by Erica Brown
‘Refreshment before you leave,’ Conrad said.
He showed them into a cosy office with checked curtains and a series of odd chairs arranged in a circle. As Conrad rummaged in a cupboard, Tom said, ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’
They sat down. Conrad took great pride in making them coffee, which was why he’d been rummaging in the cupboard. Sweet and rich with cream, it tasted delicious. ‘I insist you have one of these, he added. He undid a twist of paper. ‘What is it?’ Edith asked, but dipped her hand in first anyway and pulled out something resembling a stone.
Tom smiled. ‘Eat it.’
Conrad said nothing, but kept his eyes fixed on Blanche as she bit into the hard, dark lump.
‘Chocolate!’ she exclaimed.
‘Raw chocolate,’ said Tom. ‘Conrad and the other German sugar bakers are very fond of it, especially as a drink. They buy it raw from the Fry family. Go on. Eat it.’
‘It’s lovely!’ Edith exclaimed as she gobbled greedily at a sizeable chunk.
Conrad laughed. He liked seeing people enjoy themselves. He also liked looking at Blanche and once or twice she looked back at him. After a few minutes he leaned towards Tom. ‘I need to smoke. Shall we withdraw?’
A secretive look passed between the two men and Tom nodded.
They offered Edith and Blanche apologies and stepped outside. They had just finished a meeting with the Sugar Bakers Association which had taken place whilst Blanche and Edith had been in the Pithay. Certain other members of the association bought sugar at a cheaper price direct from the Strong plantation. After Emmanuel’s strategy to take over Conrad’s share of the company was explained, they all agreed that they would not bid for the three shiploads of raw sugar beet coming into port from the continent. These would all go to Conrad.
‘I appreciate your warning, Tom,’ said Conrad now. ‘Tomorrow would have been too late to ward off your uncle’s ambitions. The other members would have put in their bids for the sugar beet. With present stocks of raw cane and the beet, I can hold him off until the next shipments of sugar cane. This time he will not be able to persuade my colleagues to take more than they can cope with. In the meantime, I will try to raise funds to buy out his second payment on his portion of the company.’
‘I trust I’ve given you enough time,’ said Tom apologetically.
‘It has to be enough.’ Conrad nodded worriedly before he brightened again. ‘Marstone Court has very pretty servants,’ he said, nodding towards the closed door wherein Blanche and Edith still drank coffee and ate raw chocolate.
‘Yes,’ said Tom, taken slightly aback.
‘She will make someone a very good wife. A good mother too, no doubt.’
Tom managed a curt nod and swallowed a sudden surge of jealousy. He’d noticed Conrad looking at Blanche but decided that his interest was merely paternal. Now he could see it was otherwise and it worried him. Unlike Nelson, Conrad was a man of integrity, more likely to bestow honour than steal it away.
Due to the amount of ham she’d eaten at her mother’s, plus the chocolate, Edith fell asleep on the way home, bundled on the floor at the back between the seats.
Tom kept glancing at Blanche, and made an effort to stop doing it, but failed. Her bonnet, which was pale mauve and had a wispy little feather floating at its side, lay in her lap. In the crisp night air and moonlight, her skin seemed almost silver, her hair like a black cloud around her head. She was exotically beautiful; no wonder Nelson wanted her. But Nelson would not marry her. Surely she knew that? She’d be a long-term mistress at best, at worst a dalliance until something new came along. Nelson had always liked exotic women, but in their place, mostly in Madame Sybil’s, so he’d heard. Perhaps if Emmanuel had never taken his son to a brothel, he might never have become obsessed with foreign beauties – or developed a liking for opium.
He tried to convince himself that he would be telling Blanche the truth for her own good, but deep inside he knew otherwise. He didn’t know when he’d first fallen in love with her, but it was there, tickling just beneath his heart and refusing to go away.
Staring steadfastly between the horse’s ears, he took hold his courage, gave his jealousy full rein and said simply, ‘Nelson will never marry you, neither here nor in Barbados.’
He sensed rather than saw the abrupt turn of her head, the look of surprise turning slowly to indignation.
He was right of course. Blanche was taken completely by surprise and was going to ask how he knew about Nelson, let alone that she’d considered going back to Barbados with him. Then she remembered Edith would do anything to ingratiate herself with Tom. She might keep her secret from the rest of the household, but she gushed openly in Tom’s presence.
She stiffened, the only way she could control an angry outburst. ‘I may not want him to marry me.’
‘Hah!’ Tom said scornfully. He didn’t believe she’d settle for less than marriage.
He was right. Blanche had presumed Nelson would eventually marry her, though a little voice at the back of her mind nagged that it wouldn’t be so.
‘It’s none of your business,’ she muttered.
As the horse slowed to a tired amble, Tom sighed and shook his head. ‘You’re a fool. And it is my business. I’m the one who went touting your mother’s bits and pieces to Aggie Pike for your return home.’
‘I could have done it myself,’ Blanche said hotly, though she knew it was far from the truth. She didn’t know Bristol as well as Tom did, and she certainly didn’t know the likes of Aggie Pike!
Tom barely tugged on the reins, but the tired horse sagged to a standstill, droopy between the shafts.
Tom wound the reins around the brake and took Blanche by her shoulders. ‘I could marry you, Blanche. And I’m not tied up with the likes of Adelaide Tillingham.’
Shocked by his offer, her voice failed her. Her senses seemed heightened by his closeness, the seriousness of his expression and the warmth of his palms through her sleeves.
‘He’s not marrying her now,’ she blurted once she’d found her voice.
‘Of course he is,’ said Tom, his hair waving around his face in the breeze. ‘His father will insist. The Strongs aren’t just a family, Blanche. They’re a business. For them, marriage isn’t about love. It’s about business expansion and gathering more wealth, and more and more, and more. Don’t you see that?’
Back in Barbados, she had been so sure about her feelings for Nelson, and almost as sure about his feelings for her. Deep inside she knew her passion wasn’t quite what it had been back them. Think of those evenings, she thought, but when she did, they no longer seemed so golden. It was as if a sea mist had made the scene less colourful with the passing of time. Blanche stubbornly refused to relinquish the dream. She’d come to England for it.
Her face was flushed and her hair tumbled around her shoulders. Tom took advantage of Blanche’s confusion. Still holding her shoulders, he kissed her – and Blanche did not resist.
In the stunned silence following his kiss, Tom gazed at her with more wonder than even Nelson with his palette of paint. He smiled nervously. ‘Have you noticed how tired this old horse is? That’s because he’s having to pull us along by himself. It’s a bit like us. If there were two horses pulling, it would make light work of things – just like in life.’
Blanche burst into an indignant laugh. ‘Are you comparing me to a horse?’
Tom shrugged. ‘I don’t know fancy words, Blanche, but I know how I feel.’
He has integrity, thought Blanche. ‘You’re an honest man, Tom Strong, and your offer deserves consideration.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Good,’ he said in a satisfied manner. ‘Good.’
Her ears were getting cold, so Blanche put her bonnet back on as Tom reached for the reins.
‘It’s been an interesting day,’ said Tom, as the horse ambled forward.
‘Hmm,’ said Blanche and smiled.
Between the back seats, Edith lay unblinking and very still
. She had heard Tom proposing to Blanche, and knew that he’d kissed her. It just wasn’t fair. Blanche already had Nelson. Wasn’t that enough for her? Her bottom lip was trembling and a sob threatened. Bunching her hand into a tight fist, she pushed it into her mouth and wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her cloak. Well, she wouldn’t be Blanche’s friend any more, damn it, she wouldn’t!
Chapter Eighteen
Edith was being hostile towards Blanche, avoiding the nursery and spending more time below stairs with the rest of the servants.
Blanche considered asking her why, until the truth hit her. Edith must have heard Tom proposing to her. It occurred to her to explain, but what sort of explanation could she give? It had happened. There were no apologies to be made, so far as she was concerned. Tom had instigated everything.
Edith being less of a friend saddened her. When Blanche took the children kite-flying, Edith made excuses as to why she couldn’t go. She only appeared when Tom did. Although Blanche saw him glancing at her and smiling as if he were thinking amusing and interesting thoughts, he never pressurized her for an answer to his proposal. They were rarely alone, and when it looked as though they might be, Blanche would run away, ostensibly to pull the kite up into the sky, but more so because she didn’t know what to say should he ask her.
Besides looking after the older children, Blanche was now required to fill in for Mrs Frobisher, the monthly nurse, on her days off. One of those duties was taking the baby along to her mother to be fed.
‘I know, I know,’ Blanche said soothingly on one of those days, hugging the warm little body to her side as the baby turned red in the face and yelled for milk. ‘Alicia May is hungry and needs her mother.’
Dr West was snapping his bag shut when she entered Lady Verity’s room. Horatia was playing chaperone, sitting in a nursing chair and looking thoroughly disinterested. Prince Charles the spaniel was snoring on a purple silk cushion at the foot of the bed.
Dr West was a rotund man who advised brandy and water for minor ailments, and looked as if he took plenty of his own medicine. ‘None of this getting out of bed after a fortnight,’ he said. ‘It may be unfashionable, but I advise all new mothers to stay in bed for one month following the birth.’
Blanche thought of her friend Lucy’s mother and her strong brood. Two days following the births and she’d been up and about, hot steam rising from a cast-iron cauldron, as the sheets bloodied during the birth were boiled clean.
Horatia threw Blanche a withering glance then grimaced at the squalling bundle, and took advantage of Dr West’s departure. ‘I’ll see you out, Doctor.’ Swaying over its whalebone frame, her skirt swished like the sound of an ebbing tide over pebbles.
Verity’s motherly façade left the room with the doctor and her step-daughter.
‘Bring it here,’ she sighed, tugging at the tapes that fastened the bodice of her penoir.
Even as she handed her the baby, Blanche felt the full force of Lady Verity’s pale blue eyes and knew she hated her.
‘Stand over there,’ Lady Verity ordered, jerking her chin at the window, her fingers poised over the flap of cotton that covered her swollen breast, already stained with milk flow.
Blanche obeyed. Englishwomen were prudish about exposing their bodies, even their breasts for baby-feeding. Back in Barbados, she’d seen women working in the fields, their babies tied around them, sucking at their nipples from beneath their arms. Their lives had been harsh, their children the greatest joy in their lives.
Turning her back to the room was almost like blotting out the present and all it represented. The view from the window, the spring leaves, the sprinkling of buttercups and daisies, were preferable to the dark blues, mauves and greens of the cluttered bedroom where the heavy furniture and velvet drapes of the new fashion stifled what light came through the windows.
A lone figure was walking down the gravelled drive, hair neatly tied for a change, and leather jacket straining across broad shoulders. Tom was going to the village, no more than a cluster of houses that straddled the road to Bristol. He’s visiting Jasper, she thought. Her spirit followed him as well as her eyes until the road swerved right and he disappeared behind a stone folly, a watch-tower complete with castellated battlements and arrow slits carved to resemble a crusader’s cross.
Tom was so unlike the rest of the family, so obviously of different blood – unlike Blanche, who did have Strong family blood, she was sure. But my mother wasn’t a whore like his, she decided. Not in the strictest sense of the word.
We women do what we have to do.
She smiled. Her mother’s voice had not quite left her, even though Barbados and that other life were many miles away.
The servants talked about Tom a lot, though they avoided including her in their conversations. Since the arrival of Alicia May, she’d spent little time below stairs. Nurses and governesses weren’t expected to. They were the elite of the household, did not wear any uniform, and were not to be trusted, according to the maids, butlers and footmen. They were the only members of staff who were sometimes called upon to take tea with their employers, with the children in attendance of course.
Blanche didn’t care that below stairs froze her out of their conversations. Unless she ate with the children in the nursery, she ate alone.
A sudden movement outside held her attention.
At first it seemed as though an animal, perhaps a deer, was running through the trees, following Tom but not wanting to be seen. A sudden flash of blue skirt exposed the truth, as Edith also disappeared behind the folly.
‘Brown!’ The sharp tone of Lady Verity’s voice roused Blanche from her thoughts and the scene outside. ‘Here, take this child. It’s finished!’
A trickle of milk ran from the corner of the baby’s mouth. Blanche wiped it away, placed the baby over her shoulder and made cooing noises as she patted the soft little back.
Lady Verity looked at her as though she were stupid, or at least disobedient. ‘Don’t do that here, Brown. Take her away and do it at your own convenience.’
Blanche clenched her jaw so hard she heard her teeth grind. For the sake of the child, Blanche let it go. Poor mite was getting precious little attention from its own mother and badly needed winding.
An amazing transformation suddenly took place in the heavy, airless room. The hairy bundle sleeping at the foot of the bed got up, wagged his tail and stretched, and his mistress’s mood turned to delight.
‘Come here, darling one,’ she cooed. ‘Come here to Mamma.’
Leaving the stifling warmth of Lady Verity’s bedroom, Blanche turned back towards the nursery, and wondered at Edith running off after Tom. Would she get angry with him, accuse him of dallying with her? In all honesty he hadn’t. His kindness towards Edith had moved her to make assumptions.
Due to her extra duties with regard to Alicia May, there had been little time to see the Reverend Strong. Tom or Edith had clearly told the household that her presence upset the Reverend and those times she had managed to visit the west wing, someone had appeared as if by magic and practically barricaded the door.
At first she thought about settling the sleeping baby into her lace-curtained crib, but thought better of it. No one had thought to show her to the Reverend Strong. He had few visitors. The only members of the family who visited regularly were Tom and Sir Emmanuel. Besides, she thought, smiling down at the pink-faced child, I’m sure he’d love to see Alicia May.
For once no one appeared as she approached the Reverend Strong’s room. The door was well oiled and made no noise as she opened it. She stopped and listened, just in case he was not alone. The only sound she heard was the snuffling of Alicia May, now nestling contentedly in the crook of her right arm.
The room smelled of camphor and lavender. Sprigs of the latter had been sprinkled liberally over the floor. With each step, the dried flowers were crushed underfoot, and their perfume released.
Pale-faced, his skin glistening, the Reverend Strong
lay immobile against a pile of pillows. His mouth was open and his eyes flickered as he hovered between sleep and full wakefulness. He looked very sick, much older than his fifty-odd years. So sad, she thought, that the man who seemed the best of the Strong brothers was the worst for health.
Clutching the baby gently to her chest, Blanche bent over him. ‘Reverend Strong?’
The eyes flickered before opening. He blinked and seemed to brighten when he saw her face. A kind of restrained cackle came from his mouth as he tried to speak.
‘Sshh,’ she said, placing a finger against her lips. ‘No need to tire yourself. See? I’ve brought Alicia May to see you.’
She held the sleeping baby up so he could see her better.
‘Don’t you think young life is beautiful?’
She smiled at the sleeping baby then looked into Jeb Strong’s face. His expression was stomach-wrenching. He stared at the baby, closed his mouth and swallowed. A lone tear rolled from the corner of one eye.
If only he was well enough to tell me more, thought Blanche. It seemed that every time she saw him, his emotions overpowered his vocal cords. Poor man. She couldn’t resist reaching out and, with her smallest finger, touching his tear.
An anguished, strangled sound came from his throat as his gaze shifted to her. He struggled for words, tried to lift his hand. She sensed he wanted to touch her. The baby was forgotten. He managed to lift one finger and pointed at the dark mole beneath her right eye.
‘P… a… ti… ence,’ he said, his breath drawing in like a captured sigh once the word was spoken.
‘Patience,’ Blanche echoed, and although she would be patient for Jeb Strong to get better and tell her more, time was running out for him.
His face suddenly creased as though in terrible pain, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he broke into soundless sobs. ‘S… i… nn… er,’ he said weakly, poking one thin finger at his narrow chest. ‘For… give… me.’
Unsure what she was supposed to forgive, and disappointed that she’d learned nothing more, she patted his hand. Seeing him agitated like this was upsetting. Finding out about her father was important, but not at the risk of upsetting Jeb Strong.