Master of His Fate Read online

  “I understand,” Esther said. “Keep thinking.”

  Four

  The hansom came to a standstill at the corner of the street where Matthew and his family lived, just off the main Hampstead Road in Camden.

  The driver of the cab jumped down from his seat, opened the carriage door, and helped Esther to alight, with James following his grandmother. He and the driver pulled out canvas bags while Esther opened her purse to pay the driver. She did this once the bags were at the front door, and thanked him.

  He tipped his cap, thanked her back, and thought to add, “Nice young ’un yer ’ave there, missus.” He grinned and went back to the carriage, whistling away.

  James was searching for the key when the front door suddenly opened. Rossi stood there smiling, with little Eddie peeping out from behind her. “James and Grandma! I’m so glad you’re here.” She opened the door wider and helped them carry the bags inside.

  The house was tall and narrow and not very big, but it did accommodate the family comfortably, and they liked it. There was a cozy feeling about the large kitchen, a room which was the center of the household.

  It had a big open fireplace and an oven with a range, and a wide window looking out into the back garden. A long oak table stood under the window and could seat ten at a pinch. It was here they had their meals.

  Once the canvas bags were safely on the table, Esther hugged and kissed Rossi and Eddie, and said to James, “I’m just going to pop upstairs to see your mother, and then I’ll be back to heat the raspberry vinegar medicine.”

  James nodded. “I’ll unpack the bags, and Rossi will help me.”

  “I want to help, too,” Eddie said, and James smiled at him and said he could.

  Esther hurried into the front hall and mounted the stairs leading to the main bedroom floor. As she climbed, she could hear Maude coughing and was somewhat alarmed when she went into the bedroom and saw her daughter-in-law’s face. It was ashen and there were dark rings under her eyes. Her dark brown hair, always so glossy and carefully arranged, was rumpled and unruly.

  “I’m here, Maude,” Esther said, walking over to the bed, anxiety on the edge of her voice. “Would you like some hot soup or just the raspberry vinegar?”

  Maude could do no wrong in Esther’s eyes. She had proven to be an adoring wife and mother, and the whole family was devoted to her. To Esther, Maude was the calmest person she had ever known. Maude kept a loving and peaceful household; angry words were unheard of and food was always on the table. The house was clean as a whistle and the children well cared for. Her son was a lucky man. So were her grandchildren.

  Pulling up a chair, sitting down next to the bed, Esther leaned closer and said in a low voice, “Are you awake, Maude? I’ve brought soup, and my concoction.”

  “Just drowsing, the raspberry vinegar would help,” Maude whispered, her voice hoarse. “Is Jimmy with you?”

  “He’s downstairs with Rossi and Eddie. He came to get me earlier. We had a bite of lunch; then we came straight here. I’ve brought plenty of food, so you mustn’t worry about Matthew and the children being fed. They’ll be all right.”

  Maude looked up at her, the sparkle in her dark brown eyes dulled by her illness. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It’s not the bubonic plague, you know, merely a chill and a sore throat. I’ll be up and about in a few days.”

  “When you’re better, and not until then. I’ll be back in a few minutes, love.” Esther hurried downstairs.

  When she returned to the kitchen, she noticed that the bottle of raspberry vinegar and the jar of chicken soup were on the oak table. Everything else had been put away in the pantry.

  “Is Mother very ill?” James asked, his worry obvious.

  “No, it’s just one of those bad chills, and she’s a bit chesty. But she’ll be fine. You can go up and see her if you want, or better still, you can take the drink up to her. It’ll only take a moment to boil.”

  As she spoke, Esther crossed the room, picked up the bottle, and was back swiftly, standing over a pan on the oven top, stirring the raspberry vinegar. To this she added sugar and a large piece of butter, which James had brought to her from the pantry.

  “Is that all it is?” James asked, sounding surprised, glancing at his grandmother. “Just those things boiled together?”

  “More or less,” Esther murmured. “But I prepare the vinegar in a special way and put a few herbs into it as well.”

  “What are they?”

  “That’s a secret.” Esther winked at him and poured the concoction into a cup. “Here it is, my lad. You can take it up to your mother. She must sip it slowly. It’s a bit hot.”

  James did as he was told, and when he entered his parents’ bedroom he saw at once how poorly his mother looked. Carrying the cup carefully, he put it down on the bedside table.

  Hearing the slight noise, Maude opened her eyes, and a smile surfaced when she saw her eldest son. “There you are, Jimmy.”

  “Grans said you’re to sip this slowly,” he explained, reaching for the cup. “Be careful, Mum. It’s very hot.”

  Maude now pushed herself up in bed and took the cup from him. “I don’t know why, but this is always helpful, really a good remedy for me.”

  “I think Grans put something special in it, but she wouldn’t tell me what. She said it’s a secret.”

  Maude peered at him over the rim of the cup. “That’s strange. Your grandmother usually tells you everything.”

  James chuckled. He settled back in the chair, his eyes focused on his mother. Although she looked tired and sick, he decided it probably was only a chill, nothing more serious. This realization allowed him to relax.

  * * *

  It had been a slow day at the stalls, and Matthew decided to leave early on this warm June afternoon. Concern about his wife made him hasten his departure, and propelled him down the Hampstead main road.

  He didn’t even take the barrow with him to bring back goods tomorrow. They had plenty of stock and he had locked it away in the shed with the sawhorses and planks.

  The road was full of men who were leaving the market hall and others who worked in companies or factories nearby. The road was filled to overflowing, which surprised him. It was only five o’clock. Most men worked until six or seven, some even later.

  Perhaps it’s the nice weather after lots of rain, Matthew thought as he strode out, moving at a steady pace, not wanting to start perspiring. We all want to sit in our backyards and read a newspaper; some prefer to go to the pub for a pint.

  The pub. A lot of men he knew made a habit of going for a drink after work—many of them most nights of the week. He didn’t. He wanted to be in his home with his Maude and their children. They were his whole world. He wasn’t interested in swilling down beer in the taproom or playing darts, and he certainly didn’t want to listen to husbands grumbling about their wives, trying to unload their problems on him.

  Maude. The image of her face came into his head, and he smiled inwardly, suddenly thinking of the first time he had set eyes on her. Eighteen years ago now.

  He had been nineteen and she had been seventeen, and they had bumped into each other in the backyard at Fountains Court in Kent.

  She had explained that she was delivering a blouse for Lady Agatha when she saw him glancing at the small suitcase she was holding. He had asked to carry it for her, and she had agreed. Then he had led her to the back door, ushered her into the kitchen, where his mother happened to be speaking with Cook.

  His mother obviously knew the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, had greeted her warmly, calling her Maude. His mother had admired the rose-pink dress she was wearing. Within seconds his mother had whisked her away, taking her to Lady Agatha in her boudoir.

  The sense of disappointment he had felt that day rushed back to him as he increased his pace down the road, needing to get home to be there for Maude. He so easily recalled how he had hung around the yard until the beautiful girl had finally emerged from the hous
e. He had asked her if he could walk her to the main gates. She had looked at him intently, questioningly, and then she had smiled and he had smiled back, floored by her beauty. Those deep brown eyes, set wide apart, full of sparkle and life under perfectly arched brows, the burnished brown hair that fell in curls around her lovely, heart-shaped face, and the slender, lithe figure. She was breathtaking.

  He was smitten. And so was she.

  A year later they were married. And then came the children. They were happy, loving, devoted, and extremely close, and bonded with his parents and brothers to make a dependable family unit that gave them all a sense of security.

  * * *

  “I’m hungry,” Eddie wailed. “Why can’t I have a sausage roll? Now!”

  Rossi looked across at him and explained gently, “Because we’re waiting for Father, and when he gets home we can sit down and have supper together.”

  “Will Mumma get up and come down?” Eddie asked wistfully.

  “I don’t think so, lovey. It’s better she rests.”

  Eddie jumped off the chair, and said, with sudden determination, “I’m going upstairs to see her. I want to give her a kiss to make her feel better.”

  Rossi put the knives and forks she was holding down on the table, walked across to the pantry, and went inside. “Just this once I’ll make an exception. Please bring me one of those plates, Eddie, and I’ll give you a sausage roll to keep you going.”

  Running over to the oak table, Eddie took a plate to Rossi in the pantry, a beaming smile on his face. His sister placed the roll on it, then admonished, “Don’t gulp it down … eat it slowly.”

  “I will.”

  “And what else do you say?” Rossi stared at her young brother.

  “Thank you,” Eddie replied, and carried his plate to the end of the table, far away from where Rossi was setting the places for supper.

  At this moment James came back into the room, carrying the cup. “Mum’s fallen asleep at last. The rest will do her good.” He took the cup to the sink, and turned to his sister. “I see you gave in to Eddie’s nagging. But he probably is hungry, Rossi. It’s getting late.”

  “I know, but he has to learn to be patient.”

  “I don’t want to be a patient,” Eddie cried. “Then I’d be in hospital.”

  “‘Patient’ also means being able to wait for something, without making a big fuss,” James explained, and went to sit next to the nine-year-old. “I could eat one of those myself, but I’ll wait ’til Dad gets home.”

  Eddie adored his older brother, and he looked up at him and smiled, offering him the sausage roll. “Have a bite. I don’t mind sharing it with you, Jimmy.”

  Shaking his head, James put his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. “Our grandmother brought us a cottage pie and chicken soup and, as soon as Dad arrives home, we’ll tuck into it.”

  Rossi exclaimed, “Perhaps I’d better put the pie in the oven now, Jimmy, and the chicken soup in a pan on top of the range. What do you think?”

  “That’s a good idea. Shall I help you?”

  “I’ll help, too,” Eddie volunteered, and took a bite of the sausage roll.

  “I can manage,” their sister answered, finally finishing the last setting. Suddenly she began to laugh as she walked back to the pantry. “You and Grandma brought enough food to feed Nelson’s navy. There’s also a steak and kidney pie in here, and a hunk of boiled ham. Oh, and an apple pie. Not to mention the sausage rolls.”

  James laughed with her. “Grans kept adding things once Grandpapa had insisted we come here in a hansom.”

  “I’ve never been in one,” Eddie said, the wistful tone echoing yet again.

  “You will one day,” James murmured.

  “When? I want to know when!”

  “Never if you don’t stop nagging!” Rossi exclaimed.

  James said to his sister, “How was school today?”

  “It went well. I taught some of the younger children, as I do these days, and then I had an hour with the sewing teacher. I love sewing and designing things. As you know, I’ll be working with Mum soon, helping her to fill her orders for the blouses and shawls, and I’ll enjoy that.”

  The three of them jumped and looked startled at the sound of knocking on the door. It was James who immediately stood up, motioned the others to remain where they were.

  The knocking started again as he reached the front door. “What do you want? Who is it?” he asked, having been instructed time and again never to let anyone into the house if they were alone.

  “It’s me, James. Grandpapa. Grans sent me to see if the three of you are all right, and to check on your mother.”

  James turned the key and opened the door to let his grandfather in. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” James then explained to Philip, “Dad has drilled it into the three of us not to open the door unless we know who’s there.”

  “Very wise,” Philip answered, and he and James walked into the kitchen, where Philip was immediately assaulted by Eddie and Rossi, who threw themselves at him, hugging him.

  When he finally became disentangled, he turned to James. “Shall I go upstairs and look in on your mother? Or is she resting?”

  “Perhaps she’s still asleep,” James answered. “I’ll creep up and take a look.”

  Philip nodded, and allowed himself to be pulled farther into the kitchen. Having been taught to be polite, Rossi asked, “Would you like a cup of tea, Grandpapa?”

  He shook his head, and then looked toward the door as he heard the key in the lock turning. “I think your father has arrived.”

  Five

  Matthew stared at his father, alarm rushing through him. Why was he here? Had Maude become worse?

  As if reading his son’s mind, Philip said, “I just dropped in to see how Maude is doing, Matt. Although when she got home, your mother told me it was definitely only a chill.”

  “And what do you think, Dad?”

  “I haven’t seen her yet. Apparently she’s sleeping.”

  James interjected, “I was just upstairs, Father, and that’s true.”

  Relaxing, Matthew walked into the kitchen and opened his arms as his two younger children rushed toward him across the floor. He kissed them both, and then straightened. Turning to James, he asked, “Has your mother taken the raspberry vinegar?”

  “Yes, I sat there while she sipped it and fell asleep. It must have knockout drops in it, or something like that.”

  He’s far too bright for his own good, Philip thought, but said, “Don’t be silly, James. It’s the cherry juice your grandmother puts in it that makes a person sleepy and soothes a sore throat.”

  Matthew walked toward the door, turned to look back at his father. “Will you have supper with us?”

  “I’ll stay a bit longer, go up and see Maude after you, but I can’t linger. I told your mother I would have dinner with her tonight. We don’t often get a chance to do that.”

  Matthew nodded, hurried out, flew up the stairs two at a time, and then paused on the landing, took a deep breath, and calmed himself before pushing open the bedroom door. He went in as quietly as possible, then realized Maude was awake.

  “Matt,” she whispered hoarsely when he sat down next to the bed, and reached out her hand to him.

  He took hold of it, leaned closer, his eyes searching her face. She was extremely pale and her forehead was damp. When he tried to kiss her, she moved her head. “I don’t want you to catch cold.”

  Smiling at her, he ignored her words and kissed her cheek anyway.

  “It seems very hot in here, Maude.”

  “I am a bit warm,” she answered.

  He jumped up and went to the window. Although it was six-thirty, it was still light outside. He opened the top and bottom of the sash window, shaking his head as he did. Like everyone else, he suffered from paranoia about his home not having sufficient oxygen. “I don’t understand why this is closed,” he muttered. “We’re all fully aware we must have oxygen circ
ulating through every room. The whole country knows it.”

  He walked back to the bed, continuing, “We mustn’t let carbonic acid build up because we don’t have proper ventilation.”

  Sitting down, he took her hand again and stared at Maude. “Breathe in, love, you need fresh air. It’ll help you get better.”

  “It was becoming stifling in here but I just didn’t have the strength to get out of bed to open the window,” she murmured.

  “What else can I do to make you more comfortable? Are you thirsty? Do you want a glass of water? Or perhaps some chicken soup? Are you hungry?”

  “I have no appetite at all. I think I’d just like to rest here, maybe doze off again. Sleep is the best thing for me right now.”

  “Dad’s downstairs, Maude. He came to see you.”

  “Oh, that’s nice of him. Tell him to come up.”

  “I will. And I’ll get supper going, although I think Rossi has started doing that already.”

  A faint smile touched Maude’s face. “I’ve no doubt about that.”

  A moment later Philip Falconer was seated in the bedside chair. His love for Maude was reflected in his eyes; he could only hope and pray that his two other sons, Harry and George, would be lucky enough to marry women like her. “I felt I had to come by to see you for myself, Maude. Naturally, I trust Dr. Robertson’s diagnosis and Esther’s opinion. On the other hand, I do worry about the entire family. And I just can’t help being concerned about you, after that terrible bout of bronchitis you had last year.”

  “I know that, Dad,” she answered, using the name she had called him since her marriage to Matthew. “This time it is just a bad chill. I’ll be better in a few days.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I do.” She smiled at him, her face ringed with affection.

  “Then I shall walk home with a lighter heart. And I know you’re in good hands with Matthew and the children to take care of you.”

  When he went downstairs his grandchildren begged him to stay for supper with them. He told them he couldn’t, explaining again that their grandmother was waiting for him.