by Jean Stubbs
At the moment, however, Millbridge was agog with quite another matter. Lord Kersall had recently astonished his people, his family, and probably himself, by marrying for a second time and very late in the day. It was not, as the town remarked over its teacups, that the noble gentleman needed an heir. He had a plethora of them: sons, grandsons, brothers, nephews, cousins. Nor that he required a resident hostess. His eldest daughter, the Honourable Miss Kersall, had filled that post to everyone’s satisfaction since her mother’s death fifteen years ago. And surely a man in his sixties was past lusting? The majority of Kersalls silently held the same opinion, but put up a gallant front, declaring themselves to be delighted with his lordship’s happiness. Millbridge Council collected money for a silver lowing-cup, in spite of Jack Ackroyd’s tirade against wasting public funds; and the Kersall estate gave itself a celebratory banquet to which important local people were invited. William, being one of them, returned home flushed with wine and gossip to report on the festivities to Zelah.
‘I should have thought him too old and cold a fish to be captured by such a hussy,’ said William, laughing. ‘But I dare say even the wisest man must make a fool of himself once in a lifetime. She was undoubtedly after his wealth, and the security of her position as his wife. It is a May and December match if ever I saw one.’
‘Is she so much younger than he?’ Zelah asked, out of duty.
She was resting on her day-couch, feeling indisposed for talk of any kind, but too conscious of failing William in a great matter to risk failing him in a small one.
‘Some forty years at a guess! A little too old to be the freshest catch of the season, but far too young and prime for our Humphrey! Aye, a high-headed, high-minded, high-born lady, with a pair of bold black eyes and a bold black manner. He is besotted with her, though she looks at every man but her lawful wedded husband. I do wonder … ’ But these thoughts were not for Zelah, and he went on another tack. ‘Well, she will lead him a pretty dance before he is done. I would reckon her to be extravagant as well as wilful. She was wearing the late Lady Kersall’s emeralds to great effect. You should have seen poor Miss Kersall’s face — for she has had to give up both her mother’s jewels and her position in the house for this bird of paradise!’
Still, he did not seem to condemn these faults in the new Lady Kersall. He straddled his hearth with a satisfied air, and jingled the silver in his pockets. His wife did not answer, and he did not notice her silence.
‘Yes, old Humphrey is done for now. It is only a matter of time. She will fetch him to his grave one way or the other. So Master Ralph is beginning to creep into his own by means of the back door. Ambitious puppy!’
‘Puppy?’ cried Zelah, faintly amused. ‘Why, he is of an age with thee, William!’
‘He is a puppy in experience. His father first spoiled him, and then denied him access to the family business because he was spoiled. Fortunately for him he married Lady Caroline, and she made half a man of him — you would approve of her, Zelah! — and his two sons have sobered him down … ’ but this thought must not be pursued. ‘At any rate, our Ralph turns out to be a true Kersall under the mask: cunning, tenacious, and anxious for power. So he is courting me, as being closest in business with his father, and I encourage him. Because, when Humphrey’s dead I shall have to deal with Ralph. And it is better to treat with one you have formed a little! Besides’ — lifting himself on his heels, jingling his change — ‘he will be an opening for us, socially. We can expect an invitation to Park House when you are stronger, Zelah. Though the one from Kersall Park will take a little more coaxing.’
She had withdrawn into a world less complex and more kind.
‘But you are tired,’ said William, noting her quietness at last, ‘and I have business at Snape. I shall leave you to rest, my love.’
‘Business at Snape at nine o’clock of a Saturday night, William?’ she cried, roused by this news at least. ‘Why, even my father, that was the busiest of men, made time for his family at the end of the week!’
‘Your father, excellent man, had the good fortune to do his main business in one place,’ said William, in that bullying, good-natured way which always silenced opposition. ‘Mine, alas, is more varied and scattered all over England. When an agent journeys to see me from Bristol or Cornwall or London, I can hardly ask him to cool his heels until Monday morning.’
‘But cannot this agent consult with thee here, and stay here?’
‘Zelah,’ said William indicating that he was at the end of his patience, ‘Dr Standish has ordered you complete rest and quiet. And that is exactly why I am doing all business away from home!’
This could not be answered except by thanking him for his consideration, which she did.
In the race for wealth and honour among commoners, Millbridge would have been puzzled which way to bet, for William Howarth and Ernest Harbottle seemed to be running neck and neck. Power? Ernest was called King Cotton, and William the Iron King. Property? Kingswood Hall was in better taste, but no more opulent than Millside Towers; and each man had investments in places they would not have cared to live in. Business sense? Ernest was considered to be tougher, but William was cleverer he stayed on the right side of the moral fence. Public spirit? Both were Aldermen and would be Mayor some fine day. Social graces? Ah, there lay a difference. William was more widely travelled nowadays, meeting great personages in London and elsewhere. He often said (as a joke, mind you!) that when peace cut his profits in half he should make up the loss by trading with France. Whereas poor old Ernest could not make himself understood outside his native county, let alone endeavour to ingratiate himself abroad. And William’s wife was a lovely lady. On the other hand, Margery Harbottle, though rougher than her diamonds would warrant, was far more friendly and ordinary than Zelah Howarth. As for William’s own graces, well, handsome was as handsome did! Tales were being whispered, knowing glances exchanged. Perhaps, in the end, folk might prefer homely Ernest who never gave his wife cause for complaint — and frequently said so.
‘Still, Howarth would be my choice as a Member of Parliament, if ever the Kersalls let go of the borough,’ said one councillor. ‘And that time may come sooner than we think.’
‘What? You would choose him rather than a Clayton or a Brigge?’
‘Oh, country gentry with no hard cash are out of the running these days, my good fellow. Neither noble nor rich! It takes a wealthy man to get to Westminster. And nowadays we want a man of the people to represent us. Yes, Howarth is the horse for my money.’
‘He’s a pretty runner, I grant you. But if you speak of such men then Harbottle might stay the course better … ’
*
From the terrace of Kersall Park, upon a clear day, thirteen mill chimneys could be counted, marching down the valley. Each lifted a wind-borne grey banner. Each was surrounded by a brood of cramped houses, whose domestic stacks smoked away in unison. A sense of order, a sense of space, had vanished in the sunburst of prosperity. But fortunate indeed is the entrepreneur with style and good manners who benefits from it. The ironmaster of Snape looked down on his part of this realm with supreme satisfaction.
Lord Kersall being unavoidably detained in London for a few days, William Howarth had called upon a matter of business. And stayed, merely out of courtesy, to talk with Lady Bersall a little longer. They were a fine-looking couple, and no doubt aware of the fact. Both handsome, dark and ruthless, knowing exactly what they wanted and how to get it. Clarissa Kersall’s hair was as glossy as a raven’s wing. Her eyes were black and brilliant. She moved well, showing off her fine plumage, her creamy flesh. Her gown was deceptively simple, pale and diaphanous, so that for one delicious moment a man could believe he was seeing more than the swell of breasts above the high waistline. The dress stopped short of a pair of narrow silken ankles. Her colour was rich, her mouth red and full. A dozen little gestures indicated that the ironmaster was to her taste, and that though her palate might be keen it was also discriminating. He
felt exceedingly flattered.
Two matters faintly troubled him. The noble Humphrey had decided notions about his personal property, and there was the possibility of scandal in this closed community. But, these considerations set aside, he was as anxious as she to sate their appetites. Many times since Humphrey Kersall brought home the bride who was young enough to be his grand-daughter had these two lusty predators eyed each other across the social barriers. For his lordship’s powers no longer resided in his loins, and the lady’s birth and upbringing had never guarded her from hungers of the flesh.
‘The wind is cold. Let us go in,’ said Clarissa Kersall.
The ironmaster consulted his ancient silver watch.
‘I fear I should be getting back, your ladyship.’
‘Shall you not stay for luncheon? Oh, do stay. Millbridge is so dull after London. You are the only person I can talk to here. Of course you will stay! I shall fetch my companion to sit with us and then you will not be dull. I know you are half in love with her already. She is so entertaining!’
She spoke almost as rapidly as she thought, running from one sentence to another, from one topic to another, as though time itself were at her heels. She would throw a question into the air, answer it to her own satisfaction, lie openly and outrageously, smiling the while. She did not conduct or share a conversation so much as comment in passing.
‘What time will luncheon be?’ William asked, sensing the invitation within her invitation.
‘Oh, when I tell them. Shall I tell them to serve it in half an hour? And we need not ask Beatrice to join us until then. In half an hour, shall we say? Can you bear my company so long?’
‘I am charmed to bear your ladyship’s company for any length of time, and in any way it might please you,’ he replied, smiling.
She laughed, throwing back her head, exposing her strong white throat, showing her strong white teeth. Then she became Lady Bersall again for the benefit of the butler, to whom she gave orders with haughty correctness, while William turned the pages of an album.
What sons you might bear a man! he thought, looking covertly at Lady Bersall’s full breasts and rounded limbs. But she did not belong to him.
‘Well, sir?’ she asked, smiling. ‘How shall we entertain ourselves for this half-hour?’
And she let fall her stole, her yellow Spanish stole that was striped like a tiger, and ran her hands down her sides in anticipation. He had never experienced so cool and honest an advance before, and in such unlikely surroundings. His ladies were all flattered, lower in station than himself, and succumbed with sighs in hired rooms. For a moment, confronted by those purposeful black eyes, his confidence wavered. Surely she did not intend them to embrace here? In the sitting-room, where at any moment they might be disturbed?
Apparently she did. With a composure that he suspected was the result of practice, she began to disrobe herself. She seemed even more at ease without her clothes, and hummed softly to herself as she undid her satin garters. Then she straightened up and looked deliberately at his astounded face.
‘The servants … your companion … callers!’ said William.
The thought of them was horrific.
‘They would not dare to interrupt. They have their orders,’ she said superbly.
He could imagine her confronting them thus, even in her nakedness, and staring them down, staring them away. And what nakedness! Beneath the flimsy gauze gown she was unexpectedly sturdy: bell-breasted, narrow-waisted, her sooty triangle mounted between splendid thighs. It came to William as he started, weakly, to undo his black and white cravat, that he had never viewed a woman in this way before. Zelah was modest, suggested rather than seen. His girls squealed and giggled, daring him to tear their clothes (since he would also pay for them), or clutched the covers to their bosoms and swore they had never done such a monstrous thing previously. Hannah had been natural, unashamed, but gentle and womanly. Whereas this Amazon stood there, giving him look for look, as though the shaft stood between her legs instead of his.
‘Oh, how slow you are!’ she cried, and stepped forward to help him, laughing as she proved to be a better valet than he, rubbing her belly against his to provoke him.
Then all the man and yeoman rose in him. He gave her a clout across the buttocks that left the mark of his fingers on her flesh, and thrust her down on the floor. She made so much noise over her pleasure that he prayed no one would hear, and he wished to God that he could spend all afternoon rutting on Lord Kersall’s best Axminster carpet, for she gave as good as she got. They wrestled breathlessly, like adversaries, and without respect. But their appointed time must of necessity be brief, so he shot his bolt home and they lay in a muck sweat, drawing in air fast and short. He felt a little ashamed of himself as he got to his feet, but Clarissa looked better than ever, though somewhat blown and bruised in the contest.
‘Pah, how we stink!’ she said frankly. ‘But Cousin Bea will not notice. She has never dropped her drawers for any man, poor devil. I often wonder if she knows what I am up to, but I doubt it.’
‘You have distributed your favours elsewhere?’ William asked carefully.
‘Mind your business, ironmaster!’ said Lady Kersall, but smiled the sting out of the rebuke.
His pride was piqued, but he liked her far too well to offend her. So Cousin Beatrice wandered downstairs, innocent spinster, to laugh at all their jokes and eat heartily and play chaperone. Her role in life was to guard the Kersall stable long after the mare had run loose, for which services his lordship gave her a home and a modest allowance. What else could the poor lady have done? She was plain, penniless and unmarriageable, though of good station. So she took care not to offend anybody, and they were all well satisfied.
Today Clarissa’s colour was richer than usual, her conversation more delightful and impulsive, her appetite sharper. William did not linger over this light and fashionable meal. The purpose of his visit had been fulfilled. He had work to do. Nor would the lady grieve in his absence. Each had asked and received no more and no less than they desired, which was highly satisfactory.
Picking his way down Millbridge High Street on his white horse, the ironmaster thought to call upon his sister, partly from affection but mostly out of curiosity. He had not seen her in quite a while.
Behind her back the family had discussed Charlotte, as families are wont to do, and long since come to the conclusion that she would not re-marry until Ambrose and Cicely had left home. It was understandable, Dorcas had said, that Charlotte did not wish to disturb the children with yet another change of place and way of life. So they had let her be, as Ned advised. But Ambrose and Cicely had gone long since, and still Charlotte remained single. Her suitors continued to pay court, growing older and greyer and more pernickety and fixed in their ways. And she continued to receive them, and to give no encouragement, and obviously no discouragement either since they kept on visiting. The headmaster, it was once whispered, had joined this select little band of middle-aged bachelors. But as it became increasingly apparent that the interest between himself and Mrs Longe lay in educating the unfortunate, folk set romance aside. And when The Millbridge Society for the Furtherance of Literacy among the Working People was formed, and its meetings held alternately at Thornton House and the headmaster’s rooms at Millbridge Grammar School, respectable ladies washed their hands of Charlotte altogether. True, the working people who attended twice weekly seemed to be of the decent sort, but it was not proper, it was not done, it all came of perversity and lack of respect for the class system. No wonder, folk said, that Mrs Longe did not re-marry, for who would risk such a misalliance? And if Quaker Scholes and Solicitor Hurst and young Dr Standish persisted in wooing this eccentric lady, well, only death is stronger than habit, and perhaps they felt safe with her, after such a long refusal.
But it was all very odd, and William could not understand it, so he called upon his sister as he was passing by, to see if he could solve in a few minutes the mystery which Millbridge tea
-parties had been pondering for years. As he stood upon the scoured threshold of Thornton House, settling his chin into his cravat, Charlotte peered through the parlour curtains, irritated. She had been distracted by first one person and then another all morning. Some days were like that. On others she could work from breakfast to supper-time without interruption.
‘It is my brother William, Polly!’ she called down the hall, hastening to open the door. ‘I will see to him. Pray fetch up the Madeira. It is too early for tea. And to what do I owe this honour, Willie?’
‘Why, madam, I have come to be Improved by your Society,’ he said impudently, ‘for I am not half-learned enough!’
And he deposited his fawn beaver hat upon the hall table, and read the cards on the little silver salver, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows.
‘On that score I would agree with you,’ said Charlotte coolly, ‘but we only accept working men.’
‘I am a working man,’ he replied, walking into the parlour, rubbing his hands and standing over the fire, for there was a nip in the air on this fine afternoon. ‘Indeed, I work a deuced sight harder than your precious labourers.’
‘And are paid better, too,’ she observed. ‘Will you drink Madeira?’
‘What? Let me look at the bottle first!’
‘It is one of Grandfather Wilde’s. You need not fear for your palate.’