It had been a most unpleasant morning, sticky and oppressive and airless. Even on the river there was no breeze at all and the heat was so excessive there was no escape from it, indoors or out. By midday Caroline and Henry had decided that the only comfortable place to be was underwater, so that was where they spent the afternoon, with two parasols propped among the pebbles at the water’s edge to provide a little extra shade.
Towards two o’clock, Caroline noticed that there were two cauliflower clouds heaping in the hard blue of the sky above the river. They grew with amazing speed, erupting higher and higher into huge billowing curves of grey and white and purple.
‘Aren’t they beautiful,’ she said, lying on her back in the shallows so that she could gaze straight up at them. ‘Like an Arabian palace.’
But Henry took a more prosaic view. ‘We’d better go in,’ he said, and he began to dislodge the parasols. ‘We’re in for a storm.’
It was an understatement. The first hot drops spattered their foreheads as they scampered indoors, and minutes later the sky was riven with lightning and the rain began in earnest. It fell with such violence that it looked more like a mountain torrent than rainfall, pouring onto the garden from the great height of the clouds and pitting the grey river with so many close packed holes that it looked like a nutmeg grater. Before Henry and Caroline were dried and dressed there was a lake on the lower terrace, the roadway was a running stream and hailstones were cracking against the window. It was marvellously exciting, and it went on for hours and hours.
At six o’clock Farren the butler came into the drawing room where they were watching from the bow window, and stood before them with his spine curved into a crescent and his head drooping as though it were too heavy for his neck. Henry had known him long enough by now to recognize the stance, which was assumed whenever the man was about to carry out a complicated instruction or when he was anxious as to what his orders were going to be.
‘What is it, Farren?’ he said, keeping his voice perfectly still, like Joseph always did when he was dealing with a difficult servant.
‘If you please, sir,’ Farren said, ‘the basement is full of water.’ His hanging face was a picture of gloom. ‘We got the wine out of the way of it, sir, and the kindling is in the kitchen, you’ll be pleased to know, but we couldn’t do much about the coal.’ There were over four tons of coal in the cellars so that was hardly surprising. ‘We thought you’d want to be informed, sir.’
‘Quite right,’ Henry approved. ‘Do we have a pump?’
‘Oh yes, sir. Johnnie’s a-using of it now.’
‘We’ll come down and see,’ Caroline said.
The butler’s head lifted and his eyebrows shot up with surprise. It was not usual for the lady of the house to inspect the basement when it flooded. All his previous employers had kept well away from such emergencies. ‘It is very wet, ma’am,’ he warned, ‘and none too clean.’
‘I’ll wear my boots,’ she said.
It was eerie down in the cellars with clusters of yellow candles flickering light into the gloom and gangs of servants wading about in the black water like miners in a flooded cavern. The pump didn’t seem to be having any effect at all, although Farren assured them that everything was under control.
‘You’ll need a good hot meal inside you after all this,’ Caroline said. ‘I’ll go up and see to it directly.’ And she went stomping off.
‘A character,’ Mr Farren said to the housekeeper, when the cellars were finally drained and the good meal had been served and eaten.
The housekeeper, who was called Mrs Benotti, was stout and stolid. ‘An Easter, Mr Farren,’ she said. ‘All the same are the Easters. Renowned for it. Characters to a man are the Easters, Mr Farren, even if they’re women.’
The next morning was quite cool, their impromptu lake had drained away and the garden was greener than they’d ever seen it.
‘We will take breakfast downstairs in the breakfast room,’ Henry said. The drop in temperature had renewed his energy.
It was a novelty to be up and dressed and to have their meal waiting for them on the side-board and The Times laid neatly beside Henry’s plate. ‘We are like an old married couple,’ Caroline said, for the table arrangements reminded her of breakfast with Nan and Mr Brougham.
‘Ask Farren to come up,’ Henry said to the maid, as she set the coffee pot on its stand. ‘We ought: to see if there’s been any more damage anywhere. It wouldn’t surprise me if there’d been some windows cracked.’
But Farren reassured them. The cellars were still tacky but the water had all been pumped away, and he’d inspected every room and all the windows were intact, they had his word for it.
‘Thank heavens for that, eh,’ Henry said, cheerfully admiring Caroline’s glossy curls as she sat in the sunshine.
‘It’s August now you see, sir,’ Farren said. ‘We always have storms in August in this part of the world.’
‘August already,’ Henry said. ‘Fancy that!’ And it occurred to him that he really ought to be getting back to work. He’d been away for nearly three weeks. Perhaps it was fitting that the heat and the honeymoon should come to an end together. ‘Would you have the carriage ready for me, Farren, at half past eight, if you please.’
‘Where are we going?’ Caroline asked, when Farren had curved his spine into its obedient crescent and removed himself from the room.
‘You may stay here in the garden, my love, and enjoy the better weather,’ he said, ‘but I must go back to work.’
‘Quite right,’ she said. ‘We’ve been idle long enough. We will go back together.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ he said. ‘I must work, of course, but now that we are married there is no need for you …’
‘Why not?’ she asked, and there was a steely quality to her voice that should have warned him.
But he was still buffered by contentment and he missed it. ‘Wives don’t work, my darling,’ he said easily. ‘Not in our level of society. They have husbands to work for them. There is no necessity for you to work now. And besides, it wouldn’t be proper.’
‘I worked before we were married,’ she said. ‘We worked together and you were quite happy about that. So I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t go on working now.’
‘That was different,’ he said, speaking rather stiffly because he was annoyed that she was arguing with him and especially over such a trivial matter when he was so plainly in the right. ‘You needed an occupation then, but you don’t need one now. You’ve occupation enough being a wife. No, no, I will work and you will stay at home.’
‘What squit!’ she said, using her grandmother’s trenchant word, because it made her so cross to hear him talk such nonsense.
He looked up at her angry face and realized that he had made a mistake. Surely she didn’t really want to go to work? That would be downright unnatural. Married women never went to work. Not in these enlightened times. But she was folding her table napkin in a slow deliberate way that was rather unnerving. It was too late to retract what he’d said so he decided to be shocked by her language instead. ‘Caroline! What a word to use!’
‘If you think I mean to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs,’ she said, ignoring the distraction, ‘when there are deals to be made and publishers to persuade, then you are very much mistaken.’ She put the napkin beside her plate, stood up and walked away from the table.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, following her.
She paused at the door, her face hard. ‘To get ready, of course. I told you. I’m coming with you.’
‘It ain’t up to you to say what you’ll do,’ he said, his voice rising in anger that she should oppose him so strongly. ‘You are my wife and you’ll do as I say.’ And he held onto the door knob to prevent her leaving.
‘I will not!’ Struggling with his hands.
‘You will!’ Opposing her with all his strength.
‘You can’t tell me what I may and mayn’t do, Henry Easter. I shall do as I please the same as I always have.’ She was stamping her feet with anger. ‘I’m an Easter, dammit.’
‘And I am not?’
‘Don’t be foolish. Of course you are. What has that to do with it?’ She was still trying to pull his hands away from the door knob.
He was too cross to answer her sensibly. Somehow or other battle had been joined and now he had to go through with it and defeat her. ‘Devil take it,’ he shouted at her. ‘If you go on like this, I shall lock you in.’
She stopped pulling at his hands, turned and walked coolly away from him. ‘Very well then,’ she said. ‘I shall jump out of the window.’
‘From the first floor?’
‘From the first floor. You see if I don’t.’ And really with that dark face blazing and her eyes glaring she looked capable of anything.
‘You’re supposed to obey me, Caroline. I’m your husband.’
‘Squit!’
‘Love, honour and obey! You promised.’
‘Squit! Squit! Squit!’ Stamping her anger at him.
‘Hush!’ he said. ‘Do you want the servants to hear?’
‘I don’t care,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll shout if I want to. Let them hear.’
There were wheels scraping the cobbles outside the window. ‘Here’s the carriage,’ he said. ‘Now look here, Caroline, I am going to ride to the station, where I mean to catch the nine o’clock to London, and I’m going on my own. I forbid you to come with me.’ His face was haughty with anger.
‘Hoity-toity,’ she said, turning her back on him. ‘Do as you please, but don’t imagine you will stop me. If I can’t come with you, I shall go on my own.’
His fury was so intense he was afraid he might hit her. How could she oppose him so? After all that love? When they’d been so happy? Impossible woman! There was only one thing to do, if he were to continue to behave honourably, and he did it quickly, leaving her and the room without another word.
He was trembling with fury all the way to the station. How dare she make such a scene! How dare she defy him! It was more than he could bear. But the gentle rocking journey to Nine Elms calmed him, and by the time he arrived in the Strand he was almost himself again, back in the world of men and work where people didn’t fly off into tantrums all the time.
His colleagues were full of gossip about the gale. Windows had been broken all over the City, they said, and several were missing in the Easter headquarters. But that was nothing according to Mr Jolliffe, his clerk. Seven thousand panes of glass had been smashed in the new House of Commons, and St James’ Theatre had lost eight hundred, and Burlington Arcade was completely destroyed. ‘Never known a storm like it, Mr Henry sir.’
It was rewarding to be able to put repairs in hand at once, and after that to deal with a daunting pile of correspondence. He worked all morning, answering one letter after another, passing those that simply needed acknowledgement across to Mr Jolliffe, and entering reported alterations to rail and coach timetables onto the chart that now covered the far wall of his office with instant and up-to-date information.
‘So many changes in such a short time,’ he said to Mr Jolliffe in mock complaint. ‘I turn my back for five minutes and they put on ten more trains. Everything happens so quickly now a days.’
‘That’s progress, so they say, Mr Henry. And all progress is to the good, now ain’t it?’
‘True,’ Henry said, picking up the next letter.
It was from Mr Chaplin of the London Birmingham Railway with ‘some news that may interest you’. A Bill was currently being passed through the Commons to enable the building of an extension to the South Eastern railway line which would run from Ashford to Canterbury. ‘I shall take shares as soon as they are offered and would strongly advise you to do the same.’
Well now, that was news. ‘Have you heard anything of this?’ he asked, handing the letter across to Mr Jolliffe.
‘Rumours, Mr Henry. There has been talk. Shall I circulate it?’ All information about new lines was always circulated within the company.
‘Yes,’ Henry said vaguely, because they both knew it was always done and he had already begun to write his reply.
So the letter was circulated, and the first pair of hands into which it was passed by an eager and congratulatory Mr Jolliffe belonged to the new Mrs Easter, who’d been working in her room, catching up on her correspondence ever since she had arrived that morning.
She took action on it at once, sending a runner round to Mr Chaplin’s office with a note to suggest that the two of them should meet in Mr Cranshaw’s Tea House in the Strand some time that afternoon to discuss the matter. If a new line was to be built then Easter stalls could be incorporated into all the station designs from the very beginning, and in the most advantageous positions. It was splendid news.
The runner returned within the hour with the message that Mr Chaplin was agreeable to four o’clock and would bring his colleagues from the South Eastern with him. By twenty past five the better part of the deal had been provisionally agreed upon. She returned to the Easter headquarters in high good humour. And walked straight into Henry in the foyer.
The sight of her put him into such a muddle of emotions that he didn’t know what to say to her – fury that she’d disobeyed him so blatantly; confusion because he hadn’t expected to see her; desire because triumph was making her glow with the most beautiful boldness.
‘I’ve had a marvellous afternoon,’ she said, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. ‘Are you going home?’
‘I was,’ he said, annoyed with himself that he should want her so much when she’d behaved so badly.
‘Good,’ she said, smiling straight into his eyes. ‘Then I will tell you all about it as we go. Is the carriage ordered?’
He was amazed at her. Had she forgotten their dreadful row? She showed no signs of remembering it.
She sat beside him all the way to Nine Elms, snuggled affectionately against his side, and told him all about her meeting with Mr Chaplin and his associates, plainly expecting him to approve of it. Which he had to do when he’d heard about it, because it was an excellent deal, and the businessman in him knew it. But even so, even so …
‘How did you know about it?’ he asked, feeling quite cross.
‘Why, from the letter you circulated, of course. Had you forgotten? Mr Jolliffe brought it to me.’
Damn Mr Jolliffe, he thought. He should have had more sense. Or I should have told him to avoid her. But how could I have done that, when I had no idea she was in the building? She was attracting him so strongly he couldn’t think logically. It would have been easier if her eyes weren’t quite so large or quite so loving. ‘Caroline,’ he said, and the word was a caress.
She turned her face towards him and kissed his cheek. ‘Wait till you hear what I found out about Mr Chaplin,’ she said. ‘He means to go into parliament, did you know that?’
‘A sensible move,’ he said, trying to concentrate on what she was saying.
They talked business all the way back to Richmond, where he was surprised to find their dog cart waiting for them as if they were expected, and when they reached Richmond Hill, he discovered to his further amazement that she’d ordered dinner for them before she left home that morning and seemed to have known that they would be returning together, for there was a most appetizing smell of roast duckling rising from the kitchens and Mrs Benotti was there to greet them in the hall.
‘Just enough time to dress for dinner,’ she said.
He stood in the hall watching her as she climbed the stairs, trailing her hand along the banister as if she were caressing it. ‘Have you forgotten how we parted this morning?’ he asked, and although he’d intended the question to be a rebuke, all he could hear in it was surprise.
‘Oh yes,’ she said easily. ‘That’s all forgotten. We’re bound to fight now and then, ain’t we, seeing who we are?’
He followed her up the stairs shaking his head at her sang froid. But it had been a terrible row, he thought. Terrible. He remembered it very clearly. And what was worse, he’d thought he’d won it.
But as he was to learn in the weeks that followed, winning and losing were not words that figured in his wife’s vocabulary. And neither was obedience. She simply side-stepped all three, and did whatever she wanted to, answering for it afterwards if he queried it. The next morning she was up and dressed before he was and travelled to the Strand with him as though that was what they’d both intended, explaining that she had an appointment with Mr Longman the publisher. And it was all said and done with such ease that he couldn’t find a way to oppose her.
She had such style, that was the trouble. The bull-headedness that troubled him as a husband was an advantage when it came to business. And so was her outspokenness. ‘That’s not very good,’ she would say when a negotiation didn’t go quite the way she wanted. ‘I shall have to look into that and see if I can improve it a little.’ And the amazing thing was that the men she dealt with allowed her to do it.
By the time Nan came back to London at the end of August, the new deal was completed and a second, for the branch line to Margate, had been begun. It was infuriating but impressive.
‘We will hold a family supper to celebrate,’ she said as they dressed to attend Nan’s dinner party at Bedford Square. ‘It’s high time we began to entertain. I haven’t seen Will and Euphemia for ages.’
‘And after that perhaps you’ll stay at home for a little while and take a rest?’ he suggested.
‘I might,’ she said, grinning at him. ‘And then again I might not. You ain’t going to start all that again, surely to goodness?’
‘I don’t think people approve of you working,’ he said.
‘Who doesn’t?’
‘Well, Mr Maycock and Mr Jernegan for a start.’ They’d both made several caustic comments about it, more or less in his hearing.
‘Old fuddy-duddies,’ she said, swooping across the room to kiss him. ‘We don’t need to worry about them.’
But he did worry. What she was doing was unnatural and he wished she wouldn’t do it. But for the life of him he couldn’t think how to stop her, now.
Nan made everything worse by praising her. ‘I saw Mr Chaplin this afternoon,’ she said, ‘and I hear you’ve done wonders. You must show me the plans tomorrow.’
It was a lively evening. Mirabelle was full of information. Three new writers were about to burst upon the London scene. ‘They are called Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell,’ she said, ‘and Mr Newby tells me they’ve written the most extraordinary novels. I shall invite them to my very next soirée.’
‘I trust I shall be invited too,’ Mr Brougham said courteously.
‘Indeed sir,’ Mirabelle said. ‘You shall head my list. And perhaps you will persuade cousin Will to join us.’
‘If he ever stops long enough to join anybody,’ Nan said. Will was the one member of her family who wasn’t present at her dinner. ‘I en’t seen hide nor hair of him since the wedding, he’s been so busy gadding.’
‘We read his articles, of course,’ Mirabelle said. ‘He seems to be following this new National Petition very closely.’
‘I wonder he bothers,’ Edward said, disparagingly, ‘since it won’t amount to anything.’
‘What news do you have of Miss Nightingale, Euphemia?’ Mirabelle said, deftly ignoring him.
Euphemia looked pale but she too was full of information. ‘We have been corresponding,’ she said with shy pride.
Caroline was delighted. ‘Miss Nightingale, the nursing lady?’ she asked.
‘The same.’
‘But my darling Pheemy, how marvellous!’ Caroline said. ‘Shall you meet her, do you think?’
‘We have met already,’ Euphemia said, exchanging smiles with Matty and Jimmy. ‘In fact, she has agreed to accept me as one of her nurses as soon as she can find suitable premises for a school.’
‘How marvellous!’ Caroline said again. ‘When will that be?’
‘Not just yet, I fear,’ Euphemia said. ‘She has been rather ill, you see, and her family have sent her abroad for a year or so to recover. I believe she is in Italy at present. But she told me what books I am to read and I’ve been studying them most closely.’
‘Every night, according to Bessie,’ Nan said, grinning at her, ‘as soon as she gets back from Clerkenwell, as if she don’t work hard enough there, in all conscience.’
‘We don’t know what we’d do without her, do we Matty?’ Jimmy said.
‘No,’ Matty said. ‘I certainly don’t.’ Her pregnancy was too far advanced to hide, but she’d come to Nan’s dinner party notwithstanding.
‘Are you well, my dear?’ Nan wanted to know.
‘A little fatigued sometimes,’ Matty admitted. ‘She works too hard,’ Jimmy said. ‘That’s the trouble. She’s too conscientious.’
‘It’s a family failing,’ Nan said. ‘But a good one.’
After the meal while Mr Brougham, Henry, Edward and Jimmy were still at table and Nan and Mirabelle were keeping Matty company in the drawing room, Caroline and Euphemia went for a stroll in the garden, following the familiar paths, arm in arm as they’d done on so many evenings.
‘Oh, I am so glad to see you again, my dearest,’ Euphemia said. ‘And looking so well and happy. You are happy, are you not?’
‘Ecstatic,’ Caroline said. ‘Being married is …’ But then she hesitated, for these were private pleasures that Euphemia couldn’t possibly know about.
‘Full of holy joys,’ Euphemia said.
What a curious thing to say, Caroline thought, but she didn’t pursue it because she had something rather more important that she wanted to ask Euphemia about.
‘If Miss Nightingale is to be abroad for a year or so,’ she said, ‘she ain’t likely to start her school much before next April, is she?’
‘No,’ Euphemia said, smiling as if she already knew what was going to be said next.
‘Have you studied midwifery in these books of yours?’ Caroline said.
‘Oh, my dearest girl!’ Euphemia said, throwing her arms about her cousin’s neck. ‘When is it to be? Is it in April?’
‘Would you nurse me, Pheemy? I’d rather it were you than anyone.’
‘Oh yes, yes, my dearest. Does Henry know?’
‘Well, not yet. I’m only just getting accustomed to the idea myself.’
‘How happy he will be!’
He probably will, Caroline thought. But she knew it was equally probable that he would tell her to stay at home.