The Lonely Wife

by Val Wood

  For a second Beatrix thought Charles was talking about his mother and wondered why she should be consulted, then was struck by the realization that he meant her. She put her hand to her mouth to hide a smile; how very bizarre.

  Carte blanche, her mother had murmured, how wonderful. Beatrix had wondered at the time what she meant and always intended to ask her. Had her mother never had the freedom to do whatever she wanted or buy whatever she required without asking? Perhaps I’m lucky that Charles is so generous, but I must be careful not to exploit his liberality. Then reasoning entered her mind. Perhaps he had never before had an abundance of wealth, and now he had and was willing to share it.

  ‘Charles,’ she said, on the evening before his departure. They were sitting in the kitchen as there was no fire in the sitting room, nor any comfortable chairs, but only a very battered one that had been Neville Dawley’s and Charles was sitting in now. Beatrix was perched on a stool. ‘I’ve been thinking.’ She put her head on one side, considering how to put the question. ‘Whilst you’re away I won’t be able to get about. There are no hackneys, no omnibus, and everywhere,’ she lifted her shoulders, ‘is too far to walk, although I can get to Mrs Newby’s as she’s only a mile away. But there’s no one to send on an errand until Dora arrives, and so …’

  He glanced at her as if wondering what her query would be.

  ‘Well, I don’t ride, but could I possibly have a pony and trap to get about in? To go down to the village, for instance?’

  ‘Have you ever driven a pony and trap?’

  ‘N-no,’ she admitted. ‘But it can’t be all that difficult, can it?’

  He crossed his arms and gazed at her. ‘Mm,’ he said. ‘I see your point, although I can’t think that you’ll want to go anywhere in particular; but yes, I realize that you’ll be alone until your maid arrives.’ He rubbed his hand across his chin. ‘Of course you must have some kind of conveyance. Ask Mags if she’ll ask Eddie to find something for you. Tell him not to spend the earth on a pony, and I’ll look around for something suitable when I get back.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That will be splendid.’

  He continued to gaze at her. ‘I’ll expect more than just thank you,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t think that I won’t.’

  She lowered her eyes and gave a small smile so that he would think she was still shy but pleased. But she wasn’t; she was just exhausted by their night-time activities. She had also felt on tenterhooks since they came back and had plied him with questions on what improvements he would like to see when he came home.

  ‘Home?’ he’d queried. ‘Does it feel like home to you already?’

  She’d looked at him questioningly. ‘Why yes, or at least almost. I love the house, and when we’ve bought furniture and curtains and such it will be just perfect. I’ll ask my mother to order catalogues. Are you sure that you don’t want to discuss the improvements with me? You’ll need to feel comfortable, won’t you, and I thought that perhaps you’d like the little room off the hall as your snug, or your office?’ She was thinking of her father and the room that was his very own, a hallowed place only used by him unless he invited someone in.

  ‘Mm,’ he muttered. ‘Yes, possibly. Leave that for now. Just have a coat of paint put on the walls, and I might bring a desk and chair from the London house.’

  ‘Perhaps your parents might have a spare chair? It’s rather comforting to have something familiar, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t find it so,’ he said coldly. ‘I want nothing from my parents’ house.’

  And that bald statement gave her no feeling of well-being at all. She didn’t know what answer to give, or even if he required one.

  Early the next morning a hackney carriage came to take him to the railway station. He’d told her that there was a branch line in North Ferriby where he could catch the train instead of driving into Brough or Hull, which she was surprised to hear. Charles gave her a brief kiss on her cheek before climbing into the hackney and she stood on the steps and waved goodbye. She was not sure whether she felt relief at his departure, liberation at having the house to herself, or dismay that she would see no one until Dora arrived.

  It was a bright morning, promising a good day of sunshine. The sky was clear and blue with only one or two drifting fluffy cumulus clouds, and she thought it was too nice to stay indoors. She picked up a notebook and stepped down on to the drive to begin a walk round the outside of the house. She stopped and looked through the windows of each room, assessing how they would look to strangers; dark, some of them, she thought, and in need of brightening up.

  White paint was needed, or cream possibly, she decided, and she put her hand to her forehead to peer further in. A dark wall at the far side, perhaps; teal, or a dark red, and the other walls lighter, or even papered. That would be nice, she mused. Our walls at home – my parents’ home, I should say, she mumbled to herself – have only paint, but I have seen samples of lovely wallpaper, though I believe it is very expensive.

  A big comfy sofa in the sitting room, she thought, the covers to coordinate with the colour on the walls. Sofa tables, one in the alcove with shelves above it for books; another side table, or possibly a cabinet against the wall to display precious china. Not that we have any yet. The piano – where should we put that? Not the hall where it is now. It looks as if it’s just been put there to be out of the way. In the drawing room, I think, or possibly the sitting room, and then if— I mean when we have children they can learn to play.

  She began to feel excited; she had never designed anything before, except for rearranging her own bedroom at home: having her bed moved so that she could see the shifting clouds in the sky above the rooftops when she woke up in the morning, and asking if a comfy chair might be put by her fire so that she could curl up and read.

  She moved on towards what she thought of as the Little House and wondered why it had been built when the main house was so large. Not for servants, surely, when there were roomy attics on the top floor?

  Perhaps one day I might live in it, she thought, when the son that Charles so longs for takes over the main house. Again she looked through the windows and thought how substantial it was, certainly not a little house. It was much larger than the terraced house her parents had; it looks very cosy, she thought, and I could feel very comfortable in there. Then she berated herself, for she was planning without Charles, when he might be the one to outlive her.

  She continued on to the back of the Little House, which here was built mostly of brick. A boot scraper was attached to the wall by the kitchen door, and she looked through the glass in the top of the door to see a narrow passageway that still had rubber boots standing on tiered shelves and a mackintosh and cap hanging from a hook.

  Uncle Nev’s? she thought, and then dismissed the idea; the master of such a grand house would surely not use the back door.

  She turned her attention to the courtyard with its brick-built sheds containing wheelbarrows, spades, axes, ropes and mechanical instruments for purposes that she couldn’t even begin to guess at. At the back of one of the sheds was a battered trap or jaunting cart with wooden wheels. Behind these buildings was another courtyard with stabling, with two loose boxes and wet and mouldy straw heaped on the paving slabs; hanging on the walls were saddles, halters and bridles.

  Beatrix went inside. Here, she thought, was a former lifetime; and feeling extremely nostalgic for someone she didn’t know, and had never met, she lifted down from a shelf a battered top hat that must once have belonged to the famed Uncle Neville, blew the dust off it and placed it on her head.

  ‘Hello, anybody there?’

  A man’s voice was calling and she went back outside, still wearing the top hat.

  ‘Hello?’ she called back and Edward Newby appeared round the corner. ‘I’m here – exploring,’ she added.

  ‘Morning, miss. Begging your pardon – ma’am?’

  She flushed. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Charles and I were married last week.’


  ‘My compliments,’ he said, and touching his hand to his chest, gave a short bow of his head. ‘I’m looking for ’maister.’ He grinned and tapped his forehead as if he were wearing a cap or tugging his forelock.

  She tried to hide a smile, but didn’t succeed. ‘You won’t find him, I’m afraid. He returned to London early this morning.’

  ‘Oh!’ He seemed surprised. ‘Ma said you’d just arrived. I knocked on the front door but no one answered.’

  ‘That’s because there’s no one in,’ she said, and her voice cracked a little. ‘There’s no one here but me. Can I do anything for you?’

  He stood looking at her, his forehead creased, and his grin disappeared. ‘You’re here on your own? No maid, no mother with you?’

  ‘No,’ she said bravely, and took off the hat and ran her fingers round the brim and put her chin in the air. ‘Charles had to get back to London – to his office.’ She blinked several times and went on tremulously, ‘That’s why I’m exploring.’ She looked behind her towards the stable block and the sheds, the Little House and the main one, and suddenly realized the extent of it all.

  ‘I hadn’t realized there was so much.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I didn’t see it all when I came last time. It’s huge!’

  He nodded and kept his gaze on her. ‘It is. Would you like me to make you a pot of tea? I know where everything is.’

  She blinked again, and this time her eyes were moist with tears and beginning to overflow. ‘I can at least do that,’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘But won’t you come in and have one with me? I have a few questions the maister told me to ask you.’

  He nodded again. ‘Yes, of course I will. I’ll be glad to.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Edward filled the kettle and placed it on the range whilst Beatrix searched in the cupboard for crockery and then in the pantry for milk.

  ‘Your mother has been very kind for thinking of us,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’m not sure – well, I mean, I don’t know what arrangements have been made, about expenditure for tea and milk, and – and coal and things,’ she said in a rush. ‘And her time, too, in looking after the house. Has Charles seen to that, do you know? He hasn’t told me.’

  He gave a shrug. ‘Shouldn’t think he’s even thought of it,’ he said candidly. ‘But Ma won’t mind. She’ll consider it neighbourly. She was always in here looking after Uncle Nev. I expect he recompensed her.’

  She nodded and gazed at the kettle, which was just starting to steam. ‘She must tell me,’ she said, and then confessed, ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’

  ‘Been married, you mean?’ He grinned.

  She blushed scarlet, and he flinched, as if realizing that he had embarrassed her.

  ‘I haven’t been married before, no,’ she murmured, ‘but I meant I’ve never had a house to look after. My mother took care of household things and there seemed to be no time to prepare me. Everything happened so quickly.’

  He got up, took a teapot out of the cupboard as Beatrix had forgotten, and began to make the tea. ‘How long have you known Charles?’

  ‘Since last August,’ she said, and thought how time had sped by since then.

  He stirred the tea and put the pot on the table and she watched entranced. She had never thought that a man would know how to do such a thing; certainly her father and her brother wouldn’t.

  ‘Love at first sight, was it?’ he asked ironically, as if he knew that it wasn’t.

  Mindful of Charles’s words on their wedding day, she nodded; but as she watched him stir and then pour the tea, a rich golden brown colour, much stronger than she would normally drink, she suddenly decided to tell him the truth. ‘Arranged,’ she murmured.

  He looked up. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  She swallowed. ‘It was an arranged marriage,’ she confessed. ‘My father knew Charles’s father and they arranged it between them. I was persuaded to meet Charles, and did a couple of times, and – and we seemed to be – to be … compatible.’

  He gazed at her, his lips parted, and then he pushed a cup and saucer towards her and remained silent.

  ‘It seemed,’ she went on, ‘well, almost as if it were an ultimatum. And yet,’ she frowned as she thought about it, ‘it can’t have been, because he was old enough to make up his own mind.’

  ‘Not under any pressure from his father, as you were,’ he muttered darkly.

  ‘My father didn’t force me to accept him,’ she said in his defence, ‘but … he said I’d never get a better offer.’

  He picked up his cup, leaving the saucer on the table, and walked across to the window, where he stared out at the yard and shook his head. Then he turned and looked at her.

  ‘There’ll be a lot of money involved,’ he said, his voice like flint. ‘Property. Land. Investments. You’ll be a very rich young wife.’

  She gazed back at him and wondered why he seemed angry. She licked her lips. ‘I don’t know. My father said there was an estate.’ She lifted her hands to encompass the house and gardens. ‘This is it, I suppose?’

  He gave a muffled, strangled grunt and came to sit down again.

  ‘I asked Charles if I could have a pony and trap so that I could get about,’ she said quietly, adding, ‘I’ll be here on my own until Dora – my maid – comes, and he said that I should ask you if you would arrange it, but not to pay a lot for the pony as he’d look around for a suitable one when he comes back. I noticed there was an old trap in one of the barns and wondered if I might use that, but if, as you intimate, there will be a lot of money, perhaps I could have a …’ her voice trailed away, ‘a better one.’

  ‘Charles’s got a good eye for horseflesh, has he?’ Edward said cuttingly. ‘Knows about horses and ponies? Probably seen them at the race track and knows the difference between those and the ones sent to the knacker’s yard.’

  She took a sip of tea; it was hot and strong and she rather liked it. ‘Are you angry with Charles?’ She looked at him over the top of her cup.

  ‘Yes, I am!’ he said frankly. ‘He shouldn’t have left you here on your own. He should at least have stayed another few days until you felt comfortable here. Surely there was nothing so urgent that he had to dash back to London?’

  ‘I don’t know; work, he said; at the bank.’

  They finished their tea in silence. Then he spoke again. ‘Right; I have an idea. My aunt Hilda Parkin, my mother’s sister, has a son. Aaron has just turned thirteen and is a very handy lad. They live in Hessle, which isn’t far from here, not as the crow flies. He’s left school and is looking for work. I could fetch him today and ask him to stay overnight and you could test him out; he can fetch coal in, chop wood and do anything you ask him to, even drive a pony and trap. If he suits you maybe you could offer him a job?’

  There was a pause as Beatrix considered the suggestion. ‘Where would he sleep?’ she asked at last. ‘I haven’t thought through the question of staff. We had a boot boy at home – my parents’ home, I mean; he came every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, but went home to his mother’s each night.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, that won’t do. He’d have to live in.’ He glanced round the kitchen. ‘For now we’ll make up a bed in here, and if you decide he’ll do, we’ll make him a room above one of the stables.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said gratefully, her tension easing. ‘May I call you Eddie, as Charles does?’

  He lifted his shoulders. ‘If you like, but my name is Edward.’

  ‘I’d like to call you Edward.’ She smiled. It was a gentlemanly name, she thought, and I believe that is what he is.

  ‘And what shall I call you?’ He gave her a lopsided grin and raised his eyebrows, and she knew he was teasing, for she could only answer to Mrs Dawley.

  He asked if she’d like to come with him to pick up Aaron and she said she would. She ran upstairs to collect a warm shawl and wondered if she was doing the right thing by travelling with a single man. She
decided to take the risk of gaining a reputation so early in married life, and looked for the key to lock the front door.

  ‘You don’t need to bother with that round here,’ he assured her. ‘Nobody will come, though we could get you a dog if you like. Dogs make a racket when strangers turn up.’

  ‘You said no one would come.’ She turned to him as they pulled away.

  ‘They won’t. The house has been empty since Nev died. There’s nothing worth taking in any case.’

  She thought of the worn carpets and curtains that she and her mother had decided to give away, and realized that if anyone did break in and steal them they must be desperate, in which case they were welcome to them. Then she thought of her own belongings in her trunk upstairs and gave a deep sigh.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked as they turned off the long drive and headed down the hill in the direction of the estuary.

  ‘Nothing.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m just coming to terms with having to adjust to a different life. For instance, at home in London I wouldn’t be driving out with a man who wasn’t a relation; not without a companion.’

  His mouth turned up in a grin. ‘Oh dear, oh dear! You mean that someone might see us, assume the worst and tell your husband?’

  She glanced at him. ‘Yes. And what will your aunt think when we turn up at her house?’

  He laughed. ‘When I tell her why we’ve come she’ll be overjoyed to get Aaron from under her feet and earning a living. That’s what she’ll think; and what’s more she’ll be thrilled that she’s the first in the district to meet you, apart from my mother.’

  She nodded, mollified, and added, ‘And another thing: in London we would never go out leaving the door unlocked. That would just be asking to be burgled.’

  He turned and looked at her and she saw how his blue eyes shone with merriment.

  ‘Just as well you left, then.’ He shook his head in mock horror. ‘Who’d want to live like that?’

  ‘I’m serious,’ she said. ‘I think that perhaps I might like to have a dog to protect me, and for company too.’