Page 37 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

‘It really should be Bram here beside you, Lemon, enjoying a Sunday saunter. Before you know it, there’ll be three of you.’ She drew me to the Embankment wall, and we paused to gaze out over the sluggish brown river. Four well-dressed lads were mucking about on a punt. Nearby, a larger ship was weighing anchor while around it bobbed smaller craft, most hauling nets.

‘He would. If he had the time.’

Ellen turned to face me, squinting into the sun. ‘He doesn’t get much of that, does he? Time to himself. Time to be with you. And yet, you never complain.’

I guffawed. ‘Oh, yes I do. All the time. I’m quite the banshee.’

‘Thank God for that! I can’t tolerate a saint. Their halos always seem such an affectation, don’t you think?’

Christmas morning with Oscar flashed into my mind.

‘Seriously,’ said Ellen, continuing our amble, ‘perhaps I should have a word with Ma. He needs to stand firm, learn to say no to Henry’s endless demands.’

‘It won’t change anything,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I’ve tried; been direct, argued, hinted, warned, practically begged. Rightly or wrongly, Bram is committed to Mr Irving, like they’re married. According to Matilda and George, he’s always been that way. Dedicated, a hard worker, loyal to a fault …’

Ellen scoffed. ‘To Henry. To the Lyceum. Even to me. But what about you? What about his baby?’ Her fingers lightly brushed the bulge my coat could not disguise.

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me was grateful someone else saw that Bram’s devotion only went one way, but also ashamed it meant they knew how little I figured in his world. ‘Bram thinks that in being loyal to Mr Irving, he is looking after me, providing for his family.’ I glanced down.

‘Providing,’ scoffed Ellen. ‘Like a shopkeeper or a farmer. Provisions are all well and good, but a wife, a mother, a child, needs more from their man.’

Amen.

‘Please, don’t say anything, Ellen. It wouldn’t be fair, not with you and Henry being together and —’ I paused.

‘I might love Henry, God help me,’ grinned Ellen, neatly side-stepping to avoid a child chasing a hoop. ‘But I’m not blind to his faults. I also know what a selfish bastard he is. He uses people. He’s using Bram.’

‘I know,’ I sighed. How many others could see what was going on? Or was it only the women who saw it? No. Gilbert did as well; he’d no time for Mr Irving. ‘Bram refuses to see it.’

‘Maybe we need to open his eyes.’

We continued in silence a while. ‘Sometimes,’ I started cautiously, ‘it feels as if Bram exists only to do Mr Irving’s bidding. And, much as I might want to blame him, Mr Irving can’t be held solely responsible. After all, Bram knows how I feel.’ I sighed. ‘Do you think I should be more direct with him? Tell him others share my view? Give him an ultimatum?’

‘Oh, God no,’ said Ellen, stopping in her tracks. ‘That’s the worst thing you can do. No, you must be much smarter than that, my dear.’ She patted my hand, turning it into a caress. ‘If this older – ever-so-slightly older —’ she chuckled, ‘lady might give you some advice? Use your womanly wiles. How do you think I manage Henry?’

I snorted. ‘I try not to think about it.’

Ellen bumped me with her shoulder. ‘Minx,’ she said. ‘I admit, he’s not always easy to love, but then, love should never be easy.’ She put her lips close to my ear. ‘I think you already know that.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Alright, what do you suggest, old woman?’ I looked at her askance.

‘This —’ said Ellen mischievously and, as we turned around to head back to Southampton Street, she outlined a plan.

At the time, I dismissed her advice as a last resort. It went against my nature. Anyway, I was preoccupied with what was happening to my body, the changes our household was about to undergo. I’d reached a point where I was able (almost) to cease thinking about how much Henry Irving controlled my husband and thus our life.

Tonight, I was cruelly reminded. It was because of Henry Irving and that stupid Beefsteak Room that Bram wasn’t here for the birth of his son but, like a latecomer to a show, arrived in time for curtain call. Now, he chose to bind himself, and his family, even closer to his employer by naming our son after him.

I glanced at the babbie and already his features took on a cast I’d grown to dislike. Please, God, I sent a silent prayer heavenward, let me see my boy, not the name. Let me love him.

Could I? Or had Henry Irving stolen that from me too – a mother’s love? No. I wouldn’t allow it. It took me a minute to realise Bram was speaking.

‘You should have seen him tonight, Florrie,’ said Bram, approaching the bed and sitting tentatively upon the mattress, adjusting the babbie into the crook of his elbow. ‘All anyone can talk about is Henry’s Shylock. How they’ve never seen a Jew portrayed like that before. The Beefsteak Room was filled with praise.’ The wee mannie twisted slightly in his swaddling, his little eyelids fluttering, his rosebud mouth making gentle smacking noises. Bram didn’t notice, he was too busy extolling Mr Irving’s virtues.

‘To think, if Henry hadn’t gone away on holiday with the baroness,’ said Bram, ‘if he hadn’t met that Levantine Jew and rethought the whole concept of Shylock, none of this would have happened.’ He shook his head in bemusement. ‘I told him he needed to make a holiday a regular thing, not once every twenty-three years. You know what he said?’ Bram’s eyes were shining. ‘He said, next time, I must – we must – go with him.’

‘What? Where?’ I fisted the sheets.

‘On holidays.’