Page 32 of The Quiet Wife
She used her most conciliatory tone to try and sway her husband for Freddie’s sake. “Darling, Freddie just wants to make you proud of him. Perhaps now is not the time to talk about it? Hmmm?” She patted Frederick’s arm and urged him on. He resisted and shook her off. His gaze was locked on Freddie.
“Go on, I’m listening, boy. Exactly what do you think you could do?”
“Whatever you told me to. I need to learn. I know that. I understand that.” The eagerness in Freddie’s tone hurt as she knew this conversation would only end one way.
“Would you want to learn how to rivet? How to weld? Do you want to learn how tobuildships? Do you want to get your hands dirty?” he spat mockingly.
“Not necessarily, more how to run a shipping line as you do.”
“And you think you could do that? That you could walk into the company and… what? run it?”
“Of course not. No, I don’t think I could run it. Not yet. That’s theentirepoint I’m making. For heaven’s sake, father, I’m asking tolearn. If you’d just listen to me for once instead of ignoring me or shouting me down…” Freddie’s exasperation was evident.
Frederick moved so swiftly, he made Frances and the girls scream. She clapped her hands to her mouth in horror.
He grabbed Freddie by his shirt front and yanked him up, putting his face close to Freddie’s and hissing with fury. “I’ll tell you what you need to learn, boy. You need to learn manners. You need to learn how to be a gentleman. Go to school and learn what gentlemen learn. Go to Oxford and row boats to make friends in the right places. Do you think for a moment that I would allow a son of mine in ashipyard?” The disdain in the final word was clear for everyone to hear.
Freddie held his ground and Frances didn’t know whether to be proud or terrified at his boldness.
“I’ve learned all that nonsense at Harrow. I don’t need to go to Oxford and have more aristocrats look down their nose at me. For God’s sake, father, what’swrongwith you? How will I learn if you won’t teach me?What you are saying doesn’t make any sense at all. It’s utternonsense.”
Frederick let go of the grip on his shirtfront and thrust his son away. In another astonishingly fast move, he backhanded him straight across the face, sending the boy sprawling and smacking his head on a cabinet as he stumbled back, thrown off balance.
Frances shrieked again and threw herself down beside her son.
“Get your trunk packed, get to school, and get out of my sight. Andyou…” he pointed at Frances. “Let go of him. If he wants to be a man, he can’t hang on your skirts.”
Frances hesitated as Freddie struggled to sit up, lip split and bleeding, a worrying red and purple bruise forming into an egg on his forehead. Freddie shook his head, pushed her away, and struggled to his feet. He stalked out of the room without a backwards glance, pride wounded as well as his body.
Frederick glared at Frances. “We have a dinner to attend.”
Frances hesitated. The girls were watching, fear and horror writ large across their faces. She wanted to defy him. Wanted to tell him how utterly wrong he was. She wanted to stand up to him in front of them. Let her children see that sheknewhe was wrong. But she couldn’t. Not whilst he was there.
“Please go on ahead. I will ask Nanny Jenks to sit with the girls.”
“You will come with me. Now.” He ordered and grabbed her by the wrist.
CHAPTER 12
London – Chelsea
Much as he’d enjoyed his time at Speke, it was good to be back in London. Jemie breathed in the air redolent with the scent of horses, dung, food, ale, people, spices as he walked home. It was excellent inspiration. He’d missed sketching the city and the Thames. It also took his mind off the Leyland family for a while.
He returned and sat with his mother in the parlour of their Chelsea home as tea was served, yet his mind drifted back to Liverpool as his mother toiled over a letter to his sister, Deborah.
It was good to be away from Frederick Leyland. Just before that final dinner, he’d bumped into young Freddie, tearing along the corridor, tears glistening in his eyes, a split lip and a lump on his head.
“Hey,” Jemie had said with shocked concern. “Hey, what happened to you?” He caught his arm and peered at his face.
Freddie straightened up, chest pumping, and shook his head.
“Okay. Should we find your mama?”
“No. I’m going to my room.” His voice trembled.
“Has your mama seen this?”
Freddie nodded, and a single tear hung on an eyelash for a second before tumbling down his cheek.
