Honey's Farm (54 page)

‘The boy' – she nodded to the baby on the bed – ‘was born in wedlock, that makes him Lord Calvin's responsibility, his heir, and . . . er . . . adultery, if you'll forgive me, is very difficult to prove.'

‘You seem to know a great deal about it.' Eline was genuinely impressed. ‘I believe you are very probably right; but I want nothing of Lord Temple's. I have my own business; I shall make my own way, without him.'

‘I was in the same situation myself once, and it didn't turn out too badly.' Mrs Jessop smiled and gestured around her. ‘I got the house out of it, even though my husband wasn't rich like Lord Temple, mind, and I want you to think very carefully before you give up anything you are entitled to.'

She rose and took up the tray. ‘Supper will be ready soon, and if you want it in your room, just give me the word.'

Eline shook her head. ‘No, I'll join the rest of the boarders; it will do me good to have company.'

At the door, Mrs Jessop paused. ‘If ever you want me to keep an eye on the baby, I'd be glad to' – she paused – ‘at very reasonable terms.'

Eline smiled to herself as the door closed behind Mrs Jessop. She was kind but brisk, a good businesswoman, clearly; and she could be trusted, Eline felt that instinctively.

She was surprised by the way she settled into the routine of the boarding house and amazed at the ease with which she fitted in to the rules and regulations Mrs Jessop imposed. For the time being, she decided, she would remain where she was; it might be just as well to take Mrs Jessop up on her offer to look after the baby.

The baby – she would
have
to rename him now, Eline thought wistfully; she could hardly keep the names her husband had given the child. ‘William.' She said the name softly, and it was tempting; but she hadn't the face to be so blatant about her son's paternity. Perhaps she should name him for herself; Emlyn was near enough to Emmeline.

‘Emlyn,' she said softly. ‘Yes, Emlyn would suit you very well, my son.'

Eline could not help but notice that she never received any money directly from Calvin; her board and lodging were paid for, it seemed, directly to Mrs Jessop. It didn't matter; soon she would tell Calvin not to bother at all. She would make her own way in life, pay her own bills. She didn't want to be beholden to anyone, not now, not ever.

What
did
irk Eline was that her life seemed to have lapsed into a rut of idleness, and afresh there rose the urge to go out into the world and to conquer it. As the days passed, the feeling became so strong, so irresistible, that Eline realized her days of sitting in her room, playing with her baby, were over; she must get back to work.

Mrs Jessop quickly came to an arrangement for the care of the baby, her practical nature making negotiations for her payment no embarrassment at all.

‘I'll have him downstairs with me,' she said, and her words made sense. ‘He can lie in the drawer of the dresser for now, but you should get him a carriage.' She smiled. ‘Just send the bill to your husband; he won't object to such a modest request, I'm sure. You must be the most undemanding wife I've ever come across.'

‘I told you,' Eline said, smiling to soften her words, ‘I want nothing from Calvin, and once I get back into harness, I won't even need him to pay the rent for me.'

‘Well, he should do that much, at least,' Mrs Jessop said dryly. ‘He did have the joy of you as his wife and hostess, and anything else he chose to enjoy with you. Let him pay for it, I say.'

Eline didn't reply, but determination was growing within her to be free of Calvin, really free of him and of her role as his pampered wife. She was used to working; her life had never been easy, not until the last few years. She could and would work again, make a future for herself, find fulfilment not only as a mother but as a businesswoman.

It was a few days later when she made her way towards the terminus of the Mumbles train, her bag clutched in her hand, her nerves ragged. As she waited in the cold street, she felt apprehensive at the prospect of coming face to face with Calvin again at the gallery. She had not seen him since the day she had left his home, with the baby in the shawl – the fateful day when Calvin had found out the truth, the day she had seen Will and he had realized her child was his own flesh and blood.

Her thoughts veered away from Will. She could not, would not, drag him into the tangle that was now her life; he had enough problems without taking on hers.

She climbed aboard the train with a feeling of great thankfulness for the warmth of the crowded compartment. Her hands were chilled; she had found no gloves in the possessions Calvin had hurriedly flung together into a bag when he'd decided to throw her out of their home. Neither had he thought to pack any warm boots.

Eline smiled. At least that was something she could easily remedy; there would be leather aplenty in the workshop. She was determined to go there later, see how work was progressing, and ask one of the cobblers to make her some boots as quickly as possible.

She felt drowsy in the warmth of the train and, looking out, she saw that the sea was shrouded in mist. It was a cold, clammy day, and for an instant she thought with longing of the great drawing-room at Stormhill Manor and the huge fires that would be burning in the fireplaces.

Oystermouth came into view, and Eline looked out at the sands, where the women would be working on the perches, hands raw and stinging from the salt of the seawater and the cold bite of the wind.

She had worked on the perches only briefly, for she had been a failure at it, her hands, so deft at designing, lacking the skill for handling the oysters.

When the train stopped, Eline alighted almost reluctantly. Her footsteps dragging, she made her way along the road that edged the sea and led to the gallery.

The window, to her surprise, was empty of paintings. The door when she tried it was locked. With a sinking feeling, Eline realized that Calvin had closed the business down.

Anger swept through her then. How dare he do this without consulting her? He was only a partner in the gallery; that was all he had ever been. The business was hers, really, not his. She had founded it, built it up to what it had become; he had only taken over the running of it.

‘Morning, Eline, you all right?' The voice of Nina Parks was like a hand reaching out from the past, Nina who had taken Eline's first husband from her and who had always been such a disruptive influence on her life. An enemy.

‘Morning, Nina.' Eline felt as though she had been caught staring into the window of a pie shop with no money to buy the food.

‘Closed then – the gallery, I mean,' Nina said. ‘You come all the way down here to see it, then, have you?'

‘No!' Eline could not help the note of sharpness that crept into her voice. ‘I came down here for a breath of Oystermouth air.'

‘Oh, Miss Sarcastic now, then, is it?' Nina crossed her arms. ‘Pity you don't seem able to hold on to your husbands, isn't it, love?'

Eline turned and retraced her footsteps towards the train stop. If she remained with Nina Parks a moment longer, she would not be responsible for her actions.

On the return ride to Swansea, Eline's anger was mounting. Calvin had been high-handed; surely he should have consulted her before he closed the gallery? He had put little or no money into it; it was
her
enterprise, and it had not been for him to end it so precipitously.

A greater shock awaited her when she stood outside the premises she'd rented for a workshop. It, too, was boarded up, with no sign of occupation at all. Eline moved around to the rear of the building and, peering through the windows, saw that the rooms were bare of machinery and empty of workers.

She leant for a moment against the wall, feeling dizzy with bewilderment; what was Calvin up to, she wondered. Was all this closing down of her premises an extra punishment for her unfaithfulness?

Anger flowed through her then, like hot wine. She began to walk briskly in the direction of Stormhill Manor. She would confront Calvin; if he was not in the gallery then he must be at home. She would demand an explanation, ask him why he wanted to deprive her of her means of making a livelihood for herself and her child.

Eline clenched her hands into fists so tightly that her nails bit into the soft flesh of her palms. How could he do this to her? To take away the means for her to work was the cruellest blow he could have inflicted.

At first the servant she saw refused her admission to Stormhill Manor. It was only after creating a scene on the doorstep that Eline was allowed into the hallway. There she was kept waiting. It was a good twenty minutes later that Calvin deigned to appear.

He looked as immaculately dressed as always, his clothes neat and crisp, his boots gleaming.

‘You have forced yourself into my house, why?' were his first words, spoken coldly.

‘It's I who should be asking “why?”,' she said icily. ‘The gallery and the workshop, both have been closed; what was the reason for it, and by whose authority did you take such action?'

‘My own, of course.' He sounded surprised. ‘Why shouldn't I close the premises? I have no use for them.'

‘But the gallery was
mine
,' Eline said forcefully. ‘I bought the building; or have you forgotten that?'

‘I have forgotten nothing,' he said. ‘I sold the gallery because you needed the money.'

Eline was taken by surprise. ‘I didn't want the gallery sold,' she said.

Her thoughts whirling, she looked up at him; this man, her husband, seemed like a stranger.

‘I presume the proceeds will be at my disposal?' Eline asked, holding her breath, not knowing what to expect of the man who had shared her bed but suddenly become an enemy.

‘In a manner of speaking, they have been at your disposal since you moved into rooms,' he said.

‘What do you mean?' Eline asked. ‘Have you put some money in an account for me?'

‘I have not,' Calvin said flatly. ‘But what, my dear woman, do you think you and your bastard child have been living on?'

‘You mean the money, the proceeds from the gallery, is keeping me and the baby?' She was incredulous.

‘Yes,' Calvin said. ‘The bills have come in, and I have paid them out of what you call
your
capital.' He smiled thinly. ‘Though, I warn you, the capital is rapidly diminishing; you will soon be penniless.'

Eline was struck into silence for a long time. His words rang round her mind as she wondered if what he had done was proper, morally or legally.

‘But the pictures, the building – there must be quite a lot of money put by somewhere, surely?'

‘Not really,' Calvin said. ‘The paintings sold at very low prices, and so did the gallery itself.' He paused and smiled without humour. ‘The building where you conducted your shoemaking business – at a loss, I might add – didn't seem a desirable property in anyone's book; it is virtually uninhabitable as it stands.'

Eline thought rapidly. She could live at the workshop premises with the baby, start up her shoemaking and designing there; everything was going to be all right after all.

‘And so, to be kind to you, I bought the building myself.' Calvin dropped his bombshell.

Eline's heart sank. ‘And I suppose you bought it at a knock-down price?' she said wearily.

‘All the documents are with my solicitor,' Calvin said. ‘If you wish to scrutinize them, then you may do so, of course; but you will find nothing untoward.'

‘And so your revenge is complete,' Eline said. ‘You are leaving me with nothing.'

‘Let the father of your bastard take care of you,' Calvin said coldly. ‘I have acted perfectly properly; I sold your assets to keep you and your child, and the proceeds, such as they were, are rapidly diminishing, just as I said.' He looked directly at her. ‘I will, of course, bear the cost of the divorce myself.'

Without another word, Eline walked out into the coldness of the driveway, uncaring of the curious looks of the servants. Before she had gone more than a few paces, the big door was closed, and the click of finality echoed in Eline's ears like a death knell.

It was only when she was returning to the boarding house that Eline realized just how bad her finances were. Soon enough the money to keep her and her son would all be used up; and then, kindly as she was, Mrs Jessop would be forced to ask her to leave.

But it must not come to that. Eline must find a job, anything to keep a roof over her head. It was no good turning to Emily Miller or even to Hari Grenfell; Calvin was one of them, one of the privileged set of Swansea. They met socially, at dinners and grand balls – a world where Eline had been admitted for a short time but was now firmly excluded.

When Mrs Jessop heard what had happened, she pursed her lips and frowned. ‘I don't know how he could think up such a scheme,' she said, almost admiringly, ‘but you have to admit, that husband of yours has got brains in his head, all right.'

‘I'll have to find work,' Eline said. ‘Perhaps I can get a position in some shoe emporium; I'll do anything to keep a roof over my son's head.' She felt near to tears.

‘Look,' Mrs Jessop said, ‘I know that someone is wanted in the public over the road. It's only a bit of cleaning, like – mopping up the floors, putting fresh sawdust down to hide the beer stains on the flags. It's hard work, but honest, and old Abe won't be funny with you, I can assure you of that.'

Eline was silent, thinking how Calvin would laugh at her when he knew she was a skivvy in some dingy inn.

‘He'll want to know straightaway, mind,' Mrs Jessop said, ‘and there's no point to waiting, is there?'

‘I'll take it,' Eline said, ‘and I'll pay you to look after Emlyn for me. Is that all right?'

‘That's just fine,' Mrs Jessop said, ‘and I know Abe will be willing for you to pop over from time to time to feed the boy. You'll be all right; don't you worry now.'