A Dream of her Own (53 page)
‘But these are wonderful,’ Esther said. ‘Oh, Mother, you must persuade John to let me work with him!’
Constance stared at the girl in astonishment. In the romantic novels that she brought home from the library and devoured with a kind of guilty pleasure, John’s cousin would have been described as a striking dark-haired beauty, vivacious but self-seeking, and ready to make the heroine’s life a misery in one way or another. But neither in the pages of a novel nor in real life would such a young woman want to work!
Muriel Barton was smiling wryly. ‘I can guess what you’re thinking, Constance, but my daughter is actually quite talented. She’s what I call artistic. You might not think so to look at her but she makes a lot of her own clothes - including the outfit she’s wearing now.’
Constance glanced at Esther and her eyes widened.
Muriel Barton’s smile was smug. ‘Good, isn’t she?’ It was a statement rather than a question.
Esther’s dress was of dove-grey wool crepe with a belt and buttons covered with scarlet satin. Her black strap shoes could be glimpsed because the skirt was a little shorter than usual, and that was the latest fashion. But what was really noticeable was that it was what was known as a hobble skirt, not so tight that it restricted her movement, but tight enough to require small slits at each side to make walking easier.
‘She’s very good,’ Constance said, and she meant it.
‘And there’s no need for her to do all that - we can afford to buy her anything she wants. But she says she likes to keep ahead of fashion, not follow it.’
John’s cousin had gone over to the shelves to look at the bales of fabric. She was stroking and fingering the cloth almost lovingly.
‘Is that why you’ve come here?’ Constance asked. ‘To ask me if I’ll persuade John to let Esther work with him? Because if you have, I must tell you that I have no influence with him.’
Muriel Barton’s dismissive tone was almost insulting. ‘No, Walter will tell John that he must take Esther into his enterprise—’
‘Tell? Must?
But John’s shop is managed separately from the rest of the business; he is responsible for his own accounts and he’s doing very well,’ Constance said.
But John’s shop is managed separately from the rest of the business; he is responsible for his own accounts and he’s doing very well,’ Constance said.
‘Yes, yes,’ the older woman sounded impatient, ‘but now that his friend Matthew Elliot is no longer financing him - don’ t look surprised; everybody knows that Elliot no longer has time for John now that he’s taken up with the Heslop girl - John will need more funds if he wants to expand - open more shops, perhaps in other cities. And I’m sure that he does.’
‘So why have you come here today?’
‘Two reasons. I wanted to see for myself, or in this case, let Esther see. You see, on this matter I trust her judgement. If Esther still wants to go ahead with her plan after having a look around here in the workroom, then I will tell Walter to talk to John.’
‘I see.’
Constance imagined that no matter how talented Esther Barton might be, she might also prove difficult to work with. She remembered John telling her in the early days of their marriage how much he wanted to be free of the constraints of working entirely for the family firm. She wondered whether she now cared much that he might be trapped after all ...
‘And the other reason?’ she asked. Aunt Muriel frowned. ‘When I asked why you came here today you said there were two reasons.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ She turned to look at her daughter. ‘Esther, I want you to go and wait for me downstairs.’
‘But, Mother—’
‘You can come here again, but now I want to talk to Constance alone. Go to the nursery, if you like. Go and look at the twins.’
As if my daughters were an exhibit, Constance thought. She was irritated that John’s aunt should give orders like this in her house but she had neither the energy nor the will to oppose her. She observed Esther’s sulky expression as she left the room; John’s young cousin was not the least bit interested in looking at the twins but she probably did not want to argue with her mother at this stage. Not when she needed her to further her plans. Constance sighed. The girl would probably be a disruptive presence in the nursery and she would have to apologize to Florence when the Bartons had gone.
‘Now, Constance, shall we sit down?’ Muriel Barton led the way to the other end of the room near the fireplace. ‘My, he has got this cosy, hasn’t he?’ She was staring at the small sofa, the occasional tables and the easy chairs grouped around the hearth. The floor at this end of the room was covered with a small but luxurious Persian carpet.
Constance didn’t look at her as she took her place unwillingly in one of the velvet upholstered chairs. ‘That’s because he spends a lot of time up here. He - he works late. Sometimes all night.’ She didn’t know why she had added that last sentence and she looked up quickly to find the older woman regarding her with narrowed eyes.
‘And does he work here all alone?’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’ Constance was aware that she was flushing and she was uneasy as to where this conversation was leading.
There was a small silence and then Muriel Barton said, ‘Constance, I owe you an apology.’
‘What! I mean, I beg your pardon?’ Constance was completely taken aback. John’s aunt actually laughed. ‘That startled you, didn’t it?’ And then her smile faded. ‘Am I such an ogre?’
‘No. I mean—’
‘Don’t bother to contradict me but I hope you will understand why I acted like I did if I explain something.’
She stared into the hearth as if gathering her thoughts. The fire had been laid but not lit and, although the fire surround was decorated with colourful Dutch tiles, it somehow looked cheerless. Outside the window a bank of clouds moved across the sky and obscured the sun. The room darkened. When John’s aunt turned to regard her again, Constance could not quite make out her expression.
‘I wasn’t very pleasant to you on your wedding day; I didn’t make you welcome, did I?’
‘No.’
‘My husband, who is a much nicer person than I am, took to you straight away. He said that you were just what John needed.’
‘Needed?’
Muriel Barton ignored the interruption and went on, ‘But I was convinced that you had latched on to John because it was you who needed something ... A husband.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think you do. You’re not stupid, Constance, far from it. I think you knew straight away what I was hinting at.’
‘I ... you thought I had married John for his money. You thought it was a way to escape the drudgery of life as a servant. You did not believe that I loved him.’
‘And did you?’
‘Of course I did.’ Had the other woman noticed the past tense? And was it really in the past, her love for John?
‘I believe that now. Poor Constance.’ She dropped her eyes. ‘But it’s worse than that, I’m afraid. God forgive me, when young Elliot turned up at the wedding I even imagined that he had got you in the family way and John was marrying you as a favour to his rich friend.’
‘That’s disgraceful!’
‘I know. And I acknowledge freely that I was wrong. You only have to look at the little ones, Amy in particular, to see that John is the father.’
Now it was Constance who could not meet the other woman’s eyes. She gripped the arms of the chair and stared into the intricate patterns of the oriental rug at her feet.
‘I can see how angry you are and I don’t blame you. But there’s something else you have to understand. I believed that John would be only too pleased to accept such a bride - a bride who was already pregnant because ... because ... Oh, for goodness’ sake, Constance, I don’t have to spell it out, do I? You must know by now what kind of man he is!’
She didn’t answer. She went on staring at the rug.
‘But what I didn’t know at the time was that Matthew Elliot is that kind of man, too. And I can’t help feeling sorry for Eleanor Heslop in spite of all her money!’
At last Constance looked up at her. ‘Why have you decided to tell me all this now? No matter what you say, I can’t entirely believe that it is because you feel that you have misjudged me.’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘You’re right. I did misjudge you and I’m sorry. All the more sorry because I upset Frances when I knew she was desperate for John to make a happy marriage ... after what Duncan did to her.’
Constance stared at her. ‘Did to her? You know, at first I thought John’s father was dead, and then, when his mother was dying she said ... she said that he had loved her but that there was someone that he loved more.’
‘There was. It was another man.’
‘I see.’ Something, some thoughts, fell into place in her mind like the pieces of a puzzle fitting together. ‘No wonder John’s mother told me that the family would rather he had died than leave her in such a way.’
‘Can you blame us, Constance? We are not so rich that we can ignore the constraints of society. Any hint of scandal could have destroyed the family business - and it still could - which is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you today.’
‘I see.’ She rose from the chair. ‘Forgive me, but I think you should go now.’
‘No, Constance, listen to me. Since Elliot left town John has been seen with more doubtful friends ... People are talking ...’
‘What do you expect me to do?’
‘Talk to him ... Ask him to spend more time with his wife and family. If you cannot change his ways at least beg him to be discreet. Tell him that you would like another baby ... After all, surely he would like a son to inherit the business ...’
Constance found that she was shaking with rage. Muriel Barton’s eyes widened and she rose from her chair slowly and began to edge away. Constance moved round behind the chair she had been sitting in and gripped the back of it. She was unaware that she was sobbing until she heard the other speak.
‘Constance ... don’t ... I haven’t been tactful ...’
‘Just go.’
John’s aunt began to back away.
‘Go!’
She heard the woman gasp as she turned and fled. Constance went on gripping the velvet upholstery of the chair and staring down into its cushioned depths until she heard Muriel Barton hurry out of the room, along the landing and down the stairs.
She looked at the marks her fingers had made on the velvet ... the blue velvet ... and she felt sick. Suddenly she whirled round and hurried across to the work table. She snatched up a pair of scissors and returned to the chair. She barely knew what she was doing when she raised her arm and brought it down with all her force. The points of the sharp blades met a moment’s resistance before tearing into the velvet fabric.
Her rage was all the more intense because she couldn’t give it voice. She didn’t have the words to express the hurt that John had caused her, the disappointment of unfulfilled hopes and dreams, the humiliation of knowing that the man she had loved so much preferred the kisses of another - a man.
She slashed into the blue velvet again and again until her arm grew tired and she could no longer see what she was doing for the scalding tears that filled her eyes and streamed down her face.
Then, mercifully, the rage subsided. Her arm dropped limply to her side. She sank down on to the floor behind the chair and drew her limbs in to her body so that she was curled up as tight as possible.
Hours later, when Polly came looking for her, she was still there.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Frank sat on the edge of his seat. He had not wanted to come but Nella had insisted that her friend needed a doctor.
‘I am not a doctor yet,’ he’d told her.
‘As good as,’ was her terse reply and she’d hurried him down the stairs and into a cab with her, ordering Valentino, Jimmy Nelson and Albert Green, who had brought a message from Polly, to follow them in another.
Polly must have been watching from the window of this very room for she snatched the door open even as they hurried up the path.
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