Wise Child

by Audrey Reimann

  He arrived early on Monday because Father dropped him off in Jordangate before going on to the mill. He hadn't thought Lily would be up at nine o'clock but she was already in the shop. She said, 'The furniture was delivered at eight o'clock. I've been up for two hours.'

  'You've done it all?' he said.

  'I've made a start,' she corrected him as they went up the stairs. 'But I keep getting bogged down. Mrs Chancellor was a true romantic.' He had never thought of her that way. 'How do you know?'

  She pushed open the sitting room door, and it was just as she had described it. 'Very cosy,' he said.

  She indicated the stacks of books. 'Let's put the big reference books, Illustrated Home Lawyer. Chambers Twentiety-Century Dictionary and The Book of Good Health, on the top shelf.' She went to the heap of books, took an armful off the top and brought them to where he stood by the great bookcase. Her face was flushed with pleasure in ownership. She said, 'These books are going to open my eyes, Magnus. There's that controversial book by Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id. There are two books by Charles Darwin, On the Origin of Species and Selection in Relation to Sex.’

  She said 'sex' without a blush, seeing no human sexual connotation in it, and Magnus went pink and changed the subject, stroking the wood of the bookcase. 'This is a very valuable piece of furniture, Lily. Father says it's George Ill, made in seventeen-seventy from flame mahogany wood. He says it's as good as having money in the bank.'

  'Your father let me have it without protest.' She was surprised. 'When your mother said it was worthless.'

  He laughed. 'He would.'

  'Why?'

  'He likes to prove that he knows more than she does. Likes to win an argument. He will tell her, one day.'

  'He'll be too late,' she said. 'It's mine. I'll never part with it.' She put the books she held in the crook of her arm, stroked the wood and then said, 'Did you know that Mrs Chancellor wrote on fly leaves and end papers? She jotted things in the margins. And in place of bookmarks she used picture postcards and made notes on them. It's taking ages to sort the books out because these markers are always inserted at important passages. There are poems about unrequited love. And on one she wrote, "My life has a purpose. I think of my infant son and blind, protective love wells up in my heart. Will I ever be able to refuse him anything?"' Lily's eyes were shining. 'Isn't that beautiful, Magnus?'

  He nodded, and she went on, opening a book at a sentimental poem about kindness, the page marked by a picture postcard bearing Mrs Chancellor's thoughts: 'I could not go on unless I believed, as I do, that my darling Ray would not needlessly set foot upon a worm.

  He loved being with Lily like this; content, helping her, watching her, asking where this volume or that should go. She said, 'By the way, if you want to borrow any of them Magnus... You may have read them all already. But if there's anything of interest...'

  There was. At the bottom of the last heap Magnus saw a slim volume bound in navy-blue leather: Haemophilia: Clinical and Genetic Aspects. Why would Mrs Chancellor want to know about his disease? He picked it up and opened it, and as he did so, a letter slid out; an old letter whose envelope bore the stamp of King Edward's reign. It was addressed to Miss Sarah Pilkington and, there was no mistaking it, it was written in Father's spidery, sloping hand with flourishes on the capitals. It sent a shock - a shocking feeling through him, just holding it.

  He glanced at Lily. She had not seen it. She was busy, on her hands and knees, placing the little red leather-bound books, Oxford University Press Classics, on the bottom shelf. Magnus quickly slipped the letter into his jacket pocket and gave the book his full attention. It was an American volume that contained dozens of histories of haemophiliacs and their heredity. There were charts and family trees showing the passage of the disease down the generations. the passage Mrs Chancellor had marked in this book read: The fact that haemophilia is transmitted through the female greatly increases the difficulty of tracing the disease, for there is a change of surname in almost every generation. She had marked the passage and underscored 'transmitted through the female'. There was also a large exclamation mark in the margin.

  It was not until he was alone in his room that night that he withdrew the old letter from the envelope and read it.

  Archerfield House,5 January'1915 , My dear Sarah,

  Where have you been hiding these last weeks? My lettershave gone unanswered. I have missed you. I wanted to talk to you and I have not seen you since the night last November when I came, undeserving to your bed and you gave yourself so generously. Your love gave me such comfort.

  I am glad there have been no repercussions. My one regret is that on that memorable night it was clear to both of us, from my ineptitude as a lover and the storms of tears that overcame you, that I was not the man for you.

  I want you to be the first to hear, before the announcement in the papers, that Miss Catriona Mackenzie and I are to be married in Edinburgh next week. We met at Christmas and immediately lost our hearts to one another. I know you will wish us well and I hope that you, my dearest and best friend, will become as beloved a friend to Catriona as you are to me. Yours for ever in friendship, John.

  Magnus read it over again, appalled. "Then he sat for half an hour with it in his hands. What could he do? Show Father the letter? Of course not. How could a chap go to his father and say, 'Did you write this?' or 'Look what I have found!' or 'Explain yourself, sir!'

  At first he tried to pretend that the letter meant no more than a young man's exaggerated outburst. But plainly it wasn't. No man would write a letter like that if it were not true. No matter how he tried to deceive himself, it was quite clear. Father had written this letter to Miss Sarah Pilkington. And Mrs Sarah Chancellor had left the letter in the book; probably forgotten. Ray was born nine months after the November night Father talked about -the night when he went into Miss Sarah Pilkington's bed. And, if the letter itself were not enough proof, he only had to ask why Mrs Chancellor had bought a book on haemophilia. His own father was the natural father of Ray Chancellor. How could Father not have known? He had been away, fighting a war, that was why. And so had Mr Chancellor. Had Mrs Chancellor pulled the wool over her husband's and Father's eyes?

  But worst of all - the letter could have fallen into anyone's hands. All those years on the shelf at Park Lane, under lock and key perhaps but easily obtained by a determined person. Since then, Father had helped pack the books. Goose pimples rose on his arms as he asked himself what might have resulted if Mother had found the letter. Then the books were left in the passageway of Lily's house, where she or her mother could have discovered the letter. Nobody had found it but he. And he could do nothing about it.

  Lily wished Mam had applied herself to making the money multiply by buying houses. Mam had previously said how much she admired Mr Chancellor's astuteness in buying property. But she wouldn't. She said, 'The money's safe where it is. We have a higher station in life and I've only spent a hundred pounds, all told.' Mam looked after the shop accounts and kept her legacy, and Lily put half of her private earnings into her bank account.

  These improvements should have allowed Mam to take life easy. Instead she was on the go all the time and losing weight in spite of an increased appetite, waking very early, saying she had slept badly when she'd been dog tired the previous evening. Later, Lily would see the legacy as the start of Mam's decline, but she was young and knowing there was money in the bank gave her a sense of quiet satisfaction.

  Mam was not satisfied. She was restless and unhappy but outwardly unchanged. Lily worried because their better living conditions had done nothing to ease Mam's mind. But there was nothing she could do to calm Mam. Mam would not be dictated to.

  And she refused to give a crumb of information about Lily's father. Trying to hate did not take away the need to know. Lily could do all she had sworn to do - take responsibility for hers and Mam's daily living but she found she could not hate the man who was her own true father. She needed to know and all she ha
d to go on was that he was alive and had no children and the hint that his mother's name was Lily.

  The only comfort was that when she asked Howard WilleyLeigh for the name of his mother, he said, 'Eveline.'

  Mr Leigh had not bought a house in Maclesfield, but all the same he spent more time in the town than before, staying at the Bull's Head Hotel in the Market Place for days on end. Mam too seemed to be playing some elaborate game, going out with Mr Leigh openly, almost defiantly.

  She would say, 'Last night Hah'd took me to the pictures. The Hammonds were there.' Or, 'Hah'd and I went for a run in his car. We went to the Setter Dog. Very popular with motorists. Ray Chancellor and his father were in the bar. Hah'd and I were chatting with them.'

  Lily's dislike of Mr Leigh was growing. His habit of winking at her behind Mam's back as if they shared a secret was becoming more pronounced and alarming. He did it every time he saw her. It should have been obvious to him that she avoided his eye. Now that she was older, instead of blushing and looking away she put her nose in the air and gave him what she hoped was a look of contempt.

  For a widower who had so much money, Mr Leigh was very interested indeed in theirs. He said to Mam, 'If it were mine, I would buy more stock, paint the shop, dress the window!' He said, 'Let me help you, dear. I have good connections with a wholesaler in Cheetham Hill in Manchester. We could buy cheap and sell…’

  'We? We could buy?’ Mam said, stopping him in his tracks.

  He flashed his teeth. 'I mean you, Elsie. You could buy from my friend. I will bring you samples - take you to Manchester if you wish. I am sure you can trust my judgement. I know what sells.'

  Mam smiled and said, 'I'll speak to John Hammond. He's the financial brains.' But Mam took advice from nobody.

  And now, the mesmerising trick wasn't working, Some things would not be put to the back of Lily's mind. Every day she asked herself what she could do about her state of shame unbaptised, illegitimate.

  Nanna must have told Grandpa that Lily had learned the truth, for one Saturday afternoon, soon after Mrs Chancellor's funeral, Grandpa took her aside at Lindow. He sat in his armchair while Lily stood by the fire-place. 'Well, Lily,' he began. 'You've found out?'

  'Yes, Grandpa,' she said.

  'Nanna said you were ashamed of your mother.'

  'No. I said things to Nanna I wouldn't say to anyone, that's all.'

  He sighed, but his eyes were warm and bright with pride. 'Good lass!' He took her right hand in his hard, bony ones. 'It has been a great burden. Not being able to tell you. You must believe that.'

  'I understand, Grandpa. Really I do.'

  'I have prayed. And Our Lord has answered my prayers. You are a child without sin or stain.'

  Her face was burning. 'But I'm not! I was born in sin, Grandpa. I can't be right until I'm baptised. I can't be baptised as Lily Stanway.'

  He held fast on to her hands. 'You can! Stanway is a good name. It is my name. You can be baptised in chapel or church. Any time you want.'

  'But I don't want Lily Stanway on my baptismal certificate. My father was not Tommy Stanway.'

  He shook his head, but Lily didn't expect him ever to understand, so she asked, 'When St Paul says, "The sting of death is sin and the strength of sin is the law" -what does it mean?'

  'St Paul was a Jew. He was speaking to the Corinthians of Jewish law. The commandments.'

  'But what does it mean?'

  'All right. Now, if you were a savage, and if you had never heard of God - and if the habit of your tribe was to make graven images, or...'

  'Or break commandments?'

  'Yes. If you did this and you did not know you were breaking God's law, God would not hold you responsible. Your sins would be pardonable. Once you know it is the law, that law creates the very sin it defines.'

  'I don't think 1 see..,’

  'Look, our Lil, if they bring in a law in Macclesfield to say you can't do something…if they forbid you to drive a horse and cart up Churchwallgate, for instance then if you did it you would be breaking the law. But the day before, it wasn't the law. It's knowing you broke the law that made it a sin.'

  'So God won't let me or Mam into heaven?'

  'No! No, lass! You are too young to be asking such questions!'

  But he had clarified everything for her. She had looked up illegitimacy in The Universal Home Lawyer, which stated that: A bastard is regarded in law as having no natural relationship with any person except his mother. And further on it said:·A bastard has no surname until he has acquired one by reputation; he usually takes his mother's but there is nothing to prevent his taking his father's. He may of course be christened like any other child. When his birth is registered the father's name is not to be entered in the register except at the joint request of the mother and father who then sign the register together.

  There was a lot about claims on the estates of fathers who die intestate, and over and over again it said that a bastard had no-rights to anything of the father's unless he either adopted the child or, marrying the child's mother, made the bastard child legitimate. This latter could only be done if the natural father had signed his name on the birth register. It said, 'sign the register together' specifically. And there was no father's name on her birth certificate.

  Her father had not wanted his name to appear. And since Mam knew about God's laws, in the eyes of the church Mam was a sinner. Lily was nobody until she was baptised and she wasn't going to get baptised until she was legitimate. But she had her iron will. She must try harder to put that insoluble problem out of her mind.

  Elsie had been patient for a year. Tonight she'd ask outright, 'When are we going to be married?' She'd go straight to, the point.

  Lily was at Lindow for the weekend, and for the first time ever, Frank was gomg to spend a whole night with her here at the shop after he'd been to the Friday-night meeting of the Licensed Victuallers in the Angel. Gossip could not hurt anyone now that a year had passed. It was time they started being seen together, little by little, preparing the way for marriage. They were breaking no commandments.

  Elsie stood in front of the long mirror and cast a critical eye over her figure. She was wearing only French knickers, her suspender belt and fine silk stockings. He used to like to see her like that. In the old days, when his needs were greater. Used to...

  She did a half-turn at the hips. Seams were straight. A thrill went through her. Good God, she was not a blushing bride. Now then, what about the rest? She put her hands on her hips, drew her shoulders back and tried to appraise her body. She was in good shape for a woman of forty-one. Her waist was small. Her bosom was as full as it ever was; maybe a fraction lower but Frank said she had the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen. When she asked how many he'd seen, he used to tell her he had seen plenty on statues and in paintings but never more beautiful than hers. Used to...

  There was a jar of Pond's cold cream on the little table. She loved the scent of it. So did Frank. She stuck her fIngers into the open jar, scooped it and massaged it into her neck and her breasts to make herself ready. She would excite him beyond endurance tonight. She'd ask for an explanation of why his attentions had waned. These days he came round when Lily was at home and sat talking to Lily for as long as he could, content to be a friend to them. He came on Wednesday afternoons but often he was in a hurry to leave, saying he had to keep an eye on Ray - Ray, who had never returned to school but had taken to work like a duck to water. Ray was eighteen.

  Remembering how demanding he used to be, she accused him of being unfaithful, but he swore to her that she was the only woman for him. However, a man who is too sure loses interest, so she'd tried to make him jealous, being seen with Howard. Last week she told him that Howard had hinted about marriage. All that had achieved was Frank's mirthless laugh and his declaration, 'Leigh doesn't want a wife. He wants an income.'

  She was gratified, seeing his red face, the tight mouth, but he did not say, 'Marry me,' so she asked, 'What have you against Ho
ward?'

  'He's a fraud. A phoney as the Americans say.'

  'Phoney? No more than any man who has to keep his end up.'

  He said, 'He's been chasing moneyed women all his life. It's your money he wants.'

  'Three hundred pounds? It's pocket money to a man like Howard.' She gave a delighted laugh. 'You're jealous! Jealous because Howard has his eye on me.'

  But then, stirring up jealousy was no good. She used to be light-hearted, attentive, passionate. She'd be passionate tonight. She'd wait for him, here in her bedroom. When he got to the point, the no-tuming-back point, she'd stop him and tell him that their lovemaking would end unless he did his duty by her and Lily. Unless he married her.

  She must stop imagining that he had someone else. She must believe him when he said his working life grew more demanding as his appetites went down. He'd said, 'Look at me. I'm grey-haired with responsibility.’ Perhaps a man's desires left him as some women's did in their forties. Her desires were strong. The terrible tiredness she lived with hadn't dampened her needs.

  Massaging herself and imagining his touch was exciting her. She rammed the lid down on the cold cream jar, slipped on a kimono and high-heeled shoes and went downstairs to set out crystal glasses and whisky for him, sherry for herself. She poured a sweet sherry, drank it and poured another. Tonight she would make him happy.

  Frank bolted the back door and went into Elsie's living kitchen. There was a man's dressing gown laid across the fireside chair, glasses and drink set out on the kitchen table. He grinned, seeing them, and went to the stair door, calling softly, 'Elsie...l'

  She'd be pretending to be asleep. He'd keep her waiting for a few minutes; anticipation would inflame her. He poured a whisky and drank it neat as he undressed. He was in the mood tonight. He almost laughed at the thought that she, Elsie, was always in the mood. It was a while since he'd felt like this, what with having to keep a watch on Ray, day and night, and minding his own reputation. If he were to become a magistrate, a justice of the peace, he had to be beyond reproach, and to this end he had raised his good name since Sarah's death. He was a better man now - upright and impartial and seen as such by the people of Macclesfield.