The Tower Room, page 22
‘Grow into something bigger?’ Sarah prompted gently.
To that, Kate said nothing. Sarah picked up the empty teacup and said, ‘How about another, nice and fresh?’ but the old lady stopped her before she reached the door.
‘Y’ say there was more than one picture … ’ Her voice was low, her glance downcast, her fingers plucked the bedcover.
‘Yes, and even more beautiful. It was — ’
‘I know what it was.’ The voice was bleak. ‘He only painted two. And then he went.’
But something happened, thought Sarah. Something Kate had never told anyone about.
*
As she prepared breakfast, sounds from the adjoining garden distracted Sarah. Pru’s children were at play, well wrapped up and rosy-cheeked, while the oldest, four-year-old Benjamin to whom any kind of barrier was a challenge, sat astride the dividing fence, yelling in frustration because one foot was trapped. She raced to rescue him and his rage promptly changed to beaming pride in his achievement, catching at her heart. She wanted to capture that chubby face just as it was — a whole series of chubby Benjamins to delight the world.
Whenever she could, from today on, she would watch him from her side of the garden fence, surreptitiously sketching, and then she would be off to her wash-house studio to choose the right clay and start working. She raced back indoors, the stimulation of the prospect urging her to get breakfast and household chores over and done with, only to be halted by an imperative knock on the front door.
To her surprise, Cynthia Frenshaw stood there. She wore riding clothes and the grey was loosely tethered to the front gate.
‘Good morning,’ she said in a tone of condescension, ‘I have been knocking quite a while.’
‘I’m sorry. I was at the back and my grandmother is not yet up. I take her breakfast in bed.’
‘Then when she is up — and I hope it will be soon because my housekeeper is badly in need of her migraine pills — tell her I will send a car and driver as usual for her to collect them.’
The speed at which anger rose in Sarah astonished her.
‘My grandmother is too old to be sent on errands. Why can’t the driver collect them? Or why not send a servant? My grandmother isn’t one — ma’am.’
With hauteur Cynthia Frenshaw said, chauffeur must remain with his vehicle at all times, and the abbey staff are all occupied at this hour. But you would have no knowledge of such things, of course. To avoid delay, and out of compassion for my housekeeper’s suffering, I called here personally — ’
‘Then why not collect the pills yourself — ma’am? I see you are equipped for riding.’
Fury dyed the woman’s face. Her mouth opened on a crushing retort and then promptly changed to an anticipatory smile as the hum of a high-powered car approached. It was Bruce Frenshaw’s Lanchester and Daniel Frenshaw’s wife spun round, her smile widening as she lifted a gloved hand to wave to her brother-in-law as he drove toward the main gates en route for the potbank. The quality of his smile in return was no more than friendly, whereas hers was self-betraying. Sarah closed the front door feeling that she had witnessed something she would be wise to forget.
Sixteen
Bruce said bluntly, ‘It’s time we had a talk, Cynthia.’
‘About what?’
Her voice was drowsy and indifferent. In the aftermath of satiated sex, she felt in little mood for conversation.
‘Us. Sooner or later the time must come to call it a day.’ When her startled eyes looked back at him he said, ‘You must have known it. Love affairs can’t last for ever — especially one like ours.’
Now thoroughly awake, she said, ‘I don’t see why not. History is full of lifelong associations unblessed by the Church.’
‘Name one.’ When she couldn’t, he laughed. ‘Not much of an historian, are you? Nor I, if it comes to that, but neither of us can be fool enough to imagine that the end of our affaire isn’t inevitable. The surprising thing is that it has lasted so long without Daniel suspecting. The only explanation is that you must serve him well in bed. With your lusty appetite that doesn’t surprise me, though I don’t like to think of it.’
‘Jealous?’ she teased.
‘Guilty, more. After all, he is my brother. To be frank, I’ve often made up my mind to break with you, then failed.’
‘And you’ll fail again. As for feeling guilty, there’s no need because Daniel sleeps with me less and less these days.’ She didn’t like to admit, because it was unflattering, that he had moved into another room without comment or explanation, his silence clearly indicating that it was final.
‘That could mean he suspects. I know my brother. He’s a man who hides his feelings, bides his time, then acts. He makes decisions and then takes you by surprise when he’s thought them through thoroughly. He’s a wise bloke and I respect him though we haven’t a thing in common.’
‘Except me,’ she said in a coaxing tone which, after the physical exhaustion of the past hour, failed to entice him.
‘You’re overlooking one thing, Cynthia. When I marry, things will naturally end between us.’
‘Sure of that? And who are you planning to marry?’
‘Annabel, of course. Who else? “A man cannot marry his brother’s wife.” Ever read that page in the prayer book? I once browsed through it as a bored choirboy. And since divorce laws are so strict and mercilessly prolonged today, neither you nor I could tolerate their slow and relentless grind — nor you the social stigma. Imagine being refused entry into the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, the fate of all divorcees! The day may come when divorce is as easy and as commonplace in England as it is in America, but that’s far off. Apart from all that, Annabel is part of my life. We were childhood sweethearts, as they call two kids who are inseparable, and there’s never been any doubt in my mind about us marrying.’
‘Does she know that?’
‘I’m pretty sure so. It’s one of those taken-for-granted things, approved of all round.’
‘Then go ahead and marry her, darling. I won’t mind. I won’t be jealous. I can wait because I know it won’t be long before you’ll be wanting me again. Give her a couple of kids to keep her occupied and she’ll be happy — that is, if you can lure her away from her current ambitions. Daniel declares she’s highly talented and he’s even planning to employ her when she’s qualified. Your belief that she would quit that art school hasn’t proved to be right, has it? She’s plainly in her element with that mixed bunch of students, particularly the Willcox girl. She doesn’t seem to recognise any social divisions. Do you really want such qualities in a wife?’
‘Since New Year’s Eve I’ve realised that I’ll have to accept them if I hope to get her. She looked ravishing in that white dress and I had the devil of a job to get a dance with her, thanks to that French chap from the potbank — ’
‘He’s very personable. I wouldn’t have minded dancing with him myself, but he plainly thought he’d be overstepping the mark in asking the Master Potter’s wife.’
‘D’you think so?’ A touch of amusement hovered on Bruce’s lips. ‘The truth was that he had eyes for no one but Annabel, and she certainly responded.’ He added dismally, ‘And now the truth is that after letting her down on the evening of the Bellingham exhibition I think I’ll be damn lucky to get her. I’d promised to be there and you know why I wasn’t. I felt a heel later.’
That irritated Cynthia. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t start talking about guilt again. From a rascal like you it’s unconvincing, which is why I know you’ll come back to me and continue to, Annabel or no Annabel, wife or no wife. And now be off with you, darling — I have things to do.’
Sliding off the bed, she walked naked to his bathroom, leaving him to dress and be on his way. She didn’t see the resentful glance he threw after her.
‘You always think of something to do when you’ve finished with me, don’t you, Cynthia? What is it this time?’
While pulling on his clothes, he heard her answer above the rush of running water accompanied by the scent of her favourite bath salts. She made sure that his apartment contained all her vital necessities.
‘If you have to ask that you can’t have noticed what’s going on outside,’ she called beyond the open door. ‘There seems to be some land measuring going on near the east paddock. If you don’t know anything about it I suggest you take a look. Wait and I’ll come with you. Men can frequently get answers where women fail.’
‘Not women like you,’ he laughed, ‘and I’ve no time to wait. The export department needs my presence. And if anything is going on over there I dare say it’s nothing more than some plan of Daniel’s to improve the area — create more formal gardens, perhaps.’
‘In which case he should have consulted me. The outdoor estate has always been my responsibility.’
Unofficially, he thought, quelling more irritation. Cynthia’s self-assumed authority seemed to be increasing.
Fastening his collar stud and reaching for his tie, he called back dismissively, ‘Well, it’s probably nothing important — and now I’m off. There’s a substantial export order being despatched today and if I’m not there to supervise it you can bet your bottom dollar Le Fevre will be because it consists of his best thrown ware. Orders of this size are less frequent than they were a while ago — to give the man his due, that isn’t his fault. He produces finer work and runs the throwing shed better than his predecessor, and is almost fanatical about his goods being packed properly. But the postwar slump is beginning to bite — ’
‘Don’t you harp on that too! One hears enough about it these days.’
Cynthia cut off the conversation by slamming the bathroom door and Bruce departed, stung. Sometimes he wondered how it was that a solely physical attraction could bind two people who had little else in common. It was like wearing a strangulating collar he couldn’t discard.
As he rode away he glanced toward the east paddock and, on an impulse, headed there. In his present mood it would be satisfying to prove Cynthia wrong about something, but what he saw proved she was not. A large area was being surveyed and measured.
So she was right, dammit. Something was going on, about which he knew nothing, and because he disliked her ability to crow over him, he resolved to find out what it was before she did. He would go straight to Daniel’s office and ask him. It would be easy to concoct some satisfactory excuse for returning late from lunch.
In the event it was unnecessary. Daniel was on a routine tour of the sheds and had not yet reached his brother’s. By the time he did, Bruce was well occupied. Seizing an opportune moment, and beneath the cover of industrial noise, he said, ‘I’d like a word when you can spare the time, Daniel. Nothing to do with the potbank.’
‘In that case, can’t it wait until I’m home this evening?’
‘Cynthia will be there, won’t she?’
‘And that will make a difference?’
‘Well — I don’t want her to be upset.’
‘Why should she be?’ Daniel gave one of his deep glances. ‘What is it? Trouble? Haven’t you learned how to handle it yet?’
‘It’s nothing of the sort.’ Bruce tried not to appear affronted in the presence of his workers. ‘I’m simply curious about what’s going on beyond the east pad-dock.’
Daniel said lightly, ‘Oh, that! Then by all means drop in after dinner tonight and I’ll tell the two of you.’
*
On reaching home, Daniel said without preamble, ‘I hope you’ve no engagements tonight, Cynthia, because I’ve something to talk about with you and Bruce. He’s coming at nine.’
‘That’s rather soon after dinner at eight — ’
‘Since we no longer have leisurely tete-a-tete meals, we should get through it comfortably. Of course, if you’ve something planned for later, keep to it by all means. I can put Bruce in the picture alone, and since he owns his rightful share of the potbank that would be fairer.’
‘Well, if it’s anything to do with that place you certainly won’t need me. If it concerned things here, that would be different.’
‘It will eventually. In fact, I intend it to be soon.’
That made her uneasy, then wary. ‘Then I’ll join the pair of you,’ she said, and asked if it had anything to do with what was going on beyond the east paddock. ‘I’ve seen men measuring the ground there. Why? What are you up to, Daniel?’
‘Something a world-renowned potter did in the eighteenth century. Wouldn’t you be proud to be the wife of another Josiah Wedgwood?’
She shrugged. ‘You’re renowned enough in the pottery world, exporting more than any of your competitors.’
‘In top-quality domestic ware of fine china and porcelain, yes, but not yet creative or ornamental ware of Wedgwood’s calibre.’
‘And what has that to do with measuring the land here?’
‘I propose to make good use of it — as you’ll hear when Bruce joins us.’
Characteristically she shrugged again, indicating that it was really a matter of indifference and boring into the bargain, but adding that since she had nothing better to do this evening she would join them. She then steered the conversation to more interesting things — social events in London, Worth’s latest Paris collection, the newest debutantes to be presented at Court and how splendid were the pictures of their carriages lining the Mall and the elegance of their Prince of Wales’s feathers, then on to her father’s increasing prominence on the financial pages, and finally the disappointment the Petersons must feel about Annabel’s choice of career. ‘Their hopes that she will marry Bruce must obviously be dashed.’
‘How do you know they had such hopes?’
‘Everyone knows it.’
‘Perhaps everyone takes too much for granted.’ Daniel closed the subject, whereupon she switched to a local press report on the Bellingham exhibition, a report which cast a slur on an elderly local woman who had been painted stark naked when younger, and the woman’s lack of shame in allowing it to be shown when in her seventies. ‘I gather they’ve identified her as old Kate Willcox. Hilarious, isn’t it?’
Daniel’s face tightened. ‘No,’ he said coldly. ‘It is a wonderful painting of a beautiful woman in her prime. Whoever wrote that denigrating piece knows nothing about art and protests about it have been made by many, including myself for one and Charles Peterson for another. Charles has urged leading national newspapers to send their well-qualified art critics to view the exhibition, and since Joseph Bellingham was a Royal Academician of renown I have no doubt local bigotry will be put in its well-deserved place. By the way, it was a pity you didn’t turn up for the private viewing. I won’t ask why you didn’t. I’ll merely say that it would do you good to visit the exhibition before it closes because besides the nude painting there is a splendid one of Kate wearing the lovely nineteenth-century gown she passed on to her granddaughter — the blue one Sarah wore on New Year’s Eve. I remember you speculating, cruelly, on who had bought it for her.’ Dinner was a silent meal from that moment.
*
When Bruce arrived they had coffee in the room the Frenshaw family had called the drawing room and which Cynthia insisted on calling the salon.
‘So what do you have to tell us?’ Bruce asked.
Before Daniel could reply Cynthia said, ‘It’s something to do with land adjoining the east paddock. He says he’s going to put it to good use, like Josiah Wedgwood.’
‘Wedgwood had to wait a long time before he could own anything approaching so much land as we have here,’ her husband said. ‘When he did, you know what he used it for. The Etruria Works at Barlaston are part of legend now. I’m resolved that Dunmore’s will become the same.’
There was a stunned silence before Bruce gasped, ‘You mean you’re going to build pottery workshops here?’
‘More than that. A wholly new Frenshaw potbank. Brick buildings instead of wooden sheds, well designed modern buildings far more accommodating than those we have used since our first potter ancestor set up his shed by the canal. This has been a dream of mine for years. I believe better accommodation will produce better work and do for the name of Frenshaw what the Etruria Works did for Wedgwood — ’
Cynthia’s voice cut in, sharp as jagged glass.
‘I don’t believe it! I won't! You couldn’t be so insane! Scar such a place as this with filthy bottle ovens belching out filthy smoke? As for dirty pottery workers tramping all over our beautiful acres — ’
‘They won’t. Areas for their recreation are already marked on the plans. The last piece now being measured will be the nearest to the abbey, and much of that is screened by trees. And what is offensive about human beings relaxing in distant fields? As for bottle ovens, there will be none.’
‘No bottle ovens! Then how are we going to fire?’
The initial shock over, Bruce’s voice now revealed interest.
‘By newer methods, more np to date. Gas-fired kilns are proving successful and a hundred per cent cleaner. No smoke. No coal. No dust. Nothing to blacken the stokers or till their lungs. That will be the greatest innovation. Others will be well-equipped workshops and good lighting — big windows, good ventilation and reliable heating in the worksheds. In conditions such as those, workers will be healthier and our output should double.’
Bruce said, ‘But how are they going to get to and from this place? Dunmore is much further out in the country than the Longton road site. And what of that site? Frenshaws have used it since the potbank was set up and its situation on the canal gives direct access for the transport of goods — ’
