The Dark Side of Pleasure

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  He had laughed but as soon as his laughter died down he said:

  ‘Augusta, I’ll tramp all over this bloody house with my boots on if I feel like it.’

  ‘I was only thinking of the mud.’

  ‘You’re duty’s to think of your husband. Remember that.’

  ‘Jaysus!’ Maureen who had been with them at the time burst out indignantly. ‘If my man spoke to me like that I’d belabour him senseless with his own shillelah.’

  ‘I know what you’re needing,’ Luther told her.

  ‘Oh, do ye now? And what might that be?’

  She had looked up at him in such a flirtatious manner that Augusta had felt it necessary to put an immediate stop to such impertinent familiarity.

  ‘It is time you went to the huts and got yourself and Boozer settled in, Maureen. You may come back tomorrow if you wish—when my husband is at the diggings.’

  It was the next day Maureen had helped with the attic bedrooms and the parlour. The bedrooms, one for Samuel and Alexander, one for Billy and one for Luther and herself, were so small they could accommodate little more than a bed, a bedside locker and a stool. The parlour, however, was a great joy. Not that it was very big but it was a room that could be kept for entertaining, and for displaying nice things. The more ornaments, needlework and objects d’art one could display the better. This after all was proof to the world of success. Luther obviously agreed because he was pleased when she kept herself busy with embroidery and petit point as well as dressmaking, and he helped her scour the shops for household goods and took her to sales of household effects every time they visited Paisley, which was now the nearest town of any size. Already she had acquired a framed picture, several china ornaments, a brass fender, an oil lamp and a potted plant in a pumpkin-shaped bowl made of brass. Then, to her great joy, Luther had bought her the beautiful china tea-set.

  Unfortunately as far as entertaining was concerned he was not so obliging. She knew he was meeting important people in his job as contractor but he did not seem interested in developing any social life with them.

  ‘I’ve no time to waste,’ was all he would say when she tried to persuade him to invite someone to tea. Once she had suggested the engineer and his wife and Luther said, ‘When I own a mansion like the engineer, I’ll offer him hospitality.’

  ‘Oh, but, Luther,’ she protested, ‘I know our cottage is small and we have no drawing-room but we need not be ashamed of our parlour and, after all, I do know how to behave. If one behaves with good breeding that is the main thing.’

  But as usual he brushed her aside with, ‘I’ve no time to waste.’

  So in the end, desperate for the little formalities and refinements of social intercourse, she had invited Maureen to come for tea in the parlour. Maureen had always been given a cup of tea in the kitchen on the various occasions she had come to help with the housework but this, they both knew, was to be very different. Ostensibly it was to give Maureen some extra practice and tuition in becoming a lady, but Augusta had never been more depressed about the success of this project than she felt now. It was not so much Maureen’s appearance, although that was hopeless enough. But at least there an improvement was clearly visible. When the two women had first met, Maureen had been a shocking sight. Her hair was so thick and tousled it looked as if it had never seen either a comb or water. Her clothes were torn, encrusted with mud and indecently short. She wore no boots or shoes or stockings. But right from the start she had disarmed Augusta as well as embarrassed her by her enthusiastic eulogies.

  ‘You’re a right lady, so you are, Mrs. We all thought by the looks of you you’d be too haughty to have anything to do with the likes of us. But, Jaysus, haven’t you a heart as big as a bucket!’

  She had turned up at the school and showed a quick, intelligent mind at picking up reading and writing. Her derisory and noisy displays of impatience with the slowest of the men, however, had proved a difficulty that nearly led to violence on more than one occasion. Augusta had to reprimand her severely.

  ‘No lady,’ she had pointed out, ‘would ever behave in such an undisciplined and outrageous manner.’

  Maureen’s immediate reaction was, ‘Teach me to be a lady, Mrs.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I do not believe that is possible,’ she had answered truthfully, but Maureen was an irrepressible optimist.

  ‘Didn’t I learn my letters no bother at all? Isn’t all I’m needing somebody to tell me how?’

  She had certainly taken quickly enough to keeping herself clean and she was seldom seen now without boots and stockings. Her broad Irish accent was not quite so pronounced but her wild nature, along with her enormous sea of social ignorance, had defeated Augusta and left her stranded on a very lonely shore. She realised now, too late, that the tea party in the parlour was the height of folly. It increased her feeling of social isolation a hundred fold.

  As Augusta passed Maureen another sandwich she had never been nearer to dissolving into tears: She kept thinking of her mother and the friends they used to entertain at Cameron House. Most of them had been the wives and daughters of her father’s business colleagues, coach-builders and coach proprietors like himself. All had been successful people, ladies and gentlemen of good breeding, education and social refinement. Maureen would never acquire the polish of these things. She was a servant, good-hearted and hard-working but a servant nevertheless. Augusta felt ashamed to have subjected both Maureen and herself to the ordeal of this formalised visit. She had no doubt that Maureen was as relieved as she was when it came to an end. But Maureen would fling off the embarrassment very quickly and go racing down to the huts to boast of the tea party as a stupendous success. She was capable of great flights of imagination.

  Augusta on the other hand was left with a niggling nostalgia that she could not shake off. Never since her marriage had she longed more for her parents and their elegant and articulate friends.

  She also worried about them, though she did not really believe Luther’s gloomy forecasts of how the railway would affect them. The streets were full of private vehicles and there must be many towns all over Scotland to which stagecoaches were still travelling and not at a loss as he claimed.

  She had more time for brooding now that she no longer worked in the tommy-shop since she had trained two men to assist Old Wylie and Mrs Grant. Sometimes she even tentatively wondered how her parents might receive a visit from her now. If they saw how respectable she looked in her new yellow batiste dress, shoes, white bonnet and pretty white parasol, surely they would be favourably impressed. Luther looked very presentable too in his walking costume of blue waisted coat, grey trousers, yellow waistcoat and blue-grey top hat. But the faint flutter of hope soon died. She did not really believe her mother or father would ever forgive her for associating with Luther and his being connected with the railway now would certainly not improve their opinion of him.

  There was a coarse streak in him that she often suspected he indulged and even at times exaggerated, for some perverse reason, to shock or annoy her. Whenever she told him of her disapproval her rebuke only incited him to worse behaviour. He would pursue her lustfully about the room, crashing furniture out of his way and breaking dishes and, despite her indignant protests, tearing at her clothes.

  ‘You still look down your snooty little nose at me,’ he said on one occasion, grabbing her close. ‘Yet you like it, don’t you? And the coarser the better.’

  Hating him, she had tried to struggle away, to beat him with her fists, but weeping she had eventually succumbed. Afterwards she felt ashamed of her weakness and despised him for tormenting her. At times she observed his coarseness at a distance. Looking down at the diggings she would see him, hat tipped back on his frizzy head, thumbs hooked in waistcoat, sharing a joke with the men or bawling some obscenity at them in reprimand. Then she would hasten away as if from a stranger she did not wish to know.

  There were times, however, when he could be both generous and kind, and she believed it to be
one of those times when he suggested she and the children went with him to Glasgow to see the new work that was underway in the Glasgow to Edinburgh line.

  They caught the early morning stage coach. Samuel and Alexander were very excited and determined to see out of the window all the time. They refused to keep still, one minute kneeling up on the seat, the next minute standing holding on to the leather strap. Once the jolting movement of the coach was too much for them and they were thrown to the floor. Augusta scolded them but could not really feel angry when she looked at the two little boys so handsome in their wide-skirted coats and their caps with puffy crowns and stiff shiny peaks. Samuel was dark haired like his father, Alexander had her fair colouring. Both children were bright-eyed and bouncing with health.

  ‘Once the Glasgow-Ayr line opens they won’t need to worry about being thrown around in a coach any more,’ Luther said.

  They alighted at Argyle Street and strolled along for a time admiring the shops. Then, before she realised it, they were in Queen Street.

  ‘The new station is being built up here,’ Luther said.

  ‘In George Square?’

  ‘They’ve bought Crow Ewing’s place. But the entrance has to be in Dundas Street round the side of the Wardlaw Church. Dundas Street Station, I hear it’s to be called.’

  The Crawford mansion had been a most imposing edifice set well back from the square and fronted by lawns. Trees had clustered on either side of it and it had been famous for its rookery, which was why its owner was nicknamed Crow Ewing. She had often awakened in the morning in Cameron House to the sounds of the birds.

  Now she approached the square with mounting horror. The beautiful Crawford mansion lay in ruins, and in front of it plunged a deep black pit like hell itself. Mountains of earth and clay reared high on all sides, planks of wood criss-crossed, barrows and wagons trundled noisily about and a vast army of navvies hammered and dug and boomed off explosions.

  In disbelief Augusta gazed at Cameron House which not only faced this dreadful upheaval but was completely engulfed by it. Stocks of iron rails lay waiting along Queen Street in front of the Cameron door. Carts heaped with muck or bricks jammed together in West George Street outside the Cameron drawing-room. Muddy pools slushed about, covering the back stairs with slime and gathering deep and stagnant outside the kitchen. The front door was fouled by muddy splashes. So were the walls and all the windows.

  Augusta was too shocked for tears. Luther, who had been busy explaining the workings to Samuel and Alexander, eventually turned his attention to her.

  ‘They’re selling up and leaving, I hear. Not that they’ll get much for the house now. I told you they were finished.’

  It seemed only by some miracle her legs continued to support her.

  ‘What will happen to them? Where can they go?’

  ‘There’s plenty of room in the Briggait,’ he said.

  ‘I couldn’t let them go there!’

  ‘They let you go.’

  ‘They must have some money. Surely what they get for the house will be enough to secure them a smaller but comfortable dwelling somewhere.’

  ‘I hope not. It would deny me a great source of pleasure and satisfaction.’

  ‘How can you be so cruel, Luther?’

  But his attention had returned to the children and Augusta was left alone in her pain and distress to stare at the ruin of what had once been her home.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Augusta found herself in the hotel with food on the table before her without any clear recollection of how she had reached the place. Her mind seemed to have taken on the chaos of the unfinished railroad station in George Square. Surely there was something dreadfully wrong with what she had just witnessed. She felt threatened. For the first time she realised that the old order of things was changing and would never be the same again. Certainly Luther had always maintained that the railway would be a great leveller.

  ‘The gentry were always well apart from the common herd,’ he said. ‘They stepped into their private carriages at their doors and were closeted inside them until they reached the house of whoever they were going to visit. Now they jostle elbow to elbow with bricklayers and farmers’ wives in railway stations and travel in carriages with complete strangers.’

  But above and beyond Augusta’s personal feelings of confusion and social insecurity there was an overwhelming pity for her father and mother. She did not dare to think how they must be suffering.

  She picked at her food, her throat contracting against it, while the children and Luther ate heartily, and he conversed with another two men at the table. Occasionally their words drifted across the pain of her thoughts. The men were telling Luther about a sale which included horses but she paid no more than surface attention. Even afterwards when Luther announced that he was going to the sale she followed, still completely obsessed by her thoughts. It was not until they were actually entering the crowded yard of the Black Bull with its long lines of stables that she realised what was happening.

  ‘Luther!’ She caught him by the arm. ‘You are not going to buy Papa’s horses. You cannot cause him such a terrible humiliation. He has suffered enough.’

  Luther brushed away her detaining hand. ‘This is business.’

  ‘I think it is revenge.’

  He shrugged. ‘Think what you like.’

  ‘Oh, Luther!’ She felt distracted and when she suddenly caught sight of her father she hastened towards him, although at the same time hardly able to believe it was him. Gone was the proud bearing and the immaculately cared for clothes. Even his brassy hair and side whiskers had dulled into grey. His stoop gave him a shrunken appearance as if he was trying to disappear inside his mudstained suit. He was a shadow of a man.

  ‘Papa!’ She tried to embrace him but he swerved away and disappeared into the crowd. Returning to Luther she made up her mind and was able to lie with comparative calm.

  ‘I beg you to spare me the ordeal of this, Luther. If you will keep the children with you and allow me to spend some time shopping I would be most obliged.’

  ‘If you wish.’

  ‘I shall see you later at the coach, then.’

  He nodded, his attention already riveted on the sale which had now begun. A concentrated rapier-like pleasure glinted from his eyes, making her wince and look away. After leaving the yard of the Black Bull she made straight for Cameron House.

  The door was eventually opened by Nessie the cook, who had lost a great deal of weight and had the trembly frailness of a very old woman. On seeing Augusta, tears spilled from her eyes and wet her white tufts of whiskers. Shuffling aside, she allowed her to enter.

  ‘What is happening, Cook?’ Augusta asked. ‘How is everyone?’

  It took Nessie some moments before she could speak. ‘Fiona McPherson has left. So have the footmen. Everyone’s gone except Sid and me. We’ve done our best, but it takes me all my time to do a bit of cooking. I just can’t manage the housework. There’s your mama’s hair and toilet, you see. Sid sees to the fires . . . .’

  ‘I am sure you both have been of great help and comfort and I thank you most sincerely. Where is Mama just now?’

  ‘In the parlour. Miss Augusta.’

  ‘Thank you. I shall come down to the kitchen to speak to you again before I go.’

  Augusta took a deep breath before entering the parlour. Inside, the filthy neglected state of the room shocked her beyond words. In silence she stood like a beautiful doll in her frilled gown and pristine white bonnet and gloves. Suddenly she heard her mother’s voice cry out:

  ‘Oh, my dear girl! My dear, dear Augusta!’ Felicity Cameron had changed little in appearance. Nessie obviously did a good job on her ringlets and had helped her dress in her usual elegant style.

  They embraced warmly before sitting down beside each other on the sofa.

  ‘Mama, it is so good to see you again. I am so sorry for the obvious misfortunes that have befallen you and poor Papa.’

 
‘Poor Papa?’ Felicity rolled her eyes and flicked a lace-edged handkerchief as if to rid herself of the annoyance of him. ‘Poor Papa indeed! It is all his fault, the stupid man. He and his useless friends, they are all the same. All they can do is whine about how the railway is ruining them. Mr Binny, Mr Harington, old Mr Fotheringham, even Mr Laidlaw-Smythe.’

  ‘But surely, Mama, you can see for yourself how the railway is spreading . . . .’

  ‘I’ve told Mr Cameron. A thousand times I’ve told him. Why don’t you do something about it? But has he done anything about it? Not a thing.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure Papa has done his best.’

  ‘So he said, my dear. But I said, “Well, I may be a simple soul, Mr Cameron, but it does seem to me that your best is not good enough.” ‘ She patted her ringlets. ‘He is to blame for everything, Augusta. I told him that what happened to you was his fault too.’

  ‘No, no, Mama. You mustn’t say that.’

  ‘Yes, dear, it has to be said. I remember exactly what your papa did that dreadful night of the blizzard when we had our accident. He gave the order—I remember it perfectly well and I have reminded him. “Take my daughter,” he said. Those were his very words—“Take my daughter.”’

  ‘There’s no point in dragging up what happened years ago and blaming Papa or anybody else. What we have to think of now is . . . .’

  ‘How is your dear husband, Augusta? Doing very well I hear. I am told he has already amassed quite a fortune although he keeps only a very modest residence in the country. You must speak to him about that, my dear. Men have to be made aware of a woman’s needs. You must insist on an establishment more in keeping with his fortune.’

  ‘Mama, I will have to go shortly. I don’t want to waste time talking about myself and my needs. It’s you and Papa I’m worried about. What are you going to do? This house will have to be sold eventually. Then where will you go?’

  Felicity fluttered her handkerchief again.