Once and for Always, page 11
Having started, Simon poured out his feelings. ‘Now I feel free to start a new life,’ he ended.
‘Monica cannot be erased no matter how much you wish it. She is part of who you are. And there is always Cynthia to remind you.’
Simon took a gulp of brandy to wash the bitterness from his mouth and mind. ‘I have sent her Christmas gifts.’
‘Sent? You did not think to take them yourself?’
The truth stung and Simon offered the first excuse that came into his head. ‘I did not have time.’
James raised an eyebrow. ‘You arrived here three days earlier than expected.’ Simon squirmed under his brother’s sorrowful regard. The last time he had seen Cynthia was just after Monica died. She had been a grizzling toddler who bore no likeness to her beautiful mother. Which should have been a bonus but only reminded him that she was fathered by another man.
The silence became uncomfortable. To fill it Simon said, ‘I will settle the proceeds of the sale on her. She will have an ample dowry when the time comes.’ It was a spur of the moment decision as he had originally intended to use the money to compensate the tenants.
James changed the subject and asked if Simon had enjoyed his visit with Truro. He knew Alan from schooldays although they had never been very close friends.
This was much easier to talk about and he gave a detailed record of their activities. ‘I had a great time. We even rowed down the river!’ Simon laughed, ‘He beat me hollow. He is thinking of marrying again although he has no-one specific in mind at present. He says the children need a mother.’
Simon took a sip of his brandy and turned the subject away from children and marriage.
‘I had to cut the visit short to go back to London.’ It was actually a relief to talk about Tanner’s fraud which brought him to the matter that was really playing on his mind.
‘Do you believe it is possible to be haunted by a living person?’
‘I am not sure you can be haunted by a dead one.‘ James eased away from that path, it led back to Simon’s obsession with his dead wife. ‘Why do you ask?’
Simon finished his brandy and considered topping up his glass but he did not need another kind of spirit addling his mind. His account was disjointed but the only thing he omitted was how graphic one of his dreams had been.
At the end of the recital he waited for his brother’s advice. It was slow in coming and couched in impersonal terms.
‘The mind is a funny thing. It retains knowledge we are not consciously aware of. A seemingly insignificant event can be stored away until something happens to bring it out for consideration. Imagination them builds a fantasy around it until one does not what to believe.’ He returned to the present situation. ‘I think you have done the right thing in ensuring Mrs Fleming is safely settled. It should put your mind at ease.’ James frowned, deep in thought. ‘Do you think she might be connected to the Lessings? Their family name is Hastings and you say the Cambridge Hastings appeared genteel?’
‘That is certainly a lead for Jones to follow. The family have only recently come into Society so I don’t know very much about them.’
The matter was left there and, shortly after, they went to bed.
Chapter 12
Simon slept well, undisturbed by dreams. He was woken by the sound of an argument beyond his bedroom door.
‘You can’t go in there!’
‘But I want to tell Uncle what you did.’
Noakes’ voice came next. ‘What are you two imps doing here? No, don’t tell me. Get yourselves downstairs. I’ll come and play trains with you after breakfast.’
Simon smiled. Noakes was quite at home here. He lost his reserve and had a particular relationship with the younger boys.
Simon was already out of bed when Noakes entered the room. ‘Good morning, my Lord. Did the boys disturb you?’
‘They were making enough noise to waken the dead.’ It was said with a laugh and Noakes was pleased to see that his master had recovered from his recent distracted mood. Ablutions completed the two men went down to breakfast together. It was another informal meal in the kitchen. They were just in time to hear the cause of the boys’ argument.
‘He poured water in my bed and told Sally I had wet myself.’
‘Well, you stole my cake at supper,’ Ralph replied. ‘I was saving it for bedtime.’
‘That is no excuse. You are not allowed food in the bedroom. You were both in the wrong and I do not want to hear another word about it,’ Maria was saying as Simon and Noakes entered the kitchen.
Maria had just wished the men good morning when James joined them. The boys looked at their mother apprehensively but she just nodded her head and told them to sit down.
James led the brief morning prayers and looked around to see if anyone had anything to add. ‘We have been naughty,’ Ralph muttered.
‘Again?’ James said gravely. Both boys nodded. ‘Are you sorry?’ ‘Yes,’ the boys chorused. ‘Then we will say grace and have our breakfast.’
Simon silently applauded his brother’s tactics. In a few short words he had registered his disappointment and expected remorse. It was far more effective than a demand to know the details and allot punishment. His own father had not been a harsh parent but misdemeanours were dealt with in the formal setting of his study. Followed by a lecture on responsibility and honour. James led by example rather than goading people along with a metaphorical stick.
In the course of the general conversation James mentioned going to collect Iris from school. ‘I should like to go with you,’ Simon said as the maid took his empty bowl. It was another opportunity to spend precious time with his brother. The informal meal allowed everyone, including the housekeeper and maid, to say what they had planned for the day. The subtle division between their ranks still existed. The servants did not pretend to be family and the boys did not speak over an adult.
‘John and I were going to the mill,’ Maria said when everyone left the table, but I must call on Mrs Brewer first. John, if you can, please try to persuade your grandfather to take a break over the holiday. I am sure he does not need to work all day and every day.’
‘I am working in the carding room today,’ John added. He wrinkled his nose. ‘I am going to suggest that everyone wears a mask as the fluff makes you cough.’ Simon knew a great deal about factory conditions and wished other employers were so caring of their workers.
The distance between Stroud and Gloucester was only eight or so miles as the crow flies. The journey by carriage, along twisty roads and up and down steep hills took nearly two hours.
The conversation of the night before was not mentioned but the brothers had plenty to talk about. ‘I hope John manages to persuade Mr Wallace to stay with us for a few days,’ James remarked as they passed the mill. He looked at Simon with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Mama will not be joining us.’
Simon laughed aloud. It was no surprise and more of a relief than it ought to have been. ‘But you still ask her year after year.’
‘’I dislike closed doors.’ That just about summed up James’ philosophy.
‘I shall have to visit Mother before I go back to London,’ Simon said reluctantly. It would not be a pleasure. Lady Ridgeworth was a coldnatured women, who had always been rigid in her opinions. Once set they could not be changed by argument or reason. She had been the main promoter of his marriage to Monica and blamed Monica’s later behaviour on Simon for his seeming neglect. Admittedly she did not know the child was not his but took no interest in it anyway.
‘I had planned to take the children to visit in the New Year.’ A slow smile spread across James’ lips. ‘Would you be willing to take them?’
‘Oh, vicar!’ Simon mocked, ‘I am ashamed of you.’ It was untrue and they both knew it. James had endured years of rebukes and still visited his mother regularly. But no-one could force affection. ‘It will be a pleasure,’ Simon said, referring to the previous question. ‘I don’t see enough of them.’
‘A mixed pleasure,’ James remarked wryly., glossing over Simon’s reluctance to visit Cynthia. ’By the time you get to Bath you may have changed your mind.’
‘We will go by train. That should distract them.’
They moved on to discussing current affairs and Simon’s political activities. It lasted until they drew up outside the school.
It was an imposing stone house set high on a hill overlooking the city of Gloucester. They did not waste time admiring the view as it was very cold and James did not want to keep the horses standing for too long.
The front door was opened by the headmistress, Miss Waring. She was a thin, severe looking lady of middle years. She invited them into her office while Iris said goodbye to her friends. James declined her offer of refreshment with the excuse of not keeping the horses standing. Simon was intrigued by the office furnishings. Half of the room was business like with bookshelves, desk and wall charts. The other end, closer to the fireplace was more like a sitting room. Miss Waring subtly directed the men to a sofa and took the chair opposite. Simon had a feeling the teacher was not pleased by his presence and the seating was deliberate so she could keep him under scrutiny. She made polite but stiff conversation and subjected Simon to a gimlet stare through her wire framed spectacles whenever he spoke. He came to the conclusion that she hated men.
The change in Miss Waring’s manner when Iris joined them was starling. She placed an arm across Iris’ shoulders and said, ‘I was just about to tell your Papa how well you have settled in and made friends.’ She actually raised a smile for James. ‘It is sometimes difficult for girls to adjust to living in a large group.’
Miss Waring escort them out to the carriage and wished them all a very Happy Christmas.
The coachman had already loaded Iris’ luggage and had the door open. Before she climbed inside Iris waved to an upstairs window. Simon followed her glance and saw a pale face surrounded by bright ginger hair pressed against the glass. ’That was Joanna, my best friend,’ Iris said as the carriage started to move. ‘She has to stay here because her mother is dead and her Papa is in India. She is very clever and she can do hard sums in her head. Even really hard ones if she works them out on a slate.’ Iris laughed. ‘There are not many of those because Joanna knows more than the teachers.’
Simon thought the girl sounded like a precocious brat.
His brother took a different view. ‘Would you like her to bring her home with you for the holidays?’
Iris bounced with excitement. ‘Oh, thank you, Papa. Thank you.’
Simon saw the invitation as just another example of his brother’s constant need to draw all waifs and strays into the fold. He dismissed the girl from his mind and concentrated on Iris.
She was well worth looking at. At first glance she appeared frail, as though a puff of wind would blow her away. She had the Ridgeworth blonde hair and blue eyes but resembled her mama in her robust character. Even at eleven it was easy to see she would become a great beauty. Iris seemed unaware of her looks, or anyone else’s. Her descriptions of friends and teachers all dealt with characteristics. She was obviously fond of Miss Waring but Joanna’s name and opinions were quoted frequently.
It seemed a strange friendship and Simon had an uncomfortable memory of Monica. She had surrounded herself with less attractive girls so she could shine but Iris was too artless to behave like that and he hoped she never would be.
They talked about the coming Festival and Iris’ enthusiasm was infectious. Simon found himself offering to cut holly and lend his height in the placement of decorations in high places. Iris planned to help Mrs Savage, the housekeeper, to cook mince pies and biscuits for the carol singers and accompany her mother when she delivered baskets of goodies to some of the poorer parishioners.
It was all so different to his own upbringing. Rigid decorum had been the order of the day. His father had been a quietly conscientious parent. He had spent time with his sons, instilling a sense of duty but only showing his affection by praising their efforts and successes and only when they were alone. Simon had a vague memory of his mother complaining that praise made a boy idle and it was easier for all concerned if she was not upset. Simon did not like to think his father had been afraid of his wife but knew they barely tolerated each other. Simon had never seen them genuinely relaxed when they were in the same room, which was as seldom as they could manage. In public they were rigidly polite.
Until his health failed, his father had done all he could to prepare Simon for his future role but he had not been a very good student until it was almost too late. Simon was now determined to prepare John so he did not make the same mistakes.
Simon did not think it likely. John’s upbringing would stand him in good stead whichever way life took him. Responsibility was bred into his bones. Simon envied him.
He could not help comparing their backgrounds. It was also in sharp contrast to how he had lived in recent years. After his marriage he had dedicated himself to his responsibilities and keeping up a façade of honourable virtue. In truth it had felt more like isolation. His father’s death soon after he married Monica had given him an excuse to spend little time with her and an opportunity to use his new position to take an active part in politics. He was always busy but experienced little true happiness.
Being with Alan and his family, and now with his own, had awoken a desire for the same relaxed and loving way of life. But to do that he would need to marry again. He was not willing to take the risk.
Simon was recalled to the present by a repeated question from Iris. He apologised for wool-gathering and put his uneasy thoughts aside.
The following days were filled with activities. There was holly to cut and tied to stair rails. Bows and tinsel were refurbished and placed on the Christmas tree. Simon and Noakes moved furniture, carried coal buckets and generally made themselves useful.
Simon was not sure he would always want to live quite so democratically but it was fun for a while.
The highlight of his visit was the midnight Nativity service.
Simon had not been to church since Monica’s funeral and his feelings on that occasion could not be classed as prayers. His more recent visits to Stroud had been arranged to avoid Sundays as it would have saddened his brother if he had refused to go to church.
This time there was no avoiding the service.
The church was packed for the midnight service. The congregation sang with gusto and Simon found the words learned in childhood were instantly remembered.
James’ sermon almost moved Simon to tears. He had a feeling it was directed at him but he could see that other members of the congregation were also taking his words to heart. Love. That was the essence. Love for God being shown in care for others. James’ concluding words stuck in his mind. ‘Love has no limits. The more you give the more you receive. God’s blessing of love be with you all, now and always.’
Every one said, ‘Amen.’
It was another cold and clear night and people did not linger to talk. They called out their good wishes and hurried home. Simon carried Peter who had slept through most of the service but no-one had even thought of leaving him at home. Ralph was manfully plodding along, protesting that he was not tired at all and could he start opening his presents. He accepted ‘No’ with a shrug and followed Simon and his burden up the stairs.
The adults did not stay up for very much longer. James had another service in a few hours’ time so they all went to bed.
The rest of Simon’s visit passed far too quickly. When all the feasts had been eaten, gifts given and received the household settled back into its normal routine.
Chapter 13
Before New Year Simon took the children to visit their grandmother in Bath. She had moved there even before the death of her husband. Seeing him deteriorate into a bumbling idiot had offended her sense of proper behaviour. She had displayed dutiful grief at his funeral but her sons both knew it was only for show.
The children had accepted the news of the visit with mixed feelings. On the one hand they did not want to go and on the other the prospect of an outing with their uncle promised excitement.
They all enjoyed the novelty of travelling by train. It was not the children’s first experience but a rare enough event to make the younger boys very excited. John showed off his superior experience by summoning porters and hackneys and keeping an eye on his younger brothers. Iris was the perfect little lady, accepting with a smile any hand offered to help her in and out of the train and the cab that took them to her grandmother’s door. When the cab stopped Peter grabbed Simon’s hand and whispered, ‘I don’t like grandmother.’ Simon agreed but, in loco parentis, felt obliged to say, ‘That was not polite.’
Lady Ridgeworth received them, it could not really be called a greeting, in a drawing room stuffed to overflowing with furniture and knick-knacks. She sat in a throne-like chair that she needed a footstool to reach and did not show any pleasure in seeing the children.
She was a small woman with a taste for flamboyant clothing. Simon was sure her elaborately styled hair owed is rich colour to dye and her complexion to cosmetics.
‘Do not stand in the doorway. I do not like draughts,’ Lady Ridgeworth said loudly. They trooped forward and, in the process, Ralph bumped into a small table laden with ornaments. John neatly fielded a glass bowl and put it back on the table.
‘Just as clumsy as ever,’ Lady Ridgeworth snorted and turned her attention to Peter who was trying to hide behind Simon’s legs. ‘Come here, boy, and make your bow.’ Peter emerged just long enough make a jerky movement with his head and retreated again. ‘No manners and far too fat. He doesn’t get that from MY side of the family.’
Iris received only a cursory glance as she made a graceful courtesy. The old lady’s eyes were rivetted on John and she actually smiled. ‘Ah, you are so like your grandfather. Come as sit by my side.’ She waved a hand at Iris and the younger boys. ‘You know your way upstairs. I will speak to you later.’ It sounded like a threat. Simon shepherded the relieved youngsters to the door but was not allowed to escape. ‘Not you. As you have taken your time in visiting your mother, you can wait a little longer.’
