The Crimson Bed (3 page)

    'I see. Well, that's rather foolish. You're perfect as you are – so let us have no more of this nonsense.'

    Maria sounded unconvinced. Ellie felt her stomach turn over and knew a strong desire to bury herself somewhere out of the probing searching glance of her mother's eyes.

    Suddenly Maria laughed a little and added playfully, 'Why, child, you're in love, I can tell.'

    Ellie said nothing. Her cheeks flushed a light pink.

    'Oh, you cannot hide it. You've always been an open child, Ellie.'

    Ellie smiled a little, then turned away again and remained silent. Maria took her by the chin and turned her face towards her. Dropping the playful tone she said, 'Very well, keep it in your heart for a while. Keep it in your heart. Just be sure it's not a love that could harm you.'

    'How can love be harmful?' asked Ellie, feeling as if tears would gush into her eyes at any moment, giving her away. She forced them back with an effort. She was not surprised her mother had guessed at her feelings. Maria always knew everything.

    'It can be if misplaced.'

    Ellie fell silent again.

    Giving her daughter one more puzzled glance, Maria went to her dressing table where she kept a small tabletop writing desk and seated herself there. Opening the lid, she took out paper and quills and a small sealed inkwell. Before beginning her daily letters she paused for a moment and looked thoughtfully at the huge bed that dominated the room. Here she had borne her one and only child. Here she too had been born and others before her.

    'One day this great bed will be yours,' she said.

    'When I'm a bride?'

'Of course. That's the family custom.'

'But where will you sleep then, Mama?'

'I will just have to get used to another bed.'

'That would be so strange for you.'

    'It would be strange but I would be happy to see my darling girl a bride. You've always loved this bed. You
will
keep it?'

    'Yes, I promise, Mama.'

    'I would hate to think of strangers sleeping on it.'

    'Strangers will never sleep on this bed,' said Ellie firmly, 'it belongs to us.'

    She smiled to herself at the thought of being a bride and climbing into the crimson bed with her beloved Alfie.
He
was no stranger and belonged in the bed.

    Crossing over to the window, she looked down into the garden below. Her eyes followed the twirling of an ochre leaf as it detached itself from a tree and drifted to the ground, slowly, slowly – and her mind went back in time. She felt herself sinking down onto the leaves, felt Alfie's breath on her cheek, the sensation as he took her. She should remember the beauty of it, not the shame. The shame was not natural – their act was what was natural.

    She turned to look again at the huge oak bed in the centre of the room. Had Papa ever been in this bed? He must have come sometimes, a guest, or she would not be alive. It had never troubled her before that she had no brothers or sisters. She enjoyed being alone, the spoilt and petted child of a devoted couple, but now she was older and wiser she wondered about it. Her mother had told her long ago that she had difficulty in conceiving a child and how happy she and Joshua had been when Ellie was born safe and well.

    Ellie looked at the dashing gentleman carved on the bed head. A gallant lover! A thrill of secret pleasure ran though her and a tender smile curved over her lips

    When she turned back, she found her mother had ceased writing and was watching her with a peculiar intensity as if trying to look inside her mind. The telltale smile left Ellie's face and she glanced down. Maria went back to the letters but a sudden fear troubled her and her eyes snapped back to her daughter's face in apprehension. She saw Ellie's little smile again. She recognised that kind of smile.

    She must write another letter. That was it. That was the only way. She scribbled furiously for a few moments, waved the page dry, sealed it then rang for her maid.

Chapter 2

Oreton Hall. The summer of 1852

Two years had passed since that fateful autumn in Ellie's young life and she was now almost eighteen years old. Her meetings with Alfie were infrequent enough; the families seemed to convene less often than in her childhood. When questioned, her mother told her that it was because they were all so busy and engaged with other matters.

    'As you know, Ellie, Lord Dillinger has much responsibility with his new government post. He has hopes of climbing even higher. Between you and me, he aims for Prime Minister one day and I am convinced he has all the qualities for such a position. Lady Mary, therefore, has much entertaining to do in London. Papa, of course, is also heavily occupied with his legal affairs. So, as you see, my dear, there is less time these days for long and pleasant holidays at Oreton Hall.'

    Sometimes, of course, the families met up socially in London but it was impossible for Alfie and Ellie to do more than steal a kiss now and then or hold hands surreptitiously when no one observed them. They were never able to go off alone or meet in any way that was unsupervised. This made the flame of their desire and longing for one another even more intense and desperate. Whenever the lovers could manage it, they stole away to the woods or barns at Oreton Hall and made love with all the passion of their first encounter.

    Time and custom made it easier. Ellie felt less disgrace and became more abandoned with her lover. The thrill of such forbidden fruit tempted her as it had tempted Eve in the past. She yearned to speak of her love – she was young and eager; she was overflowing with delight and fearful excitement. Yet she was obliged to keep silent because Alfie demanded her silence. He kept telling her they were both too young, that their parents would object to such an early attachment and that his father had in fact hinted that he should not think of women yet but concentrate on his examinations. She hated these restrictions and rebelled inwardly but was obedient to Alfie's whim. It was hard. Especially when she was with her cousin, Anne Templeton. Anne wanted to chatter about all the young men of their acquaintance who showed any interest in them and could not understand Ellie's disinterest in so enthralling a subject.

    'What's wrong with you, Ellie? Don't you care for Thomas Williamson at least? Is he not the handsomest of things? I swear you mean to be a nun, sometimes, you show so little interest in any of the gentlemen who come calling.'

    Ellie smiled to herself. A nun indeed!

    'But I don't care for any of them, Anne. They're all shallow, stupid fools. They have no passion. I want passion in a man. You can have those milksops, you can have them
all
.'

    'Oh, la, you're so particular. Well, Thomas will be mine then – if I can persuade him to leave you alone.'

    'I'll tell him to do so, if you like, and advise him to transfer his affections to you as a far more deserving cause.'

    Anne went pink. 'Heavens, don't you say any such thing! I would die of shame. You're so bold, Ellie!'

Alfie had now left Oxford and graduated with honours as expected. One morning, during a late summer visit to Oreton Hall, so momentous had Ellie but known it, Alfie came sauntering over to her after breakfast. Their conversation the evening before had been brief and formal, surrounded as they were by family members. To Ellie's mind, her mother seemed uneasy every time they came close to one another these days.

'Let's go for a walk,' he whispered in her ear.

    She looked around. Maria was deep in conversation with Lady Mary. Lord Dillinger was absent on business at the time and Alfie's younger siblings were busily engaged in the kind of tumultuous laughter and teasing which looked ready to break into a fight between the boys at any moment. That was enough to keep the adults occupied for a while.

    'Yes, quick, let's get away.'

    They slipped out of the French windows, which opened onto a pleasant summer's morning, as yet not too hot or sultry. The sun shone with a gentle warmth, the world seemed beautiful, and she felt relief and delight at having Alfie to herself for a little while.

    They took the path alongside a broad stream that wound its way into their beloved woods. Safe out of sight and sound of the Hall and its occupants, he turned and caught her up in his arms and kissed her.

    'Ellie, Ellie! I'm so hungry for the taste of your lips. You have no idea how I think of you wherever I am. I think of you night and day.'

    'Do you, Alfie? I think of you all the time too. I like your new little moustache. It suits you.'

    'Thanks. And I like your new little breasts,' he said, trying to feel them through her summer clothing.

    'Oh, Alfie, behave!'

    'Why should I?'

    'We need to be careful, suppose your brothers see us? Or little Charlotte?'

    'So? Let them learn about real life.'

    She giggled at the thought and they kissed once more. Alfie had no respect for anything, he was so wicked. His dark laughing eyes and energetic warmth always broke through any restraints and foolish fears. She loved him so much.

    'You say these bold things and yet you seem afraid to declare our love to the world. And these days I see so little of you, Alfie,' said Ellie, twining her arms about his neck.

    'I know, Ellie, but just now I'm busy with all the things a fellow has to do. You women have an easy life.'

'
Easy
? A boring life. A life always waiting for men.'

'Are you grumbling at me? You never used to grumble.'

    'I'm not grumbling. I'm just miserable about it. I want to see you and be with you all the time – you say you think of me as well but I don't believe you. Men always have their mind on other things. Alfie, when will you speak to Papa? Do you not think you should do so? Do you not think we've waited long enough?'

    He looked up from shredding a large sycamore leaf into tiny pieces. Ellie could tell that his mind was far away just then and that this insistent question she put every time they managed to be alone always irritated him. He sighed and said in a sharp tone that offended her, 'I don't think we
should
mention it yet. I've told you enough times. Please say nothing about it. Promise me?'

    'I have promised, Alfie, a hundred times, but I can't see
why
.'

    'You know what your father is like. He thinks you're still his baby girl and would put a stop to our meeting together even with a dozen chaperones. It's getting harder to elude your frightful Miss Perrin as it is. Thank God, the wretched woman is visiting her mother today.'

    'Oh, Alfie, Miss Perrin is a dear, kind lady! Don't be so unkind.'

    'Unkind! You don't know the half of it. I'd like to wring her neck when I see her watching us so closely these days and pursing her lips the way she does. As for your father, he wouldn't even consider an engagement as yet. On top of that, Father as good as said Joshua Farnham had other plans for you. It quite troubled me, his saying that.'

    'Sometimes I think my parents never want me married at all,' said Ellie gloomily.

    'That's nonsense and you know it is, my love. The simple fact is that you're still too young. Plus, I have to prove myself a little, you know, get myself a career, show your father what I'm made of and all that. . . mustn't I?'

    'You don't need to, Alfie. Papa knows you. He knows you'll be Lord Dillinger one day and Oreton Hall will be yours. Why on earth would he expect you to prove anything to him as if you were some penniless fortune hunter?'

    Alfie took her hands in his and turning them over planted a kiss in each palm. He said solemnly, 'I
have
to prove myself. Myself to myself. Myself to the world. Don't you see that?'

    Ellie pouted and pulled her hands away.

    'No. I don't see it. You've passed your exams beautifully; you always excel at everything you want to do. You'll go into politics and probably end up being Prime Minister if you put your mind to it. You will always win, always. I certainly don't want proof of anything you can do because I know full well you're good, brave and clever. What I want is proof of your love.'

    'God, I've proved it enough times, haven't I? Haven't I proved I'm a man?'

    'Oh!' She shook herself free of him and rose from the grassy knoll where they sat. 'You think that's proof! Well, a man might think so but you can do –
that
– with anyone. Prove your love by asking for my hand.'

    'I can "do
that
with anyone"!' Alfie said, stung. He rose to face her. 'Damn it, Ellie, that's a terrible thing to say. As if I go whoring every other Sunday! We were both virgins and you're the only girl I've ever lain with. I swear it. You believe me, don't you? So don't insult me like this. Isn't the pleasure and joy we've known meaningful to you, then? Is it just that I'm one day to be Lord Dillinger that you care about?'

    'No! You know it isn't! That's
not
important to me, Alfie. I love you... '

    'I don't believe you.'

    She had offended him and reached out a hand to touch his arm. He turned away, looking hurt and angry. They understood one another so well. Why were they now at odds, squabbling over something that was surely important to them both? It was nothing less than their whole future together.

    'Alfie, don't turn away from me, it makes me so miserable and sad when you do that,' she pleaded. 'You know I love you. You're like my life-blood, my heart and soul. Of course, our loving has been beautiful, forgive me. But I'm always afraid of being caught. I want it to be right, to be legal, to be in... in the Crimson Bed!'

    He turned and laughed at this, taking her into his arms again, pressing her close to him and kissing her. 'In that old monster,' he murmured, 'we're not having that in our house.'