Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  She smiled wistfully. “Who knows? Perhaps he may be.” She could tell by the bewildered look on the old man’s red face he did not know what she meant.

  They sat down to the feast, and she noted that Dr. Marsh still had a good appetite. At the end of the meal he sat back and said, “I declare I’ve never had a better meal.”

  “John always favored this place.”

  “I know,” Dr. Marsh said. “I was saddened by the thought that his passing meant no more of our gatherings. Let me say it is good to be here with you.”

  “I’m sure John would want us to continue our friendship,” she said.

  “Undoubtedly,” the old man agreed. “John was a fine surgeon. He could have been famous in some city by now, but he chose to hide in that remote village. A decision which cost him his life.”

  “He chose the village,” she said quietly. “Just as he chose me.”

  “And he must have never regretted either choice.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dr. Marsh said, “He was dedicated to his work in Invermere.”

  “He came to think of its people as his children.”

  “Touching.”

  “When we last stood together on the wharf he asked me to look after his people.”

  “Well, you can hardly be expected to do that.”

  “You are wrong,” she said. “I’m going to do it. And I want you to help me.”

  The old man showed astonishment. “May I ask how, dear lady?”

  “I’m a wealthy woman,” she said. “I wish to pay a subsidy each year to a young doctor who will practice in Invermere. I do not wish nor expect one doctor to stay there. I think they should be changed every second year. But I want a doctor recommended by you serving the people of that village.”

  Dr. Stanley Marsh showed excitement. “An excellent plan! I know of one student who will graduate shortly and who would be ideal. Of course I shall cooperate with you, Mrs. Hastings. We will arrange it through the University in a proper, legal fashion.”

  “The cottage and equipment are there for the new doctor,” she said. And just for a moment she thought she saw a smiling John standing just beyond the doctor’s chair.

  Joy knew she would need a new wardrobe for London, so she visited the fashionable Edinburgh shops. Wearisome stage journeys were a thing of the past; she traveled to London in style, on the new steam railway. She even found herself nervous about returning to the great city in which she’d spent much of her life.

  The long years in the small village in the Highlands had made her accustomed to a different way of life. She would have to learn to live in a great city again. She had decided to accept Hilda’s invitation and stay with her and James for the first few days of her return to London. Then, as a dutiful daughter, she would have to go on to Berkeley Square and live with her mother. By that time she hoped to be rested enough to cope with her annoying parent.

  One thing which shadowed her return beyond all else was the knowledge that the vindictive Sir George Nason was there. The fact that he was more dissipated than ever was hardly good news. She knew that he hated her, and denied her a divorce for his own selfish reasons. She worried that he might try to get her to live with him again.

  When the train puffed into the dingy railway terminal in London, the bustling people and the noise combined, and almost put her in a panic. It seemed that everyone in the dark, sooty place had gone mad! The loud shouting of the porters, the cries of frustrated passengers, and the harsh threshing of the railway engines combined to create a frightening atmosphere!

  As a lone figure in fashionable bonnet and bustle, she stood there uncertainly. Then the welcome faces of James and Hilda appeared out of the crowd.

  “Joy, darling!” Hilda cried, rushing to her and hugging her.

  James smiled and waited to kiss her. He said, “Welcome back to London, little sister.”

  “A noisy London,” she laughed ruefully. “What with the whistles and the soot, I think I may prefer the stage coaching days after all. I shall need a porter to bring my trunks from what they call a baggage car.”

  James laughed. “We must keep adapting to progress, you know. There are few stages left except in very rural areas. I’ll find a porter while Hilda escorts you to our carriage.”

  Hilda saw her through the crowded railway station, where all seemed in a state of bewilderment. Out in the street there was a waiting line of carriages.

  Hilda said, “Our carriage is over there.” They walked over to it. It was a warm, sunny day, so they sat in the open carriage under Hilda’s parasol while they waited for James to come with the porter and luggage.

  Hilda studied her. “The Highlands were kind to you. You look wonderfully well. And so fashionably dressed. You did not find that gray taffeta in your village, I warrant!”

  She smiled. “I shopped in Edinburgh. And let me say that motherhood must have agreed with you since you look so lovely.”

  “My bonnet is in the latest style,” Hilda said. “You must try it on when you reach home. The children are wild to meet you! Especially Joy!”

  “And I want to meet them,” she said. “What about mother? Did she raise an unholy cry when you told her I’d be staying with you for a while.”

  Hilda laughed. “She went on something about a serpent’s tooth and an ungrateful child. I paid no attention to her.”

  “The best way to deal with her,” Joy agreed.

  “She is crippled with arthritis and remains mostly in her bedroom.”

  “The house at Berkeley Square is so large. Are most of the help still there?”

  “Those who haven’t died or retired,” Hilda said. “And now I must tell you something. I intended to do it sooner.” She gave her a grave look. “You must prepare yourself for a rather unpleasant shock.”

  “What?”

  “Sir George is dead and buried. You are a widow.”

  CHAPTER 7

  She gasped, “George dead!”

  “James felt I should wait until later to tell you,” Hilda said. “But I didn’t want to keep it from you any longer than I could help.”

  She nodded. “You were right. Better to know it now.” And then as the shock wore off, she asked, “What happened?”

  “He died in that brothel. A scandalous business. He had some sort of spell. They sent for a doctor. He pronounced it a stroke. Sir George died within a few hours.”

  She looked into space. “So it is over!”

  “I know how relieved you must feel.”

  She turned to her friend with a wry look. “Think what it might have meant if he had died a year or two earlier. John and I could have been truly married!”

  “You had a better marriage than most.”

  Joy said bitterly, “I doubt if mother would agree.”

  “Your mother will never win medals for her kindness or understanding,” Hilda said.

  She sighed. “One of the reasons I was putting off my return to London was my fear of what he might do. At least that threat is over.”

  “The entire scandalous business will soon be forgotten,” her sister-in-law said. “In a year or two everyone will have forgotten. Indeed many know nothing about it even now.”

  “Did you attend the funeral?”

  “No. I hear the mourners were largely creditors worrying about their payments.”

  Joy said, “I trust they can make no claim on me.”

  “James says not.”

  At this point her brother arrived with the porter and luggage. After the carriage was loaded, they drove to James’s fine home only a few blocks away from Berkeley Square.

  As they drove through the busy streets, she told James, “I have heard the news from Hilda.”

  “He’s better done with,” James said with a frown.

  “I’m sorry it couldn’t have ended better for him,” she said. “But he seemed to have a gift for self destruction.”

  “You’ll do yourself a service to think no more about him,” her brother
said. “John’s death was an entirely different matter. So tragic.”

  They finally reached the fine Georgian home in which James had installed his family. Joy knew that James had done well, but the elegance of his great mansion was impressive. A governness presented their three children and Joy, the middle child, also had golden hair and blue eyes. The oldest, a boy named after her father, was a replica of James. The youngest was a boisterous little elf, entirely her own self.

  The death of Sir George had left her with no feeling of widowhood, those sentiments were reserved for John Hasting’s drowning. But legally she was free of the marital ties which had bound her to her late husband. She knew she must plan a new life. She could not live in idleness in the house at Berkeley Square. Nor did she wish to return to Invermere with all its memories of her good life with John. She must find something quite different.

  After a pleasant week with James and Hilda and their family, she moved to Berkeley Square. Life there proved as difficult as everyone had warned her. Lady Susan ruled the mansion from her second floor bedroom in tyrannical fashion. Her bad disposition was made worse by her arthritic pains. There was no pleasing her. Joy spent a little time with her in the morning, and again in the evening. For both their sakes, she tried to avoid her the balance of the time.

  It was the only way she could put up with her difficult mother. She attempted to adapt herself to London life, and Hilda was a help. There was also Nancy, her friend from her girlhood, whom she began to see regularly. Nancy was enthusiastic about her work for the poor, and invited Joy to become a member of the committee headed by the Liberal Member of Parliament, Ernest Layton. This charity work had become Nancy’s main interest, now that she and her husband had parted. A nanny looked after her children, so she had plenty of free time.

  On an afternoon in June, Joy made her way to a hall in Albion Street. It was her second time at a meeting of the charity group with Nancy. At the first meeting, the leader, Ernest Layton, had been absent. Today he was to conduct the meeting.

  Joy had not yet completed her plans for the future. She had received good word from Jock and Heather about the new doctor who arrived recently in Invermere. They were both full of praise for the young man, though they still insisted the village continued to miss her and John. Heather was back at her post as nurse, and the new man was being kept busy.

  She mounted a steep flight of stairs leading to the board room donated by a member whose shipping firm owned the building. She nervously entered the big room, and confronted a group of middleaged men and several ladies, one of which was Nancy.

  Nancy, who was still extremely attractive, came to greet her. She wore a brown straw bonnet with yellow flowers, and a brown dress. She told Joy, “We are waiting for Ernest Layton who is supposed to be bringing Charles Dickens along.”

  Joy said, “The Charles Dickens?”

  “Yes.”

  Then Nancy introduced her to the other ladies, mostly elderly, and to the bewhiskered, pompous group of males who were waiting with some impatience. She learned that the object of the society was not only to collect funds for direct distribution to the needy, but to improve general conditions by the passage of laws in Parliament.

  Suddenly there was a hush as the door of the broad room opened, and a handsome man with jet-black hair, sharp blue eyes, and a Byronic face came into the room, accompanied by another good looking man with reddish-brown, curly hair, and sensitive features.

  The first man said, “Good afternoon, friends. I’m sorry to be late. But I went to get Mr. Dickens at his office and had to wait for him.”

  The second man smiled good-naturedly. “I ask forgiveness. I’m in the midst of a new publication venture and it has been a busy day.”

  The dark man, whom she realized was Ernest Layton, gave the group a pleasant nod. Then he took a stout, gray-whiskered man aside for a clearly important discussion.

  Nancy took the opportunity to lead Joy to Charles Dickens and say, “May I present Lady Joy Nason, a staunch admirer of your books.”

  Dickens smiled and bowed to Joy. “May I ask which of my books you like best?”

  “David Copperfield,” she said at once, liking the handsome, kindly man. “But I’m sure you will be writing others that will equally catch my fancy.”

  “You may count on it,” Dickens laughed. “I have a large family to support so I must write to pay the bills. Now I have a magazine which is costing me a good deal. One has to work diligently to pay for one’s pleasures.”

  “Your books give others much pleasure,” she told him. “I read many of them in an isolated village in Scotland and they meant a great deal to me.”

  The conversation ended as Ernest Layton called the meeting to order. Dickens sat at the head of the table next to Layton. Joy found herself seated a distance away, between Nancy and a thin man with a bald head and a mournful, red mustache. The minutes of the meeting were read with difficulty by a small man with, an unfortunate lisp. After that, regular business was discussed. Then Ernest Layton stood to address the meeting. He smiled at Joy, and said, “We are happy today to add a new and titled member to our committee, Lady Joy Nason!”

  There was polite applause from around the table, and she was thrilled that Charles Dickens offered her a special smile. Ernest Layton continued to outline the bills he was attempting to introduce before Parliament, and spoke about the Society’s great need for more funds. He pleaded with those present to give whatever extra donations they could, and asked them to enlist the financial aid of friends. Then he asked Charles Dickens to speak.

  The good looking, clean shaven, young Dickens rose and modestly accepted the applause. Then he launched into a grim description of the poverty which existed in London. He said, “We force these unhappy people to crime by giving them no choice but grinding poverty. We see a man in a coarse frock, cotton handkerchief, and other articles of clothing of the poorest description in prison; and his sentence is banishment or the gallows. Sheer need has led him into the depths of criminal depravity. Now he is faced with a lingering death in prison or the possibility of many years’ duration as a convict in distant Australia! We must make life better for those at the bottom or risk the security we feel so sacred at the top!”

  The speech was given modest applause, and Dickens sat down. Joy approved of all that the novelist had said, but she was forced to wonder whether the stout, bewhiskered men with their cigars, and the overweight matrons in their prim bonnets truly had charity in their hearts.

  Dickens left the meeting soon after his speech, excusing himself on the grounds of urgent business. The meeting came to an end at last, and Ernest Layton came to speak with her. She felt at once his great personal magnetism. He said, “We are glad to have your support, Lady Nason. Another titled name on our stationery will do much good.”

  “I’m not an important person,” she protested.

  He laughed. “Titles are always important. Nancy tells me you have much free time. I hope you may agree to become one of our active workers.”

  Nancy spoke up, “You must convince her, Ernest!”

  She raised a gloved hand. “One moment! What does active work mean?”

  “Nothing too frightening,” he said with his usual charm. “Our workers prepare food and clothing for the poor. And they call on wealthy friends to ask for financial support for our work.”

  “Do the workers have any actual contact with the poor?” Joy asked.

  “No,” he said. “We have a paid staff, lifted from the poor. These people understand how to handle the delivering of food and other gifts.”

  Joy thought this strange. “Wouldn’t it be preferable to have your workers donate their services?”

  Nancy shook her head. “You wouldn’t want to be involved in that. Exposure to disease and filth in the slums! I couldn’t face such things. And I wouldn’t dare risk bringing home a plague to my children.”

  Ernest Layton gave an approving nod. “Nancy has answered your question better than I cou
ld have.”

  “What about services for the ill? Medical aid.”

  The handsome man looked uneasy. “Only on a limited basis. Again this is done by hired women who have experience in nursing and midwifery.”

  Joy was puzzled. She said, “I did actual nursing among the poor in a village in the North of Scotland. I liked knowing the people.”

  “London is another story,” the handsome man assured her. He took out his watch. “I really must be going. I have my carriage and I always see Nancy home. I understand you are living in Berkeley Square. I shall be passing there, may I drop you off?”

  She accepted his offer and after they had taken Nancy to her door, she and the politician had a lively talk about government as they drove on. He was clever and sharp in an argument, but somehow she felt he was a trifle shallow.

  As they drove through the wide avenues of wealth so distant from the poverty with which he was concerned, she challenged him, “Are you really interested in the unfortuante or are you using them as a cause to forward your career in politics?”

  He looked amused. “I should be angry at such a question.”

  “Are you?”

  He said, “I’ll answer you with sincerity. If I were just interested in my own advancement I could espouse many other causes. We are living in an age of great change! Railways, factories, and international affairs are rapidly gaining favor as matters of parliamentary interest. I have chosen the poor.”

  She smiled ruefully. “You seem honest. But I knew someone else who served the poor. And served them without your bombast!”

  “In London one needs bombast to be noticed. I have to make people aware of what I’m trying to accomplish.”

  When they reached her home he saw her down from the carriage, then stood with black tophat in hand and said, “I have much enjoyed meeting you, my lady.”

  “Thank you for the drive home.”

  “If a great lady like yourself would deign to have dinner with a mere member of Parliament I’d like to meet you again.”

  She said, “Call on me. I want to know more about your charity group.”