Flint and Roses (48 page)

‘Really, Prudence.'

‘Really, Celia. I may be without direct experience, but my eyesight is keen enough. I washed and changed dozens of cholera victims during the epidemic and it did not escape my notice that not a few of the girls brought in from the streets—all of them unmarried, some of them too young to be married—were in various stages of pregnancy. I am also aware that in certain areas of our town one may obtain the sexual services of an eight-year-old child, should one be so inclined. Such a child was brought to Faith's door one night, while her husband was alive, somewhat in need of repair. If you don't wish to believe me, Faith will confirm the truth of it.'

‘No, she will not.' Celia said, her face frozen, as my father's had often been, into a mask of complete composure, her whole manner suppressing not only the brutality but the sheer untidiness of back-street lust, of any kind of lust. ‘If such things exist, then I have no reason to know about them, and neither have you. There is nothing like that in Albert Place, nor in Blenheim Lane. And we have met tonight because we have a real problem to discuss. Jonas—what are we to do about my mother?'

He smiled very slightly, amusement in him being always faint, a little obscure, since one could never be quite certain of just what, or who, had amused him.

‘I have already told you, Celia,' he said, his long, pale eyes occupied with the immaculate, empty cup in his hand, ‘not a great deal. Your mother is a mature woman in indisputable possession of her fortune. And since there is nothing in our legal system to prevent a widow from remarrying, nor to restrict her choice of husband within the correct degree of kinship, there is nothing to be done on that score. You may not approve of passion, Celia, but it is not yet a criminal offence in our society, nor does it provide just cause for the detention of its victims in an asylum. Admittedly, in certain cases, one may regret that it does not—but it does not. You cannot
forbid
your mother. It did occur to me, however, that it might be possible
to frighten
her, by providing evidence that Mr. Adair is not a proper person.'

‘Which assuredly he is not.'

‘Not in your view, Celia, nor in mine. But my investigations revealed nothing which would be likely to alarm your mother. His background, of course, is very humble, which once again is hardly a criminal matter—even though he is brazen enough to let it show—and in fact his very vulgarity has saved him from certain situations, certain legal ties, which would otherwise have delivered him into our hands. He was married for the first time in Ireland as a young man, but the union was in common-law only—which means, in effect, that they announced their intention of living together and did so—and the woman is dead now in any case, the children adult and dispersed. He has a few debts, but his creditors, very sensibly, have agreed to wait until he is married for settlement, and no one is dunning him. He has no criminal convictions for fraud or theft or anything else—by which I mean he has never been caught. There is a woman in the West Indies, certainly—we have young Liam Adair to show for that—but she is too far away to make a fuss or attempt to claim her rights. Their marriage will not have been legal in any case; and at least he has relieved her of the expense of bringing up the child—a rather gallant action, one could almost say, for a common man. There was an entanglement, some years ago, with a married woman—almost on our doorstep it seems—but it was quickly hushed up. And I believe your mother may already know about that.'

I knew about it too and remembering my mother's vivid face as she made her confession—‘those few months I spent as his mistress were the most luminous of my life'—I found myself unable to meet Jonas's cool gaze, wondering, most uncomfortably,
how
he knew, what else he knew, convincing myself, with a surge of panic, that nothing would be likely to escape him for long.

‘You have been very busy, Jonas,' Prudence said, and, smiling again with that faintly malicious amusement, he told her, ‘Yes, indeed. Where money is concerned I think you may trust me to do everything one can.'

‘So I have always believed.'

‘Quite so. And in this case it has also been done in your best interests, as well as the interests of my wife. I am as sorry as anyone else that I could find neither a useful scandal nor the prospect of exposure as a criminal to use against him. The only other method left open to us would be to offer to buy him off, which, in view of the healthy state of your mother's finances, could hardly succeed. And there is always the risk in such negotiations that he would take our money and marry her just the same.'

‘Then what is to be done?'

‘I have already given my opinion. What do you think, Faith?'

And, with Nicholas's face filling my mind, I said incautiously, ‘I think—since she cares for him and we cannot prevent it—that we should leave her in peace.'

‘Oh yes,' Celia burst out, ‘Of course you would take that view, Faith, for I have never known you when your head was not in the clouds. And it is all very well for you to talk so, when you have a house and an income of your own, and no children to consider. Well, I have no children either, not yet, but Dr. Blackstone assures me that there is every likelihood—In fact, since Prudence is so well informed on these matters, I may as well tell you I am expecting again, or so it seems, which gives me every good reason for disliking the idea of that man setting himself up in Blenheim Lane. Oh yes, you may depend upon it, he will take advantage of my mother's foolish generosity. He will spend every penny she has on himself and that ill-mannered child, and any other children he may have hidden, away somewhere. And if that does not alarm you—since you are so comfortable already—then you should give some thought to Prudence, who will be obliged to live with him.'

‘Not for one moment longer than she must,' Prudence said tersely, and Jonas, looking at her from beneath his heavy, crafty eyelids, gave her a deliberate and very sarcastic smile.

‘Indeed?' he said. ‘Then I take it we are soon to congratulate you on your forthcoming marriage?'

‘I see no reason for that.'

‘I see every reason.'

‘Well, I hope you do not,' Celia cut in, growing petulant, having tired herself out with her emotions and the fatigue of preparing even this small family dinner-party. ‘For, if you are thinking of marrying Freddy Hobhouse merely for the sake of convenience, then I must tell you it would not be convenient at all. Aunt Hannah was here yesterday, and the day before, warning me that you might do that very thing—as if she imagined I could do anything to prevent you—-and I am bound to admit she is quite right. Nethercoats would eat up your money in a trice. If Freddy has encouraged you to believe he stands to inherit from his uncle, Mr. Oldroyd, then Aunt Hannah says you must bear in mind that he has nine brothers and four sisters. Freddy's portion would not be so splendid, and the inheritance is by no means certain. My word, when I think that my mother could have had it all.'

‘You are quite mistaken, Celia,' Prudence informed her coolly. ‘I have no intention of marrying Freddy Hobhouse, either for his convenience or mine. I would not insult him nor any other man in that way.'

‘Then you will never escape from Blenheim Lane,' Jonas said, a certain bleakness. I thought, in his eyes, an indication that he too, had not forgotten the loss of Fieldhead Mills and would be unlikely to forgive my mother for it.

‘I cannot agree, Jonas.'

‘Eventually you will be forced to agree. You are a financial prisoner, my dear, which is the most complete captivity there is. I am in agreement with my wife when she says Mr. Adair's cash requirements are likely to be heavy. I think you may safely assume that your mother will not allow you a penny—nothing, at least, beyond the strict necessities of ribbons and toilet-waters and the clothing suitable for a “daughter-at-home”. And without money, dear Prudence, believe me—yes, believe me—there is no freedom and no dignity either.'

‘Jonas—' I said, glancing at Celia, fearing that he would expose himself too far for her comfort, that his bitterness might wound her. But she was gazing down at her hands, barely listening to him, and, getting up, he walked irritably across the room and stood, one narrow hand on the mantelpiece, looking down at the meagre fire.

‘You may talk splendidly of independence. Prudence,' he said. ‘But ask yourself—how are you to afford it? Do you have in your possession at this moment even the train-fare to Leeds? And if you had, what could you do there? There is no employment you could possibly take. Employment, for ladies of your station, does not exist. And, if it did, you have no training, nor are there any establishments for females in which training could be obtained. Dear Prudence—you have told me all this yourself many a time. If you have a choice in life at all, then it is simply this—you must either marry a young man like Freddy Hobhouse, who would be easy enough for a clever woman like you to handle, or you must marry an old one like his uncle, Mr. Oldroyd, in which case you would be a widow—and a comfortable one—that much the sooner.'

‘Must I?' she said through her teeth. ‘Must I really?' And it was Celia, oblivious to the undertones of Jonas's voice, hearing nothing but the surface, who broke through what might have been an all-too-revealing altercation.

‘Well,' she said. ‘I am not so clever, but I can think of another solution. You could come and live here with us, Prudence, for, if I am to start a family at last, both my mother and Mr. Adair would be bound to see that I could make use of you. And, since you are always talking about education and how none of us have any idea of bringing up children, you would enjoy busying yourself with mine.'

I returned home, the matter by no means resolved, bringing Prudence with me since Nicholas had left that afternoon for Liverpool. And as she settled herself in front of my cosily flaming fire—since I had not acquired Celia's habits of economy—she said, her eyes as bleak as Jonas's, ‘I cannot tell you how much Celia's house, and Celia's life, oppresses me.'

‘Yes—but I don't think she is unhappy. Jonas is not satisfied—which may be very clear to you, and to me—but Celia seems unaware of it. She appears to have what
she
wants from her marriage, at any rate.'

‘So she does—which may be because she has no more conception of what marriage should really be than he has—except that she is a hopeless case, and perhaps if Aunt Hannah had let him alone he could have been different.'

‘And what should marriage really be like, in your opinion, Prudence?'

She smiled. ‘Yes, of course, you are about to tell me that I know nothing about it and you are quite right. I merely base my judgment on the marriages I see around me, and none of them fill me with envy. Perhaps I have been single too long. If father had lived, I would have had little to say in the matter. He would have chosen some worthy man for me before I had left my teens, and I would now be making the best of it like everybody else. But I have been free for some years now, Faith, and nothing tempts me to change.'

‘You mean
no one
tempts you to change. There
are
happy marriages, Prue.'

‘Where? Show me. I can think of happy individuals, some of which are married, but it strikes me that in every marriage there is one partner who dominates, one who submits, and I should not like to do either. I can't think it necessary, or right, to do either. Our mother and father lived in peace because she submitted in every way to his will and to his opinions. Mayor Agbrigg lives in peace with Aunt Hannah by stealth—oh yes, he does—by allowing her to have her way so often that when, just occasionally, he does something his way she hardly notices. She dominates and uses and despises him. Jonas tolerates and despises Celia. I don't wish to run the risk of that.'

‘Yes, but both Mayor Agbrigg and Jonas married for money. Celia married because she wanted to be married. Aunt Hannah—I don't know—because she thought she could make something of Mayor Agbrigg, and knew she could make something of Jonas.'

‘Exactly—because she wanted to do something with her life and, being a woman, could only do it through a man. That is what Aunt Hannah settled for—second-hand glory. I'm not ready to do that. It wouldn't be enough for me to push a man into building an empire. It wouldn't satisfy me to have a clever son and to feed myself on his triumphs. I'm willing to do the work and accept the responsibility—like Aunt Hannah does—but I want the credit as well. I'm not prepared to stand in any man's shadow—at least, not simply by virtue of the fact that he's a man and I'm a woman who shouldn't make herself conspicuous.'

‘Not even if you loved him?'

‘Faith—I thought we were talking about marriage? I'm not sure about love either. Uncle Joel and Aunt Verity are in love, I suppose. He demands every instant of her time and attention, which she gives him very willingly, as you did with Giles. It seems to make her very happy—and you were not miserable—but I'm not sure I could cope with such total devotion. It occurs to me that I might come to see it as just another kind of captivity. Giles loved you, I know, but he didn't
share
the realities of his life with you, Faith.'

And suddenly, sickeningly aware of the coffin I had refused to look at, the grave I still tended so carefully, knowing it to be empty, I cried out, ‘He didn't even share his death with me.'

‘Oh—darling—I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't mean—'

‘I know what you meant. He shielded me from life as if I'd been a child. I know it. That was what he wanted, Prudence—and I would have given him anything he'd asked for.'

‘I know,' she murmured, looking away from me. ‘And I used to wonder how long you could continue to take the strain. It would have stifled me, I know it, very soon.'