Kitabı oku: «Master of His Fate», sayfa 3
FIVE
Matthew stared at his father, alarm rushing through him. Why was he here? Had Maude become worse?
As if reading his son’s mind, Philip said, ‘I just dropped in to see how Maude is doing, Matt. Although when she got home, your mother told me it was definitely only a chill.’
‘And what do you think, Dad?’
‘I haven’t seen her yet—’
James interjected, ‘I was just upstairs, Father, and she’s sleeping.’
Relaxing, Matthew walked into the kitchen and opened his arms as his two younger children rushed towards him across the floor. He kissed them both, and then straightened. Turning to James, he asked, ‘Has your mother taken the raspberry vinegar?’
‘Yes, I sat there while she sipped it and fell asleep. It must have knock-out drops in it, or something like that.’
He’s far too bright for his own good, Philip thought, but said, ‘Don’t be silly, James. It’s the cherry juice your grandmother puts in it that makes a person sleepy and soothes a sore throat.’
Matthew walked towards the door, turned to look back at his father. ‘Will you have supper with us?’
‘I’ll stay a bit longer, go up and see Maude after you, but I can’t linger. I told your mother I would have dinner with her tonight. We don’t often get a chance to do that.’
Matthew nodded, hurried out, flew up the stairs two at a time, and then paused on the landing, took a deep breath and calmed himself before pushing open the bedroom door. He went in as quietly as possible, then realized Maude was awake.
‘Matt,’ she whispered hoarsely when he sat down next to the bed, and reached out her hand to him.
He took hold of it, leaned closer, his eyes searching her face. She was extremely pale and her forehead was damp. When he tried to kiss her, she moved her head. ‘I don’t want you to catch cold.’
Smiling at her, he ignored her words and kissed her cheek anyway.
‘It seems very hot in here, Maude.’
‘I am a bit warm.’ she answered.
He jumped up and went to the window. Although it was six thirty, it was still light outside. He opened the top and bottom of the sash window, shaking his head as he did so. Like every Victorian, he suffered from paranoia about his home not having sufficient oxygen. ‘I don’t understand why this is closed,’ he muttered. ‘We’re all fully aware we must have oxygen circulating through every room. The whole country knows it.’
He walked back to the bed, continuing, ‘We mustn’t let carbonic acid build up because we don’t have proper ventilation.’
Sitting down, he took her hand again and stared at Maude. ‘Breathe in, love, you need fresh air. It’ll help you get better.’
‘It was becoming stifling in here, but I just didn’t have the strength to get out of bed to open the window,’ she murmured.
‘What else can I do to make you more comfortable? Are you thirsty? Do you want a glass of water? Or perhaps some chicken soup? Are you hungry?’
‘I have no appetite at all. I think I’d just like to rest here, maybe doze off again. Sleep is the best thing for me right now.’
‘Dad’s downstairs, Maude. He came to see you.’
‘Oh, that’s nice of him. Tell him to come up.’
‘I will. And I’ll get supper going, although I think Rossi has started doing that already.’
A faint smile touched Maude’s face. ‘No doubt.’
A moment later, Philip Falconer was seated in the bedside chair. His love for Maude was reflected in his eyes; he could only hope and pray that his two other sons, Harry and George, would be lucky enough to marry women like her. ‘I felt I had to come by to see you for myself, Maude. Naturally, I trust Dr Robertson’s diagnosis and Esther’s opinion. On the other hand, I do worry about the entire family. And I just can’t help being concerned about you, after that terrible bout of bronchitis you had last year.’
‘I know that, Dad,’ she answered, using the name she had called him since her marriage to Matthew. ‘This time it is just a bad chill. I’ll be better in a few days.’
‘Do you promise?’
‘I do.’ She smiled at him, her face ringed with affection.
‘Then I shall walk home with a lighter heart. And I know you’re in good hands with Matthew and the children to take care of you.’
When he went downstairs, his grandchildren begged him to stay for supper with them. He told them he couldn’t, explaining that their grandmother was waiting for him.
‘Why didn’t Maw come with you?’ Eddie asked. He had never been able to say grandmother. Only Maw came out of his mouth as a small child, and that she had been ever since.
‘Maw is busy working on that rag rug she’s making for you,’ Philip said. Kissing the three of them and walking over to his son, he took Matthew’s arm, and led him into the hall.
‘Maude will be all right, Matt, just make sure she gets plenty of liquids, and don’t let her leave that bed for a few days. Oh, and keep the room cool, as you have it now.’
‘I will,’ Matthew replied, and gave his father a questioning look. ‘Is there something special in that raspberry vinegar Mum takes?’
Philip couldn’t help laughing. ‘No. Just cherry juice, as I told James.’ He eyed his son, amusement still flickering on his face. ‘Fancy you asking me that at the age of thirty-seven. Has anybody in this family ever died after drinking it?’
Matthew joined in his laughter. ‘Oh, Dad, you are a card. There’s nobody like you.’
Philip drew his son closer and gave him a bear hug. ‘Have a good night, son,’ he murmured and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
It was a nice evening and Philip decided to walk back to Regent’s Park.
His thoughts lingered on Maude. His lovely daughter-in-law was more frail than she looked, and had a tendency to catch cold easily. Bronchitis had felled her last winter, and in consequence they fussed over her – perhaps too much. Also, a sick member of a family was a drain on everyone. Fortunately, he and Esther could afford to pay for a doctor, but most of the Falconers’ street couldn’t, which was why staying healthy was so important. They all tried to protect themselves from germs as best they could.
He was reassured by the doctor’s opinion. He did not want his son a widower or his grandchildren motherless. It was all too common and with heartbreaking results.
He knew how lucky he was in so many different ways. He had been blessed with kind, loving, good-hearted parents, who had set him on the best course when they encouraged him to go into service.
His father, Edward Falconer, had owned a small grocery shop in Rochester, Kent. His parents, his brother Tom, and he had lived in a flat above it. Being rather crowded never ever bothered them, since they were a loving family and enjoyed each other’s company.
It was his mother, Olive, who had recognized he would make a good butler if he had the correct training. She knew he was efficient, well organized, had good manners, charm and a special way with people.
It was she who had suggested he visit Fountains Manor nearby to seek employment. He had done so, and had been taken on immediately by the Honourable Arthur Montague, who was struck by his politeness, pleasant voice and good looks. He had risen through the ranks with ease and rapidity, learning about wine, food and clothing in order to improve himself.
Philip had always thought that his eldest, Matthew, took after his own father in wanting to be a salesman, and had rented stalls. Now James was following in their footsteps. But his dream was not of a little shop in a country town or stalls in a market, but a grand emporium like Fortnum and Mason – catering to the rich.
Hearing James’s plan today had given Philip genuine pleasure, and Esther as well. There was no doubt in their minds that their grandson had a prodigious intelligence; he was clever, smart, had enormous ambition and drive. These two particular characteristics were essential to success. Anyone aiming high who did not own them was doomed to failure. Whether he could achieve such a lofty dream was another matter, though.
As Philip walked along, striding out at a brisk pace, he decided he would select some of his books on the red wines of Provence for James to read. That was how he would begin to teach his grandson – lead him into the wonderful world of vintage wines.
After a while Philip had to slow his pace. There were too many people on the streets tonight. Men and women hurrying home after a long workday; couples were strolling along in a more leisurely fashion, obviously out for an evening of entertainment at a restaurant or the music hall.
Philip loved London, thought of it as the capital of the world. They had a Queen-Empress in Victoria, the aging widow, and Britain was the richest and greatest nation on the planet. Yet he hated the fact that this age of Victoria, momentous in so many ways, was also a hungry and deprived age. Millions of its citizens went to bed with empty bellies.
Gladstone, Disraeli and Salisbury – politicians all – raged and argued in Parliament about the terrible conditions, but did nothing positive to change the game as far as he could see. Certainly there was nothing much he could do either, except to help a friend in need from time to time. And this he did whenever he was asked. His conscience ruled his head and his heart. And at night he prayed for better days ahead for the common people of England.
That night James found it hard to go to sleep. He felt calmer about his mother and knew the doctor had been correct. She had caught cold, and it was nothing worse. What kept him awake was the sudden worry about his father – how would he react when James told him about his dream? Now he had confided in his grandparents, he thought he would have to explain to Matthew that he did not want to work on the stalls at the Malvern forever. He had ambitions of his own … of being a merchant prince. Even his grandmother had brought that matter up to him as they had been driving over to Camden Town in the hansom cab. He didn’t want to upset his father, but he knew within himself that he would have to follow his dream. It was like a burning flame inside him.
Knowing his father the way he did, understanding that he was a fair man, one who saw everyone’s point of view, James was sure he would not object to his leaving the stalls.
Not yet, of course. He would have to be seventeen or eighteen before he could think of moving on. Could his father manage without him? Would he use Eddie? He would need help. Perhaps he could hire somebody.
He tossed and turned in his bed, his mind whirling with dire thoughts. How would he approach Mr Henry Malvern? The owner of the Malvern Market was a pleasant man; he usually came over to speak to his father, and always had a word for him. But James was smart enough to know that this didn’t mean a thing. Mr Malvern was pleased at how well his father ran their stalls, had made a success of them, but that didn’t mean Mr Malvern would give him a job at the Piccadilly office just like that. Why would he? Why should he?
And there was another thing. He was a working-class boy. Might Mr Malvern think he was stepping out of his place? Maybe. Maybe not.
An education was what he needed. James had been to school. He could read and write very well; he knew his geography and English history. And he was a dab hand when it came to arithmetic. The teachers had told his parents he was gifted and an excellent pupil.
Yet he still needed to know more. Knowledge was power; his grandmother always said that. It came to him in a flash. He would speak to his grandfather, who was going to teach him all about the noble grape and the great wines of France. That’s how Grandpapa had put it. And lend him books about wine. He knew his grandfather would be pleased to lend him books about many other things as well. There was a big library at the Nash house in Regent’s Park.
Lady Agatha would surely agree to lend him a book or two. Or three. He would take care of them, handle them with respect.
He let out a long sigh. Books. That was his answer for gaining more knowledge. He had to work hard in the next few years, bettering himself in every possible way he could. When he eventually went to see Mr Malvern, he had to be absolutely acceptable in every way.
That was the new goal of James Lionel Falconer. Having found the answer to his problem, he relaxed and soon fell asleep. He would awaken the next morning with new determination to be the best. And, later in the week, he would take a deep breath and tell his father that he had to follow his dream.
PART TWO
SIX
Alexis Malvern stood in front of the cheval mirror positioned near the window in her bedroom. She studied herself for a moment, turning to one side and then the other, and decided she would pass muster.
At twenty-five, she knew her own mind, and some time ago she had given up wearing crinolines, except for very special evening occasions. She felt they were too cumbersome for her and the life she led. Instead she favoured the crinolette hoop, made of steel and cotton, a framework worn under the back of the skirt only. This meant that the skirt of a gown was slim at the front and the sides, with a big bustle at the back, supported by the hoop tied around the waist.
This afternoon her gown was made of a rich cream silk. It had a high neck, long slender sleeves and a tight bodice that accentuated her slender waist. From the waist down, the front of the skirt was flat, with pleats at each side, which, in turn, became the bustle.
Her clothes were designed by Madame Valance, a Frenchwoman, who was everyone’s favourite at the moment. Her clothes were elegant and stylish and not as flamboyant and flashy as some of the other fashion designers in London.
Walking over to the bed, Alexis picked up the hat which had been made to match the gown. It was a cream silk bowler, but more of an oval shape than round like the kind men wore. Trimming the rim of the hat were lengths of knotted tulle tied in a bow at the back.
Placing it on top of her auburn curls, Alexis tilted it to one side, set it at a jaunty angle, and stuck a hatpin in for safety. Now she was ready to leave at last.
Picking up her reticule, she walked to the door. She paused for a moment in the corridor, knowing she ought to go to her father’s study to say goodbye.
But she was reluctant to do so. There had been a breach in their relationship that troubled them both, and it had now gone on far too long. Perhaps this afternoon was the right time to heal that breach, and get them back to their normal relationship. But how would she begin? She stood there, thinking, knowing it was the proper thing to do, if only she could find the right words.
Although she did not know it, her father was having similar thoughts as he sat at the desk in his study. He wondered if he should go up to her room to speak to her and attempt reconciliation. Not that they had really quarrelled, and they were polite and civil with each other on a daily basis. Yet there was a coolness on her part, and he was hurting from it.
Henry sighed under his breath, rose and walked across the room, looking out at the garden, ruminating about the problem. It was Saturday 30 July 1887, and a glorious day, filled with sunshine. Yes, he wanted her back very badly, loathed her emotional withdrawal from him.
Henry Ashton Malvern was not exactly a self-made man. Rather he had taken his father’s small and rather badly run property business and turned it into a flourishing enterprise. And a big moneymaker. He had become an extremely wealthy man.
His older brother, Joshua, was his full partner in Malvern and Malvern, but did not have any ambition, no dreams of glory like Henry always had. It was Henry who had been the driving force behind the business, just as his daughter was now. She was so like him in many ways.
She was Henry’s only child, the third member of the Malvern team, and had worked by her father’s side from the age of sixteen, having refused to go to finishing school in Switzerland.
Her mother had died when Alexis was eight years old, and it was Henry who had raised her. She would often tease him and say that he had brought her up to be a boy. She was intelligent, hardworking and smart.
Alexis was his sole heir, and one day the business would be hers. She knew every aspect of it, and now, at twenty-five, she could take control of it if needs be. He had never known anyone more talented at business than his daughter; he had great respect and admiration for her.
Quite aside from this, Alexis was a rather beautiful young woman, with her auburn hair, deep green eyes and English-rose complexion. Because of her looks and her charming manner, she had had many suitors over the last few years. None of them appealed to her; also, she was wary of marriage, knowing that a husband would be the head of the family and would perhaps take control of her inheritance and the business. Frightening prospects to her.
And so, a few months ago, she had told her father that she would never get married, and had given him the reasons why. The prospect of not having a son-in-law or grandchildren appalled Henry. He also worried about the future of Malvern and Malvern after he was dead and Alexis grew older. Who would be her heirs?
A long and difficult discussion had ensued, and had brought about this breach in their loving relationship, a situation both of them genuinely hated. Nothing like this had ever happened; they felt isolated from each other.
There was a light knock at the door and, as Henry swung away from the window, Alexis walked into his study. He couldn’t speak for a moment. This afternoon she was breathtakingly lovely. The cream silk gown was a wonderful foil for her natural colouring, which appeared more vivid than ever and was most arresting.
‘Do you have a moment, Papa?’ Alexis asked, closing the door behind her, walking towards him.
‘Of course I do,’ he answered. ‘I was about to come and find you, before you left for your ladies’ tea. I hope you told Bolland to have the carriage ready for you.’
‘I did, Papa. Not that I’m going very far, only to Delia Talston’s house in Belgravia, but I can’t very well walk through the streets in a cream-coloured dress. It’ll soon be dirty.’
‘And, I might add, looking the way you do … very comely, indeed, my dear.’
A faint smile crossed her face, and she sat down on the edge of a chair. After a moment, she said, ‘I’ve been wondering how to start this conversation, Papa, and decided just to … well, blurt it out. So, I want you to know that, first of all, I’m sorry for my coolness and that there’s been a distance between us. Truly, truly sorry, and I apologize for hurting you. I would like us both to forget about our … disagreement, shall we call it? Let us put it behind us, be close again, as we’ve been all of my life.’
‘I want that more than anything in the world, Alexis. Thank you for taking the lead. I was wondering myself how to broach the matter to you a few minutes ago. You see, I’ve come to understand that you must live your life the way you wish. After all, it is your life, not mine. You must be happy and fulfilled, and if the business is enough for you, then so be it. It is your choice.’
‘Thank you, Papa. It’s not that I have anything against men, you know. I rather like them, enjoy their company. But I can’t become someone’s possession or have another person rule me. I need my freedom and I need to work in a business I love. I’m not cut out to be a housewife.’
Henry chuckled and held out his hands, pulled her to her feet. Automatically, she went into her father’s arms. He held her close for a moment, relief suffusing him, and he kissed her cheek, then released her.
Walking across to his desk, he said, over his shoulder, ‘I know you and Delia wish to launch that charity you dreamed up together last year, and that’s what this tea is all about today? I’m right, aren’t I?
‘Yes, you are,’ Alexis answered, staring after him, wondering what he was getting at.
He looked across at her and showed her an envelope. ‘There is a cheque in here which I wrote two weeks ago. I want to be the first to make a donation to your charity and wish you great success.’
Crossing the room, Alexis, accepted the envelope. She looked at the cheque. ‘Papa! How generous of you. Thank you, thank you so much.’
Delia Talston greeted Alexis in the peach-coloured drawing room of her townhouse, a smile of approval on her face. ‘You look quite divine today, Alexis. No wonder men fall all over you. I would too, if I were a man.’
Alexis laughed. ‘I should wear cream all the time, since it seems to engender compliments. I see I’m the first, so let me give you this before the others arrive.’ Opening her reticule, she handed the envelope to Delia. ‘Look inside. It’s a cheque from Papa.’
Delia raised a brow as she took the envelope from her. ‘Have you two finally reconciled? Oh, I do hope so.’
‘Everything is back to normal. I apologized to Papa just before I left, and he handed me the cheque. You’ll see he made it out two weeks ago.’
‘And he’s been so generous! How wonderful of him. Richard gave me a cheque this morning for five hundred pounds, and my father did the same last week. We now have a good sum for our kitty, because of other small donations I’ve received. Please thank your father, and I shall write him a note.’
‘I think we’re off to a good start.’ Alexis sat down on the edge of a chair, and glanced around. ‘I’ve always loved this room since you painted it peach a few years ago. It has worn well, I must say.’
‘Become too worn, I think. I was wondering the other day if I should create a new look.’
‘Oh no, don’t do that. The peach has grown mellow and warm; on a day like this, the room is so welcoming with the sunshine streaming in on us,’ Alexis observed.
‘The Persian’s somewhat tired,’ Delia murmured, glancing down at the large burgundy rug patterned in cream and moss green.
‘Leave everything alone!’ Alexis exclaimed. ‘Anyway, you won’t have time. You and I both are going to be rather busy—’
Alexis broke off as Parker, the butler, opened the door, announcing, ‘Mrs Clive, madame.’
Delia stood up and went to greet Vera Clive, an old friend, who shared her feelings about the plight of poor women in London.
After kissing each other’s cheeks, Delia escorted Vera into the room.
Alexis stood up, thrust out her hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Clive.’
‘And you too, Miss Malvern.’
At this moment, Parker returned once more, leading another young woman to the drawing room. He announced, ‘Miss Trevalian has arrived, madame.’
Once introductions had been made, the four elegant women sat down in chairs grouped near the French doors. These stood open, showing a view of the summer garden and allowing fresh air to circulate in the room.
Delia looked at her friends. ‘Welcome. I’m so happy you are here. And before we start speaking about the project, I did want to inform you that Miss Malvern’s father has made a very generous donation, my husband and father have also donated, and I’ve garnered another significant amount made up of smaller donations from members of my family. So not a bad start, wouldn’t you say?’
Vera Clive nodded. ‘My husband has given me a cheque for five hundred, I’m happy to tell you. And it is a very good start indeed.’
‘Thank you, Vera, and please thank Rupert on our behalf,’ Delia said.
Claudia Trevalian spoke up. ‘And I am giving the same amount, Delia.’ She opened her reticule, took out an envelope and passed it to Delia.
‘Thank you. How generous you’ve both been.’ Delia placed the envelopes on an occasional table next to her chair. Her eyes swept over her friends, and she began. ‘Last year Alexis told me a story that so appalled and disturbed me, I immediately agreed with her when she said she wanted to do something to help abused women. Mostly living in the East End. To start a charity, in fact.’
Glancing at Alexis, who sat opposite her, she continued. ‘Will you tell Vera and Claudia the story please, Alexis?’
‘Of course,’ Alexis said. ‘As you are no doubt aware, my father owns the Malvern Market in Camden. Last year, he went on one of his regular visits to the market to meet with stallholders, and one of them – Jack Holden – approached him. He wanted to know if my father knew of any safe shelters for women in distress.’
Alexis paused for a moment, shifting on the edge of the chair. ‘My father did not, and he asked Jack Holden why he needed this information. Seemingly, a neighbour of the Holdens had come to their home late one night seeking help. She had been so badly beaten that they knew they had to get her to the nearest hospital at once. Which they did. The poor woman had been attacked violently by her husband, and for such a long time that she had massive internal bleeding. Sadly, she died in the hospital later that week. Mr Holden’s startling comment to my father that abusive husbands were ‘two a penny’, and that they exist all over different areas of London, shocked Papa. He recounted all this to me, and so I went to see Mr Holden to gather more facts. I decided there and then I was going to find a house and turn it into a refuge for these distressed and helpless women.’
‘That is very commendable of you,’ Vera Clive remarked. ‘You can count on me to help you.’
‘And I would also like to volunteer,’ Claudia said. ‘Can we perhaps look for the right place together?’
‘I found the house six months ago,’ Alexis explained. ‘And I bought it. The interiors needed a great deal of work, and I had to add baths. And also water closets. I can only say thank goodness for Thomas Crapper and his products. I bought his WCs, which work well.’
‘That must have been a very expensive operation,’ Vera said, a frown furrowing her brow. ‘Perhaps we should give you some of the money we’ve donated to help with these costs.’
‘No, no, I don’t need it, but thank you for the offer. You see, Malvern and Malvern, our family company, does a lot of building in the course of the year. And I was able to negotiate some excellent deals with the building firms we constantly use. I have a legacy from my late mother and I paid for the refurbishing of the house with some of that. I think she would have approved.’
‘The good news is that Alexis now has the house ready,’ Delia interjected. ‘And we have found a good woman who will be in charge of it. She is helping us to put together a staff of five women, three of whom will live there with her. She’s called Madeleine Thompson; she will be the manager of the house.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly done an awful lot already. When can we see the house? And what can we do to help?’ Claudia asked.
‘I can take you to see the house any day next week,’ Alexis said. ‘It’s in Whitechapel near Commercial Street. Just round the corner, before you come to Whitechapel High Street. There is plenty of room there. It’s simply furnished, and this just occurred to me – if you’re thinking of throwing any pieces away, consider the house first.’
‘Oh, goodness me! I have several comfortable chairs and a sofa I want to get rid of,’ Vera said. ‘I’ll arrange for them to be taken over whenever it’s convenient for you.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Alexis said. ‘You see, Delia and I don’t want the funds we’ve raised to be used for purchasing furniture and the like. Rather we need the money to pay for food, medicines, and Mrs Thompson’s wages, of course.’
‘What about the other women who will work there?’ Claudia asked. ‘Will they be paid also?’
‘The three who will live in are former battered women and in need of a roof over their heads – a safe place to live. Since they have that, we will be paying them only a small amount of money, but they will get all of their meals,’ Alexis told them. ‘They too want to help women who have suffered.’
Delia said, ‘There’s another thing you can do, Vera, and you too, Claudia. Discarded clothing would be most useful, especially coats, cloaks, shawls, skirts, and blouses. Nothing too fancy. And even undergarments. When the women come to the house, they will literally have nothing at all with them except the clothes they’re wearing.’
At this moment, Parker arrived in the doorway and looked across at Delia, a questioning expression on his face. She merely nodded her head, and he hurried away.
‘Parker is about to bring us tea and biscuits,’ she said, smiling at her guests. ‘If you have any more questions, we will answer them. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re willing to join with us. And I know Alexis is as well. All suggestions are welcome.’
Claudia, looking thoughtful for a moment or two, finally asked, ‘The two other women who agreed to help … are they volunteers?’
‘Yes, they are,’ Delia replied. ‘The three who will be living in will cook and clean, and do everything they can to help the battered women.’
‘What happens if they fall ill?’ Vera looked from Delia to Alexis. ‘Will you pay for a doctor?’
‘Yes, we will. And, if necessary, we will send them to hospital. After all, we are a safe house offering temporary protection, and helping the women to get on their feet. We can’t look after the sick. If possible, we want them to move on and start a new life.’
Parker and two young maids entered the drawing room, placed several trays on a table nearby. Parker poured the tea and the maids served the ladies, and the butler followed with a plate of biscuits.
Once they were alone again, Vera asked, ‘What about bed linen and towels? I can have my housekeeper go through our linen closet. I’m sure we can spare quite a lot of items.’
