Helena laughed. ‘I hope you aren’t matchmaking. I know you said he was looking for a wife, but I can hardly imagine a more ill-matched pair!’
Oliver went on to suggest other guests and as soon as the list was complete, rose to return to his study.
Helena watched him leave and thought again how unlike Nicholas he was. They were both tall, but Oliver was broader in the shoulders and there was always that air of arrogance.
Even if she had met Nicholas first, she doubted whether her father would have approved of him as a suitor. Helena had always known of Jacob’s ambition for her to marry well, of his political ambitions, and her marriage had brought with it an entrée into the influential circles he needed. Only yesterday, he had written that he had been adopted as the Liberal Candidate in a forthcoming by-election. Glancing around the drawing room at the plum-coloured silk damask wall covering, the Georgian satinwood tables and Chippendale armchairs, Helena thought how comfortable life was for those who inherited wealth. Yet how would they fare if, like Nicholas, they had to depend on their skill for their livelihood?
Sitting at her escritoire and taking an embossed, cream sheet of vellum, she began to write to Dorothy. She would be pleased to hear that her often-expressed views on politics were beginning to bear fruit. Helena had spent many hours curled up in an armchair in the drawing room at Broadway Manor listening to her friend, and lately much of their conversations seemed to be occupying her mind.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In London, although it was autumn, some days were still warm. Belle refused to let the girls open the windows during working hours, so Cora, exasperated, flung aside the thin cotton sheet.
‘Hang on.’ Johnnie swiftly covered himself. ‘Spare a fellow’s blushes.’
‘It’s a bit late for that.’ Cora turned on her side and studied him. ‘Did you really mean it, what you said a couple of weeks ago?’
‘You mean about setting you up? Of course I did.’
‘I’d need to know all the details, Johnnie. Financial, I mean. I’ve got ter think of me future.’
He leaned over and ran his forefinger over her hip. ‘But you like me enough? We get on well, don’t we, Cora?’
She smiled at him. ‘Yes, I like you more than enough, Johnnie.’ She kept her tone easy and intimate, but beneath her outward calm, Cora’s brain was feverish. Fond as she was of him, she would match her wits against his any day, and if she couldn’t turn his offer to her best advantage then her name wasn’t Cora Bates. ‘So how would it work – this arrangement?’
‘Well, you’d live there all the time, of course, but no other men! I mean if I’m keeping you, then … ‘
She nudged him in the ribs. ‘Don’t be daft. Even a dog doesn’t crap on its own doorstep.’
Johnnie hooted. ‘Now that’s what I call a ladylike expression.’
‘Well, if you’d wanted a lady, you’ve come to the wrong place.’
He leaned over and kissed her plump breast. ‘I want a real woman, someone to have some fun with, not some prim and proper miss.’
Until you need a wife, Cora thought. But it was without bitterness; she had long accepted her place in the social order – not exactly at the bottom, but there were a hell of a lot of rungs above her. ‘So you’d pay the rent, then? And me food and everything?’
‘I’d provide all that. I don’t know how much you earn here?’
With some trepidation, Cora doubled the sum.
Johnnie didn’t even flinch. Instead, he lay back and linked his hands behind his head. ‘How about if I add another couple of guineas?’
She stared at him in growing exhilaration. Could she extract anything further? She trailed her fingers through his chest hair. ‘I’d ’ave to keep the place clean and such.’
‘If you mean will I employ a maid, then the answer’s no, Cora. It’s too risky. And you’re not to tell anyone, either about me, or where you’ll be living. I can’t afford even a whiff of scandal.’
She was quick to reassure him. ‘I’ll be quiet as the grave, honest. But I’ll ’ave to see me friends, Johnnie. I’m not the sort to be a hermit!’
He laughed. ‘I’m not keeping you a prisoner, you daft thing. But meet them away from the area and don’t tell them where you live. I’m sure they’ll understand.’ He nuzzled his head into her neck. ‘So what do you think? Shall I sign the lease?’
Cora glanced around the sparse room, and didn’t hesitate.
‘Yes please, Johnnie. I’ll just ’ave to give Belle time to get another girl in.’
‘That’s what I like about you, Cora. You’re pure gold, through and through.’
She smiled up at him and felt a surge of affection. ‘In that case you won’t mind spending a bit more to stay longer?’ Cora drew him down to her and her expert hand found its target. ‘Every bargain deserves sealing with something special.’
Sybil’s expression was one of dismay, swiftly followed by envy. ‘Well I can’t say I won’t miss you, but you make the most of it, Cora. What’s he like, this Johnnie? I know he’s quite young and not bad looking either cos I caught a glimpse of ’im once when he was waitin’ downstairs.’ She frowned. ‘Mind you, I’d bet a pound to a penny that’s not his real name.’
Cora glanced down at her hands, which were smothered in the cold cream she’d bought off the market. It smelt funny and what with the misspelt cheap label, she suspected it had been made in someone’s scullery. Then she thought of the handkerchief behind the brick with the initials J.F.H. Would Johnnie be stupid enough to use his real name when visiting the brothel? Cora wasn’t sure.
‘Probably not,’ she said, ‘but I don’t give a toss whether it is or not. I like him, he makes me laugh. And he’s a decent bloke. He’ll look after me.’
‘Then I wish you good luck. And where is it – the apartment I mean?’
Cora had been taken aback for a moment when Johnnie had mentioned St John’s Wood. She knew that was where Sybil had lived before her chap dumped her. But there was little chance of it being in the same building or even the same street – that would be too much of a coincidence.
‘I can’t breathe a word, that’s one of his rules.’
‘But if I want to see you …?’
‘We’ll ’ave to meet at a cafe or something.’
‘What, by the market?’
Cora nodded. ‘I’m sure we’ll sort something out. But how does it work, Syb? I mean, how do you know when he’s coming?’
‘You don’t. But it’s nearly always in the evening, so you just ’ave to stay in at nights. It’s not so bad, a bit lonely sometimes, but at least you’ll be warm and well fed.’
‘So I’ll ’ave a bit of time on me hands,’ Cora said. ‘I used to fancy learning to draw, yer know – flowers and things.’
‘Ask this Johnnie to get the stuff you need, you know pencils, paper and such like. It’s best to make the most of the early days, Cora, while he’s keen. Believe me, nothing good lasts in this life.’
And for Cora, the dark-haired girl with her miserable eyes was a constant reminder of the fact.
Molly had already begun to suspect Helena’s condition. The old saying was that in the early stages of pregnancy a woman had a ‘pinched look’. And without doubt Miss Helena had been looking a bit peaky since she returned from her honeymoon. I bet Miss Forrester knows, Molly thought; no mistress could hide such a thing from her personal maid. She supposed that the master, with his phobia about privacy, would want it kept secret for as long as possible. All this secrecy, Molly thought. I don’t know whether he realises it, but servants are human beings too. Although the butler kept a strict rule in the Servants’ Hall, there was always some whispering in corners.
At least Molly had her refuge, her solitary bedroom. She had persuaded the housekeeper to let her have a discarded silk be
dspread for the flock mattress; it might be a bit faded but its ruby colour gave a feeling of warmth and cosiness. She shuddered at the thought that she might have had to share with spiteful Susan, who was a born troublemaker.
Late that same evening, Helena, knowing that Oliver was unlikely to come through the inter-connecting door, was absorbed in her current novel, one that described a deep and abiding love against a background of abject poverty. The details of cruelty and deprivation were shocking and the story so gripping that it was with some reluctance that she extinguished her bedside light.
Her thoughts drifted to Dorothy who was due to arrive the following day. She was so looking forward to seeing her. Helena might be the mistress of Graylings, but it was a lonely role with only the servants for company. With Jane, a certain relaxation of authority was possible, but there was still a distance, an unspoken barrier between them. Molly was the only one with whom Helena could laugh and joke without restraint, but their time together was of necessity spasmodic, and even then limited. However, even though Dorothy was her closest friend, Helena was still unsure whether to confide in her about Nicholas. If she was mystified herself about her feelings, how could she possibly explain them to someone else?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dorothy pronounced herself delighted that their first week together was spent almost exclusively alone.
‘It won’t last,’ Helena warned her. ‘Once Oliver returns from London, you will not only be introduced to worthy neighbours but be forced to listen to me at the piano. Of course if you wish to sing to entertain our guests …’ She laughed at her friend’s look of horror. ‘Then of course there will be a weekend house party just before you leave.’
‘You feel well enough for all that excitement?’
‘Don’t you start. I get more than enough fussing from Oliver. Honestly, you’d think I was carrying the heir to the throne!’
‘At least you’ve proved yourself. Papa’s always trying to stop me studying; he believes too much thinking uses up a woman’s limited physical resources and makes her womb wither.’
Helena broke into a peal of laughter. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘He won’t even consider my undertaking a university education, although I know I could get a place at Girton College. But even if I did go to Cambridge, I would have to ask permission to attend lectures and wouldn’t be able to take a degree.’
Helena stared at her in disbelief. ‘Why on earth not?’
‘Because I’m a woman. Honestly, anyone would think it was a sin! In my opinion it’s just another way of keeping our sex in servitude. Oh you and I may have silk dresses and live in fine houses, Helena, but we’re equally at the mercy of men as the poorest drudge in the land, just more comfortable, that’s all.’
They were relaxing in the rose garden, although the sun was beginning to be obscured by clouds. Helena glanced sideways at the tall young woman next to her, at her serious face, her dark hair drawn back almost severely into a chignon. Dorothy despised frills and laces, and her white blouse was plain, the high collar devoid of even a subdued brooch.
‘Do you not think of marrying at all?’
‘Not unless it was to someone who treated me as an equal, although Papa is rather beginning to pressure me.’ She turned to Helena. ‘Tell me the truth, do you find that your own wishes are subservient to those of your husband?’
Helena hesitated. ‘I can’t deny it, but then my father’s wishes were always paramount too. Aren’t we all conditioned from birth to accept it?’
‘And in whose interests is it? Helena, I rest my case.’
Helena laughed. ‘Dorothy, I don’t think you have any idea how much I’ve missed you.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She glanced in the direction of Helena’s stomach. ‘I think you’ve been pretty busy!’
‘Dorothy!’ But Helena was laughing again, a frequent sound during the past few days. ‘It’s becoming a little chilly, I think we should go indoors for a while. Besides, there’s something I’d like to show you.’ Even she could hear the change in her tone and she sensed rather than saw her friend glance sharply at her.
‘I am intrigued.’
‘I think you may well be.’
Once they were back in the house, Helena rang for some lemonade and when they were refreshed, she led the way up the broad staircase, turned left into the Long Gallery, through a door at the end, which led into another corridor, and then paused. ‘I discovered this only about three weeks ago.’ The dark oak door opened with a slight creak and they stepped into a dim and darkened room. ‘Please – you wait there.’ She went forward to the tall windows and unfastened the shutters.
As light flooded the room, Dorothy drew an intake of breath.
‘Heavens, even more portraits. How many ancestors can one man have?’ She began to wander along the right wall, peering at the faces, then with a thoughtful expression crossed to the other wall. Helena waited.
Eventually Dorothy turned to her. ‘I confess to some puzzlement. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that all of these have one thing in common. But what I find mystifying, is why they are shut away here and not with the others in the Long Gallery. If I recall, there are several spaces.’
Helena’s voice was quiet. ‘And what exactly do they have in common, Dorothy?’
‘It would seem that each has some sort of blemish.’ She indicated a portrait of a young woman who bore a strawberry birthmark on one cheek. ‘Although one would have thought the painter might have disguised such a thing.’
‘Perhaps she wished a true image,’ Helena said.
‘In which case, I am full of admiration for her lack of vanity.’
Dorothy went over to another painting. ‘And this man has a pendulous wart at the side of his eye … and the others … I don’t wish to be unkind, but they are prodigiously ugly.’
‘Tell me, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary about the staff here?’
Dorothy turned to her, her brow wrinkling. ‘Do you mean that there’s not an elderly face, or even a homely one? I did wonder about that.’
‘That’s right. And these’—Helena waved a hand at the portraits—‘are in my opinion hidden away so that Oliver doesn’t have to look at them.’
Dorothy stared at her. ‘That seems rather odd. Have you never questioned him?’
Helena shook her head. ‘I haven’t mentioned that I’ve seen them. I did query once about the staff and his explanation was that he preferred to be surrounded by pleasant countenances, so I suppose that’s the reason.’ She paused, and then related Oliver’s reaction to Annie’s scarring. Sometimes Helena wondered whether her husband’s reticence about seeing his own wife’s body was because he feared a physical flaw. But of course she could not mention something so private, even to such a close friend.
‘Sounds like a fetish to me,’ Dorothy said. ‘Men do have some strange ones, you know. Papa has never read any of the volumes in the library at home so he has no idea what depravity is described in some of them. However, as Francis Bacon said, “Knowledge is power.”’ Her lips twitched. ‘Besides, it certainly livens up a rainy afternoon.’
Helena spluttered. ‘You’re impossible!’ She went to close the shutters. ‘I’ll show you the Chinese room on the way back. There are some lovely hand-painted silk panels, they’re extraordinary.’
‘From what I am learning about Oliver,’ Dorothy said, ‘I think he is too. What will he do when you lose your looks – banish you to a locked room and find his own Jane Eyre?’
Again, Helena laughed, but Dorothy did not. ‘Seriously, Helena, this is all a little disturbing. You are happy with him?’
‘I’m his wife. Isn’t it my duty to be happy?’
Helena’s piano recitals received lavish compliments and on the Saturday evening of the weekend house party, once again Oliver
congratulated her. ‘An excellent choice of programme, my sweet. I always think that Mozart appeals to most tastes.’
He now seemed completely at ease in the music room and Helena hoped that the unpleasant incident with James Longford was firmly behind them.
‘I see that neither Dorothy nor Johnnie seek each other’s company.’ She glanced over to where they were seated, several chairs apart. ‘And I can’t see him taking an interest in either of the Redfern girls either.’
Oliver had his own views on the reason, concerns too. From what Johnnie had told him the previous evening, this girl Cora was an avaricious bitch. Oliver had refrained from pointing out that Johnnie had been a fool to agree to her financial terms, which were outrageous, far more generous than his own had been with Sybil. The man was so besotted there would have been no point in antagonising him.
Helena invited their guests to return to the drawing room where four of the men began to play bridge. Aunt Beatrice sat near to Mrs Shirley, a sweet-faced widow, while Jacob stood conversing with the guest Oliver had invited especially for him to meet, Peregrine Hurst, the new Liberal MP and the youngest member of the House of Commons. He had arrived just before dinner.
Helena strolled over to where Dorothy was lingering in front of one of the watercolours. ‘I must say, our late guest is rather good-looking.’
Dorothy smiled. ‘I suppose you could say that.’
‘And you can’t say this one hasn’t got a brain, otherwise he wouldn’t be in the Government.’
Dorothy’s peal of laughter turned several heads. ‘Helena, there are more dunderheads in that place than there are in Bedlam, surely you realise that!’ She glanced across to where the tall, dark-haired man was talking earnestly to Helena’s father. ‘But I must admit he seemed reasonably intelligent over dinner.’
‘Then I shall make sure you two are brought together, after all one never knows … But remember Oliver’s rules?’ Helena had not been surprised to discover that her husband was scornful of the idea of women having the vote. He had also stressed that Dorothy should not use Graylings as a platform for her political views.
Dangerous Decisions Page 15