by Anna Jacobs
There was nothing she could do to help Nell, except stay independent. She knew her sister was very pleased about that and wanted nothing but the best for her.
But was being a waitress the best life had to offer?
Renie still wanted so much more.
She bought Christmas presents to send to her sister and niece from a nearby market Daff showed her, where there was a second-hand stall selling clothes that were better than average, though of course more expensive.
Daff always studied the clothes carefully, fingering them and sighing in envy. ‘One day I’m going to have lots of clothes like these. Till then, I keep my eyes open for bargains.’
‘Is this where you bought the blue skirt and jacket you wear on Sundays for church?’
‘Yes. Oh, look at this. That’s good value. Wool as fine as that usually costs a fortune. It’d really suit you.’
Renie was nearly tempted into buying the dark-red skirt and jacket, then thought of Nell, how hard she worked, how work-worn her poor hands were. ‘It’s lovely but I can’t afford it, and when would I wear it anyway?’
‘To church.’
‘Who for?’
‘You might meet someone you like.’
‘I don’t want a fellow.’
The owner of the stall sidled up to her. ‘This would suit you even better, love.’ He held out a blouse and skirt and Renie sighed. He was right.
‘It would, but I can’t afford it, thanks.’
He looked at her shrewdly. ‘New to London, are you? Come out dancing with me one night and I’ll sell this to you for half a crown.’
She knew what he really meant by that invitation and drew herself up. ‘No, thank you. I don’t accept favours from strangers.’ She walked off before he could say anything else, muttering, ‘The cheek of him!’
She had seen girls get tempted into trouble by easy ways like that to get things they wanted, but nothing would persuade Renie to give her body to a fellow till she was married – if she ever did marry. She didn’t intend to wind up like Nell, tied for life to a mean-spirited man who didn’t care for her or his own child.
At the moment Renie was enjoying life hugely, in spite of her worries about her sister, even though she’d never worked as hard in her life before. It was enough. She was only eighteen, after all, though sometimes she felt older.
In November 1911, a year after Gil’s accident, Mr Rycroft came down to visit his son and told him over dinner, ‘I’ve made an appointment in London with a specialist in the rehabilitation of injuries like yours. He’s been studying in France and has recently returned. Daniel Seaborne is very well thought of. Maybe he can do something for you.’
Gil stared at him across the end of the large, shiny mahogany table that could seat ten people even without extra leaves. ‘Do you think this one will be able to perform miracles, then? The others couldn’t.’
‘We have to keep trying.’
‘I don’t agree. I’m fed up of being mauled around. If this chappie doesn’t help, I’ll not go to any others, whatever you threaten.’
‘You’ll do what I say. You’re still dependent on me and don’t you forget it.’
Gil raised the glass of wine to his lips in a mocking gesture and drained it.
His father took the bottle away from him before he could refill his glass. ‘You’re drinking too much. You can have water with your meals from now on. And make sure you’re on time for breakfast tomorrow. We don’t want to miss our train.’
Gil didn’t say how easy it would be, once his father had returned to London, to nip down to the wine cellar and take a bottle or two from where they’d not be noticed. Even a lame man could move quietly enough to manage that. And Walter didn’t often spend the evenings in the house because his quarters were still over the stables, so he didn’t know everything.
The physical pain had gone now, but Gil was desperately unhappy. He couldn’t even go for a brisk walk. He wasn’t used to sitting around the house and had never been interested in books.
The drink blurred the edges of his misery as nothing else seemed to do. He had nothing else to turn to.
No, that wasn’t true. He had Walter, didn’t know what he’d have done without the kindly old man.
But what worried him most was what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He wasn’t trained for any profession. He was useless.
At breakfast, Gil’s father took charge of the post and studied one letter with a frown, before passing it to his son. ‘Who’d be writing to you from Swindon? It’s good-quality notepaper. Who do you know there?’
‘I don’t know anyone.’
‘Shall I open it for you? I’ve got my letter opener here. It must be awkward for you.’
‘No, thanks. I’ll read it later.’ Gil reached for the letter, saw his father hesitate, and kept his hand outstretched.
‘Oh, very well.’ His father slapped the envelope on to his hand.
Gil stuffed it into his pocket.
‘Aren’t you going to read it?’ his father pressed.
He tried to hold back his anger. ‘I’ll read it later. I’m not expecting anything important.’
‘I’d appreciate you letting me know what it’s about. I like to keep an eye on what comes to my house.’
Gil stood up so hastily he knocked his chair over. He bent to pick it up before his father could do that for him and by that time he’d bitten back a sarcastic comment that he was twenty-six years old, not six. As Walter kept telling him, it did no good to upset the master. ‘I’d better get ready for this useless trip to London you’re insisting on.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Walter asked as soon as he went into the bedroom.
‘My father. As usual. Wants to know what my mail is about now.’ He tossed the unopened letter on to the bed. ‘I’ll see what that is later. I’d better get ready now or I’ll be late. Has he decided whether you’re coming up to London with us?’
‘Yes. He wants me to help you with your luggage and keep an eye on you. Look … your father does care about you, you know.’
Gil sighed. ‘I know. In his own way, always in his own way, as if a son is a possession. It’s just … I’d do better if he left me alone. He treats me like a child, and I’m not.’
‘Then don’t act like one.’
Walter was right, really, but Gil didn’t tell him that. He did sometimes behave childishly, couldn’t seem to help himself when everything got him down.
Their appointment was the first one the following day. The specialist had fitted him in at the early hour of eight o’clock to please Mr Rycroft senior.
At least Gil’s father didn’t come into the examination room with him.
Seaborne poked Gil around, hummed and hawed, then sat down with him in his office. ‘Do you want to call your father in now?’
‘Not yet, if you don’t mind. I’d like to talk to you on my own. I want … need to know the truth.’
‘I’m not going to offer you false hope. You’ll never regain full use of that arm, Mr Rycroft. There is no way known of reversing nerve damage like yours. The doctor who caused it was a fool.’
There was silence as Seaborne looked at him sympathetically. ‘As for the leg, you’ll always have a limp, though you can probably reduce it by gently building up the strength of the limb with exercises, and reinforcing that by walking regularly. I’ll give you the name of a man who specialises in this sort of exercise. And if you get your right shoe built up by a shoemaker I know, that’ll also help minimise the limp. I don’t know why someone hasn’t suggested it before. The exercising will be painful to start off with, though.’
Gil felt as if he’d been given good news, for the first time in ages. Perhaps now his father would listen to the specialist and allow the built-up shoe. It didn’t matter what it looked like as long as it helped minimise the limp. And he didn’t care whether the exercising hurt or not. ‘I’ll definitely do that, then. Thank you.’
Seaborne’s voice softened. ‘It
takes time to get used to changes like this, but at least you’re a young man and healthy in every other way. Hard as it is to face a different future from what you’d planned, you’ve the time and money to find some other path in life. Be thankful for what you’ve got. Others are not as fortunate.’
Gil knew that, of course he did, but it didn’t make him feel any better, so he just nodded. ‘I wonder if you’d do me a favour, Mr Seaborne? Could you please make my father understand that it’s no use consulting other specialists?’
‘I’ll try, simply because you’re right: it isn’t any use. He must care a lot about you.’
‘Not really. He cares more about how having a son like me reflects on the family. When someone else suggested building up my shoe, he took offence, said it’d look bad.’
The specialist looked at Gil in surprise, then pity. ‘Well, I’ll do my best to change his mind about that. It happens sometimes that relatives have trouble adjusting, as well as those directly affected. You can’t … get away from him, make a life of your own?’
‘Unfortunately, I’m totally dependent on him financially.’
After his father had come in to listen to the specialist, Gil walked out with him.
‘I suppose we’d better get your shoes built up, then. It’ll look bad, but there you are. Go and see this chappie. You won’t need me for that.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Fancy lunch at my club?’
Gil shook his head, seeing the quick flash of relief on his father’s face. ‘No, thanks. I’m a bit tired now.’
‘Well, you go home and have a nice long rest.’
A nice long rest was the last thing Gil wanted. What was ‘nice’ about lounging around doing nothing?
When he got back to the London house, it was only half past nine and he wondered what to do with himself for the rest of the day. Most of his old friends lived in the country and he wasn’t one for museums and art galleries. Anyway, he’d lost touch with people, now that they no longer shared interests.
He went up to his room to find Walter waiting for him.
‘What did this fellow say, lad?’
‘Same as the other specialists, except he managed to persuade my father to stop dragging me round to anyone else. Oh, and he also obtained permission for me to get my shoe built up to help minimise the limp.’
‘About time too. I don’t know why your father was so against that.’
‘Appearances.’ Gil went to stand at the window and stare out at the grey day. ‘What do you do with yourself in London, Walter? Don’t you miss the stables and the fresh air?’
‘A bit. I’d be lying if I said anything else and I won’t lie to you, lad, ever. But I’m not as agile as I used to be so I couldn’t have gone on in my old job for much longer. Your father had a chat to me about staying on as your helper and leaving the stables to younger fellows.’
‘He never said a word to me about that. I’m sorry, Walter. You deserve better than caring for a crock like me.’
Walter came across to lay one hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ‘I think you need me more than the horses do now. And I care more about you than I do about the horses.’
Gil patted the hand, stood for a moment, then moved away, swallowing hard to hold back his emotions.
Walter held out a crumpled letter. ‘You still haven’t opened this.’
‘Oh. I suppose I might as well see what it’s about.’ He slit it open, his left hand twitching inconveniently and making him slice through the top of the letter as well as the envelope. ‘Can’t even open a damned envelope properly,’ he muttered.
‘You’d do better if you moved more slowly.’
Gil shrugged and started to read. The letter was from a firm of lawyers in Swindon, representing Miss Alice Bennerden, who had sadly passed away two weeks previously. He stopped reading to frown at the letter. ‘Who the hell is Alice Bennerden?’
‘A distant relative of your grandmother’s, so even more distantly connected to you. They were quite good friends when they were young. I remember Miss Alice when I was a lad and worked for your mother’s family. She used to visit them occasionally. Then she had an accident, fell down some stone steps and hurt her spine. She wound up in a basket chair, poor lady, being wheeled around. She was only twenty when it happened, too.’
Gil continued reading his letter, exclaimed in surprise, read it all again then looked up at Walter. He had to try twice before he could get the words out. ‘She’s left me a house and an income. Look.’ He held out the letter, his hand shaking.
Walter read it, then whistled softly. ‘A house in Wiltshire, and that’s a decent income, too.’
Gil buried his head in his hands for a moment or two, fighting the urge to weep. When he looked up at the old man, he said in a husky voice, ‘This will set me free, Walter. My parents won’t be able to haul me round specialists, or force me to stay in London or have dinner with their friends who all treat me as if I’ve become a halfwit.’
‘They mean well.’
‘I know. But I hate being pitied, and now that I’ve seen my last specialist, I need time to … I don’t know … think about the future. I hadn’t realised that I still had unrealistic hopes myself until Seaborne was utterly frank with me.’
He looked back at the letter, smiling slightly. ‘This is a new kind of hope. I can’t believe it’s happened. Walter, will you come and live with me in Wiltshire?’
‘Don’t you want to see the house first before you decide whether you’re going to live there?’
‘No. The lawyer says it’s near Swindon, so maybe it’s in the country. I hope so. I just want to get away from everyone for a while. I’m going to live there whatever the house is like, even if it’s falling down about my ears. Will you come and work for me instead of my father?’
‘Of course I’ll come with you, lad. Try getting rid of me.’
‘I don’t want you as a groom, but as a … well, companion.’
‘That’d be an honour, lad, but I’m not sure how your father will take that.’
‘It won’t matter. We can do what we want. If the house isn’t in the country, I’ll sell it and buy somewhere that is.’
Walter’s face brightened. ‘Maybe we can keep a horse or two. I’d not like to be without them.’
‘You can have your horses. We’ll need a pony trap to get around – unless I buy one of these newfangled motor cars.’
‘Stinking things. Give me a horse any day.’ He hesitated, before adding, ‘You could still ride a quiet horse, you know.’
‘I’m not riding a tame rocking horse.’ Gil folded the letter and put it in his pocket, excitement rising in him. ‘Let’s go to Wiltshire now, this very afternoon. I don’t want my father coming with me to see these lawyer chappies. I want to do everything myself from now on.’
‘You should leave him a note explaining what’s happened, though.’
He hesitated, then nodded. ‘I suppose so. Will you pack for me while I write it, please? I shan’t give Pa details, so he won’t be able to pursue me.’ He went off whistling.
It was the happiest the lad had looked since the accident. Bless you, Alice Bennerden! Walter thought. My lad has a real chance of happiness now.
Chapter Four
When she sent the Christmas presents, Renie suggested to Nell in her letter that they ask Cliff if they could contact his family now to ask whether they’d heard from Mattie. After all, more than eighteen months had passed since they’d left Swindon.
In her reply Nell said Cliff wouldn’t hear of it.
There’s nothing I can do about it, Renie love, and I daren’t write to them without his permission. He’d throw a fit, might even leave me.
We have to hope he’ll change his mind next year, or that Mattie will somehow find us.
Sarah sends her love to her auntie. She’s growing so quickly, you’ll not recognise her when you see her in September. I reckon she’ll be running about by then. Won’t that be wonderful?
Work hard and make a good life for yourself.
Nell always finished her letters like that. Renie sighed and brought the paper up to her face, cuddling it against her cheek. She worried about her sister. What if Cliff hurt Nell? She wouldn’t put it past him to thump her as some men did. She knew how short of money he kept her.
Renie didn’t try to send money to her sister, though. She guessed he’d take that. But she did occasionally find some piece of clothing for her niece or sister on one of the market stalls. She was becoming an expert at finding bargains, yet thanks to her tips money, she was still able to save something each week.
Wouldn’t Mattie stare to hear that? Her eldest sister had often told her off for spending any money she got as soon she laid hands on it. Pennies that had been. Her father had taken nearly everything she earned. Well, Renie was saving shillings now. Every single week. And they soon added up to pounds.
Having some money behind her made her feel safer when she walked the streets of London and didn’t know a single face in the crowds.
In spite of being careful, she’d managed to buy herself some nice clothes second hand, real bargains, impossible to resist. No one would think she came from the country now. She took pride in looking smart when she went to church or out for a long walk on fine Sundays. She was waiting impatiently for the longer summer evenings when she could stay out for a while after work. She wanted to see so many of the famous places in London and you could stay out until half past eight on working nights or until dusk, whichever came first.
She’d made a list and was ticking the items off one by one: the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace headed it. She’d already seen those, but was going back to see them again. It’d take several visits to see Westminster Abbey properly. How wonderful it felt inside the old building. So much space, so much beautiful stonework.