I married my wife out of pity.
Out of pity? You too?
Of course. Out of pity but not for myself. For her. Hard to believe, isnt it? To be honest, Im not sure Id believe it now if someone told me.
Frederick Matthews took a sacred sip of his morning coffee, only to grimace in disappointment.
His wife always brewed coffee perfectly; he could do it himself, but somehow hers was always better. Here, at the seaside retreat, he tried the coffee in every café, but none came close.
His companion, an elderly gentleman named Samuel Stevens, had come to Brighton alone. They were neighbours in the guest house and, over time, had developed a habit of strolling together each morning along the promenade.
Fredericks wife escaped early for her wellness treatments, a necessary part of her stay. Frederick spent those hours in Samuels company.
Not for myself. For her. Dont believe me? I can hardly believe it now myself.
Shes younger than you, isnt she?
Yes, younger by nine years. When I first met her, I didnt even see her as a woman. She was a girl – awkward, coltish, barely out of childhood. But later, I looked a little closer, and was surprised.
So why did you marry her, if there was no love?
Well, thats the story. I suppose, in a way I paid for her at the start. Sounds unsavoury, doesnt it? But let me explain.
Go ahead, Im all ears. Been married twice myself, and divorced twice. I live alone. Have my own history, but yours is fascinating. Where do you find wives like yours?
Where? Lets just say Id rather forget where. By the sea as well, funnily enough, only in Hull. My father was a bigwig in the shipping industry and sent me up north saying, At least you wont freeze. I was just twenty-eight and already in a management role.
One afternoon, my colleague Richard, a well-respected engineer, and I decided to browse the local fish market. I never expected to find a wife in that grimy, noisy fishmongers, surrounded by scales and brine. You should have seen her! An orphan, living with her aunt who treated her worse than a hired hand.
But you noticed her?
We both did although not as you might think. It was my first trip there to buy fish. The stench was awful. Gutting tables, blood and scales everywhere, everyone in rubber aprons. I could barely look at the place. But there she was, just a slip of a girl, hardly fifteen by looks, her arms thin as string, yet handling a knife twice as wide as her wrist. She gutted fish almost mechanically while I could hardly bear to look. Just as we moved to leave, we heard a shout. Her aunt, an enormous woman, was forcing the girls face down into the fish guts. She came up, her face smeared with blood and scales, and her aunt shoved her again. No one dared intervene. So Richard and I did just that, pulling her away. The woman raged and stomped off.
The girl just stood there, wiping her face with dirty gloves, her apron covered in blood, feet in battered wellies. I stood there in my fashionable shirt and brogues and felt thoroughly out of place. I fished about for a handkerchief, found none, then spotted a cloth behind the stall and awkwardly helped clean her face. She hardly reacted.
I asked, Was that your mum?
She shook her head. Aunt, she whispered.
Why?
Messed up the fish, she replied.
Another stallholder explained that shed chopped the wrong fish heads off by mistake. Her aunt had ordered her not to, shed forgotten.
She really hit her for that? Richard was stunned.
Yet, the girl didnt cry. She went straight back to cleaning fish, quick and methodical. We left in foul moods, our coats stinking of fish.
Was that Elizabeth then? Elizabeth Williams?
Frederick nodded, sipping his now-cold coffee.
That was her. Hard to imagine. I had a fiancée at the time, back in London, studying at the LSE. We fought a lot. My parents were sure wed marry. She was clever, serious enough.
And then?
Lifes funny. I ran into the fish girl again a few weeks later. We were moving equipment, driving through the outskirts, and there she was, lugging a sack along the road. We stopped, offered her a ride; she was nervous, but accepted. We chatted a bit about her aunt; I probably made a joke about being beaten as a boy myself, trying to make her feel at ease. She was silent, looking out the window.
After dropping her off, I couldnt stop thinking about her life. My driver, an old local, told me more. The aunt Mrs. Hardy had taken her in after her parents died; their family moved from London years ago for work. The mother had been English, the father not, and the girld become little more than a servant to her aunt.
Shell marry someday, get away, the driver assured me.
A couple of days later, I found myself back at the fish market. Couldnt resist the ocean bream, really. There she was, quietly working. This time, she was bolder, made eye contact.
How old are you? I asked.
Seventeen. Finished school back in London, she replied, still gutting fish.
And your names Elizabeth?
She nodded. And you?
Frederick.
She repeated it softly, as if testing it on her tongue.
As we prepared to leave, someone tugged at my sleeve. It was her.
Frederick, will you come to the old pier this evening? Maybe youd come? Her eyes were pleading.
I had plans that night we were celebrating the completion of a big warehouse project. I told her honestly I couldnt meet. Still, she stayed in my thoughts that evening. I kept wondering if she was waiting after all.
Truth be told, I was already the object of much attention. In the company, young women smiled at me, impressed by my London pedigree and my status. But I wasnt looking for anything.
Curiosity got the better of me. The following Monday evening, I told the driver to take me past the pier. There she was, sitting alone under the jetty. I called her over; she came, quiet as ever.
Sorry, did you wait last night? I asked.
She nodded.
Ive a favour to ask, she said quietly. Would you pay my dowry? Pretend to marry me for my aunt?
She needed money a fair bit, almost two months salary for me to escape her aunt and set up somewhere new. She promised shed pay it back when she could.
It was so innocent and desperate, I couldnt laugh. My friend Richard scoffed, called it a scam. Youll be the first, but hardly the last, he said. Still, I couldnt shake her earnest look. I went back to the market and saw how Mrs. Hardy treated her no sign of collusion, only bitterness.
One weekend I gave in, made arrangements with a local foreman, Mr. Potter, who spoke to Mrs. Hardy on her terms. She demanded nearly double the sum. Potter insisted we wait Shell lower her price soon enough, not many takers for a skinny slip of a girl.
He was right. Within days, her aunt agreed to the original rate. We collected Elizabeth, and she stayed in my flat temporarily. I stayed elsewhere, of course, to avoid any scandal.
I tried to secure her a job in town and a hostel bed, but she feared her aunt would find out it was all a ruse. I couldnt bring myself to send her away. Staff were always hard to come by, and our office manager, Margaret Franklin, was about to leave for family reasons. I asked her to tutor Elizabeth.
Elizabeth arrived at the office in a loose skirt and borrowed blouse, exhausted but eager to learn. I felt foolish for not anticipating shed have nothing not even enough to eat. Prompted by guilt, I slipped Margaret some money for Elizabeths keep and pressed cash into Elizabeths hand. She insisted it was a debt shed repay.
Over the next weeks, she wore the same few clothes, quiet but attentive turned out she was a quick learner. No one made tea like Elizabeth, I soon found.
Time passed. Margaret left, Elizabeth stayed. I hardly noticed her, except for the tea. Then, after her first pay, she handed me an envelope.
Whats this?
Part of what I owe you, she said.
I tried to refuse it, but she persisted. Later, when we had visitors from London, I hardly recognised her from their praise. Shes stunning, one said. Is she single? I replied, No, shes spoken for Ive already paid the dowry for her.
One insistent visitor offered to pay double. I laughed it off.
Elizabeth then caught me in a foul mood, trying to hand back more money. I snapped If you keep shoving this money at me, Ill sell you back to your aunt! Someones already offered me cash for you! She stood her ground, gazed at me, and quietly replied, Its because you paid for me. If I dont repay you, youll always have the right to sell me. Thats why I must do it.
I didnt realise then how deeply she felt the burden, believing her life was not her own. Later, she told me she truly would have ended things if Id ever sent her back.
I began to see her differently delicate-featured, strong-spined, determined. The sharpness of my emotions faded. I decided to transfer her out of the office for a while, hoping time would help. I missed her immediately: the tea was poor, the paperwork a mess, and the stress of the upcoming projects nearly did me in.
By and by, Samuel and Frederick reached the wellness centre.
Your pity turned to love, didnt it? Samuel observed.
Frederick smiled. Lets sit here; shell find us. Yes, I suppose you could say that. Elizabeth likes to joke that its she who married me out of pity in the end.
How so?
Well, not long after, there was a run-in with a site worker, a brute of a man, who resented management. We had words, then came blows. I ended up in hospital broken leg, fractured jaw. My fiancée called, but barely seemed to care.
But Elizabeth sat by my bedside. Never fussed, never pitied, just listened. I ended up telling her all my dreams how Id once wanted to be a painter, but my father had insisted on business.
She brought me pencils and paper. I started sketching her face. The first was dreadful, but it let me see her entirely anew.
She shyly confessed shed once trained as a pianist in London. After her mother died, her dreams slipped away. Years later, I bought her a piano for her birthday. She played a little. Our oldest son would later win competitions the pianos now with the grandchildren.
Did you ever actually propose? Samuel prompted.
I did. In hospital. Asked her to come live in Leeds as my wife. She refused flat out. Took weeks of patient persuasion but finally, when I got a posting to Leeds, she relented. I couldnt imagine life without her. We married there. She managed all my paperwork better than I ever could.
My parents were wary at first. But when they finally met her, they adored her. Elizabeth gave me three sons. She never looked much older than fifty, though our eldest is nearly forty himself.
So much for pity. That sounds like love to me, Samuel said with a laugh.
Just then, a tall, elegant woman in a small hat approached. She smiled radiantly.
Thats because Ive spent a lifetime repaying that dowry, Elizabeth teased. He brings it up every year!
Lizzie! We were looking for you, Frederick said fondly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Samuel recalled how once, all those years ago, Frederick had gently wiped away fish scales from this same face.
Lizzie, the coffee here is dreadful, you have no idea.
Good morning, Samuel. Will you join us for breakfast? Perhaps together we can keep this one on a proper diet, Elizabeth said warmly.
No, thank you Ive eaten. Enjoy your meal.
He watched the couple stroll away arm in arm, Elizabeth light as a wisp beside her solid husband. Samuel tried to picture her in a fishmongers apron, hands slick with scales, but simply couldnt.
He remembered seeing them together the previous summer, wrongly assuming Frederick had found himself a younger wife late in life. Only now, as neighbours, had he learned the truth.
As Samuel lay in bed that evening, he reflected on the turns of fate. His own luck in marriage had run short; real love had always seemed just out of reach. Was it luck, he wondered, or was something more required?
He smiled to himself. Perhaps, he thought, in England love comes to those willing to risk a dowry even if only in spirit. Sometimes, the journey from pity to love is the longest and most rewarding of all and its never too late for a new beginning.
