Seasons of Love (6 page)

‘Why not call him Harry straight out, then? Why bother with Henry at all?’

Head on one side, she considered this. ‘Yes. Why not?’

‘Why Harry anyway?’

‘After Henry the Eighth.’

He roared with laughter. ‘Henry the Eighth! What's so special about him? He's dead!’

‘Because he had such a gusto for life. He enjoyed it. And because - because no one in my family is called Henry.’

‘Well, that makes a bit more sense than calling him after Henry the Eighth. Wouldn't want a son of mine named for that mincy-mouthed brute of a father of yours. You've still got a couple of scars on your back, you know. Lovely back you've got.’ He ran his finger up her cheek, looking forward to having the use of her body again, and she nestled against him trustingly.

Before he left, he coaxed a few coins out of her to swell his stake, disarming her by a frank admission of his guilt in playing so deeply, but assuring her that he couldn't lose, that it was a game of skill they were playing tonight, not a game of chance.

He had brought no flowers, had even forgotten he was supposed to.

It wouldn’t have made a difference if he had. Helen had seen how little he cared for their son - or for her. And she wept once he’d gone.

Chapter 4

By the time the Marlborough Players were ready to move on, Helen had recovered her strength and Robert had discovered just how much he disliked living with a baby. Its crying set his teeth on edge, there were always cloths and little garments drying around the room, filling it with a steamy smell, and, worst of all, the baby regularly disturbed his sleep.

Moreover, Helen was no longer solely at his service, which he had rather enjoyed. She was now more often at the service of the red-faced, howling stranger, who had to be fed at the most inconvenient times. In fact, Robert decided indignantly, that damned baby always came first with her. Not that she didn't see to her husband's laundry as efficiently as ever, and feed him well enough, but dammit, a man liked his wife to sit with him and look pretty and
listen
to him! Nowadays, Helen always seemed to have one ear cocked, in case Harry cried.

And Robert detested,
absolutely and utterly detested
, going out for walks with a woman carrying a baby, which looked more like a bundle of dirty washing to him than a son and heir. It was not, in his opinion, a good thing for an actor to be seen like this. He enjoyed having a pretty woman hanging on his arm and listening adoringly to everything he said, but he did not enjoy squiring one who cooed at the baby, pointing out the trees and the flowers to a mindless and smelly little creature which couldn’t even focus its eyes correctly, let alone understand what she was saying.

And so he told her.

Which made her weep softly into her handkerchief and made him feel like brute.

But he wasn’t going to change his mind about walking about town with a baby in public view.

Definitely not!

So the gloss wore off the marriage and its brief flowering came to an end. Helen found it more and more difficult to manage on the money her husband gave her, if he gave her any, and Robert took to staying out as much as possible, to avoid the caterwauling, as he called it, of his son.

Some of the proprietors of the rooms they lodged in objected to the noise the baby inevitably made and other tenants objected too, for Harry had a lusty pair of lungs.

Then there was the amount of washing a baby caused. As if a baby would notice whether its clothes were clean or not! But Helen wouldn’t give way on this point. She had dainty tastes and insisted on keeping herself, her baby and her husband immaculately clean, however many pails of water she had to lug up and down narrow flights of steps to do so.

And since Robert was providing less and less money, she also had to spend every minute she could sewing to earn more, so that Harry should never, ever lack for anything.

‘Oh, Roxanne,’ she sighed one day. ‘Does nothing beautiful ever last?’

‘Not in my experience.’

‘What does last then?’

‘Money.’

When Roxanne asked her bluntly one day if she intended to have another child, Helen gaped at her.

‘Intend? I thought babies just - happened.’ She blushed and stared at the ground.

‘They needn’t happen if you don't want them to. How do you think I've managed all these years?’

‘But you're not mar- ’ Helen blushed even more hotly.

Roxanne laughed. ‘Helen, my love, it's time you faced a few facts. The first one is that life with Robert will always be chancy and you’ll have to rely on yourself to look after your son. The things your mother and father taught you, well, morals like those are all very well for people with money and a position in the community, but if you're a woman with your own way to make in the world, you can't afford to behave virtuously all the time. And you certainly can't afford to keep getting pregnant.’

She put her arm round the younger woman. ‘I don't steal and cheat, but if a gentleman wants to pay me for the use of my body, well, I think it's a fair enough exchange, for I keep myself clean and I give them good value. Does that make you want to stop being friends with me?’ As she waited for an answer, it occurred to her that she would be very upset to lose her companion’s friendship.

Helen thought for a moment, then shook her head. ‘Of course not! Nothing could! You've been the best of friends to me.’ She gave Roxanne a hug, as if to prove it, and her friend drew her close and gave her a long cuddle, which ended with a smacking kiss on the cheek.

After which, Roxanne laughed at herself for being so sentimental and wiped away her tears.

‘That's good, then. Friends we’ll stay. But I do think you should know how to stop yourself having any more children. He'll leave you if you do. You do realise that don't you?’

There was a moment's silence, then Helen swallowed hard and whispered, ‘Yes.’

She fiddled with the edge of her apron as Roxanne spoke, but she listened carefully, for all her embarrassment, and afterwards, the two women went to the apothecary and bought some sponges to use for birth-control.

And as she told Roxanne later she had Robert's whole-hearted support for this.

As the first year of young Harry Perriman's life passed, Helen admitted to herself that in spite of all the difficulties of her new life, she was far happier than she had been living with her parents. She’d written to inform them of the birth of her son, but received no reply. This didn’t surprise her, but it made her very thoughtful, and after a while she asked Robert's permission to write to Lord Northby and inform him also, since he was a sort of cousin.

‘Why d’you want to do that? He hasn’t done anything much for us, has he?’ Except poke his damned nose into Robert’s affairs and saddle him with a wife and child he couldn’t afford.

‘Oh, just in case - well, just in case it's useful for Harry one day to prove who he is.’

Robert nodded slowly. Perhaps there was some more money to be had from the family later.

‘Can't hurt, I suppose. Do as you please, my dear.’

Lord Northby sent her an impersonal little note in return, thanking her for the information and enclosing a silver christening spoon for the infant.

Robert was unimpressed by the spoon. ‘That won’t fetch much. I call it paltry.’

‘We shall never know how much it will fetch. It's Harry's and shall be kept safe for him.’ She looked so fiercely at her husband as she spoke that Robert put the idea of selling it out of his head.

He was beginning to find her intractable on some points, and had learned that she did have a temper, slow to rouse, but which could turn her into a raging fury if he did anything that might upset the boy.

Once or twice, when Robert's luck was right out, they became very short indeed of money. Only Helen's tiny quarterly income saved her and the baby from going without the necessities of life and she had to fight to get a share of that, even. Roxanne did not now need to remind her to keep some of her money secret. She had a reserve of coins hidden in the lining of her sewing-basket and the thought of them was a great comfort to her.

She began to dread a certain look on Robert's face and to wish he wouldn’t gamble quite so often or stay out so late drinking with his cronies. She also wished he was a more loving father and that she had a proper home of her own with a little garden, nothing grand, she would have been content with a cottage.

But she didn’t voice these wishes. She’d married an actor and must take the consequences. Just as long as no harm came to Harry. That she wouldn’t stand for. And give Robert his due, he wasn’t actively cruel to the child.

In Bath, Robert fell ill, so ill that he couldn’t go on stage. For an actor, this was a rare thing, because as the members of this company said to encourage one another, ‘Go on, even if it kills you.’ They always laughed and added, ‘If you’re a good actor, the audience will never notice.’

The understudy was hurriedly coached for the part and Robert lay fretting and coughing in bed, delirious half the time, with a raging fever. He made a poor patient, complaining about everything Helen did for him, complaining most of all about the noise little Harry made.

And for all Helen's devoted nursing, Robert got worse, not better. The company was to move at the end of the week, but there could be no question of him going with them. Another handsome young actor was engaged and everyone packed their boxes.

Roxanne came to their lodgings to say goodbye in a whirl of silks and furs (she had a new admirer who was showering presents on her). She hugged Helen to her and said huskily, ‘I shall miss you, love, miss you a lot. And this little fellow too.’ She tickled Harry, who had crawled over to tug at her bright-coloured skirts, and he crowed and gurgled up at her.

‘Can't you - keep that brat - quiet?’ gasped the invalid.

Helen picked up her son and cuddled him, grimacing at Roxanne.

‘I don't envy you,’ whispered Roxanne, seeing that Robert had dozed off again. ‘Is he always so bad-tempered?’

Helen's eyes filled with tears at this expression of sympathy, and she could only nod and cuddle her son more tightly. ‘I shall miss you too,’ she managed, after a while. ‘Never mind, though, perhaps we shall be together again once Robert's better and we can rejoin the company.’

Roxanne fiddled with the lace on her bodice. ‘Yes, well, that's what I came to tell you. I'm thinking of leaving the theatre. As I shall be selling my share of it to Miles Barker, the company will probably re-form after Bristol. And - well, you know he doesn’t get on with Robert.’

Helen swallowed her disappointment. ‘Oh? I - didn’t know you’d saved enough money to retire.’

‘I haven’t. But my gentleman friend has offered to set me up in a house of my own and settle some money on me. It's a generous offer and I’d be a fool not to take it.’ She smiled grimly, ‘At least, I’m going to take it if our lawyers can agree. I’m not doing anything till it’s signed and sealed.’

‘Oh.’ Helen tried not to look disapproving.

Roxanne smiled wryly. ‘I knew you wouldn't like it, love, but I'm not getting any younger, am I? I do have something saved, but not enough to live on in comfort for the rest of my life if I stop working.’ She laughed. ‘I've not been a great success as an actress. Oh, I'm competent enough, but I'm past my prime and I know now that I'll never be famous.’

‘I think you're a wonderful actress,’ Helen said stoutly.

‘Thanks, love,’ Roxanne's face softened as she looked at her young friend, ‘but you're as bad a judge of acting as you are of husbands. Anyway, my Jack's well-heeled. He'll look after me for a while, and when he's gone, well, I’ll still have the house he's buying for me. So - I reckon you'd better tell Robert,’ she jerked her head towards the bed, ‘to find himself another company when he gets better.’

‘Oh.’

Roxanne lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘If he doesn’t get better, if he dies and leaves you in trouble, come to me. That’s a bad cough.’

Helen knew what her friend wasn’t saying. She too had heard coughs like that before and knew what they could mean. No, not Robert.

‘Oh, he’ll probably be all right. His looks should last a good few years yet, but be sure you make other plans for later on. He's not got a great deal of talent, so when his looks fade, he'll be out of a job.’

Helen nodded. After over a year in the theatrical world, she did not need to be told that. ‘Yes. I see.’

‘Is that all you can say?’

‘I - don't know what to say.’ Helen picked up Harry, who had put his thumb in his mouth and stopped crawling around. She cuddled him and concentrated on not weeping all over her friend.

‘Well, you could start by saying that you won't disown me, and that you'll come and see me when you're in London.’ Roxanne tried to smile, but looked more like a woman about to cry. ‘You know, love, you're like the daughter I never had.’

Helen set the baby down in his cradle and flung her arms round the only friend she'd ever known.

‘Of course I won't disown you! You've been more like a mother to me than my own ever was, and you’ve taught me so much. I hope you'll be
very
happy with your - with Jack.’

Roxanne wept a little more, dashed away the tears and insisted on taking Helen out for a farewell meal. After paying the landlady's daughter to keep an eye on the invalid and the sleeping baby, she swept Helen off to the nearest chop house. Over a nice plate of steak pie and boiled potatoes, she loaded Helen with as much shrewd advice as she could think of, and left her with the name of Jack's lawyer in London. He would know where to contact her.

When Helen got back, the baby was howling and Robert had taken a turn for the worse. Feeling very alone in the world, she tried to make her husband comfortable.

Somehow, during the next few weeks, Helen found the strength to cope with the baby and the needs of her husband, as well as the complaints of the landlady and the problems of making the money last.

Red-eyed for lack of sleep, she struggled through an interminable series of days and nights which blurred into one another.