Mr Cavell's Diamond (14 page)

Henry

The company were ploughing through Henry’s wine cellar as though it were the end of days. Henry smiled wryly. What do you expect when you throw a dinner party and invite only men? William Dennett was there, of course, and Tom Brandreth, Captain Jenkins and a few others. All were local bachelors. Since Caroline had gone back to London, Henry had not entertained any women at home. Jemima was all the female company he needed nowadays.

By the time they’d reached the main course they were already beginning to get rowdy, and now, as they were served dessert, Brandreth and
Jenkins especially were a little the worse for wear.

‘
What’s this, wench?’ asked Brandreth as Jemima placed a layered pink and white dessert in front of him.

‘
Sir, tis strawberries, meringue and cream. I hope you like it.’ She gave a small curtsey.

‘
I’d like it all the more if you’d sit beside me and spoon feed me it,’ Brandreth laughed, his face flushed and red. ‘Better still, sit on my lap to do it.’

Jemima blushed and shook her head, moving quickly on to serve the next man. Henry caught her eye and gave her a sympathetic smile.

‘She don’t want to sit on your lap, Tom,’ said Jenkins. ‘P’raps she’ll sit on mine. Here, girl, never mind that pink froth, let’s be seeing how firm that pretty bottom is.’ He reached out and pinched her. Jemima squealed and backed away, bumping into Maria who was working her way around the table with the wine, replenishing glasses.

‘
Leave her be,’ growled Henry. ‘Maria, put the wine down, we’ll pour our own now. Jemima, thank you, you may return to the kitchen.’

She gave him a small grateful smile and hurried out of the room, closing the door with a small bang.

‘What’s the matter, Cavell?’ said Tom Brandreth. ‘Keeping her all for yourself are you?’

‘
With the wife still away in London, of course he is,’ laughed Jenkins. ‘Pretty little thing, though. I’d have her like a shot if I was him. It’s what the maids are for, isn’t it? Bit of rumpety-jig while the missus is out of sight?’

‘
I’m doing no such thing’ said Henry. ‘She’s a good, honest girl and I’ll not corrupt her. I’ll thank you to stop speaking about her like that.’

‘
Hmm, methinks the fellow has a soft spot for that maid,’ said Jenkins. ‘Standing up for her honour and all that. You lads will have to look elsewhere for your thrills tonight.’

‘
Well done, old chap,’ whispered Dennett who was sitting on Henry’s right side. ‘They’ve had too much to drink, those two. Their heads will feel it all right in the morning.’

‘
They are idiotic drunkards,’ said Henry. ‘Should never have invited them.’

‘
Indeed. About your wife, old man. The marriage is definitely over, I take it?’

‘
Yes. She’ll not come back here. Ever.’

‘
So the way is clear for you to pick up with a new woman, should you want to?’

‘
There’s no one, Dennett.’

‘
Not yet, old man. But I reckon there will be, given time.’ He nodded towards the door Jemima had left by, and winked.

‘
Don’t you start,’ said Henry, exasperated.

‘
She’s a good woman. She’d be steady and loyal. You could do worse.’

Could do worse? There could be no one better for him, Henry knew. He shrugged.
‘Forget it, Dennett. More wine?’ He reached for the bottle and refilled both their glasses. At the other end of the table Jenkins and Brandreth were singing some bawdy music-hall song. Henry made a mental note not to invite them again. He’d been like that when he was younger, he supposed. But now he just enjoyed a quieter life.

The party split into two groups – the drunkards singing noisily and the others chatting about politics and local events, shouting to make themselves heard. Jemima did not return to clear the table, Henry noted with relief. Eventually the rowdier guests decided to move on to a local tavern where they thought they might find something stronger than the wine Henry had served. He’d lied and said he had no spirits in the house, when, having emptied the port decanter,
Brandreth had gone searching in the sideboard for more drink.

Dennett was last to leave.
‘Well, old boy, another year older, eh? Hope this one brings you better fortune. Look after yourself. I’m off up to London next week. Want me to call in on the Chelsea house and see how little Frances is doing? I know you’re fond of that child.’

‘
If you would, thank you,’ replied Henry. He closed the door behind his friend and sighed. Was this all that was left to him now? An estranged, adulterous wife. An adopted daughter, not even his own child, who he might never see again. Lecherous drunks as friends. An empty house, except for Jemima….

As if on cue, Jemima appeared from the top of the kitchen stairs.
‘I’ll clear the table now, sir. I’ve let Maria go on up to bed, she was worn out.’

Feeling the need for her calm, gentle company after the rowdiness of the evening, Henry followed her into the dining room.

‘I’m sorry about my guests,’ he said. ‘The way they treated you.’

‘
Sir, they meant no harm,’ she said, collecting glasses and dessert dishes onto a tray.

‘
I’ll not have you spoken to like that,’ he said, surprising himself by how strongly he felt about it. He took a step towards her. ‘I’ll not have them in the house again.’

‘
Thank you, sir.’

‘
What for?’

‘
For caring about me, sir.’ She put a glass on the tray and turned to face him. ‘Tis very kind of you.’

He took her hands and pulled her closer. They were just inches apart. He could smell her hair, washed in
ale and scented with lavender. He could feel her breath against his neck. His heart was pounding. Every inch of him was alert to her closeness. It would take so little effort to bend his head to hers, claim her mouth, wrap his arms around her waist, lift her and carry her up the stairs to his bed… His breath was coming faster, and if he wasn’t mistaken, so was hers. She felt it too. She wanted him! If she would only tilt her face up towards him, he would know, he could kiss her then, and she would be his.

But she kept her eyes lowered. Time
paused while they stood there. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, to say her name, she stepped backwards, leaving her hands held by his. Only then did she raise her eyes.

‘
Sir, I cannot. You are a married man, still. Tis not right, however much… whatever we might want… I am sorry, sir.’

He released the breath he had not realised he was holding.
‘I understand, Jemima. I’ll not press you to do anything you don’t want to.’

‘
I cannot,’ she said again.

He nodded. She began again to load up the tray with glasses and cutlery, and he turned to leave the room. At the door he paused and turned back.

‘Jemima?’

‘
Sir?’

‘
Caroline will never again set foot in this house, you do know that? As far as I am concerned, I am no longer married to that woman. Does that make any difference to you?’

He held her gaze, until she blushed and lowered her eyes. Only then did he leave the room, not wishing to cause her any further discomfort waiting for her answer.

The following day Henry called on William Dennett at his home in Bedford Row first thing in the morning. Dennett was still at his breakfast, sitting in a pleasant room which overlooked the garden. It was a beautiful day, and Dennett had his windows flung wide open, allowing the cool morning air and sound of birdsong to fill the room.

‘What can I do for you, old boy? Take a seat. Coffee?’

‘
Thank you,’ said Henry. ‘It’ll help clear my head.’

‘
Too much wine last night, eh? Thought you were taking it easy, leaving the heavy drinking to the likes of Brandreth and Jenkins.’

‘
I was. But even so. Dennett, I need you to do something for me.’

‘
Anything, old chap. But not before I’ve finished my breakfast. What is it?’

‘
I need to be free of my marriage.’

‘
Thought you were free. You’ve banished your wife from Worthing, haven’t you? Give people a few years and they’ll forget you were ever married.’

‘
I need it to be legal.’

‘
Divorce? Next to impossible. But you could get her to sign a deed of separation. Gives her rights to her own financial affairs. You’ll still have to pay her allowance. You’ll still be legally her husband, but free of her in the eyes of society.’

‘
But not free to remarry.’ Henry sighed.

‘
No. There’s talk of reforming the marriage laws and making divorce and remarriage possible if a man can prove his wife’s infidelity, but I suspect that’s some way off yet.’ Dennett reached for a slice of toast and spread it thickly with damson jam.

‘
Well then, if a deed of separation is the best I can do, then that’s what I want. Can you handle it for me?’

‘
Of course. D’you think Caroline will sign it?’

‘
Make her. Tell her I’ll reduce her allowance if she doesn’t.’ Henry took a swallow of his coffee.

‘
Is this about that pretty maid servant of yours?’ Dennett said.

Henry lifted his head and looked his friend in the eye.
‘I love her, Dennett. But she’ll not have me because I’m married. And I’ll not force her to compromise.’

Dennett nodded.
‘Understood. The girl’s to be commended for her integrity. Well, I shall get straight to it, after my breakfast, mind, and I’ll arrange to see Mrs Cavell about it next week when I’m up in London.’

‘
Please,’ said Henry, ‘do not refer to that woman as Mrs Cavell, or my wife, again.’

‘
Whatever you say, old man, whatever you say. More coffee?’

Chapter 12 – December 1832

Jemima

Being as it w
as New Year Eve Maria had the day off to spend with her family and sleep there the night and see in the New Year with them. Mr Cavell said he wanted a nice meal at home, just him and me, and this time we were to sit in the dining room not the kitchen.

I ha
d never sat in the dining room, though now I have sat in the drawing room many a time of an evening, even when Maria is in the house. Mr Cavell asked for a simple meal so I wouldn’t have to spend half the evening in the kitchen and could spend more time with him. So I made a hot pot – it goes in the oven for an hour and all I needed to do was take it out and carry it up the stairs to the dining room. There was jam pudding for after. Mr Cavell picked out some wine from the cellar, and Maria set the table for two afore she left. She winked at me and I blushed.

‘
You going to be my mistress, are you, miss?’ she asked.

‘
I am housekeeper here, so that makes me your mistress anyway,’ I told her. She was getting too cheeky, I thought, but I smiled so she knew I was still her friend.

Mr
Cavell seemed excited and happy when he came in from his business. I heard him a-humming while he sat at his desk writing letters, with Sultan lying at his feet. I was lighting a fire in the drawing room and he turned to me and asked was everything ready for our dinner?

‘
Yes, sir,’ I told him, ‘the hot pot is made and will go in the oven soon.’

‘
Come here to me,’ he said, and I went to stand in front of him.

He t
ook my hands and made my heart flutter like it always do when he touches me. ‘Jemima,’ he said. ‘Oh, my Jemima.’

‘
What is it, sir?’

He just smile
d and let go my hands. He turned back to his letters and I went back to my fire-lighting. I thought he must have got something planned.

I kn
ew we could not go on for ever like this. Tis not the way of men, to go on living with a woman they love and who loves them back, but not to be able to claim that woman as their own. I worry I am cruel to him, for I won’t lay with him on account of him being married. But I don’t see a way out of this. Either I must give up my morals and become what they call a fallen woman, or I must leave the man I love. I have thought I must go to live in Chichester or Brighton and away from Mr Cavell. But when I think hard on it, I know I don’t want to leave him and I am certain sure he doesn’t want me to go.

There
is no way out unless that woman dies (I cannot call her the mistress, and I don’t like to think of her as Mrs Cavell). But I cannot wish death on anyone, even her.

I did decide, back in the summer, that I would stay here for the rest of this year. Next year, in 183
3, I would decide my future.

Next year
is only a day away.

The hot pot was as tasty and good as I hoped it would be. Between us we emptied the pot, apart from the bit I saved for Sultan, who lay under the table hoping for tid-bits.

By the time I fetch
ed the pudding we had finished one bottle of wine atwixt us. Mr Cavell was taking the cork out of another while I went to the kitchen, taking down the plates, cutlery and empty pot, and coming back up with the pudding and bowls.

When I c
ame back up with the tray, Mr Cavell had some papers spread on the table in front of him. I had a moment of feeling annoyed. Why, on New Year’s Eve, when we were having dinner, must he do his business? But then he stood and took the tray from me, and put it down on the sideboard.

‘
Pudding will keep, Jemima. There is something I need to talk to you about, and I can’t wait any longer.’ He took my hand and led me to my seat. He sat beside me, not at the head of the table where he had been sitting to eat.

‘
Take a look at these papers, Jemima. I collected them from Dennett this morning. He was in London yesterday, on business for me, getting this signed. At last.’

I look
ed at the paper and began to read, but it didn’t make a lot of sense to me, and I turned to Mr Cavell all be-muddled.

‘
It’s a Deed of Separation,’ he said quietly. ‘Caroline has signed her name to it – see, here. And I have signed it too. Both signatures have been witnessed by others.’

‘
Sir, what does that mean, deed of separation?’

‘
It means, my dear, sweet Jemima, that I am free of my wife, as free as it is possible to be under the laws of this country. I may not remarry, but in the eyes of society I am a free man.’

My eyes widen
ed, and I think I gave a little gasp, as I considered what that meant.

‘
Jemima, all that matters to me is you. I love you – I think you know that. I think too, that you care for me. I cannot un-marry, but I have done the nearest thing possible. Is it enough, for you?’

‘
Sir, I….’

‘
Please, do not call me ‘sir’ any longer. My name is Henry.’

‘
Yes sir, I mean, Mr Henry, I…. I need some time to think,’ I said. ‘Tis all so… so….’ I couldn’t think of any words what described how I felt. He wanted me this much. 

‘
Of course. I’ll not rush you. But know this, Jemima. I love you, I will always love you, and there will be no other woman for me. Not now, or ever.’ He smiled. ‘Now then, how about eating this delicious looking pudding you’ve made?’

I close
d my mouth which had dropped open like a fish, and served the pudding. We ate it in silence though there was a clamour in my head and a pounding in my chest so loud I thought Mr Cavell must be able to hear it. Mr Henry I must call him now. He looked so handsome sitting there at the head of the table. Handsome and strong, and with a kindness in his eyes. I know he is the best man I will ever meet, and the only one I will ever love. But, still married. Though as near not married as the Law allows. Oh, what was I to do?

When we ha
d done with eating I cleared the plates away to the kitchen. Mr Henry asked me to come back upstairs soon as I could, afore the clock strikes twelve so as to see in the New Year with him. I am normally tucked in my bed by ten o’clock so it was to be a late night for me. While I washed the plates and tidied the kitchen I thought and thought. And by the time I put away the last piece of cutlery and wiped the table and put the dirty dishcloth to soak, I had made my decision. I took off my apron, hung it on the back of the door, and breathed deep afore I went up the stairs to the drawing room.

Mr Henry st
ood when I came in, and handed me a glass of sherry. He wound up the music box and set it to play. He had stoked up the fire with sweet-smelling pine wood, and lit candles on the side tables. The room was cosy and warm and it made me smile.

Sultan g
ot up too when I walked in, and came over to lick my hand. I made a fuss of him.

‘
He’s missed you – you took too long in the kitchen,’ said Mr Henry.

‘
I am sorry,’ I said, ‘but there were a lot of plates to wash.’

‘
We must get you some more help, so you are never left alone with it on Maria’s days off.’

‘
Mr Henry, tis not too much for me. There is only you to take care of in this house. Maria and I can manage very well.’

‘
All right. But then we must begin to have our meals together when Maria is here to wait on us.’

Mr Henry g
ave me a look that asked, had I had enough time to think about it, what was my answer? I wanted to tell him what I had decided but I couldn’t find the words. I sat on a chair by the fire and sipped the sherry. It was sweet and strong, and warmed me all the way down.

We talk
ed of this and that, and rewound the music box a dozen times, afore the clock on the mantelpiece inched its way around to midnight. When it chimed, we stood and counted the chimes and raised our glasses.

‘
Welcome to 1833,’ said Mr Henry. ‘May it be a happy and prosperous year for both of us.’ He smiled and put out his hand to take mine, and the question was still in his eyes.

I smile
d back at him and still the words wouldn’t come. He mistook my silence for tiredness.

‘
I’m keeping you up too late, my dear Jemima. Selfish of me. Well, we have seen the New Year in, now. Please, go to bed if you are tired.’

‘
Yes, Mr Henry,’ I said. ‘I would like to go to bed now.’

‘
Good night, then.’ He let go of my hand and sat himself back down by the fire.

I knew that w
as the moment. I walked over to him and stood afore him, my knees almost touching his. I looked down at him, into his eyes.

‘
Sir, Mr Henry, I think I would like to sleep in
your
bed, tonight.’

He g
ave a little gasp, and took my hands. ‘Jemima, my love, are you sure? Do you not need time to think about it?’

‘
I have had time to think, Mr Henry, while I was washing up. I am sure, sir, for I love you and know that you love me. Come.’

I hardly believe
d what I did, but I pulled him to his feet and into my arms, and I raised my face to his and my lips to his, and the kiss was long and deep and made me tingle from my head to my toes. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me close with a longing I could feel all the way through. And I knew I had made the right decision for my longing for him was just as strong.

When the kiss end
ed I sighed and opened my eyes to see the hunger in his. We spoke not a word, but went about the room putting the guard on the fire, blowing out candles, and taking up one each. He led the way and I followed, to his bed chamber. There we kissed again, standing at the foot of his bed. I wondered how do we get from
here
to
there
– where we needed to be, undressed and under the covers. How is it managed, the first time?

‘
Shall I leave you a moment?’ he whispered. ‘To, ahem, undress?’

But I kn
ew I didn’t want him to leave, not even for a moment, so I pulled him back to me for another kiss, and he began to fumble at the fastenings on the back of my dress. And I unbuttoned his coat, then his waistcoat, and slipped my hands around his waist with only his shirt between them and his skin. He shuddered at my touch, and in my turn I trembled at his, as he pulled my dress off my shoulders and kissed my neck. His hands came around to my breasts, covered only by my chemise, and I felt the tremble run down my body, between my legs. My knees were weak and I knew I could not stand up for any longer.

I step
ped back and he looked worried. ‘Jemima, I’m sorry, do I go too fast?’

‘
No, Mr Henry, not fast enough,’ I said, and I stepped out of my dress and petticoats, and pulled off my chemise. The room was colder than the drawing room and made me shiver, so I moved to the bed and pulled back the cover. I was naked now, only my sister and my mother had seen me like this before, but I felt no shame, it felt so right.

He pull
ed off his own clothes quickly, tearing a shirt sleeve as he did so, and climbed in beside me in. We held each other close, and I felt the beating of his heart against my skin.

The love-making
was the best thing that ever happened to me. Mr Henry was gentle and kind, but passionate as well, and he made me feel like I never felt before, and brought me up to the crest of a huge sea swell and sent me whoosh! down again as the wave broke inside me. And when he came into me I felt like we were a child’s puzzle that was
meant
to fit together. In that first hour of 1833 I was looking neither back nor forward. There was only the
here
, the
now
, that wonderful, glorious, beautiful moment.

I have no doubt that I have made the right decision. I have changed my life and can never go back. I would never want to go back. The fortune-teller was wrong when she said I would turn my back on love. I have not turned my back on Mr Henry, nor ever will. I am where I belong, beside the man I love.