by Janet Woods
Alice nodded, her breath a harsh rasp. She felt the cold, deep down inside her bones. ‘Yes, my love. I just need to catch my breath. It’s years since I walked this far, and you’re hard to keep up with.’
‘I should have walked slower. It’s not much further, just around the corner.’
When Alice’s breathing quieted Celia took hold of her hand and placed it on her shoulder. ‘Lean on me.’
‘Celia,’ Alice said urgently. ‘If anything happens to me I want you to take Lottie and go and ask my sisters for help. Beg if you have to. I don’t want you and Lottie to be forced on to the streets.’
‘I know better than that.’
‘You might not be given a choice, so be vigilant. A gentleman noticed you and his agent approached me. I don’t want you to live that sort of life.’
Celia looked shocked for a moment, then placed a kiss on her mother’s cheek. ‘Neither do I, Ma, so don’t worry so much. I’ll be careful.’
‘I don’t know why I agreed to have tea with your friend. You can’t trust any man and we could be walking into the lion’s den.’
‘Oh, Ma, you can’t blame all men for what happened in your past. Think about it. We’ll get something nice to eat, and the bread and broth we were going to eat today will then last us until tomorrow.’
‘There’s that.’ There was also the thought that she wouldn’t have to find some man to give her the price of a meal for her favours. Celia didn’t mention it, but Alice knew that her eldest daughter was well aware of the way of things. She was sure that’s why Celia had taken up dipping . . . to earn more money for them all. Alice was ashamed of herself and hated what she was forced to do to survive. She definitely didn’t want her daughter to sell herself. It was demeaning.
‘Cheer up, Ma. You haven’t had a cup of tea to drink for months, and now you’ll get more than one,’ Celia teased.
‘That will be wonderful. I’m really looking forward to it. Perhaps there will be muffins and cake, and little sandwiches.’
Celia grinned. ‘And four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, perhaps.’
Alice laughed and placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. They moved forward at a slower pace and turned the corner into Bedford Square. Celia knocked at a door with ornate glass panels.
A thin streak of a woman opened it and gazed down her nose at them. She was wearing a silver-framed lorgnette on a cord around her neck. ‘Yes?’
‘We’re here to see Professor Hambert.’
‘For what reason, may I ask?’
Thomas Hambert called out, ‘Are those my guests, Mrs Packer? Let them in.’
‘I don’t think so, sir. They look more like beggars to me.’
The blood rose to Alice’s face and she bit back a retort. She couldn’t blame the woman for thinking that, though, and began to wish they hadn’t come.
Her daughter called out, ‘It’s me, Mr Hambert . . . Celia Laws, with my mother and sister.’
He bustled forward, a smile on his face. ‘Celia my dear . . . and Mrs Laws. How lovely to see you again. Don’t stand out there in the cold.’ He drew them inside. ‘Hello, Lottie dear, what a dear, sweet child you are. Shut the door if you please, Mrs Packer, you’re allowing the cold in. May I relieve you of your capes, ladies?’
The door closed with a thud to signify the housekeeper’s displeasure, and, as she went stomping off towards the back of the house, Mr Hambert called out to her retreating back, ‘Serve tea in fifteen minutes please, Mrs Packer. And use the best china for our guests. The child will have milk.’
‘Can I be of help, Mrs Packer?’ Celia offered.
The woman turned and gave her that tight-lipped look of hers. ‘I can manage.’
A word of thanks wouldn’t have gone amiss, Alice thought. Brought up in a house with servants, she was now being scorned by one. It would have been a different attitude if she’d turned up in a satin gown.
When Mr Hambert chucked Lottie under the chin she put her hands up to her eyes and peered through her fingers at him. She giggled when he said, ‘Boo!’
There was a faint smell of lavender in the room and a fire burned brightly. A woman gazed down at them from a frame. The late Mrs Hambert, Alice supposed. She looked rather serious, but there was a soft curve to her mouth and the beginnings of a twinkle in her eyes, as though her expression disguised a nature that was both frivolous and mischievous.
A man rose to his feet. He had a natural, easy smile and eyes that displayed an intelligence that had not yet been satisfied.
‘This is my nephew, James Kent. He has cut his teeth at the Old Bailey, and is shortly to join a legal practice in the country, where he will eventually take up the post of magistrate. He’s a clever young man who should go far.’
‘Now, now, Uncle, your pride is showing.’
James kissed Alice’s hand. It had been a long time since that had happened and memories surfaced of evenings spent in the drawing room with her family and their friends. How easily those particular worms had turned when she’d needed them.
‘Mrs Laws; how nice to meet you. You look cold . . . come, take my seat by the fire.’ When she did he placed a cushion at her back and turned to Celia. ‘Miss Laws, we meet again. How are you?’
Celia busied herself with Lottie. ‘I’m well, Mr Kent.’
‘Good. My uncle tells me you’ve taken up acting. You must recite your poem for us.’
Celia turned a rosy shade of pink. ‘I don’t think so, Mr Kent. I’m not a real poet and your uncle thinks my poem to be . . . florid, so I won’t bore him with it again.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought that a young woman who performs in public would be shy of performing in the drawing room. What say you, Uncle?’
The man was subjecting Celia to some light teasing.
Mr Hambert beamed a smile at everyone. ‘There’s a big difference in acting a part, and in being connected to a poem for the love of it. One is performed with the head, the second with the heart.’
Spontaneously Celia said, ‘Oh, I know exactly what you mean.’
‘Do you, my dear?’
‘Some poems hide inside you, and little snatches of it visit from time to time. Sometimes the scenes created by the words are so beautiful they make me sad.’ She looked from one to the other and shrugged. ‘I imagine that sounds silly.’
Alice rescued her daughter. ‘Not at all, that’s exactly how it is. Now, you might prefer to recite another poet’s work, Celia. Keats perhaps.’
Mr Hambert smiled at her. ‘Ah yes, John Keats. It’s a long time since I’ve heard his work recited. Do you know The Human Seasons, Celia? It starts with: Four seasons fill the measure of the year.’
‘Not very well.’ Shyly, Celia picked up on it. ‘There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty spring, when fancy clear, takes in all beauty with an easy span.’
When she hesitated Thomas prompted, ‘He has his summer . . .’
They picked through the poem together, and Alice received a nervous glance from Celia when it came to her turn again. ‘. . . on mists of idleness – to let fair things pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.’ Celia spread her hands. ‘It’s been a long time and I forget the rest.’
James smiled at her. ‘He has his winter too of pale misfeature . . .’
‘Or else he would forgo his mortal nature?’ Celia finished.
‘A wonderful joint effort.’ Thomas said with a smile.
‘Why is the poem called The Human Seasons when it refers to men all the time? Women are human, too.’
James laughed. ‘Answer that one, Uncle?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t. Perhaps because the poet was a man, and perhaps because women are the beauty he perceives in his lustful spring and the honeyed cud of his summer.’
James gently coughed and Thomas looked a bit flustered.
‘Perhaps my daughter is too young to be expected to understand such poems yet,’ Alice told him.
‘Of course she is, but she recit
ed the lines she remembered quite beautifully, I thought.’
When Celia beamed with pride and said, ‘It’s easier to perform to a bigger audience of strangers than to a small group,’ they exchanged smiles.
‘That’s because it’s more intimate with friends present.’ Thomas asked, ‘How are you getting on with Robinson Crusoe, Celia?’
‘I haven’t had time to read any of it yet. I’ve been writing my stories . . . five in all, and I’m just about to finish the sixth. And I’ve been . . . working.’
‘Doing what?’ James asked her innocently.
Celia saw no reason not to say out loud what they all knew. ‘Begging, amongst other things.’
‘Really . . . what are the other things?’
Into the sudden silence the door opened and Mrs Packer came in with a tray of tea things. She placed it on the sideboard out of Lottie’s reach, then left, coming back again with a tiered cake stand holding delicious-looking sandwiches, steaming muffins soaked with melted butter, and slices of cakes. She didn’t look at anyone, but followed her nose back out of the room.
‘Oh dear, I seem to have upset my housekeeper.’ Thomas turned, his eyes laced with amusement. ‘Perhaps you wouldn’t mind pouring the tea for us, Mrs Laws.’
Alice barely heard him. Her gaze was on Celia, who was looking at James with a frown on her face.
He merely smiled at her. ‘What other occupation did you say?’
Celia gave her a quick glance of reassurance and quietly informed him, ‘I didn’t say, but I act in plays.’
His smile teased her. ‘Ah, you’re an actress. Are you famous?’
‘I used to perform for the Wentworth Players.’
‘I imagine you did perform, though I can’t say I’ve ever heard of the theatre company.’
‘I don’t suppose they’ve heard of you, either. Are you going to prod at me all day, Mr Kent?’
He gave a bit of an abashed chuckle. ‘I’d heard you had various talents. Being rude seems to be one of them.’
Calmly Celia informed him, ‘It’s you who is being rude. You are being inquisitive, and I was merely reacting to it.’
When James said, ‘I must humbly beg your pardon, Miss Laws,’ Celia’s face flamed and she looked vexed.
‘Enough James,’ Thomas said mildly and turned to Celia. ‘I do wish you’d brought your stories for me to read. Perhaps you’d drop them off sometime so I can offer my advice in editing them.’
‘Perhaps I will, after I’ve got them exactly as I want them.’
‘Which defeats the whole object of editing,’ James said with a faint smile.
Colour rose high in Celia’s face as she realized her mistake and she took him back to their spat, obviously unwilling to abandon it. ‘I suppose it must do. What had you heard about my various talents, Mr Kent?’
‘Oh, nothing that should alarm you.’
When Celia’s eyes narrowed Alice thought it was time to intervene. Patience wasn’t one of her daughter’s virtues. ‘Celia . . . see to your sister if you would. Take her on your lap and give her some cake to eat. Make sure she doesn’t drop crumbs.’ Alice crossed to the sideboard and began to pour out the tea, conscious of her ragged state and being totally out of place in this elegant drawing room. She handed a cup first to Thomas, and then to James. Inclining her head she said quietly into James Kent’s ear, ‘My daughter is hardly more than a child and unused to drawing-room talk. Please bear that in mind, Mr Kent.’
When he nodded she poured tea for herself and Celia, then handed round the refreshments.
Lottie’s eyes rounded with delight when she tasted the cake and she opened her mouth wider for the next bite.
‘No,’ Celia said, withdrawing it as Lottie made a grab for the rest.
For a moment Alice thought Lottie might kick up a fuss, but James Kent leaned forward and suggested, ‘You hold her and I’ll feed it to her.’
Alice placed her cup down. ‘Perhaps I’d better take over. She might drop bits and pieces on you.’
James spread a napkin over his knees. ‘That takes care of that problem. You enjoy your tea, Mrs Laws. We can put Lottie down when the edge is off her appetite.’
‘It sounds as though you know something about children. Do you have a family, Mr Kent?’
‘Lord no! I’ve never met a women brave enough to embark on the matrimonial journey with me. I do have a niece and a nephew though . . . my sister’s children. The girl is about Lottie’s age, the boy is still a baby.’
‘They’ve named the girl after me,’ Mr Hambert said with pride.
Alice said cautiously, ‘Thomas is rather an odd name for a girl.’
James huffed with laughter. ‘It’s Thomasina. The boy is called James, after his favourite uncle.’
The look Thomas gave him was crushing. ‘As you can see I’m obliged to put up with my nephew’s eternal conceit.’
Celia giggled, her good temper restored when James whispered an apology to her. Alice was relieved that the tension had relaxed.
A little while later the cat came in to investigate the visitors. Lottie clapped her hands. James tied a piece of paper on the end of a length of string and showed her how to tease Frederick with it. Soon, Lottie was running around giggling, with Frederick after her, his initial dignity abandoned.
Alice closed her eyes and felt sadness inside her that such a moment of innocent happiness in a child’s life was a rare event instead of everyday normality. James connected well with children; he’d make a good father if he ever married. The cats in the area where they lived were lean, ferocious hunters, and were as numerous as the rodents they lived off. They were not fat pets to be tamed, pampered and entertaining, but flea-bitten, diseased scavengers who’d been known to devour a newborn baby abandoned to the squalor of the gutter, and they sometimes ended up in the cooking pot themselves.
Was that what she’d become as well? A predator? What would become of her girls if the damp cough on her chest worsened. She’d turned a blind eye to Celia’s activities so far, but she’d had very little choice, and had no resources to fall back on. As a mother, had she allowed the girl to sink too low for her to be redeemed?
No, she told herself. Celia had simply learned to survive within her environment. She was still young enough to adapt to another one . . . a better one.
Come spring, Celia would be sixteen. If she could earn enough money she would take her children to the country, Alice thought. To start with she could sell that emerald and diamond ring Celia had hidden away. It must have been stolen, but it couldn’t be returned, and the girl was unable to wear it in case it was recognized. There were other trinkets hidden behind a loose half-brick where the girl laid her mattress – a silver locket and a brooch in the shape of a butterfly, a pretty thing shimmering with different-coloured stones.
‘Another muffin, Mrs Laws?’
Her hunger had already been satisfied by the cake, but she rarely had a good appetite these days. Celia took one, eating it in small quick bites, like a hungry dog scared it might lose its meal to another. When she placed a hand on her arm Celia remembered her manners and slowed down.
James asked, ‘Can you play the piano and sing, as well as recite, Celia?’
‘I can sing a little, but I don’t feel like it at the moment. My mother can play the piano. She learned to when she was a child.’
‘That was years ago, Celia. I haven’t been able to practise,’ Alice protested.
‘You can practise today. I’ve never heard you play the piano, and I’d really like to. Are you sure you can?’
It was typical of Celia to direct the attention away from herself and on to another. Alice softened. ‘I’ll just play some short pieces then. Some fugues perhaps, and a minuet or two’ She gazed at the two men and shrugged. ‘I warn you. It’s been fifteen years since I touched a keyboard so don’t expect too much.’
‘We’ll take that into account, Mrs Laws. Besides, I don’t think the instrument has been tuned in that time, s
o we’ll blame any mistakes that emerge on that.’
He had lied about the piano not being tuned, she realized, as, after a couple of false starts, she warmed up her fingers with the short fugues, enjoying most the slightly plaintive G minor.
The music was sweet and Lottie scrambled down from James’ lap and came to where she sat. She clung to her skirt, gazed at her with wide eyes and jiggled about, trying to dance on her skinny legs. Then Alice became absorbed in what she was doing, and although the couple of wrong notes made her wince, she didn’t let them bother her too much as she launched into a more lively prelude in C major.
There was silence when the last note died away, then the two men clapped. They were being kind, and she thought it somewhat incongruous that she was seated at the piano in the drawing room of this man, dressed in her rags and listening to polite applause for her poor performance. She wanted to die from the embarrassment of it. Another thought struck her. Would he have invited her to tea if he’d suspected what she sometimes had to do to earn money?
Her smile was almost a grimace when she rose, and she felt the need to escape. Poverty had brought her down in more than one way, and she’d taken her children with her. They deserved more. Her glance fell on dear, innocent Lottie and she thought: It could be worse. Lottie could have floated away on the tide before she’d had a chance to live.
There was a drift of rain misting up the window. Outside, the sky was grey, and although the drizzle wasn’t heavy yet, it promised more. They’d get soaked through on the way home if they didn’t hurry. Already Alice was wishing she hadn’t come. Being in such an elegant home and eating off such pretty and delicate china had made her feel like an outsider.
‘We should go before this rain gets worse.’
Thomas nodded. ‘It looks miserable outside, as though it’s set in for the evening. I can’t allow you to walk home. You must accept my offer of your cab fare. I’ll go to the corner and tell a cab driver to pick you up in half an hour.’
James stood. ‘I’ll go, Uncle.’
He returned, his hair dampened into ringlets. ‘It’s a raw afternoon. Can we not find something warm for them to wear home, Uncle?’