To Catch a Dream

by Mary Wood

  An overwhelming urge took him to be with Dvina. He called into his dressing room on the way to her bedroom and refreshed his face. Going through the connecting door, he saw that she was still asleep. Taking great care not to make a sound, he tiptoed over to the door, turned the key, then slipped off his clothes and climbed in next to her. It seemed as if, even in sleep, she knew he needed the comfort of her soft body as she snuggled up to him. The feel of her reawakened his earlier ardour. He pressed close to her, enjoying the feeling of his need taking hold of him. Dvina stirred, and in a sleepy voice said, ‘My naughty man, this is not what I meant when I asked you to come to me. And it’s not chocolate you have brought to me, is it?’

  ‘Sorry, darling, but now you will have to punish me, won’t you?’

  She laughed, and it bordered on the horsey sound that still irritated him, but he didn’t mind. Better that than her tears. He couldn’t bear her to be unhappy. He knew, of course, that she would be, very much so, over the next weeks and months, but they would still have these moments – when he could do something about her misery, when he could love her so intensely that she forgot everything, for a short time at least.

  A huge, satisfied sigh told him Dvina had enjoyed, needed and wanted the marathon love-making session they had just indulged in. ‘I take it you can cope better now, darling?’

  ‘Yes, just a little. That was wonderful. The best yet.’

  ‘Ha, you always say that, but I’m glad it helped. It certainly helped me.’

  ‘Oh, Andrew, I’m sorry. Those were wonderful feelings you just gave me – and I did forget during it – but it is back with me now. I am so going to miss Daddy.’

  ‘I know, and you must cry whenever you need to, and come to me for comfort. I’ll always be there for you.’

  ‘And will your means of comfort be like you have just demonstrated? If so, I may come to you more often than you would like.’

  Her giggle warmed him, and he wondered if she could manage to talk about the all-important things on his mind. ‘Have you given thought to the future, darling? The mine and Hartington House?’

  ‘I haven’t, but I suppose I must. I am the sole heir, so we have a lot more responsibility. Of course, the mine and its future will be down to you, my love.’

  ‘And the house and land? They are much bigger than we have here. Would you want to move into it? Only . . . well, I’m worried about the distance from Hensal Grange Mine.’

  ‘No, no, I couldn’t go back. Too many memories. Mummy dying so slowly, and now Daddy taken from me without goodbyes . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘And, you know, I didn’t have a happy childhood there: no friends or family of my own age. I only really had the animals – the horses in particular – and the servants for company.’

  ‘Oh dear, that makes me feel sad. But you are happy now?’

  ‘Very, you know that. Anyway, I think we should sell Hartington. It would give us an amazing amount of capital, and I guess you will want to go ahead with the plans to merge the mines?’

  ‘Yes.’ He told her the problems he envisaged and, as he expected, she put forward solutions.

  ‘There are a few mines struggling and laying off men, don’t forget, so we could pick up the skilled labour from those now unemployed, or facing that prospect. We’d need to advertise in the local papers in Sheffield, Leeds and the Midlands for that. Then there is always Ireland again: the Irish have a little community of their own in Breckton, so they would know of family and friends who would jump at coming over for a job. That would solve the problem of the unskilled labour you might need.’

  ‘Nothing seems much of a problem when I discuss it with you, my darling. You are such a support, but . . . well, there is something else. Do you feel strong enough to take in what might be more bad news?’

  ‘Oh, Andrew, what is it? Please don’t say Jeremy . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. It isn’t as if there’s been any definite news, but . . .’ He told her about the letter.

  ‘Oh no, poor Jeremy. And poor Uncle Edgar. How will he cope?’

  ‘I don’t think he will. He has looked very frail lately.’

  ‘Well, nothing is certain; not like my darling daddy. Can we talk about that for a while? There are a lot of arrangements to make – an announcement, a funeral – and it won’t let up as we get into sorting out the house and the business.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. I am planning on meeting up with Guy tomorrow.’ Guilt wormed into him, as he knew how his meetings with Guy always ended. And after what he’d just had with Dvina, he felt surprised that the prospect still excited him.

  ‘Couldn’t Guy come here? I . . . I mean . . . well, I don’t want to be alone . . . not to dine alone.’

  Good God, did she know? No, of course not. Dvina had no side to her: she said what she meant, and it was natural that she wouldn’t want to be alone, but . . .

  ‘That wouldn’t solve a lot of the things I have to do, darling. I have to go to the solicitor and the bank. Then I need to meet with the undertaker and the vicar, besides arranging the opening and cleaning of your family vault, and I need to see to the announcement in the paper. I thought to do all that before I met Guy. He will be very useful in the selling of Hartington.’ I’m going on too much, if she suspected anything . . . ‘Look, why don’t we ride over to Agatha’s and get her to come over to be with you. I shall never know why you two get on so well. You are the first person I have ever met to actually like my sister.’

  ‘No! I mean – I’ll be all right. Agatha says things. She makes me think that you . . .’

  Damn and blast that bitch of a sister of mine!

  Andrew’s shock at what she’d said must have registered on his face, because Dvina, seeming to misread the reason for it, stammered out an apology. ‘I . . . I’m sorry, my darling, please don’t think I ever doubted you. It’s . . . it’s just – well, at this time when I am so vulnerable, I can’t take listening to her innuendos. Usually I can brush them off, but . . .’

  Her arm had come around him and the remorse in her voice, though it soothed his fear, only served to compound his guilt. ‘I never thought that for a moment, my dear, but I am so angry. That blasted sister of mine – how dare she? She is so riddled with jealousy over our happiness, because she thought I would wallow in misery. She hates it that I do not.’

  ‘Did you think you would wallow in misery being married to me?’

  ‘I was very apprehensive, as you must have been.’

  ‘Yes, but you were a catch and I had always had secret feelings for you. I was, and am, a plain-Jane, frumpy, horsey . . . Oh, I know what everyone says about me, and the pitying looks they give you. After all, I cannot even give you an heir. And they must think, poor you, for having to do your duty with me, to try to produce one.’

  ‘Dvina! My darling, how can you think that?’

  His heart sank into a miserable pit of guilt. He knew what she said was true. He’d had to defend her against snide remarks on many an occasion, but he hadn’t helped things with his visits to Lilly . . . Oh, God! I feel so wretched. Why can’t others see her inner beauty and my happiness with her? And why do I still need to visit Lilly, which only fuels their assumptions?

  ‘Dvina, my darling, I love you beyond anything. You are my soulmate, my life, but . . . well, maybe I have kept that to myself too much, instead of celebrating it openly. I don’t know why. It was just something we knew we had, but from now on others will know, too. I will no longer allow them to speculate about whether I want to be with you. I will shout it from the rooftops. Once our mourning period is over, we will entertain more, socialize more. People will see our happiness at the dinner parties we will throw, and we will attend their functions. They will see the beauty in you that I see.’

  ‘Really, you mean it? Oh, darling!’

  The relief he felt in her hug jarred him even more. He’d insulted her by keeping their relationship so private. My God, he had a lot to answer for – and after all she had give
n him. But then she had never once complained about their lack of a social life; she had seemed happy to just have him.

  Of all the pig-headed thoughts! For almost five years I’ve kept her hidden away, enjoying all she had to offer, but afraid of what others would think of me for doing so. And the Lilly thing – that was part of it, I know that now. All part of me trying to show my friends I am still the man they thought I was. Well, they would bloody well learn that a man needed no more than what Dvina could offer. There was no more – nothing that could compare. And to think I’ve put myself in danger of losing it!

  He held her tightly. The stinging tears that had threatened him so often of late brimmed over. Sobs racked him. If Dvina guessed why, she didn’t say; she just held him and spoke soothing words.

  ‘It’s all right, darling. I know how you feel about me, but I do want the world to know. I don’t want to feel you are ashamed of me, but because of the happiness you have brought to me, I haven’t minded, really. If this means, though, that we can go out together to other than family functions and let others see our happiness, then you have just completed my world.’

  ‘What can I say? I feel so ashamed. So ashamed . . .’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything. It is over. We can go forward, like you say, after the mourning period. Not that my mourning of Daddy will cease when the official mourning period does. It will always be with me. He was very special.’

  ‘He was. I was very fond of him.’

  ‘You know, he knew where my heart lay, and when he saw a chance – with Uncle Edgar marrying your mother – he moved Heaven and Earth to get you for me. He did that with everything I ever wanted. It was his way of trying to make it up to me for not having given me any good features, to enhance my chances as a woman. Or so my aunt – his sister – told me. She was very like Agatha.’

  ‘But, he did, darling. He gave you your kindness, your understanding and the inner beauty that shines through your lovely grinning smile, which lights up the world.’

  ‘Oh, yes, and what about my horsey laugh?’ She bellowed it out at that moment, and he couldn’t help but laugh with her. He knew it to be a healing laughter, giving closure to the selfish way he had run his marriage. At least at this moment he thought it had. But can I really live without my visits to Lilly . . . ?

  16

  Bridie and Will

  Sheffield, 1880

  Love cannot be denied

  ‘Well, young Will Hadler! We’ve never had the pleasure of your company in the bar afore, lad. What’s brought you in of a sudden?’

  ‘He’s having his first jug of ale and looking for his first dip, if you ask me owt, Alec,’ Brian Higgins said. The men in the pub, most of them pit workers, laughed.

  They’d not be for taking into account the blushes of Will, Bridie thought as she handed the jug of ale she’d drawn to Brian Higgins. Her stomach turned over as he brushed her hand with his. She looked around. Hadn’t she the measure of every one of them, and not one of them worth the tuppence they paid her to lie with them. Not that Bruiser had been for asking her to prostitute herself so often, since she’d been after bringing in extra from this job.

  It had been for starting out well in the beginning, so it had. Bruiser had not been able to stand the thought of others having her, and she’d found some happiness with him. Beth had moved into the vacant room and had taken to the life Agnes led as if she were born to it. Bridie had never understood why at the time, and was for understanding even less since she’d been forced into prostitution herself.

  It was the gambling that had been for taking Bruiser over, and as he’d needed more and more money to fund his habit, and other pimps had moved in on his ‘girls’, he’d put Bridie out to earn. She’d stood up to him at first, but as his desperation set in, he began to knock her about until she gave in and did his bidding.

  In the end she was lying with others he knew nothing of, for wasn’t she needing more than a drop of gin to get her through the day?

  The saving of her had come when Bruiser’s debt took his house, as she’d taken her chance and moved into a room in the same house Agnes and Beth now lived in. And they were for giving her some protection. Not that she’d escaped Bruiser, for he visited most days and had a control over her that no one dared interfere with.

  ‘Haven’t you dipped it yet, then?’ Alec Green, ‘the fumbler’, asked of Will.

  Bridie had a name in her mind for each of them. To listen to the accounts of Alec, folk thought of him as a good fellow – a church-going man who exercised moderation in all things – but Bridie knew a different truth. Alec had never lain with her, but hadn’t he been after letting his fingers have the feel of her whenever he thought he’d get away with it? And his eyes told of his sinful thoughts.

  ‘How old are you now, Will? You must be well over supping age, and this your first visit! Now, that’s no way for me to get rich, lad.’ This from Bob, the landlord of the pub, caused another burst of laughter.

  ‘I’m going on twenty-four, and by my reckoning that’s old enough for everything as is said I’m in here looking for.’

  ‘Aye, and he ain’t no innocent, either. You’re all forgetting Florrie Makepiece and her mysterious disappearance.’

  The bar fell silent, and the atmosphere thickened. Bridie had heard of Florrie. Her mother had died not long since, and it was said as she never knew where it was her daughter had gone. Not that she seemed to care, for wasn’t she always calling the girl every name she could think of? Bridie had often thought Florrie was better away out of it.

  Will turned to face what now looked to Bridie like a lynch mob. He stood tall, but she could see he struggled to hold onto his pride. ‘It’s time for an end to that tale. You’ve always thought – all of you – as I fathered Florrie’s child. Well, I didn’t, but just as you sit now as me judge and jury, so you did then, when me life were turned upside down with the losing of me da. I couldn’t speak out for meself then, as you’d have turned that on me an’ all. Well, I can tell you, now that Florrie’s ma has gone and there’s no need for me to fear for Florrie any more . . .’

  Bridie couldn’t believe her ears, as Will went on to tell how he’d helped Florrie escape to become housekeeper, and now wife, to his uncle. ‘She’s very happy. They have a large family and are well off, and best thing is, none of you has been able to take advantage of her.’ Bridie watched him look around at the silent, staring faces, before continuing, ‘Cos I’ll tell you all sommat for nowt: she stood no chance amongst you; nor did she with that mother of hers. So let that be an end to your speculation and tales about me and her.’

  Derek Hardacre, the man who had brought up the subject, stood up. ‘Well then, I reckon as the truth’s out at last, though it might never be known who put her in the family way. But, lad, as I’ve been one of them as condemned you, you should let me stand you a drink. Give me a chance to make amends.’

  ‘I’ll not say no, though I can’t say as your gossip has bothered me this good while. I’ve always been a man with a clear conscience, and that is something few of you can say.’

  ‘You’re reet there, lad. Here, fill a jug for him, Bridie, and stop catching flies.’

  Bridie laughed with everyone else at this. She didn’t like to be the brunt of their jokes, but was glad to see the moment pass and the atmosphere lift. Will had done well to stand up for himself.

  She caught his eye. He had a lovely smile on his face; the same one she had etched into her memory. Then, and now, it held an extra feeling, which was smouldering his eyes when he looked at her. She didn’t like to think of the first time she’d seen it, locked as it was into everything she wanted to forget about the happenings of nearly five years ago, but hadn’t she bumped into him this morning after all these years of living in the same area? And didn’t his smile start up the same feeling inside her?

  He’d knocked her and her shopping flying almost to kingdom come in the market place earlier in the day. She’d bought some onions and had j
ust ordered some black-eyed peas for Maureen, the landlady of the pub, when Will had come round the corner. The collision had caused her to drop the onions, and she’d found herself saved from falling by his strong hands and mesmerized by his eyes. Memory had stung her. And the time she had wanted to forget – her pappy’s and Seamus’s betrayal of her – had catapulted into her heart, igniting her temper. She’d been about to bring the wrath of God himself down on Will, but he hadn’t given her time to.

  ‘I’m sorry, lass, I didn’t see you. Me head’s all over the place. I were looking for something for me ma’s birthday, and I’m undecided. I’m at odds with shopping as it is. Here, let me help you,’ he’d said.

  ‘To be sure you were after giving me a right shove.’

  This had prompted the smile. And with it a kindling of something inside of her that she had never thought she would feel for any man again.

  ‘You’re a colleen! Even if you hadn’t have spoken, I’d have known. You have lovely eyes, and your hair . . . it’s like – well, thou knows: burning embers or sommat.’ He’d blushed at his own words, and in his attempt to hide his discomfort had bent down to retrieve her purchases. She’d known he wasn’t for giving her a touch of the blarney.

  She’d marked him as a pit worker. The tinge of him that she hadn’t been able to recognize when they had first met five years ago she now knew came from coal dust. How often that smell had repulsed the insides of her since! But that repulsion hadn’t entered her when she had first met Will, and didn’t now as she caught the faint whiff of it on him, this second time of their meeting.