The stench of decay permeated the air and filled my lungs. Damp had eaten away at the ceiling above my bed, revealing the wooden slats below. Wallpaper, old and yellow, peeled away leaving the crumbling plaster visible. I lay on mouldy blankets, gazing up at the patterns in the ceiling stains. For three, miserable days I had barely moved, almost paralysed by fear and self-pity. I was scared of my future, scared of the destitution outside my door. The streets outside were full of poverty, people with tired faces and hungry eyes. The shadow of the workhouse cast gloom across them all.
Exhaustion washed over me. I wanted to give up, to close my eyes and not open them again.
"But if I died, what would become of Her?" I asked the empty room.
The weight of my burden pressed down on my chest. Whilst she needed me, I could not give in to my melancholy. It was my duty to carry on, I could not break my promise to my dearest Papa. How ashamed he would be to see me wallowing in self-pity right now. He would have brought me a cup of tea, tickled my neck and told me "worse things happen at sea". He would have been right.
Thirst took hold of me and I realised how long it had been since I had drunk a cup of tea. My misery was overtaken by my desire for tea and prompted by my craving, I struggled to my feet. A glimpse in the broken shard of mirror confirmed my grimmest fears about my appearance. My face was tear-stained and streaked with dust, I could not be seen in public like this. There was a still some water in the chipped cream jug, I poured it into the bowl and did my best to clean off the grime. Once my face was returned to its peachy cleanness, I donned a fresh skirt and blouse and set off on my quest for the Lyon's Tea Shop.
A smiling girl my age, crisp and fresh in starched lined brought me a cup of tea and a toasted teacake. My thirst felt almost unquenchable but my hunger had not returned. As I forced myself to eat, I scanned the wanted adverts in The Times, looking for suitable positions to alleviate my poverty. There were enough positions, but I could apply to a hundred in vain if Agatha Chorley would not write me a good character witness. I poured myself another cup and stared at my reflection in the tea.
There was only one thing for it. Taking a deep gulp of tea, I steeled myself to write a letter to William to ask for his assistance. My cheeks burned red as I attempted to strike a delicate balance in my note. I wanted his assistance but not his pity. All I wanted was for him to reason with his aunt, that was all. I stared at the black ink words on the letter, unable to lie to myself like this. That was not all I wanted. I wanted him to persuade Agatha Chorley of her mistake, I wanted him to convince her to restore me to the position of her companion. As wretched as my life was with her, it was all I had known since I was seventeen. My hands trembled as I took my cup to my lips, there were some things even tea could not fix. As I walked slowly back to my boarding house, my heart felt weary with every step.
I climbed the narrow steps up to my dusty little bedroom, only a little restored by my lunch. As I opened the door, I saw with a mixture of horror and surprise that the room was not empty. My first reaction was almost to laugh, Mr Frederick Wilkes looked so out of place there, with his impeccable suit and smooth hair. When he saw me, he gave a frustratingly charming smile.
"You?" I said.
"Good afternoon, Miss Taylor," he said with studious politeness.
"If you don't leave my room at once, I will scream," I threatened.
"I'm not sure your neighbours would pay much heed," came his smooth reply. "And I have found to my delight that your landlady is bribed very cheaply.
All my sadness turned to humiliation and anger. I bristled at the shame of being discovered in such a place, by him of all people. Worst even than the smug smile on his face was the fact that he was right. Shrieks and screams were not uncommon here, especially once the drunks had returned from the public-house to beat their long-suffering wives. The cries went on into the night and nobody interfered. Mr Wilkes gave a wink as he strode over to where I stood and pulled the door behind me closed.
"We need to talk," he said as he sat down on the only chair in the room.
Hesitantly, I sat on the edge of the bed and then tried to fix him with a haughty glare. He looked around the room disdainfully, his attention was momentarily caught by the hole in the ceiling before he finally rested his gaze on me.
"So this is where you are living," he said with obvious disgust.
"How did you find me?" I asked.
"I asked around the cabbies," he said then frowned slightly. "I was worried about you."
"Well as you can see, I am perfectly fine."
He snorted in reply which annoyed me immensely.
"You are living in hovel," he said.
"I am living within my means," I said.
My last sentence caused a flutter behind those calm eyes of his, I do not believe a man like Frederick Wilkes knew what leaving within one's means meant. Better to stiff the tailor and cadge off friends than to make the slightest economy.
"I think you enjoy the misery," he said at last.
"I beg your pardon?!" I said angrily.
"I don't know quite why but I think you are staying here as some kind of penury," he said.
His shrewd blue eyes narrowed as he watched my reaction, from the tense clasp of my hands to my burning cheeks. For the first time, I appreciated that he was more perceptive than I gave him credit for before. It was not quite true that I enjoyed the misery, but perhaps it was something I felt I deserved.
"You do not have to live this life," he said softly. "You have an escape."
"By marrying you?" I rolled my eyes.
"Would that really be so terrible?" Mr Wilkes smiled.
"Yes," I said.
"Why? You could just look as another position as a companion," he said shrugging his shoulders. "But instead of dancing on attendance to some cantankerous old crone, you'd have a charming young man to fuss over."
"But I would be married to a man I could not love or respect," I said.
"Love? Is that what you want?" he asked.
"No! Love is the last thing I would ever want from you or from anybody," I said vehemently.
Love came with the pain of betrayal, I would not feel its sting again. Love made wretches of the most headstrong women and the man in front of me shattered hearts for his own amusement. He looked a little taken aback by the bitterness of my words.
"Well love is not high up on my list of priorities either," he said.
"No, clearly money is all you care about," I said crossing my arms. "Just contest the Will in court."
"I want to respect my Uncle's last wishes," he said. "Clearly he wanted us together and I think I understand why now."
The sincerity of his beautiful eyes threw me off guard, he was usually so flippant but at that moment there was a seriousness in his face that seemed honest and true. There was a slight vulnerability beneath his usual arrogance and I felt my attraction to him growing. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a bundle of letters and placed them on the bed beside me.
"My uncle's letters," he said. "I've been reading them to understand why he chose you."
A sickness grew in my stomach, as I wondered how many of my family secrets were contained in those letters. There had been a regular correspondence between George Cosgrove and Papa since before I was born and even in my father's final days he still wrote to his dear friend in tortured, feeble scrawls. I swallowed deeply and look into the clear blue eyes of Frederick Wilkes, if he knew all my secrets then he did not let on.
"Your father was a great hero," he said
"Yes, he was," I agreed.
"The way he saved those people, my uncle included," Mr Wilkes continued. "I don't think I could have shown half such bravery."
I gave Mr Wilkes a contemptuous glare, of course he could never match the heroic deeds of a man like my dearest Papa. I doubted he would ever care for another human as much as he did his own comfort, let alone his life. My father was a man who would give the clothes off his back just to keep another warm, his loss was a shadow on my soul.
"Yes, I am sure you are incapable of the selflessness required for heroism," I said.
The harshness of my words made him wince sheepishly, I had lashed out from my own private pain of grief. My father would be ashamed of me for such unkindness, I wondered when exactly it was that my tongue had grown so sharp and my heart had grown so bitter. Mr Wilkes gave a gentle smile.
"My many shortcomings are not the issue here," he said. "I just wanted to get you to understand why the old goat put this stipulation in his will."
"Old Goat? Oh Mr Wilkes, de mortuis nihil nisi bonum!" I shook my head disapproving.
"Of the dead speak nothing but good? Such a pretty saying," he laughed. "But why should we not?"
The mischievous look sparkled once more in his eyes and he ran his fingers through his hair with a boyish charm. I made no reply, I punished him with a stony face and silent tongue. He waited a little while for me to meet his eye before sighing with resignation.
"I'm sorry Miss Taylor, it was tasteless of me," he said. "My relationship with my uncle was always difficult and I sometimes I make light of it. You wouldn't understand."
There was a tremble in his voice and I allowed myself to look at him once more. Was there more depth to his feelings than I credited him with or was he just a shallow cad?
"Tell me about it," I said.
"Tell you about what?" he asked, his eyes widening a little.
"Your relationship with your uncle. Help me understand."
He shifted awkwardly and I realised for once it was me making him awkward, instead of the other way round.
"My mother was his younger sister and I believe he must have loved her with the same absent fondness that most older brothers seem to love their sisters. When she was seventeen she fell foolishly in love with my father."
"I've never known a seventeen year old to fall sensibly in love," I said.
"Indeed," he grinned. "And my father was a handsome devil with the heart of a scoundrel."
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," I said tartly.
"Ah Miss Taylor, are you admiring my handsome face yet again?"
My exasperated sigh did not cover up my burning cheeks. I wished that I'd held my tongue rather than give him another chance to flirt.
"I was talking about your disgraceful immorality," I said hotly. "The way you squander your life, reckless with both heart and reputations."
He shrugged nonchalantly, reached for his cigarette case and place a cigarette in his mouth without taking his eyes off me. The cigarette hung loosely on his soft lips as he searched his pockets for his matches.
"May I smoke?" he asked.
The request caught me off-guard, for it was the first time he had ever shown me such civility. I nodded silently even though I hated the smell of tobacco and I knew it would linger long after he left, an unwelcome reminder of an unwelcome guest. Blue smoke clouded around him as he continued his story.
"My parents' elopement caused much consternation in the Cosgrove family as you can imagine, my grandparents never set eyes on my mother again. My mother was a love-fool and the marriage was an unhappy one."
The muscles in his jaw became taut and the cheeky sparkle in his eyes dimmed. I looked down to see his hands clasped together tightly, as years of unhappy childhood passed his memory. My hands longed to hold his, to comfort him, but as a stranger to him I held back.
"When Uncle George inherited Losely Court, there was a reconciliation of sorts. He paid for my schooling at Harrow and mother and I stayed with him every school holiday."
He leaned forward as he spoke, coming so close that I could have stroked his smooth cheek with the tips of my fingers if I had wanted.
"But there was always too much of my father's blood in me. I was a disappointment to him and after my mother's death there was little to bind us together."
"I am sure he loved you very much," I said.
"That is sweet of you to say," he said throwing his finished cigarette in the grate.
"I think that is why he chose you as my bride," he continued. "My uncle felt a duty to his only sister's child but he owed your father his life. He wanted to see you were protected and he wanted to do right by me."
"I see," I said uncomfortably.
"If you were to say yes, if we were married," he said earnestly. "You can set the boundaries of our marriage. It would be a partnership."
For the first time since I had heard that ridiculous codicil, I gave the matter some real thought. In some ways, it seemed to be no different to being a paid companion, both ways I sold my friendship to the highest bidder.
"I would need an allowance," I thought out loud. "I would need time to myself each year, to go where I pleased."
"Anything Mary," he said eagerly.
"And I would not be expected to fulfil..." I grew pinker with every word. "The bedroom duties of a wife."
"Don't worry," he said supressing a smile. "I will happily satisfy myself elsewhere."
"Then I will marry you, for your money alone."
Even as I spoke, regret pounded in my chest but I could not take the words back. He made me no promises of love and I did not want them. My heart was scarred from the violence of first love and I would never love again. Frederick Wilkes was not a good man, my damaged soul could not destroy him like it would a man like William Chorley.
"St Giles, Friday morning," he said. "I will get our licence as soon as I leave here."
"Friday, it is so soon."
"I don't want you to change your mind."
"But my dress," I objected.
"There is gown waiting for you at the dressmaker's. I took the liberty of ordering your dress some weeks ago," he said.
"That's impossible."
"It is really not. I told that little red-haired maid I was your cousin and wanted to have a dress made as a gift."
"You are beyond belief!"
"Why thank you. Now my dearest Mary, here is the address of the dressmaker and I will go and make arrangements. Do move to more respectable lodging, there's a good girl."
With that he gave me a cheerful kiss on the cheek and let himself out. I fell to my knees with half a sob and half a prayer. Hot tears fell down my face. Tears of frustration, tears of fear, my hands clasped together in a silent appeal for guidance. There was no answer, no comfort, I was alone in the world. I knew what I had done, I had promised myself to a loveless marriage with a man I barely knew. It was not a promise I would break.