Dangerous Decisions (17 page)

In London, Cora was becoming not only restless but also increasingly bored. During the first weeks and months of living in St John's Wood, she had found the novelty of having an apartment of her own more than compensated for what became largely a solitary existence. With the luxury of space and privacy and the satisfaction of earning more money with time to pursue any hobby she wished, she had told herself she was in clover. It had taken some time for her to realise why she couldn't really settle. She didn't like the silence.

Cora had been surrounded by noise all her life. As a child in the workhouse, even in the night there would be the sound of weeping, snoring or the scream of someone having a nightmare. Then as a young girl helping Sid on his flower stall, when she'd sat on the bucket behind it practising her letters, she'd had to try and shut out the shouts of the other stallholders. At Belle's there may have been screeching, jealousy and quarrelling, but there had also been gossip and laughter. And she missed it.

On this particular morning, Cora stood by the window and gazed out at the quiet street. Everyone here was so toffee-nosed. She looked down at her new skirt, not a single flounce or frill, and in a quiet, dignified grey. She would never have bought that in the old days; even the woman on the market stall had been surprised at her choice. But she didn't go out any more in her normal clothes, the ones that Johnnie liked her in. People only thought she was ‘tarty', she could tell. Funny that, she'd never minded before, in fact she'd gloried in it. If you've got it, flaunt it, had been her motto. Now even Sybil had noticed the difference in her.

Not that Cora was the only ‘fancy bit' in this street, she'd seen another one – Cora could recognise the type anywhere. But Johnnie didn't want her to make any friends, not locally anyway. Yet his infrequent visits left days and evenings when the hours stretched ahead, long and empty. She might see Sybil sometimes, but it was loneliness she came home to.

Cora knew the dangers for a girl like her. Not a bottle of gin would she have in the place, even though she could afford it. Instead, she held fast to her ambition, stashing her allowance away and the growing amount in the cash box she had bought and hidden in her wardrobe was the one thing that cheered her up, and the rooms were clean and nicely furnished, she couldn't complain about that.

Cora turned and went to sit at the small table and, pulling towards her a sketchbook, looked down at a watercolour of a small house with its own gate and a path leading to a door surrounded by climbing roses. She had seen similar scenes on chocolate boxes. But what she really wanted was to paint from her imagination, not to simply copy. Cora leafed through the previous pages. All of her previous efforts had been of flowers but a house was different, it was much more difficult.

She wondered whether someone like her would be allowed to join the public library. Maybe a book in there could help her. Well, it said ‘public' didn't it? And she could look as respectable as anyone, especially if she went dressed like this and didn't paint her face.

That same weekend Graylings was the scene of a house party; the first in the three months following Rosalind's birth. Helena was desperate for the distraction. Regardless of her love and joy in her child, the tensions of these past weeks had clouded any enjoyment of life beyond the nursery. She found Oliver's constant avoidance of contact with their baby profoundly hurtful and her resentment was such that lately she could hardly bear to be in his presence. Fortunately, he was often out riding with his estate manager, or spending long periods of time in his study. He also made not infrequent visits to London. When they dined together their conversation was polite and desultory, and afterwards it was rare now that Oliver joined her in the drawing room. Helena was not only glad to escape to the nursery but every night as she finished her bedside reading, she was vastly relieved that so far the inter-connecting door between Oliver's room and her own remained closed.

But now, her voice was light as she stood in the drawing-room on Saturday evening, enjoying her aperitif while she chatted to a smiling Johnnie. And he didn't disappoint her, his uplifting tone and light-hearted outlook as amusing as ever.

‘Not a single filly did I fancy,' he told her. ‘I went to every wretched party, every white-tie ball. But not one of this season's debs was a patch on you.'

‘You always were a flatterer.' She laughed up at him. ‘I hope you realise you're talking to someone who's now a mother.'

‘And it suits you. Lovelier than ever, isn't she, Hugh?'

Dorothy's brother had come to join them. ‘Wouldn't take me on though, Johnnie, no matter how many times I offered.'

‘You know if you two want a young lady to take you seriously, you need to try and appear aloof and intriguing.'

‘I've told you about reading all those romantic novels,' Dorothy commented as she joined them. ‘Although even I felt a frisson for Jane Austen's Mr Darcy and he fits that description perfectly.'

‘And how do I compare?' Peregrine appeared at her shoulder, and she laughed up at him.

It was obvious that they were in love, Helena thought, and she was delighted, although a little envious of their easy way with each other. Why did Oliver have to be so complicated, so difficult?

With a smile, she excused herself and went to circulate among her other guests. Jacob was listening earnestly to Angela Shirley, the same sweet-faced widow whom he had met at Graylings several months before. He smiled at Helena as she went by. Aunt Beatrice too was playing the part of a listener, although in her case it was to the wife of a local magistrate, a woman Helena considered both a snob and a bore. Seeing the strain in her aunt's expression, she went over. ‘Mrs Spencer, I can't allow my aunt to monopolise you completely. I thought you might like to meet one of my husband's friends. You may be acquainted with his mother, Mrs Camilla Horton?' Johnnie's look of horror as they approached was delicious, and it was with some amusement that she saw Hugh was already sidling away.

It was not until after dinner when everyone gathered in the drawing room that Oliver had the chance to talk undisturbed to Johnnie. Elsewhere cards were played, some people had gathered in small groups to converse, while Jacob and a country squire were absorbed in a game of chess. Oliver noticed his wife's absence and his lips tightened. No doubt she was neglecting their guests to go up to the nursery. He would never understand Helena's obsession with the child. In a well-ordered household, a baby should not cause the slightest disruption.

Johnnie said, ‘When am I going to see the sprog, then?'

‘I believe she will be brought to the morning room tomorrow.' Helena had insisted that their guests would expect it. However, in this instance she had agreed that Rosalind would wear mittens. ‘I have no wish for her to be a public exhibition.'

‘It's a blasted shame,' Johnnie said. ‘You know, about her hands.'

‘I don't need sympathy, from you or anyone else.'

‘There's no need to be so testy. And if you don't mind my saying so old boy, you do seem rather tense. Don't tell me that life with the heavenly Helena isn't quite so …'

‘Mind your own business.'

Johnnie just grinned at him. ‘Tricky sex, aren't they. I'm having problems myself, well sort of.'

Oliver, guessing that he was referring to Cora, recalled telling Johnnie on a previous occasion that Graylings was hardly the setting in which to raise such matters. But now he felt curious. He touched the younger man's arm. ‘Let's walk on the terrace for a short time, I need a cigarette.'

A few minutes later, after inhaling and releasing a stream of smoke, Oliver leaned back against the ancient stone balustrade, his eyes narrowing. ‘Don't tell me that doxy is touching you for yet more cash?'

He shook his head. ‘No, but she's changed, Oliver, quietened down somehow. We used to have a smashing time together at Belle's, but she's not nearly so much fun lately.'

Oliver felt irritated. ‘Then get rid of her.'

Johnnie looked down and scuffed his feet. ‘I can't bring myself to do that, at least not yet. Anyway, I'm fond of her. But I do miss Belle's – raised the old spirits, you know, seeing all that comely flesh on offer. Now it all feels a bit domesticated.'

‘She'll have to go sooner or later, Johnnie. After all, if you feel like this after a few months …'

‘You're probably right. I am becoming a tad bored.'

‘And I told you she was a mercenary little bitch. I should watch your wallet if I were you.'

Johnnie shook his head. ‘No, she's not that sort of girl.'

Oliver finished his cigarette and flung the stub on to the garden below. ‘You have a lot to learn, Johnnie. These types of girls are as hard as nails. They'd sell their grandmothers to get what they want.'

As the two men began to stroll back, Oliver saw Helena return to the drawing room. She was looking utterly desirable in an emerald-green shot silk gown, her beauty a shining light in a mainly middle-aged gathering. Yet Oliver feared to go to her bed that night, just as he had refrained from doing every night since she'd given birth. And he was convinced that the cause was the constant presence of that wretched defective baby. Despite his desperation for a son and heir, the spectre of those hands, the horror of it happening again was preying on his mind to such an extent that he now dreaded even trying to make love to his wife. Such mental turmoil could threaten a man's performance, might even render him impotent. Oliver refused to risk that ultimate humiliation. He watched Helena move gracefully among their guests, knowing that although he might be the envy of several men in the room his marriage was at an impasse. He also knew that after being celibate for nearly a year, a man could only wait so long.

Below stairs, Molly was wondering if anyone else had noticed that there was something going on between Miss Forrester and Mr Hines. Not that she would ever say a word, even if it would be to her advantage. Then one afternoon she was about to descend the stairs from the third floor when over the banister she could see Susan loitering around a corner on the first landing. Suspicious, Molly paused. The door of Mr Faraday's room opened and his valet came out and almost at the same time, Jane Forrester emerged from Mrs Faraday's adjoining room. Susan, just out of sight, crept nearer, her obvious intention to eavesdrop.

Outraged, Molly leaned over the bannister to flap her feather duster and managing to attract Jane's attention, made wild gestures to go back. Startled, Jane obeyed. Jack Hines glanced up and seeing Molly, made his way casually downstairs.

Later that evening, he drew her aside. ‘Thank you for that,' he said quietly. ‘I'm not sure exactly what was going on …'

Molly explained. ‘Luckily she couldn't see me, but you'd better watch Susan, Mr Hines. She's poison.'

But it was Miss Helena who was mostly on her mind. Because there was no doubt about it, the master took not a whit of notice of that little baby. She had even seen him walk out of a room if the nanny brought in Miss Rosalind. And she was a lovely little thing; besides, once you got used to her hands you hardly noticed there was anything wrong with them.

Helena didn't have time for an anti-climax once everyone had left, because the post that arrived the following morning brought forth from Oliver a spluttered expletive. ‘I'm sorry, Helena, but of all the …'

‘What is it?'

He held up a stiff gold-edged card. ‘That blighter Selwyn is getting married.' He glanced down at the invitation. ‘I had no idea he was even engaged. Who on earth is Caroline Vasey?'

Helena dabbed her lips with her napkin and placed it at the side of her plate. ‘Oh dear, your cousin could have made a better choice.'

‘You actually know her?'

She calmly poured herself more coffee. ‘No, she came out about three years before me. But Dorothy did repeat scandal she had heard at a Hunt Ball.'

‘So it seems we have a bounder marrying a slut. And as I don't recall seeing an announcement of the engagement, he's obviously being forced into it.' Oliver frowned. ‘Is this Caroline an only child?'

‘I have no idea. When and where is this wedding taking place?'

He glanced down. ‘In about three weeks, in London. Naturally, we shall have to accept.' He sat back in his chair and thoughtfully surveyed her. ‘You know, I can't help thinking that this has come at an opportune time. A few weeks in London, what with Wimbledon and the Henley Regatta, will be a pleasant distraction for you.'

‘It does sound appealing. Of course I shall need to ensure that nursery provision at Faraday House is organised.' She glanced up to see Oliver gazing at her rather strangely. ‘What's the matter?'

‘I hope you are not suggesting that the child comes too.'

‘But of course. I have no intention of being separated from Rosalind for such a long time.'

Oliver's lips tightened. ‘You are being ridiculous.'

‘I don't understand your objection.'

‘I would simply prefer that she stays here at Graylings.'

‘And I am her mother and I prefer that she comes with us to London.'

His voice was heavy with exasperation. ‘To do what you suggest would cause a great deal of inconvenience.'

‘There would be nothing that need cause you the least discomfort. I'm sorry, Oliver, but I won't change my mind.' Her gaze was unflinching.

‘Then if you insist.' Oliver rose and stalked out of the room. He was furious. This wedding would have offered the ideal scenario, because in London, without the presence of that wretched baby …

Later, with a cool breeze against him and the feel of his mount's strong muscles beneath his knees, Oliver tried to gallop out his increasingly dark and depressive thoughts. Eventually reaching a hillock, he reined in to gaze down at Graylings in its peaceful setting below. With its grandeur and history it had been the one consuming passion in his life, he had even married to give it security. He sat with his hands resting on the pommel while his black stallion Salem lowered his head to crop contentedly at the grass. Helena would never be prised from that child, he knew that now. And yet this irrational fear he had of ugliness, something he had never confessed to a living soul, had been part of his nature for as long as he could remember; a trait he had fought hard against and tried to conceal by means of avoidance. But he had to accept the unpalatable truth. It was not only causing problems within his marriage, it was threatening to endanger the future of his beloved home.

‘Who's getting married?' At Broadway Manor, Cook leaned her elbows on the kitchen table.

‘Mr Faraday's cousin,' Enid Hewson told her, ‘but I don't think they can be close because Miss Beatrice has only met him once, at Miss Helena's wedding. Mind you, it's a bit short notice,'

‘Shotgun, I expect,' Charlotte said with a sheepish grin. ‘They do say that these things can happen in the best of families, though my mum would kill me if I got into trouble.'

‘I don't think my mum will ever get the chance.'

Hearing Annie's tone, Enid glanced at her set face and hurriedly changed the subject. ‘Well, Miss Beatrice is planning to go two weeks before, and then to stay two weeks after. I do like Carlton House Terrace; it's in the best part of London you know, near Buckingham Palace and everything. I hope Miss Helena brings the baby, I'm dying to see her again.'

‘Poor little thing,' Charlotte said. ‘I couldn't believe it when you told us about her hands.'

‘She'll learn to live with it,' Annie snapped. ‘At least she'll be able to conceal her problem.'

‘I've never met Mr Faraday.' The dark, serious girl who had replaced the miserable Elsie was, unlike her predecessor, popular with everyone.

‘You've not missed much.' Annie's tone was bitter.

Cook gazed at her. ‘Annie, love, you do seem to be down a bit these days. Is it getting to you, you know, more than usual?'

Annie flushed, the heat making the disfigurement even worse. ‘I suppose it is. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a misery guts.'

But later it was Charlotte who told the cook that Annie was sweet on one of the soldiers she met when she visited Ida. ‘She knows it's hopeless, but you can't help your feelings can you? And seeing Ida so happy, being pregnant and all, that doesn't help either.'

‘There are worse fates than being a spinster. I'd rather that than spend my life being married to some men. I could tell you stories about my poor sister that would make your hair curl.'

Charlotte looked troubled. ‘Yes, but how do you know beforehand, what they're going to be like I mean?'

‘Don't ask me. I gave up long ago trying to understand men; some women too for that matter.' She heaved herself up. ‘I'd better get on with those apple dumplings for luncheon. Where's Daisy?'

‘I'm here, Cook.' The young girl popped her head out of the scullery. ‘I've just finished washing the carrots.'

‘Good. Well you can peel those Bramleys in the basket.' She smiled at her. ‘You're a good worker, even as good as Annie used to be.' And as she told the butler later, the smile on that girl's face could light up a Christmas tree.

A few days later, Helena sat opposite Oliver during breakfast and discussed with him the dates for their visit to London. ‘I thought perhaps we could time our plans to coincide with those of Aunt Beatrice.'

‘Yes, of course.'

She looked across at him. ‘It was really kind of you to offer Papa the use of Faraday House when he needed to attend Parliament. I don't think I ever thanked you for that.'

‘It was my pleasure. I prefer the staff to be busy otherwise they can become lax in their duties.'

Helena forked a small portion of her scrambled eggs, wishing he could be as amenable in his attitude to Rosalind. Otherwise she could see this impasse between them lasting forever. And it disturbed her that he had been so vehement she should be left behind when they went to London. Tempted at first to dismiss it as another of her husband's peculiarities, lately Helena had begun to wonder whether there was a more sinister reason. For instance, exactly why did Oliver wish those portraits hung in a rarely used room? Was it just so that he had no need to gaze on the facial deformities, or so that he could forget their very presence? Was her husband so paranoid that he wished he could do the same with his own child?