‘Oh, Aurelia, I do wish there was something I could do to help,’ Marigold stated fervently. ‘But at least you’ve got your children.’
‘And I dote on them. They’re the world to me. But my husband can’t hold a candle to yours. Cherish Algie, Marigold, because he’s worth it.’
‘Oh, Aurelia, I do wish there was something I could do for you,’ she repeated. ‘I hate to think of you being so unhappy. Ain’t there no chance of you ever again rekindling the love you had for one another before?’
‘Spare me the revolting thought. I couldn’t bear him to touch me, and that’ll never change. That’s why we sleep in separate rooms.’
‘I know, Aurelia, and I’m that sorry.’
‘We’ve not slept together since well before Christina was born. Nor would I allow him to touch me once I knew I was carrying her.’
‘Oh, Aurelia. I don’t think I could live like that; not sleeping with my husband, no hanky-panky in bed. I love the hanky-panky.’
‘Lucky you. Algie’s a different kettle of fish, though, isn’t he? He strikes me as being loving, attentive, hard-working…He doesn’t have a mistress, either, does he, like Benjamin does?’
‘I’d kill him…and her…’
Aurelia smiled affectionately. ‘I imagine it’s something you’ll never have to worry about, Marigold. Anyway, Maude Atkins is welcome to Benjamin. As long as she keeps him away from my bed.’
A tramcar thundered along beside them, the clatter and hiss of its steam engine making conversation momentarily impossible. They crossed the cobbled street, lifting their skirts to prevent the hems skimming the dust and dried slurry, and then turned into a descending hill lined on either side with terraced houses. One was the home of Mrs Palethorpe, the dressmaker.
‘You know, Aurelia,’ Marigold said, as a thought suddenly struck her. ‘Are you unhappy for the same reason as Benjamin?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘What I mean is…maybe he’s unhappy because he’s in love with another woman – this Maude Atkins – so are you unhappy because you are in love with another man, and can’t have him? You’ve never said as much.’
Aurelia felt herself blushing. However, she had no intention of confiding such information to Marigold, close as they were. Marigold had accurately assessed the situation, as she so often did; she might have had little or no education, but astute perception and common sense abounded.
Alerted by the lack of a response, Marigold looked at her half-sister. ‘You’ve gone red, our Aurelia…So there is somebody, eh?…Are you going to tell me who it is?’
‘Enough, Marigold,’ she chided good-naturedly and smiled as she knocked, still red-faced, on Mrs Palethorpe’s door. ‘Mrs Palethorpe will turn us away if she hears such talk.’
* * *
By the time Aurelia arrived home it was nearly five o’clock. Her first task was to check with Joyce Till, the nanny, that little Benjie and Christina were content. Benjie came running to her in the hallway and she scooped him up in her arms and hugged him.
‘I hope you’ve been a good boy for nanny while I’ve been out,’ she whispered fondly.
The child nodded his solemn avowal.
‘He’s been very good, ma’am,’ Joyce answered for the child.
‘Where’s Christina?’ Aurelia enquired.
‘Asleep, ma’am. I thought she seemed rather tired today, so I was inclined to let her sleep a while longer before she has her tea.’
Aurelia nodded. ‘So long as she sleeps tonight. Is she ailing, d’you think?’
‘Oh, not ailing, ma’am. Just tired, I believe.’
‘I’ll go upstairs and change. Then I’ll wake her.’
In the privacy of her fortress Aurelia closed the door quietly. It did her a world of good to get out of the house whenever she could. It did her good to see the people outside of it with whom she could communicate. She sat down on the stool at her dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. This time she was not disappointed with what she saw; she knew herself to be a good-looking woman and she valued her looks, for good looks were an asset when used effectively. She was beginning to perceive her good looks as a curse, however, having propelled her into this ill-fated marriage, this tawdry existence. She sighed heavily. Her beauty made her attractive to men; her beauty had first attracted Benjamin, but these days he was more interested in their pretty ex-nanny. Her beauty had tempted Clarence Froggatt, but he was about to marry Harriet Meese, who was patently not outwardly beautiful. So where had this enviable beauty got her? Her beauty had attracted the man she now loved so passionately, but she did not have him either.
* * *
On a warm sunny day that August in 1892, Marigold was pulling weeds from a flowerbed in the front garden of Badger House, the gentleman’s residence in Kingswinford that had only recently become their home. Algie swerved his bicycle expertly through the gate and onto the yielding gravel of the driveway that led to the unused stable at the rear. He dismounted, and Marigold rose up from her knees, wiped her hands on her apron and hurried towards him, all her love in her welcoming smile.
‘I’m glad you’re back early, Algie.’
He leaned the bike against the wall under a window of the house, put his hand to her slim waist, gave her a broad smile and a peck on the cheek. He saw his child’s bassinet standing in the lengthening shade of the laburnum, and took Marigold’s hand. ‘How long’s she been asleep? Is she due to wake soon?’
‘I ought to wake her now, Algie, else she won’t sleep when it’s her bedtime.’
He stood looking at his daughter then bent down and stroked the smooth skin of the baby’s face, disturbing her. She grimaced and opened her blue eyes wide, bewildered for a second. A smile appeared as soon as she saw her father’s benign countenance peering down at her. He lifted her carefully from the bassinet and held her to him. ‘Hello, little poppet,’ he murmured. Rose rubbed her eyes and immediately began sucking her thumb as she appraised the world from over his shoulder.
‘Daddy’s home,’ Marigold said softly, standing before them both. ‘Come to see his little girl.’
‘Where’s Mother?’ he enquired.
‘Cooking your dinner. She would insist, Algie…’ Marigold sounded apologetic.
‘Shall we go inside then, and say hello to Grandma?’ he whispered to Rose, still absorbed with her thumb.
Walking slowly across the lawn towards the front door Algie stopped. He looked at Marigold and nodded towards his bicycle. ‘That’s the new model we’ve been working on. What d’you think?’
‘It don’t look no different to the last,’ she answered with the honesty of a woman totally unversed in the mysteries of bicycle design.
‘Oh, it is different. Different shaped handlebar, different mudguards, frame. And it’s a good four pounds lighter. Benjamin Sampson will have a fit when he sees it, ’specially when he knows we’ll be putting a lamp on the front for free. We can get the Lucas Planet lamp for less than three bob apiece. We’ll build it into the price of the bike,