Saddle the Wind

by Jess Foley

  ‘I think Clara should go away to school,’ Marsh said. ‘She should be with people her own age. She’s eleven now. She’s growing up so fast.’

  Blanche nodded. Marsh went on:

  ‘I thought perhaps she might go to one of the new secondary schools, but on second thoughts I’d want to wait and see how they turn out first. I think it would be better if she went away – to a good boarding school somewhere.’ Behind his spectacles his small eyes focused on Blanche. ‘But that wouldn’t mean that you’d have to leave,’ he said.

  She gazed at him, his plain features beneath the balding crown. ‘But you’ll have no further need of me here,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, if you only knew,’ he said. He shook his head, the words coming tumbling out. ‘I have such a need of you. Oh, Blanche – I’m so much in love with you.’

  His words took her completely by surprise. She gazed at him, silent. She had never suspected that he felt for her anything more than friendship, a kind of fatherly affection. Over the period of her employment in the house she had felt growing between him and herself a welcome, easy closeness, a comradeship which she felt she could enjoy without feeling in any way threatened. She felt a great respect for him, the seed of which had begun to grow at their very first meeting – and as time went by it had grown stronger – but she did not love him.

  As she tried to frame words to say to him he went on:

  ‘Blanche, if you would marry me it would make me so happy. And Clara, too, you can be sure of that.’ He paused. ‘I know I’m not a handsome man, and I know that I’m a good deal older than you; I know that. But I would do my best to make you happy. If you would let me.’

  ‘Mr Marsh – George –’

  ‘I’m not a rich man, either. Which is something else you’re already well aware of.’ A little light of sudden enthusiasm shone in his eye. ‘But,’ he said, ‘if I had someone like you working with me there’s no telling where it might end.’

  After a few moments Blanche reached out, laying her palms upon the backs of his hands.

  ‘I’m honoured,’ she said. ‘And I thank you. So very much.’

  He gave a melancholy smile. ‘But the answer is no …’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not ready to marry anyone right now. I’m sorry, really I am.’

  His eyes searched hers, seeing that she meant her words. ‘It’s all right,’ he said after a moment. He nodded. ‘But if you ever change your mind …’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘I mean it, Blanche.’

  ‘I won’t forget.’

  Two weeks later arrangements were made for Clara to go to a school in Crewkerne, beginning in September, and in the meantime Blanche set about placing advertisements in The Lady and various newspapers in an effort to find a new position. With Clara gone, and having rejected George Marsh’s marriage proposal, there was no longer any reason for her remaining there. The situation as regards work for governesses was changing, however. State-provided, compulsory education had been slowly developing and improving over the years, and with the Education Act of 1902 free secondary education was now also provided.

  Blanche, looking for a position as private governess, found that she was offering her services in a diminishing market as more and more parents chose to send their children to the new, much-improved, locally-funded schools. Another problem she had to contend with was that posed by Jacko. He was a clever, affectionate animal, but he was proving a great hindrance in her search for employment. Perhaps the answer to her problem, she thought, was to find work as a teacher in one of the new schools – though unfortunately this seemed to be a common aim among so many young women. Failing that, she could seek work in a factory somewhere. She had to do something. It wouldn’t be long before Clara had gone away to Crewkerne. When that happened her own position as governess would be finished.

  While Blanche gave her concern to her immediate future Clara was looking forward to a holiday at the seaside. Her father had arranged for her, as a last treat before her departure for school, to go and stay with his sister and her children in their house on the edge of Weston-Super-Mare. Blanche would accompany Clara to her aunt’s home and return there three weeks later to bring her home again. Although it was not acknowledged by him, Blanche felt that part of the reason for Marsh’s decision was also to help her; not only would Clara’s absence free Blanche from her duties for a time, but it would also enable her to pursue any possibilities as regards future employment and allow her to be free to arrange any necessary interviews with prospective employers.

  It was planned that Blanche and Clara would leave early on the morning of Saturday, July 25th. Two days before their planned departure, however, Blanche received a letter that for a time dismissed from her mind all thought of Clara’s trip and her own immediate problems concerning her future employment.

  The letter, from Marianne, said that on the death of a distant relative of Gentry he had been left a property in Brighton, and that he was coming to England to see the house and decide what to do with it. While he was there, Marianne said, he intended to come to Bath to see Blanche. Marianne’s letter continued:

  … And I have given him strict instructions to do his very best to persuade you to return here with him. Surely it’s time you had a holiday, so if your employer can spare you it will be our gain, added to which a vacation in the sun will do you a world of good. This, of course, is apart from the great good it will do for me, and the pleasure it will give me, to see you again, dear sister. Please – do think the matter over very carefully. Gentry should be with you within a very short time of your receiving this.

  Gentry was coming to England. He was probably already here – and he was coming to see her. Blanche found that her feelings were a confusing mixture of elation and fear. Since his marriage she had tried to come to terms with the fact that he was no longer a part of her life, that he never could be – but it was easier to pay lip-service to such knowledge than to accept it. And now here he was, coming into her life again, stirring up all the old feelings of longing, of frustration and regret. Would she, she asked herself, ever be free of him?

  The next day, Friday, there came a short letter from Gentry himself. Writing from Brighton, he said that he would come to Bath the following day, arriving probably late in the afternoon. He would call on her at Almond Street, he said; he looked forward to seeing her then.

  Gentry’s letter caused Blanche even greater dismay; while she found herself so anxiously looking forward to seeing him at the same time she dreaded the prospect. What could come of it? All that had once existed between them was now a thing of the past. But how could she realistically avoid him even if she could bring herself to try?

  And then that evening there came some kind of answer to Blanche’s dilemma. After Clara’s box had been packed and the child had gone to bed, Marsh said to Blanche:

  ‘I’ve been thinking – why don’t you stay at the seaside too and have a little holiday yourself? Take in a little of the sea air for a few days.’

  Blanche was surprised into silence for a moment, then she shook her head. ‘– Oh, no, I don’t think so. I think – I think I should get back.’

  ‘Why? What have you got to hurry back for? Have you got some appointments?’

  She mentioned nothing of Gentry’s letter. She shook her head. ‘Well, no – not at the moment, but –’

  ‘Then why not stay there and relax for a little while? I don’t mean with my sister. My God, that would be the last place I’d recommend for peace and quiet. Besides, there wouldn’t be room for you in the house. No, find yourself a quiet little hotel near the sea-front. It’s time you had a little holiday yourself. Stay on for a day or two.’

  In her head the voice of commonsense told her to accept the offer, but at the same time another voice protested. She said quickly, ‘No – thank you anyway – but I think I should come straight back.’

  The next morning she and Clara were up early – Clara shivering with excitement at the prospect
of the unaccustomed adventure, and eager to get away – and Blanche feeling reluctant to leave the house at all.

  The cab had been ordered, was expected in ten or fifteen minutes. After breakfast Blanche went back to her room to put on her coat and hat. As she stood before the glass she wondered at her feelings. What’s the matter with me? she asked herself. Here she was, afraid to leave the house in case Gentry called. Had she still not accepted the situation?

  Ten minutes later when she came downstairs and entered the breakfast room Marsh looked over his newspaper and saw that she was carrying her valise. Answering the question in his eyes, she said:

  ‘– I changed my mind. Perhaps I will stay on for two or three days.’

  He nodded his satisfaction. ‘I’m glad.’

  There was a ring at the front doorbell then and the maid came into the room announcing that the cab had arrived to take them to the station. At once Clara kissed her father goodbye and hurried outside. As Blanche followed her to the front door Marsh took her hand and pressed some money into it.

  She frowned. ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘It’s towards your hotel bill. Please – take it.’

  She protested for a moment or two but then, thanking him, put the money into her purse. Minutes later she and Clara were being driven away from the house.

  The journey to Weston-Super-Mare passed without incident. For the first part Clara kept up an almost constant stream of chatter, but gradually she relaxed and sat quiet, either looking from the window at the passing scenery or trying – without much success – to concentrate on her book. Blanche had also brought a book to read on the journey – a new novel by Arthur Conan Doyle: The Hound of the Baskervilles, which everyone seemed to be reading – but with, first of all, Clara’s demanding presence, and then her own preoccupations, she did not get far into it.

  Eventually they arrived at their destination where Mrs Wilmslow, Clara’s aunt, was waiting to welcome them.

  After being introduced to Clara’s aunt and two young cousins, Bertha and Constance, Blanche was at once invited to the house for luncheon. She gratefully declined, however, saying that she would like to look around the town and find a suitable hotel for the night. Mrs Wilmslow nodded understandingly. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be very glad of the chance to be on your own for a while,’ she said.

  Blanche accompanied the little group from the station to where a cab waited to drive them to the Wilmslows’ house situated beyond the outskirts of the town. And after a kiss and a hug for Clara – who in her excitement at being there seemed hardly aware of the gestures – she watched and waved as the cab was driven away.

  When it was out of sight she stood alone, valise in hand, breathing in the sea air. She was free now, to spend the next days as she pleased.

  She set off along the main street, gazing about her with interest as she went. She would walk around for a while and look out for a pleasant little hotel near the sea-front, she decided – and told herself once again how glad she was to be there, free of responsibilities and cares for a while.

  At the sea-front she stood at the railing of the promenade and gazed out to sea while the gulls wheeled in the dull sky above her head. Unable to prevent her thoughts from wandering, she imagined Gentry moving to the front door of the house in Almond Street, ringing the bell … Angrily, she dismissed the picture from her mind. It was idiocy to dwell on such matters. She turned and started off again along the promenade.

  After stopping for a while in a tea-shop where she drank some coffee she went into one of the smaller sea-front hotels and inquired after a room. On being told that there was one available she asked to see it and a maid was instructed to show her to a room on the second floor. Entering the room, Blanche looked around her. The room, with its view of the sea, was pleasant enough, but suddenly into her mind came the question: What am I doing here, staying alone in some unattractive seaside town where I have no desire to be? Turning to the maid, she thanked her, but said she had changed her mind. Then, quickly, she walked out of the room, down the stairs, through the foyer and out onto the street. There she turned her steps in the direction of the railway station. She would return to Bath at once. And it was no good trying to fool herself as to the reason for her return. The reason was Gentry. And now she could only pray that she would get back to the house in Bath in time to see him when he called.

  In a little under an hour she was sitting on a train on the first part of her return journey to Bath.

  She got there just after five o’clock, and as the train drew into the station she adjusted her hat and prepared to alight. She found that she was trembling and she became aware of the beating of her heart. Part of her emotion now was fear – fear that she was too late.

  The train slowed and came to a halt. Following on the heels of another passenger she stepped down onto the platform. And a moment later she glanced up – and there was Gentry standing at the other end of the platform.

  She came to a halt so suddenly that the man who had followed her from the carriage stumbled and almost fell over her. She was faintly aware of his muttered oath as he recovered himself and moved on. And she stood there, gazing at Gentry as he, unaware of her, stood reading a newspaper, his suitcase on the ground at his feet. And then after a moment or two, as if he had somehow felt her eyes upon him, he lifted his head and saw her.

  For a second he remained still, looking at her, while the other travellers brushed past them. Then he folded his paper and put it under his arm, took up his suitcase, and moved towards her. Standing before her he bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  ‘Hello, Blanche.’

  ‘Hello, Gentry.’ She could still hardly believe it, his presence; she had found him.

  ‘I called at the house, Mr Marsh’s house,’ he said. ‘The maid told me you’d gone to take your charge to Weston-Super-Mare. She said she thought you’d be staying on there for a few days.’ He shrugged. ‘So – I was on my way to London.’ With a little smile he said: ‘Did you change your mind – about staying there?’

  ‘Yes – as you can see.’

  He nodded. ‘Good. I’m glad.’

  Taking her arm, he led her from the platform.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘Is there anywhere you would like to go?’

  I just want to be with you, the voice inside her head replied. She said aloud: ‘I’m not particular. Perhaps we might have some tea and a sandwich.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘Not since a very early breakfast.’

  He nodded. ‘We’ll get some tea and something to eat.’

  Before leaving the station they stopped at the left-luggage department and Gentry deposited his suitcase and Blanche her valise. Then together they went out into the street.

  A little later, in the tearoom of a large hotel nearby Gentry chose the most secluded table available, and when they were settled ordered tea and smoked salmon sandwiches. When the waitress had gone away with their order he turned his attention back to Blanche. Returning his gaze, she said:

  ‘You’re looking so much better. When you came back from South Africa you looked very tired, very weary.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve had opportunity to recover since then.’ He looked so handsome. She wanted to lean across the table and kiss him on the mouth.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’m well. I’m very well.’

  ‘Married life,’ she said – and she could not prevent herself from saying the words – ‘Married life obviously agrees with you.’

  He let this pass. ‘Marianne sends you her fondest love,’ he said, ‘and demands that I persuade you to come back to Sicily with me. And if you can’t be persuaded then I’m to kidnap you, or take some other similarly desperate measures. Anything, apparently, so long as I get you there.’

  Blanche laughed. ‘Oh, I’d so love to, but – I’m afraid it’s just not possible.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps in a f
ew weeks? Couldn’t you arrange it?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’ How could she go to Sicily and live in the same house as Gentry? To be in his presence for hours at a time, for days at a time? Such a thought was not to be considered, no matter how much a part of her longed for such a thing to happen. ‘No,’ she said again, ‘I’m afraid I’m quite committed at present. There’s no way that I can get away. But tell Marianne that just as soon as it’s possible I shall be there.’

  The waitress arrived then, all neat black and starched white lace, carrying a laden tray. When she had gone again Gentry watched Blanche as she ate. ‘You were hungry,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You should have eaten something while you were at Weston.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t do that.’ Then she added, ‘I had to get back – in case you called.’

  A silence followed her words. In the silence she gazed at him for a few moments, then forced her attention back to the food before her. She was trying to provoke him, she realized, trying to provoke some response from him which, in his present situation, he could not allow himself to make – whatever his feelings. She no longer felt hungry. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, eyes lowered. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair of me.’

  Another little silence. Blanche dabbed at her mouth with her napkin then said, moving onto safer ground:

  ‘Marianne said you had inherited some property – in Brighton. Have you been to see it?’

  ‘Yes. A house there – left to me by a maiden aunt. There’s no point in my keeping it. I’m having it sold. I’ve put it into the hands of agents.’

  ‘So your business in England is finished now.’

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘When will you return – to Sicily?’