman - would you and your son do me the honour of takin' luncheon with me today?’
The warm expression vanished and a wariness replaced it on her face.
How transparent her feelings were! Charles mused. He liked the lack of artifice. He had never known what his late wife was thinking - and after a few months of marriage hadn’t even wanted to.
Helen was still hesitating. ‘I don't think . . ’
‘I would be very grateful. A man gets tired of eatin' alone.’
His voice had suddenly grown diffident. She sensed a loneliness behind the request, which, if it didn’t equal her own, then at least approached it. Could it be so harmful to have lunch with a fellow-countryman? Just the once? ‘Well . . . ’
Harry tugged at her arm. ‘Do say yes, Mother! Mr Carnforth was going to tell me about India and what it's like to ride on an elephant.’
So, because it was good for her son and because she, too, was lonely, she agreed.
They dined in a corner of the public rooms of the inn. Charles' private parlour, Helen said gently, when it was suggested, would not be quite the thing. She was still a little worried about what people might say, so she had a quick word with Francesca, explaining her dilemma.
Francesca waved away her friend's scruples. ‘You have your son with you and I myself will wait upon you. Thus, I will be able to refute any gossip, if anyone is stupid enough to suggest that my inn is not of the most respectable!’
Helen wasn’t sure she liked the way Francesca was smiling as she walked away. She soon forgot her worries about her reputation as the meal progressed. What a delightful time the three of them had! The inn's temperamental cook produced a marvellous meal, and Francesca's husband Paolo was persuaded to unearth from his cellars one of the special bottles of wine that only the most favoured customers were allowed to know about.
Pressed by Harry, Charles told them something of his travels, not only in India, which he had visited after his wife's death, but in other parts of the world.
‘I'd had enough of killin' after we beat Boney at Waterloo, so I sold out of the regiment and went off to see a bit of the world instead.’
Harry's eyes were round with wonder and he fired off so many questions that conversation never flagged. And Charles had many fascinating tales to share with them. Three whole hours had passed before Helen realised it.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, when the church bells rang. ‘I hadn't realised how late it was. I have a lesson to give.’
‘Leave the lad here with me,’ Charles offered.
By now she trusted him enough to do that. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Very sure.’ It wasn’t the only thing about which he was now sure.
‘She's the one,’ he said quietly to Alfred as they stood watching Harry feed the horses some wrinkled apples.
‘The one, sir?’
There was a sad expression o
n his master's face as he explained, ‘She's the one I should have met when I was a young man.’
The Captain didn’t need to explain to Alfred what he meant by that, because his manservant had seen for himself how very unhappy the marriage was.
When Helen returned to collect Harry, Charles persuaded her and her son to stroll down to the fishing harbour with him, and they enjoyed one of those golden late autumn days, with the mildest of breezes and a memory of flowers in the air.
Helen had never had the pleasure of a gentleman's attentions before. Her father had had a harsh idea of how a Christian gentleman should behave, even in polite company, and her brother had followed the paternal example, especially with regard to his sister. Her husband had never attempted to cosset her in any way, but had simply expected her to serve him.
Charles had fussed over the menu, deliberately chosen subjects of conversation which would be of interest to her, and listened to her opinions with flattering attentiveness. And now, as they walked along, he was handing her over rough bits of ground as if she were a piece of precious china. That made her feel warm and cherished. So she didn’t hurry home, just allowed herself the utter luxury of this one golden afternoon.
That evening, she hummed as she prepared a simple meal, for Harry was always ravenous.
She couldn’t remember when she had spent a happier day. And Charles had spoken of seeing her the next day. Seeing her and Harry, of course. She knew already that she wouldn’t refuse another invitation.
It was for Harry's sake, she tried to tell herself, then blushed in the darkness of her bedroom as she realised that it was also for her own sake. She really liked Charles Carnforth.
It was a whirlwind courtship. Charles wooed both mother and son, taking infinite trouble to arrange the most delightful little excursions, sometimes with Francesca as chaperone. He knew she was on his side. And as it was the quiet season, Helen had time to spare, conversation to share.
Within a month he’d decided to propose marriage and he spent some time thinking what to say to her, how to make utterly certain she couldn't refuse him.
It happened on a windy day in early November. The three of them had gone for a brisk walk along the cliffs above the town, where public gardens and walks had been laid out to please the summer visitors.
After a while, Charles turned to Harry. ‘I wonder if you'd leave us alone for half an hour, old chap. I have something very important to discuss with your mother.’
Harry, already primed by Francesca to expect something of the sort, nodded and whispered,
‘Good luck, sir!’ then ran off.
Helen allowed Charles to lead her to a stone bench and sat there with her head bowed. Her heart was beating fast and her thoughts were in a whirl. This could only mean one thing - and she had persuaded herself that Charles was just enjoying their company for a short time until he moved on. But if it meant - if he – She felt her cheeks grow warm.
He sat down beside her and took her hand very gently in his. ‘My dear Helen, you must have guessed how I feel about you. I'm not one to make you fancy speeches, but - would you do me the honour of becomin' my wife?’
She took a deep gasping breath and looked up at him. ‘I - I don't know what to say!’
He could hear the near panic in her voice. Gently, Charles, he said to himself, take it gently.
‘At least you haven't refused me, my dear. No, let me finish first, then think it through before you answer. I've not got much to offer you. Spent most of my money. Got enough left to keep you and the boy in reasonable comfort, though.’
She didn’t inquire what he meant by that. To her, reasonable comfort meant a roof over their heads, a warm fire in winter and enough to eat. ‘I don't care about money.’
‘No. I know you don't. You're not like that. But it does come in useful, and damme, you'd be a lot better off than you are now. The boy too. He needs a father. And I – well, I'd like a son.’
When she still said nothing, he added painfully, ‘Know I'm a lot older than you are, but - well, you're never too old to fall in love. Fell in love with you that very first evenin’.’
She raised her eyes and gave him a troubled look. ‘I'm not in love with you, Charles. I don't think I could ever fall in love again. My first marriage was a total disaster.’ She had sworn never, ever to imagine herself in love again.
‘I know you're not in love with me. Strange if a chit of a girl like you were to fall in love with a crusty old wanderer like me. Just thought you'd like to know I loved you.’
‘Chit of a girl, indeed! I'm twenty-five!’ And felt much older sometimes. It seemed an eternity since an ignorant young woman of sixteen had allowed an actor the freedom of her body without realising what she was doing. She hardly even recognised that foolish young Helen now.
‘And I'm fifty-four,’ he went on. ‘More than twice your age.’ He sighed. ‘I feel it too, sometimes, but other times - well, other times I feel as frisky as a colt.’ How difficult this was!
He seized her hand. ‘You may not love me, but - you do like me, don't you, Helen?’
‘Very much!’ She didn't pull her hand away and she smiled as she spoke, for he looked boyishly anxious, his expression very like her son's when he wanted something desperately.
And Charles’s soft thinning hair always seemed untidy and windswept, like her son’s. What did it matter if it were grey? She had a sudden desire to push it back, out of his eyes. Without thinking, she let go of his hand for a moment to do just that and the smile they shared seemed to form a tangible bond between them.
‘Liking me very much will do fine for me. In any case, I sometimes think there are many shades of love. There’s the love you feel for your son, and the love Alfred and I feel for one another - ’ He saw the surprise in her eyes and added, ‘We’ve faced death together several times, Alfred and I. It forms a strong bond.’
She liked him all the better for admitting how close he was to his servant.
‘So if you like me enough, my dear, I feel we’re well on the way to reaching an understanding.’
When he took her hand again and clasped it in both of his, she let it rest there. It felt so comfortable. So safe.
‘And the boy likes me too,’ he added softly. ‘You heard him wish me luck.’
‘Yes. I know he does.’ If Harry hadn’t liked Charles, she wouldn’t be here now, listening to her first real proposal of marriage.
‘That's important. For him and for me. I never had a son. I should have liked one very much.
It wasn't to be. M'wife and I never had any children. But I would consider it a privilege, a very great privilege, to help raise your son. I promise you, I’d be a father to him in every way I could.’
She could think of no better father for Harry.
They both looked across at the small figure on the headland. The boy was tossing pebbles over the edge of the cliff, concentrating very hard on hitting something below, by the looks of him.
‘Fine lad, that!’
‘Isn't he?’ She looked at Harry proudly. He made everything she had suffered worthwhile.
Even Robert, for only Robert could have given her this son.
‘Forgive me for sayin' this. Not the sort of thing a gentleman should mention to a lady. But -
what future is there for you here? Givin' English lessons to fools! What sort of a life is that?
And - you're short of money. Can't help seein' that, however neatly you darn your clothes.
Damned black things! Why do you wear them? I'd like to dress you in bright jewel colours!’
She blushed and put her hand over the darn. She couldn’t afford new clothes, and it had suited her to wear black. Widows in mourning seemed more respectable to potential clients.
‘So - wouldn't it be better to accept my offer, Helen, my dear? I'm not rich, you'd not be marryin' a fortune, but I could look after you, get a good tutor for Harry, teach him to ride and . . . ’
‘How could I take advantage of yo
ur kindness like that?’ she whispered. Ah, the temptation to say yes!
He put his hand gently under her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. ‘There's nothin' wrong with an honest bargain, Helen, my dear.’
She felt suddenly breathless. ‘Please - Charles - you shouldn't tempt me!’
The arm tightened around her. ‘Why not?’
‘Well, because - because I should be taking advantage of your kindness.’
‘Good! I'd like that! Ah, Helen, Helen, why didn't I meet you when I was young? It's me who'd be takin' advantage of you!’
Her hands were trembling so much that she had to clasp them together. ‘I - I . . . ’
He smiled at her and reached out to trace a line down her cheek. Suddenly he felt optimistic enough to press the point. ‘Well, my dear, won’t give me my answer? Can you stand to marry me?’
‘Oh, Charles, I shouldn't - I - you . . . ’
He kissed her and then, as she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, he repeated, ‘Say yes! Go on, say it!’
And it seemed the most natural thing in the world to say, ‘Yes, Charles, I will marry you.’
‘You'll not regret it, my little love. I'll make sure you don't regret it. We'll have such fun together!’ She deserved some happiness. What she'd told him about her earlier life made his blood run cold. He'd thought he had uncaring parents, but he'd had his nurse, and a whole variety of friends to make up for their indifference. And later on, Alfred. She'd had no one.
He hugged her tightly, then threw back his head and let out a whoop of triumph that made Harry stop in his tracks and look towards them, then start running down the hill.
He arrived to see that Charles fold Helen in his arms and the two of them stare into each other's eyes as if they'd never seen one another before. ‘Why are you cuddling my mother, sir?
Are you all right, Mother?’
Seeing Helen's blushing confusion, Charles answered for her. ‘She's just agreed to marry me, young fellow. People always cuddle each other when they agree to get married.’
‘Oh. I see.’ Then Harry frowned at them. ‘Will that make you my father, sir?’