The Deserter's Daughter

by Susanna Bavin

  ‘Permit me. You shouldn’t have to deal with this when you’ve so many worries.’

  ‘Hang on,’ she objected, but he had already taken the rent book and was out of the kitchen. Vexed at herself as well as him, she took a step to follow, then hesitated. A smartly-turned-out man would have more sway with the rent collector. Annoying but true.

  She heard low voices, then he returned.

  ‘Don’t worry about this week’s rent, Miss Jenkins. The collector knew about the tragedy and the landlord has given him leave to be lenient.’

  ‘He’ll wait till next week?’

  ‘The landlord will accept less as a token of respect. It won’t need to be made up.’

  That didn’t sound like Mr Dawson. Her skin prickled.

  ‘I’d hate to think you’d paid the rest yourself, Mr Armstrong.’

  ‘Do you think that’s what I did?’

  Did he have to be so direct? ‘I wouldn’t want to be beholden.’ She tried to brush it aside. ‘Of course, you didn’t pay.’ She didn’t want it to be true, couldn’t make room in her head for it to be true. ‘I’m that tired, I can hardly think.’

  ‘Then I’ll leave you to get on.’

  He shook her hand, looking into her face as they exchanged goodbyes. Carrie took a step backwards. He let go of her hand and put on his hat. She folded her arms across her stomach, tucking her hands out of the way. He tipped his hat to her and strode off along the road.

  She stood on the doorstep, watching him go. Mam said it was polite to see someone on their way and she had always done it. But when Ralph Armstrong turned and looked back, she felt hot and uncomfortable and wished she hadn’t watched.

  Carrie gazed at Mam, willing her to wake up. Doctor Cumming might have said that awful thing about her being better off dead, but he had also said, rather reluctantly, that sometimes people got better.

  ‘Properly better?’ she had asked, eagerness lifting her heart.

  ‘It all depends.’

  He hadn’t stayed long. Did he see no point? She had been sitting here since he left. If she had been with Mam at the vital moment on Saturday afternoon, if she had fetched help sooner, would it have made a difference? She hadn’t dared ask.

  Mrs Clancy, puffing from the stairs, looked in. ‘Eh, Carrie, there’s a gent outside. Says he’s a doctor, but he’s not dressed like one.’

  With a strong sense of What next?, she went down. The front door stood open. She glimpsed a man, tall, well dressed. Ralph Armstrong: what did he want now? She looked again and realised her eyes were playing tricks. Not Ralph Armstrong. Good. This was the brother.

  ‘I’m Carrie Jenkins. I’m sorry about your father.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She looked at him.

  ‘I may not look like it in this suit, but I am a doctor.’

  ‘I know. Mam said one of Mr Armstrong’s sons was.’

  ‘I didn’t want to turn up in my doctor’s weeds in case it looked presumptuous, but I’d like to offer my help. May I come in? I’d like to talk about your mother.’

  Carrie stood aside to let him by. ‘The parlour is the door on the left.’

  ‘The kitchen is fine by me.’

  ‘Well, not by me,’ she breathed. She had made that mistake yesterday. She darted past and opened the door. ‘Here you are.’

  The curtains were open. Evadne had drawn them in shame over Pa, but Mrs Clancy had opened them on Saturday evening. ‘To show your mam is still with us.’

  Doctor Armstrong waited for her to sit before he did.

  ‘I gather your mother has suffered a stroke. That’s linked to the kind of work I specialise in.’

  Carrie pressed a hand to her chest. No words would come out.

  ‘No charge,’ he added, misinterpreting her silence.

  ‘You can help?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  She clutched her elbows. Otherwise she might have grabbed his hands and rained kisses on them. ‘Thank you. I can’t tell you what this means.’

  ‘Perhaps I could meet Mrs Jenkins?’

  That pulled her up short. ‘I haven’t changed the sheets.’

  ‘Not to worry. This way, is it?’ He was out of the room and halfway upstairs, Carrie bobbing behind. ‘Front room?’ He tapped softly and went in, saying to Mrs Clancy, ‘Could I have a few minutes with Mrs and Miss Jenkins?’

  He even held the door for her – fancy a doctor doing that! She and Mrs Clancy raised their eyebrows at one another.

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Jenkins? I’m Doctor Adam Armstrong. You knew my father. I’m here to see if I can help you. May I move your arm? This way … now that way.’

  Carrie watched in fascination as he manipulated one arm, then the other, all the time speaking to Mam as if she could hear every word. Doctor Cumming hadn’t done that. Her heart swelled. This man could be trusted. Some of her burden lifted.

  Doctor Armstrong laid Mam’s arm on the sheet. ‘I’m going to speak to your daughter now, Mrs Jenkins.’

  Carrie sat on the bed, reaching for Mam’s hand, then realised what she had done. Fancy behaving so casually in front of a doctor! What must he think? But before she could slither from the bed, he smiled at her. His eyes crinkled and he looked friendly. She smiled back. It seemed a long time since she had smiled.

  ‘I work at Brookburn House. Do you know what happens there?’

  ‘It’s a mansion. It belongs to the Kimber family.’ And they had another mansion in grounds on the other side of the same road. All right for some.

  ‘It used to be their dower house, I believe. It’s a hospital now – a highly specialised hospital. The patients are former soldiers, incapacitated, like your mother. Not so many years ago, they’d have been left lying in their beds with no hope of improvement, let alone recovery; but we know more now and we’re learning all the time. My great interest lies in helping these men.’

  It sounded hopeless – and yet he spoke with conviction. Carrie leant forward. ‘How?’

  ‘Stimulation, both physical and mental. Talking to them – we treat all our patients as if they can hear.’

  ‘Can they?’ Could Mam?

  ‘There’s no knowing until they recover sufficiently to tell us; but we work on the basis that they can.’

  All those things Mam could have heard: Doctor Cumming calling her better off dead, Father Kelly delivering the last rites.

  ‘We try to make life interesting for them. We open the windows so they have fresh air and hear the birds; we read to them and play music; and they undergo a regime of physical exercise.’

  ‘But if they’re like Mam …’

  ‘They can’t move themselves, but someone can manipulate their limbs for them, get the blood flowing, exercise the muscles, give the brain something to think about.’

  ‘And that would help Mam?’

  ‘No promises, but she might improve. You must understand, the soldiers are incapacitated not for physical reasons but because they bear horrific mental scars. In your mother’s case, the cause is physical. Nevertheless, the treatment could help her. At the very least, it will do no harm.’

  ‘What must I do?’

  ‘It will be hard work.’

  Carrie was flooded by a sense of purpose. ‘I wasn’t here when she needed me most. I won’t let her down now.’

  He shot her an approving look. ‘First, I need her doctor’s permission in writing. If he agrees, then I’ll work out a regime and train you to administer it.’

  ‘I’ll go and see him this minute.’

  ‘Is there a man who could speak to him? He might listen more readily to a man.’

  ‘There’s just me and my sister. I suppose Evadne ought to do it. She’s a teacher.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll also organise some assistance from the hospital, but it’ll be limited, I’m afraid. Most of the work will be done by you. And we must get some food inside her or she’ll waste away. It will involve a tube down her throat. Rather unpleasant, and I shan’t permit you to b
e present.’

  Carrie’s stomach twitched in sympathy, but she lifted Mam’s hand and kissed it. ‘I’ll be beside her, if she needs me.’

  He addressed himself to Mam. ‘The sooner you start your treatment the better, Mrs Jenkins. And you never know’ – he looked at Carrie and his eyes were clouded with pain – ‘if she recovers, she’ll be able to tell us how my father came to have that fall.’

  Ralph stopped dead at the sight of Adam emerging from Wilton Lane. What was he playing at? Ralph strode across the road and blocked his path, conscious of his own superior body weight.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I might ask you the same question. I’ve been visiting Mrs Jenkins in my capacity as a doctor.’

  ‘Another waxwork for your display.’

  Adam shot him a look of distaste. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘Seeing how things are.’

  ‘That’s not like you.’

  He smothered a flash of anger. ‘Just a courtesy.’

  ‘Then I’ll leave you to be courteous.’

  Adam walked away and Ralph headed straight for the Jenkins’ door. When Carrie opened it, he saw the difference in her. She was brighter about the eyes. The improvement lifted his heart, but also made him want to give Adam a good kicking.

  ‘Your brother’s just been here.’ Even her voice sounded less strained. She glanced along the street, but Adam had vanished.

  ‘May I come in? If it’s convenient.’

  The flicker in her eyes told him it wasn’t, but she let him in anyway, leading him to the kitchen, where, to his annoyance, a fat woman was sitting at the table, nursing a cup of tea. Carrie introduced her as Mrs Clancy from next door.

  ‘I’ve just been telling Mrs Clancy what Doctor Armstrong said about Mam,’ Carrie burbled happily.

  It was odd how he could be enchanted and enraged at the same time. He longed to have Carrie to himself, but the neighbour didn’t look like moving her fat arse any time soon.

  He said flatly, ‘I was hoping for a private word, Miss Jenkins.’ He gave the fat female a look.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Carrie, ‘but Mrs Clancy has to go in a minute to start Mr Clancy’s tea and she’s going to help me change the bed first.’

  He gritted his teeth. ‘Then I’ll say my piece and leave you to it. I came to invite you to my father’s funeral.’

  ‘But I barely knew him.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to represent your mother, especially as my father carried a torch for her. Thursday, three o’clock at St Clement’s, followed by the burial down the road in the old graveyard.’

  ‘They stopped using that place years ago,’ said the fat cow. ‘Everyone goes to Southern Cemetery.’

  ‘We have a family grave there with two spaces, so we’ve been given permission.’ Plus, of course, every man had his price and the vicar’s was the cost of retiling the lychgate tower.

  He watched Carrie and waited.

  ‘Well – I’ll come,’ she said, as he had known she must. How could she refuse?

  ‘Nay, chuck, you can’t go there. It’s Protestant.’ The fat bitch’s interference made Ralph’s hand itch to clout her. ‘Father Kelly won’t let you.’

  Bloody Papists. ‘Then don’t tell him.’ He smothered his impatience as they both stared. ‘No one needs permission to attend a funeral, especially in these circumstances.’

  Carrie looked helplessly at the fat bitch, then transferred her gaze to him and nodded.

  Good. He wanted an obedient wife.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Was she being watched? Carrie’s flesh prickled as she scuttled across the road. She couldn’t have felt any more self-conscious had she been wearing a placard round her neck with her destination painted on it in bold black letters. As she came to the gate, her feet halted of their own accord. If she set foot on that land, it would mean—she wasn’t sure what it would mean, except that it would be serious, maybe even a sin. Not one she would confess, though; Father Kelly would throw a fit. And not confessing would be another sin.

  With a hasty glance to ensure no one she knew was in sight, she hurried up the path into the church, stopping beside a pew at the back, nearly making the person behind her fall over her as she paused to genuflect. She stumbled into the pew and scooted to the far end, hardly daring to raise her eyes.

  She had barely known Mr Armstrong. Supposing someone enquired after her connection. She could hardly say, ‘He died in our kitchen.’ She could say her mam knew him, but then she might be asked where her mam was. Her mind buzzing with complications, she made herself as small as she could during the ceremony.

  At the end, the coffin was loaded into the glass-sided hearse and the black-plumed horses set off at a sedate pace to lead the mourners down the road, past Chorlton Green to the old graveyard. Loitering at the back, Carrie considered slipping away, but that would be wrong – disrespectful. She went with everyone else to the graveside, hanging back, keeping her eyes down.

  When it was over, she glanced round, choosing her escape route. Her heart sank as Ralph Armstrong came purposefully in her direction. She just knew he was going to insist she attend the gathering. A couple of gentlemen stepped into his path, wanting to shake hands.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Jenkins.’

  She turned and there was Doctor Armstrong, his face showing the strain of the occasion. He was better looking than his brother, because his eyes were kind.

  ‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ he said. ‘Thank you. It’s good of you.’

  She remembered his brother’s words. ‘Mam would want me to.’

  That was obviously the right thing to say, because he nodded. But at the same time it was the wrong thing to say, because that wasn’t why she was here. She was here because she had had her arm twisted. She wished she could take back the lie.

  ‘I’m so sorry about Mr Armstrong. I lost my pa four years ago and I know how shocked and hurt I was for ages afterwards. You might not want your dad and mine spoken of in the same breath after what Pa did, but I do know how hard it is to lose your father. You remember so many things that are never going to happen again. I used to daydream, only it felt more real than that, about Pa coming home from the war. He’d march up Wilton Lane with a rucksack slung off one shoulder and I’d race to meet him, even though in real life I’d have let Mam reach him first. I’m sorry to talk about him when we’re all meant to be talking about Mr Armstrong, but I wanted you to know I feel for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He leant towards her, his face serious but his brown eyes soft. ‘The mother of one of my patients told me she wouldn’t let her youngest become a telegram boy in the war. She said everyone dreaded the sight of those boys, desperate for them to cycle past, and there was enormous relief when they did, but there was guilt as well for having wished death on another family. We had a garden party at Brookburn on Saturday. That’s where I was when Dad visited your mother. I kept expecting him to arrive; and then I saw the police constable on his way up the drive and I knew just how those people had felt, seeing the telegram boy.’

  Carrie’s fingers reached instinctively, seeking contact, wanting to give comfort and reassurance – what was she doing? She snatched her hand away, cleared her throat, stepped back. ‘Excuse me. You must have other people to …’

  He took a step after her. ‘Wait. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot of platitudes in the past few days. You’re the first person to speak to me openly and honestly. Thank you. It means a great deal. Now, if you’ll excuse me …?’

  She felt an odd wrench at losing him. It was just the emotion of the moment. Had she truly helped him by sharing her feelings about Pa? She hoped so. When she thought of how Doctor Armstrong intended to help Mam, she hoped it even more.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Ralph Armstrong take his leave of the men he was with. She slid through the group of mourners and headed
up the path to the lychgate. Was it mean of her? But she didn’t feel comfortable with him the way she did with his brother.

  Carrie woke up as she did automatically every two or three hours, even though her brain felt sore with tiredness and she fell asleep feeling as though she wouldn’t surface for a week. She lay listening to the harsh edge of Mam’s breathing. She was balanced on the edge of the bed; that was automatic too, because if Mam soiled herself, it might seep across and touch her. She was ashamed of herself for that, but she couldn’t help it.

  The room was stuffy and her skin was clammy inside her nightie. The air was tainted. She and the good-hearted neighbours worked hard to keep Mam clean and it was unfair that the bedroom now possessed a faint aroma of sourness. It was something else to be ashamed of. Did it give the impression Mam wasn’t being properly looked after?

  This night last week she had tossed and turned and wept because Billy had jilted her. And they had just found out about Pa. Now, on top of those calamities, Mam had been struck down.

  Was it time to get up yet? Next week, when she began at the laundry, she would have early starts, and how was she to cope with Mam on top of a job? She didn’t want the neighbours feeling taken for granted. She really ought not to work at all, but could Evadne support them? Evadne was moving back in tomorrow and it was something they ought to discuss.

  She would give Miss Reilly’s room a good bottoming today to welcome Evadne home. As sisters, they might not be close, but it couldn’t be easy for Evadne losing her room in the schoolhouse. And in another month she would lose her job as well. Had she started looking for something else? She was clever. She could work in an office.

  After Mrs Clancy and Mrs Dunnett had been in to help give Mam a bed bath and put her in a fresh nightie, Carrie took the cleaning box upstairs; and there she was, sleeves rolled up, hair working loose, when someone knocked. On the doorstep stood Ralph Armstrong with, of all things, a bunch of pinks tied with ribbon.