Dear Laura (5 page)

‘So he should, if ever he sees you. And he shouldn’t see you neither, except at prayers. Your place isn’t in the house. Let me see that passage! It’s well enough,’ mollified. ‘I can tell you’ve done scrubbing at any rate.’

‘Oh yes, Missus – Hill – since I were eight year old. I used to go up Lavender Hill with our Nellie and we did the steps there. We didn’t get no pay if they wasn’t spotless.’

‘I used to be a step-girl,’ Harriet confided, unmindful of her dignity. ‘Did you, Kate?’

Kate held out her hands without comment. Almost as white and pretty as Laura’s, they had done no rough work.

‘Lady Muck!’ Harriet whispered to Annie, and ached for gentility.

‘Send for Dr Padgett at once!’ cried Theodore, helped in by the cabbie. ‘I fear I have caught that confounded illness. Here, my man, here’s something for yourself to keep out the cold. Do not come too near, Laura. I do not want you to be ill, too!’

‘The bed is aired and a fire lit,’ she replied, glad to keep her distance, leading the way.

His sickness oppressed her and she seemed as stricken as he, her natural buoyancy of carriage gone.

‘You are very pale,’ he accused her, anxious that no one should divide his dominion of ill-health.

‘It is usual in me, Theodore. I feel very well.’

‘I shall require the most careful and constant nursing, if I have the influenza. You understand that? My blood pressure. My bronchial weakness. That murmur of the heart which Padgett treats so lightly – send for him! The Empress Augusta had the finest physicians in Europe. She died, you know, Laura. Laura, are you listening?’

‘She was very old and very enfeebled, Theodore. You are in your prime.’

‘I am not as strong as I look, nor as Padgett seems to think,’ he cried petulantly. ‘Ask Nanny to fetch me a cordial, a hot cordial. She is a
good
nurse,’ he added, accusing Laura who was never as tender on these occasions as he could wish.

Groaning gently, as the doctor questioned and examined, Theodore was received into the arms of the epidemic.

‘Now, ma’am,’ Padgett counselled, in the privacy of the drawing-room, ‘we must take care of you as well. This is a highly infectious and contagious disease, and possibly cannot be kept away from you all, but we must do our best. I advise you to sleep in a separate room, and order your servants to keep Mr Crozier’s utensils apart from those used by the rest of the
household
. And do not distress yourself unduly. Nature heals, ma’am, nature heals. He should be up and about in a week, though convalescence will take far longer – particularly as he tends to coddle himself. Beef tea and dry toast, as soon as he can take nourishment. Otherwise, warmth, rest and hot cordials. And keep the newspapers from him. He will harm himself far more, brooding over the mortality rate, than the sickness will harm him. Distract him as much as you can. Keep him optimistic.’

‘I shall endeavour to do so,’ knowing how ineffectual those endeavours could be.

He looked at her sharply, drawing on his leather gloves.

‘How are you keeping?’

‘I have slept better since you prescribed the capsules, though I do not wake up as quickly as I could wish.’

‘One cannot have everything, ma’am. A little drowsiness in the morning is fair exchange for a night’s rest. And the headaches?’

‘The powders ease them.’

‘You suffer from a nervous disposition, ma’am. So do not let your husband’s illness overburden you. Mr Crozier has great confidence in Miss Nagle. Let her divide the nursing with you. And you have two maids that can watch by him, turn and turn about. You must get your sleep.’

Satisfied that he had done what he could, the doctor picked up his bag, and Kate Kipping curtsied as she opened the front door.

‘Take it from an old medical practitioner, ma’am,’ Padgett said cheerfully, as he climbed into his trap, ‘Mr Crozier will be up and about in a week. Do not alarm yourself.’

He lifted his hat, flicked the reins on the pony’s neck, and was off at a spanking trot to his next patient. A handbell rang furiously from the main bedroom.

‘Well?’ Theodore demanded. ‘What does he say? Whispering downstairs. I must know the worst.’

‘Indeed,’ said Laura gently, tucking the blankets a little tighter, ‘he tells me you are pretty well.’

‘Pretty well, Mrs Crozier? With a temperature of 102?’

‘Dr Padgett told me it was not a virulent attack, and you would feel better presently. But you must rest undisturbed. I shall get Harriet to make me up the bed in the guest-room.’

‘You must leave your door open in case I should need you.’

‘Certainly I shall,’ she soothed him.

‘And Titus must keep in touch daily,’ he rambled fretfully. ‘He must come every evening and keep me informed.’

She hesitated, saying, ‘Surely he need not. It is a long way to and from the City. He knows the business, Theodore.’

‘A journey I have performed daily without complaint – or comment from you – these many years. Do not argue with me. It makes my head worse.’

‘Do you require anything more at the moment, Theodore?’

‘I require you to sit with me until I sleep.’

Her head moved in question towards a book on the table by the bed.

‘No, no, no, no. Not to read, to sit with me, Laura. To sit.’

She sat, hands folded in her lap, and watched him drift
uncomfortably
away from her.

HER
father had had two faces: one he presented to the world, correct and fastidious, the other warm for her. Even as a child she knew that her mother disappointed him, though Mrs
Surrage
was always elegant. Even as a child she knew how to reach him for herself, and assumed that all men were made in his
image
. With women she was less easy, accounting them rivals or disciplinarians. And since she was an only child, and they kept very close, she found friendship a difficult business. Life was simpler, confined to one love and a social audience who could be charmed and forgotten. Because she sought to please him in all things she was considered a good girl, though the obedience was merely a means to a greater end.

He was fond of music and she learned to play for him with some accomplishment. He loved poetry and she learned to read and recite it to him. He admired beauty and she practised a
hundred
little graces to capture his praise. He had no use for intellect in a woman, so she neglected even the modest requirements of a female education at home. He was generous with money, and she spent it. He was unwise and prodigal in his loving, and she
responded
. He moulded her into the ideal he had never possessed, and she put aside anything that might mar the surface which delighted him.

The other side of his life held no interest for her: the finance, the constant striving for achievement, the long-headed,
hard-headed
fight for supremacy in an age which flung business
tentacles
further and further into an expanding empire. Only, she understood him to be powerful and enjoyed the fruits of that power.

In his turn he lavished imagination as well as affection upon her, entering into her most childish pursuits with an indulgence that roused his wife’s criticism. Every absence from her, however brief, brought a gift back: a musical box, a toy theatre, a string of coral beads, a wax doll. Whenever she was ill she woke up to a nonsense letter tucked beneath the candlestick. He could not bear her to be punished, though he was quick to let her know if she displeased his notion of her.

Constant erosion wears away even rock. Mrs Surrage, who had married well and wanted nothing more of love than an
establishment
, finally left them to themselves. As Laura grew older her mother grew apart, sometimes using her as an intermediary, often envious, occasionally angry. Father and daughter had made an art of loving, a fantasy world in which all is well so long as the lover and the beloved are one. Of the real world Laura knew nothing and expected everything.

She came out at the age of eighteen and the dream flared awake. She danced with countless phantoms of her father, and he laughed them away.

‘Too young, Laura. Besides, he is the third son. We must find someone who can keep you in the manner to which you are accustomed.’

‘A dull dog, my love, in spite of his fortune.’

Too old, Laura. He has a son the same age as yourself.’

‘In love with you? Impudent young rascal. Besides, they are all in love with you. So they should be. So they should be.’

Dancing through a season, faster and faster, her mother’s fan faltering as she espied a good match, her father’s fingers tapping fretfully as he turned each possibility aside. And then Theodore Augustus Sydney Crozier, in his middle thirties, head of
Crozier’s
Toys, leading her gravely into the waltz.

‘He is interested in you, Laura,’ said her mother, snapping the fan shut, ‘and he is eminently suitable. Well-bred, the right age, and capable of setting you up in a fine establishment. Think of that, my dear. London, the capital city. Your own house. A wide social circle.’

Still Laura was undecided, wanting to spin time out and out, ever returning from each conquest.

‘We cannot afford another season as lavish as this one,’ Mrs Surrage said sharply. ‘And we cannot afford to have three
seasons
, in any case. Besides, if you are not engaged soon, people will think that no one has offered.’

‘What do you think, Papa?’ Laura asked.

‘You must make up your own mind, my love,’ he answered, jealous that she should consider leaving him, knowing that she must.

‘But what shall I do?’ she cried, who had never made a
decision
in her life, except between one coloured ribbon and another.

Her father got up suddenly and left the room, shutting the door angrily behind him. In command of the field, for the first time in her marriage, Mrs Surrage marshalled her arguments.

‘Mr Crozier will make an excellent husband, Laura. Your papa, naturally, wishes you to be quite certain before you
encourage
the gentleman any further. But if you keep him waiting too long he may lose interest. Besides, what possible objection could you have to him?’

‘I do not know him very well, Mama.’

‘He has called here regularly. He has escorted you to various entertainments and had conversation with you. He has spoken to me at great length and with admirable sincerity. I have
nothing
but good to say of his conduct, his background and his character.’

‘He has not said anything to me of an – affectionate – nature, Mama.’

‘Leave such nonsense to boys like that subaltern. You may be sure that if Mr Crozier did not admire you he would not be
interested
. Besides, for a woman, love comes after marriage. You
cannot
expect to know a man until you are married to him, Laura. Good heavens, if a lady allowed every gentleman to pay court to her, in the way you seem to expect, her reputation would be ruined.’

‘I will not be hurried, Mama,’ Laura said obstinately.

Her old ally was waiting to hear the verdict, face set, eyes cold. To him she ran, wilful, certain of her hold on him.

‘I will not be hurried, Papa. I must have time to think.’

He was alive again, triumphant, teasing, all-powerful.

‘Of course you shall, my love. All the time you wish. Do you hear, Jane? I will not have my daughter married against her inclinations.’

Mrs Surrage said nothing. She and Theodore Crozier had much in common. They wished to look well in the eyes of the world, and they knew that marriages were made not in heaven but on earth.

His courtship was tenacious, correct. Backed by Mrs Surrage, who imputed heaven knew what feminine fancies to his sombre presence, Theodore progressed. She was clever enough to realize that Laura’s imagination must be captured, and interpreted his reserve as restraint, working upon her daughter’s romanticism with fearful skill.

‘Mr Crozier is a gentleman who says little and feels all the more strongly, Laura dearest. And what authority he has! How he worships you, my love! One can see what pride he takes in your appearance.’

So the girl set her charms and graces before him, like jewels to be admired, and certainly he was proud to have her on his arm. She began to seek out his preferences, to explore this strange territory which was to be her new life. As her interest in
Theodore
Crozier increased, her father diminished. As he diminished, the image of Crozier filled her horizon.

She created a fresh picture, another story, with herself at its centre, with her husband always in attendance as her father had been. But this was greater, richer, infinitely better, since
Theodore
would be her lover also. Her knowledge of the physical
relationship
stopped short, mouth on mouth, and she lacked
curiosity
to pursue it further: assuming that all would be made clear in its own time.

Over her dreaming head the masculine struggle for property rights reached an inevitable conclusion. Laura’s five
hundred a year was invested in the firm of Crozier’s Toys, to be used at her future husband’s discretion. Certainly, Walter Surrage made sure that the capital could not be touched; and provision in case of Theodore’s death, and Laura’s allowance, and settlements on her possible children, were all satisfactorily concluded. But at the end of all the discussions and legalities one inescapable fact
remained
:
she had exchanged her father’s dominion for that of her husband, one luxurious cage for another.

On the eve of the wedding, Mrs Surrage attempted to
explain
something she had been unable to comprehend herself. She spoke, in confusion of mind and heart, of the duty a wife owed. She said it was not necessary for a lady to do more than remain obedient and passive and think of better things. She promised the joys of children in return, and waxed enthusiastic over Laura’s future wardrobe and status. Then, her own duty done, she kissed her daughter’s cheek perhaps more tenderly than she had ever kissed it before and wished her happiness.

‘Say goodnight to Papa,’ she added, kinder now that her
victorious
rival would be forever removed. ‘He is devoted to you, dearest.’

So Laura drifted down to the library to wind her arms round his defeat. They had nothing to say to each other, but she sat opposite him for half an hour while he enjoyed his brandy and cigar in silence. He thought only of her, and she thought of Theodore. Then he roused himself, seeing time now and for always as an enemy, and counselled an early night.

As she reached the door he cried, ‘He must take good care of you, you know, Laura. I have done all
I
can!’ As though
Theodore’
s behaviour rested entirely on her.

Knowing him so acutely, translating the admonishment into concern, she replied lightly, ‘If he does not then I shall come home to you, Papa.’

But he was a man of his word, and that word had been irrevocably given.

‘You belong to your husband now,’ he said sternly. ‘Your home is with him. Let us have no nonsense on that score, Laura. You understand me?’

Wounded, drooping, she trailed back to the comfort of his arms.

‘There, there, there,’ he said, casting the mantle of protection about her for the last time. ‘You will be happy with him. I do not know why I spoke as I did. We are fatigued with preparations for this fine wedding of yours. And where has all the money come from, Miss?’

She knew the answer to this old and constant question. He
had laid it so often at her feet, a tribute that required another tribute.

‘From you, Papa! Dearest Papa!’

*

‘Gentlemen make different approaches, so I understand,’ Mrs Surrage had said. ‘They are inclined to think much of what seems distasteful to us. Mr Crozier may trouble you with poetry, or with poetic allusions. Bear with him in this, and above all do not reject his advances.’

Laura was drunk on unspoken words.

‘Give and take is an excellent maxim, my dear. If a gentleman’s passion appears inexplicable think of the children. They are our crown, Laura, and our reason for existence.’

Laura was ready to be swept on any tide.

‘At least, it is soon over,’ said Mrs Surrage.

She was correct about this, at any rate. Theodore, who looked splendid in his impeccable suiting, was a terrifying figure of fun in his nightshirt. He did not trouble her with poetry, with
passionate
embraces, or with much explanation. Simply, he said that there were certain duties to be performed between man and wife, and executed them with a lack of consideration that
appalled
her, who had always been coaxed and cossetted.

*

Laura trailed back from her honeymoon, listless and pregnant. Theodore, glad to be back in the business he understood, left her in her new household with Titus for company. At twenty,
already
getting into scrapes at medical school, Titus was the only friend she had. Young and foolish and beautiful, they clung together under the dark protection of Theodore’s authority. Mrs Hill, fortunately for Laura, was content to pay lip service to this guileless mistress providing she held the reins of house and
kitchen
, so they got on famously from the outset. But when Titus returned to the university Laura suffered isolation.

The birth of Edmund found her as unprepared for
motherhood
as she had been for marriage. In a nightmare of pain and embarrassment she reached out her hands for succour, and felt them clasped.

‘Oh, help me!’ she cried, over and over again.

‘Now, now, now, my dear lady,’ said Dr Padgett, ‘it will soon be over.’

His fatherly manner, his kindness and the chloroform, set him in her mind on the level of the divine. She found it very
comforting
to be slightly ill from time to time, afterwards. She and he made a little fetish of her headaches and indispositions: a substitute for love.

Theodore abstained from his marital duties, apparently
without
difficulty, for a few months after Edmund’s birth. Then, according to some inner dictate, he committed solitary acts of violence until she was with child again. The second confinement was easier, but between dread of labour and nausea at the
prospect
of intercourse, Laura threw up so many symptoms that Dr Padgett spoke to Theodore of her delicate constitution, and won her a long respite.

Blanche Victoria Crozier was born four years later, after Laura had ceased expecting any happiness with her husband. He did not come to see her until the following morning, and his
inspection
of the baby was perfunctory. Weak and sick, she realized that she had disappointed him, though she did not know how. The explanation was given as briefly and brutally as any of his physical connections.

‘I have two sons,’ he said, as though they were no part of her, ‘and that is enough. Their education will be costly, but worth while. I consider that my duty as a father is fulfilled.’

Strapped in the corset which prevented her from any but the most restricted movements, entering on the six weeks of
compulsory
convalescence, Laura indicated the white organdie cot with a flutter of one hand.