A Dream of her Own (61 page)
A short while later they were sitting facing each other across the table, cradling the warm drinks in their hands.
‘Nella, you’re tired; you should have let me make the drinks. I’m sorry.’
‘No, I wanted to do it. Tomorrow’s yer big day.’ For a moment her smile faded and she looked sad. ‘I said something like that once before, didn’t I?’ Then she shrugged and grinned. ‘And you’re wrong; I’m not tired, I’m exhausted. But now that the pantomime season’s over I’m gannin’ to take Harry up on his offer to stay at his villa in Kent. I’ll hev a little holiday, time to recuperate. That’s a big word for yer little friend to come out with, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, Nella, you’re wonderful, you know.’
‘Oh, aye, Aa’m a proper mazer, amman’t Aa? Just amazing the lass is!’ Nella slipped stagily into an exaggerated version of her accent, and they both laughed. ‘That’s from part of me act, you know. Harry dreamed up a new character - a rough little street urchin who’s discovered sitting on a dustbin when the lights gan up. That way I get a break from standing - and the lid’s got a specially made soft seat.’
They sipped their milk in silence for a while and then Nella said, ‘I’m glad you agreed to this ... to coming here with Beatrice and Amy the night before the wedding. But I should have realized that it might be painful for you.’ She looked at Constance anxiously.
‘Painful?’
‘Yer childhood home ... all those memories ...’
‘No, it’s good ... the memories are happy. And my mother and my father ...’ Constance stopped and shook her head.
‘I know, pet. You don’t hev to say anything. They would hev wanted this, wouldn’t they - for you to be married from yer own home ... from yer father’s house?’
‘I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t suggested this,’ Constance said. ‘I love Frank so much but I couldn’t have got married from ... from John’s house. It wouldn’t have seemed right.’
‘Why? Because it’s so soon ... less than a year? Because people will talk?’
‘They’ve never stopped talking!’ Constance said bitterly. ‘But it’s not just that ... I mean, John ... the way he died ...’
‘I know, poor man. But what was he thinking of coming home across the park like that?’ Nella shook her head. ‘Fancy losing yer life for a gold watch and a few banknotes.’
Constance looked down at the scrubbed table top. That’s what Nella believed, that John had been waylaid by a thief as he came home in the early hours. The thief had never been caught. Only Constance, Polly, Walter Barton and one other person in the entire world knew any different.
As for Jane, she believed to this day that there had been two accidents that night. A lady had fallen and hit her head on the fender in the sewing room and, presumably, had gone home after the doctor had been called. And, worse, poor Mr Edington had been robbed and murdered in the park.
Even Walter Barton did not know as much as Polly. By the time he had arrived at the house that morning last summer, John was still lying on the floor in the sewing room, but he was dressed as a man. It had taken an almost inhuman effort for Constance to strip off the emerald taffeta gown and stuff it in the cupboard, and then, crying as though she didn’t know how to stop, she had manipulated her husband’s poor stiff limbs into his own clothes again.
She had known that she could not let him be discovered dressed the way he was. No matter that their marriage had not been what she hoped for, no matter that she had been unhappy, she knew that John was not really a bad man; only a weak one. She had at least to endeavour to give him back his dignity.
Walter Barton had been crying too, as he’d lifted his only sister’s son into his arms and gone silently down the stairs, with Polly leading the way and Constance following. They had left by the conservatory and then gone through the private gate into the park. John’s uncle had gone as far as he dared along the paths sheltered by the overhanging branches of the old trees before gently lowering the body on to the ground.
It was better this way, he had told Constance, though there was no chance she could escape the unpleasantness altogether. She would probably have to live with ugly rumours about the way her husband had lived, the people he mixed with, for the rest of her days. But at least, by doing this, the death seemed a little less scandalous. He was doing this not just for the good name of Barton’s, but also for her, John’s uncle had assured her, and for John’s daughters. Constance had not been able to meet his eyes when he’d spoken about John’s daughters.
‘I shall sell the house, you know,’ she told Nella now.
‘Quite right. You divven’t need it now that you’ll be living at Seaton. I suppose Florence will be coming with you, but what about Polly?’
‘She’s getting married.’
‘Albert’s popped the question!’
Constance smiled. ‘They’re going to rent a house just near his parents and Jane’s going to live with them. I shall miss Polly.’
Nella sniffed and Constance remembered the old jealousies. She smiled and changed the subject. ‘But I can’t move far enough away from Aunt Muriel and Esther!’
‘Now then, Constance. By all accounts they’ve been trying to be kind to you.’
‘They’ve been insufferable! You know that some women, no matter how hard they try to be sympathetic, just end up being patronizing. They think they’ve been doing me a favour by dropping in to see me all the time. They chatter on about how wonderful Esther has been to take on John’s side of the business - the ladies’ fashions - and they think they’re being so brave, so noble.’
‘Brave? Noble? What on earth do you mean?’
‘Well, you know, standing by the poor little widow in the face of scandal and rumours.’
Nella gave her a cool look. ‘And in their lights that’s just what they’ve done. Stood by you.’
Constance sensed her disapproval and she felt ashamed. ‘I know that, Nella. I’m too critical sometimes ... I’m sorry.’
Nella reached across the table and took her hands. ‘You divven’t hev to apologize to me, pet. And, divven’t fret, none of us is perfect!’
‘Sometimes I think you are - the perfect friend, I mean. I think I could come to you whatever kind of trouble I was in, and you would try to put it right, wouldn’t you?’
Nella gave her the strangest look before she removed her hands. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’d try.’ And then it seemed to Constance that her friend had to bring herself back from some dark place before she asked, ‘But you’re happy now, aren’t you? I mean, you and Frank ... you divven’t mind that I told him ... that I involved him—’
‘I don’t mind,’ Constance said quickly. ‘I’ve told Frank everything. Everything. There are no secrets this time.’
Nella didn’t say anything and Constance guessed that her friend knew that she was referring to the secret that she had kept from John - the fact that Gerald Sowerby had raped her the night before the wedding. But, of course, John had had his secret too: his love for Matthew. Constance wondered now if she and John had really had any chance of finding happiness together.
She had thought it so romantic, the way they had met in the park that day with the band playing. John had been so handsome ... not handsome, beautiful, she had thought, like a painting in the art gallery, not like a flesh and blood man at all.
Frank wasn’t handsome; he was kind and funny and intelligent and very, very real, and he made her feel as though she mattered more to him than anyone else in the whole world. At first she had accepted his offer of friendship. He had not pressed her for more and the friendship had grown and deepened until the time came that she could trust him with her burden ... her final secret.
She told him what she had done to protect John’s memory and then what she and Walter Barton had done to protect the family - especially her daughters. He had not condemned her. Frank had told her that she must forget that now, that she must leave the past behind. Then he had taken her in his arms. But he had not kissed her. Not then.
It had been here, in the garden of Lodore House, that she had finally admitted that she loved Frank. Nella had insisted on having a Christmas party for her family before she opened in the pantomime at the Palace on Boxing Day. She invited them all to stay. Constance and her daughters were part of Nella’s family.
Nella and her mother-in-law doted on Beatrice and Amy and, at the end of a happy day, they had asked if they could help Florence bathe the little girls and see them into bed. Valentino and Frank had been ordered to clear up the toys. Constance, remembering past Christmases in this house, had put on her coat and had slipped out into the garden.
The night was cold and very still. There was a bright moon and the grass beneath her feet was crisp with frost. She made her way across the lawn to the old tree and the swing her father had made. She stood and looked at it.
In the stillness she imagined that she heard the excited, childish voices of herself and her brother calling out to their father to push them higher and higher, but there was no pain. Not now. It was ironic, she thought, that because of Nella’s love for them, it would be her children who played here, not Robert’s.
‘Constance?’ She turned to find Frank standing behind her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
He stood watching her, making no move towards her, and she understood that he was waiting. She also understood that he must wait no longer. It was time. She slipped off a glove and reached across the space between them to place her hand on his face. His skin was cold. But his lips, when he turned his head to kiss her palm, were warm.
He moved his lips across the soft flesh and the sensations he aroused were indescribable. Constance was trembling as she took the step that closed the gap between them and found herself in his arms. He held her close to him and she could feel his breath in her hair as he murmured, ‘I love you.’ Then he took her face in his hands and moved back a little so that he could see her expression. ‘But you know that, don’t you?’
She looked into his eyes and she saw the hint of a smile. ‘Yes, I know. And I love you.’
His kiss was tender but she was overwhelmed by her own response. She clung to him frantically, welcoming his caresses, until it was Frank who had to break away.
‘We’d better go in, now,’ he sighed. ‘But, Constance, we won’t wait too long.’
And after that there had been no barrier between them, no pretence, and no denying the fact that they must marry as soon as possible ...
‘I divven’t know what you’re thinking, Constance, but judging by the look in yer eyes and the way you’ve gone all pink, I think that’s just as well!’ Nella said suddenly.
Constance laughed softly. ‘Is it that obvious?’
‘It’s that obvious. And now, madam, I insist that you gan to bed so that you’ll be all bright and beautiful for yer wedding tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, Nella.’
‘What are you thanking me for?’
‘For sending Frank to me. For arranging my wedding. For persuading my brother and his wife to come. For buying the flowers ... ordering the carriages ... oh, everything!’
‘You couldn’t hev stopped me! I only wish it could hev been a grander affair, but you being a widow and all ... Do you know that Patrick and Belle had a fine old job persuading me that they should provide the wedding breakfast in the restaurant?’
They smiled fondly at each other and got up to leave the kitchen. Constance put an arm round her friend and helped her up the stairs. On the landing outside Nella’s bedroom they paused to say good night.
‘Ssh!’ Nella whispered. ‘If we wake Valentino he’ll talk the night away!’
Once back in her own bedroom Constance didn’t go straight to bed. She went over to the dressing table and opened her jewellery box. She took off the wedding ring that John had given her and placed it inside and then she took out a little gold-coloured chain. A chain with a heart that didn’t open like a proper locket.
The necklace lay in her hand. It was hardly any weight at all. She remembered the way the chain had cut into her neck that night outside the Sowerbys’ house and she waited for the waves of pain and distress. They didn’t come. She would never be able to forget what had happened, not while Beatrice lived and breathed, but the hurt had faded. The links of the chain had been mended just as her life had been renewed with love and friendship.
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