From This Day Forward

by Connie Monk

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

When Jane Bradley elopes with one of her father's employees, she soon realizes that she had a romantisized view of married life. When Ian is disappointed with her in more ways than one, Jane finds comfort with the local doctor, who is drawn to her, but has to conquer his own troubles first.

Release date: January 14, 2016

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

Autumn 1905

Jane stared straight ahead. She couldn’t close her ears to her father’s tirade but at least she could refuse to look at him. Never had he used that tone to her; to other people perhaps, but never to her. And even now she had no real doubt that, once his first anger subsided, she would be able to steer him into seeing things her way. She was as certain of that as she was certain that her way was right.

‘I won’t have it, Jane. It’s not right to have you hanging around those sheds. I’ll not have you laying yourself wide open to gossip amongst the men. I’ve told you about it before.’ Amos Bradley’s still good-looking face was flushed with the intensity of his feelings. All too well he knew that Jane was a force to be reckoned with. The stubborn set of her shoulders was answer enough. ‘Damn it, Jane. It’s got to stop!’ Emphasizing his words he brought his clenched fist down to thump on his desk.

Sure that she knew the way to handle him, Jane answered in a voice as soft as his was harsh. ‘Oh, Dad, you’ve always taken me there, you’ve been proud as Punch to show me off to the men as long as I can remember.’ Amos could tell that just beneath the surface there lurked a smile as she recalled his pride in having her at his side, and hers in being there. Even when she’d been no more than a small child she’d been able to persuade him to take her with him to the family brewery, the combination of her own delight in accompanying him adding to an inborn instinct in knowing just how to mould him to her will. Even when she’d needed to stand on an upturned box to watch the crushed malt being turned in the mashing tuns, she hadn’t been too young to appreciate her father’s pleasure in having her there. The rich, heady smell of the yeast, the familiar West Country drawl of the men’s voices, sometimes talking to her and sometimes calling to each other, the ringing of their hobnailed boots on the stone flags of the floor, all these things were ingrained in her memory.

If Amos regretted not having a son, he showed no sign of it. And no son could have taken more interest in the business than she did. She knew each stage of the process of beer making. Some children are enthralled by the magic of fairy stories: not so, Jane. She had never tired of watching the men, asking questions, learning, always learning. By the time most girls of her age had been working on their first cross-stitch samplers, she had been able to gauge from the colour of the malt what the end result would be, whether it would be pale ale, brown ale or porter. As a child, it was what the brewery produced that had enthralled her; she’d seen it as little short of magic that from the basic ingredients at the beginning of the process the final liquid could emerge. But as she’d grown up, she’d recognized there was more than that to running a successful business, and willingly Amos had taken her under his wing, secretly pleased that she showed no sign of finding a husband and flitting the nest.

Not that she spent every hour of every day at the brewery: frequently she would take the train from Deremouth to Exeter for a visit to her dressmaker, never attempting to resist the temptation of new materials or the fun of choosing hats. Although at two years old she’d lost her mother, her life had lacked nothing. She’d believed the same could be said for her father. Even when he’d brought Dulcie Wainwright to visit the house, it hadn’t entered Jane’s head that he might be considering marriage. That was when she’d been nineteen and in months life had changed. Maybury House, the Bradleys’ home in Moorleigh, a few miles inland of the Devon coastal town of Deremouth, had found itself with a new mistress.

‘I’m not blind, you know.’ Amos got up from the swivel chair behind his desk. ‘I’ve said I’ll not have a daughter of mine hanging around the sheds. But you know as well as I do what I mean. I’ve seen you chattering to that young cooper, Harriman. Chattering? Making sheep’s eyes at him, more like it. Either it stops or he goes.’

‘I never make sheep’s eyes – at him or anyone else! Anyway I doubt if you so much as know him. Dad, you can’t judge a person just by the job he does. He isn’t like the other coopers. You’d be surprised how much he knows about the trade – he’s interested – intelligently interested.’

‘I don’t doubt he’s interested! Interested in the main chance!’

‘That’s not true! And it’s unjust to say things like that about him when you don’t even take the time to know him. You’ve always been fair minded. Talk to Ian—’

‘Ian!’ He almost spat the name at her. ‘The man’s name is Harriman. Either you keep away from him – or he’ll find himself looking for another job.’ Before she had a chance to argue, he snapped, ‘That’s all I have to say about it – and we’ll let that be the last we hear.’ Was he honestly expecting to be obeyed? Then, as if there had been no cross words between them, he added, ‘Now then, Janie, let’s go over Dayton’s advice notes together, I’ve got them here. Their monthly account came this morning. If you nip along to get the deliveries book from Hawkins, we’ll call over what deliveries of malt we’ve had from them this month to make sure it’s in order, then we can pay our debt on the dot. That’s the way I like.’ The only sign of his previous agitation was the way his fingers drummed on his knee as he sat back in his chair.

Jane looked at him with grudging affection that almost, but not quite, allayed her own anger. Nearer to the truth, what she felt was disappointment rather than anger. It would be so much easier if he could have met Ian with an open mind, accepted him as a guest at the house without argument. She wished that was the way it could have been. But, failing that … Today nothing could destroy her happiness. If only she could have told her father how she and Ian felt now. But it would need patience and diplomacy – and neither came easily.

Hawkins gave her the ledger in which, in his copperplate hand, he recorded all goods received – barley, hops, yeast – and she returned to Amos’s office ready to tick off each delivery charged on the monthly account from Dayton’s, the maltsters at nearby Chalcombe. On the surface they worked with the same companionship they always shared: Jane imagined her father had put Ian out of his mind; Amos tried to believe Jane had put Ian out of hers. The truth was, for both of them, the thought of him was just beneath the surface.

Well satisfied with her appearance, Dulcie Bradley turned away from the long mirror on the door of her mahogany wardrobe. Small wonder that a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

For more than two years she had been Amos Bradley’s wife, mistress of Maybury House, but still the pleasure of choosing new materials, having gowns made to her order, gave her the same thrill as it had when first he’d married her. Employed by Sir Roland Elphick as companion to his cantankerous wife, fate had dealt her a hand of trumps when Amos Bradley had visited the house. In normal circumstances, having eaten with the domestic staff below stairs, Dulcie would have spent the evening in her room. There was precious little freedom for a paid companion, expected always to be on hand at her mistress’s whim. Dulcie had only taken the post because she needed a roof over her head and what she lacked in experience she more than made up for in self-confidence. On the night that Amos had been visiting the Elphicks for dinner and an evening of bridge, the fourth player had sent her footman with a note of apology and an explanation that she was unwell. So Dulcie had been sent for. Hearing the maid being instructed to tell Mrs Wainwright that she was needed, Amos’s spirit had sunk. He’d imagined some downtrodden servile widow whose skill went no further than the basic rules of the game. Then Dulcie had appeared. For Amos, an evening of bridge had lost its appeal; he’d wanted just to look at this pretty creature, and to encourage her to speak so that he could listen to her husky voice with its unfamiliar accent. When she’d told him that she’d spent many years in America it only added to her mysterious attraction.

In an age when most women had left youth behind them before they approached fifty, Dulcie had a quality that was ageless. He’d seen her as a woman who’d not always been treated kindly by life, and yet had retained the trusting expectation of youth. He had noted everything about her, he’d found himself wondering whether her legs would be as slim as her ankles hinted, or whether they would be in keeping with the plump softness of her body. His gaze had been drawn again and again to the deep cleavage just visible from the low-cut neckline of her gown, a cleavage made more evident by the way her pale breasts were forced high by her tightly laced corsets. He’d seen her as a woman whose experience of life had only added to the beauty of youth. As she’d studied her cards he had watched the way she’d pursed her voluptuous lips; his imagination had run away with him. That evening he’d played a poor hand of bridge, for concentration had seemed beyond him. If her appearance had surprised him, so too had her bridge. Playing as partners, it had been due to her that the Elphicks hadn’t completely destroyed them.

The following week he’d brought her to Maybury House. Nearly a quarter of a century earlier he’d loved and married Suzanne, Jane’s mother. When he’d lost her he had poured all his affection on their young daughter. Nothing had prepared him for the consuming passion he’d felt – and still did feel after two years of marriage – for Dulcie. The thought of her had come between him and his work, the thought of her had haunted his dreams both waking and sleeping. Within two months of their first meeting she had become Mrs Amos Bradley.

Married twice before, one time divorced, one time widowed, Dulcie had entered her partnership with Amos with no doubts about her future. By nature she was an optimist – and certainly, with the exception of his unmarried daughter, there was nothing to hint at any clouds ahead. There wasn’t open antagonism between Jane and her, but scratch the surface and there was mistrust. In her opinion, Amos had pampered and spoilt Jane for too long. At twenty-one it was high time the girl found herself a husband and moved out. And, seeing that she appeared to have no interest in looking for one for herself, Dulcie had gone out of her way to introduce anyone eligible. And what a waste of effort that had proved!

Studying herself in the mirror, hardly aware of the smile of pleasure at what she was, Dulcie let her mind dwell on her step-daughter, the one person who came between her and the whole of Amos’s affection. Jane may not have been a beauty, not in a delicate, feminine way, but she wasn’t unattractive. Finding her a husband should be easy enough – if only the stupid girl would show a little interest. Then Dulcie’s thoughts moved to what she knew had been on Amos’s mind over these last weeks. Her smile deepened; play her hand carefully, and Jane’s stubbornness might even yet prove to be a Godsend.

As Dulcie turned from the looking glass she heard the noise of a motor car, a rare sound in the village of Moorleigh and one that told her Amos was home.

‘I’m up here,’ she called, leaning far out of the opened window.

She didn’t need to say, ‘I’ll wait for you here,’ she knew he would come straight up to find her.

‘I’ll put the motor in the coach house, Dad. Leave the engine running and I can slide across the seat when you get out.’

‘Sure you can manage? There’s not a lot of spare room in there.’ His pride in this daughter of his was plain to hear.

‘Out you hop,’ she laughed. ‘Of course I’m sure.’

For a woman to sit behind the wheel of an automobile was almost unheard of, but Amos had never been able to refuse her anything. Proudly he’d taught her to handle his motor car with dexterity the equal of his own. He delighted in sitting at her side, aware of how the heads turned at the sight of her. With the canvas hood folded right back, sitting tall, with her hat anchored with extra pins to hold it against the breeze, he knew he had cause to be proud of this daughter of his. Manage? He smiled as he watched her pull away towards the coach house, a cloud of smoke in her wake. On the surface their earlier battle was forgotten. From his appearance no one would guess the foreboding that filled Amos’s heart when he remembered his growing suspicions, and the sight of Harriman and Jane together walking back towards the brewery that very day after the works mid-day break … talking, laughing, their hands touching lightly. Jane was less worried. She was far too happy, too certain that what she wanted was right, not seriously doubting that her father would come to see things her way.

From upstairs, Dulcie watched them, her enigmatic expression giving no hint of what was in her mind. Then she went back to the dressing table to put a dab of perfume behind each ear, and another below her throat. A flick of her Queen Alexandra fringe with her silver-spined comb (part of the dressing-table set Amos had given her) and she was ready to greet him.

‘I waited up here so that I could show you by ourselves.’ Her husky voice had all the excitement of a young girl as she slowly twirled for him to admire her new gown. ‘Don’t you think it’s about the prettiest gown I’ve ever had?’

‘I think you look enchanting. Whatever you wear, you’re lovely. You know that.’

‘And the dress? It came this morning. I wanted to wear it right away. Say you like it.’ Then, catching her full bottom lip between her teeth and looking at him with the sort of expression that might have sat comfortably on the face of a mischievous child, ‘It’s costing you a lot of money.’

‘And every penny of it well spent, my precious girl.’ Drawing her into his arms he let himself drown in the soft warmth of her embrace. If anything could banish his troubled thoughts, then it was Dulcie.

‘What is it, honey?’ She moved her fingers on the back of his neck, not attempting to draw away from his hold. ‘You’re worried. I could see when I watched from the window.’ Had he not been worried, her words would have been enough to stir any shadows into life.

Releasing her, he dropped to sit on the edge of the bed. Immediately she was on her knees in front of him.

‘Is it that young cooper? Didn’t you have a chance to talk to Jane, to tell her how it worried us? Surely she can see we are only concerned for her own good?’

He shook his head.

‘She won’t hear a word against him, she tells me I ought to get to know him. She says if I were fair minded I would see that he’s interested in the business.’

‘But, Amos honey, doesn’t that tell us he’s no more than a gold-digger? Brought up to make barrels, what has that to do with producing ale? It’s like saying I know about tailoring because I can sew a button on a coat. What do the men who work with him think of him, I wonder?’

‘I’ve no idea. He comes and goes on his own. I’ve watched him for weeks – watched the pair of them. You know I have. I’ve tried to believe she’s no different from the way she might be with any of the men – a friendly girl, she always has been. But it’s worried me – bless you, my darling, it’s worried both of us. Twenty-one years old, yet what experience has she had of men?’

‘I’ve done my best.’ Wide-eyed, Dulcie looked at him. ‘You know how often I’ve arranged little dinner parties just so that we can bring some suitable young man into the home. But you can’t force anyone into falling in love.’ Did he imagine it, or did she purse her full lips as she looked at him? ‘One day the right man will come, then she’ll find true happiness. My darling Amos, I hate to see that nasty furrow on your brow.’

How soft her hand was on his forehead.

‘What can we do? She can only be heading for trouble unless you forbid her friendship with him.’

‘I talked to her this afternoon. You may be sure I have forbidden it. I’ve made it plain that I’ll not have him received here—’

‘You mean she suggested that? The idea of it! She must realize it would be impossible. I’ve seen the man, remember, you pointed him out to me when we were in town together. Handsome, oh yes, he’s handsome enough to turn any girl’s head. And Jane is so naïve for her age. She just loves to be with you at the brewery.’ Her affectionate laugh seemed to encompass Amos, Jane and the brewery too. ‘What does she know of men? She must suppose they are all as upright and honest as you. We have to put a stop to it; in her innocence she’s bound to be hurt. Handsome he may be, and she’s too young and gullible to see beyond. The man is coarse, a rough workman. I’m just so thankful you’ve told her it must finish.’

Amos shook his head.

‘Jane has a will of her own. She always has had.’

Rubbing her cheek against his, Dulcie decided on her next move. Yes, Jane would never be told how to live her life. Order her one way and, more likely, she’d go another.

‘If you find they are still seeing each other, then honey, you must get rid of him. Sack him. There’s no one else in Deremouth likely to employ a cooper. But it won’t come to that. Jane loves you too dearly, she couldn’t bring herself to hurt you by going against your express wishes, not in a matter like this.’ She stood up from where she’d been kneeling in front of him. ‘Now that I know you like my new gown and aren’t cross with me for such extravagance, I’ll go down while you get changed.’ Then stooping to rub her cheek once more on his, she added, ‘And I’ll tell Meg to bring you some hot water so that you can get rid of those nasty, scratchy bristles.’ He heard the caress in her soft husky voice and for a second Jane and the cooper were pushed out of his mind just as Dulcie intended. Then pursing her lips in a mock kiss she left him.

Jane changed into a dark green silk gown for the evening. She sat down on the stool in front of her dressing table and unpinned her straight, dark hair, brushed it vigorously before she twisted it back into its customary coil. Bending forward, her chin resting on her upturned palms, she gazed at her reflection as if she were looking at a stranger, a starry-eyed stranger. She felt the whole of her life had been building towards this day – no, not this day, but all that lay ahead of her. If only her father had been ready to meet Ian, to stop thinking of him simply as someone from the workshop … but it would soon happen. Her smile was full of secret confidence as she fixed the small emerald and pearl earrings to her lobe, her thoughts less than half on what she did. What was it Ian had said? Her white teeth clamped her bottom lip as her half-smile tried to turn itself into a laugh. ‘Box clever – use your girlish charm.’ In her imagination that’s what she was doing, the scene in Amos’s office overshadowed by the affection of years. Dad’s never stubborn just for the sake of it, he’ll see for himself that we’re like two halves of the same whole. Softly she hummed the tune of ‘After the Ball is Over’; two days ago she’d bought the music so that she could play it on the piano – in better tune than her vocal offering.

Still humming, she hurried downstairs. Tonight she’d let the subject rest, she didn’t want Dulcie voicing her opinion. It’s nothing to do with her, Jane thought childishly.

It was as she came to the closed door of the drawing room that she halted. ‘After the Ball is Over’ silenced, her expression changed.

His face freshly shaved, his suit changed, Amos joined Dulcie in the drawing room where she was waiting alone.

‘Jane not down yet?’ An unnecessary question and one she didn’t answer.

Instead, she said, ‘However worried you are, worried or angry, promise me you won’t talk about it at dinner. The last thing we want is for gossip to spread in the kitchen. It’s bad enough that the silly girl must be making a laughingstock of herself in front of the workmen at the brewery.’ Not a hint in her concerned tone to suggest that she’d heard Jane’s step crossing the hall.

‘A laughing-stock? You think that? No, surely not. They know her too well.’ Even so, he chewed nervously at the corner of his mouth.

‘How else can the men see it? They must have held her in such esteem, seen her as your right hand. Then she chases after a rough workman at the flick of his fingers. Hush, I think I hear her.’ She had done more than hear her, she’d seen the movement of the door handle. ‘You’ve told her there’s to be an end to the nonsense, so now we’ll put the whole thing out of our minds. He’s not the first ambitious young man to try to wheedle his way up the ladder this way.’

Just as the sound of the gong echoed across the hall, Jane flung the drawing-room door wide and jumped straight into the trap Dulcie had baited.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ She had taken criticism from her father, but Jane couldn’t keep silent while Dulcie interfered.

‘Hush, hush, do, Jane.’ Dulcie looked at Amos, her pretty face a picture of anguish. ‘Just do as your father tells you. Let’s all of us put it behind us. You’ll come to see that what we say is for your own good. All we want is your happiness.’

Purposely Jane turned her back on her and faced her father.

‘It doesn’t matter to me what she says. But Dad, I love Ian. I love him and he loves me. I don’t care what anyone says. He’s asked me to marry him and I’ve said yes. Yes, yes, yes.’

Amos felt as if he’d lost his grip on the situation. They’d talked this afternoon – talked? Argued, more likely – she’d said nothing then about marriage.

‘I don’t understand …’

‘You’re making it up,’ Dulcie came to his side, slipping her hand into his. ‘Your father talked to you this afternoon, you didn’t tell him this then. You’re making it up just to upset him.’

‘Yes.’ Amos collected his wits. ‘That’s it, isn’t it, Janie? You’d have told me—’

‘I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t the right time. This isn’t the right time. When you’ve talked to him, got to know him, you’ll be glad for me. You’ll be glad for yourself too. He’ll be like a son—’

‘The man’s a gold-digger,’ Dulcie stood her ground. ‘Honey, tell her what you told me. Tell her that unless she puts an end to this nonsense, you will get rid of the wretched man. Perhaps that’s what you ought to do in any case. Even if you can trust Jane to keep her word, you wouldn’t be able to trust him. Love! Love of himself more likely!’

‘You keep out of it,’ Jane turned on her angrily. ‘I’m talking to Dad, not to you.’

Dulcie’s huge blue eyes swam with unshed tears, tears of humiliation that Jane could talk to her with less respect than she’d use to young Bessie in the scullery. She clenched her teeth on her trembling bottom lip. Helplessly she looked at Amos.

‘I’ll not have it!’ He rose to the bait, his arm around her. ‘How dare you use that tone to Dulcie. If this is what mixing with the dregs does for you, then the sooner the bastard goes the better. You hear me? I’ll not keep him another day. Now let that be an end to it.’

His words hung between them in the silence of the seconds that followed. The atmosphere was charged with an undercurrent that terrified him; his chest felt tight, his pulses throbbed with the beat of his heart. It was as if he’d reached the edge of a precipice and there was nowhere to go except forward.

‘No, Dad,’ Jane answered him, her quiet tone so different from the way she’d crushed Dulcie, ‘no, this isn’t an end. For me it’s a beginning.’

‘Janie, I can’t stand by and see you throw your life away. You’re too young to know.’

‘Many women have children before they’re my age—’

‘I did,’ Dulcie sniffed into a lace-edged handkerchief. ‘I had no caring family to stop me marrying when I hadn’t the experience to see my error. I was twenty when Franchot was born. Babies hold you together, that’s what I thought. But it’s not true. So much unhappiness … I know what I’m talking about …’ She didn’t attempt to stem her tears, lifting Amos’s hand in hers to hold against her wet cheek.

How different these two women were, both of them so dear to him. Warm, soft, clinging Dulcie – only he knew the hungry passion beneath that gentleness; a day never passed when he didn’t thank God for bringing her to him. Jane, since she’d been no more than a toddler, she’d been his shadow; she’d looked on him as her mentor in all she’d learnt, always capable, loyal, loving, his friend and companion, his helpmeet and his pride. No man is an island, the words echoed silently in his mind. Yet in those seconds that’s what they were, none of them able to bridge the gulf that divided them. Dulcie – no doubt upset by memories of a past he hadn’t shared; Jane, standing tall and erect, young and confident, her head high, only feet away from him yet already beyond his reach. Amos clenched the fist of his free hand and forced it against his chest. And wasn’t it evidence of how wrapped up they were in themselves and their own thoughts that neither of the two people who made up his world so much as noticed the movement. A heavy heart – another figure of speech pushed itself into his thoughts, a figure of speech based on truth. His own heart felt like a great weight aching in his chest and stabbing between his shoulder-blades.

He made one more attempt.

‘Tomorrow he’ll be gone, at any rate gone from the brewery. That’ll show him clearly enough that you aren’t his ticket to a free ride in the business—’

‘Stop it! You make me ashamed!’ Still Jane spoke quietly. ‘You inherited the brewery from Grandpa, did you see that as giving you the right to have a free ride? Or me? Just because I was born a Bradley, does that give me the right? I’m not a puppet with strings for you to pull. I’ll marry Ian because I love him. He’s a proper man, you could have come to look on him as a son.’ Then, as if she’d suddenly remembered Dulcie’s presence, ‘Not like the nincompoops you produce, hoping to get me married off.’

‘Of course I wanted to see you with a husband, one who would give you a good home. You’ve never been kind to me, you always misjudge what I do.’ And, filled with self-pity, Dulcie believed it was true. Jealousy and hate come hand in hand and she had known right from when she came to Maybury House something of Amos would never be hers, she would never come between him and Jane.

‘This is too much!’ Amos shouted, actually shouted, at Jane. ‘Damn it, girl, how dare you speak to Dulcie like it!’

Jane turned and left the room, closing the door behind her with a clink of finality.

‘Was it my fault?’ Dulcie looked hopelessly at Amos. ‘Did I make things worse? It’s just that I can’t bear to see you so upset. Promise you’ll send him packing. She’s young, it’s the first time she’s fancied herself in love. She’ll get over it once he’s out of the way.’

But with woman’s intuition, Dulcie knew Jane better.

‘Excuse me, m’um, sir,’ Babs, the young maid tapped and opened the door a few inches on one action, ‘Mrs West said for me to ask if you’re ready to go in. I did sound the gong. Things are getting spoilt, see.’

‘We’ll come, Babs,’ Amos answered. ‘Just put everything on the table and leave us to serve ourselves. Then go up to Miss Jane and tell her the meal is waiting, if you will.’

‘Yessir.’ Babs was glad to escape. There was something uncomfortable about all of them this evening. She’d like to have told Mrs West she thought the missus had been crying, but best to say nothing. If something had upset her it wouldn’t be right to have them all gossiping and wondering what was wrong. Anyway, Mrs West was always looking to find fault with the missus and that just wasn’t fair when she was so friendly and nice. Not like some of those stuck-up friends they invited for their bridge evenings. No, she wasn’t going to set them all wondering what had upset the missus.

So Babs carried no gossip back to the kitchen, not even about what she saw when she opened the door of Jane’s room to deliver her message.

‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’

Dressed in hat and coat, a strapped hamper behind her on the hall floor, Jane stood in the doorway of the dining room.

‘What in God’s name are you talking about? Just take off your hat and coat and behave yourself.’ Amos was on his feet. Out of his depth, he blustered. His voice was loud, uncontrolled, even to his own ears it sounded unnatural. ‘Stop playing games and come to the table.’ But what a stupid thing to say: Jane didn’t play games, not over something as serious as this. ‘Janie,’ desperately he tried again, ‘where do you think you’re going at this time of evening?’

‘To Ian, of course. Where else would I go? I’ve packed some things.’

Something in him seemed to snap. He brought his clenched fist down on the table with such force that the crockery rattled.

‘Dear God! What have I done to deserve this? This is your home, this where you’ll stay.’

‘If this is my house, then he is welcome in it.’

Their gazes met and locked. For a seco