Elizabeth was shocked by the question. She thought, for a moment, that Alicia was being sarcastic. The child’s face with its light grey eyes was so innocent, however, that she stifled her sharp reply and sat staring at her daughter. She carefully put down her after-lunch cup of coffee on the table beside her, before she replied, and then she said, ‘Parents care a great deal about their children; children should therefore grieve very much if their parents die. As the Bible says, parents are to be honoured.’
A little bewildered, Alicia said, ‘Poor Polly! I don’t know what to say to comfort her.’
‘Oh, servants don’t feel as we do. Polly will soon get over it. She shouldn’t cry in front of you. I’ll speak to her about it.’
Alicia opened her mouth to disagree with Elizabeth, and then thought better of it. If you wanted to avoid being spanked, you agreed with everything Mama said. Polly always said that Mama knew best. So she muttered, ‘Yes, Mama,’ and wished that she had not mentioned Polly’s grief. She stood up, preparatory to going back to school for the afternoon and waited for her mother to dismiss her. She rubbed her black-stockinged leg with the toe of her house shoe.
Rather put out by the whole conversation, Elizabeth told her irritably to stop fidgeting.
Alicia immediately stood straight, like a small soldier. She said, ‘I’m sorry, Mama.’ Then, since her mother still did not dismiss her, she said politely, ‘Of course, Mama, I would be sad if I had to go to your funeral.’
Jolted, Elizabeth looked up from contemplation of her wedding and engagement rings. Her daughter was smiling gently. ‘Would you?’ Elizabeth asked her.
‘Of course, Mama.’
‘Ah, well, I hope you won’t have to for a long time. Run along now.’
III
In a new black alpaca dress, Elizabeth sat calmly and charmingly through her At Home. She dispensed China tea from her best silver teapot, while Fanny proffered small iced cakes from a silver cake-basket. She wished Florence was with her, to help to keep the conversation spritely. But Florence had six children now and had little time for social occasions.
All the usual ladies called, to sip tea and exchange gossip. Some brought daughters who had just Come Out. One had brought her newly married daughter, shyly pretty in a fine tweed costume and one of the new big hats.
Viewing them from behind her teapot, Elizabeth felt sadly that none of them were ladies of substance, except for her lifelong spinster friend, Sarah Webb, who was the daughter of a baronet; she was sitting quietly in a corner as a single gentlewoman should. All the women present, though prosperous, were of a lower social class than herself; the wives of Liverpool’s truly important men had dropped her, now that she felt too tired and depressed to continue her charitable efforts.
As she watched the painted rose at the bottom of each teacup slowly drown in the tea she poured, she fretted about Alicia. What was she going to do when the girl grew older? She could not live forever in the attic nurseries with Polly. Even now, if she had been an ordinary daughter, like Florence, it would have been expected that, after school, she would join her mother in the drawing-room, to be made a fuss of by her friends and be encouraged, perhaps, to recite a piece of poetry.
Fortunately, some of the ladies present were barely aware that she had a younger daughter and those that knew would not wish to face the fact, because they would feel that they had to drop Elizabeth if they did so – and Elizabeth was their social superior and worth cultivating from that point of view. It was certain, however, that if Elizabeth began to introduce the girl, the old rumours would come up again and both mother and daughter would be snubbed. Elizabeth, passing the sugar bowl with a smile as sweet as its contents, thought bitterly that, with this mob, out of sight was out of mind.
Behind her bright chatter, her anguish grew. Alicia was becoming more like Andrew every day, a constant reminder of her lover’s defection. The more apparent the likeness became, the less she wanted mutual friends to observe it; Andrew was, after all, a well-known family solicitor who moved in good circles in the city; some people would have actually met him in the Woodmans’ house when, before Humphrey realized what was happening, she had asked him to parties. If in a few years’ time she Brought Out Alicia, even amongst her despised guests the connection would be made, and, without a very large dowry, Alicia would not stand a chance of marriage.
But Alicia was growing up and was beginning to ask questions – childish ones, but nevertheless very disconcerting to her Mama.
After her second petit four, Sarah Webb delicately dabbed her three chins with a lace-edged napkin, and inquired, ‘How is dear Florence these days? And little Alicia? I don’t think I’ve seen Alicia since last Christmas. She seems to have been at school whenever I called.’
Sarah was assured that dear Florence was well, though still a little delicate after her last baby. And, according to Miss Schreiber, Alicia was doing very well at school. Elizabeth wished crossly that Sarah had enough sense to keep her mouth shut. But Sarah loved her godchild and did not agree with Elizabeth’s keeping her in such seclusion.
Bent on suggesting a different future for Alicia, Sarah said cheerfully, ‘Perhaps Alicia will follow Charles into university – I hear he’s doing well at Cambridge.’ She looked coyly at the other ladies, and studiously evaded Elizabeth’s warning eye. ‘Perhaps she’ll become a New Woman!’ she speculated, and accepted yet another petit four from the silver basket.
The suggestion of university for a girl set off a heated argument; even if she were accepted, what use would such an education be? They all agreed that men did not like to marry educated women.
‘I wish I could have gone to university,’ responded Sarah wistfully. ‘I would love to have studied botany.’
The ladies felt that botany might be a suitable study for a woman – it was quite nice. ‘But what would you have done with your learning, Miss Webb?’ inquired one of the younger ladies quite earnestly.
Sarah looked bewildered. Then her chins wobbled, as she laughed and confessed, ‘I really don’t know. But it would have been so good to understand the theories behind it all. And, you know, some young women are continuing their education, nowadays.’
An elderly widow, her black veil flung back from a wizened face, retorted, ‘It is not nice for women to be exposed to vulgarity, when sitting at lectures with a host of young men to whom they have not been introduced!’
Two or three other guests nodded their heads in agreement. Sarah Webb was a fool who had not succeeded in getting married.
A very blonde lady in a fashionable hat loaded with white veiling, giggled and suggested, ‘University won’t teach you how to manage men!’
The guests laughed, and agreed.
The conversation and Sarah Webb’s remarks about university remained with Elizabeth long after the guests had departed. She dined with her husband, and the meal was as usual practically silent.
After dinner, Humphrey normally retired to his library to drink brandy and coffee while he read the evening newspaper; Elizabeth took tea in the morning-room, where she continued her endless embroidery of underwear or made beautiful hand-stitched clothes for Florence’s children. This night, however, after the cheese and fruit had been brought in, she took her courage in both hands, dismissed Fanny to the kitchen, and said to an unsuspecting Humphrey, ‘I have to speak to you about Alicia.’
IV
Humphrey always did his best to ignore the plain, shy child he met from time to time on the stairs or in the hall. On the rare occasions when the family was gathered together, such as at Christmas, he tolerated her presence rather than face awkward questions from Florence or her children, but he avoided speaking to her. Florence’s husband, the Reverend Clarence Browning, appeared to understand the situation because he also ignored the child. It was Humphrey’s brother, Harold, who, when visiting from Manchester, pitied Alicia and brought her little tins of chocolate drops; he persisted in this, even when his wife, Vera, protested that the little girl wa
s ‘not quite the thing’. ‘What nonsense,’ he would reply. ‘She’s only a child.’
Alicia had once said wistfully to Polly that she wished she could have a birthday party where her father would be present. ‘Ethel’s father actually played Blind Man’s Buff with them last time,’ she said.
‘Your Papa is a very busy man, luv,’ Polly had told her. ‘And you had a nice birthday last time, remember? Miss Webb took you on the ferry boat to New Brighton, and Mrs Tibbs made you a birthday cake for when you come ’ome.’
Alicia’s eyelids had drooped and she had bitten her lower lip, and agreed. Polly had cut the cake in the nursery, and Alicia had taken a piece down to the morning-room for her mother.
Elizabeth had thanked her and looked as if she were going to cry. She had fumbled amid the muddle of her sewing and brought out a tissue-paper parcel which she handed to Alicia.
It contained a coral necklace which she said she used to wear when she was a little girl, and Alicia had been so delighted that she had kissed her mother on her cheek. Her mother did not respond.
Now a very nervous but determined Elizabeth surveyed her husband’s red face at the other end of the dining-table, his scarlet neck oozing over his stiff white collar, his stubby fingers wielding the cheese knife. As he transferred a piece of gorganzola to his plate, he said icily, ‘Alicia is your business. I don’t want anything to do with her.’
Elizabeth’s hand trembled so much that she was unable to peel the grape on her plate. Under the table, her feet were tensed against the floor, so that if Humphrey threatened her, she could jump from her chair and make for the door.
‘I’m fully aware of that,’ she managed to reply. ‘However, since she lives here, she’s officially your child.’ She abandoned the grape and clenched her hands in her lap. ‘That means that you have to go through the motions expected of a parent. She’s ten years old now and a clever little girl.’
Humphrey took out his ivory toothpick and asked, ‘And what particular paternal duty did you have in mind?’
Elizabeth ignored his sarcasm. ‘I want to send her to Blackburne House School. Miss Schreiber says she’s clever and recommends that we do so.’
‘Why don’t you send her to boarding school? That would get her out of the way until she’s eighteen.’
‘Would you pay the fees?’
‘No, I would not!’ Humphrey shook his toothpick at her. His face was rapidly turning purple.
Though she was deadly afraid, Elizabeth’s temper began to rise. ‘Precisely. Blackburne House would be much cheaper.’
‘If you think I’m going to pay for your bastard to go anywhere, you’re mistaken.’ He pushed back his chair and slapped his linen table napkin down on the table. ‘She doesn’t need an education – she can marry.’
‘It’s doubtful if she can ever marry – unless you dower her – she might stand a chance then.’
‘Me? Dower her? Don’t be absurd. And don’t expect me to provide for her after my death.’
‘Really, Humphrey, you’ve carried on this vendetta too long. It’s not the child’s fault.’
‘No, it isn’t her fault, is it? Ask yourself whose fault it is – and don’t expect me to bear the burden of it.’
Elizabeth swallowed her rage; anger only ended in her being struck, and the older she became the less she was able to endure it.
Her husband glided from the room, his house shoes making no noise on the Turkey carpet. The door clicked shut.
Alone, she bowed her head and thought bitterly that, apart from the running sore which was Alicia, her husband blamed her that their eldest son, Edward, was stupid, incapable of adding two and two when it came to arithmetic, and was still dependent upon an allowance from his father to augment his army pay. He also despised Charles, a thin, bent bookworm taking Chemistry as a major in university. ‘Who is going to carry on the business?’ he would shout at Elizabeth in his frustration.
Sitting defeated at the table, she longed to rest her head on the shoulder of a gentle, sympathetic man; she did not go so far as to admit that she would like to slip into bed with one; she fought her sexual desires as if they were an importuning dragon to be slain.
She leaned forward and rang the bell for Polly.
She had her elbows on the table and was resting her head in her hands, when Polly arrived carrying her big clearing tray.
‘’Ave you got an ’eadache, Ma’am?’ Polly inquired solicitously.
‘Yes, I have, Polly. I think I’ll lie down for a little while. You may clear the table.’ In a slow dignified fashion, she rose from the table and made her way out of the room.
‘She’s bin cryin’ again,’ Polly reported to Fanny, in the great cavern of a kitchen. ‘His Nibs must’ve bin at her.’
‘Take her up some tea to her bed,’ advised Fanny. ‘She always likes that.’ She looked compassionately at Polly, whose face was pinched, her mouth tight with unexpressed grief. ‘And ’ave a good strong cup yerself, luv. Funerals is ’ard to bear.’
Chapter Ten
I
After taking a tray of tea and ratafia biscuits up to a tear-sodden Elizabeth, Polly fled up the remainder of the stairs to the day nursery. She flung herself into the old easy chair and wept unrestrainedly.
She ignored Alicia sitting at the centre table, struggling with her Saturday task of history homework. Shocked at her nanny’s distress, Alicia slipped from her chair and ran to her. She put her arms round Polly’s shaking shoulders. ‘Please don’t cry, Polly,’ she pleaded. She fumbled for her handkerchief neatly tucked into her waistband, and handed it to the distraught woman.
Polly took the embroidered scrap of cambric and held it to her mouth, while she tried to control herself.
’is it about your Papa, Polly? Has anything else happened?’
Polly leaned her head on her little charge’s shoulder, and sobbed. ‘It’s me poor Dad. He ’ung himself – so this afternoon they put ’im in a suicide’s grave – and there wasn’t no priest. It were awful.’
Alicia stiffened. Outside the covers of novels, she had not heard of a suicide. Did people really take their own lives? The idea was awesome, and she whispered in horror, ‘Oh, Polly!’
Polly lifted her head and blew her nose on Alicia’s handkerchief. She looked at the white, anxious little face before her, and said hoarsely, ‘He couldn’t make do, without me Mam.’ She began to cry again.
‘I assumed he’d died of fever like your Mama,’ Alicia said, her voice puzzled. She had never seen Polly’s home or her parents, and she asked with wonder, ‘Did he love her so much?’ She felt as if she had stumbled on a true romance.
‘Aye, I think he did. His back were so bad, he could ’ardly work, and she took care of him.’
In Alicia’s mind, the humble labourer joined other starcrossed lovers, like Romeo and Juliet. She began to cry, too.
Polly lifted her on to her lap and held her close. They wept together as if they were mother and daughter joined by a common sorrow.
Polly knew then that no matter how irritating Elizabeth Woodman became, she could never leave Alicia.
II
The next morning, dressed in her morning uniform of pink-striped dress and well-starched apron, she carried Elizabeth’s breakfast up to her bedroom. Elizabeth was awake and was sitting up in bed; she looked as weary and hollow-eyed as Polly did.
As Polly laid the tray on her bedside table, she inquired, ‘The funeral? Is everything settled in your family, now?’
Polly fought back her tears. ‘Yes,’m.’ She went to the window to draw back the velvet curtains.
‘Good.’ Elizabeth began to pour herself a cup of tea. ‘Next term, Polly, I shall enrol Miss Alicia at Blackburne House. I think she will be able to walk there quite safely by herself, except in winter when it will be dark and you’ll have to take her.’
Elizabeth had as yet only a glimmer of an idea of how she was going to pay Alicia’s school fees, but she felt that by telling Polly it might be
more certain to come about; it would strengthen her resolve to have Alicia educated sufficiently for her to be a governess.
‘Yes,’m. Of course, I’ll take her.’ Polly was not sure what Blackburne House was exactly nor did she know where it lay. ’is that everything, Ma’am?’
‘No, Polly. In future, I want you to see that Miss Alicia is dressed for dinner. Unless there are visitors, she will take her meal with us.’
‘Yes, Ma’am. Shall I tell her, Ma’am?’
‘No. I will tell her.’ Elizabeth’s mouth trembled. Humphrey was going to be furious at having to eat his dinner with Alicia and even crosser if she managed the fees for Blackburne House.
As Polly prepared to leave the bedroom, Elizabeth asked casually, ‘What did your mother die of, Polly? I trust she was not in pain?’
Polly paused, her hand on the doorknob. After a second’s thought, she said carefully, ‘She had a fever, Ma’am. She weren’t that strong – she couldn’t stand up to it.’ She closed her eyes and saw, for a second, her tortured mother tossing on her palliasse. She dared not say that it had been typhus; she might lose her job, as a frightened mistress tried to distance herself from such a virulent infection. ‘Doctor didn’t put a name to it.’
‘I see.’ She already knew from Polly that James Tyson had committed suicide. She disapproved strongly of this – are about himself suicide was a sin. She picked up her silver spoon and began to crack her boiled egg.
Outside the door, Polly began to cry silently.
Later on, she mentioned to Mrs Tibbs that Alicia would be coming down to dinner in future.
‘Oh, my! Maybe the Master’s got used to her bein’ around and got to like her,’ Mrs Tibbs suggested.
This opened up a new point of view to Polly, and she replied quite enthusiastically, ‘Oh, aye, I hope you’re right, poor lamb.’
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