A Mother's Love (20 page)

He would have liked to have lifted his son from the crib, but it would have awoken the pair of them, both needful of their sleep. With a last lingering look at each of his dear ones, he tiptoed out, closing the door quietly behind him.

‘I especially requested you not to write to him.’ Henry Craig fingered the letter from his son, which had arrived with the last post. His heavy features were grim. The wording had so obviously been in the form of a reply that he deduced immediately who had instigated it.

Eleanor did not lift her eyes from the book she was reading, nor did her thin face lose its determined expression. ‘I’m sorry, Henry, I felt it was all becoming a little silly.’

‘Silly?’ Annoyed by her attitude, he rose from his armchair to pace the sitting room. ‘You didn’t think it silly at the time, Lean. As I remember, you wanted him gone out of your sight, as soon as he could possibly take himself.’

‘I didn’t dream it would go on so long,’ she said stiffly. At the back of her head a tense headache was hovering, threatening to make itself a nuisance at any moment. ‘I thought Matthew would see sense and come round to your way of thinking, Henry.’

‘But he didn’t. And that’s the crux of it. He didn’t. If you hadn’t weakened, he would not be coming here now, bringing that … that woman with him.’

‘They’ve had a baby, Henry. Surely that makes a difference.’ She was definitely on the verge of a headache. She could feel it. ‘I know I ought not have written to him, but I could stand it no longer. After all, Henry, he is our flesh and blood. He is our eldest son. I am his mother. How could I not …’

‘Well, the damage is done now,’ Henry broke in roughly, coming back to sit down. ‘I can hardly countermand your invitation.’

‘We must all learn to bury old feuds, Henry.’

‘Maybe so. Maybe so – but I don’t feel particularly minded to make them welcome.’

‘There’s the baby. Matthew’s baby. A little innocent who has no part to play in this. At least him we will want to welcome, dear. As his grandparents.’

‘I suppose so,’ he admitted gruffly, and he felt that under his grudging admission, he too was glad and relieved that his son would be visiting.

‘But I’m not disposed in having any truck with this wife of his. A money-grabbing, fortune-hunting hussy, to my mind.’

‘What fortune, Henry dear? He has his business, of course, but I should hardly think that would bring in a fortune. I am sure she married him for love, not money. You mustn’t be too hard on them. You mustn’t judge her without even hearing her side of it. After all, you might find you like her.’

‘I’m still not disposed to it,’ he grumbled, laying the letter aside to pick up his own book. ‘And I’m not prepared to like her.’

‘We’ll see,’ she murmured below her breath, too low for him to catch the words as she bent again to her book.

She did not look up again until Honeyford tapped lightly on the sitting-room door to admit their maid carrying a laden tray for afternoon tea. Graciously Eleanor inclined her head as the maid bobbed and retreated; Honeyford closed the door after her. The tension in her head had quite gone. She had won. Her son was coming to see them with Henry’s blessing – albeit grudging – and she felt much better. And her headache wasn’t going to develop after all.

Harriet stared at the imposing aspect Matthew’s house presented as he helped her down from the cab that had brought them from Winchester station. From the far end of the short drive bordered by trees whose fallen leaves were being swept up by a gardener, it loomed, frowning through a November mist at her as the cab entered through the low double iron gates, its frown deepening still more as they drew up outside the churchlike portal.

Mullions. Well named, Harriet thought, as Miss Gilbert, the children’s nurse Matthew had recently engaged, alighted holding little James while Matthew helped Sara down. Narrow leaded windows, each divided by a stone mullion, studded the entire frontage, which itself looked ill proportioned, all corners and protrusions. It looked like a castle in miniature. The line of small false battlements edging the steep-sided roof between the three high gables added to the illusion, giving it a brooding, forbidding air, a portent, she imagined, of the people she was about to meet.

Matthew paid the cabby, who tipped his hat and briskly flicked the reins to make the horse start off at a trot, then guided her up the long flight of steps to the front door. A very erect, well-built, dignified-looking butler answered Matthew’s tug on the bell pull. His smile was cautious.

‘Very nice to see you, Mr Craig,’ he greeted in a flat, husky tone, and moved aside with surprising stately grace for one so big to allow Matthew to enter. Matthew’s reply was cheery.

‘Nice to see you too, Honeyford. Is my mother well?’

‘Better for your coming, sir.’

The butler’s reply conveyed deep respect, but as Matthew guided Harriet inside, she felt not only dwarfed but cowed by the man’s bulk and bearing, feeling that she was in fact creeping by him as though she had no right to be there at all.

All her life she had known only the wiry, mostly small people of the East End. Her father was the only large member of her family, originally coming from Hertfordshire. Matthew’s height had never worried her because he was so noticeably thin. But moving past Honeyford, it came to her that she would be like a child amidst these strangers she was about to meet. Matthew’s parents would both be as tall as him, but without his familiar sensitivity, she was sure.

‘Where are Mother and Father?’ Matthew asked as lightly as if he had been absent from the house a day or so instead of years.

‘In the sitting room, Mr Craig.’

A maid having taken their outdoor clothing, giving each adult a small, respectful bob as she did so, Matthew made for the sitting room without waiting for Honeyford. Holding Harriet by the hand, and leaving Miss Gilbert with her two small charges to hold back until bidden to follow, he burst into the room unannounced.

Harriet found herself staring at her in-laws: Matthew’s father with both hands on the arms of his chair, leaning back in it, seeming to fill the thing; his mother tall and slender, perched on the edge of a sofa, her back perfectly straight, her head poised and high, hands folded in her lap. Obviously they had seen their son arrive and had sat down in readiness for his entry. It was all so formal Harriet felt herself already shrinking.

Almost dragging her with him, Matthew made for his mother and bent and kissed her startled but automatically offered cheek. He straightened up, still holding Harriet’s hand.

‘You look well, Mother.’

‘I could be more so. My looks belie my health, Matthew.’

Matthew nodded, appropriately solemn for a second or two, then brightened and turned towards his father, who rose in readiness to shake his hand.

‘And how are you, Father?’

‘Usual fine fettle.’ The slightly greying moustache seemed to bristle as Henry Craig turned a pair of heavily bagged, blue eyes to settle on Harriet. Matthew caught the movement and parried.

‘Father, this is Harriet, my wife.’ Harriet only just stopped herself dropping a curtsey, already feeling awkward and gauche.

‘Yes, of course,’ came the only response.

Harriet said nothing, but dear Matthew had already swung back with her to his mother, who was sitting exactly as before, not one inch of her smooth dove-grey dress disturbed. She looked like a statue, her mouth composed or rather set in a thin straight line, her brown eyes pain-ridden, her high brow furrowed, no doubt by the same recurring head pains Matthew had told Harriet she had endured since he could remember. The dress was beautiful, very expensive and superbly made to fit the thin form. And what taste, Harriet noted with envy amid her confusion of being presented to the woman. Not one thing out of place, no excess of jewellery or ornamentation, despite her wealth. Just a simple jet brooch fastening the high, gathered neckband – that was all.

Harriet’s hand moved upwards in an attempt to hide the rather heavy ornamental brooch she had chosen to wear on her sage-green outfit. Matthew said it looked very elegant, but now she wasn’t at all sure.

‘Mother,’ Matthew announced. ‘My wife, Harriet.’

Eleanor Craig lifted a hand towards her, limp but not weak, in gracious response. Harriet felt for one idiotic second that she was expected to fall on to one knee and kiss the opal ring glowing there. But the bubble of mirth came solely from tension.

With the tips of her fingers, she took the hand lightly, to have it withdrawn immediately, protocol observed, though the cold brown eyes, like Matthew’s but without the gentle glow, continued to survey her, a ghost of a smile – was it sympathy? – trembling on that straight line of a mouth.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Harriet heard herself blurt. Oh, no, it should have been how do you do, she remembered, too late. But she could only let the pleased-to-meet-you suffice, and fell silent.

Her mother-in-law’s gaze switched to the open but vacant door. ‘Where is my grandson, Matthew?’

‘Oh, yes! Half a tick!’ He was like a raw schoolboy. At the door he called into the hall, ‘Miss Gilbert – the children. Bring them in.’ The high ceiling echoed to his call.

Harriet watched as her son was brought in and handed to his waiting grandmother. She was astonished to see the transformation in the woman. The stiff mien seemed to melt like frost before a risen sun, brown eyes misting, and now she saw in the gentleness she would never have suspected in the woman, her resemblance to Matthew. The hands loosened and fluttered as she received the bundle, lifting aside the frills and lace of James’s bonnet. When she looked up, her thin face was lit up with pure delight.

‘He’s like you, Matthew, as a baby. I could be holding you in my arms. Richard’s boy is like his mother, and Evelyn’s girl is like her father. It’s so refreshing to have at least one in the family who resembles one’s own.’

James let out a small fretful cry, sensing alien arms holding him. Immediately, Eleanor was all attention.

‘There, there, there. Is it all so strange to him then, little man?’ She rocked him gently. The crying died away. She looked up at Matthew in triumph. ‘See, my dear, old habits die hard. It
is
as though I were holding you.’

Ignored during all this baby business, Henry Craig got up and came over to stare down at his new grandson. ‘Hmm … Looks a bit weak.’

‘He’s only two months old, Henry.’

‘Thought he’d be more robust than that.’

‘Give him time, Henry. He’ll grow stronger. Who d’you think he looks like?’

‘Can’t tell with babies. All look alike. Bit of you in him though, I suppose.’

‘Of course. He’s like Matthew, and Matthew takes after me, so of course there’s a bit of me in him. There, sweet little boy … James, is it?’ And as Matthew nodded, ‘Sweet little James. We’ll have your christening here, in Winchester. Ours is such a lovely church. James … what?’

‘Matthew,’ Matthew said, grinning all over his face.

Eleanor nodded her approval, then frowned. ‘It would have been nice to have added his grandfather’s name. Though I suppose the christening has long since gone. Its a pity you didn’t think to invite your father and me.’

‘He hasn’t been christened yet,’ Matthew broke in. ‘Harriet hasn’t felt strong enough. It will be very soon, though. In a couple of weeks, at the most.’

Eleanor brightened, even executed a wide smile of relief that made her look quite human. ‘Then it’s not too late. Oh, you must add it! James Matthew Henry – does it not have a good ring to it? What do you say, Matthew?’

‘I can see no objection.’ Grinning, he mulled over the name. ‘James Matthew Henry. It does have a good ring. It flows.’

‘Yes it does, doesn’t it?’

Listening to it all, plans being made, the extra name being added, Harriet stood dumb. No one asked whether she agreed or objected. No one had considered that her family would have to come all this way to a christening. No one had enquired if she wanted the christening here or whether she had other ideas. No one even glanced her way. She felt as excluded as Miss Gilbert, standing by the door holding Sara’s hand.

Sara too looked lost, but Sara didn’t matter. It was a pity she had had to bring her really. Aunt Sarah had taken charge of her after Jamie was born, but now that Miss Gilbert had been engaged, she could hardly ask her aunt to look after Sara while they came here. Sara was still under her feet, even with Miss Gilbert around.

‘What do you think, Harriet?’ Matthew’s arm came lightly about her waist. ‘Henry. It’ll be nice having the christening here, don’t you think?’

Shaken from her reverie, she tried to smile, and instead of voicing an opinion, heard herself saying, ‘Yes, nice.’

Confronted by three pairs of eyes demanding her acquiescence, what else could she say? Satisfied, the eyes returned to admire James, leaving her once again on the perimeter, already wishing the day over.

They were staying overnight. ‘The children and their nurse will have the old nursery quarters,’ Mrs Craig declared as James was deposited back into Miss Gilbert’s arms. ‘You can have your old room, Matthew. It is a little cramped for two, so I have arranged for the blue guest room to be aired to accommodate your wife – if that’s agreeable to you, Matthew? It
is
only for one night.’

Harriet thought he looked a bit surprised, but he nodded passively. She felt she could have shaken him.

Lunch was a cold buffet laid out for her and Matthew at one end of the highly polished, oblong table in the somewhat chilly dining room. His mother had arranged to have just a little soup brought up to her in her room, saying she felt rather drained and needed to rest. His father had arranged to meet a client and was eating in Winchester. The children were borne off to the nursery for their lunch, providing Harriet with a golden opportunity to tax Matthew on what she saw as his not so submissive concurrence – enthusiastic was more like it – with his mother’s suggestions over the baby, but she found it impossible to voice her feelings, even with no one else there.

She ate in brooding silence, and when Matthew asked her what was wrong, she made a headache her excuse, refusing to smile when he said jovially that one in the family was enough, meaning his mother.