by Val Wood
‘It says,’ and he harrumphed as if he too was caught out with emotion, ‘My beautiful wife has given birth to my son and heir just as I asked her to. The estate will go to him when he comes of age. Until then I will take care of him to the best of my ability, but if I should fail, then I know that she will not, as she is as capable as any woman I know.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Beatrix spent another week with her parents and then felt that she wanted to go home.
‘My need to be with my children exceeds all else,’ she told her mother. ‘I can grieve in my own home and I can’t think of any reason why I shouldn’t travel with Dora as usual.’
Her mother agreed with her. ‘Your sense of loss will perhaps be less in your own home as Charles spent so little time there,’ she suggested.
‘Yes.’ Beatrix thought that she was right. But, she pondered, that was Charles’s choice. I know now that he didn’t want the estate; he already had the life he wanted with Maria, and given the opportunity he would have sold it and lived on the proceeds. It was his father who wanted the prestige of the inheritance, and I believe his influence over Charles was paramount for most of his life.
She was pensive for a moment and her mother didn’t interrupt her musings. That was why Mr Dawley chose a wife for him: someone who would bear him children; give him an heir so that the Dawley line would continue. Her thoughts drifted on. It will continue, she thought, but without any influence from Alfred Dawley. I will make sure of that.
‘Mama,’ she said, ‘when Charles and I married, I saw you speaking to a silver-haired gentleman outside the church. I noticed him particularly as he was rather handsome, and I’ve wondered who he was. A relative, perhaps?’
Her mother was silent for a moment; then she murmured, ‘An old friend. Someone I knew when I was young.’
Beatrix waited. It seemed a poignant moment before her mother spoke again, looking down at her clasped hands.
‘He was the man I wanted to marry, and who wanted to marry me.’ She sighed. ‘My parents didn’t think he was suitable and his parents didn’t think that I was.’ She gave a sad little smile. ‘We kept in touch even after we both married other people, until your father retired and then it didn’t seem right or possible, but I invited him to your wedding in order to say a final goodbye.’
Beatrix swallowed, unsure of her feelings; perhaps she shouldn’t have asked. Kept in touch? What did that mean exactly, and did she really want to know? ‘Was he your lover?’ she asked quietly.
Her mother shook her head and gave a hint of a smile. ‘No. We both felt we wanted to be, yet neither of us could take that step. I think too that if we had, we might have lost the magic of the idea of love. We were young: in love with the idea of being in love.’ She looked up. ‘But your father has proved to be a loving and reliable man, and I’m not sure if Anton would have been so faithful.’
Anton, Beatrix mused. Even his name seems exotic, but I’m glad that the decision was, after all, the right one. Thomas and I have had the security of it.
Dora was wearing a pretty engagement ring on her left hand when they travelled home, and had said to Beatrix, when she asked if she would be leaving her, that she wouldn’t be going anywhere for quite a long time, providing her services were still required, and Beatrix said that of course they would be.
They had arrived to a merry welcome from children, dogs, housekeeping staff and her good friend Mags, who, she considered, was almost like a second mother to her.
I can begin to live again, she thought, and although I must do so quietly for a few months yet, wearing my mourning in Charles’s memory, and not at home to visitors, the best thing I can do is continue with my usual activities and see to the needs of the estate and the workers: then I must proceed with all the official paperwork, and to help me with this I will have Stephen Robinson-Gough, who seems, at least by his correspondence, to be an efficient and caring man. She would also ask for his assistance in moving the estate finances away from Dawley’s private banking company into the Hull branch of her father’s former bank.
It seemed, when the earnest, friendly York lawyer called to see her, that not only did he know Charles, he also knew Edward, although he didn’t say how. Edward satisfied some of her curiosity at least when he said that Stephen had been kind to him when he was a boy of ten and had met him on the occasion of Stephen’s visit to the estate at Charles’s invitation.
‘And?’ Beatrix asked. ‘How was he kind?’
Edward brushed away the question. ‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you some other time.’ And he would not be moved on the point, which increased her curiosity even further.
Her friend Rosie, disregarding the not at home rule, called to see her and quite disarmingly, forgetting that Beatrix was in mourning, told her in great delight that she and Esmond were going to be wed after all.
‘It will be in the spring and the clergyman has agreed to marry us in the orchard as we had planned; I don’t want this little one to think,’ she patted her belly, ‘that she or he is illegitimate, as I am, although Mama says that perhaps she and Papa might marry after all, as Papa doesn’t have a head for accounting and is quite lazy and wouldn’t in the least know how to claim her property, any more than Esmond would in time to come. Besides,’ she added, ‘I have to learn to trust.’
Recovering from the shock of learning that her friend’s parents were not married, Beatrix hid a smile. How wonderful to be not in the least caring about proprieties, or what anyone else thought. But would society break down if we all did whatever we wished? There must surely be some order in life.
The weather was darkening as winter approached. The sky was heavy with cloud and constant flocks of waterfowl and over-wintering birds flying in from the Arctic; golden plover and shelduck searched the mudflats for a source of food. During the daylight hours, the workmen mended fencing and prepared the ground for the following spring, and womenfolk filled their cold larders with meat and game to last them over the winter, alongside bottled fruit picked from the summer crop.
On Christmas Day Beatrix went early to church wearing her mother’s black cape over her gown so as not to upset any of the congregation, for she had now abandoned her black wardrobe for grey, trimmed with black crepe. It was time, she thought. Christmas Day wasn’t ever going to be a quiet one with three boisterous children eager to play with their presents.
Her parents came to stay and brought news that Thomas’s wife had given birth to twins, a boy and girl, Sean and Alaina. Their letters had crossed, for Beatrix had written to her brother at the same time to tell him and his wife of Charles’s untimely death.
Although Laurie spoke of his father sometimes Alicia rarely did, and Ambrose didn’t remember him at all. Beatrix tried to rectify this by talking to them all about Charles, but the younger ones simply looked at her blankly as if they didn’t know who she meant.
She walked a lot during that winter, when the frost hardened the ploughed ridges and left a crystal cloak over the trees and hedgerows; one day her feet had taken her down the woodland path to the gate at the edge of their land, where she could see the strong current in the estuary carrying the flow of dark, brackish water on its journey to the sea, and she vowed that come spring she would accept Edward’s suggestion that she should go with him to Holderness and visit his sisters and see for herself where the estuary waters emptied into the sea.
He had told her too of the phenomenon of the island in the Humber mouth that was once beneath the waves and was now the best corn-growing area in the land, after being reclaimed over the last century and now boasting of farms, a school and a church. One of his sisters, a farmer’s wife, lived there, and Beatrix had often thought that she would very much like to see that strange place, but as a married woman she could not be seen out with a single man. Such restrictions were now irrelevant, although she must be careful not to appear flighty.
She had breathed in deeply and relished the silence, broken only by the whispering
of the wind in creaking leafless branches, the call of birds and the cackle of waterfowl, and thought that in spite of all that had happened between her and Charles she had her children, a beautiful home and a wonderful landscape.
What more could she want? She gazed over the estuary towards the narrow banks of Lincolnshire and the low shadowy rise of the Lincolnshire Wolds beyond, and thought that to have someone to love her would be the most wondrous thing, for she had plenty of love in her heart, and now that the property was entailed to Laurie and could not be sold or handed on except to someone within the family, no one could be accused of marrying her for her wealth. Was that still a possibility? Edward had been a prospect, but he had not given any sign since Charles’s death.
As spring neared she accepted Edward’s invitation to visit his cottage, and took the children with her for form’s sake.
‘It’s hardly a cottage,’ she said, when they drove up to the front door in Edward’s trap. It was a substantial four-bedroomed house, originally built of brick, with extensions of stone and boulders brought, he told her, from Holderness shores.
It was set higher up the hill than Old Stone Hall and had an open view down to the estuary. Next to the front door and beneath the window was a long wooden bench, where she imagined Edward would sit at the end of a working day, with perhaps a tankard of ale in his hand.
‘This is a lovely little house,’ Alicia declared, jumping down from the trap before Laurie and Ambrose. ‘I’d quite like a little house like this,’ and the three children went off to explore the orchard and garden whilst Edward invited their mother to look inside.
It lacked a woman’s touch, for it was devoid of cushions, paintings or flowers, but, she thought, it breathed Edward’s personality: leather armchairs and comfy sofas, a large open fireplace, and views from the windows of the land sloping down towards the estuary. She sat down on the sofa and he asked if she’d like a cup of tea.
Beatrix shook her head. ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘I’d like to know how you came to be here and are not still living at home.’
‘This was originally our home. It was still a cottage when we all lived here, my sisters and me and Ma and Da.’ He sat down next to her. ‘That was before Da was injured.’
‘That must have been a very difficult time for you,’ she said softly.
‘It was, but most of all for Da; he knew he wouldn’t be able to work as he used to. I wasn’t there when it happened; Uncle Nev had sent me to look for something in one of the stables. I was always at his house at the weekends and holidays and mostly made myself useful, helping Da, who was foreman, or anybody really. That day was very hot, and Da, who is an excellent carpenter, had gone down to the bottom field with old Josh Atkins to help him mend a broken fence. Then I heard someone shouting out for help and Stephen Robinson-Gough came running into the yard, although I didn’t know who he was back then.’ He took a breath before he continued. ‘He shouted that the cattle had stampeded and someone was injured and to fetch help, and I knew immediately that it was Da or old Josh and I ran like the wind to fetch Uncle Nev.’
He blew out his cheeks. ‘Nev was furious. I warned them, he was shouting. I told them not to worry the cattle. He knew that it must have been Charles and his friends who had tormented the cows who were with their calves in the bottom field. I ran first to tell my mother and then down to the field where some men were rounding up the cattle and others were running to the fence with makeshift stretchers.’ He blinked, and his voice croaked as if it had happened only yesterday. ‘And then I saw them lifting up two bloody bodies and I thought they were both dead.’
It was as if he had bottled up the scenario for ever, and I suppose he has, Beatrix thought, and gently put her hand over his to comfort him.
‘They carried them into the house and someone went to fetch the doctor. Alfred Dawley was having a nap on the sofa,’ he went on in a calmer voice, ‘and Uncle Nev rounded on him, saying he wasn’t fit to have a son if he didn’t teach him the difference between right and wrong, and I heard him threaten to disown Charles. I didn’t know if he could do that; the estate had always belonged to the Dawleys, but it was soon afterwards that he sold Da a goodly piece of land with the cottage where Ma and Da live now.’
‘Sold it to him?’ Beatrix queried. ‘Was he able to afford to buy it?’
He nodded and said. ‘For a peppercorn. In other words, it was a concealed gift. Compensation, I suppose, to make up for Da’s injuries, for we all knew that he wouldn’t do physical work again. He also gave Josh and his wife a pension for life, but the old lad only lived for another month or so after the stampede and his wife died five years later.’
He smiled at her and stroked her hand, which he was now holding. ‘And now,’ he said softly, ‘I’m going to tell you a love story which will explain why Uncle Nev had always been such a special friend to the Newby family.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
‘Uncle Nev was a great friend of Da’s father Joe,’ Edward began. ‘Even though they were from very different backgrounds. I didn’t know my grandfather; my father was only just out of school when he died, but seemingly Uncle Nev had promised Grandad Joe that he would always take care of his wife and son and he did, right to the end of his life.’ He looked at Beatrix with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Can you guess why?’
Beatrix blushed. ‘You said it was a love story, so I suppose he loved your grandmother?’
‘Exactly. He did. Apparently – or so my mother said, for Nev had confided in her after she and my father married – he had fallen in love with Grandma Amy as soon as he set eyes on her, but he was a great friend of Joe’s and would never betray that trust or their friendship. After Grandad Joe died he waited for the right time to declare his love for Amy, but she refused him, and even though she said she loved him as a friend she couldn’t break her marriage vows. So poor old Uncle Nev never did marry. He remained faithful to Amy, and thought of us as family. Ma said that when Grandma Amy died – and she was old by then – he was heartbroken and valued the friendship of the Newbys even more, even my sisters and me.’
‘Did he never consider leaving your father the estate rather than the Dawleys?’
He shook his head. ‘He was an honest fellow, and I believe that apart from that one time when Charles played havoc he felt honour bound to keep it in the Dawley family.’ He was silent for a while, still holding her hand, and then placing it to his lips he said softly, ‘And I’m pleased that he did, as otherwise I would never have met you.’
Gently she pulled her hand away. ‘You know that I’m still in mourning?’
Edward nodded. ‘I fell in love with you when you came to Old Stone Hall as a young bride,’ he murmured. ‘I saw you dancing on the lawn in the moonlight. You were like a sprite conjured up out of the mist, and you captivated me completely.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I remember. I went outside and danced beneath the moonlit sky.’
He gazed at her and tenderly touched her cheek. ‘Will what happened to Neville and Amy happen to us? Will I love you for ever and for ever you’ll say no?’
She closed her eyes. She could hear the children’s voices outside as they sat chattering on the bench under the window. ‘My children—’
‘Will have a father,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll love them as if they were my own.’
‘Yes,’ she breathed and smiled, so full of happiness she couldn’t believe it. ‘I know that you will, but what I was going to say was that I wouldn’t want their reputation to suffer because of their mother’s improper behaviour.’ She leaned forward and kissed him. ‘How long will you wait?’
He gathered her into his arms, breathed in her scent and nuzzled into her hair, and whispered, ‘For ever.’ He smiled and his eyes glistened as much as hers. ‘Until next spring?’
‘I love you,’ she murmured, and he caught his breath.
But it couldn’t be the following spring, she thought as she tossed beneath the covers in her bed that night. Even though he
had waited so long. He had waited when there had been no hope; only Charles’s death had made his declaration possible. But she wasn’t the innocent girl she had been when he had watched her dancing in the moonlight.
Could she be that girl once more? Would she ever find herself again? She wasn’t a rebel like Rosie’s mother Hannah Stokes, who abided only by her own guidelines and did what suited her. Nor was she a woman like Caroline Norton with influential friends, even though she would fight like a tiger for her children if they were ever threatened.
And then there was Charles: would his memory always haunt and hurt her? She closed her eyes and from out of nowhere recalled the party when her father had announced their engagement. Shall we run away from this charade? Charles had asked her. Yet he was already committed to Maria, and very obviously that commitment had been strong and he would never have left her.
She opened her eyes and sat up against the pillows. Poor Charles. He’d been forced into a marriage that he didn’t want. His father, and generations before him, even the holy Neville Dawley, had played their parts in ensuring the Dawley line continued as it always had.
It isn’t only women who must obey the rules, she concluded. True, Charles wanted the money and prestige that the inheritance would bring: that greed too was running in his blood; but it hadn’t been entirely his fault and she felt, as in honour bound, that she must at least mark his life and death for the full period of her mourning.
She threw back the covers, slipped out of bed and into her slippers, reached for her dressing robe and crossed to the window. She looked up into the midnight-blue sky as she always did and saw a waxing crescent moon and uncountable stars, and then looked down on to her beloved garden, her eyes drawn to the gleam of the statuary in the moon’s slender light and the new flower beds that were now rimed with silver frost; and then she saw him, gazing up at her.