Chapter 17 #2
Other women were able to support themselves on legacies, and if Jenny was able to find out more, it might be possible that she could, too.
Jenny’s friend, Miriam, for example, apparently lived in lodgings and survived by painting.
Miss Salisbury kept a house, and Augusta, even though the means by which she eked out a living was not something Gwen would ever consider for herself.
Nevertheless, these ladies had been brave enough to take control of their lives.
Was Gwen?
For the first time in her marriage, she pondered what would happen if she simply walked out of it. Might she find work as a housekeeper with board and lodgings? Now that Archibald’s operation had been paid for, what if the earnings from Augusta went into the shell box for Gwen’s future alone?
The clock chimed nine and she jumped to her feet, shocked at how long she had been daydreaming.
The shop should be open now and she hadn’t even begun to do what was needed.
Fortunately, the warmer weather had led to a reduction in coughs and colds so there were only a handful of customers in the first hour, wanting treatments for children’s headlice, for dyspepsia, and balm for cracked knuckles.
She managed also to sell the latter customer a block of soap made from olive oil and lavender, and had time to polish the glass balls and the cabinet windows.
She was humming to herself and feeling quite cheerful, when Archibald walked back into the shop.
He nodded to Gwen but didn’t speak, went to his workbench and began counting out pessaries that were large enough for him to see clearly.
He remained there while Gwen served more customers and worked on the accounts.
At half past twelve, he instructed Gwen to turn the sign to closed, then went into the kitchen.
They ate cold cuts and pickles in silence.
Neither of them brought up Archibald’s aggression of the previous day.
In the early days of their marriage, he would apologise for most of the slaps, but now there was nothing.
‘I am going shopping this afternoon,’ Gwen said. ‘Shall I try to get you a piece of fish? Or would you prefer lamb chops?’
‘I shall leave that for you to decide.’ Archibald met her eyes for the first time and Gwen felt a stab of pity. His eyes were shadowed and looked sore. Why was she complaining about a little outburst when he had endured so much pain?
She took her basket and left him drinking his mug of tea, considering the choices. Fish would be nice. Sardines, possibly. She could fry them with a little bacon fat and the last few cabbage leaves, and toast the bread.
She did her shopping then walked to Augusta’s chop house.
Mr Craig, the man from the evening before, was loitering outside talking to a couple of other men, who looked from their soot-covered clothes as if they worked on the railways.
Gwen remembered what Jenny’s friend Miriam had said about him trying to entice women to work for him, and she shuddered in distaste.
Hopefully Miriam would have managed to speak to the housemaid and the girl wouldn’t do anything she regretted.
Mr Craig looked up as Gwen crossed the street towards the chop house and gave her a once-over before he went back to his conversation.
Gwen felt a sting of humiliation at being dismissed as beneath his interest, then immediately felt angry with herself for caring what such an unpleasant person thought of her. She marched straight up to him.
‘Is Mrs Charles in?’
‘No.’ He folded his arms across his chest. That was clearly all the response she was going to get.
‘Can you pass on a message?’ she asked.
When he grunted, she took that as a confirmation.
‘Tell Mrs Charles that Mrs Walters says yes to her proposal. One afternoon a fortnight should be adequate for what she requires.’
She tried to keep her words vague as she didn’t know what exactly he would be aware of, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered in any case.
‘I’ll tell her. She knows where to find you.’
He had a broad Scottish accent, which took Gwen by surprise. That was a statement, not a question, and a sense of unease made Gwen wonder if she was doing the right thing, especially if Jenny was not going to be involved to help her.
She was halfway to the bus stop when a voice hailed her.
‘Miss Lewis!’
It was Danny. Gwen waited for him to reach her, smiling in genuine pleasure, which almost felt like an unfamiliar emotion.
‘Gwen! How wonderful to see you again. What are you doing here?’ he asked, taking his hat off and bowing.
‘I’ve been running an errand.’
‘Are you walking this way? Would you like some company?’
Danny held out his arm. Gwen hesitated. A brief conversation with an old acquaintance was one thing, but letting him accompany her was another.
‘I really should confess something to you. I’m not Miss Lewis any longer, and I haven’t been for a good many years. I’m married. I’m Mrs Walters now, and have been for more than twenty years.’
Danny nodded. ‘I know. That is, I knew you married. The town talked of it when you went to London and never came back home. It was a slip of my tongue to call you by your maiden name, and when you didn’t correct me, I hoped—’ He coughed and grimaced.
‘I hoped it signified you were widowed. Though I wish no ill on your husband.’
Gwen forced a smile. Her feelings towards Archibald were confusing, veering from pity to outright dislike and she felt very little like smiling at the mention of him.
‘I should have corrected you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t.’
Her voice wavered and she was appalled to feel the pricking of tears at the corners of her eyes.
‘Gwen?’
‘I’m afraid I’m rather out of sorts today,’ she said.
He gave a sympathetic smile. ‘Out of sorts or tripping over. You don’t appear to have much luck.’
She should be indignant at his over-familiarity, but he’d always had a way of teasing her that she’d found amusing.
‘I don’t do too badly. My life is easier than a lot have it,’ she answered, gesturing to a young boy who was waiting at the side of the road to rush out with a broom and sweep up horse dung.
‘Your worries aren’t insignificant to you,’ Danny said. ‘Now, if you would prefer me to leave you, I will, though I would very much like your company.’
A married woman should not accept such an offer, but Danny was an old friend and she was hardly a young debutante with a reputation to ruin.
She thought of Archibald waiting at home, and to her dismay couldn’t picture him without a scowl on his face and sharp words on his tongue.
Danny’s eyes crinkled in such a kindly way and his smile was genuine, and she hadn’t seen a friendly face for a number of days, so she felt her resistance starting to melt a little.
It was a typically busy Saturday afternoon, and the milder weather had brought out families and couples.
Her heart throbbed with loneliness, and she held out her arm.
‘Just for a little while.’