by Bell, Julia
“On a Sunday?” she said, frowning. “You’re working so hard. Don’t tire yourself out. You’ll make yourself ill.”
“I’m perfectly all right and the more pupils I have the more money I’ll earn.”
“I’ll have to tell Gwilym that you won’t be joining us for luncheon.”
Guilt swept through me. “Give him my love and tell him I’ll see him next week.”
“You know what he’ll say?”
“What’s that?”
“That you have a secret lover.”
A lump came into my throat and I tried to swallow. “Nanette Asquith! How dare you suggest such a thing? My brother would never think I have a secret lover.”
“Perhaps not, but I’m starting to think it,” she laughed.
I felt uncomfortable after that and wanted the whole business finished with. I wondered what would happen if I didn’t fall pregnant. Would we have to go through it all again? Somehow I thought not. I couldn’t imagine Karl’s wife agreeing to that.
The following day the weather changed and I awoke that Monday morning on the first day of October to torrential rain beating against the windowpane. It was dismal outside, the dark clouds stretching over the city and seeming to go on endlessly. As the sun rose, it was obvious we would see little of it. I hurried to my first lesson with my winter coat wrapped snugly round me and my umbrella held firmly over my head. It was such a shame, since October could be a lovely month when the golden leaves fluttered down from the trees. But everything was depressing, the leaves that were already on the ground, turning to dirty mush under my feet.
I left my lesson and travelled into the city. It would be Gwilym’s birthday at the end of the month and I wanted to buy him something special, my mind settling on a good stethoscope. That’s if I could afford one. He had only twelve months left of his training and a phenomenal gift would show how proud I was of him.
The shop was filled with glass display cabinets, all showing the glinting instruments needed for the medical profession. The assistant was very helpful and placed a sample of stethoscopes on the counter in front of me. I shuddered at the price tags.
“Is it for someone special?” he asked, his small, blue eyes watching me curiously.
I nodded. “My brother.” I picked up an instrument and examined it.
“In my experience, a really good stethoscope is the best one to buy.” He adjusted his tie and smiled. “It takes a long time for a doctor to learn how to recognise the sounds of the body and once he does, he usually likes to use the same instrument. I’ve known the most prestigious doctors in Harley Street still using the stethoscopes they had as students.”
I bit my lip. “What would you recommend?”
He smiled again and brought another instrument out of the cabinet. “This is a Galante stethoscope, new on the market just this year and the very best. It’s expensive but your brother will be using this in twenty…no thirty years’ time, I guarantee it.”
It didn’t look any different from the others, so I had to take his word for it.
“How much?”
“Eight guineas.”
I tried not to look too shocked. Suddenly, I remembered that I would be receiving twelve hundred pounds very shortly and looked at the stethoscope sitting proudly on the counter. What would happen if I dipped into my savings for it? It would make quite a dent, but surely that wouldn’t matter. I longed to see Gwilym’s face when he opened his gift. I debated with myself. I had had no trouble conceiving Danny. This baby would be just as easy. I had nothing to worry about.
I hurried to the bank and drew out what I needed and then ran back to the shop to purchase the much-desired medical equipment. The assistant placed it in its box and wrapped it carefully while I eagerly told him about my adored brother and how hard he had worked all these years. He nodded and smiled and I realised he must have heard a similar story a million times before.
When I came out of the shop, the rain was relentless. I had over an hour before my next lesson so I crossed Trafalgar Square to the National Art Gallery, shaking my umbrella vigorously before I went through the massive oak and steel doors. The man at the desk gave me a pamphlet and I flicked through it. There didn’t seem to be many visitors in the large building and my footsteps echoed mournfully through the empty rooms.
I wandered slowly round the paintings and portraits, studying each one. And then I came to a huge canvas and my heart nearly leapt out of my chest. It depicted the scene at a pit-head after a disaster, when a rescue was in progress. I glanced round the gallery and saw that two rows of chairs had been placed back-to-back in the middle of the room and I made myself comfortable. I scrutinised the painting. It was a bleak portrayal but so accurate. I could see the grime of the area, the large wheel, the wheelhouse and the buildings associated with a mine. A large group of figures surrounded the pit-head, the faces of the women pensive and strained, one girl clinging onto another, her hand over her mouth in horror. The men looked determined as they stood outside the lift, waiting to enter and be taken down to see what they could do. Their Davy lamps seemed to be the only bright part of the painting, small pinpoints of light in an otherwise dark and gloomy canvas.
“Which painting do you prefer, then?” His voice from behind me made me start.
I turned my head and gasped with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “It’s a public building.”
“Have you been following me?”
“I saw you running into the gallery and decided I would like to get out of the rain too.”
“I don’t think we should be talking. Aren’t you worried about your reputation.”
I knew he was smiling. “I’ve met a lovely young lady in the art gallery and I’m discussing the merits of the paintings on display. Now what’s the problem with that?”
“I think you’re breaking the rules.”
“Rules are meant to be broken.” To my utter amazement he stood and walked round to sit next to me. He was dressed in a warm coat and carried his hat and gloves in his hand. And then I remembered my wedding ring. I quickly glanced down and realised I still had my gloves on. I breathed a sigh of relief and my gaze swept round the gallery. We were quite alone. “What have you got there?” he asked, indicating the brown parcel on my lap.
“Just a birthday gift.”
“For whom?”
I smiled mischievously. “Can’t say.”
“Well, it can’t be for me. My birthday’s not until…So, what are you looking at?”
“This one,” I said, gesturing to the large canvas in front of us.
I watched his face as he studied it. His blue-green eyes became darker and the muscles in his jaw tensed.
“Ah, I see,” he nodded. “You must find this very harrowing?”
I sighed. “Yes, but it’s so accurate.”
He turned to look at me. “The people working in such conditions must be incredibly brave.”
“And all to bring the coal from the bowels of the earth so that we can throw it on a fire,” I murmured.
“It keeps the wheels of industry turning. What would we do without steam.” I knew he wasn’t expecting an answer so I remained silent. After a short pause he said, “The men that go down for the rescue. Do they volunteer?”
“Oh, yes and there’s never a shortage of volunteers. They will sacrifice their lives in the attempt to dig out any trapped men.” I paused and then added, “That’s if they’re able.”
“And of course they’re not always able?”
“They do their very best under the most awful conditions. Methane gas, flooding, the terror of another rock fall. I can’t imagine what it must have been like when women and small children worked down the pit, but it must have been dreadful. Especially for the children. Even today, they still come across old roadways with skeletons entombed.”
Karl shook his head and sucked in a breath. “Dear Lord, I had no idea.” He unbuttoned his overcoat revealing his suit and wai
stcoat beneath.
I noticed his business-like clothes, of such good quality and obviously expensive. It came into my mind that he might be a Member of Parliament. He said he knew the prime minister, the Marquess of Salisbury. Goodness me, I thought, what a scandal it would cause if anyone found out what we were doing. It would not only ruin his reputation but also destroy his career. He was taking an awful risk for the love of his wife. I had to admire him for it.
I looked back at the painting and decided to test him. “If you were a Member of Parliament, you could visit the mining areas and perhaps help them. Propose better working conditions and housing and the like.”
He gave me a quizzical look. “That would be an excellent thing to do. Perhaps you ought to write to your Member of Parliament and suggest it.”
“I haven’t got the vote.”
“Not yet. But it will come in time.”
“Do you think so.”
“I’m sure so.” His attention turned back to the painting. “Does that depict an actual disaster?”
I had already read the inscription. “Yes, the mining disaster of 1860 in Waunfawr near Risca. The Blackvein Colliery when a hundred and forty-six men and boys were killed.”
We sat in silence. He seemed to be absorbing this information. “It must have been like this when your father was killed,” he said softly.
I didn’t know if he was asking a question or just saying his thoughts out loud.
“Yes, It was just like this. Exactly the same scene. I know what those women are going through.”
“You waited at the pit-head?”
“I helped prepare the bandages while the other women made hot drinks and food.”
“You all worked together?”
“That’s the way it is. We find strength in sharing our sorrows.” My mind drifted with my memories. “I started singing a carol,” I said quietly. “Can’t remember which one now, but everyone joined in. Even the rescuers who had come up for a rest. I thought that singing a Christmas song would make everything all right.”
He reached across to me and I knew he was going to take my hand. But then a couple strolled into the gallery and he pulled away.
“My poor, brave girl. What a dreadful thing to go through,” he whispered.
“It was the worst day of my life.”
“And then you lost your father,” he murmured.
I nodded. “Nine men were trapped and they pulled seven out.”
He shook his head. “Two men lost,” he said sadly and frowned. “The other man. Was it the mineralogist that worked for your father?” I remained silent. “Was he married?”
“Yes,” I said in a voice that sounded gritty.
“Did he have children?”
“His wife was expecting their first child.”
He passed his hand over his face. “How dreadful for her. She must have…”
I couldn’t bear any more. “I must go. I don’t want to be late for my next lesson.”
I jumped to my feet and he stood also. He took my hand and kissed it. “It’s been very pleasant talking with you,” he said. I turned my head away, but only because I didn’t want him to see the tears that glistened in my eyes. “I shall see you on Wednesday.”
“Yes, until Wednesday,” I mumbled.
I ran all the way to the omnibus.
CHAPTER NINE
It continued to rain for the next two days and I travelled to Gibson Place with the abysmal weather mirroring my heavy heart. My experience in the art gallery had unnerved me. Perhaps it was seeing the painting and all the memories it raised? Not that it took much to make the memories come flooding back. It was less than two years since it had all happened and my emotions were still extremely raw. Perhaps it was Karl’s questioning that had alarmed me? I had had to go from being Mrs Asquith to Miss Pritchard without preparing myself. But then I recognised the reason behind my depression and it hit me like a bolt of lightening, causing me to gasp in shock.
The truth was I had enjoyed sitting next to him in the art gallery like a conventional, married couple. When we had talked of the mining disaster, I had wanted him to take my hand, yearned for the comfort of his touch. Instead, he had sat inches away from me and I could smell the faint aroma of his damp woollen coat, mixed with the scent of white musk, the cologne he wore after he had shaved. That much I had learnt about him.
When I stepped into the parlour and saw him waiting for me, I longed to run across the room and into his arms. I wanted to be kissed and caressed and not just when we were in bed, but in the everyday way that happens when a couple are together. But I couldn’t do that. Instead, I greeted him as usual and he kissed my hand politely. We chatted as we always did and then Mrs Holland called us into the dining room for our luncheon. The conversation continued during the meal and as was the routine I left him to go upstairs.
He followed me a short time later and when he came into the room, I noticed he didn’t have a brandy glass in his hand. It seemed that he no longer needed to bring any ‘Dutch courage’ into the bedroom and I felt grateful for that. We were getting used to each other. We talked while I brushed my hair, just like we always did and then I stood and made my way over to the bed. I wasn’t prepared for his next action. He quickly rose from the armchair and reached out, pulling me into his arms and kissing my face, my lips, my throat.
I cried out in surprise. “You don’t usually do that,” I laughed.
“I’ve been longing for you ever since…” he started but then stopped abruptly, gritting his teeth.
I pulled back and stared at him. His eyes were half-closed and he was breathing rapidly. I slowly reached up and put my arms round his neck. His embrace tightened and he gave a moan. His mouth covered mine and I could almost taste his hunger. And then he picked me up and carried me towards the bed, laying me gently on the quilt. I noticed his hands were shaking as he started pulling off his clothes and I reached up to help him undress. I had never done that before, but it seemed such a natural thing to do. And then we slipped between the satin sheets.
His kisses became more demanding and I began to respond, wrapping my arms and legs round him. I felt myself trembling.
“Karl, I don’t understand,” I gasped.
“Take off your nightgown,” he said into my hair.
“No!”
“Take off your nightgown!”
I put my hands on his chest. “I mustn’t. I’m sure it’s breaking the rules.”
“Rules are meant to be broken,” he said.
What could I do? I slipped the nightgown from my shoulders and he helped me. And then we were naked together and kissing and caressing and touching as though nothing else mattered. My passion matched his and when he thrust himself inside me, I moved with him. This time I didn’t hide my cries of pleasure. I didn’t care if Mrs Holland heard me. The sensations began to heighten, slowly building into an exhilarating peak. He lifted himself and held my hands down on the pillow, linking our fingers, pushing me vigorously into the mattress. And when the warm surge flooded through me, I arched my back and lost control completely, writhing with the pleasure that took me over utterly. He gave a shout and his body jerked three or four times before he came to a shuddering stop. I put my arms round him and his back was damp with perspiration. We lay still.
It was then I began to feel embarrassed. I rolled over onto my side away from him and pulled my legs up.
He lay quietly trying to control his breathing, but then he turned towards me and put his arms round me. “What’s wrong?” he said into my hair.
“Nothing,” I muttered.
“Oh, yes, there is. I know when I’m getting the cold shoulder.”
“It’s just that…I feel so ashamed.” Tears began to trickle onto the pillow.
“Why do you feel ashamed,” he asked softly.
“Because I’m not here to be…”
“Pleasured?”
“For want of a better word, yes,” I sobbed.
He moved my hair
away from my neck and brushed his lips against my skin. “But making a baby is a special time for a man and woman. Shouldn’t it be just as enjoyable for you as it is for me?”
“Perhaps if I were your wife. But I’m not and things are different.”
He didn’t answer for a while and I knew that he knew I had spoken the truth.
“I felt you responding the other times, but you were… I want it to be pleasurable for you too.”
Suddenly I felt angry. “I think you’re being very naive. We are not a normal couple and can’t afford the luxury of such feelings. Tonight you’ll sleep with your wife and be a husband to her. And when we are all finished with this, you’ll forget all about me.”
He kissed my shoulder. “I will not be sleeping with my wife tonight.”
I turned to face him. “You’re not?”
He shook his head. “I’m staying at my club.”
“You left your wife at home?”
“Not exactly. She’s…visiting her family for a few weeks.”
I thought this over. “But what do you do on an evening?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mrs Holland told me that you must leave here by four-thirty to get ready for the evening. What do you do on an evening?”
“I stay in the club,” he smiled. “I play cards or billiards, or just sit and chat.”
I buried my face in his shoulder and let out a sob. “Oh, I wish I knew your name and where you come from.”
He put his finger over my lips. “Hush, you know I can’t tell you those things. But one thing I will tell you is my age. I’m thirty-two years old.”
“Not ancient, then,” I said, my laughter mixing with my tears.
“Some days I feel like it,” he laughed with me. He pulled me close and placed a tender kiss on my lips. “And I won’t forget all about you. How could I? You’ve become an important part of my life.”
“Have I?” I whispered.
“Yes, but I don’t want to cause you any more distress. We have one more afternoon together so I think I’d better keep my passions under control and show a little more restraint.”