by Nancy Carson
‘Yes, I can imagine,’ Benjamin answered, irked at her outrageous suggestion to make contact. ‘But what you ever saw in him beats me.’
‘But he’s lovely,’ she cooed. ‘I really fancied him. He’s good-looking in a solemn sort of way. You know, thoughtful, considerate, courteous. Yes, perhaps I should get in touch with him. What d’you think? He’s a single man again. Do they have the telephone in Brierley Hill yet? If so, I bet his firm’s got a telephone. I could telephone him if I knew the number. He’d have the shock of his life.’ She giggled at the thought, but Benjamin did not see the funny side. ‘No, perhaps it’s better if I write, eh? Do you know his new address in Stream Road?’
‘No, I do not.’
Kate laughed again. ‘God, you are touchy.’
‘Well, is that all you think about – how much money somebody’s worth?’
‘Money’s very important to a girl,’ she affirmed. ‘A girl needs to be kept properly, especially if she’s worth it. And I’m worth it. Why have a chap who’s poverty-stricken when you can just as easy have one with lots of money?’
‘Is that why you married Sir Lionel? Because of his money?’
‘No,’ she pouted, and picked up her glass. ‘I married him because I fell in love with him.’
‘You fell in love with his money, you mean.’
‘Well, maybe I did a little – maybe with his title as well,’ she conceded with challenging eyes peering at him from over her glass as she took a sip of the manhattan. ‘What girl wouldn’t?’
‘Anyway, never mind Clarence Froggatt. When are you going to leave that aristocratic chump you married? You don’t live with him anyway – it’s all a sham, if you ask me. Why don’t you come and live with me?’
‘Live with you?’ she scoffed.
‘Why not? I’ve refurbished my house from top to bottom – at great expense I might add – and it’s like a new pin. You’ll be impressed.’
‘I suppose I could come and have a look at it,’ she said condescendingly. ‘And while I was there I could pay Clarence a call, couldn’t I? Yes, I’ll see if I can get a day or two off from the theatre, shall I? It really would be lovely to see Clarence, especially now he’s so rich and on the marriage market again.’
‘Sod Clarence,’ he snorted angrily, his eyes ablaze. ‘Forget the damn clot.’
She laughed again, pleased she was unsettling him. ‘Oh, you do get jealous, Ben. I don’t like you when you get jealous,’ she added, pouting coquettishly.
‘What do you expect?’ he replied, feeling more exasperated with every second. ‘I ask you to come and live with me – which must tell you something about how I feel – and you keep throwing Clarence bloody Froggatt in my face. Get divorced like me, why don’t you? Then we could be married, if it’s living in sin that goes against the grain.’
‘Living in sin wouldn’t bother me in the slightest, but is that a proposal, Ben?’
‘If you want to take it as a proposal.’
‘Will you give me time to think about it?’ Something in her tone told him she was merely making fun of him.
‘Look, I’m serious,’ he asserted.
‘Yes, I think you are, Ben.’
‘But you’re not.’
‘How can I be? How can I be serious about a marriage proposal, you fool, when I’m already married?’
‘What if I write to your husband and tell him I’ve been having an affair with you for the past seven months? D’you think he’d start divorce proceedings?’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she said, visibly alarmed at the notion. She picked up her drink again and glared at him through narrowed eyes. ‘But if you did, I’d definitely make it my business to get back with Clarence Froggatt, make no mistake.’
* * *
Chapter 31
Summer turned into autumn, and late October brought a distinct nip in the air, with rainy days and foggy days. Meanwhile, life moved on, none more radically than Benjamin Sampson’s. One morning he received a letter from Kate Stokes, written in her usual unsophisticated scrawl on a pink envelope. He breathed a sigh of relief, for a reply had been overdue regarding his next trip to London, and this would hold confirmation. He opened it, his pulse racing at the prospect of more blissful nights. It read:
My dear Ben,
As I begin writing this letter I don’t know how to put what I want to say in a way that wont offend you, but I have to do it, and if it all comes out wrong I’m sorry. I reckon you must have noticed that things haven’t been going to well between us latley, and I don’t see any point in us meeting any more. At least you will save on train fairs and the expense of putting us up at the Savoy every time you come. I am sertain you’ve had your house done-up specialy for me, but I never asked you to and I never exspected it. I have enjoyed our little fling, but it was only when you made the suggestion that I should get divorced and marry you that I really understood how really serias you was about me. Up till then, although I knew you was in love with me, I thought our affair was just a bit of fun, something we did just ’cause we could. Well, Ben, I cant be that serias about you, and I never made you any promises.
In any case, something has cropped up that means we should end our affair even though I was going to do it anyway. Please don’t try and contact me and please save yourself the bother of writing because I am not going to change my mind.
I hope you understand and wish me well as I wish you well.
Your friend always,
K
Benjamin read it again. And again…trying to determine just what was behind her decision. She had been giving him a hard time of it emotionally for some months. She had been less enthusiastic in their bedtime activities, too disdainful, too unmindful of his feelings, resorting to sarcasm, taking him for granted, teasing his emotions. He had tolerated it because he did not want to lose her, yet the more he endured it the more she disdained him. Because he couldn’t keep his hands off her it was a price he was prepared to pay. He was besotted, he spent his waking hours obsessing about her naked body entwined with his, and the ultimate pleasure she bestowed on him in bed. There could never be another woman on this earth so sensual, so hedonistic, so divine. He only had to touch her – he only had to think about touching her – and he lit up with desire.
He would do anything to get her to change her mind. In fact, it was vital to his sanity that she should change her mind.
Unless, of course, she was pregnant…Well, there’s a thought…But pregnant by whom? Himself? Her husband? He read one line again. ‘In any case, something has cropped up that means we should end our affair even though I was going to do it anyway.’
If she were carrying a child and it was his own, then there was only one thing for it; regardless of her request not to contact her, he must. He must take the first train to London. He must find out the truth. Her husband might well have grounds for divorce, thus freeing her.
So Benjamin packed a bag, told Jane to expect him when she saw him, and set off to catch the first available train.
* * *
That same morning, Maude Atkins rose from her bed in the little terraced house that Benjamin rented for her, at about the same time as he, at Holly Hall House, opened his letter from Kate Stokes. She sat for a moment on her bed, her bare legs dangling over the edge, and took a sip of water from the glass on her bedside table. She yawned, and then stretched before standing up, to discern how she felt.
Her next thought was to check on the children; her own daughter and Benjamin’s son by Aurelia. Both were tucked up in bed in the tiny bedroom adjacent to hers. She pushed the door open and peered round it, and it creaked on its hinges. The two children, lying top to tail, were still asleep. She gazed fondly first at Louise, her own daughter, her fine fair hair awry as it spilled over her pillow. The child had inherited facial features from her father and the perception was more noticeable while she was asleep. Benjie, on the other hand, looked just like his mother, and she could discern nothing of Benjamin in his feature
s. Nonetheless, she had always been fond of him, for he was a placid little chap and could not help who he looked like.
Then she felt it; the dreaded nausea that overcame her quite suddenly, as it had every morning for a week or more. Under her bed was a chamber pot. She lurched back into her bedroom and managed to retrieve the pot from under the bed just in time to heave into it spectacularly. Kneeling, she took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, then her mouth. Her loose hair fell forward like a curtain around her face, and she wretched again. Flecks of puke lodged in the wayward strands of her hair. She sat back on her haunches, bedraggled and despondent with the repulsive taste of vomit in her mouth. When it first began she thought the vomiting might be due to a stomach upset, but her monthly bleeding too had ceased, an aspect that was not a concern at first, since never had her periods been regular. But now…
‘Dear God, I’m pregnant again, but should I be surprised?’ she justly asked herself.
One of the children began to cry. It was Louise. First, she must wash her face, get rid of the puke from her hair and clean her teeth to freshen her mouth.
Pregnancy in itself did not worry her. She would happily bear another child for Benjamin, if only Benjamin would settle her future positively. Every time she so much as hinted at marriage, he would make it plain, either by switching the subject or failing to give any response, that it was not a topic for discussion anymore. The renovations at Holly Hall House must have cost a tidy penny, yet despite the expectation of becoming the second Mrs Sampson, not once had he asked if she would like to see the changes, or offered her the opportunity to voice her approval. He was becoming mean as well; there was a time when he would bring her little presents – scarves, bracelets, chocolates, flowers occasionally, and other niceties. Not lately, though. Nor did she have any money; she relied on him to give her money so she and the children could live. If he was losing interest in her it was a fine time for it, now she was carrying another of his offspring in her belly.
She brushed her hair and looked at herself in the mirror over the washstand. She was twenty-four and already crow’s feet were developing around her eyes and around her mouth, especially when she smiled – not that she had much to smile about at present. She reached for her dressing gown, which was hanging from a nail in the bedroom door, and wrapped it around her.
Louise was still mewling, but more vociferously. When the child saw her mother, she held out her arms in anticipation.
‘Oh, you’re soaking wet, my pet,’ Maude exclaimed with maternal sympathy.
The child sleepily nestled her face in the bend of Maude’s warm neck and shoulder.
‘Oh, dear. We’ll have to get you into some nice dry things. Are you wet as well?’ she asked Benjie.
‘No. I didn’t wet the bed, Aunt Maude,’ he answered proudly in his little voice.
‘That’s good, Benjie,’ she praised. ‘Come on, ’cause you’ll still have to have a wash. Can you take off your nightshirt yourself, while I see to Louise?’
He said he could, and his little arms went above his head to pull the nightshirt over it. Meanwhile, Maude peeled off Louise’s nightgown, unfastened her wet napkin, carried her to the washstand and sponged her down. Benjie followed, his little feet padding over the floorboards. He watched, waiting patiently for his turn.
No sooner were the children dried off than she heard the rumbling of carriage wheels outside, and the clatter of horses’ hooves, followed by hurried footsteps echoing through the entry. Seconds later, there was a harsh knocking at the back door.
‘Will you look after Louise, Benjie, while I go down to answer the door? Don’t follow me, else you might fall down the stairs and hurt yourself.’
She hurried down the narrow, twisting staircase, unbolted the back door and opened it. It was pouring with rain, and two men, complete strangers, were standing there with water dripping off the rims of their hats.
‘Good morning,’ she greeted warily. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Am I right in thinking that this house is rented in the name of Benjamin Augustus Sampson?’ one of them queried, looking very severe.
‘Who wants to know?’ she asked, looking from one man to the other. The man’s tone, and the sneering look of his companion, made her wary.
‘I do, ma’am. I am Mr Robson, and this is Mr Wheel. We are bailiffs, ma’am.’
‘Bailiffs?’ Maude queried, at once alarmed.
‘Yes, bailiffs, ma’am. No rent has been paid on this property and there’s four months owing. Mr Sampson has received notice at his other address either to pay all arrears or quit these premises, but the landlord has received no payment, nor have you quit. We have instructions to evict you therefore, ma’am, and here’s the warrant.’ He waved a sheet of paper in front of her.
‘Now?’ she asked. ‘You want to evict me right now? In this weather?’
‘I’m afraid so, ma’am. As to the weather, I ain’t got no control over it.’
‘But I have two children upstairs waiting to be dressed. They’ve had no breakfast. We have nowhere to go. We have nobody to go to.’
‘I can’t help that, ma’am,’ Robson said, unmoved. ‘We have our instructions, unless you can pay four months’ rent now.’
‘No, I can’t. Of course I can’t. I have no money.’
Robson shrugged and turned to Wheel. With a sideward nod of his head, he signalled to Wheel to enter the house and begin taking Maude’s possessions. To her distress, Robson grabbed her while Wheel shoved past.
She protested volubly. ‘For God’s sake, let me get dressed and get my children,’ she screamed, and struggled free of the man. She ran back inside, Robson followed. Wheel was already opening cupboards.
By this time the next-door neighbour had appeared, anxious to see what all the fuss was about.
‘I’ll give you five minutes for you and your children to get dressed,’ said Robson. ‘Let me know as soon as you can what items you think should be exempt from distraint, such as your coats, other clothing and personal things. It’s pouring outside and we wouldn’t want you to catch chills on our account.’
She hurried past him with a glare, opened the stairs door and ran up the narrow staircase.
‘Children,’ she exclaimed breathlessly, ‘we must get dressed at once. We have to go out.’
Hurriedly, she dressed them, then herself. She took a canvas bag from a cupboard and stuffed what clothes she could into it, then led them downstairs. Robson and Wheel were in the little front room.
‘There ain’t nothin’ ’ere wuth a fat lot,’ Wheel muttered to his colleague.
‘The furniture belongs to the landlord,’ Maude remarked, overhearing. ‘I don’t see much point in you taking that.’
‘Aye, we know that, ma’am.’
‘All I own, Mr Robson, is what I’m wearing, and a couple more frocks that I’m taking with me. Our coats are hanging at the back of the cellar door. We’ll need them to keep out the rain.’
‘You’m entitled to them, ma’am, as I told you.’
‘Oh, there’s about a hundredweight of coal left in the cellar,’ she said cynically. ‘You’re welcome to that. Oh yes, and there’s a jar of jam and half a pound of butter on the cold shelf,’ she added with cold sarcasm.
‘I take it you’m Mrs Sampson,’ Robson said, not unsympathetic to this young woman’s plight.
‘No, as a matter of fact, I am Miss Atkins,’ she responded haughtily. ‘The little girl is my daughter, and the little boy is Mr Sampson’s son.’
‘You’m unmarried?’
‘Yes, I’m unmarried.’
‘Then might I ask what relationship—?’
‘No, you may not.’
She grabbed the coats, garbed the children, then herself.
‘Your key, ma’am?’ Robson held his hand out to receive it.
‘It’s hanging on a nail, there, look.’ She pointed to it. ‘You get it.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
She
left, bearing Louise on one arm, carrying the bag of clothes with her free hand. ‘Hold on to the bag with me, Benjie,’ she said when they reached the bottom of the entry. ‘We’re going to catch the tram.’
In the steeply sloping street known as The Inhedge a man was perched on a pantechnicon that was harnessed to a pair of horses; part of the bailiffs’ team. He huddled beneath his hat and inside his coat to protect him from the rain and blustery wind. Maude ignored him and hurried away with her charges.
While she was dressing the children, she had been formulating a plan. It was the only logical course of action. She would go to Holly Hall House, and install herself there with the children. They were Benjamin’s children; they were his ultimate responsibility, but he had shifted that responsibility onto her. Well, the tide had suddenly turned. Eviction was humiliating enough, with nosey neighbours doubtless watching unseen from behind net curtains. But this was the golden chance to turn the situation to her advantage. Holly Hall House would be their home from now on, and convention would dictate that because they would be living under the same roof, Benjamin must make an honest woman of her at last.
They trudged to the tram stop situated opposite the brewery at Top Church and waited in the pouring rain. ‘Hardly clement weather for being evicted,’ she told herself. A tram arrived almost at once, and she ushered Benjie onto it before stepping aboard herself with Louise and the large canvas bag. The sight of the conductor was a stark reminder that she would be required to pay her fare. As she settled them down in their seats, she fumbled in her pocket for her purse, hoping there was enough money in it to pay. But there was no purse. In the commotion she had left it behind. She knew exactly where it was – in the top drawer of the sideboard.
‘Tickets, please,’ the conductor called, and she sensed him heading towards her. He stood beside her, watching, waiting for her to offer her fare, while outside, through the window, the rest of the world hurried by.