Dear Laura (8 page)

‘That is the way of the world, Laura.’

‘It is unfair,’ she said to herself. ‘It is so unfair.’

‘I have offered you an alternative. One that you did not find unpleasant?’

‘I do not wish a temporary and dishonourable arrangement,’ she cried, turning on him. ‘Besides, how can you? You are his brother and he loves you. And you, in your fashion, love him. How can you use him so?’

Regarding the tip of his cigar he replied, ‘How can
you
?’
And tapped the ash into a silver tray.

She was quiet again, her anger ebbing.

‘He wrote her love-letters,’ she said softly. ‘What must she have meant to him? He never wrote so to me. And Kate said she stank of cheap scent and was not a lady. What did he write, I wonder? Did he speak of her duty and submissiveness?’

‘I should think not, on the whole,’ said Titus, ironic. ‘He seems to have made a perfect fool of himself for once. The
love-letters
amaze me.’

‘You have read them?’ she asked quickly.

‘No. Nor do I need to. The usual maundering.’

‘Like the one you wrote to me?’

His face changed.

Carefully, he replied, ‘The aberration of a moment. Did you destroy it?’

‘Of course. I tore it to pieces.’

‘Very small ones, I trust?’

‘I do not recollect. I expect so. It did not matter. I remember every word. Does that please you?’

Quietly, he replied, ‘Very much.’

‘Then cherish the thought of it,’ she said hopelessly, ‘as I do.’

‘Did I maunder nicely?’ he asked, at last.

‘Almost as nicely as Mr Browning.’ She smiled suddenly, and said, ‘I wish we could be again as we were in the beginning, Titus. You were a boy with me, then, and we basked in
Theodore’s
protection and were each other’s confidantes.’

‘The days of sweet and twenty. Did you love me then, Laura?’

‘Very much, even when you got into such scrapes. Especially when you got into scrapes, I daresay, for you came to me first. But not as I do now.’

‘And when did we put away childish things?’

They were at one, somewhere in the past, looking for a
signpost
they had not noticed, or had ignored.

‘When Blanche was born,’ Laura said, seeming to speak at random, ‘Theodore had waited all day in his study. He did not come to see me, or her, though she was pretty even as a newly born baby. Afterwards, I discovered why. She was a daughter, another expense to him. He loves his sons only. He told me that he regarded my duty as done, and no doubt thought I should be relieved to hear it. As I was.’

‘A cold brute,’ said Titus reflectively. ‘This business of the letters puzzles me. He sought his pleasures secretively. I wonder why he troubled to marry if the gutters served him so much better?’

Laura laughed, genuinely amused.

‘He married because marriage is expected of a good citizen. Theodore cares very much what the world thinks of him. I was considered a catch on the marriage market. Eighteen years old with five hundred a year of my own, born of a prosperous
merchant
family in Bristol, and regarded as something of a beauty. He, too, was highly marketable.’

She was bitter, remembering.

‘I thought him very handsome. Grave and clever. Eminently capable of caring for me and protecting me. He kept a part of the bargain. He set me up in an elegant establishment within reach of London. He gave me financial security and a position that might occasion envy in most women. He gave me nothing else.’

‘The fire is low,’ said Titus. ‘Shall I ring for more coals?’

‘No. Let it die. It is almost ten o’clock. You must go soon.’ She continued, ‘Yes, it was after Blanche was born. I can guess what he must have said to Dr Padgett. “I am aware that I have a daughter, and that my wife and she are doing well. I do not
wish to see the child. If anyone should need me I am in my study.” My pride was hurt. I had not wanted him, but I did not like to think that he no longer wanted me at all.’

Titus smiled and she smiled back at him in pure friendship, as they shared her little flash of vanity.

‘Oh yes,’ she went on, though he had said nothing. ‘Vanity and pride are two vices we have in common, you and I. Then, gradually, I found I was free. Free from him, free from the
terror
of child-bearing. I began to look about me, to read poetry and novels again, to take an interest in world affairs. You helped me in this! I was only twenty-five and I could breathe a little.’

He lit another cigar, watching and listening. Older, harder, infinitely more attractive than the pretty boy to whom she had played mother in the early years of her marriage.

‘That was when I began to put away childish things,’ said Laura. ‘I read the poems of Robert Browning, of Elizabeth Barratt. I thought them somehow shameless and yet pure. I knew, though I was not supposed to know, something of your own wild life. Once I asked Theodore. He told me there were two kinds of love, the sacred and the profane. Then he
commanded
the subject to be closed, henceforth, as this latest
subject
must be closed. I knew the sacred to be a dead and wretched thing. I knew nothing of the profane. I knew also that, in some way, the Brownings had combined them.’

‘It was unwise,’ said Titus, kindly enough, ‘to turn from one brother to the other, in search of further knowledge.’

‘Do you think I did not comprehend that? I say more. I should never have turned to you on my own account. Yours was the first step. Was it not?’

‘A long and arduous one. I have never taken so much time over anyone else. My indisposition served me in the end. You were a loving nurse.’

She mused over the dying fire, indifferent now either to
teasing
or to cruelty.

‘No, it happened before then,’ she said. ‘These things happen in the mind, randomly, suddenly and take root. It was in the hall,’ she realized. ‘You had come very late, in some usual difficulty, and Theodore went down to let you in. Even though
he was so angry he still loved you, and he said – to cover up this dubious weakness – “Titus, you are a confounded nuisance!”’

‘And I said, “Then throw me out. I deserve nothing better!’”

‘I was standing at the top of the stairs and you looked up, seeking support. And I could not help laughing. And Theodore smiled at you, and at me, as he so rarely smiles. We were happy, for once, the three of us. You had snow on your cape‚’

‘You wore a white wrapper, edged with lace.’

‘Yes. That was when.’

Titus extinguished his cigar. Humbly he went over to her and raised her hands to his lips.

‘“Let’s contend no more, Love, strive nor weep,”’ he said into her palms. ‘“All be as before, Love – only sleep.”’

She did not answer, reclining in her chair, two long years away. So he touched her cold cheek lightly, bade her goodnight and let himself out.

THEODORE
exploited the furthest limits of his illness, and clutched upon post-influenzal depression with all the talent of a professional hypochondriac. His return to business was accompanied by martyrdom, and his homecomings by outbursts of bad temper. Even Titus’s good nature was strained to
capacity
, though his gift for ignoring life’s annoyances served him nobly.

February came in, cold, frosty, foggy, mirroring the present relationship between the Croziers. Together they agreed,
without
saying so, to let a little sunshine play upon them in the form of Titus, who was always ready to entertain.

Kate Kipping had succumbed to the influenza, and Annie Cox rose from her own flock mattress to help out Harriet. Nanny Nagle and Blanche had shared the illness: the one in great discontent, the other with patient acceptance. But Mrs Hill soldiered on, upholstered by her excellent catering; and, as Henry said of himself, the demon drink kept all other demons off. Harriet, red-cheeked and hearty, waited on at the dinner which should have brought an evening’s harmony to the household.

‘Where is Kate?’ Theodore demanded, over Harriet’s
willing
head.

‘She is still abed, Theodore.’

‘Stuff and nonsense. Coddling herself because you spoil her. Watch what you are doing, girl!’ As Harriet spilled the brown Windsor soup. ‘Take that back to the kitchen. I will not drink soup from a slopped plate.’

‘Come, brother,’ said Titus cheerfully. ‘You frighten her into
further feats of clumsiness – and the poor wench is clumsy enough already, God knows. Her hands are not so pretty as Kate’s, either!’

‘I beg of you, Theodore,’ Laura pleaded, though with an edge to the plea that brought Theodore’s head up, ‘do not so discompose Harriet that we have no dinner at all. Mrs Hill has gone to some pains, and the girl does her best.’

‘Which is not nearly good enough. She has been here some years. Harriet, how long have you been with us?’ As she returned, scarlet from a kitchen scolding as well as a dining room one.

‘Six, sir.’

‘And have you not learned to wait at table correctly in all that time? If you cannot manage without help fetch someone else from downstairs.’

‘Whom would you like?’ Laura asked, dangerously serene. ‘Mrs Hill or Annie Cox the kitchenmaid?’

‘Please, ma’am,’ murmured poor Harriet. ‘I don’t think as Annie would be suitable.’

‘Nor more do I. Carry this soup plate very carefully, if you please.’

Theodore drank from it in suppressed anger, glancing at his wife.

‘You are not taking anything, I see, Laura. Are you feeling unwell?’

‘I rarely feel well, but I have not caught the influenza, if that is what worries you, Theodore.’

‘I saw a most capital show at the Egyptian Hall the other week,’ said Titus. ‘It was The Moore and Burgess Minstrels, and the theatre is now illumined throughout by electric light. You would have laughed so much, Laura. There was a gloriously funny sketch, called The Phour Phunny Phellows. The F spelled as PH. Really capital!’

‘I do not care for such things,’ said Theodore. ‘Take this plate away, girl, and hurry. Is Kate not well enough to get up for an evening, Laura?’

‘She has scarcely been abed four days. You took a fortnight, if you remember. She will get up tomorrow, Theodore.’

The soup plates were slippery, and Harriet made the mistake
of setting the tureen on top of them, from which perch it slithered gracefully to the carpet.

‘I cannot have this. I really cannot. Fetch that other girl from the kitchen to help this one. And tell her to bring a damp cloth or there will be a mark in the carpet. It is a very good Indian carpet. I will not have it marked.’

‘Bring Annie, Harriet, but let her stay outside the door during the serving,’ whispered Laura.

Ducking her head to hide her tears, the housemaid retreated.

‘I was fortunate to hear something you would have liked very well,’ Titus interposed. ‘Sir Charles Hallé and his
Manchester
Band performed most agreeably in the St James’s Hall on 7 February. It was a final appearance before he departed for Australia on tour.’

Theodore did not answer, tapping his fingers on the table, watching for the maids.

‘They gave the Concerto for two violins, in D minor, Laura. The one you like so much, by Bach. And there was the Peer Gynt Suite. And the Eroica.’

‘How elegant!’ she cried, watching Theodore watch for trouble.

Annie Cox crept in, paralysed by the presence of the great and powerful, with a wet cloth in her red hands. Under Theodore’s outraged eyes she cleaned the soup from the carpet, bobbed a curtsey, and disappeared.

‘Is that the kitchenmaid, Laura?’

‘Certainly it is the kitchenmaid. We do not employ anyone else.’

He motioned Harriet to go out, and she, carrying a saddle of mutton, collided with Annie and put the joint in some peril. Together, they trembled in the hall, waiting for orders.

‘I dislike your tone, Mrs Crozier,’ said Theodore softly. ‘I dislike it exceedingly. I beg you to change it, madam, or you and I will disagree.’

She opened her mouth to answer him, was silenced by a rapid movement of Titus’s hand, and closed it.

‘Now, if you are in a correct frame of mind, madam, we will continue with dinner. Harriet!’

Had the tension been less, or humour stronger, the efforts of Harriet and Annie would have caused more amusement than the Phour Phunny Phellows. As it was, Laura ceased to eat at all, and Theodore’s progress was punctuated by exclamations of disgust. Alone among them, Titus struggled against a desire to laugh.

‘It is like a concerto for two violins that are out of tune!’ he ventured, as they went for the castle puddings.

Laura and Theodore stared past him, unhearing, into their two dark separate worlds. He shrugged, and wiped a drop of gravy from the cloth.

‘Mr Tree and the Haymarket Theatre Company are
appearing
at the Crystal Palace in
A
Man
’
s
Shadow
,
Laura. It has had enormous success. I must take you both to see it.’

‘That would be most delightful,’ she replied, colourless with anger.

‘Or Imre Kiralfy’s
Nero
is still on, and much praised. Let us arrange an evening.’

‘I thought we
had
arranged an evening, at my house,’ cried Theodore to his wife. ‘But apparently Mrs Crozier is unable to order her servants properly.’

‘I will not bear this!’ she answered, casting down her
napkin
. ‘You have spoiled what little appetite I had. I ask you to excuse me.’

‘Sit down, madam!’ Theodore shouted. ‘Sit down. I order you!’

For a moment she looked as though she would faint, then sat again. During the remainder of the meal, which she did not eat, she watched Harriet upset Theodore’s castle pudding on its side and spill the egg
custard, without comment. Titus made no more effort to stem the flood of his brother’s bad temper. The maids got through as best they could, and breathed relief as they set the decanter of port and the dish of walnuts.

‘May I go now?’ Laura asked, and walked trembling to her drawing-room.

‘I beg pardon, ma’am,’ Harriet whispered, managing the coffee cups without disaster. ‘I do beg pardon. I meant to do like Kate. I did indeed.’

‘It is of no consequence. We are all a little upset by the
illness
in the house. You may go now, Harriet. Please to
congratulate
Mrs Hill on the dinner.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.’

Titus and Theodore were not ten minutes over their port. He had thought of a fresh humiliation, and was anxious to put it into execution.

‘Mrs Crozier,’ he said, over his cup, ‘you are still in the guest-room.’

‘I thought it best until all the infection is cleared.’

‘You say you are not ill, and Padgett tells me one cannot catch the influenza twice. You must come back to your own bedroom as is right and proper.’

‘Very well,’ she replied slowly. ‘I will ask Kate to move my things tomorrow, if that is what you wish.’

‘I wish to have your things moved at once. Tonight.’

It was open war, and she stared about her for an answer or an ally.

‘Why, brother, you must curb your ardour,’ said Titus gaily and unwisely. ‘Your staff has shortcomings enough at the moment, without making a muddle of two bedrooms. Besides, they will be at their own supper – unless Harriet dropped that mutton on the stairs!’

Theodore rang the bell.

‘Harriet, fetch Mrs Crozier’s toilet articles and clothes from the guest-room and put them in the main bedroom.’

She had been eating, and wiped her mouth quickly on her sleeve.

‘Yes, sir. Anythink else, sir?’

‘Get that girl Annie to put more coals on the fire. I feel the cold!’

‘I do not think I can survive Annie’s attention with the coals,’ said Titus humorously.

‘Out!’ Theodore shouted, and Harriet ran. ‘I will not be plagued by your wit, sir,’ he cried to Titus. ‘It is ill enough that I must be plagued by my wife’s bad management and her undutiful attitude towards me.’

‘You must forgive me,’ said Titus, as pale as Laura, ‘but
your own attitude leaves so much to be desired. I find it
monstrous
to witness you humiliating Laura in front of me. You have never been a warm man, brother, and you have often been a stern one, but never so discourteous.’

‘Do not quarrel, pray, upon my account!’ Her distress was evident. ‘If you should quarrel with Titus, where could I find a friend?’ she asked her husband. ‘He is the only friend you allow me. If anyone seems in my favour you find an
excuse
to dismiss them. It has always been so. I am surrounded by acquaintances whom I dare not know. What life is worth such a price?’

Relieved to be spared the necessity of annihilating Titus, Theodore turned upon the property he did not care for and could annihilate at leisure.

‘You are not fit to choose your own friends,’ he cried. ‘Your notions of propriety are hazardous in the extreme. Who knows what rag, tag and bobtail you would introduce into my house if I let you? I will not be flouted.’

‘I wish that I were dead,’ she wept. ‘I wish I could die.’

‘My heart is racing,’ he murmured to himself. ‘I must not let her distress me. Laura! I had better lie down. Go upstairs and see that those maids are out of our room. I coughed all morning, because of the fog. I may have bronchitis. I do not feel at all well. Perhaps Padgett is wrong and one can catch the influenza twice. Laura, control yourself, and attend to me if you please. In sickness and in health, you said, until death us do part …’

*

‘And what was all that about?’ Mrs Hill demanded, rather greasy with the mutton.

‘Ooh, such goings-on as you never did see,’ said Harriet, sitting down to her food which had been kept warm on the range. ‘They’ve had a row to end all rows, and the master’s in bed, with the mistress running up and down after him, and Mr Titus a-smoking his cigar and staring in the fire. I never heard the like, did you, Annie?’

All eyes and bones, the kitchenmaid nodded and then shook her head.

‘I’d best send some more coffee in, when they’ve settled down,’ said Mrs Hill comfortably. ‘How’s Kate, Harriet?’

‘She would get up, when she heard I was a-moving Mrs Crozier’s things. What between her fussing over every fold, and the master shouting, and the mistress crying, I didn’t know where to turn. Kate says as she’ll take the mistress’s tea tomorrow.’

‘They’ll
be well away, then!’ observed Nanny Nagle,
nodding
in the direction of the drawing-room. ‘Left to theirselves.’

‘You wouldn’t say that, Miss Nagle, if you could see the upset. They don’t sit still above a quarter of an hour. Mr Titus has been up twice already, and the mistress goes every so often, a-soothing of the master down.’

‘I’ll send some more coffee in,’ said the cook. ‘Eat up, Harriet, and then you can take it. It’ll be a long time afore they let
you
wait on them again, my girl. I can prophesy that without a card on the table!’