Sandringham Rose by Mary Mackie

Author:Mary Mackie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2021-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

In the days that followed, I often wondered if I had ever really known Basil. He was far more at ease in the city than I was, known in all the best establishments, greeted by name in many places.

‘I’ve got a finger in many pies,’ was his explanation. ‘Property, merchandise… My interests change, depending what pays best. Don’t worry your head about it. Didn’t know you’d wed a wealthy man, did you?’

He enjoyed my astonishment at his revelations, as he enjoyed spending his money on me. He took me about the city, showing me the sights despite the fogs and sleet of the chill January days. He sat patiently while dressmakers pinned and tucked, their assistants bringing pattern after pattern, bolt after bolt of cloth for our approval. There were hats, and shoes, wraps and shawls and gloves such as I had never hoped to possess. And there were jewels – every day he found excuse to buy me some new gewgaw, as if I were a concubine to be rewarded for her favours.

By day he seldom touched me except to offer his arm or extend a helping hand. By day he played the old-fashioned gallant, even when we were alone. And at night, in darkness, he made love to me with a sensuous, half-violent enjoyment.

My physical self responded to the assault he made on my senses, though most nights when he fell into exhausted snoring I was left wide awake, my body on fire with frustrated need. On other nights I felt nothing at all, except a faint disgust. And every morning I took a bath or a strip wash and scrubbed myself clean. More and more my mind revolted.

London was exhilarating with its noise and bustle, its streets full of costermongers and traders in all kinds of goods, from old clothes to cat-meat to muffins and live eels. And the traffic – cabs and coaches, omnibuses and wagons, crammed wheel to wheel in a dense stream along all the main streets. People of all classes rubbed elbows with each other, young and old, rich and poor. Urchins swept the street crossings, held horses, ran errands for pennies – and picked pockets, so Basil warned me.

We saw a hue and cry one day, a well-dressed gentleman gasping after a skinny, sickly-looking lad who skipped away into an alley and was lost, along with the gentleman’s purse. The lad looked familiar to me, but rack my brains as I might I could not decide whom he reminded me of – one of our old backus boys, probably.

Apart from wishing to acquaint me with the city’s sights, Basil had business to conduct; some mornings he went out early, leaving me to myself until lunchtime, but for the rest of the time he was attentive, always ready with some idea for my amusement and delight. We spent hours poring over exhibits in museums; we visited the waxworks and the menagerie; we saw extracts from Shakespeare and attended the music hall;

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