by Val Wood
‘Tomorrow!’ He turned his back and headed towards the door. ‘We leave in the morning.’
It was a later train than the one Charles usually caught; he had ordered a hired carriage to collect them at ten o’clock and take them to Brough.
Beatrix wasn’t expected to travel with them; it would be only Charles and Laurie and his trunk, and a small travelling bag that Beatrix had packed with his personal things: underwear, nightwear and dressing gown and a favourite soft toy that he always took to bed with him. She had also tucked in a tin of biscuits that Cook had made especially for him.
‘Do you think that the other boys will think I’m babyish if I take Jim with me?’ Laurie placed the toy carefully at the top of his suitcase.
Beatrix was sitting on his bed, waiting to close up the suitcase. ‘No, I don’t!’ She picked up the strange creature, which she had made from an old wool blanket and stuffed with rags. It had long floppy rabbit ears, two eyes of large brown buttons, a smiley mouth she had fashioned from red felt and a nose made from a wooden toggle which was stitched firmly with strong black cotton, but no legs or arms.
‘They’ll probably wish that they’d brought a favourite something, too, when they see yours. Anyway, it isn’t a baby’s toy,’ she said firmly. ‘Jim is a comforter for when you think of home.’
Jim was the name that Laurie had chosen when Beatrix had first made it for him when he was three and he’d tucked it under his arm and said his name was Jim.
‘I could give him to Amby,’ he said reluctantly.
‘You could,’ she agreed. ‘But I can make one for Amby as I did for Alicia.’ She could see that he was torn. ‘Why don’t you take him with you now and bring him home when you come back in the holidays?’ She swallowed hard. ‘Then you can decide whether he goes back with you or stays at home.’
He looked up at her and frowned, his smooth forehead puckered. ‘How long am I staying at this school? I will be able to come home when I’ve learned everything, won’t I? It won’t take too long, will it?’
‘Of course you’ll come home.’ A tear ran down her cheek, and Laurie wiped it away with his finger. ‘I don’t know how long it will take, Laurie. It will depend on how quickly you learn.’
‘Then I’ll try my best, Mama,’ he said bravely, ‘and come home as soon as I can. I wish you were coming with me.’
Alicia was waiting for him and put out her arms to give him a hug as he dragged his feet down the stairs. Then four-year-old Ambrose wanted a hug too and Charles, waiting by the door, said impatiently, ‘Come on, come on, we don’t want to miss the train.’
‘Papa!’ Alicia put up her arms to him and made kissing sounds. Charles looked down at her and Beatrix thought that just for a second Charles looked guileless, as if his blustering façade had been ripped away from him; he bent his head and kissed his daughter’s cheek.
‘Goodbye, darling Alicia,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ He bent again and kissed the top of Ambrose’s head, then turned to Beatrix, whose face was wet with tears, and gave her a peck on the cheek but didn’t look her in the eyes. He climbed into the carriage and rapped the roof with his stick and they were off, with Laurie standing by the window, giving a wave, his mouth quivering.
Beatrix ushered the two children inside but stood on the doorstep trying to control her tears. Then she heard the rattle of the trap behind her, and turned round.
‘Where are you going, Aaron?’ Her voice was unsteady.
‘Anywhere you like, ma’am.’ Aaron touched his forehead. ‘I thought it was quite a nice day for a short drive. Up to Brough and back mebbe? Tek a look at Brough Haven?’
She stared at him. Who had put him up to this? She took only a second to decide. ‘I’ll get my shawl,’ she said, and dashed into the house. Dora and Mrs Gordon were both there. Mrs Gordon was buttoning Alicia into her coat and Dora was holding out a shawl.
Beatrix took it from her. She couldn’t speak but wrapped it round her shoulders. She took Alicia by the hand and saw the nursery maid going up the stairs with Ambrose. She called her back. ‘Amby can come too,’ she said.
‘I know all ’shortcuts to Brough, ma’am,’ Aaron said as he cracked the whip above the pony’s head. ‘We’ll be at Brough train station afore yon carriage is.’
They were there at the same time. She and the children were sitting in the trap on a piece of rough ground as the train steamed into the station. Beatrix stepped down, carrying Amby, and Alicia followed her; she saw a porter on the platform step on board carrying Laurie’s trunk into a carriage and Laurie shaking his head when another porter bent to take his bag; she saw the figure of Charles moving about inside the carriage, taking off his hat and his coat and putting them on the rack. And then she saw Laurie come to stand at the window of the carriage and look out, straight at them. He smiled and waved and put his hand to his mouth to blow them a kiss as the whistle sounded, steam gushed from the funnel and he was lost to sight as the train, shrouded in smoke, pulled away.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The grain had been harvested and the fields broken open to allow the animals in to graze, and by late October the meadows that had lain fallow that year were ploughed, harrowed and sown with winter corn.
Beatrix stood with Hallam watching the labourers and horse lads. It never ceased to amaze her as they all did what was expected of them without a single false move, all used to the continuous rotation of crops and animals that kept the land in ‘fine fettle’ as they called it, as their fathers, grandfathers and forefathers had been before them. Except it was different from how it had been, Edward had told her; he had described how some of the grandfathers had cropped their own strips of land to make a living and feed their families, but had lost them since the last Enclosure Act and now had to work for the bigger landowner.
‘You’ll have to decide what to do, ma’am,’ Hallam was saying. ‘And before Martinmas, or some of these men will start looking for work in towns and industry if we can’t promise to keep them fully employed and give them local accommodation, which is in very short supply.’
‘So what must we do?’ she asked.
‘Some of them have lodgings in ’villages, but it means a hike to work and back, and … well, I know we have some accommodation for the regulars, but I was thinking of that run-down old barn in the far field. It’s mainly brick and boulders, but it’s falling down and the roof’s collapsed. It’s doing nothing; it’s not even good enough for an animal shelter, and the way things are going it’ll end up as a pile of rubble, which would be a waste. So I thought we could rebuild it, if you’re willing. We could use reclaimed bricks and some stone – I’ll ask at the Hessle quarry – and make it into a farmhouse, and put a hind and his wife in it.’ He saw the crease in her forehead, and then it cleared.
‘You mean a foreman?’ she clarified, and he nodded. ‘Yes, and then what?’
‘The gable ends are steady and safe, and the area is big enough to make a goodly house; we could build an extension at the back to make into lodgings for ’labourers and regular horse lads, the idea being that the hind’s wife would feed them, and you’d have to decide whether you’d pay for the men’s keep as part of their wages or let the hind’s wife charge them. Either way you’d keep the men here and they wouldn’t slope off to the local beer house and get drunk. Particularly if the food was good.’ He grinned.
She laughed. ‘You’re a marvel, Hallam. That is such a good idea. I think we should do it.’
‘Should we wait for Mr Dawley’s opinion before we start?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘There’s no need. If we want to keep the men here, it’s the only option.’
She needed something else to keep her mind busy. In the time since Laurie had left for school she had written to him several times but had received only one letter back from him, saying he was settling in and that no one had laughed at Jim. Another boy had wanted to bring a soft toy with him, he told her, but his father had said no.
> Poor little boys, she’d thought. Making them grow up so quickly. She had written to her mother asking her to pay Laurie a visit, but had not yet heard back from her.
But it was Charles who was causing her some concern. He had come to see her two weeks ago for the first time since collecting Laurie; he looked fit and well and she was sure that he had been abroad again, for his blond hair was fairer than ever and although his skin hadn’t burnt as it had previously, the back of his neck was red and peeling. She’d asked him if he’d been to see Laurie and he’d laughed.
‘Of course not! Why on earth would I? He has to grow up, not be a spoilt mother’s boy. My parents never visited me!’
‘But he’s only eight,’ she’d protested. ‘He’ll be missing home. You’ll bring him back for half-term, won’t you?’
‘Nonsense! It’s hardly worthwhile disrupting him for only a week. He can stay on at school, boys often do.’ He looked at her and narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you feeling broody? Is that it, Beatrix?’
She’d simply glared at him and turned her back, but he’d reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘Careful, dearest wife. I will bring the boy home when I’m good and ready. He’s eight, as you say, and under my control, not yours. He will do as I say, not you. You have two other children to look after until such time as I decree otherwise. Ambrose will go to the same school when he’s eight, so you have time to prepare yourself. You can choose a local day school for Alicia if you wish,’ he’d added casually.
She’d felt nervous, afraid even; but his attitude towards Hallam and the men who worked for them was agreeable and he’d congratulated them on their good work over the year; the men had touched their foreheads or their caps and Charles seemed well pleased, and so he should be, she thought indignantly, as she put away the account books which he always examined when he came. She was sure now that his accounting knowledge was not as good as hers, for he only ever looked at the bottom line to see if they were in profit and by how much.
Charles never bothered to go and watch the workers, she fumed; not the men harrowing or ploughing, nor the women and sometimes children too who worked in the fields alongside them at harvest time, the women gathering and binding the loose corn into sheaves, ready for the men to make into stooks, the children raking the ground behind them. He really has no idea about the working of the estate and I think he doesn’t want to know; he’s not in the least interested. She often wondered just what he did with his time in London. Does he really put in so many hours at the bank?
He must have a mistress, she told herself once more, and I hope it is only the one, for I would hate to think that he has other women too; that would be quite abhorrent to me. Do I care, she thought irritably? I’m not sure I do. I hope she makes him happy, for it seems I can’t. Whatever I do, I never seem to please him.
She had written to him, addressing the letter to him at the bank and marking it Strictly Personal, pleading with him to allow Laurie to come home for half-term; she wasn’t even sure if a boys’ boarding school kept normal term times. But there was no reply, and she realized that it was probably now too late.
She was at her desk when a letter came from her mother, and she seized upon it eagerly and tore it open. Her mother apologized profusely for the delayed reply, due, she wrote, to Beatrix’s father and herself being struck down with heavy colds.
I dare not risk taking the cold to Laurence, she wrote. We did however travel to Hampstead yesterday as we had both recovered, but found him to be in rather low spirits. He said he had stayed on at school when most of the other pupils had gone home for the half-term holiday, and he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to do the same.
We were unable to explain this to him, but asked the headmaster for the reason, and he said it was on the express instruction of his father. We couldn’t understand Charles’s decision; we could have had Laurence to stay with us if it was not convenient for Charles to collect him, but we asked the headmaster if we might take him out for the afternoon to make up for his disappointment, and he agreed. Perhaps you would mention this to Charles when you next see or write to him.
Beatrix sat dumbstruck and trembling as she read the letter. Why? Why did Charles do that? What reason could he have to keep Laurie at school? If he wouldn’t let him come home, at least he should have allowed him to stay with him in his London house; they could have visited museums or galleries, rather than leaving a little boy alone without playmates.
She sat and wept; the thought of Laurie’s being left alone really hurt her. It’s so cruel, she sobbed. Is Charles doing this to hurt me? He is succeeding if that is his intent. But why? What have I done – or not done – to displease him so?
She thought back to their early married days. I did everything I thought was expected of me: what more did he want? Yes, I was naive and innocent, but he knew that from the start: she remembered their first night together and the subsequent honeymoon in Windermere, when what she experienced was totally new.
There were very few tender moments even then, she thought, no sweet or gentle murmurings of affection. So was he disappointed with me? Was he expecting passion from an inexperienced girl? For that is what I was – I knew no other young men, not as potential husbands.
Dora knocked on the door. ‘Can I get anything for you, ma’am?’ She looked at her mistress’s face, wet with tears. ‘Not bad news, I hope, ma’am?’
‘No one has died, Dora, if that’s what you mean.’ Beatrix took a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m just missing my boy,’ she snuffled, her voice breaking.
‘I thought he might have come home,’ Dora said. ‘Don’t children have a holiday halfway through the term? Country children have extra time off to help with the harvest – or so I’m told.’ She flushed a little and Beatrix wondered who had told her that. Does she have a young man? Though she doesn’t get much of a chance to meet anyone.
She shook her head. ‘Charles said as it was only a short holiday it wasn’t worth the effort of bringing him home – or something like that. But I would have liked to see him.’ She blew her nose. ‘I really miss him.’
‘I bet Master Laurie would have thought it worth it.’ Dora smiled. ‘I would have gone to fetch him,’ she offered. ‘I know the London trains quite well now from when I visit my mother. Whereabouts is his school?’
‘Hampstead,’ Beatrix said vaguely. ‘Somewhere near the heath, so I understand.’
‘I could come with you, if you wanted to visit him, ma’am,’ Dora suggested. ‘Could you perhaps stay with your parents? Not that it’s my place to ask,’ she added quickly, as if realizing she might be speaking out of turn.
Beatrix gazed at her; she had thought of it often, but how could she explain to Dora that if she did so, and Charles found out, there was no knowing what he might do; and she was terrified of doing anything to make him angry enough to forbid her from seeing Laurie at all, or even ever again. Am I becoming neurotic? Am I imagining that things are worse than they are? Is what Mrs Stokes is saying really true?
They both heard the front doorbell and someone walking across the hall floor; muted voices, one of them Mrs Gordon’s, and then the door closing again.
A tap on her door and the housekeeper opened it. ‘Telegram, ma’am.’
She handed it to Beatrix and stood waiting with her hands folded, in case there was a reply.
Beatrix read it, and with her mouth parted as if she was drawing breath shook her head. Mrs Gordon turned to leave, but paused when Beatrix made a low moan.
‘It’s from my husband,’ she whispered. ‘Laurie has run away from school.’
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Alfred Dawley stepped down from the cabriolet in Judd Street. He reached up to pay the driver but gave him only half the fare. ‘Wait here until I come back and I’ll pay you double.’
The driver swore at him, but had no option but to wait or lose out on the whole cost.
‘Fifteen minutes at the most.’ Dawley patted hi
s top hat firmly on his head as he strode off. He had never visited his son’s house but knew exactly where it was and who lived there with him. Must take me for an idiot, he muttered beneath his breath. He’s the idiot; never thought, did he, that I’d have him followed. Of course he didn’t, not back then, full of himself he was, untouchable, as we all were when we were young. But he has never changed.
He doesn’t know how much I know about him and his doxy, although he’s stuck by her, I’ll say that. Not like me. He gave a satisfied grunt. Don’t keep ’em more than a couple of years; they get settled into their habits otherwise, think of themselves as a second wife, expect more than we can give. But Charles thinks he’s clever, doesn’t know that I know about him and the estate and how well it’s doing, hah! And no thanks to him, but all to his clever little wife. He would have had the inheritance spent by now, but she’s got her head screwed on right enough; whether it will do her any good in the long run is a different matter, of course, but she has at least given him a couple of sons.
Women, he thought, you’re lucky if you get a good one. He sighed. As for my daughter, Anne won’t take a husband, not now she’s got money of her own. I should have known that the hussy would be off as soon as she got her hands on it; not a word to anybody, not even her mother, though come to think of it my dear wife might have put her up to it.
She didn’t even give me a chance to advise her on where to invest her money, but went to some other bank; I’d have offered her a good deal given the opportunity. She’s gone to France, or so I understand. She’s probably living in a women’s commune or something and smoking poppy.
Is this it, is this the street? He screwed up his eyes at the street sign. This is the better end, I suppose. It’s not so good at the other end, though I think it’s working people living there. Can’t help their upbringing, I suppose.
There was a shiny brass knocker on the door and he rapped firmly. The doorstep was clean in spite of the soot in the air; the windows were too. He rapped again. A woman’s voice called out, ‘All right. All right, I am coming. Who is it?’