An Orphan's Winter

by Sheila Jeffries

  ‘I should go now.’ Lottie stood up and squared her shoulders, flicking her blonde hair away from her face. ‘I’m perfectly capable of being a mother. And why shouldn’t I? It’s my life.’

  *

  ‘Here he is again,’ Nan remarked, seeing John arriving in the pouring rain on his bike.

  ‘Who?’ Jenny asked, busy with a skein of red wool looped over the backs of two chairs. She went on winding it into a manageable ball.

  ‘John,’ Nan said. She eyed Jenny suspiciously. ‘It must be you he wants to see, or doesn’t he know Lottie’s gone to school?’

  Jenny was still missing Warren. The police had told her she must accept the likelihood that he belonged to the travelling fair folk and had found his family again. They’d seen children like him before, they’d said. A witness had seen the horse-drawn wagon coming down Foxglove Lane and the police had been to the fairground when they were packing up and been told that, yes, a man called Leo had been to fetch his boy, and the boy was all right. Jenny didn’t believe them, but there was nothing she could do legally if Warren was with his father.

  Jenny was so upset that she hardly noticed Lottie and Tom. She left Warren’s bedroom exactly as it was and, with Nan’s agreement, the little jacket was hung in his wardrobe, the money still in its pockets.

  ‘That’s Warren’s money. We won’t touch it,’ she declared. ‘He earned it and if he ever comes back here, he can have it.’ Everyone agreed it was fair. Nan had chosen not to tell the police about the piano-accordion. She didn’t want Warren branded as a thief. ‘I’d have happily given it to him,’ she said, sadly. ‘With his talent he deserves it. But he’ll come back, Jenny, I feel sure he will – when he gets the chance.’

  On that wet morning, both women were glad to see John arriving and Jenny limped to the door to greet him, her eyes bright again.

  ‘Hang your coat by the stove, John,’ she said. ‘Here, let me take it. You’re soaking wet. Shall I make tea? Or would you like some Bovril?’

  ‘Bovril would be nice.’ John leaned against the stove, steaming gently. ‘I did come for a reason. I’ve got an idea to share with you, Jenny, and Nan of course.’ He looked at Nan fondly and her eyes twinkled a little. ‘Has Lottie gone to school?’

  ‘Yes, and Tom.’

  ‘I wondered if Lottie was all right?’ John said.

  ‘I think she is. Why?’

  ‘That woman – Maudie, in the long maroon trench coat; she told me Lottie was in Dr Tregullow’s surgery the other day. I expect you were with her, Jenny.’

  Jenny and Nan looked at each other. ‘Surely not,’ Jenny said. ‘I wouldn’t let her go on her own to the doctor. That can’t be right, John.’

  ‘Maudie’s gossip knows no boundaries,’ Nan said with contempt.

  ‘I thought it was odd.’ John frowned thoughtfully. ‘Has she been unwell?’

  ‘No – in fact she seems to be thriving. She’s even putting on weight. Isn’t she, Nan?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just puppy fat at her age,’ Nan said. ‘She was keen to get back to school and be in the college class. She’s going to do well, especially at English. You must be so proud of her, John.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘When she gets home from school, I’ll ask her about the doctor.’ Jenny handed him an enamel mug of steaming Bovril. ‘You get this down you, John. The only problem with Bovril is you can’t have rum in it!’

  ‘Thanks.’ He gave her a heart-stopping grin and watched as she made two mugs of Camp Coffee, beating some cream into them and adding a dash of rum to Nan’s mug.

  Nan doesn’t miss much, Jenny thought, seeing the shrewd expression on the old lady’s face. Nan had noticed the way John was gazing at her.

  ‘What was the idea you had, John?’

  He looked thoughtful for a minute, both hands wrapped around his mug. Outside, the rain pelted down and water streamed over the blocked guttering like a bead curtain. ‘I need some help in the gallery,’ John said. ‘It’s going well, but I’d like to be out and about doing some new paintings, especially now I’ve got the bike. So I’m thinking of employing someone part-time to man the gallery.’ He looked at Jenny. ‘Would you like the job?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes – you, Jenny. I’d be . . . honoured if you’d think about it.’

  ‘Ooh, I’d love to do it,’ Jenny said, excited. ‘I couldn’t man it for you, but I could woman it.’ She raised a clenched fist.

  ‘You could indeed,’ he laughed. ‘I’d pay you, of course. We can talk about hours and pay – but the job’s yours if you want it, Jenny.’

  ‘Even with me iron leg?’

  ‘Even with your iron leg.’

  ‘How would you feel about me having a job, Nan?’ Jenny asked. ‘It would give us an income.’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ Nan said warmly. Then she chuckled. ‘It would give me some peace and quiet!’

  *

  ‘I was expecting something better from you, Lottie.’ David Merryn frowned at Lottie’s English book. ‘You’ve only done two lines.’

  Lottie looked up at his disappointed face. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

  ‘I’m afraid “sorry” won’t do. You’ve wasted an hour. What were you doing?’

  Lottie shrugged and stayed quiet.

  ‘Daydreaming, I suppose. Is that it?’

  ‘Perhaps . . .’

  ‘Perhaps! This isn’t like you, Lottie. Is something wrong?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how about staying behind after school and doing it?’

  Lottie looked at him beseechingly. ‘Please, Mr Merryn, don’t make me stay behind. I’ll take my book home and do it if you like, but I can’t possibly stay after school. I promise I’ll do it at home.’

  He sighed. ‘All right, just this once. But if you want to be in the college class, it needs your full attention. Try and concentrate please, we’re starting Hamlet next lesson and it’s a very exciting play, full of wisdom and pathos. I think you’ll like it.’

  Lottie had been looking forward to the new school year when she would be in the elite college class with five other students. David Merryn was to take them for English, and a new teacher, Miss Polkenna, for everything else. She seemed cold and unfriendly and Lottie had taken an instant dislike to her in their first lessons that morning. She missed Morwenna and didn’t feel drawn to any of the other students.

  Dr Tregullow’s words haunted her. She wished she’d written them down. She needed a script for when she was brave enough to tell Jenny. It had to be Jenny first. She couldn’t bear the thought of telling her father, when he was so proud of her. She feared losing him. And Nan. But Jenny would understand. Jenny had pledged to love her no matter what. So telling Jenny was the key. But if only she had those words the old doctor had spoken. They’d been wise and poetic, like Shakespeare. She’d wasted her favourite lesson – English – trying to memorise them. Perhaps she would go back after school and ask him to remind her.

  Morwenna’s words also kept echoing in her mind: You’re heading for trouble, Lottie, and you’re gonna need me . . . Come and talk to my mum.

  Lottie had met Morwenna’s mother a few times and found her alarmingly outspoken and earthy – too ready to laugh, and her laugh was disgustingly infectious. She wore exceptionally scarlet lipstick and jet black beads and earrings. Lottie was slightly afraid of her. She pondered the possibility of going to see her after school.

  Lottie desperately wanted to keep her baby a secret. Dr Tregullow’s words had encapsulated the way she intuitively felt about the tiny person growing inside her. A miracle. She wanted to keep it as a miracle. She wished she could go off and live alone on a secret island, have her baby and bring it up in a magical world where there was no poverty, no prejudice and no gossip.

  ‘Lottie!’ David Merryn interrupted her thoughts. ‘Pay attention. This is important.’ He tapped the blackboard where he had written something for them to copy and memorise. ‘This is a famous quotation from Hamlet.
Copy it down, please, and learn it tonight. I shall test you tomorrow and we shall discuss what it means.’

  To be, or not to be, that is the question:

  Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

  The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

  Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

  And by opposing end them.

  Lottie knew immediately what it meant, and it seemed tailor-made for her. Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, she thought, and by opposing end them.

  That’s exactly what I have to do.

  At the end of the first week back at school she found herself heading for Morwenna’s place, a terraced granite cottage facing the narrow street and with the back high above the sea, so close that in stormy weather the waves splattered Morwenna’s bedroom window with spray. Lottie felt apprehensive knocking on the door. Was she doing the right thing? It didn’t feel good.

  ‘Hello, Lottie. What you doing ‘ere?’ Cora Bartle opened the door with a cigarette hanging from one side of her mouth. ‘Well, come in then – Morwenna’s ’avin’ her tea.’

  Lottie followed Cora’s thick calves through to the back where Morwenna was finishing a dish of trifle, silhouetted against the salt-encrusted window panes. ‘Aw, Lottie! I thought you weren’t speaking to me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Lottie said, and meant it, glad to be with her friend again.

  ‘Want some trifle?’ Cora said. ‘Go on, it’s lovely. Spoil yourself. You look as if you need to.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yeah – you do.’ Cora dished out some trifle anyway and peered shrewdly into Lottie’s face. ‘What’s the matter, dearie?’

  Lottie glanced at Morwenna’s concerned eyes and suddenly she could only whisper. ‘You were right. And I do . . . need . . . your help.’

  Morwenna gasped. ‘Aw, blimey . . . no . . . you’re not – are you, Lottie?’

  Lottie nodded. She slumped onto a chair, put her head down on the table and began to shiver and shake, taking great gasps of air. She heard Morwenna whisper to her mum. ‘He’s got her up the spout.’

  ‘Who has? I’ll kill the bastard,’ Cora hissed.

  ‘Matt. Bloody Matt.’

  Lottie felt deeply offended, hearing them describe Matt so ruthlessly. But she couldn’t take any notice. There were bigger issues to think about.

  ‘Go on, darling. You have a cry,’ Cora said kindly. ‘These won’t be the last tears you shed, believe me.’

  ‘Who said you were pregnant?’ Morwenna asked.

  ‘Dr Tregullow.’

  ‘So it’s true?’

  ‘Yes. He listened to my baby’s heartbeat.’ Lottie kept her head down, great sobs shaking her body, while Morwenna and her mum held her in a caring hug, one each side. She felt intense gratitude for their warmth and non-judgemental kindness. They held onto her until she managed to stop sobbing and sit up. She wanted to repeat Dr Tregullow’s poetic words. She tried to dredge them up.

  ‘A baby is a miracle—’ she began, but Cora shot her down immediately.

  ‘That’s a load of rubbish. Babies scream and they stink, and you have to change their nappy and feed the little buggers.’ Cora’s eyes matched the jet beads around her throat. ‘When is it due, Lottie? Did he say?’

  ‘In February.’

  ‘You can get rid of it, girl. I’ll help you,’ Cora said. ‘I know a few tricks. And I know a woman who does it on the sly.’

  Lottie stared at her in horror.

  ‘Have you told Jenny yet?’ Cora asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Then you can get rid of it and she’ll never know.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘I won’t tell her, Lottie. And I can take you to this woman – she lives in Hayle – and we’ll look after you afterwards, won’t we, ‘Wenna?’

  ‘Mum!’ Morwenna looked embarrassed.

  Lottie felt sick and cold. She thought carefully about how to reply, how to say something polite but meaningful to Cora. How had Morwenna survived, she wondered. And yet she’d felt so moved by the warm, forgiving friendliness radiating from both Cora and Morwenna. If the devil himself knocked on their door, he’d be given a dish of trifle and a hug.

  Cora didn’t wait for a reply, but turned on Morwenna. ‘Well, I dunno why you’re looking shocked. That’s what I’d do if you got a bun in the oven, don’t you forget it. Any road up, Lottie came here for my down-to-earth advice and I’ve given it to her. Isn’t that right, Lottie?’

  Lottie stared out at the sea. It was rough, flecked with white crests of breaking waves, the wind whisking and spinning the foam. Was Matt out there somewhere? Was he safe?

  ‘She’s clammed up now.’ Cora looked at Morwenna. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘Lottie’s like that, Mum. She takes ages thinking what to say.’

  Lottie smiled at Morwenna. ‘Thanks.’ She studied the bright, expectant glint of Cora’s black eyes and said, ‘Thanks for your advice, but I wouldn’t dream of killing my child or abandoning it. My child is loved and wanted and no one is going to stop me being its mother.’

  Cora looked flummoxed. She shook her head as if Lottie were a lost cause. ‘That’s very magnanimous, dearie, but you are in for a very hard time. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Your family will throw you out – you wait and see. And where are you gonna go then? Eh?’

  ‘I’ve said all I’m going to say.’

  Cora rolled her eyes. She lit another cigarette, letting the smoke drift over the trifle. ‘Well, I haven’t. Someone’s gotta tell you straight, girl. Do you realise how fat you’ll get? Like this.’ Cora picked up a cushion and stuffed it inside her cardigan, did the buttons up and paraded around the room. ‘You can’t hide. You won’t be able to go to school. No one will give you a job. You’ll be driven out of St Ives – not by me, but by all them holier-than-thou gossips. And after it’s born it’ll be ten times worse.’ She paused to chuck the cushion back on the sofa. ‘And Matt isn’t gonna support you, is he? How can he? Does he know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, you wait, he’ll run a mile when you tell him. Believe me, most men don’t want to know – and he won’t. You mark my words, Lottie, he’ll bugger off on that boat and you’ll never see him again.’ She held up her hand as Lottie tried to interrupt. ‘I know you don’t like what I’m telling you, but I’m doing you a favour. I hope you listen to me, ‘cause if you don’t, your life is gonna be ruined, and all your dreams with it, Lottie. You’ll lose everything. You’ve got to get rid of it. Come on, eat your trifle.’

  Eat trifle? After that? Lottie shut her eyes. She wished she could shut her ears as well. She wished she’d never gone there. Cora was such a straight-talker.

  You haven’t given me advice, Lottie thought, you’ve crucified me. She picked up her school bag. ‘I must go home. I’ve got homework to do.’

  She walked away with one hand over her tummy. ‘I hope you weren’t listening, little one,’ she murmured, and headed home, her hair streaming back, her face cold in the wind from the approaching storm.

  Chapter 15

  Denial

  After the meeting with Cora, Lottie needed some breathing space. She retreated into denial, trying to go on living her happy life as if nothing had happened. She threw herself into her schoolwork, and into the intensive September harvest time at Hendravean. At weekends, she and Tom worked tirelessly in Nan’s abundant garden, picking pears and crab apples and blackberries, and the entire kitchen, scullery and beyond, steamed with fruity clouds that migrated into the hall like a weather front over the Atlantic.

  Nan joked that it would be raining over the stairs before they had finished. She became a fearsome sight, engulfed in her huge fruit apron of heavy linen. It smelled like old marmalade, and generations of stains twisted and turned, layer upon layer, like an abstract painting.

  ‘When you’ve finished with that apron, I’ll cut it into squares and frame them,’ John remarked on one of his visits. ‘The London Tate Gal
lery would love it.’ And Nan had cackled with laughter as she stirred a great cauldron of bubbling chutney with energetic, fruit-stained arms. Nan had never been happier than she was now, sharing the good feeling of stocking up for the winter. Lottie enjoyed the ambience of what seemed to be a golden time. She didn’t want to spoil Nan’s obvious contentment, or Jenny’s euphoria at having a job at John’s gallery.

  Lottie felt very close to Nan, especially when they shared the poetry she had to learn and analyse for homework. To have Nan sitting beside her, encouraging her and adding bits of her own knowledge, made the work a magical journey. Nan was proud of her, and so was Jenny. Surely they would continue to love and support her when they knew about the baby?

  September passed in its ‘mellow fruitfulness’, and at last Matt’s boat came in to St Ives on a quiet sea, a day when rainbows appeared and disappeared as the mist of showers crossed the sea.

  ‘You’ve worked hard enough, Lottie,’ Nan said. ‘I know you want to go out on the boat with Matt. You go and have a lovely day.’

  If only she knew, Lottie thought, pleased to have Nan’s blessing on her Saturday morning. The raw power of Cora’s prediction – Your family will throw you out – had begun to fade as Lottie’s life was cushioned by love, beauty and abundance.

  Lottie felt good as she walked down to the harbour, wearing the frock her father had bought her in New York. It had been too big then, but now it was perfect. Its loose style was comfortable and there would be room for the bump to grow. She loved the fabric, which shimmered with turquoise, emerald and white, with ruffles around the swirly skirt and neckline. John had chosen it because it resembled the colours of the Cornish sea. Her honey-blonde hair looked soft and exotic against the lovely dress and she’d done it the way Matt liked it, the front strands tied back with a green ribbon.