Spare Brides (37 page)

It was clear that Sarah understood the deeper level of his comment when she replied, ‘I lived with years of gnawing anxiety when he was at the Front. There was so much time to fill. Endless. I tried to punctuate my days, make sense of them.’

‘Keep to a routine.’

‘Yes, that’s what we were advised, wasn’t it?’ That sort of advice came from the Home Office, although not Lawrence’s department; he hoped it had helped. ‘In the mornings I’d visit the children in the nursery room. Then I’d sew or darn. In the afternoons, I’d garden.’

‘Very useful.’

‘Well, I was able to grow vegetables. Then the afternoon would creep into the evening, another day gone, no telegram. That was all that mattered. Get by without the postboy stopping at your gate. Thank God when he stopped at your neighbour’s. Ask God to forgive you for that thought. I would have been better becoming a VAD or something, exhausting myself physically so that there was no room for mental examination. It might have been some relief to be too busy to long for the next letter to arrive, to dread the next telegram.’

‘But you had the children.’

‘Yes, indeed, it would have been impossible for me.’ Sarah sighed wearily. ‘It is just one of my many fantasies about the war. One of the lesser ones.’

‘You must miss him very much.’

Sarah pulled her face into something that was supposed to approximate a cheery or at least a brave smile; in fact she looked savage. Lawrence regretted the platitude. He had meant it sincerely, but it had fallen short of its mark.

‘One recovers from the shock, eventually, just as I don’t doubt one gradually gets used to the fact one can’t walk and is dependent on a chair, but one never gets over the loss and one will never be the same.’ She paused. ‘I wouldn’t wish it on another soul.’ Her attitude was in stark contrast to Lydia’s. Neither woman really accepted things as they were, but Sarah endured, whereas Lydia railed. There was something about Sarah’s sad but quiet dignity that made her appear absolutely stupendous. ‘Every man who came home was a miracle.’ She looked directly at Lawrence and held his gaze. ‘Every man who stayed home was a blessing.’

Emotion welled up in his throat, choking him; it blocked his airways and stung his eyes. He coughed. She turned away from him and looked out at the garden. Lawrence leaned towards her and placed his hand on hers in absolute gratitude. She continued to look out on to the green lushness and didn’t acknowledge his contact.

‘I’m waffling, sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. I only wanted to say that here is one of the only places where anxiety slips from me. I appreciate the invitation. I like being here, and so do the children.’

Lawrence nodded, knowing that the moment of understanding, which he’d relished, must dissolve. He withdrew his hand and settled back in his chair. ‘Look, here they are now.’

‘Talk of the devil and he shall appear.’ Sarah laughed. Lawrence knew she was joking: her entire demeanour lit up when the children were in her sight. In fact she twinkled so brightly that it caused Lawrence to understand that the rest of the time she wasn’t very happy at all.

Both adults watched as the children made laborious progress up the bankside and stumbled towards the open patio doors. They’d been spotted. Molly waved enthusiastically; John was lugging a steel pail that evidently was full of water and who knows what else, so he did not expend any unnecessary energy by throwing a greeting their way.

‘Hello, you two. Had a good day?’

‘Excellent, thank you,’ replied John. Molly ran to her mother and tried to climb on her lap.

‘Oh, sweet one, you are filthy. You’ll get me dirty too.’ But Sarah’s objections were half-hearted; she couldn’t resist the weight of her younger child on her knee.

Lawrence turned to the boy. ‘Caught anything?’

‘Two frogs.’

‘Good show.’

‘May I have a biscuit?’

‘You should wait until you are offered,’ said Sarah quietly but firmly. She was a stickler for manners; she didn’t want it said that she’d brought up the sort of children who were spoilt or unruly. It was bad enough that they did not have a father; much harder if everyone expected the worst of them because of the fact.

‘Oh.’ John hung his head, embarrassment and disappointment blistering out from his demeanour.

Lawrence allowed a heartbeat and then said, ‘Would you children like a biscuit?’ Smiling, they reached out; their day’s adventure was smeared on their hands.

‘You ought to go and run your hands under a tap,’ said Sarah; it was now her turn to look embarrassed and disappointed.

‘Oh, a bit of mud never hurt anyone,’ offered Lawrence. He glanced at Sarah to check that he hadn’t offended her by contradicting her in front of the children. He didn’t want to undermine her, just put her at her ease. He was pleased to see that she looked relieved and not in the slightest irritated.

‘It’s lovely here,’ murmured Molly, as she rested her head back on her mother’s chest.

‘Isn’t it? However, we’ll have to leave tomorrow.’

‘Really? So soon?’ Lawrence found the idea of Sarah’s departure disquieting.

‘No!’ the children chorused; they clearly found it upsetting too.

‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.’

‘Thank you, you are very generous, but I got a telegram from Bea today. I think Cecily would like me to return. You know, to help with Sammy.’

‘I see. Absolutely. Selfish of me to delay you.’

‘I don’t want to go home, Mummy,’ groaned Molly. ‘Not yet.’

‘But the stable master said he’d take us riding tomorrow,’ said John. ‘We never go riding at home. There’s no one to take us.’ Lawrence knew that the staff at Seaton Manor were overburdened with the care of Samuel and there was no time for anyone to indulge children with horse-riding lessons in the holidays.

‘And we’d planned to go fruit-picking,’ mumbled Molly. She put three fingers in her mouth, a habit Lawrence had noticed she employed to stop her crying.

‘Uncle Earl Lawrence said he’d teach me to shoot,’ added John, with ill-disguised petulance. He kicked the gravel hopelessly; small stones splattered about and pinged against the pail. Lawrence looked sheepish. It was true, he had offered to take the boy to the target range; there had been talk of clay pigeon shooting by the end of the summer, perhaps even grouse in August. Lawrence had been making plans. He hadn’t thought about when the children would have to leave; it was careless of him. Truthfully, he’d been as excited by the idea of the shoot as the boy was, but now he felt dreadful; he hadn’t wanted to put Sarah in a tricky position. She looked hot and flustered.

‘That’s not how you ought to address the Earl of Clarendale, John.’

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter one bit. I think it’s rather a fun name,’ said Lawrence.

‘I’m not going home.’

‘You certainly are, young man.’

‘But I like it here.’

‘May I make a suggestion?’ Lawrence could see that both Sarah and the children were becoming increasingly irate, and locking horns never did anyone any good. ‘Perhaps you could go home and help Cecily but the children could stay on here. If you don’t mind and don’t think they’ll be too homesick.’

Before the words were completely out of his mouth, John and Molly started to plead and yell.

‘Can we, Mummy?’

‘What a super idea. I won’t be homesick, not one bit. I promise. Can we stay?’

Sarah laughed. ‘Oh, I see. I’m totally dispensable, am I?’ Lawrence could tell she was torn. She didn’t like to be separated from the children and she wouldn’t want to exploit his hospitality, but on the other hand, she couldn’t fail to see how excited and delighted they were at the prospect. He waded in.

‘Well, I know I’d love that, and Mother would too. She’s adored having the children about. You could come back again at the weekends, if you want and if Cecily and Bea think they can manage.’

‘Well, I—’

‘Please say yes, Mummy. Everyone wants you to.’

Sarah gave in with a graceful smile. She wasn’t one for disappointing people. ‘Well, if
everyone
wants me to, how can I do anything other?’

‘Good, that’s settled,’ said Lawrence firmly. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment. The heat from the sun rested on his lids in a pleasant, almost soothing way. It was the first decision he’d felt totally content with in several days. Sarah had such a charming smile. It was a joy to see her use it.

‘T
HERE YOU ARE,
darling. I’ve been quite mad with worry. No one at all knew where you’d disappeared to.’ Ava kissed Lydia on both cheeks, but despite her words she did not look agitated or overly concerned.

‘What happened to your face?’ Lydia gasped, shocked. Ava had become used to her beaten appearance and forgot that it was startling. Shocking. Initially she’d been macabrely drawn to every looking glass in the house; she couldn’t stop examining the violence, couldn’t stop thinking about it. But she was pretty sure that the cut on her lip was healing reasonably well, and she was able to open her mouth again properly. For a day or so eating had been difficult; her jaw ached, and if she chewed vigorously, she opened the cut where her top lip met her bottom one. Her temple was still tender, and she suspected that injury might leave a scar; she’d had another headache this morning. She’d watched as the bruises lost their angry red hue and rushed through a kaleidoscope of colours; at first they had darkened to a bluish purple which, despite the fact that Ava was far from the romantic sort and rarely subject to silly notions, she could not help but compare to the colour of forget-me-nots. Then they’d turned a sludgy green, the colour of the English Channel in the autumn, and now they were saffron, suggesting that the bruising was almost healed. Another day or so and she would be able to go out and about again without any comment at all.

‘Oh, nothing.’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘A horse. I got thrown from a horse. A huge ignorant brute. One moment he was placidly plodding along and the next this terrible flash of temper.’

‘How awful.’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you sell him? You’re cut rather badly.’

‘I’m certainly trading him in, but I’ll mend. More importantly, and stop ducking, where have you been?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Lawrence has sent two telegrams and Sarah called here looking for you. Everyone seems to be under the impression that you’re staying with me.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I fudged it, darling. I said you were at Bond Street. I’ve been praying ever since we wouldn’t find you in the bins at the back of the Ritz, cut up into tiny pieces. I had terrible visions of having to explain myself to Scotland Yard. You have put me in the most awkward position.’

‘Thank you.’

‘So, I take it you have been with the sergeant major.’

Lydia gasped. ‘How did you know? Did Sarah tell you?’

‘Does Sarah know? How interesting. No, Beatrice told me.’

‘Beatrice knows?’

‘Yes, and you ought to know she’s furious about the whole thing. She wanted to blow the whistle on the fact that you are not staying with me.’

‘But how does she know I’m not?’

‘Because she
is
. She’s in the parlour.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Lydia turned pale.

‘Yes, which is why it’s been rather awkward that you used me as your alibi, without even having the manners or sense to tell me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Lydia looked momentarily chastised.

‘Did you take a hotel? Did anyone see you?’

‘We stayed at his lodgings, in the East End.’

‘Oh, darling, how frightful.’

‘How long have you known about him?’ It was clear to Ava that Lydia couldn’t wait to start talking about her lover.

‘Beatrice mentioned that she saw you at the V and A with him. I put two and two together and came up with fornication.’

‘But that was March. You’ve known all along?’

‘I’ve been wondering when you’d come to me. Shall we have tea, or something a little stronger?’

B
EATRICE COULD HEAR
whispering in the hallway. She recognised Lydia’s voice and her first thought was relief. She almost jumped up and ran to greet her, but then she remembered how furious and disgusted she was with her friend so she sat stock still. She wasn’t sure whether she was exhausted by the heat in the drawing room or the heat of her friend’s passion. Beatrice felt hollow, ground down, worn away. She was leaden, large and loveless. Certainly, the sun beat against the windows so ferociously it was almost impossible to breathe. The cloying air clambered up her nose and into her mouth, the sweet sickliness of it overwhelming; it caused sweat to prickle on the back of her neck and her thighs.

When Ava had first suggested that Lydia was having an affair, Beatrice had refused to contemplate the idea. It wasn’t possible. Ava pointed out that of course it was
possible
. ‘Then it isn’t probable,’ Bea had countered. Lydia was beautiful and married to a decent and wealthy chap; that was the recipe for – and pinnacle of – success and happiness. Surely. Why would she have an affair?

Beatrice had carefully watched Lydia over the past three months. She’d noted that Lydia often seemed skittish, distracted, even anxious on occasions, which, she had to admit, were not necessarily states of mind that one associated with success and happiness; at other times though she had seemed exhilarated, joyful to the point of rapturous, so Bea had never once had reason to believe that Ava’s salacious suggestions were fact. Ava had been generous, even kind, to Bea of late, but there was no denying that she had a vulgar mind; experience had made her weary and she thought the worst of people as a matter of course. In her own mind Bea had staunchly defended Lydia. She would not believe it of her.

But where had Lydia been this last week?

A whole week. Lawrence thought she was with Ava, which she blatantly wasn’t. Sarah had telephoned here too; Beatrice had suggested they telephone the police, as something ghastly might have happened. Sarah had replied firmly, ‘There’s no reason to panic, to alert anyone or to escalate this situation,’ which suggested she knew that Lydia was safe, if not well. Bea had been forced to accept the unsavoury evidence.