Lakeland Lily (48 page)

Something was happening. Whether it was Bertie coming down too close to Nathan, or Nathan losing his balance she couldn’t quite tell, but even from this distance Lily could hear the ice splintering.

Selene had been keeping a disdainful eye upon the activity on the frozen lake as she sipped her tea in the little parlour. She was furious that Margot had forbidden her the satisfaction of revenge upon her trollop of a sister-in-law, despite the obvious goings-on which she would have loved to tell Bertie about. Yet because of his precarious state of health, she had been ordered not to.

Certainly he’d been behaving rather oddly lately. He was suffering endless headaches, moody depressions, and frequently talking to himself. He drank too much, and had recently taken to walking out late in the night, or so servant gossip informed her.

Gossip. There was another cross she had to bear. All Selene could do was to bite her tongue and suffer in silence. She’d become increasingly aware of whispers and pitying glances following her wherever she went. They saw her as the spurned woman, unwanted and cast-off in favour of another. The fact that the other woman in the case had been her own sister-in-law only made the humiliation worse. Yet there was nothing she could do about it.

She quailed at the prospect of facing her thirtieth birthday next year, still unwed. Had anyone warned her of such a fate at twenty-one, Selene was quite sure she would have expired from shock. Planning with Mama which suitor she might favour had once been a favourite sport. Now her last chance had been spoiled by Lily. A fact she intended never to forget. If she could find some means to get her own back, she would most certainly do so.

Meanwhile her mother’s little tea-parties had become a veritable minefield of question and innuendo.

Mrs Philip Linden, once the insipid Lucy Rigg, now a young matron of means and mother of four children, was at this very moment pressing her hand and stifling a manufactured tear as she softly enquired how ‘dear Selene’ did these days.

‘I do very well, thank you,’ Selene responded, not rising to the implied request for a confidential exchange. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing this to be perfectly true, even if her life had not proceeded in quite the direction she had expected.

She and Marcus had developed a most satisfactory routine in which caring for his wife took very little part. This chore could largely be left to the servants, though Catherine’s presence provided the cover of respectability which they needed. Privately Selene dreamed of a day when his wife was no longer a feature in their lives. But since Catherine was still a relatively young woman, and for all her aches and pains surprisingly resolute in taking excessive care of herself, there seemed little prospect of such an event in the foreseeable future.

However, there were certainly compensations to be enjoyed in the meantime.

Marcus had taken to sleeping in a private bedchamber, for the ‘increased comfort’ of his ailing wife. Catherine had not objected and Selene often wondered how much she guessed or if she heard footsteps creeping along the corridor each night.

‘It must be so stifling for you, being at the beck and call of an invalid all the time. Poor you.’ Lucy’s strident voice broke into her thoughts.

 
‘Not at all. I am her friend, not her servant. Catherine is a most untroublesome creature and I do have access to Marcus’s Daimler, complete with chauffeur to take me about.’

Lucy looked momentarily nonplussed by this piece of upstaging. Even her own dear Philip couldn’t run to such magnificence.

‘How lovely. Although motors are such dreadfully noisome machines, are they not? Simply shrouding the landscape of the Lakes in clouds of dust.’ It was the best put-down she could devise for a machine she’d give her eye-teeth to possess.

Sophie Dunston, fiddling with her spectacles and talking through her adenoids, fervently agreed. ‘Almost as bad as women smoking
.
Quite dreadful.’

Selene, who had recently taken up this pastime, gritted her teeth and smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t know, a puff of a Turkish can be most satisfying.’ How she loved the expression of shock on their faces. If these excessively proper ladies disapproved of fast motor cars and cigarettes, what would they have to say about her more nefarious diversions? she wondered, recalling the panting, thrashing figure of Marcus in her bed last night. There were indeed many compensations in her life, even if there were still one or two matters left unsettled. Selene gazed upon them with a pitying condescension, not least on her own mother who suffered such disappointment on her behalf.

Margot was at this moment sitting tight-lipped while Edith Ferguson-Walsh went boring on at length about how ‘darling Dora’ was soon to be married to a French businessman who owned two large hotels in Paris.

‘So romantic. They met when Dora was recuperating after her illness. He’s terribly rich and the entire family is to be invited to stay for a whole
week
for the wedding.’

‘How very splendid,’ Margot drily remarked, inwardly fuming at the way such a dull, plump creature as Dora could strike so lucky.

When the little tea-party was thankfully over and Selene stood by as Betty helped the ladies on with their furs and wraps, Lucy bent close to whisper yet more words of comfort.

‘I do think you’ve had an awfully lucky escape. Did you hear how poor Captain Swinbourne has died in poverty after going to live with his sister in Harrogate? And we know who we can blame for that, do we not?’

‘Do we?’ Yet more gossip.

‘My dear, he was not exactly old, was he, the poor man? Nor suffering from ill health so far as I’m aware. Though they do say he was an inveterate gambler.’

‘Indeed?’

‘A weakness taken full advantage of by that dreadful man.’

‘Do you mean Nathan Monroe?’

‘Who else? Worked his way up from ticket-collector through deck-hand to manager and then bought the company off Swinbourne. Though how else he came by the money if not through gambling I wouldn’t care to speculate. Really, dear Selene, you should thank your sister-in-law for taking him off your hands.’

‘And what about my poor brother?’

Lucy had the grace to flush and, hastily kissing the air inches from Selene’s cheek, prepared to depart. ‘I really must dash. The children will be needing me and Philip does so hate it when I’m away too long. Unlike you, I am not a lady of leisure. Dear me, no.’ A smile of triumph and a gentle tilt of her pretty head as she swirled out of the door on a breeze of Ashes of Roses.

Selene stood on the doorstep, grim-faced, while all the ladies climbed aboard their gigs. George directed the resultant traffic jam into some order along the drive, and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves, muffled by sacking wraps to prevent them slithering about on the ice, died slowly away. Her last thought before preparing herself to face Margot’s usual post-mortem on the afternoon was that if money came so easily to Nathan Monroe, she could only hope that he would just as easily lose it.

Margot, however, at that precise moment, had other matters on her mind. Not wishing to brave the icy blast of the chill outdoors, she had sunk upon her favourite window seat to watch the departure of her guests through the window. From here she could also see the entire frozen expanse of the lake.

Though she could not with certainty make out the identity of the two figures, her mother’s instinct told her that one of them must be Bertie. Who else but her own beloved son could skate so well, or have the nerve to take part in such a reckless act? Nor did she need to puzzle over why he was on the ice, risking life and limb in that crazy fashion, or who was to blame for his being there.

She saw the two figures collide and instantly let out a howl which grew in volume as she ran out into the snow until it was a full-blooded scream for George, for Betty, for Selene - and in particular, at that dreaded moment of possible loss, for Edward.

They were all in the kitchen, Betty and Lily bustling about with hot kettles, whisky and fragrant fresh coffee while the two men sat swathed in blankets and towels.

‘I can’t believe you could be so stupid,’ Margot was saying, in her fiercest, no-nonsense voice. ‘What were you thinking of to permit them to be so foolish? Bertie might well have been killed out there.’

It was, of course, to Lily that she directed this furious accusation. Yet Lily made no move to defend herself against Margot’s rage. She didn’t have the strength, for she too had never felt so angry in all her life. It was the only way to express intense relief.

‘Dash it, we weren’t killed, Mama. We’re fine and dandy. Anyway, that’s what life’s all about, ain’t it, Nathan, old chap? Risk. Ah, coffee. You’re an angel, Betty. Sorry, even my gaspers are soaking wet.’

Lily found her voice at last. ‘For goodness’ sake, Bertie, what do a few cigarettes matter? Margot is right, you could’ve lost your lives out there. Nathan nearly did.’

Bertie looked at her, an oddly mournful expression on his boyish face. ‘I wouldn’t have let him drown, Lily. I saved him, didn’t I?’ She half expected him to add, ‘for you’, and was grateful that he didn’t. Instead he turned to Nathan with a grin. ‘We’re even now, old chap, eh?’

Lily paused in shaking mustard powder into two deep bowls of hot water. ‘Even? What d’you mean, even? This hasn’t happened before, has it?’

‘Dear heaven,’ said Margot, collapsing into a chair and sending Betty scurrying for smelling salts for the second time in months. ‘He means,’ Nathan quietly explained, ‘that I saved him from drowning when we were fishing that time.’

‘That’s right.’ Bertie grinned. ‘What a lark that was. One minute I was catching a whopper, the next I was in the drink. Would have copped it if it hadn’t been for Nathan’s quick action in pulling me out. So you see, Lily, old thing, we know how to look after each other.’

She looked from one to other of them and wondered, just for a fleeting second, if that were true. But they both looked so innocent it must be. Quite incomprehensible, the pair of them.

Lily was haunted by the incident. She had to admit that Margot was right for once. One of them could have died out there, and the fault would have been entirely hers. But because of Bertie’s precarious state of health, and not least her own sense of guilt, she made no further comment upon the subject. They understood each other perfectly. Life would go on as usual.

She would concentrate on being a good and faithful wife to Bertie, even if he hadn’t behaved quite as a good and faithful husband himself. To cheat on her with Rose was bad enough, and then with Nan as well was appalling. She couldn’t bear to imagine what he’d got up to in London during all those long months after the war. Nor would she ever ask. Lily supposed she should make allowances. As Nathan said, he’d come home alive and in one piece.

Having made up her mind to stick by Bertie, it seemed imperative that Nathan should stay away. The last thing she needed was for him and Bertie to take up their old friendship. She wrote him a brief but painfully clear note.

It was obligingly delivered by the faithful Betty who carefully managed to cloak her avid curiosity.

She handed the letter to a grim-faced Nathan and scurried quickly away, not wanting to answer any questions. The affair was obviously over.

The ice finally melted and a cold winter passed into a cool spring. Saffron and gold leaves hung like flecks of fire on the black claws of still-bare trees. But elsewhere pink buds were appearing on the horse chestnuts. Bright pussy willow starred the curving bays and wooded inlets. Soon the ragged grasses on the steep hillsides would blaze with golden gorse. Change was in the air.

One day the sun would shine warmly, the next a bitter wind would blow. Rather in tune with Lily’s emotions.

Little had changed in her marriage. Bertie still occupied the small dressing room, for which she was truly grateful. They continued to live their separate lives while keeping up the facade of a happy married life.

Lily threw herself into her work, anxious to keep her mind occupied rather than lingering over what might have been. Even so her eyes kept searching the horizon for any sight of Nathan, her ears constantly attuned for the sound of his voice reverberating over the water when he was out in one of his steamers. But he kept away, as she had requested.

In other ways, at least, life was improving. Money was easier, debts were slowly being settled, one by one, and suppliers were again happy to attend Barwick House. But by the end of that second summer of her operation, Lily still felt far from secure. Another long winter lay ahead which would prove a great strain on their savings with no money coming in.

She spoke about this problem to Ferryman Bob. ‘What next, Bob? The
Faith
is doing well enough, but I’m not sure how much longer we can cope.’

To Ferryman Bob the answer seemed obvious. ‘Thee needs another boat, Lily.’

‘I suppose I do, but where from?’ And then she remembered the talks she had enjoyed with Edward. ‘
Kaspar
!’

‘What?’

‘
Kaspar
. That was the name of Edward’s freight boat. The one he scuttled.’

‘A cargo boat won’t make any money on the lake these days. The roads are getting better all the time and folk use cars and trucks and lorries now. Even the
Raven
on Windermere is coming to the end of her working life.’