by Nancy Carson
‘I thought you’d been a long time. What did he want?’
‘He asked whether I was still interested in joining the Brierley Hill Players when I’ve had the baby.’
‘So what did you tell him?’
‘That it’s up to you.’
‘Do you really fancy getting involved in all that malarkey?’ he asked.
‘I think I do. It’d get me out of the house, give me an outside interest.’
‘And d’you honestly think you’d have time, with another baby to look after?’
‘It wouldn’t hurt you to look after the children one night a week.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, hardly relishing the idea.
‘By the way,’ she went on, ‘Harriet’s pregnant.’
‘Good God,’ he exclaimed. ‘Already? Pity she ever got stuck with Clarence bloody Froggatt, though.’
‘Didn’t take ’em long to get the hang of it, though, did it?’
He looked at her and laughed at her candidness. ‘Didn’t take us long either.’
‘Well, let’s face it, Algie, you won’t find how to do that in the papers.’
* * *
Chapter 22
Despite being in the throes of divorce and awaiting the decree absolute, Aurelia and Benjamin still dined together most evenings, albeit with an icy mutual toleration that sometimes flared into fiery resentment. The children were never with them at dinner, looked after by Joyce. The meal on this particular evening was a simple beef stew with dumplings, and once Jane had served it she left them to it as hurriedly as she could, to return to the relative sanctity, sanity and peace of the kitchen. She was naturally aware of the marital failure between her young master and mistress, but had received no indication yet as to where her own future might lie, if indeed she had a future at all in this unhappy household once her mistress had gone, as go she must.
‘What’s this?’ Benjamin enquired with a supercilious air as he inspected and sniffed the steaming contents of his plate.
‘Beef stew and dumplings,’ Aurelia replied, at once sampling the concoction.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered scornfully. ‘Is this the best you can do?’
‘It tastes fine to me,’ she said, then added tartly, ‘under the circumstances.’
‘Under what circumstances, Aurelia? What do you mean?’
She looked him in the eye challengingly. ‘Have you paid the butcher lately?’
‘I can’t remember. Why?’
‘Because when I sent Jane to buy meat this morning he refused to serve her. She was told the account had been outstanding for too long, so he was not prepared to extend us any more credit. Poor Jane was very embarrassed about it. All she could do was apologise and promise to have a word with you. When she came back with an empty basket and told me about it, I had to give her what little money I had and send her to another butcher. If you intend eating meat here tomorrow, I suggest you leave me enough money to pay for it.’ She resumed eating.
‘These tuppenny shopkeepers,’ he scoffed, and his scorn was double-edged, inasmuch as Aurelia’s own father had owned a butcher’s shop. ‘If the stupid butcher wants to play that game he’ll wait longer for his money.’
‘But why should he?’ she asked. ‘He’s provided us with meat. He should be paid. That’s the essence of business integrity. Is money so tight?’
‘It might be. Besides, I have other priorities.’
‘Such as?’
He picked up his knife and fork, prodded around his plate with it, deigning to try the stew. After a few moments, he said, ‘I’m having the house refurbished and redecorated. From top to bottom.’
‘New décor for a new wife? Maude will be impressed.’
‘I’m not doing it for Maude,’ he replied, picking up Aurelia’s resentment while he chewed. ‘I’m doing it for me.’
She put down her cutlery and adjusted the position of her dinner napkin in her lap. ‘What a pity you didn’t think of doing it sooner. I’ve been telling you for ages how old-fashioned this house is with all these swags, the awful wallpaper, the furniture and depressing pictures. Yet you always pooh-poohed the idea. What’s brought on this desire for change?’
‘London, I suppose.’
‘Oh, London.’
‘Visiting some fine houses in London has made me realise how provincial this house is, just how old-fashioned, as you say.’
‘It’s not cosy either. I’m glad you agree with me, for once.’
‘I intend to have electricity installed as well, if possible. It’ll all mean some disruption.’
‘While I’m still here, you mean?’
‘Unless you decide to go before you have to. In fact, there’s a young man called Charles Voysey calling here next Tuesday. He’s an architect and designer, specialising in wallpapers and fabrics. Making quite a name for himself, I understand. I met him in London. He can see to everything. He’s agreed to have a look and put in a proposal.’
‘Then I hope you’ll be here to meet him, because I shan’t. So how much do you expect to spend on a renovation of this mausoleum, and having electricity put in?’
‘I’ve no idea yet, but I think that’s my business and not yours.’
‘It’ll cost hundreds if not thousands. So where will the money come from if you can’t even afford to pay the butcher?’
‘That is no concern of yours.’
‘Perhaps not anymore. But I’m aware you’re struggling, Benjamin. These new-found customers in London you seem so keen to visit so often – aren’t they putting any business your way yet?’
‘All in good time,’ he responded evasively, and took another forkful of stew.
Aurelia shrugged. ‘Well, if it comes to anything at all I just hope this Charles Voysey – or whatever his name is – gets paid, along with all the other folk you owe money to.’
‘I have to say, Aurelia, you have little cause for complaint,’ he retorted, wagging his knife at her. ‘You’ve suffered no hardship at this table, or in your wardrobe. I’ve not seen you want for anything.’
‘That’s as it should be. Am I supposed to offer my heartfelt thanks?’
‘Some sign of appreciation wouldn’t have come amiss.’
‘You’ve not been ungenerous where my wardrobe is concerned,’ she admitted. ‘But you have been a little grudging from time to time.’
They continued eating in silence for a couple of minutes, before Benjamin said, ‘I was wondering whether you’d paid much thought yet to where you’ll go once you leave here. Have you made any arrangements? It seems to me that your Aunt Edith is an obvious possibility.’
‘I’m loath to foist myself on anybody, Benjamin. Nevertheless, I have to find somewhere, and poor Aunt Edith is an obvious candidate.’ She sighed, frustrated. ‘It’s time Marigold and I paid her a visit. We haven’t seen her since just before Christmas when we took along her Christmas boxes.’
‘Then I suggest it’s time you visited her again if you don’t want to end up in the workhouse.’
* * *
Aurelia and Marigold arranged to visit their Aunt Edith, urged by Benjamin’s suggestion, on the Thursday. They took the tram to Stourbridge, but decided to walk the half mile or so from the terminus to Oldswinford, despite the cold; Marigold claimed that being heavily pregnant did not mean she could not undertake a gentle walk.
They duly arrived at the pretty backwater of Rectory Road, overlooked by the ancient church and the long red-brick wall that surrounded its graveyard. Aurelia opened Aunt Edith’s garden gate and allowed Marigold to precede her to the front door through the garden, cheerless in its winter drabness. Marigold rapped on the shining brass door knocker, then they waited expectantly.
The door opened and Aunt Edith’s grin at sight of them was sufficient welcome. ‘Come in, you two,’ she said happily. ‘Not got the children with you today?’
‘No, we left them at home today, Aunt,’ Aurelia responded as they entered the relative warmth of the cottage.
‘A month, maybe.’
‘And how’s that Algie of yours? Looking forward to this new baby, is he?’
‘He’ll be glad when it’s all over, Aunt, like me.’
Aunt Edith led them into the sitting room where the flames from a coal fire licked the back of the grate on their journey up the chimney. While she left them to brew a pot of tea, the girls sat in armchairs that faced each other across the hearth, chatting about this and that.
‘I suppose you read in the papers all the lurid details about my divorce?’ Aurelia suggested flippantly when their Aunt returned carrying a tray laden with a teapot, a half bottle of whisky, and all the accoutrements for a welcome cup of tea.
‘I did, and it’s a wonder to me that you two are still so pally.’ There was a hint of disapproval in her tone.
‘We made our peace at the outset, Aunt Edith.’
‘Well, that’s very civilised of you both, I must say. I was sorry to learn as that husband of yours, our Aurelia, is getting custody of your son, though. To my mind, that’s not right at all. A man can’t look after a child like a mother can. You should have divorced him, not let him divorce you. You had grounds enough. So where are you going to live, our Aurelia?’
‘Well…I wondered if you, Aunt, would have me and Christina, as paying lodgers – just for a while – until I can get myself properly sorted out. Not till July though, when the decree absolute comes through.’
‘Ah,’ replied Aunt Edith, failing to say more.
‘Is there a problem, Aunt?’
The older lady took the cosy off the teapot, lifted the lid and gave the tea a stir. ‘As you know, I go across the road to church regular of a Sunday. There’s a man in our congregation…A good man. A fine man. A widower. His name is Wilfred. I’ve known him a long time. We’ve been friendly a while now. He’s asked me to marry him…’
‘And you’ve said yes?’
‘I’ve said yes…’
‘Well, Aunt, good for you,’ Aurelia exclaimed with a broad, sincere smile. ‘That’s wonderful news, so let me congratulate you. I couldn’t be more pleased. So when is this marriage to take place?’
‘Towards the end of May.’
‘Well, what can I say, Aunt?’ Aurelia questioned. ‘It’s such a surprise, but I’m delighted for you all the same, and I wish you every happiness. I hope this Wilfred realises what a treasure he’s getting.’
‘Well, our Aurelia, I’m sorry I won’t be able to accommodate you and your little Christina, but you can see how I’m fixed.’
‘Please don’t give it another thought, Aunt. I do understand…Truly.’
* * *
Aurelia decided that Marigold should accompany her back to Holly Hall House, to break the journey homeward and have another cup of tea, to which Marigold agreed. On the way they discussed Aunt Edith. Aurelia said she understood perfectly that her giving succour to an adulterous divorcee would not be entirely compatible with the new husband’s standing in his church and in local society; that he could not risk the taint of any association with her. They also discussed Benjamin’s intention to have the entire house refurbished and electricity installed, inspired by the swell houses he had visited in London.
They reached the front door, and Aurelia opened it. On the bureau in the hallway lay a pale pink envelope, obviously delivered in the midday post. Aurelia took off her gloves, picked it up and scrutinised it. It was addressed to Ben Sampson, Esq., written in what looked a woman’s hand.
‘A letter for Benjamin,’ she said, looking at Marigold and raising her eyebrows with curiosity. ‘It’s a woman’s handwriting, or I’m a monkey’s uncle.’
‘What’s the postmark?’
Aurelia checked the envelope. ‘London.’
‘D’you think he’s got a woman in London, then?’
‘Hmm, it wouldn’t surprise me, and it would answer a lot of questions…I’m going to open it, Marigold. D’you think I should?’
‘Why not?’ Marigold answered, excited by the sudden intrigue. ‘You got nothing to lose.’
‘In the sitting room, then.’
Conspiratorially, they rushed into the sitting room in a swish of skirts, closed the door and sat down. Aurelia opened the letter in a sudden fever of curiosity and unfolded it. She read it to herself, eyes widening, mouth agape.
‘It is from a woman,’ she confirmed breathlessly. ‘Damn my hide. Somebody called Kate. Here – read it, Marigold.’
Marigold took it. Her reading ability was somewhat impaired compared to Aurelia’s, but she managed to make perfect sense of it. It read:
My dearest Ben,
It grieves me to have to let you know that Lionel has decided to visit London from Norfolk on Friday for the weekend, so I shall not be able to see you as we planned. I was looking forward to being with you again after the show and spending more lovely nights together. Perhaps next week if you can see your way clear to visiting London. I hope so. Do let me know.
With greatest affection,
Kate xxx
PS. There is a new show being planned at the Gaiety and I have been asked to play the lead. Aren’t you proud of me?
‘You know who this is from, don’t you?’ Marigold said, almost bursting with excitement.
‘Some woman called Kate,’ Aurelia replied.
‘It’s Kate Stokes – Algie’s sister.’
‘Never!’
‘Her husband’s called Lionel. Sir Lionel Chesterton. And she’s a showgirl at the Gaiety Theatre, ain’t she? It just has to be her.’
Aurelia gasped again at the realisation. ‘My God, you’re right, Marigold. So he’s having it off with Algie’s sister now. Lord knows how he got to meet her. And she wants to cancel this weekend’s tryst. It’s rather short notice. What a shame for him,’ she said with dark sarcasm.
‘Wait till I tell Algie…’
‘I can just imagine what Algie will say.’
‘Did you know Benjamin was planning to go to London again this weekend?’ asked Marigold.
‘He might have gone already for all I know. I suspect he has. He doesn’t tell me what he’s doing these days, or where or when he’s going.’
‘So how are you going to let him know that Kate can’t meet him?’
‘I’m not. Why should I? Blow him. I’m not even going to let him know I opened his post. Especially I’m not going to let him know I opened his post. He won’t even know he’s had a letter. Let him go to London, if that’s what he’s planned to do, and let him find out for himself. I hope he encounters the husband, the rat, and the husband punches him on the nose.’
‘D’you think that’s why he wants to do this house up, and put in electricity?’ Marigold mused aloud. ‘So he can have it all posh and move her in?’
‘My God,’ Aurelia exclaimed with a laugh of derision. ‘D’you think he’d dare? D’you really think he’s got any hope that she’d come? D’you honestly think a penniless fool like him could lure her away from her wealthy aristocratic husband?’
‘But she’s as daft as Benjamin. Stranger things have happened.’
The possibility, however remote, added to Aurelia’s anxiety over her son’s future. ‘But if she did fall for it and came to live here, what would happen to my son? She’d be looking after him. Do you think I’d want Algie’s tart of a sister looking after him?’
‘I don’t think she’d come anyway if she thought she’d have children to look after,’ Marigold suggested. ‘She’s hardly the motherly type. Kids would tie her down.’
‘But I suppose he’d have a nanny to look after Benjie, wouldn’t he?’
Marigold laughed out loud. ‘Can you imagine?…What if that nanny was Maude?’
‘Well, that would be quite some lark. I suspect Maude’s days are numbered, Marigold. But I’d rather Maude than Algie’s promiscuous sister looking after Benjie.’
‘So d’you think you should let Maude know what he’s up to?’
‘God, no,’ Aurelia replied. ‘Let Maude stew in her own juice.’
She screwed up the letter, threw it in the fire and watched it burn to ashes.
* * *
Chapter 23
Unaware of Kate’s letter, Benjamin Sampson set off for London assuming that since he had written to her telling of his intention to stay at the Savoy over the weekend, she would have no problem making appropriate arrangements. So, on the Friday evening, he had secured his room and was ready in the hotel lobby waiting for her to arrive so as to join him for dinner.
She failed to appear, of course.
Apprehensive as to why, he decided he must find her, or he would have no peace. In pouring rain, he headed for the Gaiety Theatre, his heart in his mouth. Had she given him up already? Was she ill, or otherwise indisposed? Was she seeing somebody else? Had her husband for once deigned to spend some time with her? If so, it was strange, and more than a trifle inconsiderate, that she had not let him know and so save him the time and trouble of travelling to London. However, in his angst he soon forgave her any lack of consideration. Perhaps she had written and her letter had got lost or delayed in the post. Not knowing was driving him mad.
He managed to secure a seat in the stalls, and waited anxiously to see whether Kate would appear on stage. If she did not, it might be reasonable to assume she was ill. The niggling thing was, though, even if she were ill she would have been able somehow to get a letter off to him, telling him so.
So when she did appear, high-kicking and swirling and singing, and beaming radiantly for the titillation of all the men in the audience, and looking as desirable as ever, other thoughts began to permeate his mind. This goddess possessed him with such despotic power, bestowing on him intoxicating, heavenly pleasure one day, then racking him with terrifying visions of hell and torment the next. When she was lying naked beside him, his head would swim, madness would engulf him, and he would lose all powers of reasoning; her sensuality overwhelmed his ability to be rational. Maybe he had shown himself too attached, too eager, too infatuated, affording her the realisation that she could twist him round her little finger. He was all too aware that when she beckoned, he ran swiftly in her direction.