Elmere Common

Chapter IV: Her Father

CHAPTER IV

~ Her Father

Henry Benson was indeed, noble. He carried himself with a decided pride, and had an air of solemnity about him. You see, he was a widower, and some say that he had never recovered from his wife’s death. When, the actuality is, he quite had – it was another matter concerning his wife which he had never quite recovered from: a matter which arose a long while before Mrs Benson’s death. 

Little Henry Benson was born a bubbly, cheery child, a little shy to a stranger, but over time was the most amiable little boy. He was just one of an upper-class family of four – Patten Benson, and … Benson were his parents, and by the age of five he had gained his little brother, Jack, and was quick to learn; so this aided him in his education: he grew up to be a clever, perceptive little boy. When he was the age of sixteen he was also most handsome: the straight brows fell low over the over the clear, deep-set, earnest eyes, which, without being unpleasantly sharp, seemed intent enough to penetrate into the very heart and core of what he was looking at. The lines in his face were few but firm, as if they were carved in marble, and lay principally about the lips, which were slightly compressed over a set of teeth so faultless and beautiful as to give the effect of sudden sunlight when the rare, bright smile, coming in an instant and shining out of the eyes, changed the whole look from the severe and resolved expression of a man ready to do and dare anything, to the keen, honest enjoyment of the moment, which is seldom shown so fearlessly and instantaneously, except by children.

So, at sixteen years of age, Henry Benson was evidently becoming a man. He was mature not only in appearance and manner, but in character too – and believed himself quite ready to fall in love.

As it happens, by the time he turned seventeen, he met a young lady; a little younger than himself, but bright and bubbly enough to make him laugh along with her – an unmistakable flirt, no doubt, yet, he did grow to love her, slowly at first, but once his love had progressed into a huge, life-changing thing, it was most ardent, and he found himself so loyal to this Felicity May that he knew he must marry her.

In feature, she was supposedly handsome, with large green eyes and a little feline-like smile; she was considerably shorter than him, and by the time they had married, he was so tall in comparison she could have been seen as a child. 

She rather enjoyed the marriage – or, at least all of the riches and ornaments attached to it, and for a time, this was enough for her. She had grown up with little ornaments of this sort, for she came from a middle-class family; one of three sisters. She grew up with an exceptionally good eye for rich men; and knew how to get them. Time after time, honest gentlemen would profess their love to her, but time after time the marriages would fall through. Men were like clay in her little fingers; Henry Benson was no exception. 

It soon became quite clear that the Bensons’ marriage was no longer a happy one; as Henry would invite his rich colleagues from London to his house, he could see with a growing jealousy and fear how his wife responded to them. This anxiety put a permanent cloud upon Mr Benson’s brow, and, although still painfully in love with his wife, showed less and less affection towards her, and was more and more firm. It was even more unfortunate when a servant asked for a private word with Mr Benson, to quietly tell him of her, witnessing a most sinful act between his wife and his good friend, Mr Leighton. 

But Henry Benson did not shout. He did not become angry. He merely told the servant, thank you, and that he had suspected as much; and it was known for the rest of the week that no-one was to talk to him, as he was busily engaged in his office, or so he said. 

Very soon after this incident, his daughter, Katherine Benson was born. And, she was born to a dead mother and a cold, unfeeling father. At first, Henry Benson dreaded the child to be that of Mr Leighton’s, yet he was quietly relived when the child was seen to have his very same raven-coloured hair. 

Yet, he took no chances. He had firmly resolved that showing affection and humanity was weakness, and a risk of becoming disappointed, as he had done with his wife. He showed very little affection to Katherine, although he truly loved her very deeply, and admired her unwavering loyalty to him – a trait his wife had never had.

But, he managed well enough, did he not: living a prosperous life, in a large house full of servants who were jolly and actually enjoyed their work. He had a loving daughter, who was, although a little unruly, blossoming into a fine, handsome young woman.

The matter of Katherine’s ridiculous adventurousness was something Henry had never quite come to terms with. But he loved her all along, even though he may little show it.