by Jess Foley
Abbie kept her eyes lowered.
A little silence, then he said, ‘You know, I shall be thirty next month.’
‘Poor old man.’ She grasped at the opportunity to try to make the conversation light.
‘How old are you, Abbie?’
‘I was twenty-four just over a week ago.’
‘Really? Just over a week ago?’
‘July the 3rd.’
‘I wish I’d known. But I shall remember from now on.’ He reached down, lifted her right hand and clasped it between his own. ‘I want to marry you,’ he said.
‘Oh – Louis . . .’ She could not marry him, of course she could not. In spite of the passion she had known just moments ago, she knew that it was not right. Such an idea was out of the question. He was not the right one for her; he never could be. But how could she tell him? She frowned, searching for words that would not come.
‘Don’t say anything for a minute,’ he said, as if sensing that she was about to refuse him. ‘Hear me out.’ He went on after a moment, ‘I won’t ask if you love me, as I’m afraid I mightn’t like your answer. Though I should prepare myself for that too, I suppose.’ He looked at her, studying her. ‘Without false modesty, Abbie, I consider myself a good man. And while I might never be rich, I can offer you a comfortable life. You’d never want for anything for the rest of your days, I promise you that. And I would love you. I love you now and I would love you for as long as I live.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ she said.
‘Oh, I am.’ A moment’s pause, then he added, ‘You haven’t mentioned anyone, so I’m assuming there’s no special person in your life . . .’
She gave a shake of her head.
‘Good.’ He studied her for a moment in the moon’s light. ‘You do care for me, don’t you? I’m working on the assumption that you do, anyway.’
‘Oh – of course I do.’
He nodded. ‘But your answer also tells me that you don’t love me.’ Then he added, ‘But you would in time – I know it. Given time I can make you love me. I’m sure I can.’ He pressed her hand. ‘Well . . . ?’
She frowned. ‘Oh, but Louis, I –’
He released her and raised his hand against her words. ‘Please, don’t tell me no. At least not till you’ve really had a chance to give it some thought. But remember what I say: I can make you happy. You won’t want for anything for the rest of your life. That goes for my love and for everything else that I have to offer.’
‘Is that everything else within reason?’ she said with a smile, still trying to avoid the seriousness of the situation.
He grinned and gave a helpless groan. ‘No. Out of reason as well. Oh, Abbie, I love you so much I don’t think I could refuse you anything.’
Silence fell between them. After a time she said, ‘Louis – I thank you so much for what you’ve offered me. I don’t take it lightly, I can assure you. It’s a great honour. And I’ll do as you ask – I won’t give you my answer now; I’ll think about it. And think about it very seriously. And I’ll write to you very soon, I promise.’ She let out her breath in a deep sigh. ‘Now – I really think I should get back before I find the doors bolted against me.’
In the hall of the Haywards’ house Abbie closed and locked the front door and then stood quite still, listening. All was quiet. When she had lit the candle she was tempted to glance into the library to see whether Mrs Hayward was there again, keeping her watch. But she continued on up the stairs; it was getting on for two o’clock; Mrs Hayward would surely have been asleep for hours by now.
In spite of the lateness of the hour, Abbie could not sleep. Lying in her bed she thought back over the day – the train journey to Gravesend, the meeting with Louis’s father, the trip on the Thames pleasure steamer, the supper at Louis’s hotel. It had been such a full and pleasant time. And throughout it all Louis had been such fine company. But could there ever be more than friendship between them? He wanted it so. He loved her; he had told her so. And over the next few days she must, as she had promised, write to him with an answer to his proposal.
Marriage to Louis . . . To become the wife of a country doctor. She was aware that in the eyes of many she would be in an enviable situation. And she had no doubt that Louis would be true to his word; he would, she was sure, do all in his power to make her happy. She sighed, turning restlessly on the pillow. It was a fine and wonderful thing to be loved – and indeed to be loved by such a man as he. But even so it was not enough. It could never be enough. When she married it must be not only because she was loved, but also because she loved in return. There was nothing else for it, but over the next day or two she must write to Louis and tell him of her decision – that she would be unable to marry him.
Into her mind came a picture of Arthur, bringing with it a sharp pang of bitterness. Arthur had loved her too. And he still loved her, she had no doubt of that. It was only through circumstances, because he was now tied to another, that he could not declare his love for her. And never would be able to. At the thought she gave a little groan of anguish and frustration. There was no way out of the situation. Arthur would never be hers now. She had lost him – first because of her mother, and now through Jane. And this time the loss was irretrievable.
Softly on the night air came the striking of a church clock. Three o’clock. She must get to sleep or she would be fit for nothing. Restless and exhausted, she turned over, trying to seek out some new position that would offer her sleep. But still it would not come. When at long last she drifted into her disturbing dreams it was almost four o’clock.
She was awakened by a knocking on her door. Sleepily, with her head pounding, she raised herself in her bed. ‘Yes?’ she called.
The door opened and Esther, the housemaid, put her head into the room. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, miss,’ she said, ‘but the missis wants to see you.’
Abbie glanced at the clock and frowned. ‘You mean now?’
‘Yes, miss. She’s in her room.’
Abbie yawned. ‘But it’s not yet six o’clock.’
‘I know, miss. I’m sorry.’
When the maid had gone away, Abbie sighed. What on earth could Mrs Hayward want at this time of the morning? She yawned again. She felt desperately tired from her lack of sleep . . . She closed her eyes again . . .
There was a knocking on the door. Abbie opened her eyes with the realization that she must have fallen asleep after Esther had awakened her and – horrors! – it was ten minutes to seven. Quickly she got out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and opened the door. Esther stood there again.
‘I know, Esther,’ Abbie said, pulling a conspiratorial face. ‘I went back to sleep.’
Esther leaned closer. ‘She’s getting really mad, miss.’
‘Right. Thank you, Esther. I’ll be there in a minute.’
When Abbie had washed and dressed she went down to the first floor and knocked on Mrs Hayward’s door. Mrs Hayward called for her to enter, and she opened the door and stepped into the room.
Mrs Hayward was sitting up in bed, the pillows banked high behind her head. There was a wan, rather pathetic look about her. Gazing at Abbie with something not far short of a glare, she pursed her lips and looked down at her fingers.
‘So,’ she said, ‘at last you deigned to come. How very kind of you.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hayward,’ Abbie said, ‘but I inadvertently went back to sleep.’
‘So it would seem.’
Abbie made no response to this, but waited a few moments, then asked: ‘What was it you wanted me for, ma’am?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’ The tone was clipped, petulant.
Abbie gave a little sigh, hesitated for a second, then started to turn away.
‘I haven’t dismissed you,’ Mrs Hayward said, raising her glance.
‘I’m sorry.’ Feeling somewhat affronted at the imperious tone, Abbie turned back to face her. ‘When I asked what you wanted you said –’
‘I know w
hat I said,’ Mrs Hayward broke in. A brief pause, then she added, ‘I was feeling exceedingly unwell.’
‘Oh . . . I’m very sorry to hear that.’
‘I’m sure you are.’ Mrs Hayward lowered her gaze once more while a plaintive note of self-pity came into her voice. ‘With Mr Hayward being away so much I’ve no one to turn to. I should have thought you’d realize that. I thought at least I could rely on you. I certainly can’t depend on the other servants. Now it seems I was wrong about you, too.’
‘Mrs Hayward, I’m sorry,’ Abbie said. ‘As I said, I fell asleep again. I didn’t mean to, but I was very tired and – well – it just happened.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, how are you feeling now? Is there something I can do for you?’
‘I had a dreadful night,’ Mrs Hayward said. ‘My heart was fluttering and pounding so. I was in a dreadful state. I felt sure I was going to have a heart attack. God knows the last thing I wanted to do was disturb you from your sleep, but I just didn’t feel I had anyone else to turn to.’
Unimpressed, Abbie said, ‘Would you like me to send for the doctor?’
‘No, I would not like you to send for the doctor. I’m better. All I really need now is someone I can rely on. Somehow, though, I have the feeling it’s not you – certainly not by the way you stand there with that rather cold expression on your face.’
‘Mrs Hayward,’ Abbie said, ‘I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what you want of me.’
‘A little sympathy wouldn’t come amiss. A little sympathy and understanding.’ A pause. ‘I wanted to see you.’
‘Yes, I know. But after Esther came and –’
‘I’m not talking about when Esther came to wake you; I’m talking about a much earlier time than that.’
‘Earlier? I don’t understand.’
‘Of course you don’t understand. Half past one this morning – that’s the time I’m talking about. I was ill and I wanted someone. I needed someone. I came and tapped on your door, but got no answer. When I opened the door I found your room empty and your bed not slept in.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid I was a little late getting in last night.’
‘A little late?’ Mrs Hayward’s eyes widened in mock surprise. ‘A little late? You were gadding about at half past one in the morning and you say you were a little late? Dear God.’ She gave an incredulous shake of her head. ‘I won’t ask what you were up to at such a time.’
Stung, Abbie retorted sharply, ‘What I was up to, Mrs Hayward, is none of your business. And furthermore I resent the implication of your words.’
Mrs Hayward put a hand to her breast. ‘So you resent my implication, do you? And what, pray, am I implying?’
Abbie waved the subject away. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, but it does matter,’ said the other. ‘What do you think I’m implying?’ She paused. ‘Well, if the cap fits, my dear . . .’
‘Mrs Hayward,’ Abbie said angrily, ‘if you –’
‘Enough!’ Mrs Hayward raised a hand, palm out. ‘I’ve never heard such insolence from an employee in all my life, and I’m not going to lie here and listen to any more of it. I think you’d better go back to your room. And while you’re there perhaps you’d do well to reflect on your position. For I’m certainly not going to employ someone who is insolent and impertinent, and who doesn’t know her place. When you’ve had a chance to think things over perhaps you’ll see your way to coming to me with your apology.’
‘Mrs Hayward,’ Abbie said, measuring her words, ‘it’s quite obvious that the two of us can no longer remain under the same roof. Therefore, rather than you use your energies to rant and rave at me, I suggest you put them to use in finding a new governess for your children.’
Mrs Hayward’s mouth fell open. Then, quickly composing herself she said, ‘You mean – you’re quitting your post?’
‘I mean exactly that. And I might also remind you that I was employed as a governess to your two little girls, not as a nursemaid to their mother.’
Mrs Hayward drew herself up in the bed. ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’
‘I do dare. With Florence and Mabel away I’m supposed to be on holiday. But if it were up to you I’d have very little time to myself. Look how you were the day before yesterday when we went shopping. You knew I had to get back to meet Dr Randolph, but you took all the time you could. And I know quite well that you were spying on me the night I got back from the theatre. When I opened the library door and saw you sitting there you were only pretending to be asleep. You were waiting for me to get back, weren’t you? And that’s why you went to my room this morning, too. It wasn’t because you wanted my help. Not a bit of it. You merely wanted to – to catch me out, as it were.’ She gave a contemptuous shake of her head. ‘And did you think that having done so you would now find me all guilt and contrition? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, for I feel neither.’
Mrs Hayward opened her mouth to speak but Abbie went on, raising her voice, overriding her, ‘Why should you be so concerned about what I do in my own time? Why? Did you envy me going out, enjoying myself? Good heavens, it’s a rare thing for me in this house. When I’m not looking after Florence and Mabel I just seem to be at your beck and call. Well, it’s finished now. And as regards my staying out late, all you need to know is that I wasn’t bringing any kind of disgrace on your own good name. That you can be assured of. And that being understood, the rest is no concern of yours whatever.’
‘I’ve never been spoken to in this manner in all my life,’ Mrs Hayward said, her chin quivering.
‘Well, more’s the pity,’ Abbie said. ‘Because I’m sure it must be long overdue. I could say a lot of other things, but I think perhaps I’ve said enough. And now I’ll be going.’
As Abbie turned away Mrs Hayward said, ‘If you leave now you mustn’t think I’m going to pay you.’
Abbie turned back to face her. ‘I don’t care. It’s enough for me that I’m leaving your employment.’
‘Without references?’ said the other with a note of triumph in her voice. ‘Surely you don’t think I shall be giving you any kind of reference, do you? If so, you’ll wait till apples grow on pear trees.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking. And I’ll manage without them.’ With her words Abbie strode from the room.
Inside her own room she closed the door and stood leaning against it. Her heart was thumping so hard, while her knees felt weak, and as she pressed her hands together she realized that her palms were damp with perspiration. Outwardly she had been very brave with Mrs Hayward, yet inwardly it was a different story. For a moment she almost felt that she might cry, and she choked back the threatening tears; this was no time to give way; it was a time for action. She had just talked herself out of a job, had in effect talked herself out onto the street – and without references.
She sank down on her unmade bed and remained there in deep thought for some moments. Then, with a look of resolve, she got up and reached for her boots. Two minutes later she had left the house and was hurrying up the hill.
The dew was still on the grass as she crossed the common by the footpath – the path she and Louis had taken so leisurely in the small hours of that morning. Leaving the common, she hurried up the street that took her onto Streatham High Road and eventually, close by Streatham Hill railway station, to the Regency Hotel. Please, she prayed, let me be in time.
There was a hackney cab outside the hotel, and as she entered the vestibule she saw Louis standing at the desk. At the sound of her footsteps he turned.
‘Abbie!’ His expression was half-smile, half-frown. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh – Louis . . .’ She was so out of breath she could hardly speak.
He moved to her side. ‘Abbie, are you all right?’
‘Yes. Yes, I am – now.’ Her words came out in bursts. She gave a gasping little laugh. ‘I had to catch you before – before you left. I was so afraid I would be too late.’
‘Oh, Abbie. Sit
down, do – before you fall down.’ He led her to a velvet-covered sofa at one side of the vestibule. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes – absolutely.’
‘Is there anything you want? Can I get someone to bring you something?’
‘No, I’m all right.’ She gestured towards the desk. ‘You finish your business. I’ll sit here for a minute.’
‘I’m just paying my bill. I shan’t be a moment.’
She sat getting her breath back while Louis attended to his business at the desk. Turning her head, she caught sight of herself in a long mirror that hung nearby. The strings of her bonnet had come untied and her hair was coming down. What a sight she was, she thought. As she retied her bonnet strings Louis came back to her side. ‘You just got here in time,’ he said as he sat down next to her. ‘That’s my cab waiting at the door.’ He frowned, looking intensely into her eyes. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes – apart from looking an absolute fright. I just got a look at myself in the glass. Not a pleasant sight first thing in the morning.’
He smiled. ‘You’d be a pleasant sight for me at any time.’ He paused, still eyeing her intently. ‘Well, tell me – what is this all about?’
‘Oh, Louis . . .’ She looked away from him. ‘You’ll think I’m mad – appearing out of the blue like this.’
‘I couldn’t ask for a nicer vision.’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘Of course I mean it. Abbie, what is this all about? Are you in trouble of some kind?’
‘No, but – oh, can you spare a few minutes before you leave for the station? I have to talk to you . . .’
He nodded, looked at his watch, then got up, raised a hand to the porter and said, ‘Please – will you go and tell my cab driver that I’ll be out in five minutes? Thank you.’ With that he took Abbie’s hand and led her into the lounge. There was no one else present and they sat facing one another on a soft, overstuffed sofa.