Hester Waring's Marriage (9 page)

‘But we have a problem, Miss Waring: much though I should like to employ you, and much though you might want to come—' this fascinated her, how could he really think that? ‘—there is no way in which a charming young lady such as yourself could agree to live in the house of a man like me who has a certain reputation—you take my meaning, I am sure. Think of the gossip which would ensue!

‘Now, I also need a wife. A lady who knows what's what about etiquette and the proper thing to do. And you would make an excellent wife, Miss Waring, but I fear that you do not really wish to marry me in the true sense. I am right, am I not?'

Hester found herself nodding her head, quite unable to speak. She was not sure whether it was the wine, or the shock which his words were bringing on which held her
paralysed and mute. He took her nodding head for agreement to his last proposition and smoothly continued.

‘That being so, and I see that, as usual, we are in complete accord, you will understand why I am making this purely business proposition to you, Miss Waring. What would you say if I asked you to marry me, in name only, so that I would acquire a wife and a hostess, and you would acquire safety, respectability and a good home?'

He had finished, and was sitting back and smiling at her, the blue eyes dancing, his crooked smile more crooked than ever. He repeated his earlier words. ‘What would you say, Miss Waring?'

Miss Waring took another swallow, hardly able to credit what she was hearing—for more reasons than one. She wanted to ask him, What on earth has happened to your diction, Mr Dilhorne, to transform you from the poorly spoken brute my father despised? And how in the world did a felon from the gutters of London, transported for theft—or worse—acquire such a superb command of the English language?

She merely said instead, ‘That I think that you have run mad, Mr Dilhorne, except that you sound so eminently sane, which I admit confuses me more than a little. Are you really serious?'

‘Yes, I am really serious.'

Hester had to admit that he must be. Through the haze which had begun to surround her she could detect that he looked more serious than she had ever seen him before.

‘In name only?' she asked him. ‘With all that that implies?'

Hester felt that it would be grossly indelicate to put it any more plainly, to say, We are not to go to bed together, Mr Dilhorne? or, You will not demand your marital rights? She dismissed from her mind what her mother and father
would have said to…all this. After all, it was not they who were living on a knife edge with the gutter and the brothel staring them in the face.

Was she really having this remarkable conversation with her father's ogre, or was she dreaming it?

‘Yes, in name only, Miss Waring. You understand me, I'm sure.'

‘How do I know that, once married, you will keep your word?'

‘I always keep my word, once given. Without my word, I may do anything…anything at all. And if the other party breaks
their
word, then, again, I am free to act as I please. Perhaps you would like Joseph Smith to draw up a contract for us to sign, Miss Waring? We can get him and one of my clerks to witness it.'

Another dreadful giggle escaped her at the mere idea of such an outlandish notion.

‘I think not, Mr Dilhorne, it would not be fitting. Tell me, are there many businessmen like you?'

‘Fortunately not, Miss Waring, else I should not be so disgustingly rich.'

Thinking this over, rather hazily, Hester nevertheless thought that she took his meaning. She mumbled, rather than replied as decorously as she would have wished, ‘Do you expect an…ansher…answer immediately, Mr Dilhorne?' For some reason it was getting harder and harder to speak. Her tongue was thick and she needed to rest. Oh, how she needed to rest!

‘No, Miss Waring. You may give me an answer when you wish. Except that I hope that you may not be too long. We are neither of us getting any younger.'

‘Indubitably, Mr Dilhorne.' This proved surprisingly difficult to say. ‘Not too long then.'

Why was it that lately, when she met him, she always wanted to sleep? Even the food he had sent her had put her to sleep. Part of her wanted to say Yes, immediately, to his disgraceful proposition. The other part, the part her father and mother had nurtured, told her that she was mad to trust this ruffian, no matter how beautifully he now dressed and spoke.

Her vulgar Mentor suddenly popped up again—having been asleep, no doubt, while Mr Tom Dilhorne was cunningly bending her to his will—and said loudly, But think of the comfort, the good food, the conversation—you like talking to him, you know you do—and you will be safe from the Larkins of this world and their impudent clerks.

She refused to admit to herself that Mr Tom Dilhorne still frightened her a little even though she was beginning to find him disturbingly attractive.

Hester gave a great yawn and surrendered. ‘I will give you an answer in a week, Mr Dilhorne.'

Carefully placing her empty glass beside the nearly empty bottle, she settled back in her chair and went to sleep as quietly and properly as a fuddled lady could.

His face a mixture of amusement and tenderness—an expression which would have astounded everyone who knew him—Mr Tom Dilhorne looked down at her and, moved by some impulse he could not define, bent down and kissed the top of her head.

That done, he rose, walked to his desk and resumed his interrupted work, but not before he had looked across at her face, serene in sleep, and murmured to himself, ‘And if I don't get you willingly into my bed in a few weeks after marriage, I shall be the most surprised man in Sydney!'

 

Hester awoke with a sense of well-being and a strong desire to use the place of easement, as Mrs Cooke genteelly called it.

He seemed to understand that, too. For, on looking up and finding her stirring, he pointed to the door behind him, and said, ‘Through there, Miss Waring.'

Hester was out of the door and into the courtyard where the place of easement was before she had time to be flustered or concerned about the delicacies of life. Using the primitive facilities provided, she pondered on the strange nature of her unlikely benefactor and the curious intimacy which they had achieved in which the unspoken needs of men and women could be treated so rationally.

After that, she was taken home again, like a lady, in his gig, with her promise to give him an answer soon. His man delivered her to her doorstep and to Mrs Cooke's resigned ecstasies about her lodger's sudden rise in the world.

H
ester did not need a week to make up her mind, but she had promised Tom a week and she kept to her word. She was not sure whether at the end of it she was to visit his office in order to give him her decision. In the midst of worrying about this, she sensibly decided that a man of his resourcefulness would create his own opportunity in order to discover it.

She had known from the moment that he had made his offer that she would accept it. Scandalous and shocking as it might be, she was prepared to sell her soul for security. She would not have agreed to a true marriage, but to be his wedded, un-bedded, housekeeper, and hostess, that was different, wasn't it? He had told her that he would keep his word and she had to hope that he would.

She would be settled and life would not be dull if her meetings with him so far were any guide. He had said that he wanted to converse with her. She wondered wherever these discussions would take place. Over tea, perhaps, or during a genteel walk in the garden.

Somehow, such imaginings did not accord with the unruly and unstructured nature of the conversations which they had already held. Her dreadful Mentor had constantly
provoked her into making the most improper remarks. What would it do when she was alone with him and the doors had been locked for the night?

Hester shrank away from this aspect of his proposal and concentrated firmly on the more impersonal parts of it. There was nothing to fear, she was sure. After Mary Mahoney, her Mentor said unkindly, why should he want to take you to bed?—adding slyly, More's the pity.

She put a hand to her flaming cheeks and willed the horrid voice to stop. It is not that at all. I do not wish to be his true wife, and I am afraid of him.

Not so much as you were—her Mentor's voice was almost agreeable—and when you know him better you'll fear him even less.

In the middle of her deliberations Mr Dilhorne's boy came—again!—with a basket of fruit and some hothouse flowers for Miss Waring and Mrs Cooke. He had more than he needed for himself, said his note, and he hoped that they would do him the honour of eating up his surplus so that it would not go to waste.

‘If I did not know you both better, I would say that you had an admirer there, Miss Waring,' was Mrs Cooke's dazzled comment as she ate the fruit.

 

Meeting Hester in the street the next day, Tom bowed genially to her and wished her a cheerful ‘Good morning'. By his manner she knew that he was going to play what her Mentor had christened his cat-and-mouse game with her.

‘I have no answer for you today,' said Hester repressively. ‘The week is not yet up, and you do not assist matters by bombarding me with fruit.'

‘Ah, you and Mrs Cooke do not like fruit? A pity. Shall I send you some more wine, instead? I know that you like
that.' His merry eyes were mocking her, even though the rest of his face was grave.

‘You must not send me anything until I have made up my mind, Mr Dilhorne. Or I shall think that you are trying to influence my answer in your favour.'

‘And you do not think that would be wise of me, Miss Waring? But such conduct is usually considered good business practice.'

‘But this is not business, Mr Dilhorne,' said Hester unwisely, immediately realising that her haste had left her exposed to his raillery once again.

‘Is it not? I was under the impression that it was. Correct me if I am mistaken. We even, I seem to remember, spoke of a written contract.'

‘
You
talked of a written contract, Mr Dilhorne,' replied Hester, wondering why it was so easy for him to wrong-foot her in such a way that she had a wild desire to laugh—if a mouse ever laughed at a cat. ‘I believe that I spoke very little.'

‘Very wise, most commendable of you, Miss Waring. The less one says, the less one gives away.'

‘I apparently need to say nothing for you to shower me with fruit and wine and…' Before her Mentor began to speak aloud for her, as it was threatening to do, and disgrace her entirely, she stopped and almost wailed at him, ‘Why do we have such ridiculous conversations, Mr Dilhorne?'

He considered her gravely. ‘If you would accept my gifts in the spirit in which they are made, Miss Waring, we could perhaps embark on a discussion of something more substantial and serious. The nature of the Trinity, perhaps?'

A passing matron was treated to the scandalous sight of
Mr Tom Dilhorne assisting Miss Hester Waring who was reeling with uncontrollable laughter.

‘Oh, you are impossible!' she finally achieved. ‘We must say no more. I will give you my answer on Tuesday and you must promise to be serious—otherwise I cannot answer for my conduct.'

 

Leaving her school after a busy day's work on the following Tuesday, Hester found Tom waiting for her outside the back door. He was smartly dressed, as usual, and had his hat in his hand. He took from her the bag which she carried, full of her small possessions and walked along beside her. He was obviously determined to be serious on this important occasion and Hester was surprised to find that she regretted this a little.

‘Have you had a good day, Miss Waring?' This came out so solemnly and was so unlike his usual mode of speech to her that Hester had to suppress a desire to giggle, similar to those other unsuitable occasions for mirth—such as when she was in church and the Vicar was at his most pompous.

‘Yes, indeed, Mr Dilhorne,' she managed to say, ‘and you?'

‘Tolerable, Miss Waring, tolerable.'

Neither of them said anything further as they walked briskly along towards Mrs Cooke's, drawing a few surprised stares on the way. What could the so-proper Miss Waring be doing in company with an Emancipist rogue such as Dilhorne?

Once they had reached Mrs Cooke's front door and Hester was assailed by the parrot's usual greeting, Tom removed his hat again and asked, ‘Have you done me the honour of coming to any decision about my proposition to you, Miss Waring?'

Hester found herself trembling. Now that the moment of truth was on her she was fearful that she would not be able to say what must be said.

She had thought and thought about Tom's offer. In the end she had concluded that the only person she needed to please was herself. He was offering her so much in return for so little, and the only payment required of her was that she was to present herself to the world as Tom Dilhorne's wife. All those who would be prepared to criticise her were so comfortably placed themselves that they could have no idea what the alternative was.

All this flashed through her mind as she looked up at him. He was so tall and she so small that he towered over her. For the first time the power of his presence was almost too much for her. He seemed to sense this—he was as sensitive as a cat—and stepped back a pace. Liberated a little by his action, Hester was able to give him her answer.

‘Indeed, Mr Dilhorne, I have. I shall be happy to accept your offer of marriage on the terms stated, and will marry you whenever you think fit.'

He bent from his great height and gravely lifted her hand to his lips, surprising not only Hester, but an old lady who was crossing the road. We are becoming the spectacle of Sydney, thought Hester with the ghost of another giggle.

‘Then, Miss Waring, I think it is my duty to tell you that now that you have given me your answer, and I am truly honoured by it, you should visit my home, as soon as possible—for it will be yours, too—so that you may make any changes you see fit.'

‘I shall be happy to do so, Mr Dilhorne, and to take tea with you, if I may. But I also think it proper that I should bring along a female companion, seeing that you have no lady in your establishment to entertain me.'

He bowed to her again. ‘Ah, Miss Waring, I can already
see how necessary your presence will be in my future life. You will be sure to know the correct thing to do without thinking. Who do you propose shall accompany you?'

‘I thought that Mrs Wright might like to be my chaperon.'

‘But what would Lieutenant Wright say to that?'

‘Well, I'm bound to tell you that somehow Frank always agrees with what Lucy wants, and besides…' she looked shyly up at him to see how far
she
could go in teasing
him
‘…I think that Lucy would love to see what all Sydney calls your barbaric home, don't you?'

‘You never cease to surprise me, Miss Waring.' And that statement, he thought with amusement, was a true one. ‘When shall I expect you to call and at what hour?'

‘Next Friday, if it pleases you, and at four of the clock. By then we shall all have dined and a dish of tea would be welcome.'

‘I shall be ready for you both at that hour. It shall be my housekeeper's swansong before my wife takes over.'

He bowed to her again and handed her bag back to her. She thought, amused in her turn, that only Mr Tom Dilhorne would have consented to have his proposal accepted in the street, and by doing so had saved her the embarrassment of having to invite him in, thus exposing them to Mrs Cooke's curiosity. She wondered whether anything he did was ever unconsidered.

She took his final words in with her. ‘I am sure that you will not regret our bargain, Miss Waring.'

He left her with a spring in his step and with his hat on his head at a jaunty angle. Tom Dilhorne was pleased with life and with himself: Hester Waring was not quite sure how she felt.

 

Hester put on her best gown, which was not saying much, she thought ruefully, and went to call on Lucy
Wright. Lucy received her warmly and reproached herself for the long time which had passed since Hester's last disastrous visit.

She had behaved so peculiarly then that when Lucy had tried to invite her to their Christmas festivities Frank had, for once, put his foot down, and said that he would not have her, and Lucy, for once, had given way.

Welcoming Hester reminded Lucy that Sarah Kerr had recently suggested that Hester did not look as if she had enough to eat. Her dress was just as shabby as the one which she had worn before Christmas. Well, there was nothing Lucy could do about that, but she could arrange for Hester to enjoy some food.

She rang for tea, ordering bread and butter and some slices of plum cake.

‘What's the Missis want nursery tea for, then?' asked Lucy's skivvy, only for Cook to sniff, ‘Oh, it's for that poor, plain Miss Waring who doesn't get enough grub since her pa died.'

Hester's predicament was common gossip among the servants of Sydney even if their betters weren't aware of it, and only Tom, for his own ends, had cared to do anything to help.

Hester tried to eat her tea without being overtly greedy. A difficult task. Her extra money was bringing her a little more food, but still not enough to satisfy her. She twisted her hands together: it was going to be harder than she thought to ask her improbable favour of Lucy. She said abruptly, ‘Lucy, there is something I have to ask you.'

‘You know that I'm always ready to do anything for you.'

Lucy liked to think of herself as generous to a fault, and always had what Frank called ‘her lame ducks'. He
thought that Hester Waring was the lamest duck of all, as Hester well knew. What she was about to say would surprise Frank as much as anyone.

‘Lucy, I am going to be married to Tom Dilhorne, quite soon.'

Having thrown this grenade on to Lucy's best carpet, Hester fell silent.

‘Married! To Tom Dilhorne? Oh, Hester, is this wise? Are you sure that you want to? Is there no one else? You surely know that he's an ex-felon? Came here in chains, they say! Besides, you are a lady!'

‘No, there's no one else,' said Hester painfully. ‘Nor will there be. Ever. I quite liked Captain Parker, but you know that he'll never offer for me. I've no money and I'm not even pretty. It's obvious, in fact, that most people think me plain. I know the other officers think me a bit of a joke.'

She said this last in a stoic voice, but behind it was the bitter memory of Captain Jack Cameron and the nickname he had coined for her, ‘Fred Waring's plain piece'.

‘Oh, no, Hester,' cried warm-hearted Lucy. ‘You can't believe that.' But one look at Hester's face told her that she did.

‘But…Tom Dilhorne, of all people. Why, I didn't even know that you were acquainted with him.'

‘I met him through the school. He has been very kind to me. I thought that he didn't want me to be a teacher because of Father, but it turned out that it was he who made sure that I was appointed.'

She stopped and decided to tell Lucy a little, a very little, of the truth.

‘Besides, I think that Tom wants a housekeeper as much as a wife, now that Mrs Jones is leaving.'

If Lucy thought that this was the saddest reason for get
ting married she had ever heard, she did not say so. She also decided not to deter Hester from marrying Tom, however unsuitable he might once have been as a husband for Miss Waring of Essendene and Lighthorne House. Looking at her, it was plain to Lucy that Hester's future as a single person was little short of hopeless. But Tom Dilhorne! And why on earth did Tom Dilhorne want to marry Hester?

‘I really know very little about him,' Lucy said, her voice full of doubt. ‘I have never spoken to him, of course, nor he to me.'

She remembered suddenly what Sarah Kerr had said to her once when she had criticised Sarah and Alan's friendship with ‘that rogue Dilhorne': that she and Alan would sooner lose all their other friends than break with Tom.

She brightened a little. ‘But I do know that Sarah and Alan Kerr think a great deal of him, and that must say
something
good about him.'

‘Yes,' said Hester. She had no intention of discussing Tom or her marriage with Lucy. She merely wanted to move on to the favour.

‘Would you mind very much, Lucy, if I asked you to come to tea with me at Tom's villa on Friday? He feels that I ought to see it before I marry him, and your presence would make everything proper. Would Frank mind?' she asked, apparently ingenuously.