A Dream of her Own (34 page)
‘Nella is not working there now. She is - she has become a singer. She is successful ...’ Constance said.
John wasn’t listening and he avoided her eyes. Neither did he look at Nella. He reached past Constance and pulled at the bell rope.
‘What are you doing?’ Constance asked.
‘My dear, now that I have come home I’m sure that your friend—Ah, Polly,’ he said as the girl came into the room, ‘Miss Nicholson is leaving. Will you fetch her things?’ John went over to stand by the window.
Constance could hardly bring herself to face Nella. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, ‘I don’t know what . . . why...’
‘Hush,’ Nella whispered. ‘He’s just disappointed because he wanted to come home and spend some time with you. Any young husband would be the same.’
Constance knew that Nella didn’t really believe that. She was putting on an act for her sake, and she felt ashamed. And puzzled. She had always believed John to be kind and compassionate. One of the reasons that she had fallen in love with him was because it hadn’t seemed to matter in the slightest that she was a servant. So that couldn’t be the reason for John’s shocking behaviour. No ... she knew what the matter was - and she could hardly believe it.
‘Here,’ Nella murmured as she pressed the chain and locket into Constance’s hand. ‘I said I had to gan, so it’s not as if he’s chasing me away.’
But he is,
Constance wanted to protest.
Constance wanted to protest.
Her distress must have showed because Nella gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Don’t upset yerself, Constance. I’ll call and see you again, I promise.’
Nella allowed Polly to help her on with her cloak and then she reached up and kissed Constance on the cheek. ‘Did that surprise you?’ she asked when she saw Constance’s eyes widen. ‘I’m catching theatrical ways, you know. It’s all kisses and “darlings!” backstage even when they can’t stand the sight of each other!’
Constance managed a smile but in truth she hadn’t been reacting to Nella’s gesture. Over her friend’s head she had seen John’s look of horror and his visible shudder. He remained standing by the window when Polly ushered Nella from the room.
When the door had closed after them he hurried forward. ‘Sit down, my love. You look tired.’
She obeyed him but she said, ‘I’m not tired, John. Just upset.’
‘Upset?’ He took the chair opposite to her and smiled kindly. ‘Has your... Miss Nicholson’s visit been too much for you? Perhaps you ought to write to her and ask her not to come again.’
‘Not to come again? My friend never to come and see me?’
‘Never is a long time.’ John looked uncomfortable and because of this Constance warmed to him a little. ‘I don’t know if I mean never. But perhaps just while you are . . . just until after our child is born. Or rather until you are done with nursing.’
‘Oh, John, done with nursing? That is still a very long time. You might as well say never.’ She was mortified to discover that a lump of misery had risen in her throat and her eyes were stinging.
‘Sweetheart, don’t cry!’ John came to kneel at her feet. He took a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her eyes gently. ‘You see, you are overtired.’
Constance caught at his hand and kept it in her own. ‘I’m not tired. It’s just that I think I know why you don’t want Nella to call and I’m ... I’m disappointed.’
‘Does she mean so much to you?’ He resumed his place on the chair.
Constance sighed. ‘Yes, she does and I’m disappointed because I think I know why you dislike her so—’
‘I didn’t say I disliked her.’ He looked uncomfortable and Constance smiled ruefully.
‘You didn’t have to. You could hardly bring yourself to look at her—’
‘That’s true,’ he interjected. ‘Oh, sweetheart, when I walked into the room and saw her standing over you all humpbacked and crooked like Rumpelstiltskin, I was shocked to the core!’
‘Why, John, why?’
‘Because you are so beautiful and the child you carry, our child, is so precious, that when I saw that . . . that . . .’
‘Don’t, John. Don’t say it!’
‘When I saw her standing over you like an ogre in a fairy tale, I couldn’t help myself giving way to superstitious dread. Will you forgive me?’
Constance stared at him. He looked truly sorry. ‘I ... I suppose so ... but Nella ... can she... is it all right if she comes to visit now and then?’
John could not disguise his shudder. ‘If she must.’ Then he surprised her. ‘I’m glad I came home early today.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because I’ve just realized that I have been neglecting you. Come, we’ll go up to the sewing room and I’ll show you my latest designs.’
He reached for her hands and pulled her gently to her feet. Once she was standing he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the forehead. Constance realized that he had no idea how much she yearned for gestures like this and how she wanted to be held even more closely. She put her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest for a moment but, all too soon, he backed away.
‘Come along, up to the sewing room.’
As she followed him upstairs she wondered if he realized that
her
sewing room had long ago become
the
sewing room and that it had been weeks since she had been allowed in there. But she was pleased to be going there now, to be part of John’s dreams and plans for the future.
her
sewing room had long ago become
the
sewing room and that it had been weeks since she had been allowed in there. But she was pleased to be going there now, to be part of John’s dreams and plans for the future.
Then, as he pushed open the door, she heard him say, ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, Matthew. But I thought I’d bring Constance in today.’
‘John . . .’ Constance caught at his sleeve. ‘Matthew is here?’
He turned and smiled. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I brought him home with me and he came straight up.’
‘I see.’
Constance tried to hide her disappointment and, as she followed her husband into the room and saw his friend standing there, a startling thought came from nowhere.
Is Matthew trying to hide his disappointment, too?
Nella climbed the stairs of the theatrical lodging house in Spital Tongues. It was a respectable establishment but the liberal use of lavender polish never quite overcame the odours of boiled mutton and cabbage rising from the basement kitchen.
Spital was just up the road from the Haymarket, and the terrace of houses looked on to the south side of the Town Moor. Mrs Small, the landlady, had been in the theatre herself and, as a former dramatic actress who had married a minor playwright, she thought of herself as being a step above the likes of Lucy Lovekins. But the house was clean and the food, although unimaginative, was supplied in generous portions.
Nella was still sharing a set of rooms with Lucy, because Harry thought it best, although she could well afford a place of her own now. Soon she would be able to buy a nice little house, somewhere she could retreat to and get away from the others in between engagements. And she needed somewhere private to keep the nice things she had started buying.
The wardrobe mistress who had made her first theatrical costume was an experienced needlewoman who didn’t seem to mind the extra work it took to get a dress to hang just right from Nella’s crooked shoulders. Apart from the outfits she wore on stage, Nella had started building up a wardrobe of her own to replace the sad collection of rags she had left behind at the Sowerbys’ house.
She sometimes wondered what had become of them. She’d sent a letter to Alice, asking her to sort through and give the lot to the rag-and-bone man. She’d told her to keep any pennies he might give her. Alice had never written back: perhaps she’d never got the letter; perhaps she couldn’t read. Nella didn’t really care.
When the theatre she was appearing in was too far to travel back to each day, Harry had started getting her a room in a nice hotel as near to the theatre as possible. Nella questioned the amount she had to pay for the privilege but Harry said that she had to start living like a star. She couldn’t afford to make herself look cheap.
Nella paused on the landing. Lucy was singing, practising her scales, and Nella grinned. She could understand why the other lodgers complained. Lucy had never had much of a voice and her dancing would never had got her out of the chorus line if she hadn’t been so beautiful. Not beautiful in the way Constance was beautiful. Constance was refined and delicate, whereas Lucy Lovekins was bold and curvy and eye-catching. Well, she had been once upon a time, when she was a young soubrette; the effect now was a little overblown.
Poor Lucy, she’d never bothered to save up for her old age and she had no man to keep her when she retired. I won’t let that happen to me, Nella thought. I doubt if I’ll ever get a husband but at least I can start saving me money. Yes, and buy a nice little property somewhere. Not something like this - I divven’t want to hev to take lodgers like Mrs Small - I’m aiming for something grander. Perhaps across the moor at Gosforth or Brunton, with a servant or two to keep the place in order for me ...
Lucy stopped singing when Nella opened the door. ‘Hello, pet,’ she said. ‘Did you see your old friend, then?’
‘Yes. Any chance of a cuppa?’
‘Of course, love,’ Lucy busied herself in the tiny kitchen. Mrs Small provided most of their meals on request, but they could always boil an egg or brew up tea or coffee for themselves. ‘I bet she was surprised to see you!’ Lucy called.
‘She was.’
‘And delighted, no doubt. I mean, she must have thought you’d forgotten all about her now that you’re making your way.’ Lucy appeared in the doorway bearing a tray.
Nella didn’t bother to explain that Constance had known nothing about her new career until this very day. She simply grinned as she loosened her cloak and eased herself down on to a chair near the dark green chenille-covered table. ‘Yes, I think she was delighted.’
Lucy put the tray down and began to pour the tea. ‘And did you give her the present?’
‘Present?’ Nella frowned. She hadn’t told her roommate about the broken chain and how she’d had it mended.
‘You know,’ Lucy put a small square of oilcloth on the table in front of Nella and placed her teacup on it, ‘the bonny hatpin you bought for her, with a pearl as big as a pigeon’s egg!’
‘Oh, that. No, I forgot.’
‘What a pity.’ Lucy sat down at the table and stirred two spoonsful of sugar into her own cup. ‘Never mind. Next time, eh?’
‘Yes. Perhaps.’
But Nella hadn’t forgotten to give Constance the hatpin. She had decided not to the moment she saw the one that her friend was already wearing. From a distance it looked the same but close up, when she had helped her remove it, Nella had seen there was no comparison. She didn’t imagine that it was a real pearl, any more than the one she had bought in the market was. But the way it was set into the filigree, rather than clasped crudely between two claws, the way the ‘pearl’ glowed rather than shone like a painted bead, that told her how much more expensive it had been than her little gift. She simply hadn’t removed it from her bag. Constance would never know.
She’d been disappointed, of course, but that disappointment was nothing compared to the pangs she’d suffered when Constance’s husband had come home. Oh, she’d smiled and tried to tell Constance that John was simply peeved not to find his wife alone. But she’d known the truth of it straight away. She’d seen that expression too often. He’d taken one look at her and recoiled in disgust.
She drained her tea and gestured to Lucy that she’d like a fill-up. Constance loves the man, she thought, so I mustn’t make a judgement too quickly. But I wish I didn’t feel so uneasy . . .
Constance sat in the small armchair near the fireplace in the sewing room and John kneeled on the floor beside her, watching her face as she looked at the sketchbook. A small fire burned in the hearth, and husband and wife were enveloped in a circle of soft, warm light. Matthew, sitting at a distance by the sewing-table, felt excluded and it hurt.
How beautiful they are, he thought, like two fairy children. He smiled at his own fancy. For of course they weren’t children and neither were they fairy folk, they were only too human and adult enough to be going to have a baby of their own. He was surprised that the idea of John as a father was so disturbing. They had both known that it was necessary in order for John to come into his inheritance and, indeed, they had planned it - in a way. They hadn’t exactly set out to find a wife for John, but the moment they had met Constance in the park that day, their half-formed ideas had become reality.
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