With a gasp, Rachel stopped abruptly in the street, suddenly unable to breathe. People parted around her, jostling, but none stopped to offer her any assistance. She heard a tut of disapproval, and looked up at an elegant elderly lady, who turned her face aside at once, gazing loftily away. Who are these people? Rachel turned off Milsom Street then, and did not return to it.
Her route led her past the Moor’s Head, where gulls wheeled above in a rare flood of sunshine, calling out their mocking cacophony. The pavement was crowded with people and tangled with their voices, but then Rachel realised with a start that one voice was calling her name – a name she was still unaccustomed to.
‘Mrs Weekes! Won’t you pause a moment?’ Rachel turned to see Duncan Weekes, now her father-in-law, crossing the street towards her on none too steady feet. She almost turned away and pretended not to see him, remembering Richard’s curt statement that his father was lost to him. But should I blank the old man in the street, then, when he is now also my family as well? And after two hours of walking, she couldn’t help but feel relieved to see a face she knew. Duncan Weekes’s brown coat might once have been decent, but it had worn through at the elbows, lost three buttons and had grease stains on the cuffs. His wig was as crooked as it had been the first time she saw him, and his face was ruddy, the nose a pitted ruin of broken blood vessels, knotty and purple.
‘Mr Weekes, how do you do?’ she said. A smile crowded his eyes with folds of pouched skin.
‘Mrs Weekes! I am all the better for seeing your lovely face, my dear. How do you do? And how fares my son?’
‘We are both very well, sir, thank you. I was just out walking…’
‘Very good, very good. I’m happy to see you again. And how are you finding our fair city of Bath? Is it to your liking?’ As he spoke, Duncan Weekes swayed, just a little. He peered at her closely, his eyes roving her face with a kind of meandering but relentless scrutiny that Rachel found almost intrusive. His breath was sour, and he spoke with a strong West Country accent.
‘Oh, very much, sir,’ she said. ‘I’d been here before, several times, with my family. It’s wonderful to become reacquainted with it.’
‘And where are your family now, my dear?’
‘They have… passed, I regret to tell,’ she said. Duncan Weekes’s face fell, and he nodded.
‘A sad thing, as well I know. You have my sympathies, my dear. Richard’s mother, my own dear Susanne, was taken far too soon, when Dick was still just a lad.’
‘Yes, he told me he scarcely knew his mother.’
‘Oh, he knew her well, and loved her better. But he was just eight years old when she died, so perhaps his memories of her grow dim,’ said the old man, sadly.
‘What was she like?’
‘Well, the handsome face my son inherits did not come from me, I dare say you can divine.’ He smiled. ‘To me she was as lovely as a summer’s day, though she had a temper that could scare the birds into flight five miles away, and a voice to match. So perhaps not a lady as refined as you, my dear, but a lady as dear to me as my own breath.’
‘I am not so very refined,’ Rachel demurred.
‘Oh, nonsense. Nonsense.’ The old man paused, and his eyes explored Rachel’s face again, full of that strange scrutiny. ‘Tell me… where did he find you?’
‘He… we…’ Rachel stammered, given pause by his odd turn of phrase. ‘I was governess to a client of his, outside Bath. It was there that we met.’
‘Outside Bath, you say? Well, well.’
Duncan Weekes paused, nodding in thought. ‘I could not be happier for my son, to have taken one such as you to wife. I have seen him strive to rise above the lowly situation of his birth… And he has done it, for certain. For how else would he win such a lady, if he had not made himself worthy?’ Duncan smiled again, but his eyes were full of questions. Rachel reflected for a moment, and thought of the long and lonely path that had led her to accept Richard’s proposal. Would that it were as simple and true a matter as his fair face, his self-improvement, and my admiration of both.
‘I have wanted to apologise to you for… for the abrupt way in which my husband dealt with you at our wedding feast. I should have liked for you to join us, since we are family,’ she said, a touch awkwardly. Duncan Weekes hesitated before replying, and his tired eyes blurred a little.
‘Ah, but you are a kind girl, as well as a fine one. My son harbours a staunch grudge against me, and has these many years. He is angry with me. Aye, still angry.’ He shook his head.
‘But whatever for?’
‘Matters long past. The list is a long one, and there are doubtless things upon it that I do not even remember…’ Duncan trailed into silence, and looked away as if not wishing to meet her eye. Rachel was sure that she was not being told the whole truth.
‘Forgive me – it’s no business of mine what has passed between you. But I can see that it saddens you, and I’m sorry for it. Perhaps if I speak to my husband, sir… I might be able to persuade him to let bygones be bygones?’ she suggested.
‘Do not risk his displeasure on my behalf, Mrs Weekes,’ he said. Rachel considered for a moment, then took his hand and held it in hers. His fingers were thick, the knuckles ridged with old scars and arthritis. He seemed so tired, so sadly disordered; but his hand in hers soon felt conspicuous, and she was made uncomfortable by her own gesture.
‘I can make no promise of success, sir,’ she said. ‘But I understand the importance of family; I hate to see such a valuable thing cast aside, so I will try.’
Duncan Weekes suddenly looked uneasy. He cleared his throat, and his next words sounded wary.
‘Have a care, my dear; wiser not to speak of me to my son. Old wounds are not easily healed, and he has some of his mother’s temper, as well as her looks.’
‘I have never seen him show a temper,’ said Rachel, releasing his hand. She suppressed the urge to brush her fingers on her skirt.
‘Indeed?’ Duncan frowned, but then his expression softened. ‘And indeed, who could show a temper to someone as sweet and kind as you, my dear. Perhaps you might come and visit with me sometime? I should be honoured to have you… we might take a brandy together, to toast your marriage, since I was absent from the feast.’
‘I will have to ask my husband, of course, but I should like-’
‘If you ask him, he will refuse it,’ Duncan interrupted, anxious again. ‘He would be wroth with you and I both, my dear, if you ask him outright. He might even seek me out to offer a reprimand.’
‘I’m sure he would not, sir… and I must ask him – of course I must.’
‘Then that is a great pity, for I had hoped you might indeed come.’ Duncan Weekes tucked his fingers into his waistcoat pockets and looked away along the street, his face losing all animation. Rachel wasn’t sure what reply to make to him. The old man was shivering slightly.
‘You must carry on, sir, and not stand about to get chilled here in the street. But do give me your calling card, so that I will know where to go,’ she said.
‘My card? My card…’ he muttered, patting his pockets absently. ‘My card. Yes. I fear I have none, my dear. But I will tell you the place, if you can remember it?’ Rachel committed it to memory, and as she took her leave Duncan Weekes caught her hand again. ‘But do have a care, sweet girl,’ he said earnestly. ‘Do have a care.’
That night she lay close to Richard, after they had made love. She’d tried, as she did each time, to find the physical pleasure that her mother had hinted at, on the few occasions when they’d spoken of marriage and what Rachel could expect. But while there was no longer any pain, there was no real pleasure either. Nothing other than a faint ache that she was curious to explore; a feeling that might be satisfying to pursue, like the pressing of a bruise. But Richard had always come to his climax, gasping for breath in the crook of her neck, before she’d had a chance to examine the feeling properly. She told herself that she was happy to give satisfaction, without needing to take any for herself, but at the same time couldn’t help but feel mildly disappointed.