A Dream of her Own (35 page)
The fact that Constance was beautiful had been more than John had hoped for. He had a keen sense of aesthetics. The fact that she was well-spoken and obviously used to a better way of life than that of a servant had not made him as curious as he should have been. He had been happy to accept Constance as an orphan - indeed her being an orphan with no family to take care of her was exactly what was required - but he hadn’t seemed to care enough to want to know more about her.
I suppose that should make me happy, Matthew thought, the fact that he doesn’t care. And yet what about ordinary human curiosity? No, I have to accept that John is too self-centred to wonder about other people’s lives. Even mine . . . When we are together he is all that I want him to be but what if I had to leave him for any length of time? Would he wonder what I was doing? Whether I was happy? Or would he simply worry about the effect it was having on his own life? And how soon would he find someone else to take my place?
‘John, these designs are wonderful,’ he heard Constance say. ‘I had no idea that you had done so much - worked so hard.’
‘What do you think I do when I lock myself away in here?’ John replied and then he laughed. ‘Even when Matthew comes to visit I do not allow myself to be distracted. No - in fact I work even harder. Matthew is a hard taskmaster, isn’t that right?’ He smiled up at his friend.
John’s eyes were shining as he sent an unspoken message of shared knowledge. Matthew felt a stab of excitement in his loins.
‘Taskmaster?’ Constance asked. ‘Why should that be so?’ She was frowning.
Take care, John, take care, Matthew thought.
‘Because Matthew is investing money in my enterprise. Without his help I do not think I would ever be able to break free from the tyranny of Uncle Walter and the family business.’
‘But I understand that the business will be yours one day. Esther has no brothers and your grandfather’s will—’
‘Yes, yes,’ John said impatiently. ‘But I cannot wait until that day in the future when Uncle Walter dies. He would never agree to anything so revolutionary as ladies’ fashions. I must start now or my best years will be wasted. Don’t you understand?’
‘Of course.’
But Matthew guessed that Constance was puzzled. Not by her husband’s desire to forge his own way - indeed, she obviously admired him for that. No, she was beginning to wonder why a man from his own background should be interested in helping John set up as a glorified dressmaker. Perhaps she was intelligent enough to have begun to wonder about their very unlikely friendship.
Constance leaned back in the chair and rested her head in her hand. Matthew could no longer see her expression. ‘Are you tired, Constance?’ he asked. ‘John is so enthusiastic about his plans that it may not have occurred to him that you might like to rest a while before dinner.’
‘Dinner?’ Constance dropped her hand and looked at her husband. ‘Will you be staying at home tonight?’
‘I ... I hadn’t planned to. Matthew and I were . . . we . . .’ John had the grace to look uncomfortable. He glanced at Matthew and, in that moment, Matthew felt a surge of dislike for his friend. He knew this reaction to be unfair. He was equally to blame for Constance’s loneliness.
‘John, I’m tired of dining alone!’
Matthew had never seen Constance look so mutinous and he guessed that John hadn’t either. Something had upset his friend’s wife today, that was obvious, otherwise John would never have brought her into the sewing room like this. A friend of hers had been here when they arrived; had the friend been unsettling Constance? Hinting that her husband ought to spend more time with her?
‘John, that little maid of yours,’ Matthew asked suddenly, ‘what kind of a cook is she?’
‘Not bad. Why?’ John frowned.
‘Well, why don’t we both stay here with Constance tonight? I’ll go out and buy some decent wine and even if Polly can only come up with cold meats and salad, we’ll make a feast of it.’
‘Stay here? But—’
Matthew ignored him and turned to Constance. ‘What do you say, Constance? Will Polly give notice if we ask her to provide a meal for the three of us?’ He smiled his most engaging smile and he saw Constance begin to respond.
‘No, she won’t give notice. And she’s not a bad cook; I’ve been teaching her... well, telling her about the things I like and she’s always willing to try. And, tonight, I’m sure Mrs Green would come in and help her.’
‘Mrs Green?’
‘Next door,’ Constance said.
‘Oh, yes. Young Albert’s mother.’ He glanced at John, who smiled slightly and shrugged.
‘Well, then. That’s settled. Here,’ he took a couple of sovereigns from his pocket, ‘tell your maid that she must hurry out and buy anything she needs.’
‘No, that’s not necessary—’ Constance began.
‘I insist. It’s my idea, my treat. Is that all right with you, John?’
John was looking sulky. ‘I suppose so. But I thought we were . . . I mean . . .’
‘If you mean that we need to be alone to discuss business then that’s all right, too. Constance will go and instruct Polly and then she will go and lie down until dinnertime. No, Constance, I insist. We want to spoil you today.’
John’s wife stared at him for a moment and then her shoulders seemed to relax. She arose from the chair and took the money from his hand although he could see that that made her uncomfortable. He would have to be careful. She may have come from the workhouse but she had more integrity than her husband.
John saw her to the door. ‘Come down with me,’ she said. ‘Polly is less likely to make a fuss if the request comes from you.’
John smiled. ‘Very well, sweetheart. And then I shall tuck you up in bed myself.’ Matthew could see that his good humour had been restored.
While John was gone from the room Matthew wondered whether he should tell him what he had discovered. John may not have been curious about his wife’s former life but Matthew had been. And, really, it hadn’t been very difficult to discover her story. Bannerman was not a common name and people in the business community remembered how Richard Bannerman had gone bankrupt and then died.
Matthew had also learned that his widow and small child had ended up in the workhouse because the Meakins, the parents of his first wife, had refused to help. But they had taken their grandson to live with them. Constance had a family after all, a half-brother who was now living in Newcastle and managing the family shipping business; and not too well, if the rumours were accurate.
Matthew wondered if Constance knew the whereabouts of her half-brother, Robert Bannerman, and whether she would want to get in touch with him. If she did the brother might want to assume responsibility for her. John would have to take care how he treated her . . .
When John returned he was pleased with himself. ‘Mrs Green is already installed in the kitchen, Polly has gone to the shops and I’ve sent Albert for the wine and a bottle of brandy. Hargreaves will put it on my account.’
Which, no doubt, I shall settle, Matthew thought; but all he said was, ‘Albert?’
‘Don’t worry. I told him exactly what to buy.’ He locked the door behind him and turned to face his friend. ‘I’ve told them to take their time, to make sure everything is perfect.’ He laughed. ‘Mrs Green is actually pleased that we are entertaining. She thinks Constance needs cheering up.’
‘And does she?’
John frowned and then he sighed. ‘Yes, I think she does. I should have realized that my wife lacked company.’ He moved over to the fireplace and rested one arm on the mantelpiece. ‘You know, Matthew, when I returned home earlier and found her chatting with that... that little witch, I was shocked to the core.’
Matthew sat in the armchair that Constance had recently vacated and looked up at him. ‘Yes, what was all that about? As far as I can make out you chased her friend away and dragged the poor girl up here.’
‘She was pleased to come here. She’s interested in my work.’
‘But was she pleased to have her friend dismissed?’
‘No. But, Matthew, if you had seen her!’
‘What on earth is the matter with the girl?’
‘She’s deformed. Humpbacked and twisted. Rickets, I suppose, and that’s sad, but when I saw her standing over Constance with her pointy face silhouetted against the firelight, it was as if she were casting a spell on my wife and my unborn child.’
‘What nonsense! I had no idea that you were so ig—superstitious!’
John’s face became suffused with temper.
‘Ignorant.
That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? Well, perhaps I am. I haven’t had the advantages of your upbringing and education. Your wealthy background!’
‘Ignorant.
That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? Well, perhaps I am. I haven’t had the advantages of your upbringing and education. Your wealthy background!’
Matthew stared at him. He knew that it would be no use telling him that wealth had nothing to do with it. Nor even education. There had been other boys at Eton who would have been just as cruel about Constance’s poor little friend, perhaps more so. No, prejudice was a character flaw that occurred in all levels of society and John should know that. After all, beautiful as he was to look at, there were aspects of his personality that would not bear scrutiny.
‘John, don’t let us quarrel.’ He smiled. He knew that he had to charm John out of this mood otherwise their time together might be wasted and, although John did not know it yet, they might not have much longer.
‘No,’ John sighed. ‘But, perhaps you would do me a favour?’
‘If I can.’
‘Persuade your sister to come and visit again. She will cheer Constance up enormously.’
‘What? And expose your wife to my sister’s dangerous views about women’s emancipation?’ He laughed.
‘Oh, I care nothing for that. Women can do what they like.’
‘Very well, then.’ Matthew watched the petulance drain away. He guessed that John had given as much consideration as he was able to his wife’s wellbeing. ‘But now let us make the most of our time together. How long will we remain uninterrupted?’
John kneeled before him and looked into his eyes. ‘Oh, a couple of hours at least.’
‘Time enough,’ Matthew said, leaning forward in the chair to take John’s hands in his. ‘Time enough for me to play the taskmaster.’
Chapter Eighteen
Harry Bodie was waiting in the foyer of the hotel. ‘There you are, Lucy my love. Did Nella get home safely?’
She felt like telling him that Nella was more than capable of looking after herself these days, but she knew how important the girl was to him. ‘I went back to Mrs Small’s with her and then told her I was slipping along here for a while to talk about the show. She didn’t mind. She was dead beat.’
‘We’ll have to be sure we don’t ask too much of her. Don’t want her to burn herself out before—’
‘Before you’ve made as much money as possible.’
Harry put on a hurt look. ‘Before she’s reached her full career potential, was what I was going to say. Now, what about you know who?’
‘Valentine? No trouble. He watched us get into the cab and then went off with the lad as usual. He seems happy with the situation ... for the moment.’
‘Mm. That’s what I want to talk to you about. But come through and sit with me in the lounge.’
Harry made a grand gesture like the actor he was and ushered her through as if she were a real lady. The dark panelling and the marble floor, along with the wide sweep of the oriental carpeted stairs, tried to give the impression of a gentleman’s country house. However, the effect was unmistakably commercial. Still, it was one of the best hotels in Newcastle. Once upon a time he would have been sneaking me up to his suite, Lucy mused. Those were the days . . .
Harry turned and smiled. ‘Would you like something to drink? The usual?’
‘I don’t mind if I do.’ She sank gratefully into a red plush chair while Harry summoned a sleepy waiter and ordered their drinks, a port and lemon for her and whisky for himself. The usual.
They had opened at the Grand in Byker that night and it was late, but after the first night of a new show Lucy was never able to settle. She’d been pleased when Harry had asked her to come along for a chat, even though she’d been expecting it. She knew what it would be about.
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