by Nancy Carson
She took them, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Oh, Algie,’ she said soulfully, eyes misting. ‘You’re so good to me. There’ll never be anybody like you, believe me.’
* * *
Chapter 36
On Thursday the 14th of December, Marigold, dressed in a warm winter coat, scarf, gloves and warm hat, walked to the terminus at Kingswinford, without the children, and mounted the tramcar that was due to depart – part of her normal routine. She chose a seat and sat down. Soon, the machine rumbled off, gliding and huffing along silvery rails that glinted in the hazy winter sunshine. At Holly Hall she alighted, crossed the road and waited for the next tram that would advance her towards Talbot Street.
Once at Aurelia’s little house, she tapped on the back door and entered, as familiarity allowed. But there was nobody in the little scullery.
‘Hello!’ she called.
A voice from above answered, ‘I’m upstairs, Marigold. Come up if you want to, or put the kettle on.’
‘I’ll do both,’ Marigold responded, and grabbed the kettle to take to the brewhouse to fill. When she returned and put it to boil, she took off her outdoor clothes and made her way up the confined winding staircase. Christina was in her cot, and Benjie was in his own room playing quietly and contentedly on the floor with his toys.
‘You’ve not brought the children with you today?’ Aurelia enquired.
‘I left them with Clara. I didn’t want to bring them out in this cold.’ She picked up Christina from her cot and fussed her. ‘What are you doing, Aurelia?’ Aurelia was probing deep inside her wardrobe. ‘Sorting out your old clothes?’
‘In a way, yes.’
‘Well, anything decent as you don’t want anymore, you can chuck my way.’ Curious, she approached her sister and the wardrobe, and peered inside at all the frocks she’d acquired during her disastrous marriage.
Aurelia laughed. ‘You’re welcome to whatever you fancy.’
‘That’s kind, but only what you don’t want anymore.’
‘Why don’t you try this on?…’ She lifted an evening dress out of the wardrobe and handed it to Marigold. ‘I had it made shortly after Benjamin and I were married. I don’t think I could bring myself to wear it again, but it’s a lovely dress. It should fit you perfectly.’
‘D’you think so?’
Marigold returned Christina gently to her cot with a kiss and took the dress, looking it up and down. It was in emerald green silk with ruched sleeves and a low neck front and back. ‘It’s lovely,’ she enthused. ‘Yes, I’ll try it on. Are you sure you don’t want it?’
‘You’re welcome to it.’
Although it was cold in that bedroom, Marigold took off the dress she was wearing, stepped out of it, and shivered.
‘It’s cold outside,’ she remarked, ‘and it ain’t much warmer in here either. Why don’t you light a fire? Ain’t you got no coal?’
‘I’ve only got a bit left, and I want it to last till Christmas.’
Marigold stepped into the emerald green dress, slid it up over her waist. Aurelia helped her find the sleeves, then fastened the buttons for her that held it together at the back.
‘Turn around,’ Aurelia instructed. ‘Let me see.’
Marigold turned around.
‘There, dear. It’s perfect. It fits you better than it ever fitted me. It shows off your shoulders beautifully.’
‘And the length?’
‘Is perfect.’
‘It’d be lovely for a party, wouldn’t it?’ Marigold said. ‘How much d’you want for it?’
‘Nothing,’ Aurelia said. ‘If you like it you can have it. I don’t want anything for it. I’ve taken enough off you and Algie.’
‘Thank you,’ she cooed. ‘I love it.’
‘As I said, it fits you like a glove. You look a sensation. With your hair piled up and some nice earrings to match you’d be the belle of any ball.’
‘Well, we’ll have to see if we can organise a party, so’s I can wear it.’
‘Well, you never know just when one might crop up – unexpectedly…’
‘So how about you, Aurelia?’ Marigold enquired. ‘What shall you be doing over Christmas? Anything? Nothing? I wish we could invite you to our house, but with Clara there…’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve already had an invitation…’ Aurelia blushed, but seemed reticent to say more.
‘Who off?’
‘Oh, Marigold, I don’t know how to tell you this…’
‘Tell me what?…’Struth, Aurelia, you’re blushing. Is it a man?’ She smiled with expectation.
Aurelia put her hands to her cheeks, partly to feel the heat from her blush, partly because she was embarrassed.
‘Come on, out with it,’ Marigold demanded good-naturedly.
‘It’s Clarence.’
‘Clarence Froggatt?’ she repeated with incredulity. ‘Is he throwing a party, then?’
‘Sort of…A couple of weeks ago he called to see me – straight out of the blue, I certainly wasn’t expecting him. I didn’t tell you, because it didn’t seem important. Anyway, he insisted he should take me to see his new house in Kingswinford. So, on the Friday, he picked me and the children up and off we went.’
‘You dark horse,’ Marigold chided, but with a smile.
‘Oh, but, Marigold, it’s the most beautiful house. You should see it – it’s divine. And he’d arranged for food and everything. So thoughtful of him, I thought.’
‘Go on.’ Marigold was intrigued.
‘Well, I heard nothing more from him, nor did I expect to really…Until Tuesday, when he called here again. I really was surprised to see him again so soon…I wouldn’t have minded, but I was up to my neck in mending, and Lord knows what I must have looked like. My hair was all over the place.’ She rolled her eyes girlishly. ‘He insisted that I – and the children, of course – should spend Christmas with him at The Larches.’
‘Well, he’s got his eye on you again, and no mistake,’ Marigold remarked. ‘Good and proper, by the sound of it. But will he expect you to…you know?’
‘He said he might ask his mother and father to be there too…depending.’
‘Oh? Depending on what?’
‘Well…’ Aurelia swallowed hard, pausing. ‘I think you’d better sit down, Marigold.’ So Marigold sat on the bed, in the emerald green dress. ‘He asked me to marry him—’
‘Marry him?’
‘Yes, marry him. My response, he said, would decide whether he would ask his parents to be there or not. So he was obviously intending to be honourable if it was just an overnight stay.’
‘So what was your response?’ she asked, knowing full well what Aurelia should have said if she’d used any common sense at all. ‘What was your answer?’
‘I said yes, Marigold. I’ve agreed to marry him.’
The ensuing silence lasted several seconds, while this surprising news and all its implications sunk in with Marigold.
‘Aren’t you pleased for me?’ Aurelia asked at length, sensing disapproval.
Marigold then grinned with pleasure for her sister. ‘Course I’m pleased for you, Aurelia. It’s brilliant news. I’m that glad for you.’ She stood up and gave her a hug. ‘It’s one hell of a surprise, though.’
‘Yes, I expect it is. But can you blame me, Marigold?’
‘Blame you? Course not. You’d have been daft to turn him down after what you’ve been through – after what he’s been through as well. And especially because you’ve been engaged to him before.’
‘Oh, Marigold, I’m so relieved that you approve.’
‘I should say I approve. It’s the best news I’ve heard in years.’
‘You have to understand, dear, that what I’ve been used to all my life is not what you see here.’
‘Oh, I understand that all right.’
‘Clarence has offered me the sort of security I’ve never had before, and which I’ve craved for all my life. He’ll be a father to my children, and I’ll be a dut
iful mother to his little boy. The children will grow up together as brothers and sister. What more could I ask for? What woman in my position wouldn’t say yes?’
‘I’ve got just one question, Aurelia…’
‘Which is?
‘Well…because you was engaged to him once, you must have been in love with him at the time…’
‘Yes…’
‘So do you—’
‘Still love him?’ Aurelia interjected, anticipating the question. ‘I’ve never lost my admiration for him, nor my partiality for him. When my marriage to Benjamin began to fall apart I reached the stage of pining for him, realising what a fool I’d been for letting him go. I think I’ve always loved him, but that love became buried under a whole pile of events,’ she said defensively. ‘We’ve always got on well. We’ve never fallen out – far from it. I see no reason why that love shouldn’t rekindle itself quite naturally.’
‘Do you still fancy him as much as you must’ve done in the past?’
Aurelia smiled. ‘Why shouldn’t I? He’s still the same good-looking chap as ever he was, and possibly more appealing as he’s got older. And my tastes haven’t changed.’
‘Are you quite sure it’s not his house you’ve fallen in love with?’ Marigold asked unconcernedly, and laughed to indicate she would not blame Aurelia if she had. ‘I daresay you’ll come to be head over heels with his money as well.’
‘Thank you for being so blunt, Sister,’ Aurelia replied with the same insouciance. ‘Just as long as you wouldn’t disapprove, even if it were true.’
‘No, I wouldn’t disapprove at all. I think it’s just marvellous that this opportunity has come. It’s a gift from heaven. I don’t blame you at all for grasping the chance to be loved and cared for, and to live in the lap of luxury. I think you deserve it after all you’ve been through with that fool you did marry. But I also think it’s a bit soon – ’specially for him, ’specially after Harriet’s death and your divorce. He seems to have got over his bereavement quickly.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ve said as much to Clarence,’ Aurelia responded, ‘but he pooh-poohed that notion. He reckons it’s of no consequence. People might have expected him to mourn Harriet for a couple of years, but to what purpose, he said. And I agree. There’s no logic to it, other than to satisfy convention. He enjoyed being married to Harriet, and he needs a mother for his little son, in the same way my children need a father. He’ll be good for Benjie – Christina too. He needs a wife and I could certainly do with a husband. We both think it’s a perfect arrangement, and the do-gooders and pooh-poohers can think what they like. He knows I’m not infatuated with him, like the adolescent young girl I used to be, but he too says love will flourish again and mature – and I know it will.’
‘So when is it to be then, this wedding?’
‘A week tomorrow. Friday the twenty-first, at noon. Just in time for Christmas. It’s why I was looking through my dresses, to see if I have something suitable to be married in, in a civil ceremony. There’s no time to get anything made now, it’s too close to Christmas. It won’t be a big lavish affair; just the two of us and a couple of witnesses. There’ll be no invited guests. But Clarence wants to throw a party on Christmas night in celebration for all our friends. You are both invited, I hope you’ll come.’
‘We’ll see,’ Marigold replied, knowing full well that Algie would need some persuading.
‘You’d be able to wear that green dress that you look so astonishingly lovely in.’
‘True…So who will be your witnesses, Aurelia?’
‘I would like you to be, Marigold…you and Algie…’
‘Then you’d better ask him.’
‘Won’t you ask him for me?’
‘No, I won’t. I won’t even mention that you’re going to wed Clarence Froggatt, and you know why.’ Marigold looked Aurelia in the eye. ‘No, I’m not telling him,’ she repeated unequivocally. ‘You tell him.’
‘I wish I possessed the courage…Anyway, I doubt whether I shall see him now. There’s no point in him coming on a Friday anymore. You know he normally pops in, but there’s no need now. Clarence is already looking after my affairs. I would’ve thought Algie would be pleased. Think of the money he’ll save.’
‘I’ll tell him not to call tomorrow, Aurelia. I’ll say you’ll be out, but I ain’t telling him why,’ Marigold said bluntly. ‘If you want him to know your good news, then write to him. Just don’t expect me to tell him. He won’t approve, I know he won’t, and I don’t want to be within a hundred yards of him when he finds out.’
Marigold changed back into her own dress, and went downstairs to brew the tea, not looking forward to the storm that must certainly ensue once Algie knew of Aurelia’s decision. It would not come from her own lips, however. She flatly refused to be the messenger.
* * *
The unexpected knowledge that Clarence Froggatt was about to marry Aurelia was a huge burden for Marigold, even though she was delighted for her sister. She could not summon the courage to tell Algie, nor could she even hint at it. He would be certain to find out some other way, but after the event, she hoped. Nor did she wish to be anywhere near him when he did find out.
When they went to bed that night they made love. Marigold wallowed in his affection and in their intimacy and, as they lay silent and sated afterwards, she pondered Aurelia’s forthcoming marriage. To her, it seemed that Clarence was disdaining the memory of Harriet by deciding to wed so soon, yet she could understand his desire and his need to have somebody to share his life and his new house, and to look after his son. Because Aurelia had obviously loved him once, surely she could love him again. The marriage would also put Aurelia out of Algie’s reach, which would be one less issue to concern her; for all Algie’s reassurances she still had niggling doubts. After all, they’d had opportunity enough, when they travelled to London together for the divorce hearing, and with Algie visiting her every Friday to give her money. Sometimes she wished she were a fly on the wall during those visits, for he never said what they’d talked about, and she was always too proud to ask.
Her mind ran on, and she could not get to sleep for fidgeting and tossing one way then the other. If only Algie could willingly accept Aurelia marrying Clarence, it would be a perfect solution for all of them. Surely he would wish her out of her present situation, living in that cold little house dependent wholly on him. Surely he would be able to see the benefits not just for her, but for himself and for everybody else.
But Algie was Algie – and stubborn.
* * *
Chapter 37
On Saturday, when Algie returned home from the factory, and during the whole of Sunday, he was in decently high spirits. Together, they took the children for a walk through the lanes around Kingswinford, and he happily pushed them along in the bassinet they shared, with Marigold ambling along at his side, enjoying the exercise. She was on tenterhooks, though, having expected a letter for Algie to arrive from Aurelia right away, but any such letter had so far failed to appear. Once he knew of that impending match with Clarence Froggatt, his mood would change, which filled Marigold with anxiety. He would not be able to see, he would refuse to accept, that for Aurelia, it was the best chance she was ever likely to get for a settled life.
In her mind a crisis loomed.
Monday came, and the dreaded missive arrived. Algie, however, was at the factory. Marigold was in for a further agonising wait until he returned that evening.
For him, the start to the working week had not gone well. They had run out of gas for the arc-welding machine, because nobody had told him they were running out, so they had lost a day and a half’s production of welded components. A consignment of spoked wheels had failed to turn up, so some bicycles had to be stored minus wheels pending the delivery. Algie was frustrated, and it was after eight when he arrived home, late and not in the best of spirits.
Marigold greeted him with an uneasy smile and fetched his tea from the kitchen, where she had ke
pt it hot in the oven of the range. She placed it on a tray with a glass of beer, and took it to where he sat at the dining-room table. It was meat and potato pie. As he put his knife into it, the steam rose along with the glorious aroma.
‘I’m going upstairs,’ she told him. ‘I’ve got some mending to do. Your mother is with Rose in the other room, don’t forget to say hello to them…Oh, and there’s a letter for you when you’ve finished your dinner. It’s on the bureau in the hall. Just leave your plate and things and I’ll clear ’em up later.’
He nodded, took a draught of beer, and tucked into his dinner alone.
Once finished, he sat musing over the day’s events, pondering ways he could avoid such expensive inadequacies as had bedevilled him all day. Then he remembered there was a letter for him. He went to the hall, saw it propped up on the bureau, and wondered why he hadn’t spotted it when he came in. He recognised the familiar handwriting on the envelope and took it back into the dining room to read, where the light from the oil lamps was brighter and less of a strain on the eyes. It read:
Dearest Algie,
This is my third attempt at writing this letter, and if I eventually get through it satisfactorily it will be a wonder, for it is so hard for me to write. The reason for my difficulty is that I believe you will not receive it too happily. You see, I have some important news and I really don’t know how best to couch it.
You see, I am to be married on Friday next in a civil ceremony to the man I should have married in the first place, Clarence Froggatt. I appreciate that this will come as a shock, but I do hope you will not begrudge me the chance of a settled relationship with a man I was once in love with, and have always liked and admired. As you know, married life for me hitherto has been miserable, highlighted only by the regard and affection you and I have held for each other. You have been a beacon in my life, Algie, in many respects a saviour, and I shall always cherish what we had. Since then, and since my divorce, life has been one of acute loneliness and unhappiness, and despite your noble support, and the wonderfully warm friendship of Marigold, a very restricted one.