Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
The house was in darkness when Gwen returned home.
Archibald’s animated snores resonated down the stairs as she climbed them.
She paused outside the bedroom, but decided not to go in.
Her mind was too full of what had happened that evening for sleep.
She would only lie awake beside him becoming more annoyed, and she might disturb him when he needed rest.
She smiled wryly to herself. Did she need that many reasons not to enter her own bedroom?
The truth was, she didn’t particularly want his company.
She had not forgotten his earlier cold words and his indifference, much less the blow he had dealt her.
She crept past the bedroom, upstairs to the attic room and lay down on Archie’s small bed, throwing her coat over herself as an extra blanket.
By the time he had left home, Archie had been almost too tall for the little bed.
Tears prickled her eyes and she sniffed.
When she had first discovered her pregnancy, she had been terrified of everything it meant, but as soon as she had held the red, shrivelled bundle she had been a lost woman.
Archie owned her heart and soul in a way that no other being had.
She missed him, and it was worrying that he still hadn’t written home for so many months.
She made up her mind to write to him rather than wait and trust that his address had not changed.
She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, but as she had anticipated, she was too restless to sleep.
What had started off as a simple visit to Jenny had led to such astonishing revelations and, of course, the argument.
It had blown up out of very little, though Jenny had clearly been upset at her friend Miriam’s coldness.
Friend!
She couldn’t bring herself to think of the rather intimidating woman as Jenny’s lover.
Gwen whetted her lips. She should be more shocked than she was, but all she felt was a pulse of sadness that Jenny and Miriam were quarrelling, when it was blatantly obvious from the way they had stared at each other, even while arguing, that they were attracted to one another.
Love, in whatever form, wasn’t easy to come by.
She sighed deeply, remembering the early days of her marriage and missing the exhilarating fascination for Archibald that had led her to throw caution to the wind within a matter of weeks.
She didn’t like deceiving him now, and he would doubtless react as Miriam had if he knew the true source of Gwen’s money.
She stretched out, pondering whether there was a way of bringing happiness to everyone.
She did sleep, eventually, though she woke early, chilled and with a stiff neck.
If she slept in that bed again, she would need to find a more comfortable pillow and another blanket to see her through until the warmer weather.
She went down to the kitchen and scrubbed the back step while the kettle came to a boil then took the tray upstairs to Archibald.
Gwen helped him remove the bandages from his eyes and guided him to the table.
He gave cool responses to her queries regarding his health and how he had slept, and she chose to excuse his scowl as being due to unfamiliarity with the sunlight.
They sat in uneasy silence over breakfast until Gwen cleared her throat and put her slice of bread down to broach the idea that had come to her just before dawn.
‘I have been thinking about Mr Rosewood’s tonic and I was wondering if there would be a market for selling something similar ourselves. It could be quite profitable.’
She looked at Archibald and waited, with the rest of the sentence hanging, to see what his reaction might be, hope suspended in her breast. If he agreed, then she would be able to tell Jenny that they need not be covert any longer.
Archibald narrowed his eyes. ‘That recipe is Conrad’s own. I am privileged that he allows me to prepare it for him, but he certainly would not sanction anyone else.’
‘I don’t intend to sell Conrad’s own preparation but something similar,’ Gwen clarified. ‘I think it would be a product for women. Something to alleviate daily cares.’
‘There are plenty of cures for female ailments. The world does not need any more,’ Archibald said, helping himself to another slice of bread and buttering it lavishly.
‘But if this one was designed not only to cure ailments but to promote mental balance…’ Gwen checked herself, remembering that there was a degree of imbalance before the sense of wellbeing was achieved. ‘Something like, that I mean.’
‘Not under my roof. Wherever have you got such an odd idea from? Where did you spend yesterday evening? I don’t believe these new societies are doing you any good at all.
’ Archibald scowled. ‘I think it is time to put an end to all that and return to your wifely occupations. Soon my eyes will be fully healed and I will have no need of you to carry out any of my duties in the pharmacy.’ He shook his head and tutted sadly.
‘I blame myself for this. If you hadn’t had to step into my sphere of responsibility, you would not have started to come up with these outlandish suggestions. ’
‘I don’t think that they are outlandish,’ Gwen remarked. ‘In fact, I’m glad that I have experienced what your life is like. I feel that I have become quite adept at doing what needs to be done.’
She sat back, feeling mutinous. ‘Perhaps I might even consider whether I should continue doing this, even when you are fully able.’
‘I know that you shouldn’t,’ Archibald snapped. ‘In fact, I expressly forbid it, Mrs Walters. You may tend the needs of customers and keep the account, but that is all.’
‘I have been a real help to you,’ Gwen said.
‘And your work has not gone without notice or appreciation,’ Archibald said kindly, ‘but you must be eager to return to your familiar capacity where you are more capable.’
The patronising tone was more insulting than his edict on her being allowed to continue.
He spoke to her as if she was mentally deficient, or a child, and he was praising her for writing her letters the correct way round.
She was a perfectly capable woman of middle age, and she’d encountered more than enough examples of women who managed unconventional lives.
‘Perhaps I shall ask Mr Rosewood if he intends to expand his business further. There is no reason at all why I could not make a success of my own pharmacy,’ she retorted.
‘Mrs Walters, you forget yourself! Your involvement in the business is almost at an end and will not be continuing. There’s to be no more talk of women’s cures being sold.
We are not a back-street affair selling quackery from the newspaper advertisements.
I run a respectable pharmacy and if Mr Rosewood were to hear of your suggestions, he would be appalled. Good day to you, Mrs Walters!’
‘What do you mean, “good day”?’ Gwen demanded. ‘It’s barely eight in the morning. Are you planning on leaving the house, or do you expect that I shall?’
Archibald looked taken aback at the anger in her voice.
When had they become opponents? It felt more natural now than the closeness they had once shared, and Gwen’s stomach clenched.
She’d argued with Jenny the night before and it was becoming harder and harder to tolerate Archibald’s sudden tempers, but she should try.
‘Let’s not argue,’ she said. She reached out her hands to him, but he recoiled.
‘Mrs Walters, I do not like this change in your behaviour. I find it unwomanly. I shall go out for a walk. While I am gone, I suggest you prepare the pharmacy for opening and set your mind to how you will rectify these failings in your character and rediscover your previous pleasant temperament.’
He wasn’t even speaking from anger. That was what wounded Gwen the most. He genuinely thought that he was doing her some good by telling her this.
‘And if I do not?’ she muttered.
Archibald stared at her. ‘Then you will have a very disappointed husband from now on.’
He left the table and walked out of the room, feeling his way along the back of the furniture.
He walked into the bedroom and shortly afterwards returned with his coat and hat.
Gwen glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but he had his head high and did not so much as look in her direction.
He left, and as the doleful tolling of the bell over the door died away, Gwen went downstairs.
There were bottles and boxes to be labelled and put on shelves, dusting and sweeping to be done and the accounts to see to.
But instead, she sat back on the stool and stared at the ceiling.
Perhaps Archibald was right, and that she should know her place. The problem was, she didn’t particularly like it.
She regarded the pharmacy without enthusiasm and her thoughts returned to the conversation regarding the source of Conrad’s finances.
Jenny had once mentioned a legacy from her father that was invested somewhere, though she did not know where it was.
It didn’t take long for Gwen to do some calculations in her head, involving the timing of Conrad taking guardianship of his niece and his purchase of the pharmacy, and come to the conclusion that Jenny’s legacy was invested in Conrad’s business.
Gwen sucked her teeth. Mr Rosewood made far more than the paltry sum Jenny was given each year.
Clearly, the business had grown and there were presumably other investments, as well.
Really, if Jenny’s wealth had contributed to the establishment of the business, then she should be better off than she was.
Or than she believed she was. It was entirely possible that Conrad had not been playing fair with Jenny.