She gave her protesting mother her bedtime sedative a little early and thought frantically that, if anything ever happened to Polly, she would have to find a nurse to help her. ‘But where would I get a nurse in wartime?’ she wondered hopelessly. ‘They’ll all be nursing the wounded.’
It was nearly midnight before she heard a key in the front lock. She ran to the door, to meet an equally exhausted Polly.
She helped Polly off with her coat and hat and took her into the morning-room. Then she brought her a tray of tea and sandwiches, which she had made ready as soon as Elizabeth had gone to sleep.
As Polly thankfully drank her tea, she described a white wraith of a man, still recovering from losing a great deal of blood and still in bandages. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘They’ll discharge ’im in Liverpool ’cos he volunteered here. He’s finished for the Army.’
Alicia had picked up the sock she was knitting for one of Mrs Hunter’s many warwork projects, but now she laid it in her lap. ‘Poor man!’ she exclaimed. It hurt her to think of the sturdy, self-confident digger of her garden being crippled. ‘Life is too hard,’ she meditated wretchedly. ‘Even without a war.’ Then, trying to be practical, she asked, ‘Just how badly wounded is he?’
‘It don’t look as if ’is left arm is going to be much use to ’im. The doctor were talkin’ of takin’ it off, at first. But he wasn’t havin’ none of that. He hurts somethin’ crool.’
‘Will they send him to a Convalescent Home?’
‘They might. Otherwise, he could go to Mary’s while they fix up ’is pension. He says he’s got to find his own way to Canada ’cos he enlisted here.’ Polly leaned back in her chair to rest her tired head and a tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I’m afraid of Mary’s hubbie, Mike, kickin’ up a fine to-do, if he stays long with them. It were bad enough when he spent his leave there. Mike’s got a filthy temper.’
Alicia leaned over to clasp Polly’s hand, ‘Now, don’t take on so, Polly dear. We’ll think of something.’
While the older woman sniffed back her tears and poured herself another cup of tea, Alicia looked out of the window at the darkened garden and remembered contented afternoons helping Billy and Mr Bittle do the weeding. She turned back to Polly, and asked slowly, ‘I wonder if Billy would like to stay with us while he’s convalescing?’
Polly’s head jerked upwards in surprise, and Alicia went on, ‘We’ve got oceans of room, Pol. I imagine he wouldn’t need much actual nursing. Do you think his wound would need dressing?’
‘I doubt they’ll let him out of ’ospital till it’s fairly healed.’ Polly paused while she considered the suggestion. ‘He’d need to be helped, washin’ and dressin’, till he learned to manage himself, poor kid. But Mr Harold would have a fit, wouldn’t he?’
‘I think he’d agree if we wanted it very badly; he’s tremendously kind and he’s never refused any reasonable request I’ve made. It’s Charles who might try throwing his weight about – not that he can really say much; neither he nor Veronica has ever given us an iota of help. Of course, this is really Charles’s house – but I think Uncle Harold could deal with him.’
‘And Miss Florence and the Reverend?’
‘To hell with both of them,’ replied Alicia trenchantly. ‘Poor Billy’s worth ten of them.’
‘Now, our Allie,’ reproved Polly. ‘She’s your sister.’
‘Fat lot she cares about me. It’s you who’ve borne with me all these years. Without you, my life would have been impossible. And it’s your brother who needs help now – and probably very little, at that. Rest and quiet and good food – and we can provide that. We’re stuck in this house, anyway, with Mama.’
There was quiet, except for the popping of the gas-fire. Then Polly smiled and said, ‘Aye, Allie, I’d be so grateful – and I’m sure our Billy will be, too.’
‘Well, ask him if he’d like to come,’ Alicia replied, with quiet determination; for once in her life, she thought savagely, she was going to do what she wanted to do.
To forestall any snubbing of Billy, Alicia wrote to Charles, telling him of Billy’s wounding and discharge and saying that he would stay in the house with them until he could get a passage to Canada. She said firmly that it was the least they could do for a man who had come six thousand miles to help them win the war.
Charles was, at first, shocked that a servant’s brother should stay in his house, but when he read Alicia’s letter to a very stout and petulant Veronica, he was surprised that she replied calmly, ‘Polly’s brother? Well, I expect he’ll behave like a servant and not step out of line or steal anything. And what can you say? A wounded man?’ So Charles made no objection.
Drained, and haunted by the horror of what he had seen in France, a sad and disillusioned Billy came thankfully to them.
At first, he was very quiet and spent a good deal of his time either propped up with cushions in an easy chair in the dining-room window, where he was not disturbed by the rest of the household, or sitting in the little kitchen, talking to whichever woman happened to be there.
He accepted humbly Polly’s aid to wash and dress and managed to make a joke with Alicia over her having to cut up his meat for him. With every other task, he struggled with his one good hand. When he first arrived, he was too shaky to walk far, but one dry winter day he went carefully down the from steps and walked along beside the railings of the houses until he had encircled the block. Several men spoke to him and a number of women smiled at him gently, paying their respects, in effect, to his hospital-blue uniform. Their kindness cheered him up, and the next morning Alicia found him clumsily pulling up the empty stalks of her Brussels sprout crop, his bad hand tucked into his jacket pocket.
On two occasions, Polly walked with him to the Royal Infirmary, for examination, and the doctors there encouraged him to try to use both arm and hand, without much success. He went before several military Boards for consideration for a pension. The officers on the Boards tended to bully, regarding him as a possible malcontent who would malinger in an effort to get a pension.
Finally, he stood up and told them to stuff their goddamned pension – he could manage without it. As soon as the doctors felt they had done all they could, he wanted his discharge, so that he could go back to a decent country. Leaving the Board unified in rage, he stalked out.
He had written to Ernie, who owned the Edmonton stable, and asked him to send him his fare back to Canada from the monies he was managing for him. Alicia slit the envelope of Ernie’s reply for him, and he read the letter with obvious satisfaction. ‘Says business is roaring along and to hurry home,’ he told Alicia with a grin. ‘Soon as I cash this Draft, I can pay something for me board,’ he said.
‘What rubbish,’ Alicia responded roundly. ‘Father’s Estate is quite large, according to Uncle Harold; it can certainly feed a wounded soldier for a while. I am sure Uncle Harold would be most upset if I took a penny from you.’
They argued for a few minutes, but she could not be shifted, so he went out and, after cashing the Draft, bought her a huge bunch of flowers.
She looked at them in wonderment, when he handed them shyly to her. No one had ever bought her flowers before. ‘Why, Billy! Thank you.’ Impulsively, she leaned over the bouquet and kissed him on the cheek, and went away to find a vase, leaving him a little pink, and surprised that so little could make a woman happy.
He had found it hard to come to terms with the fact of having only one good arm, but, as his general health improved, he began to think constructively again and his natural optimism asserted itself. Polly was thankful to hear him whistling one morning after he had, for the first time, managed to shave himself, no easy task with a cut-throat razor.
Alicia noticed his effort, offered some iodine for one or two cuts and congratulated him on being able to do it. Now that he had the money for his return home, she meditated sadly, it was only a matter of time before he found a passage, and she realized she was going to miss him intensely. Never before had she
enjoyed the company of someone her own age; she had always silently endured her noisy nephews and nieces. But Billy was fun, always ready to make a joke at his own predicament or to help her where he could, even to sitting with her rambling mother so that both Polly and she could enjoy one of Fanny’s visits together.
Fanny was far from well. Her skin had turned an unhealthy yellow. ‘It’s the stuff we put in the shells,’ she explained. ‘But the money’s good,’ she added defensively.
‘You look dreadfully tired,’ Alicia told her, surprised that someone used to working very hard indeed could actually appear exhausted.
‘I’m all right,’ she replied heavily, and got up from her chair. ‘I’ll go in to see your Mama for a minute.’
IV
Another day, while Alicia fled to the grocer’s and the butcher’s, Billy asked if he could sit with Polly in Elizabeth’s room.
‘Oh, aye,’ said Polly. ‘She don’t know anythin’ and she’s all washed and tidied. Come and ’ave a bit of a jangle.’
So Billy sat with her and watched her trim Brussels sprouts. He felt restless, anxious to go home and pick up his life again. But he was not yet legally discharged from the army, and he was having difficulty in booking a passage home; both problems would not be solved for some weeks.
‘I heard Miss Allie playin’ the pianner in the big front room upstairs,’ he said idly.
‘Oh, aye. She loves ’er pianner and ’er weeds; takes ’er mind off things.’
‘Weeds?’
‘Aye, she tries to study a bit after her Mam goes to bed ‘cos when her Mam dies she’ll have to earn her living as a governess, she says. She’s determined she’s not goin’ to live with Mr Charles or Miss Florence – unpaid servant she’d be for the rest of her natural.’ She carefully divested a sprout of its collar of yellow leaves, and then asked, ‘Unless you want to take her to Canada, like you said?’
Billy did not answer, at first. Finally, he muttered reluctantly, ‘I love her, Pol, and I want her, but I’m a proper nobody compared to her. And now, well, who’d want me?’ Then he said, more cheerfully, ‘But you should come back with me, Pol. You owe it to yourself to enjoy life a bit.’
‘I couldn’t leave the girl to look after this alone,’ Polly responded, gesturing towards Elizabeth babbling in her chair by the window.
Billy did not reply. As his strength returned, he had begun to desire Alicia in a very active way. Yet, when he examined the cobbled scars all over his shoulder in the dressing-table mirror, and when he massaged his practically useless hand, he flinched at the idea of showing such a horrid sight to any woman, never mind a gentlewoman. And thinking of his small ranch, he wondered how he would ever manage horses with one arm.
Polly was fretting, ‘I don’t know what’ll become of her once her Mam dies. Being a governess is worse’n being’ a maid, sometimes.’
‘She could emigrate to Canada herself – and teach school,’ Billy said suddenly. He gestured towards the woman in the window. ‘You’re always sayin’ her Mam never did a thing for her and now she don’t even know her. Any decent woman could look after Mrs Woodman; the girl’s daft to stay with her, give her whole life to her – let her sister have a go for a change.’ He leaned forward and tapped Polly’s arm, ‘Believe me, we’re that short of women in some parts of Alberta, she could come out and teach school for a term – and I promise you she’ll be nicely married before the next term begins. And you must come, too; there’s many a settler as would be glad of a woman as smart as you.’
Polly laughed, ‘Go on with with yez!’
‘I’m tellin’ you God’s truth. And neither of you’d be lonely, ’cos there’s lots of men as have wives wot play the pianner and know how to behave like her. You could live like a lady yourself, given a bit of luck.’
‘You’re kiddin’?’
‘No, I’m not. The minute her Mam’s laid to rest, you both emigrate. I’ll help both of yez get settled.’ Though he sounded light-hearted, he wanted to yell at the unfairness of life; the thought of watching Alicia walk up the aisle of McDougall Church with some smug lawyer or doctor made him burn with jealousy – but it was better than thinking of her being a governess in England. He got up from his chair and began to walk up and down, clasping his useless arm across his waist with his good arm.
V
Late that evening, as they prepared Elizabeth for her bath, Polly told her of Billy’s suggestion. They were all together in the huge bathroom, and Elizabeth was protesting strongly, as Polly undressed her, while Alicia tested the heat of the bathwater by dipping her elbow in it. Though Elizabeth had grown very thin because they could not persuade her to eat very much, she was still surprisingly strong, and it took their combined efforts to lift her into the bath without dropping her. Polly’s remark had, however, sent Alicia’s spirits soaring and she wondered why she had not herself thought of emigration.
Once in the soothing water, Elizabeth settled down and, panting, Alicia handed her a sponge to hold. Polly said, ‘I’ll wash her. You go out in the passage for a minute and get your breath back.’
Alicia thankfully accepted Polly’s offer and went out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The passage was dark, except for the faint penetration of the hall lights downstairs. She leaned thankfully against the wall and closed her eyes. Canada? Where no one would care about her illegitimacy, even if they found out, or would know about her poor, mad mother; a place where she could begin again.
‘God damn it! Jaysus help me!’ The door of the old guest room opened, and an enraged Billy shot out, a shirt clutched over his naked chest. He spun round to the head of the staircase, and, not noticing Alicia, he leaned over the hall banister, and called, ‘Polly! Pol! Could you come up for a sec?’
There was no response and, fulminating to himself, he came slowly back towards his room.
He was embarrassed to see Alicia in the passageway. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked. ‘Polly’s bathing Mama.’
He modestly whipped his shirt in front of his chest. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Allie. I didn’t see you. Could you ask Polly to come in, when she’s done with your Mam? I damped me vest when I were washing me face, and I can’t get into a clean one. I tore the old one when I were getting it off of me,’ he finished with a rueful laugh.
She moved towards him instinctively, used to helping invalids day in and day out. She said, ‘I can do it for you, if you’ll let me. I dressed Papa often enough.’
He looked at her warily, and swallowed.
‘Where is your vest?’
‘On the bed, Miss.’
‘Come on, then. I’ll get it on in a second for you.’
He wondered if she realized what she was about. He was not her Papa – and at that moment, seeing her slender form in the half light, he did not feel the least like a father.
He said carefully, ‘Thank you, Miss,’ and led her into his room.
The winter sunshine streamed through the lace curtains and showed the botched-up shoulder in painful detail. It also showed an otherwise well-knit man garbed only in hospital-blue trousers.
Alicia was jolted by the sight of him; she lowered her eyelids and picked up the recalcitrant vest, stretched it and then threaded the helpless arm carefully through one sleeve. She came close to him while he bent his head so that she could get the neck of the vest over it. She felt a tumultuous madness in her, but she gritted her teeth as he lined up his right arm and wriggled himself into the garment. Her hands touched his bare flesh, as she pulled the garment straight down over him.
Billy took one look at the wide, imploring eyes suddenly looking into his own brown ones. ‘Oh, God!’ he muttered, and pulled her to him with his good arm. As he kissed her, he felt her slender body nestle to him. She put her arms round his neck and held him tightly. Blood racing, he turned her so that her back was against the door, which clicked shut behind her. Then he kissed her properly, his tongue exploring her mouth.
She hardly knew what she was doing or whe
re it would lead to, but she realized, at last, as Billy caressed her, what had driven her mother into the arms of her father, Andrew Crossing.
‘Allie, luv! I’m ready to get her out!’ called Polly from the bathroom.
He let her go immediately and she stood leaning against the door looking at him bewilderedly, but behind the confusion there was a hint of laughter in her face. She bit her lip and then smile at him beguilingly. He leaned against her again and said, ‘I love you, our Allie.’
The smile was wiped off her face. ‘I love you,’ she replied thickly. ‘But I can’t marry anyone because of Mama – you know that.’
He kissed her neck above the stiff, white frill of her dress and felt her tremble. Then he told himself desperately that he must keep his head. He moved away from her slowly, to pick up his shirt. ‘You’d better go to Polly,’ he said dully.
She let out a long, sobbing sigh and turned and opened the door.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I
‘Billy, you dumb street mutt! What did you do to her? She were lit up like a street lamp last night.’ This from Polly the following morning, as she dumped Billy’s breakfast porridge in front of him.
‘I kissed her,’ replied Billy, a little sulkily.
‘Holy Mother! Is that all? I’d like to see what she’d be like when you really got goin’.’
Billy slapped his good hand down on the table. ‘Happy she’d be, that’s what. I’d see to that.’
Polly sniffed, and peered out of the window at the blackness of a winter morning, eased only by the faint glow of a gaslight in the street and the flood of light from her own kitchen. She turned back to her brother.
Yes, Mama Page 33