Authors: Margaret Dickinson
Jeannie smiled as she sat down before the fire and opened her blouse to feed the two babies. ‘I thought they were supposed to bawl lustily to drive out the devil,’ she laughed and
Nell joined in.
As Jeannie put Sammy to her breast she glanced up to see Tom watching her with bitter resentment. Harshly he said, ‘Shouldn’t you feed Joe first?’
Anger flashed in Jeannie’s eyes but she managed to keep her voice calm as she said, ‘I haven’t enough milk for both now, so they take it in turns and the other one has the
bottle.’
Tom gave a grunt. She saw his gaze on her breasts and saw the desire leap into his eyes. And there was something else there too. Jealousy, she supposed. Abruptly, he turned away and blundered
towards the door. Sighing, she watched him go and, as the door slammed behind him, she wondered briefly whether it was the pub he was heading for – or Aggie Turnbull’s.
Robert came rarely to Baldock Street now and, whilst part of her was pleased that Aggie no longer had reason to spread vicious rumours, Jeannie found she missed him.
It was from Nell that she learnt the possible reason. ‘Have you heard, hen, about the big house that Mr Robert has bought?’ Nell was sitting in the wooden rocking chair, nursing
Sammy, gently moving backwards and forwards. ‘They say he’s letting his wife have a free hand in all the renovations.’
Jeannie lowered her head over Joe, whose sturdy legs were kicking so strongly that she found changing his nappy difficult. ‘My, who’s a strong boy then.’ Keeping her voice
level and making it deliberately disinterested, she said, ‘No, I hadna heard.’
‘That’ll be why he’s not been down to see the bairn.’ Nell glanced down at the sleeping infant in her arms. ‘But he’s still sending the money every month,
just like he promised. He’s as good as his word, I’ll say that for him. And it was kind of him to send that big pram so that you can wheel them both out together. Do you think he chose
it himself?’
Now Jeannie laughed. ‘No. He’d send one of their employees. Someone from the office, I expect.’
Nell was quiet for a moment, then she said slowly. ‘At least he’s taking more of an interest than the bairn’s father. You – you dinna think that . . .?’ She stopped
and Jeannie prompted, ‘What?’
‘Well, that Grace might have been protecting him. That it was Mr Robert after all and not the other one?’
‘No,’ Jeannie said sharply and when Nell glanced at her in surprise she realized that her denial had been too swift. ‘No. Dinna forget, I saw them together. I was there when
she told Mr Francis. If you could have seen the way she looked at him, there was no mistake that it was him she was in love with.’ Jeannie sighed and muttered, ‘Poor Grace.’
Now there was silence between the two women, each busy with her own thoughts, and the only sounds in the kitchen came from the two babies.
‘We must have a party to celebrate your twenty-first birthday, Robert and the completion of all the renovations to the house. Mr Portus,’ Louise referred to the
builder, ‘says we can move in as soon as we like. Everything’s finished.’ She linked her arm through his. ‘You must come and see it. I’m dying to show you everything.
I just hope you like it.’ She pulled a face like a little girl pretending to be fearful of his displeasure.
He patted her hand. ‘Of course I shall like it, my dear, if you’re happy with everything.’
When he saw the house, Robert was hard pressed not to blurt out his disappointment. He could see at once that his wife had been heavily influenced by her London friend and everywhere he could
see Madeleine’s hand in the choice of decor.
Louise led the way across the new parquet flooring in the hall. ‘I wanted to achieve a feeling of spaciousness and elegance,’ she said.
Robert glanced wryly at the only furniture in the large hall; a small table set against the wall with a mirror above it. For ‘madam’ to check her appearance just before going out, he
presumed. Two chairs on either side were the only other items.
‘Where’s the hat-stand?’ he murmured.
‘Oh darling! There’s a teeny cloakroom through that door. I don’t want hats and coats cluttering the place.’
She threw open a door to the left. ‘This is the morning room, and this . . .’ the door to the right of the hall, ‘. . . the dining room. And this, next to the dining room, is
the sitting room.’
As Robert stepped into it, he imagined for a moment that the store had not yet delivered the furniture. But then he realized. This was all there was. A large sofa and two armchairs, a small
table and a cocktail cabinet.
‘I thought we might have a baby grand piano in that corner, darling.’
‘But neither of us play.’
‘I know, but they look so elegant with silver framed photos on the top, don’t you think? Besides,’ she waved her hand, ‘when we have parties,
someone
will
play.’ Louise fluttered her eyelashes and added, ‘Your brother, Francis, plays, doesn’t he?’
‘Mm.’ Robert was only half listening, his glance still roaming around the room.
He said nothing more until he had toured the whole house, even the kitchen.
‘You don’t like it, do you? I can see you don’t.’ Louise’s voice was high-pitched.
Setting a smile on his mouth, Robert turned to face her. ‘Of course, I do. It’s wonderful. Very – tasteful.’ But try as he might, he could not feign the enthusiastic
praise she wanted to hear. Her voice rose hysterically, ‘You don’t like it. Oh, you’ve spoiled everything.
Everything
.’
Louise burst into tears and rushed from the room whilst Robert stood helplessly listening to the sound of her wild crying as she ran up the stairs. Then he heard the slam of the door of the
master bedroom and heard the key turn in the lock leaving him standing alone amidst the cold, stark emptiness of the newly decorated house.
Unbidden, came the picture of the tiny terraced house in Baldock Street; overcrowded and never free of the reek of fish from the nearby docks and the ever-present net on the wall to remind them
of the constant need for work. But that house, Robert thought, was more of a home than this palace would ever be.
‘I’m just taking the boys for a walk. They’ll soon be too big to go out in the pram together.’ Winter had given way to spring and summer once more and
the two boys, at nearly eight months old, were growing rapidly.
‘Aye. They’ll be walking before ye ken.’ Nell nodded fondly towards her two grandsons. ‘Then we’ll be needin’ eyes in the back o’ our heeds! But I have
to say, Jeannie, you’ve been a grand lass rearing them both. It’s been like having twins for you.’
‘It’s perhaps a little unfair to say so,’ she said, thinking of Grace. ‘But to be honest, I do think of them both as my own now. Perhaps I shouldn’t.’
‘Aye well,’ Nell said. ‘Grace wouldna have minded. And the bairn needs a mother’s love.’
‘And a grandmother’s. I couldna cope without you, you know,’ Jeannie said softly.
Nell flapped her hand as if to dismiss the compliment but Jeannie saw the pink flush of pleasure on the woman’s face. ‘Och, awa’ with you and have your walk.’
It was a bright blustery June day and Jeannie walked through the streets scarcely noticing the distance she was covering until she came to the outskirts of the town and found herself in a
country road.
The two boys, their heads at either end of the pram, were fast asleep. Jeannie smiled down at the round little faces, soft in repose. She was wandering aimlessly, enjoying the fresh air of the
countryside away from the ever-present stink of fish, feeling the warmth of the sun on her back. It seemed so quiet, so peaceful out here and reminded her sharply of the fields behind the village
back home.
As she heard the sound of a motor car approaching from behind she pushed the pram on to the grass verge and waited until the vehicle should pass her. But it did not. The motor stopped and the
engine died. When she turned to look over her shoulder, she saw Robert emerging from behind the wheel. She felt the colour pink in her cheeks and glanced away from him, suddenly shy as if she had
been caught in a place she should not be.
He came close and said simply, ‘Jeannie.’
Then she looked at him, screwing up her eyes against the sunlight behind him.
‘Mr Robert. I . . .’ There was so much she could say, so much she wanted to say and yet, now, the words would not come.
It seemed as if he felt the same; for a long moment they just stood staring at each other. Then he removed his hat and swept his hand through his hair.
‘How are you?’ His voice was deep and gentle. ‘And how is Samuel?’
It seemed strange to hear the child called by his proper Christian name.
‘He – he’s fine.’
‘And your boy? Joseph, isn’t it?’
Now she smiled but there was a tinge of sadness in her tone as she said, ‘They are both my boys, Mr Robert. I never think of them as being anything else. Not now.’ Silently, she
thought, I just wish Tom would feel the same.
‘Of course not,’ Robert said swiftly. ‘I’m sorry.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘It’s a word I often seem to be saying to you, isn’t it, Jeannie?
Sorry.’
‘There’s no need, not now,’ she said gently. ‘That’s long forgotten.’
‘And,’ he said, his voice suddenly so deep and quiet that she scarcely heard, ‘and forgiven?’
Her throat was suddenly strangely constricted and all she could do was nod.
‘You don’t know how very happy that makes me, Jeannie.’
There was an awkward pause and then he cleared his throat and said, more briskly, ‘Would you like to come up to the house? The gates are just here . . .’
She turned to look over her shoulder at two huge black wrought-iron gates and the sweeping drive that led up to a house nestling against a background of trees.
Startled, she said, ‘Is this your house? Och no, I couldna. I mean . . .’ In the shaded lane, with the sun beating down, she was suddenly hot. ‘It wouldna be right.’
‘My wife’s away in London and there are no servants here today.’
‘Then it certainly wouldna be right,’ Jeannie said crisply. Though her heart was traitor to her words and beat faster at the very thought of being alone with him.
‘I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry . . .’ he began and then laughed at himself. ‘There I go again.’ And the tension between them lightened.
From the pram there came a whimper as Sammy stirred and began to wake.
‘I must be getting back. It’s quite a walk.’
‘Let me drive you.’
‘No, no.’ Now her voice was sharp again at the thought of the Hayes-Gorton motor car pulling up outside the house in Baldock Street and all the gossip that would cause.
‘It’s kind of you, but I’d rather not.’
He nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said and she knew that he did.
They talked for a few moments longer and then, when she turned the pram around and said again, ‘I really must go,’ he turned back to his motor, swung the starting handle, climbed up
and in a moment was driving through the gates and up the driveway towards the house.
Jeannie stood at the gates watching him go. Then she turned and began to push the heavy pram back towards the town feeling suddenly lonelier than she could ever remember feeling in her life
before this moment.
‘Those two lads are always fighting. Can’t you handle them, Jeannie?’ Tom complained irritably.
‘Well, you’re their father. You do something.’
He glared at her. ‘I’m Joe’s father,’ he said pointedly.
‘Canna you spare a mite of affection for the wee man? Sammy is your nephew, whether you like it or no’,’ Jeannie snapped, weary of his attitude that had never softened in the
thirteen years since the birth of the two boys.
Tom leant back in his chair, put his feet on the brass fender and wriggled his toes. ‘Ah,’ he said with satisfaction. He opened his newspaper. ‘Maybe so,’ he said,
grudging to acknowledge even that much. ‘But I don’t see enough of my own son when I’m hardly ever here, never mind me sister’s bastard.’
‘You’re ashore more than most.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
The paper was crumpled to his lap in a fierce, angry movement. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
Jeannie sighed, wishing sometimes that she could hold her runaway mouth in check. Now they were heading for yet another row.
‘You should try it on a bloody boat out in the Arctic ocean in a force nine gale and still expected to gut fish on deck. You don’t know you’re born, woman. Nice, cosy little
house you’ve got here with only two lads to look after . . .’
And your mother, she wanted to retort, whose mind’s beginning to wander now. But she held her tongue. She had not yet told him that she was worried about Nell’s health. The woman was
not old and yet some days she acted like an old lady, just sitting staring into the fire, her hands lying idly in her lap.
Nell was no longer the bustling little woman Jeannie had known when she had first arrived. Now it was Jeannie who stood hour after long hour braiding the nets against the kitchen wall.
Tom leant towards her, his mouth twisting. ‘I s’pect you dream about living in a fancy house just outside town, eh? Still coming here, is he?’
Jeannie’s heart lurched, but she managed to return his glare calmly and steadily. ‘Who?’
But as Tom opened his mouth again, she realized that it would look more suspicious than ever if she made out that she did not understand that he was referring to Robert. Jeannie gave a wry laugh
and said, ‘Oh Mr Robert, you mean. We never see hide nor hair of him these days.’ Now she deliberately laced her own voice with sarcasm for she still felt bitter towards the
Hayes-Gorton family, if not so much at Robert himself now. ‘I expect he feels he’s discharged his duty towards his nephew.’
For a moment Tom looked nonplussed. It was not the calm reply he had expected – nor probably wanted – from her. ‘What? What do you mean?’
‘I told you that he’d set up a monthly payment into a post office account for me . . .’ She altered her words swiftly. ‘For us. Just as a gesture. He didn’t have
to. Mr Francis has never even acknowledged the boy as his.’