A Bloom in Winter (9 page)

She turned to face him, her fists clenched by her side. “But that isn’t . . . ” It was on the tip of her tongue to say “fair,” but that sounded so childish, as if she expected life to be fair, when it most assuredly was not and never would be. “Right,” she said, not meeting Kit’s eyes. He knew what she’d been about to say, she was sure of it, and it embarrassed her to be so spoiled and childish that she would expect the world to play fair with her when it didn’t with anyone else. “It isn’t right,” she asserted.

She turned and started walking again.

“Victoria? Where are you going?”

“I don’t know!”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him motion to the driver and the motor pulled out and began following them. She felt silly and cosseted, as if she were a bomb about to go off, and that only made her angrier. How could she expect anyone to take her seriously if she kept acting like a child?

K
atie’s mother was a tall, thin woman with faded brown hair and snapping black eyes who radiated warmth. She looked barely older than her daughter, but arthritis had swollen her joints, making her hands look like a crone’s. After years as a scrubwoman, she happily kept house for her surprisingly successful daughter and three of her equally successful friends. Muriel Dixon made no bones about either her daughter’s illegitimacy or the fulsome pride she felt about her daughter working as an office girl. Sir Philip Buxton, the man who had made it all possible, was no less than a god.

“And if he’s not a god himself, he was put on earth special by the Almighty, that’s for certain.”

Prudence, who had been coming to see Muriel for housekeeping lessons twice a week for the past two weeks, would always agree.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never even baked a scone before.” Muriel shook her head as she thrust her stiff hands into a bowl of dough. Prudence tried the best she could to imitate Muriel’s movements. Last week, she’d learned to make scones and iron sheets. She had washed and dried the sheets at home and brought them to Muriel’s to iron. She had only burned them
once, and Muriel said that if she kept the burnt spot at the bottom of the bed, Andrew would never notice.

Today, Muriel was teaching Prudence to make a meat pie. It was just in time, too. If Andrew thought it strange that he had three straight meals of scones, he’d kept his mouth shut, but Prudence guessed that it wouldn’t be for long. Prudence picked up the carefully listed ingredients from the greengrocer and the butcher on the way to Katie’s house. She bought enough for two as payment for the lessons, even though Muriel told her she didn’t have to, that she needed to learn how to live frugally.

It was a difficult lesson for Prudence, who had never had to budget before.

“It’s the first time I’ve made a meat pie, too. Fancy that,” Prudence said, in her new brisk way. The only way she kept herself going was to accept each moment as it came. Some were good, some were bad, but all had to be gotten through somehow.

She and Andrew had fallen into a routine that seemed to be working. Three days a week, he left early in the morning and picked up odd jobs for the day. Those were the days she came to Muriel’s house for housekeeping lessons, or, as Muriel called them, “lessons in slavery and servitude.” The rest of the week he stayed home and studied, except for Tuesdays, when he went to study chemistry, mathematics, and French with a tutor, and on Sunday mornings, when he treated Prudence to their customary breakfast out.

The entrance examinations were held four times a year, and the next round of tests would be held in Glasgow in the spring. They would be given in London next fall, but Andrew and Prudence agreed they did not want to wait if that could be time
spent in school. They didn’t discuss what might happen if he didn’t pass.

“So tell me again what Sir Philip was like,” Muriel said once they had gotten the pies in the oven.

“I thought you were going to teach me how to clean out the icebox?” Prudence asked, smiling.

Muriel waved a hand. “We can do that later. It will keep. Here, have a cuppa. Even slaves get a break now and again.”

“Why do you call us slaves?”

Muriel smiled, showing her crooked teeth. “Oh, it’s just a pet name. Actually, I’ve never had it so good in my whole life as I do keeping house for the young ladies. Precious gems, all of them, especially my own Katie. I knew she was too smart to be a scrubwoman, but what did I know about getting her into school? That’s why Sir Philip and that little girl of his, Victoria, are saints, that’s all. But you wives, that is practically slavery, right there. Those suffragettes have it right. Now tell me about Sir Philip.”

Muriel and Katie’s flat was larger than Prudence’s and the kitchen was separate from the living room. It was a long, narrow room with only one window, but Muriel kept it scrupulously clean. Because there were five women in the house and one or the other always had a date, the ironing board was always set up next to the stove. They sat at a long wooden table and Muriel handed her a cup of tea.

Prudence had no idea that Sir Philip had paid for Katie’s education. Her throat tightened. It was so very like him. She racked her brain for a good story. “Well, you know, Sir Philip always had these odd notions about education. He would read a book about a new educational technique and soon we would be trying some completely different method of learning, like the
Charlotte Mason method or something like that. My mother was the governess and sometimes she would just throw her hands up in the air and let him have his way with us.” Prudence sipped at her tea, remembering. “Between him and my mother, I’m surprised we got an education at all.”

“What do you mean?”

Prudence jumped a little and her cheeks colored. “Oh.” She stared at her nails while Muriel waited next to her. Finally, she looked up at the older woman and smiled.

“My mother wasn’t always a governess. She started as a parlor maid. My family were poor townsfolk and probably Buxton serfs at one time. But Sir Philip felt sorry for my mother, and he hired her to help take care of his baby daughter and his expectant wife. He employed a woman with a baby of her own, that’s how kind he was.” A lump rose in her throat. She knew of course that Sir Philip was only making amends for his father’s abhorrent behavior toward her mother, behavior that left her pregnant with an illegitimate Buxton child. She didn’t tell Muriel that; she wanted to forget it herself.

“And then, Sir Philip’s wife died in childbirth and he retained my mother as the nanny and later just kept her on as the governess. He knew she didn’t have an education, but she was an avid reader and he trusted her to help him educate us. It was a rather odd partnership. After I grew older and lost her, I used to wonder how she’d managed it.” Prudence paused thoughtfully. “But I remember that, as a little girl, I would lie awake for hours, waiting for her to turn down the lantern and come to bed. I realize now that she was studying to stay ahead of her students.”

There was a moment of silence before Muriel reached over and patted her hand. “She sounds as if she was a very determined woman.”

Prudence took a deep, shuddering breath. “She was. I just wish . . . ” She hesitated.

“What do you wish, child?”

“I just wish she had told me about my own birth, my lineage. Like you told Katie.”

Muriel shrugged. “Oh, that wasn’t my doing. I had to stay at home with my own mother or else we would have been out on the streets. My mother called Katie ‘the little bastard,’ so I started right off letting her know what it meant and that she was still loved no matter what her grandmother said. If I would have had a choice like your mum did? I don’t know if I would have said anything either.”

Prudence thought about that after she walked the ten blocks back to her flat. Would she have told her daughter in similar circumstances? She wasn’t sure. She only knew how hurtful it was on the other side of a lifetime of lies.

Once home, she put the pie, covered with a clean cloth, on a shelf in the kitchen. She would heat it up just before suppertime, when Andrew would be home. At least she knew it would be good, and she was fairly certain she could imitate the results in her own home. At least she hoped she could. The flat was clean and there was little she could do here but read, so she slipped her warm woolen coat back on and headed out.

Camden Town teemed with life at all times of the day, so unlike her old neighborhood in Mayfair. Here men and women of all ages and classes jostled together on the sidewalks and the streetcars. There were blocks of factories interspersed with blocks of neighborhoods. Some of the neighborhoods, like hers, had started out as rows of stately old houses that had been chopped up into flats. She often took long walks in the afternoon to alleviate her boredom. She wondered whether taking care of
Andrew would be all that she would ever do. Even after he became a veterinarian and they moved to some rural town where he’d set up shop, she would still be looking after him, only in a different place. Her days would still consist of cooking and cleaning and doing laundry. If they had children, it would be the same work, only more difficult. Was that what her mother and Sir Philip had prepared her for?

She turned down Crowndale Road toward the park. If they knew this was to be her fate, why bother to educate her at all? What good did Chaucer or Shakespeare do for those stuck in “slavery and servitude,” as Muriel put it? But then, maybe how she felt about her life depended solely on her attitude. Perhaps if she were truly in love with Andrew, ironing sheets wouldn’t seem like such a chore?

Guilt gnawed at Prudence’s insides. It was only on her walks, when she was alone, that she could entertain her true feelings. Somehow it seemed less of a betrayal when she was away from the little home she was trying so hard to create for them. She cared for her husband deeply, and their lovemaking grew more loving every night as they both learned what they were doing, but her heart didn’t flutter when he smiled at her and his laugh didn’t make her legs go weak. Not like they did when she saw Sebastian. Her cheeks flamed and for a moment she allowed herself to recall his face. The way his mouth moved into an easy smile, or the way his eyes warmed when he looked at her.

Then, as if she conjured him out of thin air, she heard his laughter.

She froze, looking around her. Regent’s Park was full of ladies and gentlemen on their afternoon walks and nannies taking small children out for an airing. Her heart thudded in her throat. How could she have possibly heard Sebastian? He
was away at university, wasn’t he? But she knew that laugh. She would know it anywhere. She heard it again, but it was farther away and she wondered for a moment whether she was going mad. The sound transported her back to the last moment she’d seen him on the night before she’d left Summerset. He’d assured her that everything would be fine—he knew of the perfect employment opportunity. She closed her eyes and could almost hear the words he’d uttered that night.

“There’s another thing that makes it perfect.” He’d stopped walking and turned to her. His eyes had shone mysterious in the darkness. “It means you won’t disappear and I will get to see you again.”

Her heart thudded in her chest and for a moment she thought that perhaps he was going to kiss her, but then he turned away and began walking again. It was as if he sensed that she was too fragile for even one more emotional incident. She swallowed.

Now she wished fiercely that he had kissed her, even if she had never seen him again; she wished she had the memory of his kiss to sustain her. She turned away and hurried out of the park, her pulse racing. She almost felt as though she had been unfaithful to her husband. Her face burned as she hurried through the waning afternoon sun, back to the home she shared with Andrew.

*   *   *

“Oh, bloody hell, Billingsly. You don’t mean to say that the Labor Party has valid points?” Kit clapped his friend on the back. “You’re getting worse than an old man, worrying about this and that. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in love.”

Sebastian started and Kit’s eyes narrowed. Though most of
the men in the Cunning Coterie played at love, they had all been successful at dodging marriage. Apparently, Kit would have to keep an eye on Sebastian.

“You’re trying to change the subject because you haven’t a clue as to what I’m talking about,” Sebastian said. “You’re woefully out of touch with current events.”

“Current events are as dull as university was. Eventually, you’ll see that I’m right. Now what do you say we get out of this cold and go to the club, eh?”

Sebastian shrugged. “You’re the one who wanted to take a turn in the park.”

“I thought it would liven you up a bit.”

“How can a turn in the park liven me up when we have so many pressing things to think about?”

“Ah.” Kit nodded sagely. “Are we talking about the Irish question again? Or the teacher strikes? See, I do know about current events. But do you realize that it’s all you talk about? You’ve always been more serious than the rest of us, but you used to like a bit of fun, as well. Now you mope about like a lovesick puppy.”