A Dream of her Own (51 page)

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Authors: Benita Brown

Tags: #Newcastle Saga

BOOK: A Dream of her Own
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Frank reached across the table and took her hand. It was so small, like a child’s hand. The fingers were slightly crooked but her skin was soft. Frank guessed that that hadn’t always been so. ‘I’m glad my brother married you.’
 
‘And so am I,’ Patrick said, and they both looked at him in surprise. The head waiter smiled. ‘Valentino never comes to the restaurant in the evenings now. Sometimes it was taking all my acting skills to refrain from telling those so-called friends of his what I really think of them. You know who I mean ... Carmichael, Russell and Sowerby.’
 
‘Sowerby?’ Nella’s eyes widened.
 
‘Yes.’ It was Frank who answered her. ‘Gerald Sowerby. He’s a student at the Medical School; I think he may be the son of the family you used to work for.’
 
‘And does he—Do they still come here?’
 
Frank wondered what was bothering her. ‘They do, and they still try Patrick’s patience now and then. But you have no need to worry. Valentino isn’t interested in their friendship now.’
 
‘Good,’ she said, but Frank had the feeling that there was something he didn’t understand and he could see that Nella wasn’t going to tell him.
 
‘But why did you come in just now,’ he asked, ‘if it wasn’t about restaurant business?’
 
‘I mean to ask you a favour. I want to visit a friend tomorrow and I would be grateful if you could find something for yer brother to do. He worries when I’m away from him; he thinks it’s his duty to go with me everywhere. It’s getting worse, Frank.’
 
She broke off, and Frank wondered why he hadn’t noticed before that his brother’s attachment to his wife could easily become a dangerous obsession.
 
‘Look - don’t worry,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ve been thinking about it and, in a way, Valentino is like an actor. He needs to be told what part he’s playing. In this instance, do you think you could tell him man to man that husbands are not expected to accompany their wives when they visit nurseries?’
 
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Frank said, ‘and my mother will too.’
 
‘Perhaps I’m the one to do this,’ Patrick said. ‘After all, I’m a married man. Send him down in a moment, tell him we need him to look at the books, and I’ll ask him how it’s going and put him wise about the ways of women, man to man, like you say!’
 
‘Thank you,’ Nella said, and she stood up to go.
 
‘I’ll help you up the stairs,’ Frank said and, not trusting himself to look at her, he asked, ‘is it Constance Edington that you’re visiting tomorrow?’
 
‘Yes. You know she had twin girls? They must be eight months old now and I hevn’t seen them yet.’
 
Constance woke during the night to hear her daughters crying. She pulled on her robe and went into the nursery. Florence was already out of bed and kneeling by the hearth, building up the fire. She saw Constance when she rose. She smiled and then went over to pour water into a bowl on the washstand. She washed her hands.
 
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Edington,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s just teething. I’ll rub the balm on their gums and then perhaps they’ll need a bit of a cuddle to get them back to sleep.’
 
She went to the cribs and picked Beatrice up. Constance had noticed that Florence, and Polly as well, usually reached for the older and more demanding baby first. Once Beatrice was settled, Amy would often settle herself. She was the more placid twin and usually took the lead from her more difficult sister.
 
Difficult? Was Beatrice difficult, Constance wondered. Even if she was, she was certainly the more interesting of the two...
 
‘Let me see to Beatrice,’ she said.
 
The balm didn’t settle them entirely so Constance joined Florence by the fire, one each side of the hearth, as they sat and rocked the babies in their arms. The only sounds were the soft hushing sounds they made to the girls and the crackling of the coals.
 
Here in the warm shadowy room that smelled of soap and talcum powder and freshly washed baby clothes, with the softly whimpering child held close to her breast, it was easy for Constance to close her eyes and pretend that Florence and Amy were not there. To pretend that there was only one baby. She wished with all her heart that that was so. But here was the agony of it: if what she suspected was true, the baby she should be holding to her heart was Amy.
 
Once she was back in bed, she slept deeply and barely stirred when Jane came in to see to the fire. Now she realized that there had been no early morning sound from the nursery. Her daughters must be sleeping later than usual because of the disturbed night.
 
There was a knock on the door and Polly came in, not just with a pot of tea but with a breakfast of boiled eggs and toast on a tray.
 
‘Flo came down to have breakfast in the kitchen. She said the girls were still fast asleep and not to worry.’ Polly put the tray on the bedside table and stacked the pillows up. ‘There, sit back.’
 
‘Thank you,’ Constance said as the maid first placed a linen cloth over the bedclothes and then carefully put the tray on top. ‘But why are you spoiling me like this?’
 
‘I don’t know, I’m sure.’ The girl smiled briefly and left the room.
 
When she had finished her breakfast Constance put her tray aside and poured a second cup of tea, leaving it on the tray. She picked up her library book. She had got into the habit of reading in bed, both night and morning. She suspected that Polly and Mrs Green thought that reading was an idle habit, but for Constance it had become a very necessary escape.
 
The book she was reading now was set in America about a hundred and fifty years ago. Constance knew the story to be melodramatic; the misery and suffering the wretched heroine had to endure was almost unbearable. But now she was beginning to suspect that, unlike other such stories, there was not going to be a happy ending.
 
She resisted the temptation to turn to the end and allay her fears. She, along with Audrey, ought to see it through step by step. However an aspect of the girl’s background which Constance had found intriguing, the fact that she had a trace of ‘savage’ Indian ancestry, looked as if it was going to bring about her doom. Other characters referred to her as having ‘tainted blood’. Therefore, it seemed the poor creature was not entitled to her place in society - and might even have to die to satisfy proprieties.
 
Constance laid the book aside. Could blood be tainted? Could any child be condemned because of its ancestry? She remembered the Bible tracts that Mrs Sowerby had handed out to the staff at Rye Hill. Is this what was meant by ‘the sins of the fathers’?
 
By the time Constance was dressed John had already left the house. She was glad of that. The situation between them was no better. She was aware, of course, that Matthew Elliot no longer called here, but when he first stopped coming, she thought that they might be meeting elsewhere, although she didn’t know why they would do this. Surely they hadn’t suddenly decided to respect her feelings?
 
But then she had a letter from Rosemary, telling her with great excitement that she was going to be a bridesmaid at her brother’s wedding. Matthew was engaged to Eleanor Heslop, the daughter of the great industrial magnate, and the wedding would be in London.
 
After receiving the letter Constance wondered briefly if the absence of Matthew would make any difference to their own marriage but John spent even more evenings away from home than he had before. Although now and then, very late at night and in the early hours of the morning, Constance was sure she could hear movements and voices from the room on the third floor. Perhaps John had found a new friend to bring home. Someone else he would rather spend his time with. She did not let herself imagine what they might be doing there.
 
When she was dressed she went into the nursery where the twins were still fast asleep in their cribs. She was ashamed to see that Florence looked surprised. She knew that her appearances here were erratic and she suspected that Florence and Polly gossiped about her seeming lack of interest in her own daughters. She guessed also that Albert’s mother had made excuses for her, and told them that she would come round eventually.
 
She could have told them that many mothers who could afford to have other people look after their children took even less interest in nursery doings than she did. But she did not respect those mothers herself—and, anyway, she could hardly pretend to have a busy social life.
 
She knew that she would never be able to confide in anyone the real reasons why she stayed away from the nursery ... the suspicions and the fears that were in danger of poisoning her natural feelings of love for her children.
 
But this morning she found herself drawn to the comfort of the nursery fireside. Florence had set up the baby bath at a safe distance from the hearth and was filling it with warm water from a jug. The water was steaming and Constance frowned. Florence looked up and saw her expression.
 
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I always test it and add cold water if necessary. But the girls are still asleep so I thought I’d have that cup of tea first. Do you want one?’ Constance shook her head. ‘Well, I’m going to sit down and enjoy this, if you don’t mind, Mrs Edington.’
 
‘Of course I don’t mind. I don’t want any tea but I’ll stay here with you until they wake up. If
you
don’t mind.’
 
Florence smiled and sipped her tea. Constance had said that because she wanted the girl to know that she respected her authority over the day-to-day running of the nursery.
 
Nevertheless, when the twins began to whimper and stir, Constance was the first to rise. She took Beatrice from her crib and watched in wonder as the blue eyes opened and stared at her. She caught her breath and then smiled. Why did Beatrice’s stare always seem so challenging? Or did her daughter save that look just for her mother? Amy, as usual, looked angelic on wakening and she smiled and made soft chattering sounds on Florence’s knee.
 
‘Would you like to bath Beatrice this morning, Mrs Edington?’ Florence asked.
 
‘Yes, I think I would.’
 
‘Well, take this pinny to save your pretty frock.’
 
‘Thank you.’
 
Florence helped her tie the pinafore and then Constance sat down and began to take off her daughter’s nightclothes, marvelling at the small, firm, exquisitely shaped limbs.
 
‘Well then, Constance, I’ve managed to catch you in at last.’
 
Constance turned to see Nella standing just inside the door. Polly was hovering behind her, looking uncomfortable.
 
‘Divven’t blame the girl,’ Nella said. ‘This time I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I threatened to make a scene in the street. I would, you know.’
 
Constance held Beatrice closer but she didn’t say anything. However, her eyes must have betrayed her alarm for Nella said, ‘Divven’t fret, I asked Polly if John had left for business. I don’t want to cause trouble between husband and wife.’
 
‘It’s not that - I mean, I will see my friends when and where I want to.’ Constance was aware that both Polly and Nella were frowning.
 
‘What is it, then?’ Nella asked.
 
Constance didn’t answer her. She smiled somewhat frostily at the maid. ‘Polly, would you take a tray of tea and biscuits to the morning room? Miss Nicholson and I will leave Florence to bath the twins and we’ll come downstairs.’
 
‘Hold on,’ Nella said quickly. ‘I’d like to hev a look at these gorgeous babies first. If we come downstairs Mrs Edington can ring for you.’
 
Constance was furious and in the moment of shocked silence Polly made her escape.
 
‘Since when do you give orders in my house?’ she asked when the door had closed.
 
Nella grinned and cast her eyes towards Florence, who was clutching Amy to her in her embarrassment.
‘Pas devant,’
she said in a stage whisper. ‘Do you know what that means? It means, not in front—’
 
‘Yes, I know.’
 
They glared at each other and it was Constance who crumpled first. ‘You’d better sit down,’ she said.
 
‘I will, but not until I’ve had a proper look at them. After all, it wasn’t you, my forgetful friend, I came to see, it was yer innocent daughters. Ee, Constance, she’s a little angel!’
 
Nella was standing over Amy, and Florence was only too happy to show the baby off. The nursery maid had already stripped off the baby’s nightclothes and she was sitting wrapped in a towel waiting to go into the bath. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll go ahead and bath her. The water will be just right now,’ Florence said.

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