Yes, Mama

by Helen Forrester

  Trying not to cry with the sense of humiliation that she felt, she ran back downstairs to the kitchen and was relieved to find the two maids, feet on fender before a blazing fire, the earthenware kitchen teapot steaming on the hob.

  As she advanced towards them, it seemed that Polly had already told Fanny that Alicia was in some kind of trouble with Frank. Fanny, not usually so demonstrative, put out a tiny, swollen, red hand towards her, and said, ‘Come on, luv. Sit down and have a cuppa and tell us all about it.’

  Alicia smiled down at her and joined them to tell them exactly what had happened.

  ‘That little twerp!’ exclaimed Fanny. ‘’E aint fit to practise on! But don’t you let ’im put you off. There’s plenty of nice young men as you’ll want to kiss one day.’

  ‘I don’t feel like it at the moment, Fanny,’ Alicia replied with a shaky chuckle.

  ‘That’s better,’ Polly said, as she heard the hint of laughter. ‘It’s somethin’ to laugh at! And thank God nothin’ worse happened.’

  ‘I’m afraid of next time he comes – because I hurt him – I didn’t mean to do more than make him let go, but I think I hurt his eye.’

  ‘Well, luv, whenever he’s in the house, you be sure you’re with somebody. Stick with your Mam – and with your Pa, if necessary.’

  ‘Shall I tell Father? It’s no good telling Mama – she’d forget half the story before I’d finished telling it.’

  The maids looked at each other doubtfully. Then Polly cleared her throat and said, ‘Mebbe not this time. If he touches you again, you better had.’ She thought uneasily that Humphrey might not care if Alicia was mauled a little by the boys; but even he would surely object to rape in his own house. With sudden apprehension, she hoped that he would not make such goings-on an excuse to throw Alicia out. Better he knew nothing, if possible.

  They continued to discuss the occurrence, and, also, times when they had themselves been caught in awkward corners by importuning men, until the teapot was empty and the fire had fallen in. Then Fanny went to her little room in the basement. She liked sleeping down there alone; she could occasionally smuggle a man in on a cold winter’s night.

  Polly and Alicia made their way up to the attic. At the door of her bedroom, Alicia kissed her nanny. Then she said, ‘Polly, could I come into your room and talk to you some more?’

  She rarely went in to either maid’s room, but felt tonight that for some obscure reason Polly’s was safer than hers for a secret conversation.

  Polly was ready to drop from fatigue, but she unhesitatingly opened the door and let the girl into the chilly room with its black, iron single bed covered with a plain white bedspread. ‘What is it, pettie?’

  Realizing that something was still bothering the girl, she sat down on the bed and drew Alicia down beside her. ‘That Frank didn’t do no more’n try to kiss you, did he, luv?’

  Alicia replied absently, ‘No. I hit him before he could.’ She looked down at her hands in her lap, and then raised her eyes to Polly, who was unpinning her cap. ‘It was what he said, Polly, that I wanted to ask you. It’s something that’s been in the back of my mind for years.’ She swallowed nervously, ‘You see, I said I would tell Father of him, and he laughed in a really nasty way, and shouted, “Tell Crossing?” What did he mean, Polly?’

  Polly put her frilled cap carefully on to the bed beside her. She gazed dumbly at the empty wall opposite her and wondered how to answer. Should she deny any knowledge of the reason for Frank’s remark and leave the girl guessing?

  ‘Polly?’

  She made a great effort to get the story straight and to be cautious. She put her arm round Alicia’s waist, and said, ‘Well, what I know was told me after I coom here. I haven’t never seen Mr Crossing, though Maisie – you won’t remember her – she were the parlourmaid when I first come here – she said as he were a very handsome gentleman, your Mam’s solicitor, and he visited her often.’ She paused and sighed. ‘Maisie and Fanny told me that your Mam fell head over heels in love with him – and when you were born, your Pa – that is, Mr Woodman, said you couldn’t possibly be his child – and there was an awful row and Maisie were fired for tattling to the Master about the goings-on.’

  Alicia was watching her face with amazement, as all kinds of odd happenings in her young life fell into place.

  ‘For a while it looked as if your Mam would be thrown out the door and you as well – but it would have been a terrible scandal and your Pa’s, the Master’s, business might have suffered. It did cause a scandal – a sort of underground one, ’cos Maisie talked up and down the street, and people remarked that, after you was born, Mr Crossing was never at your Mam’s dinners – and maybe through the solicitors’ clerks it went round that Mr Simpkins had been made her solicitor instead, because of this. Some maids gossip some-thin’ awful – and their mistresses find out things from them.’

  ‘Poor Mama.’

  ‘Aye. When I first coom here, she were a lovely lady to look at – she were the kind people would gossip about, anyways. Your Pa wouldn’t have nothin’ much to do with her after that; he put up with her in the house and made her keep house, and I had orders to keep you upstairs out of the way.’

  She stopped, and Alicia asked, ’is Mr Crossing my Papa?’

  Polly laughed a little cynically. ‘Well, it’s a clever child what knows its own father,’ she replied. ‘But Fanny says as you are the dead spit of ’im, with your nearly white hair and light eyes.’

  ‘And does that make me a bastard, Polly, like that boy said when we went to that New Year’s gathering?’

  ‘Not legally, love. Officially the Master is your father, because he never publicly objected to you – and you live in ’is house. But it do leave a kind of shadow on you – it’s a kind of excuse for people to feel better’n you, like. And a lot of women was jealous of your Mam’s looks, I think, and she were careless of people, sometimes. I’ve heard her crack jokes about people that were very funny – but kind of cruel to the person they were about. And people don’t like that.’

  ‘Yes. She can be quite cutting at times.’ Small quivers of fear went through Alicia, as she asked, ‘Could Papa throw me out even now?’

  Polly smiled. ‘I doubt he would. It would cause too much comment – and you’re too useful in the house.’

  ‘I wish I could see my real father.’

  ‘Nay, love. Never think on it. He’s a married man – that’s why he couldn’t marry your Mam, even if she could get a divorce. Fanny says his wife were an invalid.’

  ‘I suppose this explains why, when I was small, Papa would shout and rage at me and tell me to get back to the nursery. He still gets very cross with me, if I’m a ha’penny wrong in the housekeeping.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Polly, her lined face grave.

  ‘And Mama doesn’t really care about me, does she? She’s never taken me out with her – and I’ve never had parties like other girls – and the idea of bringing me out just died.’ Alicia’s tone was bitter, as the resentment of years began to surface.

  ‘I wouldn’t say she doesn’t care for you, luv. Seems to me it were all too much for her – and you know she hasn’t been herself for years now. She sent you to school proper – and I heard her fighting the Master about sending you to Blackburne House.’

  ‘Did she? Mama really does believe in education, I know – she helped Charlie for years. But it wouldn’t have hurt her to take me out sometimes, would it?’

  ‘I know, luv, and when I think on it I could spit blood.’ Polly tightened her grasp around Alicia’s waist. ‘But …’ She paused, and looked at Alicia squarely, ‘You know, he’s beaten her something cruel more’n a few times and I ’spect she’s had as much as she can take.’

  ‘Papa! Beat Mama?’

  ‘For sure. You must’ve heard her cry out sometimes.’

  ‘I’ve heard them shouting at each other. I didn’t know that men like Papa hit their wives! I thought only working …’ She stopped, realizing tha
t she might offend Polly.

  That only working men did it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ha! Don’t you believe it. You just thank God if you get a husband wot don’t beat you.’

  ‘I’ll never get a husband – I don’t go anywhere to meet anybody. And I doubt if Papa would give me a dowry, to help me, if I’m not his daughter.’

  Polly agreed cautiously. ‘You shouldn’t count on it, luv.’

  Alicia turned to Polly and put her arms around her. ‘You know, Polly, I think you – and Fanny – are the only people who love me. Don’t ever leave, Polly,’ she implored.

  ‘Nay, luv. I’ll never leave you. You’re my baby.’

  ‘I wish I was,’ replied Alicia, as tears began to run down her face.

  ‘Nay. You take care of your Mama, duck. She needs you. She’s had enough.’

  ‘I suppose I must. But, oh, Polly, it’s so terrible to feel that there is something the matter with you which is not your fault – it really is.’ And she wept.

  III

  Alicia began to observe Elizabeth and Humphrey with new, informed eyes. Like others with very narrow experience, she had assumed that her family was a typical one, that, despite all the love stories saying otherwise, married couples lived dull, parallel lives, communicating only with spiteful remarks. Now, she wondered if her family were exceptional.

  She felt a growing bitterness against her mother for not having made an effort to guard her from the results of her indiscretions, to give her lover’s daughter a better chance in life. She thought passionately that if she had had a baby by a man she loved, she would have treasured it as being part of him; instead, she had hardly seen her mother during her childhood; it was Polly who had mothered her.

  She realized suddenly that she owed a tremendous debt to Polly and to her godmother, Sarah Webb. Without them, life would have been insupportable.

  Why didn’t Mama run away? she wondered.

  The answer came readily; for the same reason that her daughter could not; the lack of money and the lack of decent occupations in which to earn it.

  She might have gone to her sister, Aunt Clara, in West Kirby, ruminated Alicia; she would probably have sheltered her. But Aunt Clara’s competence from their father was not very large either, and being so delicate she might not be able to tolerate a baby in the house.

  When considering Humphrey, Alicia could believe quite easily that he had beaten her mother; she had suffered many painful clouts from him herself when she was younger and had strayed downstairs.

  One Spring evening, when Humphrey had been particularly rude because the dinner was not to his taste, Alicia had flown down to her usual refuge, the kitchen, and said forcibly to Polly, The only way out of this is to run away. You heard him, Polly, when you were serving. He’s impossible!’

  A very concerned Polly spent an hour warning her about the fate of young women who had neither home nor work. ‘You could try for a governess’s job,’ she said, ‘but it lays you open to a lot of nasty things – a governess isn’t family and she isn’t a servant – she don’t belong nowhere – and the men of the family can take advantage of her, though you’d be safer if you was a good deal older. And another thing, once you leave here, the Master might not let you return.’

  With patience, she talked the angry girl into a better frame of mind, though when she said soothingly, ‘One day some nice young man’ll want to marry yez and you’ll have a home of your own,’ Alicia smiled grimly. Her mirror too often showed her a nondescript girl in gold-framed glasses and frumpy clothes – and dowerless.

  ‘I doubt if Papa would even pay for my wedding,’ she said sarcastically to her long-suffering nanny.

  IV

  When Florence arrived with Teddy on one of her periodic visits to her mother, Alicia felt suddenly sickened by her. If Frank knew the secret of her birth, he must have learned it, directly or indirectly, from something his parents had said, and she wondered what her flustered sister really thought of her.

  Both sisters’ attention was, however, diverted to Teddy. As they entered the morning-room, the little boy ran ahead towards his grandmother’s chair. Elizabeth, startled, looked up from the photograph album she was leafing through and asked blankly, ‘And who are you?’

  At first, Florence thought that her mother was teasing the child, but she was looking earnestly at him, obviously awaiting a reply.

  Teddy stopped, put his finger in his mouth and, after regarding her steadily for a moment, said, ‘I’m Teddy, ’course.’

  His grandmother’s face broke into a gentle smile. ‘Oh, yes, of course. How are you, Teddy?’

  Florence viewed the tiny exchange with alarm. She went forward to kiss her mother and sit down beside her, while Alicia, more used to her mother’s mental slips, went to make some coffee for them.

  How could Mama forget a grandchild? She was only sixty – too young to be senile. Yet, now Florence considered it, Alicia was constantly reminding her mother of small items, like the impending visit of Miss Bloom, the dressmaker, or that it was time to go for a little walk up and down the road, or even that, perhaps, she should go to the bathroom. Inwardly, she became quite agitated, as she considered the implications of Elizabeth’s memory loss. She flinched at the very thought of ever having to cope with someone senile, in addition to her husband and children. And, sick or well, Clarence was not likely to tolerate Elizabeth in his house very willingly.

  Alicia returned bearing cups of coffee and, as Florence looked up at her and took the proffered cup, she felt a sense of relief. There was Alicia, who, with a bit of luck, would always be there to nurse her mother. A plain, dull young woman with a shadow over her origins was not likely to be married. It would not hurt her to have only a mother to look after – single women had such easy lives.

  V

  Humphrey hardly bothered to address Elizabeth at all; he barely saw her, except at dinnertime. He dealt with Alicia regarding domestic matters; she had the dual advantages that he did not pay her a salary and, unlike the usual run of housekeepers and cooks, she did not steal.

  One autumn evening, as he sat in front of his desk in the library, hands clasped across his stomach, he reviewed his household with the same care that he had just gone over his financial affairs. He felt a little surprised to realize that he no longer felt the wild rage of jealousy which the very mention of Alicia used to produce; it had all happened so long ago, and the fat, untidy woman sitting opposite him at dinner bore no resemblance to the woman who had been seduced by Andrew Crossing. He did, however, feel a lingering sense of defeat; he had originally been very proud to marry Elizabeth, a handsome, fashionable woman highly suited to his station in life. He had been so sure of himself that it had not occurred to him at the time that she did not want to marry him and that they would spend their lives sullenly hating each other.

  And now he had dismissed Mrs Jakes. She, he thought, had humiliated him beyond pardon and he had been furious; yet there was a certain relief in being free of her.

  VI

  A few days after Mrs Jakes’ request for help for Stella May and the angry spate between them, physical desire had again driven Humphrey along the familiar street to the small tobacconist’s shop.

  He had been agreeably surprised to be welcomed as usual, though in the ensuing weeks Mrs Jakes continued to make sly mention of Stella May’s needs. She said nothing to Humphrey about the root of the problem which was that she wished to remarry. However, her suitor, a retired plumber, disliked Stella May intensely and wanted her out of the house, seeing visions of himself presiding over Mrs Jakes’ lucrative little business. The only way out of this predicament, as far as Mrs Jakes could see, was to marry Stella May off.

  In spite of the façade of goodwill, Humphrey ceased to enjoy his encounters with her, and the day inevitably came when, curled up in Mrs Jakes’ bed, he failed to perform.

  Mrs Jakes was not without skill, but she could not ease the dull ache in his chest nor the feeling of brea
thlessness which activity caused him. In any case, what was once spontaneous was now mechanical. Though unaware of the ministrations of the sturdy plumber, Humphrey sensed shrewdly that she was no longer really thinking about him, and he resented it.

  Mrs Jakes complained irritably that she had been left unsatisfied. He flung himself crossly on to his back, his round paunch humping up the bedclothes, and told her that it was her duty to satisfy.

  She turned on him angrily. She looked slightly ridiculous, as she sat up beside him, tousled hair, grey at the roots, drooping breasts hanging over the sheet she was clutching round the rest of her body. ‘Well, if you don’t like what yer getting, yer don’t have to coom, do you? I can find others, I can tell yer, as’ll be glad of me.’

  Too late, she realized that any hope of money for Stella May had gone, killed by a few angry words. As he flung back the blankets, heaved himself out of bed and stalked, naked, to the chair where he had laid his clothes, with his bowler hat set neatly on top of his folded-up woollen combinations, she panted with sudden fury. ‘Nice story this’ll make when it goes the rounds,’ she hissed, and then added spitefully, ‘Sufferin’ Christ! Wot I’ve put up with from you, you mingy-arsed bastard.’

  He did not answer her. He heaved himself into his underwear and then sat on a corner of the bed to put on his winter socks, while she kept on raving at him. He was shocked at such a tirade. Outraged, he hurried into his suit and shoes.

  Without even looking at her, he clapped his bowler hat on his head, took up his walking-stick and overcoat, and opened the bedroom door, to clump steadily down the narrow wooden stair into the living-room. Here, he paused for a moment to get his breath and to look numbly round the tiny room. Three stuffed pheasants sitting on a mantelpiece draped with green velvet stared at him without malice. In that easy chair by the fire, he had sat with this woman on his knee, regarding her as a humble friend. He had shared her fender ale and her bed, and each month had playfully dropped a couple of sovereigns into the blue glass bowl in the centre of the table. And all that had gone in a trice!