Loretta Proctor

by The Crimson Bed

  ‘I can’t help it. It’s the way I am,’ he said. His voice was sad.

  ‘Then I must help you to be different,’ she said.

  ‘You must indeed,’ he said eagerly. ‘I feel you do help me, Ellie. You help me to be more positive about life. I used to feel so little was worth living for but now I have everything to live for. I love you so much it hurts, Ellie. I want to possess you. I want you for always and into eternity. I feel now that I have always wanted to be with you from the womb to the tomb.’

  For a moment, Ellie shivered at these words.

  ‘Oh, Fred! To be possessed as if I was a beautiful object!’

  He looked down at her, his eyes full of loving feeling.

  ‘You know that’s not so. You mean far more than that to me. I love everything about you, your beauty, your soul, your nature. You’re my companion and my soul mate, soon to be my wife.’

  ‘Dear Fred, you are so kind. I know you want my happiness.’

  ‘More than anything else – more than anything else in this world,’ was his heartfelt response as he kissed her.

  Ellie smiled and looked wistful for a moment, and turned to look out of the window once more. Fred sensed that her thoughts had now become heavy and sad. Why this sadness? She should be so happy now. Yet something intangible had come between them both and he wished Lord Dillinger had not come to see her, with his frightening talk of wars and things. That gentleman’s visit had disturbed Ellie, of that he felt certain, but he dared probe no more.

  Chapter 12

  The wedding date was now set for January. As the time approached, Fred began to have trouble sleeping at night. He thought of Ellie constantly, his heart swelling with longing to be with her forever, master in his own home, no longer subordinate to his parents and their ideas. He was now twenty-eight years old and realised that he should have cleared out long ago, taken his own chambers like Henry, Gabriel Rossetti, Johnnie Millais and the others. Lazy habit and a marked disinclination for work had kept him at home living on the comfortable allowance his father gave him, plus some handouts from his mother when his debts began to pile too perilously high.

  The memory of Bessie still clouded his glorious horizon. He had pushed it all to the back of his mind and intended it to remain there but it was not to be. The other day, his mother had called him over to her as he was passing the little back parlour. She sat as always, spread out languidly upon a sofa, book in hand.

  She sat fanning herself for a few moments with her book and staring at her son. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and wondered what on earth she was thinking about and what she wanted to ask of him. It was usually something immensely inconvenient and he wanted to hurry off to collect Ellie and take her out along with Henry and another friend to one of their favourite eating-places in the Strand.

  ‘Sit down, dear, don’t stand towering over me,’ said his mother and he seated himself on the edge of a chair opposite her, halfpoised for flight.

  ‘Soon you are to be married,’ said Beatrice grandly, ‘and I would like to think all will go well for you. Miss Farnham is a delicately nurtured young lady who will know very little about what is expected on her wedding night. I want to be sure that you don’t, in a moment of lover-like candour, say anything that might upset the girl. I trust you have not?’

  He felt a flush slowly creeping up from under his cravat and cast his eyes downwards. He knew what she was getting at and hated his mother for even reminding him. Why did she have to say anything about it in that slightly mocking manner she sometimes had? Why dredge up the past? He had only been seventeen at the time, for Heaven’s sake. He wanted no one to know of the events that had followed his treatment of the unhappy Bessie.

  ‘I’m not stupid, mother. Of course I have said nothing.’

  And nothing ought to have been said of the matter by anyone, for even that slut, Susanna, kept her mouth shut and refused to corroborate poor Bessie’s tale when needed.

  Bessie, to her dismay, had found herself pregnant after the event. In the face of the desolation that lay ahead of her, the hapless girl plucked up her courage and lay in wait, catching her mistress one day as she walked close to the kitchen, a part of the house to which Beatrice seldom descended unless obliged.

  ‘How dare you accuse my son of such a thing!’ said Beatrice in a fury, looking at the girl as if she had just crawled out of the gutters. ‘Who in the world would believe such an outrageous idea? You probably have some other young fellow you’ve been walking out with. Now you’re trying to be clever and see what can be gained from the matter!’

  ‘No Mum, truly, truly. ‘E made me do it, the young master made me do it. I ain’t got no young man of my own. My Pa will kill me, mum, you won’t turn me out, please don’t turn me out. I ain’t got nowhere to go!’ Bessie wailed.

  ‘Be quiet. Do we want the world to hear your ridiculous story! You should have thought of that, stupid girl, before getting yourself into this predicament,’ said Beatrice, looking at the slovenly girl with loathing. ‘As if my son would come near a creature like yourself! Be off with you! I will dismiss you for a liar and a slattern and give you no character.’

  In despair, the girl waited for Fred outside the area steps, accosting him as he came home and begging to speak with him. Alarmed, Fred drew her aside, praying no one would notice them and she poured it all out. The shock made him turn pale and weak with fright.

  ‘Mistress will send me to the workhouse,’ the girl pleaded, ‘please ‘elp me, sir.’

  ‘Shush, shush!’ he said uneasily, ‘let me see what can be done.’

  Fred, horrified by his own act, had tried hard to forget that he, a man who would never hurt a fly, had treated a woman like this. He dared not speak to his father who had very strong views upon the immorality of servants and the working classes. So he went to his mother and confessed his stupidity.

  ‘Well, I ain’t too surprised, my boy. You take after your Grandfather, it seems. My father was a libertine in his day, everyone knew that,’ his mother remarked unconcernedly. ‘Nobody took such umbrage over these matters in those days but now it’s quite another thing. Now when I was a young gal I overheard Father saying to one of my brothers who had got a maid in trouble that ‘all servant women enjoy cock on the side and that they were rather proud to have a gentleman cover them.’ That’s what he said, oh yes. I had little enough idea what he had meant at the time, but I remembered his words, for sure! And right enough he was as well. Maids! – sluts the lot of them.’

  She looked amused by her son’s shocked expression. ‘Oh, for goodness sakes, Frederic! You’re such a prude one minute and a libertine the next. Just like all modern young men. Men in my day were men and not ashamed of it. Your foolish act ain’t such a disgrace as you think but there are limits, you know. A scullery girl! Really, Frederic, have you no propriety? That is sinking a trifle too low. We must certainly make sure your father never hears of this matter. You utter fool of a boy!’ Seeing her favourite son hang his head and look downcast and stricken, she softened her tone. ‘Now don’t go getting all put down. It’s what a man does, after all. Just be sure not to go so far another time. You understand what I refer to? Hasn’t anyone taught you anything?’

  ‘I was drunk, Mother,’ Fred muttered in shame, ‘I won’t ever let it happen again, not ever again!’

  ‘Heavens, man, you’ll get drunk again; it is only natural for a young blood about town. Make sure the girls you choose ain’t in the household, if you follow my drift. I would worry about you if you didn’t sow your oats a little. My brothers are still sowing theirs and they’re supposed to be married and sensible men by now.’ She smiled, indulgent as ever, and patted her son’s arm.

  ‘Don’t dismiss poor Bessie, Mama, it wasn’t her fault, it was all mine. I was so drunk. In all fairness, we must help her, mustn’t we?’

  ‘Humph!’ his mother snorted, ‘I wouldn’t be so sure it was your fault – she must have given you some indication she was willing. Oh
, I know the wiles of these women. I’ve heard many a tale from my brothers – tales that would shock you to death. These country girls are all the same, my dear. No, don’t upbraid yourself. You were not to be blamed for her wanton behaviour. But yes, yes, we shall help her, don’t look so upset. We shall send her to the country somewhere to have the child and she can come back afterwards if you insist upon it. And you will not speak to her again in any way that is not strictly necessary. She must not be allowed to think this sort of behaviour on her part is permissible and forgiven.’

  On her return from the country, Bessie was sent to the Foundling Hospital to have her child adopted. After an unhappy parting from her little daughter, she returned to work again in the kitchen, hoping she might save enough to take the child away some day. Eventually, she managed to find a fellow to marry her and went away to live on the south side of the river. She bore her husband a son and then sent for her bastard daughter and added the child to the growing family.

  Fred had no idea now where his daughter was or what had happened to her, nor did he like to think of the matter. She was safe, she was cared for, he knew that and that was enough for him. He had settled a sum on the child to help with her keep and clothing after she had been reunited with the mother. That was the end of the matter as far as everyone was concerned and he heard no more about it. They had been swallowed up in the maws of the countless streets and alleys by the river.

  Did his mother really think he was so stupid as to tell all this to Ellie, to his beautiful lady, Eleanor? How aghast such a pure, innocent, well brought up girl would be to know that he had even felt lust for such a frightful creature as Bessie.

  His mother’s unkindly reminder of his shame, coupled with the unpleasant encounter with Lord Percy Dillinger, made Fred even more restless for the wedding day to arrive when he might at last feel secure in his possession of his sweetheart. Ellie must never know, never find out what he had been capable of doing.

  Chapter 13

  After Christmas had been celebrated and the wedding day drew nearer, Joshua Farnham let Ellie roam his house and said that she could choose any of her mother’s things she liked to furnish her new home. The young couple had found a charming little house in Hampstead, near Well Walk where the poet, John Keats, had once lived. It was double-fronted, roomy and had a reasonable piece of tree-shaded garden around it, which she had great plans to improve and fill with arches and roses and little bowers to sit in.

  For the first time Ellie looked about her childhood home as if she was a stranger, intense and wondering, knowing she would never return there now except as a visitor. A wave of uncontrollable nostalgia overcame her and tears sprang to her eyes. This was an era now passed, her merry girlhood. Before her loomed married life fraught with deeps and shallows, high canyons and long tedious plains.

  For a brief moment, a feeling akin to fear troubled her heart. Almost heedlessly, she had allowed Fred to speed her along with his own ardent desire. She had hoped to take the magnificent Crimson Bed and on that bed bear Alfie a long line of Dillingers. When that was not to be, it was as if the fire of desire and longing had left her, ready to be swept along by Fate like some leaf blown into a fast-moving river. However, she was not a person to be foolishly wilful or changeful. She had a steadfast nature, despite her pampered childhood. She had agreed to be Fred’s wife and meant to make him a good one. He was a kind and trusting man and to hurt him would be like hurting a child. Was he not just as worthy of the Crimson Bed?

  She walked about the house arm in arm with her father, looking about her at all the many possessions that marked the passage of her parents’ life. It was a large, late Georgian town house, the furnishings mainly of the era her parents had married and filled with many curious and interesting objects that they had acquired and collected. She chose a Chinese lacquered chest full of little drawers and one or two beautiful Venetian mirrors with their delicate yet ornate frames. Her father said she might also have the large dining table and Sheraton chairs. ‘I will not be entertaining too often now,’ said Joshua.’ I shall have no need of all this.’

  ‘You are so kind, Papa.’ She smoothed a hand over the soft, glowing rosewood of a piano that had belonged to her mother. In her mind’s eye she saw Maria sitting there of an evening, playing moving passages from Chopin, the Polish composer, whom she greatly admired or thrilling pieces by Mozart and other German love songs.

  ‘I’d like to have Mama’s piano. May I? If only I could, play as well as she did! Oh, Papa, I suppose I have taken all these things for granted, they have always been a part of my life. Will you not miss them if I take them with me?’

  ‘No, no, my dear, what need have I for all this furniture? I shall see them in your own home where they belong. Now you are to be the young bride as once your mother was when I first brought her here. Your life is to begin, mine nears its end. I am considering renting out the house here and finding myself some chambers nearer Temple Bar until I decide to take myself off to the countryside somewhere. I have a fancy to go to Oxford and be close to my sister Eliza some day.’

  ‘Don’t dream of going yet, Papa, will you? You must be grandfather some time, remember, and I shall need you close to perform that role.’

  He smiled, delighted with the prospect of little ones. It had always saddened him that he and Maria had been unable to bear more children.

  They came now to Maria’s room. It had been left exactly as it was on the day she died. The pink patterned cambric dressing gown still lay folded over the back of a chair. The small white handkerchief she had last used lay on the table by a now dried up jug of water. Beside it was the glass from which she had sipped a few drops for her parched throat.

  Ellie knew how much her father still missed his beloved wife. Now it was he who had taken to visiting Maria’s room and he would sometimes sit there as if feeling her strong presence about him. It seemed to comfort him in some way.

  ‘She is in that room… she is still there for me,’ he used to say.

  Ellie had felt this to be just his fancy but entering the room now and looking about her at her mother’s things again was a strange experience. She gazed around at all the small, intimate objects, still in their usual places; the hand mirror left lying upwards on the dressing table as if it had just been put down, the brush with a few of those long dark hairs still clinging to it. She turned the mirror over, took the hairs from the brush, and decided she would one day weave them into a locket with the hair of her first baby.

  There was a daguerreotype on the dressing table taken just before Maria’s illness. In it, Ellie was standing next to her mother who was seated elegantly upon a chair and they both stared into the camera with serious expressions. Her mother looked just as she had always done, apparently fit and well. Yet just a short while after that, her terrible illness had overtaken her and she had died.

  It was an uncanny feeling. It was as if her mother had just walked out of the room and might come in again at any moment. Ellie felt tears come to her eyes as she looked around.

  ‘I must take the bed, Papa,’ said Ellie. ‘I have to take the Crimson Bed.’

  Joshua looked at the bed. His face registered his feelings. Ellie knew that he had seldom slept on it. It had always been by polite invitation that he had dared venture into this inner sanctum of Maria’s. Perhaps the bed had seemed like a barrier between them. He had spent so many long terrible nights seated by it while she was dying. She knew he would be glad to see it out of the house.

  ‘You really want it? It is so huge. Will it fit your new home?’

  ‘Oh yes, I know just where it is to go. I have to have it. Mama said it must never have strangers in it.’

  ‘Did she, indeed? Well, it is a Templeton treasure. Take it by all means, if you really want it. I should have supposed it was far too old fashioned for a modern young woman’s taste.’

  ‘But I am oldfashioned,’ said Ellie with a smile, ‘Fred and I are mediaeval at heart.’

  Joshua l
aughed. ‘Yes, you are both PreRaphaelites. Knights, damsels, poetry and chivalry. One day you’ll both find life isn’t a dream-like existence at all. It has a cruel way of crashing though our hopes and fancies.’

  ‘We will make it a dream then, we will live in our dream. Fred abhors anything ugly and cruel. He will always keep the dream alive.’

  ‘I hope so, dear child. For your sake, I hope so.’

  Ellie sat at her dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. Mulhall, her maid, was arranging her dark hair in plaited coils on which she set a wreath of bridal orange blossoms. They were made of wax with little seed pearls interwoven amongst the leaves. She would have preferred real blossoms but it was too early in the year for that.

  She took up a small leather-covered box from the table and opened it again, admiring the beautiful earrings and necklace of diamonds and sapphires. These were a wedding gift from Fred – ‘something new’ for the bride – and she was to wear them to the wedding, he had said. They were truly beautiful, just the sort of parure she would have picked for herself. Fred had a knack for finding little gifts as if he knew instinctively what would suit and delight her.

  The maid smiled at her in the mirror and said, ‘How lovely you will look, Miss Ellie… a beautiful bride.’

  ‘Thank you, Mulhall.’

  Mulhall, who had been both her own maid and her mother’s before her, was to come with Ellie, as she suited her very well. Miss Adelaide Perrin had been found another post. She was a good, kind woman but Ellie, soon to be Mrs Thorpe, no longer required such a companion. However, Ellie was a loyal soul to those who had cared for her since her mother died.

  ‘You will come to see me, Addy,’ she had said, ‘in my delightful new home.’

  The January day was dawning crisply cold but fresh and fair after an early shower of rain. The sun began to shine again as Ellie left the house on her father’s arm, climbing into the carriage that was to take her to the parish church.