The Third class carriage was mercifully quiet as they changed at York to the coast-bound train that would take them all the way to their final destination. Charles thought they probably could have stretched to First but Elsie had insisted they not bankrupt themselves for the sake of a few days and with the cost of the hotel to consider as well it had seemed like a reasonable compromise. They took their seats, the moquette rough under their palms as they made themselves comfortable, their case carefully stowed overhead.
Elsie gazed out of the window as they waited for the train to depart. The platform was buzzing with activity. Porters scurrying with barrows loaded high with luggage. Small clusters of seasoned travellers hovering close to where they knew trains would arrive and doors positioned. Even the pigeons circling high in the eves of the station roof had something to concern themselves with. She'd imagined she'd be trying to quell her excitement by now, pretending to the world that a holiday with her husband was a regular appointment in her calendar rather than the exotic treat it actually was. But instead she was fighting in vain to rid herself of a seething anger.
"Are you going to speak to me?" Charles asked timidly, or at least what constituted timid for a man quite unused to having to adopt such an approach.
Elsie dragged herself away from the family she'd been watching just long enough to shoot a glare in his direction before turning back. She couldn't hear the words the mother and father of the two small children were saying to each other but it was clear someone had mislaid the tickets and if the flailing arms and expressive faces were anything to go by it appeared that it may not be the first time the conversation had been had. The whistle sounded and their train jerked violently, and just as the platform slid out of sight she caught sight of the father guilty pulling four white ticket stubs from his trouser pocket.
"I'll take that as a no," Charles muttered under his breath, reaching for the paper that had been left abandoned on the seat next to him. It was a local edition and its headlines were taken up with matters that were no doubt of relevance to someone but not, he concluded after a while, to him.
And so it continued, the heavy silence overlaid with the steady clickety-clack of steel on steel wheels as they wound their way eastwards towards the sea.
The breeze coming up over the brow of the hill was a welcome relief as they began their steep descent down towards the sea. The day had warmed as it progressed, and they'd found themselves not needing the extra layers they'd worn in case the coast had been cooler.
She'd carried on with her people watching as fellow passengers had alighted at each station and new ones had joined. There were a few holiday makers like themselves but not as many as she imagined the height of summer would bring.
"Robin Hood Bay," had been the booming announcement from the station master as they'd come to stop, a cloud of steam swirling around the wheels and in through the open window. "This is Robin Hood Bay."
And now, having sought directions, they set off in earnest, Charles with their case and Elsie the small hamper that Beryl had prepared for them. She could sense her mood softening a little as the delightful setting of the small village unfurled,its traditional fisherman's cottages and the narrow cobbled alleyways between them giving off an air of the smugglers cove for which it was famed. They passed a couple trudging their way upwards in the opposite direction, the shallow steps helping a little but it was still an almighty climb to the top. Thoughts of walking back up were far from her mind though as she took in the charm of the place and looking over at Charles she couldn't help but smile at his radiant expression as he too soaked up the sight and smell of the sea as they approached. How different from their first seaside adventure together, the stuffy butler never too far away. He'd been different in Scarborough, happier and more relaxed, but then that had been their honeymoon. And now she was in danger of spoiling things before they'd even begun, if only he wasn't so obstinate then perhaps they could have a sensible conversation and put it all behind them.
As the road curved round, the rolling waves to their left behind taller houses, an assortment of shops and tea rooms scattered amongst them, the hotel they'd booked came into view. Exposed on two sides to the elements coming off the sea it had no doubt braved many a storm but on a calm autumn day its white walls shone out brightly against a clear blue sky.
"It's perfect," she sighed suddenly, almost without thought.
Charles stopped walking. "So, you're prepared to stay here then?" he asked gruffly. "With a man you're refusing to converse with?"
She turned to face him. "I am," she asserted. "Despite the fact that the man in question is being a pig-headed, stubborn old fool who can't seem to see reason when it is laid out in front of him."
"You surprise me, Mrs Hughes," he retaliated, the slightest hint of a tease in his voice. "I'd have thought your standards would be higher."
"As would I, Mr Carson," she smiled reluctantly. "But I happen to love that man, cantankerous as he is, and so I suppose that I have little choice."
She stepped forward at this and took his arm, and with contented relief he led her towards the hotel's front door, holding it open for her as she stepped over the threshold.
The steep slope down to the beach with its rocky outcrops was mercifully dry as they made their way down. Elsie had been concerned it may have been slippery but with a strong arm to support her she needn't have worried. Backed by high cliffs, the broad expanse of sand disappeared far off into the distance and, given the hour, they had it largely to themselves. They strolled a short distance before settling on a smooth rock which was the perfect height on which to rest and soak up the view. The wind had dropped and a calm sea prevailed, the endless lapping of waves on the shore rhythmic, interspersed with the occasional squawk of a seagull overhead.
Dinner had been a simple affair in the hotel's small dining room but more than adequate for their needs. They'd chatted easily about what they might do the next day, a walk up to the cliff top perhaps before indulging in one of the tearooms they'd passed. They'd both studiously avoided any acknowledgement of their argument of the previous evening but Elsie sensed it was merely a matter of time before they'd be forced to confront it once more. She heard a heavy sigh escape as he reached to take her hand in his, rendering it tiny as his fingers curled around hers.
"The years we could have had," he lamented, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.
She shifted so she could better take in his expression, one of sadness maybe but more than that. Regret? Possibly, or more likely a wistful longing to have done things differently.
"It does no good to think like that," she said, squeezing his hand to bring him back to her. "The time we've had has been ours, Charlie. We're only here now because of our years together. Otherwise we'd be..." her voice quietening, refusing to finish the sentence.
"Otherwise we'd be like Mrs Patmore? Is that what you were going to say? his hackles rising as he made to look at her.
"I don't want to argue about it. Not now," she said softly.
"But you still think I was wrong? Thoughtless, unfeeling," he challenged, letting her hand drop. "I was trying to help."
Elsie stood and straightened her skirts. She kept her back to him as she spoke, her eyes on the waves as they washed ashore and rolled back again and again.
"But you made it worse, despite your intentions. And I'm cross you won't acknowledge that and upset that you think it was acceptable to speak to me the way you did. And I'm sad that our friend is suffering needlessly."
She turned. "But this for another time, tomorrow when we can speak calmly to one another," she instructed. "Now take my hand Mr Carson and walk me back to the hotel. I want to have you hold me close whilst I drift off to sleep with only the sound of your breath and the distant tide in my ears. And not," she added with emphasis, "Any of this upset."
It wasn't often she was so forthright, so direct with him on matters of their marriage. He knew she could manipulate him, bend him to her will. But he rarely spotted it in advance, it only became clear after the fact. But now he did as she said, knowing that it was the moment to acquiesce. Standing, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles, lingering long enough so that she'd know it was heartfelt, their bodies tight alongside one another as they headed back together.
But Charles found he couldn't sleep. Her soft snores hadn't lulled him into a slumber as they usually did, her hand on his as he spooned against her hadn't relaxed and soothed him. They'd only reminded him of how lucky he was to have her, fortunate that she was prepared to lie with him like this, when he'd been so unnecessarily harsh. His punishment wasn't, it seemed, to endure her silence but to suffer his own guilt.
He hadn't meant to be cruel. He shuddered as he recalled his words, "No wife of mine should encourage such forwardness". He hadn't meant it, of course he hadn't, even if it had been true which, he realised later, it wasn't. Elsie's character was one of practical morality with a healthy dose of compassion. She was an independent thinking woman, free to express her views to him, to anyone. And he certainly didn't want to be that sort of husband. He'd just been so outraged when he'd heard what had transpired between the cook and Mr Mason that he'd lashed out and hurt the one person he couldn't bear to.
He felt her fidget in his arms, her subconscious causing a few incoherent words to escape, clues to a dream that would never be more than that. He kept still so as not to disturb her before she lapsed back into a deeper, more silent sleep. He loved how her shape moulded to his own, the dip of her waist, the fullness of her bosom. She occasionally lapsed into a kind of loathing about her appearance, how without her corset it would be nothing at all. He vehemently disagreed but after his reassurances to the fact fell on deep ears he'd learnt not to argue but to show her his appreciation instead. And whilst it didn't change either one of their viewpoints on the matter, it was a way to move past it. Elsie shifted again, her top half curving away from him a little, her bottom pushing back towards him, and it stirred a thought. Perhaps that was what was needed now, an action of some kind on his part, something demonstrable. But what, his mind turning over as sleep became a secondary concern, and how? Therein lay the problem.
