and her husband. She pondered how he would turn out when he grew up. Would he be wayward, irresponsible, at times charming, often detached, ruthless in marriage, inept in business, like Benjamin? Well, not if she could help it.
It was early, and little Benjie was sure to be asleep in his bed for some time yet. So she crept along the landing to where Christina, seven months old, lay in her cot, in a room which adjoined Joyce’s, the nanny. The baby roused when Aurelia entered, as if instinctively sensing her mother’s presence. Aurelia gently let down the side of the cot and picked up Christina, who was rubbing her eyes now. She gently clasped the child against her breast, cooing soft sounds of comfort, hoping not to rouse Joyce, for the connecting door was ajar.
‘Let’s go down and see if Jane has lit the fires and put some water to boil,’ she whispered, ‘and we can change your napkin.’ She carried the baby onto the landing and down the sweeping staircase of that large and soulless house.
Jane was the middle-aged maid, devoid of youthfulness and prettiness, round of face and belly, and flat of foot. Life had rendered her utterly certain of a few things, but she remained content in her ignorance of everything else. However, in the short time that she had been employed at Holly Hall House, she had become an expert on the souls of its inhabitants. She was proving to be a conscientious and reliable servant and Aurelia respected her for it. Pretty girls were no longer considered for domestic service; experience had taught Aurelia that pretty girls, who could open doors with smiles and beguiling glances, were far too dangerous and fair game for your husband.
‘Mornin’, ma’am,’ Jane greeted when she saw Aurelia. ‘I’m just brewing some tea. It’ll be ready in a trice.’
‘Thank you, Jane. I’ll be in the morning room with Christina.’
‘Very good, ma’am. Oh, and the post’s arrived already. It’s on the bureau in the hallway.’
Aurelia smiled her thanks at receipt of this trivial information and casually strolled to the hallway, still holding the child. To the ticking of the grandfather clock that had witnessed so many of her domestic and emotional crises, she sorted through half a dozen envelopes. All were addressed to either Benjamin Sampson, Esq., or his company, the Sampson Fender and Bedstead Works.
* * *
Not so two days earlier. Two days earlier, a card within an envelope arrived, addressed to Mr and Mrs B Sampson. Since her own name was upon it, Aurelia felt justified in opening it. It was an invitation to a wedding, and read: ‘Mr and Mrs Eli Meese request the pleasure of the company of Mr and Mrs Benjamin Sampson at the wedding of their daughter Harriet to Mr Clarence Froggatt, on Sunday 4th September at 2.00 p.m. at St Michael’s Church, Brierley Hill, and afterwards at the Bell Hotel assembly rooms.’
Her immediate reaction was surprise, even though she was aware that Clarence and Harriet were stepping out. ‘So, he’s marrying her,’ she uttered to herself, but not without feeling an acute pang of envy for Harriet Meese.
* * *
One afternoon in the sweltering heat of August, Benjamin Sampson lay drained after a round of enthusiastic lovemaking. But for a sheen of perspiration and a pearl necklace, Maude Atkins lay naked beside him. He ran his fingers over her belly, thankful she had regained her figure so perfectly after giving birth to his child ten months ago. Not only did he still lust for Maude, but he always felt more at ease with her than with his wife Aurelia. She stimulated his sexual appetite in a way Aurelia had failed to do since the novelty had worn off after the first few weeks of their marriage. Maude was an extramarital treat, compliant and spirited. In the bedroom she was a whole heap of fun and enthusiasm (enthusiasm that boosted his ego, for it convinced him that his sexual prowess must be unsurpassed). She was less complicated too, blessed with a forthrightness, as well as a perception of life’s realities, which often troubled him. But he always knew where he stood with Maude, and relied on her judgement more than he realised.
With a singular lack of feminine guile, Maude had persuaded him to provide a house for her and her illegitimate child. It was to her ultimate benefit, of course, but he was not slow to realise there was some benefit for him as well in the arrangement; it served not only as a home for this second, unofficial family, but also as a secret and readily available love nest where he could slake his sexual thirst. The better side of his nature – his conscience – was also in some measure eased, because convention ruled that he could only ever be a part-time companion for her, stuck as he was in an unsatisfactory marriage with Aurelia.
Maude’s vision went way beyond this, however; she had more far-reaching aspirations, and her aim was to persuade him to get rid of Aurelia, for she fostered the ambition of being the next Mrs Benjamin Sampson.
‘I’d better go.’ He murmured, and stroked her thigh, savouring its warm, sensual smoothness, before he stretched lethargically.
‘Why don’t you wait till your daughter wakes?’ Maude whispered peevishly. ‘You don’t see enough of her as it is.’
‘How soon before she’s likely to wake?’
She shrugged. ‘Half an hour maybe. She sleeps till about four, as a rule.’
‘No, I’ve got to go. Something cropped up at the works earlier. I’d better see if they’ve sorted it out. I’ll see Louise next time. You know how it is – time and tide…’
With little enthusiasm for leaving, Benjamin swung his legs out of bed and stood up. He grabbed his long johns from the bedrail and pulled them on, then his vest, then his shirt, which he buttoned up and tucked into the long johns.
‘Shall you pop back later?’ Maude asked, fingering the pearl necklace – a recent gift from Benjamin.
‘Course, if I get the chance. Failing that, tomorrow.’
She nodded her understanding, reminded that she was just a kept mistress, and that circumstances, maybe even of the marital kind, might prevent his presence.
‘Has your beautiful wife decided what she’s going to wear for that wedding you’re going to?’ There was grudge in her tone. The wedding, which was to Maude irrelevant, was to occupy him and frustratingly keep him from visiting her. If only the day would quickly arrive when she herself was openly regarded as Benjamin’s official companion, instead of his closet mistress.
‘How should I know?’ he answered with a shrug. ‘I imagine she and her dressmaker will have concocted something between them.’
It was in his interests to appear indifferent to his wife’s couture so as not to arouse Maude’s jealousy too much; Maude could be a handful, and might even withhold her favours for a day or two. A mistress was for pleasure and a little tenderness, to spice up one’s otherwise dull life and add a bit of comfort to it, not to be cold, indifferent and a source of irritation or enforced celibacy. He suffered enough celibacy at home.
‘She must cost you a tidy penny in silks,’ Maude remarked pointedly.
He made no reply as he pulled on his trousers and buttoned up the fly.
‘I don’t know how she’s got the nerve,’ she added for good measure, her scorn as edged as a shard of glass.
Benjamin shrugged again and, without meeting her eyes, decided it might behove him to act a little stupid. ‘How do you mean? For going to the dressmaker, or for presenting me with the bill?’ He pulled his braces onto his shoulders.
‘She’s got you for a nincompoop.’
‘Oh, I’m no nincompoop, Maude,’ he declared, irked at her indictment. ‘I’m just biding my time.’ He began attaching his collar.
‘Biding your time, my foot.’ Maude sat up, striving but failing to conceal her own agitation. She turned to adjust the pillows behind her while Benjamin’s eyes lingered on her breasts, full and round, bouncing with tantalising