by Nancy Carson
‘I, er … I do see her occasionally, Luce. She pays for Dickie’s grave in instalments.’
‘You’ve given her credit?’
‘Her compensation for Dickie’s death hasn’t been sorted out yet. They’re arguing that he died as a result of surgery, not of his injuries directly. I think they’re trying to wriggle out of paying. So it seemed a charitable thing to do to afford her some credit.’
‘And you go to her house and collect the payments?’
‘Yes.’
She noticed how he had reddened, and felt that same stab of jealousy she’d felt before. What else did he collect from the woman, she wondered?
‘I’m sure she’s fortunate to deal with a stonemason so kind and considerate,’ Lucy said, effecting a detachment she did not feel. ‘I hope she appreciates it.’
‘Oh, I think she does … So what of you, Lucy?’ he asked, changing tack. ‘Shall you try and find work after?’
‘I might. In the long run. It depends on Mother. But not till Julia’s weaned.’
‘It might be a good thing for you to find work. When you’re good and ready. It’ll give you a bit of independence, won’t it?’
‘I suppose,’ she said quietly.
‘Shall you still work at the Whimsey nights?’
‘I don’t think so. I’d rather be looking after Julia. She’ll need feeding at all odd hours. Especially while she’s very small.’
‘I expect so …’ He imagined Lucy breastfeeding the child, and was stimulated by the notion. ‘Listen Luce, I won’t take up any more of your time. I expect you’re tired. Can I call again and see you … and the baby?’
‘I’d love you to, Arthur. Come whenever you want.’
He smiled warmly. ‘I will. Later in the week. I’m glad you’re all right.’
He bent down to give her a kiss on the cheek, and said goodbye.
When he’d gone, Hannah came up the stairs bearing a vase of assorted fresh flowers.
‘Look at these,’ she said. ‘Aren’t they beautiful?’
‘Fresh flowers at this time of year?’ Lucy queried. ‘Where did you get them?’
‘Arthur brought them.’
‘Arthur?’ She was touched by the sentiment.
‘It was very thoughtful of him, wasn’t it our Lucy?’
‘Very … Oh, isn’t he just the nicest person you ever met, Mother?’ Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘That’s so kind of him … and so typical …’
Chapter 27
Just a few days after Lucy had had her baby, Arthur returned to the house from his labours and found his mother unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. Her head was bleeding profusely and he could smell drink on her. He tried to rouse her, but to no avail, and ran back to the workshop to catch Talbot before he left for home. Talbot came rushing.
‘Has she been drinking?’ he asked as they rounded the path to the front door.
‘I can smell drink on her,’ Arthur replied. ‘I know she has a tipple in the afternoon.’
‘Mornings as well. She’s been worse since Father died.’
Arthur shoved open the front door and they went in.
‘I wonder how long she’s been like this?’ Talbot said.
‘Lord knows. Let’s get her into bed.’
They tried to lift her and at once Dinah roused and squealed in agony.
‘She’s hurt,’ Arthur said. ‘Maybe she’s broke something. It’s better if I lift her myself. She can’t be that heavy. If I can get my arms under her …’
Arthur scooped up his mother, thankful that she was not as unmanageable as Catherine Chadwick would have been, else they’d have needed a block and tackle. To Dinah’s agonised groans, he took her to her bedroom and laid her carefully on her bed. Talbot followed.
‘I’m going to fetch Dr Walker, Mother,’ Talbot said. ‘We think you’ve broken a bone. It’ll need to be set.’
Meanwhile, Arthur fetched a basin of warm water and cleaned the blood from his mother’s head. There was an angry looking gash near her temple and she was pale.
‘You shouldn’t be drinking in the daytime, Mother,’ he reprimanded.
‘What else is there to do?’ Dinah mewled.
‘Something useful for a change. A bit of housework wouldn’t come a miss now and again.’
‘I’ve never bin one for housework, our Arthur. Housework is maids’ work.’
‘But Father would never employ any maids, would he? So it fell to you to do it.’
‘I couldn’t cope, what with cooking, maiding and mangling and the smoothing iron. Then there was the business and everything. Leave off complaining at me, Arthur. I feel like death … Oh, the pain is vile …’
Dr Walker eventually arrived in his dog cart. He examined Dinah thoroughly and pronounced that not only had she broken her leg above the knee, but she’d fractured both wrists as well. ‘She’ll be out of action for some weeks, I’m afraid. Is there somebody who can look after her? She won’t be able to do much for herself with both arms in slings and a broken leg.’
Arthur contemplated the odious implications for a second.
Talbot said, ‘My wife Magnolia can be here to look after her most days. Arthur and I will be on hand anyway, should anything extraordinary arise. But in the evenings …’ He turned to Arthur. ‘I suppose it falls to you to do your best …’
‘I daresay I can cope,’ Arthur replied.
Talbot put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. ‘It goes without saying that anytime you need help from me …’
‘Maybe, from time to time, Talbot. Who knows?’
They left Dr Walker to set Dinah’s broken bones and went downstairs.
‘I hope she’ll be all right,’ Talbot remarked. ‘Serious falls like she’s had can start so many other things in train, especially in a woman Mother’s age. She’s no spring chicken.’
‘She’s never looked after herself properly,’ Arthur said. ‘And I blame Father.’
‘Aye, Father was to blame for a lot of things. But what’s done can’t be undone …’ Talbot looked at his watch. ‘I’d best be off, our Arthur. Magnolia will wonder what’s become of me. Anyway, expect her in the morning. She’ll do all she can to help.’
So after Talbot had gone, and Dr Walker had been paid and had departed, Arthur was alone with his mother, who was all trussed up like a chicken. He tended to her conscientiously, bringing her tea to drink.
‘Bring me a drop o’ whisky, our Arthur.’
‘You’ve had enough drink, Mother. And look where it’s got you.’
‘It’ll help me sleep. I’ll sleep till morning.’
It was an attractive proposition. So Arthur fetched an ample measure of whisky, laced with a couple of drops of laudanum, and held it to her lips while she sipped. When it had all gone, he left her, leaving the oil lamp burning lest he had to go to her in the night.
It soon became clear to Arthur that he would be unable to visit Isabel for some time, and he felt he should write to explain his absence. So he penned her a brief note and posted it next day.
He thought much about Isabel during the first few evenings that he was confined to the house. Theirs was a highly sexual affair, and he acknowledged that it existed just for sex. They never spoke of love, indeed, to mention the word would have spoiled everything. But Arthur liked Isabel. He liked her immensely. He admired her independent, indefatigable streak, her intelligence, her demeanour. And Isabel liked Arthur just as much, and for very similar reasons. Often he puzzled over what had ever possessed her to get mixed up with the likes of Dickie Dempster. She wondered it herself, now that she was older and had more sense. The stubborn prejudice of youth had motivated her, the determination to defy her parents had amplified her unhealthy adolescent obsession for Dickie.
By this time, however, Arthur had met her children and was not particularly enamoured of either, the three-year-old son Jack especially. Jack evidently regarded Arthur with some suspicion and scowled at him most of the time, despite his mother’s as
surances. Julia, however – five years old – was a different kettle of fish, intelligent but petulant. Like her mother, she was self-willed but prone to demanding her own way, which she normally got. It was the line of least resistance for Isabel to simply give in, in the short term at any rate, but Arthur saw capitulation as a big mistake.
Arthur managed to sneak away from his mother’s bedside for half an hour one evening to pay a visit to Lucy. He enjoyed Lucy’s company, more now than when they were courting. He felt easier with her than he used to, because there was no pressure on him any more to try and impress her. In trying to impress her he had generally succeeded only in making a fool of himself, so perhaps it was no surprise that she had been drawn to Dickie Dempster, who was better looking and did not act like a fool, even though he had turned out to be a more stupid fool than anybody ever imagined.
He tapped on the door of the Piddocks’ cottage and was let in by Hannah.
‘Why, it’s Arthur.’ She greeted him with a smile of affection. ‘Come in, my lad. Our Lucy’s defied me and got up. She’s down here now, and feeding the babby.’
Arthur was a little embarrassed to witness Lucy with the child at her breast. He tried not to look but she smiled up at him from her chair with no inhibitions.
‘You won’t mind if I don’t get up, Arthur?’ she said.
He smiled amiably. ‘No, I can see you’re busy, Luce. How are you both?’
‘We’re both very well. Look at her, Arthur, isn’t she beautiful?’ She eased the child away from her nipple and turned her towards him. ‘Don’t you think she gets lovelier every day?’
Of course he had no choice but to look and agree. The baby was indeed very pretty for one so young. Already her pinched redness had gone and her baby flesh was pink and smooth. She opened her eyes momentarily and he saw how blue they were. He also saw how pink and smooth and very appealing was Lucy’s exposed breast, but Lucy did not seem to mind. She returned the child to it and Julia continued suckling keenly.
‘Mother’s bad,’ he announced. ‘Had you heard?’
‘Moses mentioned it,’ Hannah said. ‘Broken some bones, he said.’
‘One leg and two wrists. She fell down the stairs. She was a bit shook up.’
‘I bet she was,’ Hannah replied. ‘Poor soul. Is she getting over it?’
Arthur shook his head. ‘Not so far. I think she’s running a fever.’
‘It’s shock, Arthur.’ Hannah pressed her lips together and turned down the corners of her mouth ominously. ‘You must keep your eye on her.’
‘Well, our Magnolia comes over in the day to look after her, and I do it at night.’
‘Can you manage all right?’ Hannah asked. ‘I bet your mother’s a handful.’
‘The worst is when she needs to use the commode,’ he admitted. ‘I never thought as I’d have to hold my mother while she did … that.’
‘That’s no life for a young chap, Arthur. There’s no joy in seeing your mother all undignified. Why not let me come and help yer out? I could pop up of a night and give yer a lift.’
‘Or I could,’ Lucy offered.
‘I wouldn’t dream of putting either of you to all that trouble. Especially you, Lucy, now you’ve got Julia to look after. No, I can manage. It’s only for a few weeks till her broken bones mend and she can start to do things for herself. She’ll be able to get about on a crutch afore long, like Moses.’
‘Not with two broken wrists she won’t,’ Hannah said. ‘How’s she gunna support the crutch with ne’er a good arm? She’d be in agony.’
‘I hadn’t thought about that, Mrs Piddock.’
‘No. So why don’t you let me come and give you a hand for half an hour of a night? I can get your mother on and off the commode. It’s more in a woman’s line than a man’s.’
‘I hate to put you to all that trouble,’ he said again.
‘What trouble? It’s what friends and neighbours are for. To help one another. I’ll come back with yer when you’re ready to go, and I’ll have a run at it, eh?’
He smiled gratefully. ‘That’s very good of you, Mrs Piddock.’
Arthur stayed about half an hour, talking to Lucy and Hannah. He was impressed with Lucy’s natural ability with her baby, her instinctive mothering of the child, her ready response to her needs. Secretly, he wondered how he would feel if the child were his. She really was a lovely little bundle, apparently not prone yet to squawking and mewling like some children, obviously contented.
‘Can I hold her?’ he asked, when the baby had been fed and her wind coaxed up.
Lucy looked at him with an expression of astonishment and delight. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’d like to hold her.’
Lucy passed Julia to him. He held her gingerly at first, then with greater confidence when she did not struggle to escape his arms. She seemed to have very little weight and even less bulk.
‘She’s so light,’ he commented.
‘See if you can say that in another six months,’ Hannah said, laughing.
He rocked the baby very gently, looking down with wonder and admiration at her little face. ‘She’s the image of you, Lucy. You can’t imagine how glad I am she isn’t like Dickie.’
‘Oh, thank the Lord she ain’t like him,’ Hannah proclaimed with disdain. ‘We’d all commit suicide if the babby looked like him.’
‘You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, Mother,’ Lucy chided mildly. ‘We know Dickie was no angel, but we shouldn’t be too hard on him now he’s gone.’
Arthur held Julia for the rest of the time he remained there, handing the child back to Lucy just before he left. Hannah put on her shawl and accompanied him back to the Delph.
‘I do wish you two had never parted,’ she said as they crossed over Brettell Lane. ‘Just think, you might even have been married by now.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, Mrs Piddock. Lucy wouldn’t have me. I asked her, as you know.’
‘Well, she’d have you now, Arthur, mark my words.’
‘D’you reckon?’ Arthur smiled modestly. ‘I can’t imagine it for a minute.’
‘I know it. Our Lucy’s growed up a lot since she learnt about that swine Dickie Dempster, and she’ll grow up a lot more still, now she’s got the bab. But I told her. “You’ve missed your chance”, I said to her. “Why would Arthur want yer now, now as you’ve got somebody else’s bab?” I said.’
‘She’s a lovely little thing though, Mrs Piddock. Julia.’
‘They’m all lovely when they’m that little. It’s when they grow up as they bring trouble. I never thought as our Lucy would bring trouble, you know. But I could never have turned me back on her. Not when she needed me.’
‘I know,’ Arthur said. ‘And I’m glad. You did the right thing.’
‘I could never have lived with me conscience if I hadn’t. But I do wish as our Lucy could find a nice homely chap who’d look after her and be kind to the babby. She’s a good wench. She just made one stupid mistake …’
‘Maybe she will meet somebody,’ Arthur consoled. ‘She’s still a lovely girl, and nice-looking with it. She can still fetch the ducks off the water.’
‘But it ain’t ducks as she wants, Arthur.’
Arthur received a note from Isabel Dempster a few days later, written in a very neat and tidy hand. It read:
My dear Arthur,
I am so sorry to hear of your mother’s fall, and I sincerely hope she is well on the road to recovery. Of course, you must look after her and do all you can to help her and ease her suffering. If it means I am unable to see you for a while then so be it. I understand perfectly.
I finally received an amount in compensation for Dickie’s death yesterday. It wasn’t as much as I’d hoped for, and certainly not as much as I would have got if he’d been actually working on the day of the accident. It is on a par with other passengers’ compensation payments, I believe but it’s better than nothing at all, and it will enable me to pay you at long last
for Dickie’s grave. So, when I see you next time you shall have the money.
Talking of Dickie’s grave, I noticed when I went to the churchyard last, that there were some chips knocked out of it on two of the corners. Goodness knows how they got there, but if in the daytime you get the chance to go over and have a look, I am sure you would be able to repair them somehow. I do want the grave to look as pristine as possible. And while you are there, well, it occurred to me that perhaps you could see your way clear to calling on me to collect your money.
I shall not expect you for some time, in view of your mother’s unfortunate condition, but please write to me in the meantime. When it is convenient for you to do the work, let me know beforehand and I will see to it that the children are elsewhere.
Affectionately yours,
Isabel Dempster.
It was towards the end of March, cold, and a blustery wind was howling outside. The month had roared in like a lion and was roaring out like one. It was dusk when Arthur prepared a cheese sandwich for his mother and took it upstairs to feed her. By the time he’d completed the task it was dark, and he sat in the parlour contemplating his lot by the light of an oil lamp.
This house … What a mausoleum. It wanted pulling down. Never had he known such a cold and draughty place. The window casements rattled at every gust, smoke blew back down the chimney and filled the room with choking sooty fumes. Paint was peeling off the doors, whitewash fell in flakes from the ceilings, plaster was coming adrift from the walls in places. The floors were uneven, silverfish and woodlice had evolved into several populous communities behind the skirting boards and trooped like miniature armies between the joins of the quarry tiles. Mice regularly flitted ever more boldly across any number of rooms and disappeared through unbelievably tiny holes and cracks. To renovate this place would cost a fortune.
He thought about Dorinda and the fleas. He was sorry over what had happened and felt ashamed when he recalled that lunatic escapade of his, invading her bed in the dead of night hell-bent on seducing her. But he was beginning to see the funny side of it. Dorinda, he realised now, would not have suited him as a wife, pretty as she was. Looks were not everything in a woman. Of course, he could never tolerate an ugly bride, but as long as the one he eventually chose was reasonably presentable, sufficiently alluring and kept him happy in bed, he would be content enough. Nor would he stray. He had no wish nor desire to chase every pretty face he saw, like Dickie Dempster had. Chasing women must be expensive and time-consuming, and Arthur was blessed with neither of those resources to facilitate such an egocentric pastime.