The Loom

by Sandra van Arend

  ‘John, darling, I want to go to bed.’ John looked at Marion worriedly. Trust Geoffrey to overdo it. She’d had far too much drink!

  ‘Did you tell Geoffrey about the sculpture Mother bought you, darling?’ he said brightly. He put his arm round her shoulder. Even in her befuddled state Marion looked surprised. John never touched her unless he had to.

  ‘What, oh, no, no, I didn’t think he’d be interested.’

  ‘Oh, he is, he is. It’s a hobby of his. Why not show it to him.’

  ‘But it’s in my bedroom, John.’ She looked glassily at her husband, trying vainly to make his two heads one.

  She’d really had too much to drink, and wished that all these people would disappear and she could sink into her lovely feather bed.

  ‘Why not take Geoffrey upstairs for a quick look, darling. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Geoffrey?’

  ‘What, oh, yes, yes, love it, just love it.’

  Marion somehow found herself being propelled up the stairs by both John and Geoffrey and into her bedroom.

  She stood uncertainly for moment, swaying, then tried to make out why Geoffrey was bending down. It looked as though he was picking something up off the floor. No, he was undoing his shoelaces! Why would he be doing that, she thought? She shook her head. She really would have to sit down otherwise she’d fall down and she was so fuddled that she was imagining things.

  She looked again and tried to make out what Geoffrey was doing. It must be her imagination because she was sure that Geoffrey was now taking his shoes off, and that couldn’t be right. Why would he do that? She shook her head trying to see more clearly but it was no use.

  John suddenly took hold of her and made her lie on the bed. That hadn’t been hard at all but before she could snuggle into the eiderdown he turned her over and began to undo the buttons on the back of her dress.

  ‘John, what…what are you doing?’ She could hardly get the words out because her mouth was pressed into the quilt.

  ‘Not to worry, darling, just relax and enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Enjoy myself?’ Her head had cleared a little because now she could see that Geoffrey had taken off his trousers. She must be going mad!

  Darkie had seen the trio leave the room and go upstairs. He was instantly suspicious but at that moment a guest asked for more wine and he had to open another bottle of champagne. He must have opened dozens and this lot was still going strong and would be at it all night from the look of things. By the time he’d sloshed wine into half a dozen glasses Marion and company had disappeared.

  He put the tray down on a table and took the stairs two at a time. He was just thinking that there was something very bloody funny going on here when he heard a cry, which was cut off abruptly as he reached the landing.

  He was at the bedroom door in three long strides and flung it open. His shocked gaze took in the three on the bed, who all turn around as the door slammed hard against the wall.

  ‘Darkie,’ Marion slurred, looking over to him from the bed.

  ‘What on earth…how dare you come in here,’ John shouted.

  Darkie ran towards the bed. ‘You bloody perverted bastards. Let her go or I’ll knock your bloody blocks off.’

  He grabbed John by his shirt, lifted him off the bed and sent him flying across the room where he landed in an undignified heap next to the bureau.

  Geoffrey was busily pulling his trousers on and groping around for his shoes. He was staring at Darkie in terror but he couldn’t leave without his shoes, could he, but then seeing Darkie head for him, he scuttled towards the door. Good God, he might just have to because this monster had taken leave of his senses.

  Geoffrey shot out of the room minus shoes. John picked himself up off the floor, brushed himself down and then sauntered out of the room.

  ‘See that you leave soon,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘And take her with you.’ He nodded towards Marion.

  Darkie stared after him as John closed the door. What a bloody cool customer, he thought.

  He turned to look at Marion. She was looking at him as though hypnotized. He went over and shook her.

  ‘Marion, Marion, are you all right?’ He shook her again.

  Marion retched all night long.

  There was a stretch of it when she wanted to die, thought she would die.

  ‘I’m dying,’ she said, over and over.

  Darkie held her as she vomited into the toilet bowl. When the paroxysm was finally over he took her clothes off, although she protested.

  ‘You can’t wear these,’ he said as she pushed his hands away. ‘They’re stinking.’

  She began to sob. ‘It’s all wrong, Darkie, all wrong.’

  ‘You sound like my mother,’ he said. ‘But we’ll try to make it all right, hey?’ He stripped her down to her camisole, wiped her face with a flannel and then wrapped her in a large white towel and carried her to the bed.

  ‘I think I should take you over to your mother’s.’

  ‘Not yet, Darkie, I feel too sick.’ Marion moaned.

  The room tilted at an odd angle and she wanted to be sick again but held it back. Darkie was bending over her, concern on his face. Thank goodness he’d been in time.

  Marion shuddered. How could John! She’d never forgive him. Never!

  ‘I’m so tired, Darkie. Couldn’t I just have a little sleep first before we go.’

  ‘Aye, that might be a good idea.’ Darkie pulled the quilt back and helped Marion into the bed, still wrapped in the towel.

  She was shivering so he lay down next to her and pulled her to him. She fell asleep immediately. He looked down at her closed lids. He thought of the elegant creature of the early evening floating into the room in her chiffon dress, not a hair out of place. He’d wanted her so much then, could have gobbled her up.

  Now he was in bed with her, but it wasn’t desire he felt at the moment as much as tenderness. He could have killed that bloody Grentham! He closed his eyes. He was dog-tired as well. He’d never seen anyone retch so much and for so long. Where had it all come from? He’d just have forty winks and then they’d be on their way.

  In spite of his tiredness it was a while before he slept. His mind was in a whirl. Since the afternoon of the car episode Marion had been friendly but distant. He had been hurt but tried not to show it. Probably had second thoughts! He certainly hadn’t; each time he saw her his feeling grew. He wouldn’t blame her at all if she did change her mind. What had he to offer? Nothing, bloody nothing and he was a numbskull to even contemplate having anything to do with her except chauffeur her around. Even that would end soon because she could drive now and could tootle around in her new car on her own.

  He remembered his feelings for Kitty, how besotted he’d been. He’d been a boy then. Now he was a man and his feelings were different. Not less, no never that because he’d thought the world of Kitty. What he felt now was raw emotion, desire, longing, the deep loving and lusting that men need. He didn’t want a brief affair either. He wanted Marion with a man’s passionate longing. He’d had a few short liaisons since he’d returned to Harwood. They’d eased the physical clamourings of his body, but his mind had remained untouched by any emotional commitment. He’d never, since Kitty, felt any stirrings of love until he leant over Marion in the car.

  One thing was clear. Marion could not live in this house any longer. He finally drifted off, but his mind was still filled with the night’s activities: all mixed up as dreams usually are, people in wrong settings, the wrong speech coming from wrong mouths. A nightmare!

  He woke with a jolt. Something had disturbed him. A loud crack of thunder made him jump again. Lightning flashed through a chink in the curtains. Then the rain came down, pelting against the windows, huge drops, which reverberated like bullets. In the gray dawn light he could barely make out the furniture. He had pins and needles in the arm Marion was lying on. He pulled it out carefully from under her and rubbed it with his other hand. He winced as the circulation returned.
/>   He looked down at the sleeping form next to him. In the dim light he could just see Marion’s face, a pale blur. The towel had fallen away. He gently stroked her shoulder, watching her become more distinct with the growing light. She looked vulnerable and very young. He bent and kissed her cheek. She stirred and her eyes suddenly flew open, alarmed at first then relieved.

  She smiled and looked up at him, ‘Darkie,’ she said, reaching out her hand.

  He bent and kissed her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘It’s impossible, Stephen,’ Jessica said tightly.

  Stephen’s face was grim. ‘I don’t see that it should be. She comes from the wrong side of the track, yes, but I couldn’t care less. It might embarrass you though in front of your friends, is that it? But it won’t make a scrap of difference because I intend to keep on seeing Leah Hammond with or without your approval. And don’t think this is just a casual affair. It isn’t. I’m in love for the first time in my life.’

  ‘You wouldn’t marry her, surely?’

  ‘I’ll give you one guess.’

  Jessica tried to hide her dismay. It was unthinkable Leah Hammond become part of their family. There was also the added problem of what she’d seen and heard in the library. If she married Stephen she would tell him all. No, it was out of the question. She’d have to do something, but what? She felt like pulling her hair out, or worse.

  Her coolness belied her feelings as she replied. ‘I think you’re making a mistake, Stephen, and you’re being unfair to her. She won’t fit in, she just won’t.’

  ‘I actually think she will fit in, quite well,’ Stephen replied.

  ‘She’ll be like a fish out of water.’ Jessica ignored Stephen’s last remark. ‘Although I grant you her speech is much improved, thanks to Miss Fenton’s misguided intentions. She’s from the wrong side of the track. How will she fit in socially? She won’t!’

  Stephen looked at his stepmother with dislike. Why had he never realized what a snob she was? She put her hand on his arm and he shook it off irritable.

  ‘I don’t care what sort of opposition you put up, you won’t change my mind. Things are different now, mainly due to the war. War’s a great leveller. Keeping your place means nothing when you’re going over the top, or facing a mad charge with a fellow with a bayonet, or crawling your way through mustard gas, or seeing men blown to bits.’ Jessica went white. ‘Shall I go on?’ She shook her head.

  ‘I know what went on in the war, Stephen. There’s no need to bring all that up again.’

  ‘I think there is. And as for Leah not being good enough, as you have implied, I can tell you this. She’s got more ‘class’ in her little finger than all the horsy-faced madams of our social set.’

  Jessica was silent. How could she criticize? She had no cause for complaint against Leah. Just the opposite! Leah had conducted herself with the utmost decorum, both at the Hall and from what she had heard about her, outside it as well. She was well thought of was Leah Hammond, as were the whole family, with the exception of the father, of course and even he seemed to have mended his ways a little. People in glass houses, she thought.

  Stephen was watching her, surprised that her outburst had been cut off so abruptly. Jessica realized he was waiting for more of the same, but she suddenly felt so dreadfully tired, so fed up with everything, of worrying herself silly about what had happened in the past. All she really wanted to do was to be left alone with George. A little peace and quiet would go down very nicely at the moment. The last thing she wanted was to have to think of Leah with Stephen and to be truthful she just couldn’t see it happening, so why was she worrying. And if it did, what could she do?

  ‘I think Leah should look for another job then,’ Jessica said wearily. ‘I would feel most uncomfortable with her at the Hall now.’

  ‘She can go and help Marion in Cheshire,’ Stephen said, ‘Until we sort things out. Marion won’t mind. She’s always liked Leah. I’m sure she’ll be able to find something for Leah to do there because I know Leah won’t want to live on charity. She’s too much pride.

  Jessica stared at Stephen in consternation. She’d promised Gertie Wicklow she could go to work for Marion in Cheshire. She would be glad to get rid of her, too. Gertie was a rather nasty piece of work, and a blackmailer to boot since that fateful day in the library.

  It had not only been Leah and Raymond who’d got the shock of their life. Hearing raised voices Gertie had put her ear to the door and heard all, or nearly all. What she hadn’t, she’d pieced together. Jessica had been paying to keep her quiet ever since.

  ‘I promised Gertie Wicklow that job, Stephen,’ Jessica said.

  ‘Well renege on it, Mother. I’m sure Gertie hasn’t signed a contract,’ Stephen said in exasperation.

  ‘I can’t really.’

  ‘Why not,’ Stephen said curtly.

  ‘I promised her.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Stephen replied and turned around and walked out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind him.

  Jessica smoothed her hair back off her forehead impatiently. Why couldn’t things run smoothly for a change? She’d have to tell Gertie of the change in plans. Gertie would not be at all pleased, but she couldn’t bear to have Leah working at the Hall now.

  **********

  Leah stood in front of the mirror in Glebe Street. She’d bought her mother a new one some time ago, a slightly larger version and if she stood on a stool she could see from the top of her head to just below her waist. She smoothed the collar of the wool coat, which matched her eyes. Leah smiled brightly at her reflection, a feeling of pure happiness coursing through her. She’d been like this since the Ball.

  Emma, coming into the room stopped and stared. ‘That looks lovely lass. You’ve made a good job of that coat.’

  Leah jumped off the stool. ‘Thanks, Mam. I’m pleased with it, too.’

  She looked down at the front of the coat. Those gores had been difficult, but she had to admit the coat did look professionally made. Miss Fenton had said only yesterday how much she’d improved in that department. It had given her an idea, which she’d been mulling over ever since.

  She had talent as a dressmaker, even if she did say so herself. She’d even made dresses for Mrs. Townsend.

  She had a flair for design, for the latest fashions, could draft just about any pattern, and she made the clothes fit like a glove. Why shouldn’t she start her own business? She knew she couldn’t stay at the Hall. Mrs. Townsend had already intimated that. She felt uncomfortable there now, and although nothing had been said there’d been a shift in attitudes, not only by Mr. & Mrs. Townsend but by the staff as well. Gertie Wicklow was becoming nastier towards her, if anything, making snide and even rude and slanderous remarks to her. Mrs. Walters was also disapproving.

  ‘It’s not right, Leah,’ she’d said the next week after hearing all the gossip. ‘You’re a servant here, that’s what you’ve got to remember.’ She shook her head and went back to making a hot pot, muttering about people keeping their places.

  Leah was annoyed. She thought that at least Maud Walters would be happy for her.

  Miss Fenton was more horrified than Maud.

  ‘Leah, dear, do you know what you’re doing?’ she said. ‘Have you considered the repercussions of this?’

  ‘What repercussions?’

  Miss Fenton had made Leah feel guilty, but she didn’t know why? She loved Stephen and that was all that mattered. If there were any problems, they’d overcome them, some way or other.

  The biggest opposition to her had been her mother, who had been amazed and then angry.

  ‘You can’t take up with one of the nobs,’ she said when Leah walked in with her head in the clouds and told her everything. Janey heard her come in and ran into the living room in her nighty, rubbing her eyes.

  ‘What happened, Leah,’ she said. ‘Did you have a good time?’

  So Leah repeated it all again and Janey listened with her mouth open s
aying ‘oh, how lovely’ or ‘lucky sod’ all the way through.

  Leah was disappointed at her mother’s reaction. You’d think she’d be glad for me, she said to Kathryn as they discussed the situation. Kathryn was all for the match and Leah’s new idea.

  ‘I know a lot of people with money, Leah. If you make me some dresses I’m sure they’ll buy, too.’

  ‘Do you think they would?’ Leah had not envisaged sewing for the Park Lane lot. When she began to think about it she thought, why not? If Mrs. Townsend wore dresses she made, why shouldn’t they?

  After her mother’s tacit disapproval she was loath to confide in her about her sewing idea. She was such a stick in the mud, Leah thought in exasperation: so worried about doing the right thing, and keeping the peace. Leah had other ideas and she certainly wasn’t going to worry about what other people thought, although again she would have to tread carefully and do everything above board if she were to keep her good name and reputation, especially if she went into business.

  The idea came to her when one of the small shops on the Town Square became vacant. She stood in front of the window, which had newspaper covering the large window. She studied the sign on the door, which said ‘Shop to let’. Slowly the idea began to form. She remembered the small shops in London: the tasteful décor, the fashionable clothes. She began to feel excited. If she ever did have a shop she knew exactly how it would look; certainly not a higgledy piggledy mess like Ethel Winthrope’s Haberdashery on High Street.

  She wondered how she could broach the subject to her mother. Emma was all against change. She liked the security of knowing what was what she would say to Leah, if anything at all out of the ordinary were planned.

  She wouldn’t take well to the idea of a shop. Coming on top of her association with Stephen she’d probably have a heart attack.

  Leah listened as her mother began again on why she didn’t like the idea of Leah and ‘Captain Townsend’ as she called Stephen even though Leah had raised objection to this.