A Dream of her Own (10 page)
Nella soon discovered that Alice was good-natured and biddable, and seemingly unaffected by her crook-back appearance. Nella knew very well what she looked like and she had braced herself for that certain look on the new girl’s face when they first met just after the staff’s frugal breakfast. She had imagined that the girl’s eyes would widen with disbelief and that then she would either smirk openly or look away sharply to hide her disgust and embarrassment.
Alice had not reacted in either of these ways. She had looked at Nella with huge, brown eyes that were filled with fear, and begged her, without a word being spoken, to be kind to her.
Nella had been more moved than she wanted to admit. Her immediate thought was of how she would tell Constance. ‘You told me to make a friend of her and I hev,’ she would say. And she meant to. But not before she had taught her her duties and to do so she might have to be harsh. It was for the girl’s own good.
‘For goodness’ sake, watch what you’re doing!’
Alice, already tired after only two trips up and down the back stairs, had lurched against the wall and tipped the scuttle she was carrying so that half its contents went bouncing back down the stairs leaving a sooty trail of coal dust.
‘Ee, I’m sorry!’
Nella thought the girl was going to pee herself with fright. ‘Divven’t apologize to me - it’s you that’s gannin’ to hev to clean it all up. As soon as we’ve finished seeing to the fires yer next job is to scrub all the back stairs from basement to attic and get rid of every trace of this mess or Mrs Mortimer will eat you alive!’
Alice swayed and leaned back against the wall. Her breasts were heaving as she gasped for air and the features of her soft pretty face seemed to be dissolving as she began to cry.
‘Stop that!’
The girl blanched and almost choked with fear. Oh God, she must think I’m just like the wicked witch in the fairy tales, Nella thought, and her voice softened. ‘Hawway, we’ve nearly finished the fires and I’ll help you with the stairs.’
‘Oh, will you? Oh, thank you, miss.’
‘I’m not “miss”, I’m Nella, and if you’re a good girl, I’ll keep you right here.’
The girl’s look of gratitude almost made Nella feel ashamed of herself. Almost, but not quite. It would be no good being too soft with her; she would have to learn the hard way just like Nella herself and Constance had done.
Constance ...
she thought for the hundredth time that morning. I wonder if you’re missing me as much as I’m missing you. No, why should you be? This is yer wedding morning.
she thought for the hundredth time that morning. I wonder if you’re missing me as much as I’m missing you. No, why should you be? This is yer wedding morning.
Nella tried to imagine what the church would be like ... blazing with candles and full of the colours and scents of bonny flowers ... And Constance would look so beautiful that her new family would all fall in love with her straight away ...
The image shattered when her fingers curled round the cheap little chain she had slipped into her apron pocket earlier that morning. As she felt the tiny links she remembered something that had happened the night before. She had thought she had heard someone cry out and she had risen from her bed to open the window and peer down into the fog-filled street.
She had seen nothing and she had gone back to bed. But, somehow, that cry had come back to haunt her and she knew that she would not easily forget it.
The journey was only about twenty minutes in Matthew’s motorcar to Heaton, where John lived. Constance knew that it would have taken about three-quarters of an hour or more to walk there. She had never travelled in such a way before, although she had seen motorcars in the streets of Newcastle during her walks on her afternoons off.
She was sitting in the back, the covered part of the vehicle, in between Rosemary and Hannah Beattie. A large rug covered their knees and feet but Constance still felt the chill of the November morning. It must have been worse for Matthew, who was in the open driver’s seat at the front. He was an astonishing sight in his long waterproof coat, peaked cap and goggles, but Constance barely had time to wonder at the strangeness of it all. Her mind was wholly occupied with what was to come.
She had longed for this day ... dreamed of marrying John and of their future life together. She ought to have been feeling as blithe as any bride on the way to her wedding but, instead, she could only grieve about what had happened the night before.
‘Nervous, Constance?’
Rosemary was peering at her through narrowed eyes, a frown puckering her forehead. Constance realized inconsequentially that the girl was short-sighted.
‘A little.’
‘Don’t worry. As I said, that’s only natural, but do try to smile.’
‘Very well, if it will please you.’
Constance forgot her worries long enough to hope that she hadn’t sounded snappish. Rosemary’s concern for her was touching so she tried her best to respond but her smile did not reach her eyes and she knew it. She took her gloved hands out of the muff and raised them to adjust her veil, pulling it down a little further. Then she turned to look out at the passing streets.
The rain had stopped but it was still quite dark. Light spilled out of open doorways on to wet pavements. It was a Saturday morning and the small shops that they passed were already busy. A queue had formed outside the baker’s, huddling in towards the window and away from the edge of the dripping awning above them.
An aroma of freshly ground coffee filtered out from the Italian grocer’s on the corner, mingling with the smells of frying bacon coming from the small workman’s café next door.
A greengrocer was arranging boxes of fruit on a raised stall outside his window when one of the boxes tilted too far and some oranges dropped out. They rolled across the pavement, bounced down on to the road, and spun on into the path of the car. Matthew made no attempt to avoid them. He laughed as he drove straight over them and turned to grin at Rosemary, who joined in. But Hannah Beattie tut-tutted at the waste.
‘I’d be grateful if you’d keep your eyes on the road, Matthew. We don’t want any mishaps on the way to the wedding.’
‘Sorry, Beattie, dear.’
Constance couldn’t see his eyes because of the goggles. She thought his voice sounded strained.
As they sped away she turned and looked back at the squashed fruit. The beautiful bright skins had split open and the pulp had burst out and was smeared across the road. They were despoiled ... ravaged ... No one would want them now ... She closed her eyes and turned back to face the way they were going.
The church where she was to be married was on the corner of the street where John and his mother lived. The building was tall and grim against the winter skyline, and a wide flight of steps led up to a massive wooden door.
John was waiting at the top, one half of the door was open and he was sheltering from the cold wind just inside the archway. Another figure stood a little to one side, taller and thickset. Constance guessed that this would be Walter Barton, John’s uncle and the head of the chain of gentlemen’s outfitting shops.
Long before the car drew to a halt at the kerb John had hurried down the steps to greet them. Rosemary and Beattie helped Constance out of the car as if she were made of spun glass. Matthew had already got out of the driver’s seat; he pushed his goggles up on to his forehead and spoke to John. Constance thought that he looked embarrassed.
‘Slight change of plan. This is my sister, of whom you’ve heard so much, and her companion, Miss Beattie.’
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Edington.’ Rosemary was smiling; Hannah Beattie was polite but seemed to look at John askance.
John murmured a polite greeting and then turned to watch in surprise as Matthew divested himself of his protective coat. Matthew leaned forward and began to talk quietly.
Constance was distracted when Rosemary took her arm. ‘Your bridegroom is so handsome!’ The younger girl’s face was pink with excitement. ‘You will make such an entrancing couple, won’t they, Beattie?’
‘I dare say.’
Matthew straightened up again and Constance heard him say, ’... furthermore, they thought it very strange that I was not going to attend a friend’s wedding.’
After a slight pause, John replied, ‘Oh, that’s all right, my mother isn’t coming to the church, as a matter of fact. This damp weather could be fatal for her.’ Then his face cleared and he grinned. ‘But do wipe your face before you come into the church. Those goggles have left black circles round your eyes!’
Constance was perplexed. She had not realized until that morning that Matthew was not going to be a guest at the wedding. Also, it was obvious that John had never met any of Matthew’s family before today. Probably, that could all be explained by the fact that they were separated by social class.
John turned towards Constance and his wry amusement turned to pleasure. ‘My darling girl, you look exquisite!’
‘So do you!’
John laughed. ‘Thank you, but I think you are supposed to say “handsome” or some such thing. Now come along, my uncle is waiting for you.’
Matthew had already begun to escort his sister and Hannah Beattie up the steps towards the entrance of the church. His tall elegance was oddly accentuated by the figures of his skinny schoolgirl sister and her plump little companion.
Constance withdrew her gloved hand from her muff and placed it on John’s arm. ‘Wait!’
‘What is it?’
‘John—’ She looked up into his face. He was not much taller than she, and he only had to incline his head slightly. His dark blue eyes were full of concern.
‘Constance, you look so grave. Is something worrying you?’
‘John, what did Matthew tell you just now?’
‘He told me how that ogress Mrs Sowerby threw you out and how you’d had the good sense to go to him for refuge. He also told me that Rosemary insisted that they should all accompany you to the church. Now come, we must hurry.’
But Constance resisted for a moment longer. ‘John ... I want to tell you ...’
A slight frown of impatience marred his almost perfect features but his voice was as kind as ever. ‘Tell me what?’
‘I - I love you.’
His frown disappeared and he leaned forward and kissed her brow. ‘Then you had better come and marry me.’
He took her hand and they hurried up the steps. At the top, after the most perfunctory of introductions, he left her with his uncle and he hurried inside the church and down the aisle. She gazed after him with a growing sense of anxiety.
I ought to have told him
...
...
‘Well, Constance, you must take my arm.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
She turned to look up into the face of Walter Barton. His dark hair was greying and his moustache and short, neatly trimmed beard gave him a distinguished air. He looked the prosperous retailer that John had described him to be and, at this moment, he seemed puzzled.
‘Constance?’
‘Yes, Mr Barton?’
‘My nephew tells me that you have been in service?’
‘Yes.’
‘A lady’s maid?’
‘Well ... I ...’
‘No matter.’ He frowned, but not unkindly, and patted the gloved hand that she had placed over his arm. ‘The organ has begun to play and it seems I have been given the role of your father so we had better proceed.’
As Constance and Walter Barton began to walk towards the altar, their footsteps seemed to echo unnaturally loudly on the brown and yellow tiled floor. The church was lit by hissing gas jets but they barely lightened the gloom of the high-vaulted interior. Areas of yellowish light alternated with pools of darkness.
The place felt cold and smelled damp and musty. Constance was chilled to the bone and yet her skin felt clammy. Her underclothes were clinging uncomfortably and she became aware of a trickle of perspiration running down between her breasts.
There were only very few people gathered in the pews at the front of the nave. Someone turned and stared at her: it was Hannah Beattie. She caught Constance’s glance and gave a small smile and a nod of encouragement. Next to her, Rosemary grinned and gave a little wave but her brother seemed to be trying to merge into the shadow of a stone pillar.
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