A Dream of her Own (54 page)
‘Any change?’ Nella asked.
‘Well, I’ve got her into bed but she still won’t say anything. She won’t tell me why she was crouching behind the chair in the sewing room. She must have been there ever since Mrs Barton and Esther left. And another thing - she was clutching a pair of dressmaking scissors.’
‘Had she tried to harm herself?’ Frank asked.
‘I don’t think so. But you should see the state of the chair,’ the maid added grimly.
It was only then that he had begun to understand that the situation might be serious. ‘I’d better go up and see her,’ he said.
‘No,’ Nella told him. ‘I want a moment with her first. You wait downstairs with the others.’
So here he was, sitting with his brother and Jimmy Nelson in a room which the lamplight revealed to be both tasteful and comfortable; but none of them had been able to relax. No one had drawn the curtains, and from the sofa where he was sitting, Frank could see out of the window to the houses at the other side of the terrace. It was dark enough for lamps to be lit and some curtains to be drawn, but light enough for him to see John Edington if he should arrive home.
He couldn’t stop himself from watching out for Constance’s husband and he hated how furtive that made him feel. He forced himself to turn away from the window and look into the room once more.
Valentino had somehow ended up on a chair which seemed too small for his giant frame, but he remained there obediently, with only a slight frown betraying his confusion. Jimmy Nelson, as watchful as ever, had spread his long limbs across a large ottoman and, if he was wondering what was going on, he was too tactful to say so. Now and then he turned to glance at the door and, eventually, Frank asked, ‘Is something bothering you, Jimmy?’
‘No, I was just wondering what happened to that cup of tea Albert promised.’
Albert Green, whom Frank understood to be Polly’s young man, had vanished in the direction of the kitchen as soon as they had arrived. It seemed that he’d been sitting there when Polly had first discovered her mistress in the sewing room, and just as well.
The young maid had been worried sick and, as the master of the house was not at home, and apparently not likely to be coming home soon, Polly had sent her sweetheart to tell Mrs Edington’s friend, Nella, what had happened, and beg her to come as soon as possible. And that was why they were here.
‘Ah,’ Jimmy said, ‘that’s better.’
The door was opened by a waif who looked as though she might be related to Polly, and Albert Green came into the room carrying a large tray. But Frank didn’t stay to sample the tea or the roughly sliced cake for, a moment later, Polly popped her head around the door and said, ‘Will you come up now, Dr Alvini?’
‘I’m not a doctor y—’ he started to say but she hurried away ahead of him across the hall and on, up the stairs.
Nella was waiting outside one of the bedroom doors. Her body was a hunched-up bundle of tension and her expression a mixture of worry and vexed frustration. ‘I haven’t been able to get a word out of her,’ she told Frank. ‘She’s just lying there with her eyes closed but I know very well that she isn’t asleep.’ She turned to question Polly. ‘What do you think brought this on?’
‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps it was something that Mr Edington’s aunt said. Her daughter was making a nuisance of herself in the nursery when Mrs Barton came hurrying down and sent Jane along for a cab. Then the pair of them took themselves off.’
Nella shook her head. ‘Well, unless Constance decides to tell us, it will remain a mystery.’ She turned and took hold of the door knob. ‘Gan on in, Frank. See what you think.’
‘Wait, Nella.’ He reached out and placed a hand on her arm. ‘I’m not sure what you expect me to do. You know I’m not qual—’
Nella raised her other hand to stop him speaking. ‘Polly,’ she said, ‘you must show me that chair in the sewing room. I’ll follow you up in a moment, but if it’s as bad as you say, you’d better go ahead and hunt around for a piece of cloth we can make a temporary cover with.’
Nella waited until Polly had hurried up the remaining flight of stairs to the top floor and then she said quietly, ‘I know you’re not qualified, Frank, and I divven’t expect you to do anything - to give her anything. I just want you to use yer judgement and tell me whether this is serious - whether Constance has lost her wits ... gone mad.’
Suddenly she gripped his arms and looked up at him with real fear in her eyes. ‘You see, I love her so - I just divven’t know what I’d do if ... oh, Frank ...’
He took hold of her shoulders and held her for a moment; he could feel the tremors that shook her slight body. He said gently, ‘All right, Nella. I’ll go in to her. But you mustn’t expect too much of me, you know.’
‘Bless you, Frank. I know that I do.’
She opened the door and ushered him into the room. Then, as she left him, she would have closed the door, but he seized the handle firmly and made sure that the door was left ajar. Here, in John Edington’s house, feeling the way he did about John Edington’s wife, he knew he must be careful to observe the proprieties.
Her eyes were closed and her bright, beautiful hair was spread out across the pillow. She was very pale and her high-necked, white nightdress made her look virginal, somehow untouched - in spite of everything that he knew had happened to her. Her arms were stretched down on top of the bedclothes at either side of her body and Frank suddenly noticed that her hands were clutching at the padded eiderdown - completely destroying the effect of repose.
He sat down on the bed and reached for her hands. He took them firmly in his own and lifted them up, breaking the grip of her fingers on the cloth. He had acted without thinking and, for a moment, he was able to do no more than savour the feel of her soft cool flesh against his. He fought to control his own racing pulse as, first, he felt for hers and then he began to make soothing circular motions across her palms with his thumbs.
‘Constance,’ he said.
She wished they would all go away.
She had not protested when Polly had made her come down from the sewing room and helped her undress and get into bed. Why should she? Bed was as good a place as any, for at least here she could close her eyes and pretend to be asleep. That way they might leave her alone.
But Polly had sent for Nella and Nella had fussed and begged her to talk to her - to tell her what the matter was - when all she wanted to do was sleep and forget it all. She couldn’t understand, when she was so weary, why she couldn’t go to sleep.
Then Nella left the room and Constance thought that she was going to be left in peace at last, but the murmur of voices outside the door told her that they were still there. Didn’t they realize how irritating it was when they tried to talk quietly like that?
When the door opened again she thought that Nella had come back and she wondered why her friend was standing so quietly looking down at her. In sheer exasperation she gripped the eiderdown even more tightly and it was then that she felt her hands grasped and held and heard someone - a man - she didn’t know call her name.
Shock made her sit up and open her eyes.
The man smiled at her, a sad, gentle smile and she realized that she did know who he was. But what was Frank Alvini doing here? She frowned. Was it possible that he knew how often she had thought of him? Had he answered some deep unspoken need? No ... that couldn’t be.
Nella. That was it. Nella had brought Frank here to see her because he was studying to be a doctor.
But he shouldn’t be holding her hands like this. His touch, the feel of his skin on hers, the warmth that flowed from his fingers was disturbing.
She pulled her hands from his grasp and hid them under the bedclothes. She drew her knees up protectively and began to shake her head.
‘What is it, Constance?’ he asked, and his voice was almost as sad as his smile.
She looked straight at him. ‘Nella shouldn’t have brought you.’
‘Perhaps not, but she was worried about you.’
‘Why?’
‘Do you need me to tell you?’
She was rebuked by his cool scrutiny. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Why are you sorry?’
She felt a spasm of irritation. What did he want of her? ‘I’m sorry to have caused so much bother.’
She wasn’t sure if she quite understood the way he was looking at her. His dark brown eyes were warm, but there was something more than sympathy there. It was as if he could see her pain but, more than that, he was sharing it.
‘Nella thinks that you might be going mad,’ he said at last.
‘I’m not. I’m just unhappy. Unhappy. Do you believe me?’
‘Yes, I do.’
Instinctively, she withdrew her hands from under the bedclothes and reached for his. She wanted to feel his touch. She needed to. This time his grasp was comforting. She began to cry and instead of the painful sobs that had racked her body before, the tears flowed gently. And the wonder of it was that he was crying too.
The journey back to the Haymarket would be all too short so Nella began to question Frank as soon as the cab set off.
‘So she’s not losing her wits?’
‘Far from it,’ he said. ‘Constance is quite sane. She’s unhappy and has been too proud to tell anyone. What happened today was simply the release of tension.’
Nella moved as far away from him as she could within the close confines of the cab and tried to study his expression in the light of the streetlamps they passed. At the moment his face was in shadow, but she could see his eyes glittering with some unexpressed emotion. She suppressed a wave of pity. She knew what he must be feeling and she wished there was something she could do about it. But Constance was married, and there was no help for him.
‘She’ll be all right then?’ she asked.
‘Constance is a survivor,’ Frank told her. ‘And she has you for a friend. She’s lucky in that.’
‘You know, I used to think Constance was the lucky one,’ Nella said.
‘Lucky?’
‘Oh, I know she and her ma ended up in the workhouse, but she’s so beautiful and clever and spirited - she nivver let anything that happened get her down - and when John proposed to her I thought that all her troubles were over. I thought she was gannin’ to be happy ever after! And instead ...’
‘Instead, if what you tell me is true, poor Constance was raped the night before her wedding.’
‘By Gerald Sowerby. This state she’s in now - it’s all his fault!’
‘Not quite, Nella. Think of everything else that has happened. You say she grew fond of her mother-in-law.’
‘She did. They got on well, even though the poor lady was dying.’
‘Exactly. Constance lost a friend in that house when Mrs Edington died. And then there was a difficult childbirth and her worries about the twins—’
‘She wouldn’t have that worry if it wasn’t for Gerald Sowerby!’
Frank turned away to look out of the window at his side of the cab before he murmured, ‘And her marriage has not been all that it should be.’ But Nella had not heard him.
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