by Val Wood
Beatrix agreed. The company of carollers had been invited inside to sing more carols and Christmas hymns, before shaking hands with everyone and trooping off to the kitchen to partake of the food and spiced wine that, unbeknown to Beatrix, Cook had prepared for their refreshment.
When the carollers had gone the family sat by the fire talking. The men drank brandy, Beatrix’s mother took a small glass with a splash of hot water and a sprinkling of sugar, and Beatrix sipped at a cup of chocolate.
Charles tossed back his second brandy. ‘I must apologize,’ he said, standing up, ‘but I’m exhausted – such a busy week – and I must go to bed.’ He bent to kiss Beatrix’s cheek. ‘Don’t get overtired, Beatrix,’ he murmured, and turned to the Fawcetts. ‘I’ll see you all in the morning. Please make yourselves at home.’ He looked round the sitting room at the Christmas greenery. ‘It looks splendid, Beatrix.’
She smiled, delighted that he had noticed. ‘Tomorrow we’ll dress the tree. I waited especially for you to help with it.’
He blinked as if he hadn’t expected this, but nodded.
‘Thomas, do you remember how excited we used to be when we were children?’ Beatrix smiled at her brother. ‘I couldn’t reach to put the angel on the topmost branch so you always had the task and I was so envious.’
Thomas laughed. ‘I remember trying to lift you once and we almost knocked the tree over.’ He gazed at her critically. ‘I wouldn’t like to try it now!’
Charles looked from one to the other, a fleeting expression of envy crossing his face, which he was quick to conceal. Clearly, Beatrix thought, he hadn’t experienced a Christmas such as ours with his sister Anne. Ours were never extravagant, but simple and full of contentment and fun until Thomas left home at sixteen to become a soldier. Christmas was never the same afterwards.
Her father and then her mother went upstairs after Charles; her father too was ready for bed after the journey, but Thomas sat on. ‘I’m dog-tired,’ he said, ‘but I know I won’t sleep yet. I’ve been travelling for several days. I might sleep late in the morning, though. Will that be all right, not anti-social?’
‘Of course it will,’ she said. ‘Just make yourself at home, as Charles said.’
‘I’ve forgotten how to do that, Bea,’ he murmured. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve been anywhere that I could call home.’
He pondered for a moment or so, and then asked, ‘Does Charles spend much time here?’
‘Very little. He did warn me,’ she said softly. ‘He said he would be going to London a lot, because of his work at the bank, you know, but he spends more time in London than he does here.’
He picked up on the regret in her voice. ‘I don’t recall Pa working long hours at the bank, not once he’d reached senior level; and isn’t it a private bank that the Dawleys run?’
She nodded and sighed, but didn’t say more.
‘Perhaps when you have the baby he’ll spend more time here,’ he suggested.
‘What man wouldn’t want to!’
She didn’t answer him, but said, ‘Never mind about us; what about you? Where have you been?’
‘Lately, back in Ireland,’ he told her. ‘I did write, several times, but I have no idea what happened to my letters. It’s been chaos for so long. But I’m done with that now,’ he added heartily, which sounded false to her ears. ‘Thank God,’ he added. ‘There are many Irish who’ll never recover from the effects of the famine.’ He leaned forward towards the fire, and clasping his hands together he dropped his voice. ‘I’ve something to tell you, Bea, that I haven’t yet told our parents.’
‘You’re not in trouble?’ She was alarmed; he had had a worthy career in the army.
‘No!’ He shook his head. ‘No,’ he repeated emphatically, ‘but I’ve handed in my commission. I’ve served ten years and have had enough of the army; I want a different life. A home of my own, with a wife and children.’
She sat back and looked at him. He’d always proclaimed that a life in the army was the best occupation for any man. ‘And – have you found someone whom you wish to marry?’ she asked teasingly, not thinking for a moment that he would have had the opportunity. But he nodded.
‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘I have; and here is where the story begins.’ He rubbed his hands together as if striking a spark to light a flame. ‘I have spent so much time away,’ he said softly. ‘Burma; then British India, where I learned most about army life, and I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, I did. I learned about the culture of another country, but I always felt that we didn’t belong there. It was not our country; we had effectively bought it and moved in.
‘Then on to Ireland, where there was so much strife and bitterness, and every day could have been our last. Yet the country people, those who tolerated us – who realized that soldiers are under orders – were warm-hearted. Most of them, though, wanted rid of us; we were killing them – or at least the landholders were.’ His voice was harsh. ‘Killing them by starvation, which was terrible to see or tolerate or even imagine.’
Then he raised his head and smiled. ‘And that was where I met Maeve. You’d love her, Bea. I’ve known her for two years, though we’ve had to meet secretly. Her father would have killed us both had he discovered that she was walking out with a British soldier.’ His face set. ‘But that’s not all, Bea. We haven’t told anyone else and don’t intend to; but I wanted to tell you, as this will be the only opportunity, and to ask you, when the time is right, to explain it to our parents. As soon as Christmas is over, Maeve is taking some leave from the hospital where she works – she’s a nurse, and volunteered to work over Christmas and Boxing Day instead – and then she’ll catch the ferry to Liverpool and wait for me there.’
Beatrix put her hand to her chest, feeling not a physical pain but an emotional one, as if she knew what he was going to say next.
‘Where are you going?’ she whispered.
‘I’ve booked passages to America. The Irish are going in their thousands looking for a new life. We’ll travel separately, but on the same ship, and will be gone before her father realizes. She’ll write to tell him as soon as we land. I’ll travel as a civilian, as a commercial traveller looking for a new opportunity.
‘I don’t need money,’ he went on. ‘I’ve saved from my pay over the years – and that’s another thing. You must tell Pa not to include me in his Will; Mother will be glad of the house if Father predeceases her.’
Something clicked in Beatrix’s head; something her mother had once said about the house, sons, and daughters-in-law, but she couldn’t quite grasp the essence of it.
‘He’ll be upset,’ she whispered. ‘Mother will be too – and not knowing; not able to say goodbye.’
Her throat felt as if it were closing up and she could hardly get her words out. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she croaked, and felt an incredible sadness, for she sensed that her brother would be gone from her life for ever, and even though he had served away so often in his army life, there was always the thought that he would turn up at some point when they least expected it.
‘I’ll keep in touch,’ he assured her. ‘But not immediately. I’ve thought we might eventually move north, over the border into British territory. I might not stick out like a sore thumb if we do that, because many British emigrants go there in the hope of buying land, and that’s what I have in mind.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Her mouth trembled. ‘I’ll have no one in the family to rely on once – once …’ She meant to say after their parents had died, but that seemed like treachery, as if she were hastening them away, which was ridiculous as they were not yet old.
He stretched his long arms towards her and grasped her hands. ‘Of course you will, you goose,’ he exclaimed. ‘You’ll have your own flesh and blood; you’re carrying the first of the next generation already, and no doubt there will be more.’
It’s not the same, she wanted to say; she and Thomas had a shared history and that could never be re-created, not even
with her own children. But she didn’t say so, for he had chosen his own life and his life partner, just as she had; but he had chosen for himself, and she had chosen to comply with her father’s wishes. Had she done the right thing? It had seemed so at the time, although she had had some doubts; now, it seemed, only time would tell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Christmas had gone far better than Beatrix had expected, though at the back of her mind the whole time was the thought that this might be her last one with Thomas.
He had risen early, not having overslept as he’d thought he would and not wanting to waste precious time in bed. He and Charles decorated the topmost branches of the Christmas tree and Beatrix and her mother placed the candles and decorations lower down, whilst her father sat in an easy chair and directed operations, something he had always done, even though no one ever listened to him.
The three men travelled back to London together on the day after Boxing Day, Aaron driving them to the station squashed into the governess cart, which Thomas described as a tub. Beatrix’s mother had decided to stay on for a further few days. ‘It was quite easy to travel alone, and I was in a ladies only carriage,’ she explained. ‘I felt that for the first time in my life I had a degree of independence.’
Beatrix pondered for a moment. ‘Do you think there will ever come a time when women will take it for granted that they can travel on their own wherever they want to?’
‘Some can already; didn’t Mrs Gordon come alone? Dora could too, if she was brave enough, and I don’t suppose either of them would travel in a ladies only carriage.’
‘It’s only the pampered ones who feel restricted then, Mama? People like you and me who have been taught to obey society’s rules.’ She lifted her head, stretching her neck and putting her shoulders back. ‘I’ve made a new friend,’ she went on defiantly. ‘Her name is Rosetta Stokes and she lives with her parents in Hessle. She and her mother are quite eccentric, her mother particularly so; she collects old jewellery and ornaments and suchlike and then invites her friends and neighbours to come to tea and cajoles them into buying something so that she can give the money to charitable causes. I think that some of their friends probably buy back what they’ve given in the first place. They both have complete independence in what they think or do and Mrs Stokes’s husband, who is a most amiable man, just goes along with whatever his wife says. Rosie says that it’s her mother’s house.’
Mrs Fawcett looked sceptical. ‘Well, I can’t possibly imagine how the legalities of that have been worked out. Unless …’ she hesitated, and lowered her voice, ‘unless, of course, she’s not married to the man she calls her husband!’
Charles’s visits became more frequent once they were into the New Year; sometimes he would turn up unannounced on a Friday night and return to London on the Sunday or early Monday. Other times he would arrive midweek and leave on the Friday, and Beatrix decided that there was no pattern to it that she could follow, so she asked Mrs Gordon to tell the housemaid to light a fire twice a week in his bedroom and on other days to have it laid ready in case he came unexpectedly.
Is he concerned about me, she wondered; is that why he comes so irregularly? There is really no need; the baby isn’t due for ages yet, at least I don’t think it is. She had become used to his not being there; unconsciously she had made a role for herself, arranging the house as she wanted it, and now most things were in place. She was looking forward to designing the garden, for they were employing a full-time gardener and an apprentice who were now clearing out dead branches and spindly decaying trees from the woodland and had nodded seriously when she had asked about making a path through the middle of it.
Edward Newby had found her down there one bitterly cold February morning, watching the gardener at work, and told her that he had thought of someone who might be suitable as a farm manager. He’d offered to walk her back to the house to discuss it, and she was glad to take his arm as they went because a brisk wind had got up and was chilling her to the bone.
‘You shouldn’t be out on your own, Beatrix,’ he chided her. He called her by her given name only when they were alone; when Charles was there she was always Mrs Dawley.
‘I’m all right,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘It’s just the cold wind that takes my breath away.’
‘Do you take a rest in an afternoon?’ he asked.
‘You’re such an old woman,’ she said crossly. ‘What do you know about pregnancy?’
‘More than you, obviously! I am a farmer, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘It’s different with sheep and pigs and – and other animals,’ she grumbled.
‘Is it?’ He grinned. ‘And how would you know, Mrs Dawley?’ he answered mockingly. ‘How many kittens and pups have you helped into the world?’
‘Well, none as it happens,’ she said, pausing to take a breath. ‘I was never allowed a dog, though we had a kitchen cat. It wasn’t ours; it just lived in all of the houses nearby. I wanted to keep it but it wouldn’t stay. It used to wander about going to whichever house had the best food, I think.’
He put his hand beneath her elbow to help her up the front steps. ‘I’m going to get you a dog,’ he said softly. ‘I said before that I would, but I wasn’t sure if you were ready to have one; now I think that you probably are, and it’s as well to get it now and settle it in before the baby comes. I’ll come and collect you tomorrow morning, and you can choose whichever one you want.’
She huffed but thanked him, and wondered how she could look after a dog when she would have a child to care for too.
‘The intention is that the dog will look after you, Beatrix,’ he said softly, and she thought he must be reading her mind. ‘Not the other way round.’
He came as promised the next morning in his trap and she told Dora that she was going to pick up a puppy.
‘Shall I come with you, ma’am, or will you be all right?’ Dora paused with an armful of Beatrix’s silk camisoles that she was going to wash.
‘I’ll be all right; I’m only going to the Newbys’. I won’t be long.’
She was no longer worried about other people’s opinions if they saw her driving in Edward Newby’s trap. For one thing there was rarely anyone about, and should anyone happen to pass by she would give them a cheery wave if she knew them, or dip her head graciously if she didn’t.
‘What kind of dog is it?’ she asked as they set off. ‘The one you are giving me.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet. Depends on who Nellie has been meeting.’
She glanced at him. ‘Who’s Nellie?’
He looked back at her and she saw the corners of his mouth quiver. ‘Nellie is the mother of the pups.’
She blinked. ‘Oh! How many has she got?’
He shook his head. ‘Mm, possibly four!’
‘What do you mean – possibly four? Haven’t you counted them?’
‘She hasn’t had them yet; but I’m guessing she’ll have them today.’
She was silenced for a moment. ‘How – how can you tell?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘Well, she’s had pups before and I’ve always kept dogs around the farm and you get used to their habits. Nellie for instance starts nesting when she’s near her time; she goes to the same corner of the barn, where I’ve set up clean straw and a bowl of water, turns round and round to get comfortable and then makes her bed.’ He laughed. ‘Then she rests and I have a chat with her, and when she’s ready she just gets on with it, and I keep looking in on her to make sure she’s all right.’
‘I see,’ she said in a low voice as they pulled through the Newbys’ gate. ‘Doesn’t sound too difficult,’ she said, clearing her throat.
He came round to her side to help her down and took her hand. ‘It isn’t,’ he said softly. ‘It’s the most remarkable and natural occurrence in the world.’
She swallowed. ‘I believe you,’ she whispered. ‘But still daunting, nevertheless.’
He nodded. ‘I suppose it
is, the first time.’ Then he smiled and handed her down. ‘But Nellie’s had several litters. She’ll be fine.’
Edward brought her a wooden chair to sit on in a corner of the barn where he said Nellie wouldn’t notice her. He said she was almost ready. ‘She’ll be all right with us here as long as we’re quiet,’ he whispered, and Beatrix just nodded and watched transfixed as Nellie gave birth to one glistening pup, and then another; then rested for half an hour or so and had two more.
Edward walked softly towards the straw nest and crouched down on his haunches next to Nellie. He offered her his hand and she licked it and then drank some water from the bowl whilst Edward moved backwards to watch her licking and cleaning the pups.
‘One more, I think,’ he murmured, and Beatrix turned her glance to him and thought that she had never seen a man and might never see another with such an expression of tenderness as he was wearing now. She felt a sudden raw surge of yearning. I could, I believe, in another life or time, have loved such a man as this.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was perhaps not quite as easy as Nellie had made it seem giving birth to her puppies, Beatrix considered candidly, but then Edward had said that she had already had several litters.
She put her head on her pillow, feeling content, and watched the nurse attending to the babe before putting him into her arms. She couldn’t quite believe it. She looked down on his closed eyes fluttering beneath the lids, his fine blond hair still sticky on his head. He’s mine! My son. How quickly the sensation of love and protectiveness flushed through her mind and body.
‘Ma’am.’ The midwife came to her side, and spoke quietly. ‘Is it your intention to put him to the breast, or shall I give him a drop of sweetened water? It is only a preliminary; you don’t have to …’
‘No. I will.’ He’s mine, she thought again, but he doesn’t know that yet. She unfastened the strings at the neck of her plain cotton nightgown, bought purely for the purpose of childbirth, and placed his cheek against her breast. Almost immediately he turned his head, his mouth opening and moving instinctively towards her.