Children of the Tide (32 page)

James felt a quiver of excitement. ‘I would be so grateful. Do you know him well?’

Romanelli nodded. ‘Well enough. We have known each other for a long time. His father came to England as a political exile, and his home in London
was always open to other Italians. But to talk again of your family,’ he added. ‘Your father is sick, I heard you say?’

‘I received a letter from my brother saying that he was, and so I decided that I would return home for a few days.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Romanelli murmured. ‘I trust that he will make a good recovery. And your mother? She is well?’

‘I believe so,’ James said dismissively. ‘Gilbert said that she was worried.’

‘Gilbert? Your brother? I remember him also, I think. He was only a small child but I remember his orange hair.’

‘His red hair!’ James laughed. How Gilbert would hate to have his despised hair described as orange. ‘Most of my family, my cousins and uncles, have various shades of red or fair hair. Except me,’ he added. ‘I take after my mother.’

‘Of course.’ Romanelli glanced at him as they neared Batsford’s studio. ‘She was very dark – and quite beautiful. Is she still?’

‘My mother?’ He had never thought of his mother as ever having being beautiful. No. His mother, he was convinced, had never been remotely beautiful, she was too sullen and morose, there was no inner light within her to give any kind of loveliness.

Romanelli slowed down and then stopped to look over the river. He stood with his arms folded in front of him and gazed out towards Battersea Bridge. ‘
Si
,’ he said softly. ‘You perhaps would not think it of your mama, children rarely do. But –
si
, she was very beautiful. She was enchanting and joyous.
Milly
.’ He dropped his voice to a mere whisper. ‘
Milly bella
.’

Gilbert was convinced that Harriet was softening towards him. He had been attentive and devoted towards her during their stay in Scarborough, making sure that she enjoyed her visit to the fashionable spa resort without any nervous apprehension. He even tenderly bathed a blister on her foot, which came from walking in unsuitable shoes down the cliff path from the Esplanade to the Spa, where she desired to try the efficacious mineral waters so recommended by doctors and health seekers. Gilbert declined to do the same, being quite put off by its russet colour and odd smell, and declared that he would rather bathe in the sea, for it would surely do as much good. Harriet was reluctant to bathe publicly, although the bathing machines appeared to be discreetly situated, and so they both decided that as the wind was cool, perhaps they would leave the experience for another time.

From the Spa Terrace they looked down at the wide sweep of sands and viewed the lighthouse at the end of the Vincent Pier: the cluster of red-roofed houses nestling in the shelter of the tree-covered headland, and to the right of the picturesque ancient church of St Mary, which clung to the side of the hill, the remains of the castle stood dominant, defiant and protective above the town.

They crossed the ornate iron Cliff Bridge to visit the town and could still hear the faint strains of music coming from the Spa’s Gothic Saloon, but which was almost lost by the screech of seagulls, such an integral sound of Scarborough.

Harriet appeared puzzled by his attitude towards her, expecting, it seemed, that he should be demanding of her and not so attentive and thoughtful as he obviously was; and he thought that she was trying in little ways to please him, as if she felt guilt over the conflict between her desire to be an obedient and good wife and the abhorrent fear within her of what lay ahead in the marriage bed. He did not demand anything of her, and left her each night to sleep alone while he slept on the daybed in the sitting-room of their suite.

On their last evening before returning home, she had been particularly tender towards him, giving him her whole attention during their conversation, and holding his hand in a caressing, loving way as they listened to the concert in the New Hall. Yet still he did not suggest that he came to her bed, and she retired with a sad and confused look on her face.

He awoke at about two o’clock in the morning; the moon was shedding its light into the room and he was startled to see Harriet standing there, clad only in her bedgown. ‘What is it, Harriet? Are you unwell?’ He threw the blanket from him and went towards her.

‘No, I’m not ill, Gilbert. I couldn’t sleep, that’s all. I’m sorry to disturb you – I thought perhaps a little wine or cordial, if there was any, might help me relax.’

He smiled. Harriet drank very little wine, it was unlikely that she would crave it to help her into oblivion. ‘Come here,’ he said softly. ‘Sit by me.’ She did as he suggested and lay her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and put his arms around her. ‘There,’ he whispered, ‘is that better?’

‘Yes, thank you, Gilbert. You are so good to me. I don’t deserve you.’

He turned her head towards him and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. ‘What nonsense is this?’ he whispered. ‘It is I who does not deserve you.’

‘No,’ she protested. ‘I have failed you. I have not fulfilled my duty towards you.’

He tensed. So she still had this idiotic idea that it was a woman’s duty to please her husband. He said nothing, but stroked her arm and shoulder, running his hand up and down her soft skin. His hand brushed against her breast and he felt her tremble. He touched her gently, his fingers feather-light against the curves beneath her cotton bedgown, and she gave small gasping breaths. He kissed her again, small loving kisses against her cheeks, her ears, her throat, while his hands explored her breasts and tiny waist. She looked at him, her face white in the moonlight, her lips parted and her eyes enormous.

‘Come,’ he whispered and pulled her to her feet. ‘Look.’ He led her to the window. Below them, across the Esplanade, the sea was bathed by the bright light of the moon, the white wave crests sparkling with silver as they rushed to the shore and the sands bleached white. ‘See how beautiful it is.’

‘Gilbert,’ she breathed. ‘I think that perhaps I am ready for you.’

He kissed her once more on her mouth, holding her face between his hands. ‘Not yet,’ he said softly. ‘Not yet. Goodnight my darling, go back to bed,’ and he turned her around and propelled her towards the bedroom door.

She barely spoke on the journey home; they travelled by train, and in the company of other passengers there wasn’t the opportunity to talk privately, but Gilbert was bright and breezy, pointing out various items of interest in the fields and villages as they passed through, which Harriet looked at with large soulful eyes, but made no comment.

When they arrived back at Hull’s Paragon Station, he took her home in a hired carriage, and said that he was just slipping out to the office to see if all was well and that he would be home for supper. As it was late, most of the clerks had gone, but Billy was
still there, as was Hardwick, who greeted Gilbert with some relief.

‘I don’t want to bother you now, sir, when you have just got back,’ Hardwick looked worried, ‘but we have no news of ’
Star Two
; she hasn’t been seen since leaving ’Shetlands.’

‘Good heavens, man. It’s far too early to start worrying, she won’t have reached the ice fields yet.’

‘No, we know that, Gilbert,’ Billy interrupted. ‘It’s just that the
Frances May
returned early with a damaged hull and reported that they hadn’t seen sight of her, even though they left at the same time.’

Gilbert dismissed their worries. ‘I’ll make enquiries tomorrow, but I still think it is too early to have any fears about her. Have you heard news of my father?’ he enquired of Billy.

‘My father said he looked quite well when he left him the day after the wedding, but there is bad news of Uncle Thomas.’ Billy told him of their uncle’s fall from the top of the mill. ‘Sammi is still there with them; Betsy has taken it very badly, and Tom and George are working like ten men, now that Mark has left.’

Gilbert commiserated and said that he would try to get out and see them, though he knew deep down that he wouldn’t, especially if Sammi was there and there was a chance that he might see the child again. His conscience was very troubled when he thought of them, and he was still in a quandary as to what to do.
How I would hate Harriet to find out
.

He bathed when he got home and changed for supper, and saw that Harriet had arranged flowers on the dining table which was set with the silver and crystal they had been given as wedding presents.

‘I think the maid will do very well, Gilbert,’ Harriet said. ‘So I hope that we can keep her. As for Cook, well, we shall see tonight whether she is worth the money we are paying her.’

Gilbert grimaced, the payment for servants had
never before occurred to him; his mother had always taken care of that matter and, as far as he knew, she never had recourse to his father over any difficulty with them.

Cook excelled herself at this, their first meal in their new home. Turtle soup was presented first, followed by plaice fried in butter and lemon juice, a sorbet to cleanse their palates came next, and a third course of mutton pie in small pastry cases was served with mushrooms and parsley.

‘I asked Cook to keep the supper light,’ Harriet said as Tilly brought in the dessert of gooseberry pie and cream. ‘I thought after our journey it was best not to eat too heartily, as we shall probably want to retire early.’

‘Quite right, my dear.’ Gilbert poured another glass of wine. ‘I am a little weary. Will you take more wine?’

‘Yes please.’ She finished off the wine in her glass. ‘It is quite pleasant.’

He glanced at her in surprise, he thought she had pulled a wry face on taking her first sip. ‘Here,’ he smiled. ‘Put a little sugar in it. You may prefer it.’ He passed her the silver sugar bowl which had been brought in with the dessert. ‘Not that you need sugar, my darling. You look sweet and lovely enough.’

She blushed, a soft pink on her cheeks, her hair fell in dark ringlets around her face, and the white bodice of her gown was cut low, emphasizing the rounded swelling of her breasts.

‘I don’t recall seeing you in that gown before, Harriet. Is it new?’

She shook her head. ‘The skirt I have had since last year, and the bodice even longer.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘It was a high neck, you may remember, and – and I decided to adapt it.’

‘I see.’

She had been busily sewing in her room when he had returned home and had glanced up in some confusion when he looked in at her. The bodice was
very revealing and he hoped that she wouldn’t wear it when they were out in other company. He didn’t want his wife’s charms on display for other men to see.

At half-past ten he made a great show of yawning and stretching, and announced that he would go up to bed. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Harriet.’ He bent over and kissed her on her cheek. ‘I’ll look in on you before I leave.’

She looked up at him in bewilderment. ‘But Gilbert,’ her voice wavered, ‘you don’t have to use the spare room.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said lightly, ‘there’s no need to worry; I shall sleep perfectly soundly. It’s a very good bed. Don’t stay up too late and overtire yourself. Goodnight.’

He saw tears glisten in her eyes and her lips trembled, but he turned away and closed the door behind him.

The clock was striking eleven when he heard her come up the stairs and enter the bedroom next door. He was beginning to feel some remorse at leaving her alone downstairs and at not persuading her to share his bed, but he was passionately hoping that she would, by now, be feeling some yearning and want him as much as he wanted her. This celibate state did not suit him and he was filled with desire for her – desire which he did not want to persuade upon her. Yet if she kept him waiting much longer, he may well have to.

He was just drifting off to sleep when the door opened. Harriet was standing there, looking as she had done when they were in the hotel in Scarborough. Her hair was floating about her shoulders and she wore a loose bedgown. She held aloft a lighted candle whose flame illuminated her face. ‘Gilbert?’ she whispered. ‘Are you awake?’

He gave a sleepy grunt and smiled in the darkness and muttered inaudibly, ‘What? Who’s there?’

‘It’s only me, Gilbert.’

He didn’t answer but turned over with a deep sigh and flung an arm outside the bedclothes. He felt her touch his arm, gingerly at first and then growing bolder, she stroked it gently. He watched her through half-closed eyelids as she put the candleholder on the bedside table then, bending, she blew out the flame and turning back the covers crept into the bed beside him.

He had never worn nightclothes before he had married, and though he now had several sets of new nightshirts, tonight after undressing, he had as usual, slipped naked into bed. Harriet lay perfectly still beside him and as he turned towards her he put his arm over her and moved closer, still feigning sleep. He heard a small gasp as she felt his nakedness next to her, and then her hand moved against his chest; her fingers explored across his shoulders and down to his waist and hips, stopping short at his buttocks.

He could stand it no longer. He drew her towards him. His hands searched her body, his mouth her lips. ‘Harriet,’ he murmured, ‘I love you. I want to show you how much.’

‘I love you too, Gilbert,’ she whispered back, ‘and I want you too. I’m not afraid now. I’m sorry that I was so foolish. Love me now, Gilbert. Please.’

Gilbert breakfasted alone in the dining-room and helped himself from the dresser. He dined heartily on porridge and herrings rolled in oatmeal, bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade and a big pot of coffee, and then went up to say good-bye to Harriet, who was sitting up in bed with a breakfast tray on her lap. She looked flushed and pretty in her lacy bedshawl.

‘I’ll try to get home at midday,’ he said as he kissed her. ‘But if not, I shall see you this evening. I hope you have a pleasant day.’

She put her arms out to pull him back towards her.
‘I shall call on Mama,’ she smiled. ‘I want her to see how happy I am.’