An Indelicate Situation (The Weymouth Trilogy) (23 page)

One quiet evening
just a couple of days later
– Mrs Wright had gone out somewhere and even the children were quiet in their beds – Maggie decided to forego her usual hour or two with Mrs Robinson, the housekeeper, and remain within her chamber instead.
She had neglected her library books for far too long. The evening was a warm one. She felt inclined to read.

Despite its box
-
like properties s
he was actually quite fond of her
funny
little room. A
fter all
, i
t contained all her own things
– virtually
everything that she owned was contained within its four, embarrassingly small
,
plastered walls – and William had considered her wishes in the colour of the paint
, which was bright and welcoming
.
S
he could hear the incessant whining of baby seagulls – fat, brown babies, bigger than the pare
nts they were pestering
for food
-
through the open window
.
It felt oddly soothing.
Despite its rather depressing view onto the
wall of the house behind it
,
the whole room
felt comfortable, familiar and
inviting
, with the last rays of a setting sun penetrating the top inch or two
of window
before they faded
quite
away.

It soon became too dark for her to continue reading and so, a little reluctantly, she determined on going to bed. She put her book away and put her night clothes on.
She checked the bed gingerly. She always checked the bed these days, ever since the
particularly gruesome
discovery of a dying crab,
with one limb missing
,
crawling painfully about between the covers – another little present from Master Will, no doubt.
And then, just as she was in the th
r
oes of t
hrowing the blankets back into position
– just as she was about to clamber up into the bed itself – she heard the squeak of her door behind her and she spun round
in horror
to find
Mr Wright
slippi
ng surreptitiously into the chamber
. Because her routine had altered – because, instead of returning from the housekeeper’s room
to go immediately to bed as had become
her wont she had instead sat reading by the window for a while – because her mind had been so full of forgetting Mr Wright and maybe because of its singul
ar refusal to comply – for what
ever reason or combination of reasons
that
might actually apply, she had forgotten to turn the key in her lock. And there was William, maybe just the slightest bit fuddled, taking full advantage of her mistake and squeezing swiftly inside. The room was small at the best of times and with his not insubstantial frame blocking her exit there was nothing she could do to escape. In a moment all her earlier efforts to avoid him, to deny him the opportunity of entirely taking over her mind, were completely undone. Taken by surprise, her chamber quickly darkening with the setting sun, his presence in the small
ness of it
, his body squeezed tightly with hers, the arms which wrapped themselves around her unbidden – she could do nothing but live the moment and embrace him in return.

‘Why have you been avoiding me, you wicked little puss?’ he was asking, between urgent kisses. ‘You
are so beautiful – those deep, dark eyes, that gorgeous golden hair.
Look how it falls lustrously
, curling
down your back. It is quite exquisite.
You
have been driving me half mad with desire for you.’

Maggie tried to tear herself away from him, but found that she was completely unable to do so.

‘I have been trying to
do the right thing, William,’
even her ability to call him by his name conspired to weaken her own resolve still further. What an attractive name William had – firm, strong and manly – just as the man himself was – or, at least
, may have been a couple
of
years before
. ‘It is wrong for us to be together like this. You are a married man.
We cannot allow this to continue
.’

She opened her eyes as she said this and could see the heady desire in his. It was almost too much for her to bear.

‘But I love you, Maggie. I want you – I need you so much. What would you expect me to do?’

What was it that Mrs Berkeley had said? That love – real love – was not about one’s own needs and desires but the needs and desires of the person one loves. Was that really true? She couldn’t be
sure
. Certainly, standing there in the gloom in William’s strong arms, seeing the desire in his eyes, feeling the weakness in her own limbs as she clung tightly onto him – certainly what she was feeling at that very moment felt very much like love to her.

She allowed him to kiss her some more but despite her physical response to him – despite being aware that she desperately wanted to get even closer to the man
, to know his body as she knew his looks
– somehow and for some unknown and particularly infuriating reason, Mrs Berkeley’s soft, sympathetic but firmly assured voice managed to get back into her head and caution her to stop. At least, it sounded like Mrs Berkeley’s voice and certainly it used many of the words that she remembered Mrs Berkeley
to
hav
e
used
. But mayb
e, just maybe, it was not Mrs Be
rkeley but
Mr Staveley who
was talking to her
– quiet, awkward, stolid Mr Staveley who had enough concerns and sorrows of his own but yet had taken the time – and made the not insubstantial effort – to tell her the very same thing
– or at least to hint at it
.
What would he think of her were she to ignore his advice and allow herself to succumb to her desires?
Yes, perhaps it was Mr Staveley.
Or perhaps it was merely the awakening of her own conscience, which she had managed to silence – or ignore – quite satisfactorily until now.
For
al
though part of her felt
that
she belonged with William
, that she wanted him and she wanted to love him for ever
and ever
,
another part – a smaller but perfectly determined part – told her that this was incorrect, that she did not belong to him, that his wife belonged to him, and that
anyway
she did not wish that this was not the case.

William was fumbling with her fastenings, trying to reach the soft skin beneath her gown.
Maggie felt a shock run through her.
Surely he was not intending – surely he was not really expecting her to submit to his desires and allow him to take her there and then, in
t
he room
next door to his own
?

Maggie frowned and tried to pull away. No. This was not what she wanted. This was not what she wanted at all. William would get his own way – satisfy his need and desire for her – get her with child, maybe – and then, if she were lucky, pay her off to go a
way. And where could she go
to? Another job elsewhere? Who would have her? Who would want a governess whose morals were so loose that she had been put off by her employer after bearing him a child
?

William pulled her back closer to him.

‘No,’ she heard herself saying. ‘No. William, please go no further. It is not right to go any further and
...
.and I do not wish you to.’

William slacken
ed his hold on her a little and looked at her. He was looking sulky and hurt.

‘What do you mean, you do not wish it? You have always seemed
so
compliant before.
You have always seemed to wish it.
I hope
you have not been leading me a dance
, Maggie. I had always thought you meant it, before.’

Maggie hesitated and sighed.

‘I mean I do wish it, William, but I will not do it,’ she said at last. ‘You are married. You will not leave your wife. A lady’s virtue is her wedding gift. I cannot give
it
to you.’

‘But I
need you, Maggie. My wife does
n
’
t care
for me
at all – she does not care one jot. It is you that I love now. I need you to love me in return.’

Maggie looked at him again. With a sudden jolt she realised that he was looking rather – well,
maybe just a very little bit
-
silly.

‘You are a most attractive gentleman,’ she said,
regaining her shattered senses
at last. ‘We
both
have needs that
perhaps we thought – hoped, maybe – that
the other
one
could fulfil. Perhaps we have flattered each other, I do not know. But we cannot take this any further. We must not translate our needs – our dreams, if you like – into reality. I am grateful for your love, William
,
and I
have not meant to lead you on. But I have suddenly realised that it will not do. I cannot give myself to you. It is not right and I cannot do it and I
know that, i
n
you
r heart of hearts, you do not want it either. The consequences are just to
o
awful for
us
both.
’

William took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, and then
relaxed his grasp
a little
more
. Despite the reluctance of her legs
it was just sufficient for her
to tear herself from him and
force
him
aside
and
run
through the door into the
schoolroom across
the hall.
She locked the door and waited. S
he waited for several minutes.
She refastened her
night
gown. She listened to the gulls outside.
She could hear the seconds ticking away in her brain. She
felt
totally
exhausted
and
drained. S
he suddenly realised how traum
atic th
is
totally
unasked
-
for encounter
had been
. But she was also very proud
of herself
.
Very, very proud.
Her conscience
had triumphed in the end. She had taken the decision and implemented it. And she knew that, whatever happened as a consequence of it, the decision was entirely the right one to have
tak
e
n
.

While she was in the
schoolroom
, and unknown to her, Mrs Wright stepped quietly up the staircase and loitered silently a few steps down from the top. She heard Maggie’s door open and strained to see who had emerged. She waited for a few moments more. Then she
followed her husband directly
to their chamber, a grimly satisfied look on her face, and made her way
determinedly
inside.

‘I have something of
very
serious
import to say to you, my love,’ enunciated Mrs Wright, as she and her husband prepared themselves for bed
later that
same
evening. ‘I have not
wanted
to say anything, as I had
hoped
that I might be mistaken. But now I find that I must say
something
, for things have gone from
bad
to
worse
and there is no saying exactly where they may end.’

Mr Wright
eyed his wife a little guiltily from behind the nightshirt that he was just that moment in the process of
pu
lling over his head
.

‘What is it you need to say to me, my love?’ he asked, more than a little nervously. ‘I hope I have done nothing to cause you any concern?’

Mrs Wright tutted irritably.

‘Whether you have or not is
entirely
beside the point,’ she told him. William was more than a little relieved at the implication that whatever he did was of no consequence
at all to his loving
wife
. ‘Though I regret that I shall need to put you to th
e trouble of finding me a new go
verness for the twins.’