Yes, Mama

by Helen Forrester

  He was glad. In future, he would occasionally find himself a whore. All he wanted now was to go home, shut himself in the library, take a large shot of brandy and sit down by the excellent fire he knew Fanny would have made, until his chest felt comfortable again. And he hoped that Polly had made a roast of beef – she did it very well.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I

  That evening, Fanny banged the gong in the hall, as usual, to indicate that dinner was ready. As its final vibrations sank away, she stretched her tiny frame and then smoothed down her apron. She was bored and wished she was going out that night with the warehouse-man she had met during her last afternoon off, a chance encounter which had delighted her. She had earlier said to Polly that at the advanced age of thirty-one she was on the shelf; the advent of the warehouseman suggested that her time had been extended.

  Neither Polly nor Fanny gave much thought to their future. Though poorly paid, they considered themselves well fed and each had a bedroom of her own, a rare luxury when in domestic service. The big Upper Canning Street house was home to both of them.

  Though Billy still wrote to her, Polly had given up any thought of his fulfilling his promise to bring her to Canada, and Fanny thought that the very idea of emigration was terrifying, even if one could raise the cost of the passage.

  Elizabeth came slowly into the dining-room. For once, her hair was tidy and she had changed into a plain grey silk dress with a high, boned-lace collar; Miss Bloom had made it for her out of a long-abandoned crinoline dress taken from a trunk in the attic. In the light of the gas chandelier over the table, she looked, Fanny thought, a real lady. She pulled out Elizabeth’s chair for her.

  Alicia came hurrying through the door to the kitchen stairs, tucking wisps of hair into her bun as she entered the dining-room; her plain black dress with a white frill round its high neck made her look older than she was. As she sat down, she smiled at her mother, who smiled brilliantly back at her.

  With her hands tidily behind her back, Fanny stood ready to serve the neat row of sardines set out on chopped lettuce.

  ‘Do you think the Master heard the gong, Fanny?’

  ‘He should’ve done, Miss; he’s in the library.’

  ‘Where’s Charles?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘He’s in Cambridge, Mama. He doesn’t live with us any more,’ Alicia answered her patiently.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Again the bright smile. Elizabeth took her table napkin out of its silver ring and spread it across her lap.

  ‘Give the Master a knock, Fanny,’ Alicia requested. ‘He may have gone to sleep in his chair.’

  Alicia heard Fanny knock on the library door and then cautiously turn the door handle.

  She shrieked, ‘Oh, Allie! Come here!’

  Alicia leapt from her chair and flew out of the room and across the black and white tiled hall. Fanny stood in the library doorway, her hand to her mouth. She turned in dismay to Alicia.

  Alicia pushed past her.

  On the Turkey rug in front of the fireplace, Humphrey lay face down. He looked as if he were asleep. His laboured breath was like a snore.

  Alicia swooped towards him and fell on her knees beside him. She shook him gently by the shoulder. ‘Papa, are you much hurt?’

  He did not respond, so she tried to turn him on to his back, while little Fanny fluttered uncertainly beside her. He was too heavy to move, so she said to the maid, ‘Get Polly – quick – and then run for Dr Willis. Tell him Father has had a fall – or it could be a stroke. Run, Fan.’

  Fanny edged round Elizabeth who was approaching across the hall. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, but Fanny skidded past her, muttering, ‘Everything’ll be all right, Ma’am,’ and sped down the kitchen stairs, while Alicia anxiously felt along Humphrey’s arms and legs for broken bones. She looked up, as her mystified mother entered, and told her, ‘Papa has had a fall, Mama, and I don’t know how much hurt he is – there doesn’t seem to be anything broken. Could you help me turn him on to his back, so that I can prop him up with cushions; he might be able to breathe more easily. It doesn’t seem to be a faint – his face is very red, still.’

  Elizabeth obediently lowered herself on to the rug beside Alicia and, showing surprising strength, helped to heave him on to his back. There,’ said Elizabeth brightly.

  They managed to ease some of the sofa cushions under Humphrey’s head and shoulders and then tucked a shawl round him, to protect him against the draught along the floor. Alicia sat back on her heels and surveyed the unconscious man, doing her best to stay calm. ‘I’ll get him a glass of brandy out of his desk,’ she said to her mother kneeling on the other side of him.

  Polly’s calm voice came from behind her. ‘Nay, luv, don’t give ’im nuthin’ till doctor’s seen ’im – he could choke on it.’ She bent to help Elizabeth to her feet. ‘You sit ’ere, on the sofa, Ma’am, while I undo ’is collar.’

  Alicia was already trying, with trembling hands, to get Humphrey’s stiffly starched collar undone. Polly pushed her gently away and then skilfully pressed the hinge of his gold stud and pulled the collar loose.

  As the maid opened up his collar band and undid his fitted waistcoat, Alicia mouthed silently to Polly, ‘What is it, Pol?’

  ‘Stroke, almost certain.’

  Elizabeth was saying in a haughty voice, reminiscent of her earlier days, that her husband should have a glass of brandy – and she should, too, to calm her nerves.

  ‘It might kill ’im, Ma’am,’ Polly replied shortly, and as she listened to Humphrey’s stentorian breathing, she thought it would be better that he died than be paralysed. He could live, she thought, a hopeless log of a man for years and years – and it was poor little Allie who would bear the brunt of nursing him – as if her life were not already circumscribed enough.

  Alicia got to her feet. ‘Hurry, hurry, Dr Willis,’ she prayed. Polly looked up at her and advised, ‘You take your Mam and go have your dinner. It’s all ready in the dumb-waiter.’

  ‘I don’t want anything.’

  ‘Look, take your Mam and go.’ She jerked her head towards Elizabeth, who had got up from the settee and was trying to open Humphrey’s locked desk. ‘You’ll be up all night, Allie, one way and another. You must eat.’ She twisted herself round and said formally to Elizabeth, ‘Dinner is served, Ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Elizabeth began immediately to move towards the dining-room, completely ignoring her suffering husband. ‘Come along, Alicia. You’ll be late,’ she said over her shoulder to her daughter.

  Alicia grimaced ruefully at Polly, and then followed her mother.

  As she hurriedly served Elizabeth with lukewarm lamb chops, potatoes and peas, her mother asked fretfully, ‘Why doesn’t Fanny serve? Where is she?’

  Alicia tried to sound cheerful, as she replied, ‘She’s gone a message for Papa, Mama. She’ll be back just now.’

  ‘And where’s Humphrey?’

  ‘He asked us to start. He’ll be with us soon.’ Alicia had long since learned that detailed explanations were lost on Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth shrugged and picked up her knife and fork and began to eat.

  Alicia quickly served herself and was nearly through her main course when Fanny returned. She came straight to Alicia. ‘He’s coomin’,’ she panted.

  Facing Elizabeth’s uncomprehending stare, she quietly slipped her shawl off her shoulders and held it behind her.

  ‘Who’s coming?’

  ‘Dr Willis, Ma’am.’

  ‘To dinner?’

  Fanny swallowed, and looked to Alicia for help.

  ‘He’s coming to see Father, Mama. You know he does sometimes.’

  ‘I see. You may serve dessert, Fanny.’

  Dr Willis was at the front door before Alicia had managed to swallow her sago pudding and jam. Rising hastily, as she wiped her lips on her linen table napkin, she said to her mother, ‘Excuse me, Mama. I have to see when Father wants his dinner.’ She wanted to wring her h
ands at the uselessness of explaining anything to her.

  As the doctor divested himself of his coat and jacket, Alicia poured into his ears the news of Humphrey’s fall.

  In the library, he took one glance at the recumbent man and exclaimed to Alicia, ‘My dear young lady, I am glad you called me.’ He quickly put his Gladstone bag down beside Humphrey and then knelt to examine him.

  Alicia watched him, white-faced, inwardly terrified. She disliked Humphrey to the point of hatred; but she was dependent upon him – and so was Polly.

  Polly had risen from the floor at the entry of the doctor and had silently bobbed a curtsey to him. She also caught Alicia’s eye and tried to smile reassuringly at the girl.

  As he hastily took out his stethoscope, Dr Willis asked, ‘Have you any hot water bottles?’

  ‘Yes, a number of them,’ Alicia assured him.

  ‘Kindly have them all filled and put into Mr Woodman’s bed. And a good fire in his room – we must apply as much warmth as we can.’

  Alicia gestured to Polly and the maid hurried out of the room. The doctor went on, ‘I thought that this was what had happened, so I brought a stretcher and my errand lad, John. He and my groom can carry Mr Woodman up to his bed – I remembered that last time I was called to him you had no one to lift him.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alicia answered warmly, grateful for his forethought and his presence.

  Having alerted Fanny to the need for hot water bottles and a good fire, Polly was returning to the library. She was caught in the hall by an extremely irate Elizabeth demanding to know where her tea tray was. They both appeared in the doorway and Alicia went quickly to her complaining mother and told her that tea would be a little late. Dear Papa was poorly and Dr Willis had ordered him to bed. Elizabeth calmed down and greeted the doctor graciously; she still ignored poor Humphrey.

  Dr Willis stared at her in surprise. Then he asked Polly to tell his groom and errand boy to bring in the stretcher. He would deal with Mrs Woodman afterwards.

  With a quick apology to the doctor for leaving him, Alicia persuaded her mother to go into the morning-room and promised that one of them would bring her tea very shortly. She lit the morning-room gas lamps and sat her mother in her easy chair and put a half-finished jigsaw puzzle on a tray close to her. Elizabeth’s attention was immediately diverted, and Alicia fled back to Dr Willis. She met the doctor’s men coming in with the stretcher, and was surprised how easily they managed to roll Humphrey on to it.

  As they led the men up the stairs, Alicia said to Dr Willis, ‘I’m sorry about Mama. She simply doesn’t remember anything from one minute to the next.’

  ‘Indeed? Poor lady. Perhaps we can talk about her difficulties later on.’

  As Polly had foretold, Alicia was up for most of the night. Between a mother who kept inquiring what the matter was, regardless of how often it was explained to her, and a doctor who seemed to need everything in the house, Alicia thought her mind would split.

  She was not allowed in Humphrey’s room, while the doctor gave him an enema and drew water from him. Noting Polly’s wedding ring, the doctor asked if she could help him, and she did.

  When, at last, Humphrey was tucked up in bed, still breathing like a half-stranded whale, Alicia took Elizabeth in to see him. Though Elizabeth had kept forgetting what the turmoil in the house was all about, she did observe it and was restless and uneasy. Now, seeing her husband sound asleep, she realized that it was her own bedtime and that the house was quiet, and she allowed Alicia to put her to bed.

  Alicia afterwards went to see the doctor. He was seated by Humphrey’s bedside, his fingers on his patient’s pulse. He smiled kindly as, after knocking, the young woman came in.

  When she looked down at Humphrey’s face surrounded by supporting white pillows, she was shocked. His whole face seemed to have fallen to one side and he was drooling from one corner of his mouth.

  Dr Willis rose and drew her quietly out of the bedroom. As he rolled down his shirt sleeves, he said that he felt that her dear father would recover, though not perhaps completely. ‘You will need a night nurse and a day nurse,’ he advised her. ‘I can recommend two reliable women.’

  Alicia opened her mouth to protest, but the doctor silenced her with a gesture. ‘There are many unpleasant duties in connection with a case like this,’ he told her, ‘and a single young lady like yourself cannot perform them – and Mrs Woodman herself seems too delicate to undertake them. It would probably be better if the day nurse lived in, if you can accommodate her.’

  Alicia wanted to burst into tears. Another room to dean, another mouth to feed out of her limited housekeeping, and then the endless running up and down to serve both nurse and invalid. How was it to be done?

  She took a big breath. ‘Two things, Doctor. Is it really a stroke? And will he be ill for a long time?’

  The doctor hesitated. ‘It’s a stroke,’ he said. ‘I think he will get better – but he’ll never be the man he was.’ He paused and then said more optimistically, ‘Good nursing and proper exercise will certainly help him.’

  ‘Of course, he must have whatever you say, Doctor …’ She thought for a moment and then plunged in. ‘Could you advise me, Doctor, how I can arrange for money to pay everybody? Will Papa be able to sign cheques and orders – and things?’

  ‘Not for some time, Miss Alicia. Could Mrs Woodman arrange it?’

  ‘Well, Mama has her own small income. But Papa pays everything and gives me money for housekeeping.’

  ‘Ah, I understand. Your brother – I recollect that you have one – or perhaps an uncle – will have to apply for Power-of-Attorney. Meanwhile, perhaps Mrs Woodman can draw on her funds for a short time.’

  ‘I suppose she could,’ Alicia replied doubtfully. ‘She does sign cheques.’ She sighed, and thanked him.

  Dr Willis said he felt that he had done all he could and that he would go home. He would come again in the morning, and, meanwhile, someone should sit with Humphrey. Alicia agreed and led him down to the library, where he put on his jacket again. She asked, ‘Did you have time to dine, Doctor? Polly could make something for you.’

  He smiled at her, and replied, ‘No. But Cook will have saved a meal for me.’

  ‘A glass of wine, then? Do sit down for a minute to rest before you leave; you’ve been on your feet for hours.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He seated himself on a straight chair, while Alicia took her housekeeping keys from her pocket and unlocked a cupboard at the side of Humphrey’s desk. She took out a bottle of port, a glass and a tin of biscuits. She poured out a glassful of wine and opened the tin, and put both by the weary physician. No time – at half-past one in the morning – to stand on ceremony, Alicia thought, as she sat down herself on the edge of the sofa.

  The doctor thankfully took a sip of wine, and then said, ‘Mrs Woodman has not consulted me for years and I always assumed that she was in good health. Has she seen a physician lately?’

  ‘No. She is rarely indisposed.’

  ‘But she forgets things?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has she been like this for long?’

  ‘It’s crept upon her gradually over several years. Recently, I’ve given up explaining much to her, because she doesn’t take it in. Can anything be done about it?’

  ‘No, Miss Woodman, there is nothing. She is ageing – it’s God’s will.’

  Alicia gave a little shivering sigh. ‘I presume it will get worse, then?’

  ‘It is probable, unfortunately. She may need a companion – someone to be with her all the time – later on.’

  It seemed to Alicia that as she heard these words a portcullis slammed in the distance. Who but she would take care of her mother? Certainly not Florence, if she could get out of it, she thought grimly. And it seemed that Papa would end up a semi-invalid and the responsibility for his care would be hers – and yet he was not truly her papa: he was a man who ruled her life like a despot, knowing that she had no real means of escape
from him.

  The doctor saw her face whiten. ‘Take care of yourself, Miss Woodman. Please feel free to call on me for help.’ He rose, and mechanically Alicia went to pull the bell, to call Polly to show him out. Polly, asleep before the dead fire in the kitchen, awoke with a jump and ran upstairs.

  In the hall, as Polly handed the doctor his coat, Dr Willis turned to Alicia. ‘Would you like me to send telegrams to any of your family for you? I would be happy to do so.’

  Alicia heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I would be so grateful.’

  ‘Give me the addresses, then.’

  She ran back into the study and scribbled the addresses of Florence, Charles, and Uncle Harold in Manchester. When the doctor read the list, he said, ‘It would be quicker to send my errand boy to Mrs Browning. I’ll arrange it.’

  As Polly opened the front door, he hesitated, and then said, ‘I have presumed that you would not wish Mr Woodman to go into the Royal Infirmary?’

  Alicia stared at him, shocked. ‘Of course not,’ she responded sharply. ‘Hospitals are for the poor.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘Well, not so much nowadays. You might like to consult your family about a nursing home, though.’

  As she bowed her flaxen head on to her clasped hands, she muttered, ‘Yes.’ She listened dumbly to the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, as the groom, who had been patiently walking the animal, saw the light streaming from the front door and brought the carriage back. The little errand boy had been told to run home and get into bed.

  ‘I’ll return in a few hours,’ Dr Willis promised, as he ran down the steps. Poor girl, he thought. She’ll spend most of her life tending invalids.