A Dream of her Own (49 page)
And when Albert planted his big feet under the scrubbed clean table she could even pretend for a while that this was her kitchen; her own happy home. And it was only now, before anyone else was up and stirring, that there was any happiness in this house, it seemed.
She smiled with contentment as she watched Albert standing by the table and slicing the bread. ‘Albert Green, take your muffler off or you won’t feel the benefit,’ she ordered.
He snapped to attention and pretended to salute. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
If Jane hadn’t been there she would have kissed him. In fact she would probably have ended up sitting on his knee instead of across the table from him, watching him spoon out the dark brown jelly from the bottom of the bowl and mixing it with the dripping on the doorstep that he’d cut for himself.
‘Pass the salt, pet,’ he said to Jane, and for a while none of them said anything as they washed down their breakfast with hot, strong, sweet tea.
When they had finished, Polly washed the dishes herself and sent Jane up to start the fires. ‘Flo will be down any minute for boiling water for the babies’ bottles,’ she said. ‘As soon as you hear her up and stirring, go and see to the nursery fire - you can mind the girls till Flo gets back.’
‘Right oh.’ But Jane hesitated by the door.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘What about the sewing room?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Am I to do the fire in there?’
‘Of course. The room must be kept warm all day. When Mr Edington comes home from work he goes straight up there.’ And I wish he didn’t do that, Polly thought. I wish he would make the effort to spend more time with his wife.
Jane made no move to go. She looked worried.
‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Well ... I think Mr Edington and . . . I think he’s still in there.’
‘That’s right, Polly,’ Albert volunteered. ‘I met up with Jane at the end of the terrace and when we got to the gate we saw that the lights were on in the room in the tower.’
‘I suppose Mr Edington could have left the lamps burning - forgotten to turn them off. I mean he works so late in there on his designs for his shop, perhaps he was too tired to notice.’ ‘No, he’s in there. We saw him,’ Jane said.
‘They’re both there,’ Albert added. ‘Him and his friend.’
‘Mr Elliot put the money up for his shop,’ Polly said, glancing towards her sister. ‘He has every right to be there, checking the designs and such like.’
‘I know, I know,’ Albert said. ‘Well, they must have been working all night.’
‘You definitely saw them?’
‘Yes, Polly.’ It was Jane who answered. ‘And I don’t know about working, but they were standing by the window, close together ... and the curtains were open and ... they looked like they were arguing.’
‘Arguing?’ Polly didn’t know why she was relieved that her sister had said arguing. She had worried for a long time now about the amount of time that Mr Edington spent with his friend and she remembered how his mother hadn’t exactly welcomed Mr Elliot to the house when she was alive.
She had heard the rumours about Mr John’s father and why he had left home but she had only half understood them. Once she had tried asking Albert but he had only blushed and told her not to believe everything she heard. The trouble was that Polly had never completely understood what she had heard or what it was that people had been hinting at.
But now it seemed that the master had stayed in his sewing room all night and whether he was with Mr Elliot or not didn’t matter. What did matter was that his poor little wife had been left alone once again. Polly knew about babies - her mother had had enough of them, hadn’t she? And she knew that Mr Edington could have gone back to his wife’s bed months ago - if he had wanted to.
Poor Mrs Edington. Oh, she had had some funny ways at first but her heart was in the right place and she knew how to treat her servants; she had learned quickly. Polly couldn’t have asked for a better mistress.
‘Just leave the sewing-room fire, Jane,’ she said. ‘It’s his own fault if the room gets cold.’
Constance awoke to the sound of sobbing. At first she thought the sounds were coming from the nursery and she half rose from her bed but, when the sleep cleared a little, she realized it could not be either of the children, neither could it be Florence. The sobs were ragged and of too low timbre to be those of a woman. It was a man who was crying. It must be John.
But why should John cry? Surely not because of the pain he had caused her? He had never explained his behaviour - he had left her alone to try to make sense of this strange marriage of theirs. Sometimes she believed the only escape from her tormented thoughts was in sleep.
The room was dark. There was only a faint glow from the hearth. The fire had been banked up the night before and the embers were glowing. In the morning, before it was light, Jane would come and rake it and blow some life into it with the bellows before building it up again, and then Polly would bring her a cup of tea ...
Constance lay back and pulled the bedclothes up around her shoulders. She went back to sleep.
‘Please calm yourself! You will rouse the whole household.’
Matthew gripped John’s shoulders and tried to hold him still. It was early morning and still dark outside. He caught sight of their reflections in the window behind them and it crossed his mind that, if anybody saw them, it would look like a scene from a melodrama - as though he was about to murder his friend.
Gradually the sobs subsided. Matthew couldn’t make up his mind as to whether John’s tears had been prompted by rage or sorrow. Surely not sorrow? Surely John’s emotions didn’t run deep enough for him actually to love someone and to feel grief because they must part?
He had loved John, there was no question of that, but he had always accepted the little shopkeeper for what he was: an enchanting, beautiful boy who demanded his attentions and his gifts as of right. If the truth were known, he was the one who was heartbroken, not John.
Rage then. Or rather outrage because something he had enjoyed was over and he had not been consulted about its ending. The sobbing had stopped and John was glaring at him.
‘Let go of me.’
Matthew felt his heart contract. John’s hair was dishevelled, his complexion pale and his blue eyes huge. Matthew saw more clearly than ever what he was losing. But he had no choice.
‘Only if you promise to sit down and listen to reason.’
John nodded sullenly and Matthew dropped his hands. His friend turned abruptly and went to sit by the dying fire. ‘Explain,’ he said. ‘Explain, if you can, why you should treat me like this.’
‘I’ve told you.’ Matthew followed him warily, not wanting to do anything that might start another fit of hysteria. ‘I am to be married.’
John remained staring sullenly ahead. He didn’t say anything, so Matthew sat down in the chair opposite.
‘I am married,’ John said at last. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘The difference lies in the girls we’ve chosen. Eleanor Heslop is from a different world to your sweet Constance.’
‘Don’t patronize me. What you mean is that you are frightened of her father the coal baron!’
John’s statement was close enough to the truth for Matthew to simply shrug and say, ‘Perhaps it’s Eleanor herself that I am frightened of. She’s a veritable amazon.’
In spite of himself, this roused John’s curiosity. ‘Is she not beautiful? I couldn’t bear to think of you with some ugly old hag!’
The note of hysteria was creeping back and Matthew reached for John’s hand. He didn’t shake him off.
‘Eleanor is neither ugly nor old,’ Matthew said. ‘She is tall and lithe and beautiful, and her mind is razor-sharp. And she is the same age as I am, twenty-five.’
‘On the shelf, then?’
‘She has remained unmarried only because her father is wary of fortune-hunters.’
‘And they couldn’t accuse you of that.’ John snatched his hand away. ‘For goodness’ sake, Matthew, your family is fabulously wealthy; it can’t be the money you’re after!’
‘Not exactly. It is expected of me that I make a good marriage. You’ve always known that, admit it.’
John’s frown deepened. ‘Of course I’ve known, but I didn’t expect that it would make any difference to us - to you and me!’
‘I’ve told you, Eleanor is—’
‘Eleanor Heslop is different. But she wouldn’t have to know.’
‘I think she already does.’
‘What?’ Matthew could see that that had startled him. ‘But how? How could she?’
‘Well, she doesn’t know the details - about you and me, I mean. But the circles she moves in are very worldly and I suppose there have been rumours about my ... predilections.’
‘And she doesn’t mind?’
‘Eleanor will close her eyes to it as long as I am a dutiful husband and I am discreet about any unhusbandly activities.’
‘Well, that’s easy!’ John’s smile returned, his eyes shone. ‘We can be discreet! We need never meet anywhere except here - who would know?’
‘It’s no use. We’ve been seen going to Alvini’s. People already know. And, in any case, Eleanor does not want to live in Newcastle, she wants our main residence to be in London.’
John looked sulky again. Suddenly he said, ‘You said, “Not exactly.” ’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘When I said that surely you didn’t need the money, you replied, “Not exactly.” ’
‘You noticed.’ Matthew smiled at him. ‘You have always surprised me by how quick you are. Don’t scowl - I’m not patronizing you; I’m paying you a compliment. Yes, we are rich - all that land, all those sheep. But we are nowhere near as rich as the Heslops. No, don’t interrupt. Eleanor is an only child: eventually, the coalfields, the steel mills, the munitions factories, the shipping - everything, will pass to her children - who will also be my children. Can you imagine what a dynasty that will be?’
‘And that’s important?’
‘Of course it is. Surely your shopkeeper’s soul can comprehend that!’
When he saw John’s expression he knew that his momentary burst of irritation had been unwise. He rose from his chair in unison with his friend and they stared at each other angrily.
‘That’s all I’ve been to you, isn’t it?’ John said. ‘Someone from the trading classes, someone so far below you who you can take up with for a while, to amuse yourself, and then discard when you are tired of me.’
‘I’m not tired of you. I don’t think I could ever tire of you, believe me. But this has to be.’
It hurt Matthew to see the look of disbelief and scorn in John’s eyes. ‘Go, then,’ he said. ‘There’s no point in staying longer.’
‘John...’
‘Oh, and you’d better take your property.’ John gestured towards the hamper Matthew had brought. It was on the floor near the hearth and so were the blankets and the cushions where they had lain all night.
‘Keep it.’
‘I don’t want it. Or any of that Lady Bountiful stuff. Take it back.’
‘Very well.’ Matthew kneeled down to gather up the remains of the feast and put them in the wicker basket. When he looked up again John had moved away and was standing by his work table.
‘Was this all a game to you?’ he asked. ‘Encouraging me to open my own shop, design my own clothes?’
‘Not a game. I think that you are talented. And whatever your uncle says, there will be enough money in the account to keep the business going until it is established.’
‘It is established and my uncle is willing to take it into the business. I don’t need your money. In fact I will soon be able to pay back every penny of your investment.’
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