A Dream of her Own

by Benita Brown

  A very young girl followed him into the room carrying a tray. She stood uncertainly in the centre of the room while Robert lifted forward an occasional table. Before doing so he had had to remove a bowl of wax fruit, and both the young maid and Constance saw Iris’s irritation as she watched him put the bowl in the hearth.

  As soon as she had placed the tray on the table the girl escaped. As the door had closed behind her, Iris snapped, ‘The fruit, Robert. It will melt!’

  Constance felt sorry for her brother and she was amazed at his patience as, with a self-deprecating smile, he placed the bowl on another table a safe distance from the crackling flames.

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, my love,’ he said. ‘I should probably live like a barbarian.’

  He took over the duties of pouring the tea and, for a while, they were silent. By the time he was settled in his chair he seemed to have received some unspoken message from his wife, for when he spoke to Constance again, he sounded subdued. ‘I can see that Iris is tired,’ he said. ‘I was going to suggest that you should stay for lunch but perhaps—’

  ‘Of course,’ Constance was quick to reply. ‘I shall call another day.’

  Her brother and his wife spoke together. ‘Shall you?’ Iris asked challengingly while Robert smiled and said, ‘Oh yes, Constance. I do hope so.’

  He didn’t see his wife’s frown and continued, ‘There is so much we have to talk about ... so much I don’t know about you. For instance, I can see that you are married. And from the quality of your clothes, forgive me if this is presumptuous, but we did grow up together, your husband must be ... well... prosperous.’

  Constance saw Iris’s expression change to one of mild curiosity. Perhaps she was even wondering whether she should have been a little more welcoming. It pleased Constance to reply, ‘Oh yes, John does very well. But now I must go.’

  Iris remained where she was and Robert walked through into the hall with her. ‘I mean it, Constance. You must come again.’

  ‘Mm?’ Suddenly she was distracted. Rather than her brother’s voice she could hear voices from the past. Hers and Robert’s as they ran shrieking up and down the wide sweep of stairs, the two kittens darting up and down ahead of them and in no danger of being caught. Her mother’s voice gently chiding them but overcome with laughter at their antics. Their father’s voice as he walked through the door . . .

  ‘Whatis the meaning of this uproar? Can a man not look forward to peace and harmony when he returns to his own home?’

  But he had been laughing. Indeed, he joined in the chase and soon there was an indignant kitten in each of his pockets.

  ‘Poor little things,’ her mother had scolded. ‘Give them to me. They must go back to the kitchen at once for a saucer of milk...’

  Constance stopped in the middle of the hall and took hold of her brother’s arm. ‘Robert, what happened to the kittens?’

  ‘The kittens?’ He frowned.

  ‘You know, when Papa ... when he died and we had to leave this house, Maggie Muff had two little kittens. I feel ashamed but I just can’t remember what happened to them.’

  Robert smiled. ‘They came to Berwick. Maggie Muff and her two little kittens in one basket. There’s no need to worry, Constance. My grandparents knew how attached I was to them and said that of course they should come with me. Grandmother grew quite fond of them and was very upset when Maggie died.’

  ‘Died?’

  ‘Old age, I should imagine. But her babies - grown cats they are now - are still there. Constance, what is it? Are you crying?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’ But her voice was small. ‘Robert, may I go out through the garden room?’

  ‘Of course. But why?

  ‘Oh, the old superstition ... go out the way you came in ... you know?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He led the way to the door at the back of the hall. ‘But when shall I see you again? You and your husband, of course. John, did you say?’

  ‘Yes. John Edington. But I’m not sure if he would be welcome here.’

  ‘Whyever not?’

  ‘I suspect we are not the kind of people that your wife would want to receive.’

  Robert stopped by the French window of the garden room and frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Trade, Robert. To put it bluntly, John is a shopkeeper.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Robert laughed. ‘But then we’re not exactly landed gentry - well, to be perfectly correct, Iris might be. However, that didn’t stop her from marrying me.’

  ‘You’ll have to explain.’

  ‘How do you think I can afford to live here?’

  ‘Your grandparents . . . Captain Meakin . . .’

  ‘And where do you think he makes his money?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘He owns a fleet of colliers.’

  ‘Coal ships - then he must be wealthy.’

  ‘I suppose he is. But it’s trade none the less, and I was taken into the firm the moment I left school. No university for me. I had to pay my way by working in the family business and that’s why I’m living here in Newcastle - to run the shipping office. Although Iris tries to keep me here at home with her as much as she can! So you see I am not going to allow you to cut yourself off from me through any ridiculous notions of snobbery.’

  ‘Oh, Robert...’

  ‘What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘I was thinking how very like Father you are.’

  ‘Am I?’ And for a moment his eyes too filled with moisture.

  Constance waited until he had taken a large white handkerchief from his pocket in order to brush at his eyes, then she murmured, ‘Robert, I’m glad it’s you that’s living here.’ Then she reached forward, opened the door and walked out into the garden.

  ‘Wait, Constance,’ he called when he realized what she had done. ‘I don’t know where you live. I don’t know when I’m going to see you again.’

  She stopped in her flight and waved. ‘I’ll come back, I promise,’ she called, before turning and hurrying along the path towards the gate that led on to the moor. But she didn’t honestly know whether she would be able to keep that promise. If she did then her heart might break all over again.

  ‘That woman’s here. She refused to go away. Said she would wait for you.’ Constance had hardly closed the door behind her when Polly blurted out the information.

  ‘Polly, what woman are you talking about?’

  ‘That little - that little person that came to see you just after Christmas. Said she was a friend of yours.’ Polly’s eyebrows rose sceptically. ‘Miss—’

  ‘Nicholson! Nella! Where is she?’

  ‘In the front parlour, of course.’ Polly said this not so much because the front parlour was the right place to put a guest, but rather that there was no way she would have wanted her mistress’s visitor to sit in the kitchen with her.

  ‘Thank you, Polly.’ Constance turned to open the door of the front room. Perhaps she ought to have told Polly that she should have called her visitor a ‘lady’, not a ‘woman’, but the atmosphere in the house was comfortable at the moment and she didn’t want to upset it.

  She had already opened the door when Polly said loudly, ‘I told her that you would want your lunch when you came back but she still insisted on staying.’

  Constance paused. She was vexed. Nella was bound to have heard the housemaid’s words and the tone in which they were uttered, but she still didn’t want a confrontation. She turned round to face Polly and smiled.

  ‘Lunch. Thank you for reminding me. Would you set up two places in the dining room? My friend will be joining me.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Thank you, Polly.’ She walked into the room and shut the door behind her without giving the girl the chance to react further.

  ‘Nella, I’m sorry...’ she began, but her friend was smiling broadly.

  ‘To think I actually felt sorry for that saucebox last time I came here,’
she said. ‘Constance, are you sure you aren’t being too lenient with the young baggage?’

  ‘Nella, oh, Nella, what a wonderful surprise!’

  ‘Surprise? Do you mean because I’ve come to see you at last - or is it because you just can’t believe the sight you see before yer eyes? Constance, stop staring at me like that. Speak to me!’

  ‘Nella, of course I’m surprised to see you. I thought that you’d forgotten all about me.’

  ‘As if I would!’

  ‘But you look wonderful!’

  Constance stared unbelievingly at her friend. In fact she was wearing a very simple outfit. A long grey velvet cloak hung from her shoulders to the ground. Were her shoulders level? Was her back straight? Only the tips of shining patent leather boots were showing. But the velvet was pearl grey, somehow luminous and fluid as Nella moved slightly, and very good quality. Constance had learned something about fabrics from John and she knew that this material must have cost far more than Nella could afford.

  The cloak was old-fashioned, of course, and a bit theatrical, but now that she’d had a chance to assess her, Constance knew why Nella had chosen it. Looking at her standing smiling in front of the fireplace like that you wouldn’t think she was at all crippled or deformed.

  And her face! She was still pale but she no longer looked washed out. Her sharp features had softened and her eyes were filled with - what was it? Happiness? Incredibly, Nella looked truly happy.

  Her cloak fell open to reveal a day dress also made of grey velvet as her friend raised an arm to point to her hat. ‘What do you think of the titfer?’

  Constance stared at the confection of greeny-black feathers. It was shaped like her own toque and was secured on Nella’s shining curls with a glittering paste hatpin. ‘It’s . . . it’s different,’ Constance said. ‘But it suits you.’

  ‘Don’t it just! Actually I borrowed it from Lucy. I divven’t usually wear anything so fancy but Harry says I ought to get used to dressing more like a star now that I’m topping the bill.’

  Lucy ... Harry ... star ... topping the bill ... What was Nella talking about?

  Her friend’s smile turned into a wide grin. ‘Come and sit down before you fall down,’ she said, ‘and I’ll explain everything!’

  Constance moved towards one of the chairs by the hearth. She felt cold. The skies had clouded over completely as she’d walked back across the Town Moor from Lodore House and she had been worried that she might be caught in a sudden downpour. Luckily the rain had held off but perhaps she ought not to have hurried quite so much, not in her condition. She was aware that her head was aching and, before sinking into the chair, she reached up to remove her hat.

  ‘Here, let me help you.’ Nella had moved to her side. ‘Are you all right, Constance? You’ve gone pale.’

  ‘No . . . I’m fine.’ Constance smiled up at her friend. ‘It’s just... it’s just that I’m—’

  ‘You’re expecting!’ Nella was staring down at her. ‘That’s wonderful! Ee, Constance, I couldn’t be more pleased if it was me - not as if that’ll ever happen! Now sit still while I fiddle with this hatpin. I divven’t want to pull yer hair.’

  Constance was happy to close her eyes and allow her friend to help her. Nella’s misshapen fingers were surprisingly deft and she felt the pin pull out and then the hat lift from her head. There was a silence and, after a while, Constance opened her eyes. Her friend held the velvet toque in one hand and in the other she held the hatpin. She was staring at the hatpin ruefully.

  ‘What is it?’ Constance asked.

  Nella quickly changed her expression to a genuine smile. ‘Oh, nothing. Just admiring yer hatpin. Where shall I put this?’ She gestured with the hat. ‘Mustn’t put it on a table. Bad luck.’

  ‘I can’t remember if you were always so superstitious.’ She had warmed up a little and she began to undo the buttons of her coat. Languidly she leaned sideways and gave the bell pull a tug.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Ringing for Polly.’

  ‘That’s right. I keep forgetting you’re a lady now!’ Nella shot her a look that would have been sarcastic if it hadn’t been so affectionate.

  Constance looked at her friend askance but continued, ‘The girl will take my hat and coat and your things too.’

  ‘I’ll keep me hat on, if you don’t mind. Lucy arranged it for me and I’ll nivver get it on again by meself. And, as for superstition, we theatre folk live and breathe it, you know.’

  ‘Theatre folk? Nella, you’re being infuriating. It’s time you explained!’

  ‘I will. I’ll tell you everything. But wait ...’

  The door had opened and Polly swept into the room. Nella began to remove her cloak. It was only when the girl had gone again that Nella resumed speaking. ‘Not in front of the servants!’

  She sat down in the armchair at the other side of the hearth and, for a while, they couldn’t talk for laughing. When Nella recovered herself she said, ‘Remember that day I came to see you? The day after Boxing Day? Well, would you believe I nivver went back to the Sowerbys’ house that night? In fact I’ve nivver been back there from that day to this!’

  ‘But, Nella, how ...? I mean what have you been doing? Where have you been living?’

  ‘I’ve been sharing diggings with Lucy Lovekins. She wasn’t too keen at first but she wouldn’t refuse Harry anything. But after a while I think she took to me. We’ve become bosom pals.’ Nella grinned but then her expression grew more serious and she leaned forward and spoke earnestly. ‘Of course, she would nivver mean as much to me as you do, Constance.’

  ‘Nella, you still aren’t making sense.’

  ‘No, I suppose I’m not.’ She leaned back contentedly in her chair. ‘Well, it all started that day I last saw you, when I went to the pantomime. Lissen and I’ll tell you.’

  A little later there was a perfunctory knock on the door before it opened. Polly stood in the doorway looking tense and rebellious. ‘The food’s on the table.’

  Constance sighed. ‘I think you’re supposed to say something like, “Lunch is served,” Polly, but thank you all the same.’

  She gave her the sweetest of smiles and, in spite of herself, Polly responded and relaxed a little. They had been getting along so well of late that Constance could only assume that it was Nella’s presence that was upsetting her maid. Constance knew that most people found it difficult to deal with Nella’s deformity, and she knew that she owed it to her own mother that it had never been a problem for her.

  Agnes Bannerman had been one of those people who seemed to be totally free from prejudice. A person’s character was more important to her than their outward appearance.

  Constance led the way through to the dining room. Her head was still spinning with everything that Nella had told her. Truly it sounded like one of the stories in the penny novelettes that their old adversary, Mrs Mortimer, loved to read. Her friend had saved all her money to go to the theatre and there she had been discovered by Harry Bodie, one of the most successful impresarios in the north of England, according to Nella. And now, only a few months later, she was a star. ‘Top of the bill’ as she put it.

  If it had been hard work, if it had been painful, if it had stretched her physical endurance to its limits, then Nella seemed to be thriving on the challenge. And, of course, there was the money she was making. That was the most unbelievable part of all. Constance found that she was really glad for her old friend. After all, she would probably never marry, never have what she, Constance, had with John, never have children, so the fact that she would have money of her own was only fitting.

  The fire in the dining room was burning cheerily and, in spite of the funny mood she was in, Polly had set the table with a clean damask cloth and the best silver cutlery. There was a jug of water and two crystal glasses. This room at the back of the house was always dark and, instead of lighting the gas mantle, Polly had set an oil-lamp, the best porcelain pillar lamp, in the middle of the tab
le.

  ‘It seems a pity not to use nice things when you’ve got them,’ Polly said when she saw Constance’s surprised smile. ‘Albert’s mother was just saying that it’s a shame that you and Mr Edington don’t entertain more. But then I suppose it wouldn’t be right yet, you still being in mourning for Mrs Edington.’

  ‘Albert Green is her sweetheart,’ Constance explained to Nella when Polly had left the room. ‘He’s a fine handsome young man who lives next door—’

  ‘Convenient!’ Nella grinned.

  ‘—And I just can’t understand what he sees in Polly!’

  Nella frowned. ‘What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with the girl. She’s clean and respectable-looking.’