A Dream of her Own

by Benita Brown

  She wiped her lips when she had finished and sighed as she sank back into the pillows. ‘You are happy, aren’t you, Constance?’

  Constance stared at her mother-in-law. Why had she asked that today? ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘John ... John is good to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know that he came into part of his inheritance when he married you, don’t you? And that this has made life easier for us?’

  ‘I do.’ What was John’s mother implying? That John had only married her in order to get some of his money? She would never believe that. There must be many a girl who would have been delighted to marry John; even girls who would have brought some money of their own to the marriage. He didn’t have to choose a penniless servant girl.

  ‘My life has become easier too, remember,’ Constance said. ‘And John has been generous and thoughtful.’

  ‘Thoughtful? Do you think it is thoughtful to be always working so late?’

  Constance was perplexed. It was obvious to everyone how much John and his mother cared for each other and yet Frances seemed to be criticizing him. She was watching Constance anxiously, waiting for her reply.

  ‘John has explained how he feels that he must work hard in order to convince Mr Barton that he should be made a partner.’

  ‘He told you that?’

  ‘Yes. That is why he stays late after the shop has closed, going over the books, studying the accounts.’

  ‘I see.’ Frances closed her eyes and was silent for so long that Constance thought she had gone to sleep. But then she asked, ‘And tonight? Is he working late tonight?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. He said that he might have to stay late so I was not to wait up for him.’

  ‘Poor Constance.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, really it is. Some evenings, no matter how tired he is, we go straight to the sewing room after supper. We spend hours there together. Sometimes I have to remind him that we must go to bed. John is not just helping me to make clothes, he’s working for our future. He says that I will want for nothing—’

  ‘Nothing except ... except ...’

  Constance did not discover what Frances Edington had been going to say next for, after a soft sigh, she seemed to drift off to sleep. It was unfair of her to criticize John, Constance thought. He was sweet and kind to her and so gentle. If married life was not quite what she had expected she was prepared to accept that it was her own foolishly romantic dreams that had been at fault. Dreams in which she saw herself and John spending endless love-filled days in each other’s company. But real life wasn’t like that.

  Nella had imagined it the height of happiness that her friend would no longer be at anyone’s beck and call, that she would be mistress of her own house. Well, yes, she was enjoying that role in spite of Polly’s awkward ways. John’s mother was too ill to want to run the household any longer and John seemed grateful to leave most of the housekeeping decisions to his new wife. But if only he would spend more time at home with her, and not just in the sewing room ...

  She thought about her childhood at Lodore House. Her father had worked long hours too, and her mother had spent many an evening alone. But they had been in love and happy together. Constance was certain of that.

  John was working hard, just like her father had done. She must try to conquer these feelings of dissatisfaction. No ... she had nothing to complain about ...

  Chapter Twelve

  Frank stood at the window and looked out over the Haymarket. It was not even five o’ clock but the sky was dark. There were plenty of people about. No doubt many of them were working people finding time to spend the Christmas boxes given them by their employers the previous day. They hurried across the thoroughfare; dark huddled figures silhouetted by the warm inviting glow of the shop fronts.

  It was a good day for trading, not just for the shopkeepers but for the Alvinis too. The coffee shop below the restaurant had been busy since it opened at seven o’ clock this morning, first with the early workmen and the tradespeople and then, as the day drew on, with women shopping: women with their friends, with children, or even with their husbands, who might be taking an extra day off work.

  But by now the clientele would be changing again. A few office workers, let out early and taking the opportunity to have a hot drink and read the newspaper before setting off for home, and, as usual, the theatregoers. Those with tickets arriving early and waiting for their friends, those without tickets fortifying themselves with hot coffee and, perhaps, a brandy before joining the queue.

  And tonight, when the show at the Palace was over, those members of the audience who could afford the boxes, the dress circle and the stalls might round the day off by coming to the restaurant upstairs. Not so many would do this while this particular show was playing, though. A pantomime was a family entertainment and Alvinis was not a restaurant where men brought their families. Frank frowned. He wished it wasn’t so but he didn’t see how he could change things. A certain reputation had been established while he was still a child and people had long memories.

  He moved back from the window; the glass was cool and, no matter how the lights of the city sparkled, the scene outside was cold. He longed for warmth. He had never been to Italy, neither had his mother, but she often joked that they were not meant to live in this cold northern climate. Their very bones craved the sun of the land of their ancestors.

  Frank pulled the curtains closed and faced the room. He had cleared his medical books from the table in time for the family’s evening meal. The chenille cloth had been covered by one of white linen and his brother, like a child, was helping his mother set out the cutlery. Valentino was smiling and eager to please, and tonight, in his new suit, he looked more handsome than ever.

  Maria looked handsome too. She was wearing black, as she had ever since she was widowed. The dress was not new, but the bodice was well tailored and every seam was boned, which made her waist look impossibly tiny. The pointed front of the bodice and the leg-of-mutton sleeves were a trifle out of date, but the touch of creamy lace that softened the high neckline was a recent addition, and the cameo brooch at her throat was matched by her small pendant earrings. The jewellery made from carved shell and mounted in silver had been a gift from her husband when they married. Alfredo Alvini had had them sent from Italy.

  While Frank watched, his mother hurried through into their small kitchen. When she reappeared, she had put on a white apron and she was carrying a large soup tureen. Frank moved towards her. ‘Let me take that.’

  As he placed the tureen on the table he wondered, not for the first time, why his mother insisted on always cooking herself. It would have been so easy to have meals sent up from the restaurant, and they would be of the highest quality, but she would not hear of it. He watched her fondly as she tied a napkin around his brother’s neck and ladled out the soup for all three of them.

  She must have sensed that he was watching her for she looked up and smiled. ‘What are you looking at, Gianfranco?’

  ‘You, Mamma. You’re beautiful.’

  She laughed. ‘And you are clever and Valentino is handsome. Yes, we are a remarkable family! Now perhaps you will sit down and we can begin. After the soup we are having cold meats and salad. I want to be quick tonight.’

  ‘Of course. We mustn’t make you late for the theatre.’

  Frank sat at the table and, as his mother broke her bread, she said to him, ‘Frankie, why don’t you come too? There will be room in the box.’

  ‘But surely one of us should be here - for the restaurant?’

  ‘Mr McCormack will be here,’ his mother answered. ‘You have often said yourself that he is quite capable of running the place without you - you and Valentino, I mean.’ She glanced at her elder son but he went on eating, making no indication that he was following the conversation.

  ‘That’s true,’ Frank said, ‘but I have another reason.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. Your books! You want to read your books a
nd do your learning here on your own while Valentino and I are out.’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not. I am just sorry that you have so much else to do ...’ she broke off and glanced at her elder son, ‘that you cannot devote yourself to your studies, and, even when you have qualified and you are a doctor, you will have to help your brother with the business.’

  She had lowered her voice and was looking at Frank earnestly. He reached across and took her hand. ‘Don’t worry, Mamma, I can manage.’

  ‘Aren’t you coming with us, Frank?’ Valentino had finished his soup and was staring at him. Frank wondered how much he had heard - and how much he understood. ‘I would like to but I can’t. I have to study. I am very grateful that you are taking Mamma to the pantomime. It will be such a treat for her.’

  ‘Yes, a treat.’

  Valentino’s eyes were shining. And so were Maria’s. As their mother collected the empty soup plates together and took them to the kitchen, Frank saw that she was close to tears.

  Nella threaded her way quickly through the crowds in the Grainger Market. High above in the vaulted ceiling, sparrows swooped and chattered among the looped garlands, setting them swaying when they landed for a moment. The tops of the brightly lit stalls were festooned with evergreens, and the columns dividing the stalls were twisted round with tinsel.

  She paused for a moment when she saw a group of children gathered round a toy stall. On the shelves at the back of the stall there were rows of doll’s houses and, on the counter, there was a display case full of miniature furniture. Nella, hardly taller than the tallest child, watched as a small girl, encouraged by her mother, pointed towards a dining table and a set of chairs. Another child, probably her brother, was already clutching a box of skittles.

  The mother and her children were in decent but shabby clothes, hardly better dressed than the other children who were observing with such envious eyes. Nella wondered if the money they were spending was a Christmas gift. The stall keeper lifted out the furniture and the small audience gave a collective sigh.

  Nella turned and hurried on her way. The lights, the colours and the smells of the market enveloped her. She breathed in deeply, savouring it all. The sharp, sweet evergreens, the fruit, especially the oranges, the roasting chestnuts, the cheeses and the coffee, the sawdust underfoot, the hurricane lamps hanging in some of the stalls, the rows of geese and turkeys, all mingled in an intoxicating mix, carrying her along amidst the hubbub of excited voices.

  In the central arcade a giant Christmas tree was hung with coloured baubles, strings of gold and silver bells and concertinaed paper lanterns. Nella had to crane her neck to see the Star of Bethlehem perched at the very top. Suddenly a small boy pushed against her and she almost fell.

  ‘Stop shovin’, will you!’ a woman called, and she grabbed the boy’s arm before turning to smile at Nella. ‘Sorry, miss,’ she said. ‘He’s that excited.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it was an accident. I don’t mind.’

  The woman and her child vanished into the crowd and Nella stared after them wonderingly. ‘Sorry, miss,’ the woman said, and she sounded so respectful, as if she thought I was something better than a skivvy, Nella thought. It must be the clothes, especially the velvet cape that Constance has given me.

  But there had been something else about the woman’s expression. Nella frowned. Or rather it was something that hadn’t been there ... The woman had looked up at her and smiled - and remained smiling. There had been no dawning look of horror and no embarrassed aversion of the eyes before she turned away. Hadn’t she noticed the way Nella looked?

  It is the cape, Nella realized. But not because it’s of such good quality. I was still righting myself from nearly falling over and the way the cape was draping must have hidden my twisted shoulders.

  For a moment Nella was so happy that she felt like crying. Just for once she had been treated like a normal person.

  The old man at the jewellery kiosk took the broken chain from her and looked at her suspiciously. ‘I don’t remember selling you this.’

  ‘Well, you did.’ Nella reached into her bag and brought out the heart. ‘Along with this.’

  He peered over his half-moon spectacles at her and suddenly grinned. ‘Yes, I remember. Had it engraved, didn’t you? Didn’t recognize you, all dressed up like a lady.’

  Nella smiled and, emboldened by his words, said, ‘So now that you know who you’re dealing with, are you sorry you sold me something so shoddy?’

  ‘What! The cheek of it!’ But he responded to her grin. ‘This chain is no worse than any other for the same price. It’s had rough treatment, that’s why it’s broken.’

  ‘Can you mend it?’

  ‘Easily.’

  She watched while the jeweller took off his spectacles and clamped an eyepiece in one eye. He took up the chain and what looked like a tiny pair of pliers and removed the broken link. ‘Too far gone,’ he muttered, before opening up another link and repairing the chain. Then he threaded the heart back on to it. ‘There you are.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Nella reached into her bag.

  ‘No, I’ll not charge you for the mending, and furthermore, as you’re such a toff, I’ll give you this to keep it in.’ The old man reached below the counter and brought out a small red velvet box.

  Nella’s eyes widened and he laughed as he arranged the necklace in the box. ‘Got to keep on the right side of grand ladies like you, haven’t I?’ He winked as she put the box into her bag. ‘Now, mind you call again!’

  ‘I will, and right now I’ll take that hatpin, the one with the pearl bead on top.’ Nella handed over her sixpence, knowing that the pearl, as big as a pigeon’s egg, couldn’t possibly be real, but it was the most beautiful creamy ivory colour and she would give it to Constance as a belated Christmas present.

  As she made her way towards the exit on Nunn Street Nella thought that she had never been so happy in her life. She had seen Constance and set her mind at rest. Constance was obviously happy and comfortable and she had been so pleased to see her. Just because she’d gone up in the world, she hadn’t forgotten her. In fact she’d made a point of calling Nella her friend in front of that vinegar-faced servant girl.

  They’d had tea together beside the fire - and what a tea! And Constance had told her she must come again, and given her this lovely cape. When Nella had left Constance’s house she had felt as if she were walking on air. It had taken her more than twenty minutes to walk to the tram stop on Shields Road but she had had plenty time. It had been only five o’clock and the show didn’t start until seven.

  Once the tram had rattled into town, Nella decided that she had time to hurry to the market and get Constance’s chain mended. She’d seen the way Constance had looked at the necklace - she could guess how upset she must have been. Well, now it was mended and was in a beautiful little box. Constance would be so pleased.

  Ten minutes later Nella reached the Haymarket and stopped in dismay. The queue outside the theatre was halfway down Percy Street. How could that have happened so quickly? There was nothing for it but to go to the end. As the people ahead of her moved up slowly, Nella became more and more anxious. She watched the lucky folk with booked seats in the stalls and the dress circle arrive and go into the theatre.

  Whole families arrived together, groups of friends, young couples, and a party of lads and lasses who had been whiling away the waiting time in Alvini’s coffee shop below the restaurant and were already in high spirits. Nella watched enviously as they hurried into the foyer. They were laughing and joking in such a friendly way. How nice it would have been to have come with a friend tonight. With Constance.

  And then another couple came out of Alvini’s - or rather the door next to the cafe entrance, the door that led to the restaurant above. Nella stared with fascination at the huge man and the tiny woman who must have been mother and son. For, although the bright-eyed little woman was holding on to his arm and gazing up at him tenderly, she
was years older than he. Apart from that, Nella recognized the kind of love that shone in her eyes. It was a mother’s love. This tiny, well-dressed woman was looking at the tall young man the same way that Agnes Bannerman used to look at Constance.

  Nella watched as they walked the short distance to the main entrance of the theatre and she saw the commissionaire hurry forward and hold the door for them. She also saw the way the women looked at the man. Not just the other more prosperous theatregoers, but also the women in the queue along with Nella. The group of girls standing behind her fell silent, and then one of them sighed. After that they all started giggling and making remarks that Nella could only describe as coarse.

  Fewer and fewer people were arriving now. She knew it was drawing nearer and nearer to seven o’clock and when she saw the commissionaire closing the doors to the main entrance, she nearly despaired.