The Hidden Dance

by Susan Wooldridge

  ‘Cat got his tongue?’ asked Johnnie.

  ‘End of hols blues, I fear,’ Hugh replied. ‘God, though, doesn’t it all come back? Last day of the holidays.’ He tucked in a leather strap and hung up the bridle.

  ‘Mind if I smoke?’ asked Johnnie.

  ‘Go ahead. It’s only forbidden in the stables themselves. Hay and all that. Draw up a pew.’ He indicated an elderly lop-sided armchair furnished in a sweet floral material of incongruous femininity.

  ‘I think I’ll leave them to their boiled eggs for a bit. Lily and Nickie.’

  Johnnie began to light his pipe, the exercise seeming to fully absorb his concentration, whilst Hugh turned to a huge old saddle that creaked as he dismantled the girth and started to clean the handsome worn leather on the underside. Both men, silently occupied, waited, fully aware of the complicated conversation to be had, this last day of the holidays.

  ‘I love her, you know,’ Johnnie said into the silence. And each man realised the seriousness of his intent, Hugh honouring it by saying, ‘I know, old man. To be honest, I am so very pleased. For both of you. I’ve not seen the old girl look so well in years. And it’s a blessing to hear that laugh of hers again.’

  An enormous bridge crossed, both men arrived in No Man’s Land, unsure as to which way to turn.

  ‘It’s not as simple as that, though, is it?’ Johnnie spoke first, quickly, as if afraid his nerve would break and he’d turn, running for cover, back into the privacy of his emotions.

  ‘’Fraid not. No,’ Hugh replied.

  The northerly wind battered against the old window, a gale heaving under the frame; the blue flame in the hurricane lamp flickered. Stepping over, Hugh pulled a bright red-and-white check curtain across the glass; it was cheerful and ineffective on this January evening. ‘I hated him from the moment I saw him, Charles Sutton. Bloody bully even from the start. I missed the wedding, I was still in France, couldn’t get leave. Big fancy affair. Perhaps Lily’s told you?’

  ‘No,’ said Johnnie. ‘Truth be told, by mutual consent we’ve rather kept her marriage out of bounds.’

  Hugh saw the man pause, no doubt, desperate to know more but anxious not to appear nosey. So he said, ‘To be honest, Johnnie, it’s quite a relief to talk about it. As her brother and guardian, so to speak.’ He heaved over the saddle and attacked it with vigour.

  He’d taken to Johnnie immediately, as different as could be to Charles Sutton, not only in his physicality – tall, wiry and balding – but also in his humour, which sparked life into the embers of a day’s drabness. Twice they’d sat into the night that Christmas, a bottle of Scotch between them, and shared unspoken memories of Ypres and spoken experiences of life. And then three nights ago, Hugh had heard the creak along the old corridor and the joy of his sister’s giggling, as the two new lovers disappeared through one bedroom door.

  ‘The first time I saw Sis after her marriage,’ he said, ‘was a year after the actual wedding. Charles had just bought Melsham and they’d moved down there away from London, though they still had Bryanston Square. Anyway, I was invited down one weekend.’ He looked up and stared across the tack-room at the rows of saddles jutting from the walls, their shadows lumpily dancing in the lamplight.

  ‘Sis had, quite simply, changed. Not so much physically; no, she looked more beautiful than ever. But all her gaiety, all the wonderful child-like fun we used to have, it wasn’t there. She was so quiet – and I don’t want to sound melodramatic but she had a sort of haunted look, her eyes following Charles everywhere. And then one evening Charles and I had the most terrible row. Inevitable, I suppose, given our very different perspectives on life.’ He leant on the saddle and looked at Johnnie. ‘My fault really, I felt like provoking the man even though he was behaving like a drunken sot. Anyway, next morning I had the most wretched intuition that Lily had been on the receiving end of some pretty hateful stuff from this new husband of hers. Not that I think he actually hit her. Not then anyway.’

  Johnnie said nothing.

  ‘I was effectively banned from Melsham, not in so many words but it became obvious that it was torture for Sis, the anticipation of “words” between Charles and myself. And to be honest it wasn’t any fun. She was “cowed”- yes, that’s the word – and all the while she kept excusing the behaviour of this drunken bully of a husband. Anyway, slowly they took up with a different circle of friends. More his lot, his set.’

  As he was talking, Hugh turned to a small wall cupboard and was rummaging through to the back. He produced a bottle of whisky and, opening the stable door, threw the slops of two teacups into the yard. The wind howled into the room, sharp and stinging. He leant his weight against the door and closed it. Crossing back to a sink, he rinsed and refilled the cups with a good measure of whisky and, handing one to Johnnie, continued.

  ‘By now I was up at Oxford so Lily and I would meet in the Vac, usually in London, on our own. And again, a bit like you, by mutual consent we didn’t discuss the marriage. She knew I disapproved of Charles, to say the least, but Lily’s a great one for “if you’ve made your bed, you’ve jolly well got to lie on it”. Anyway, around then, Charles had this madcap scheme to become a Tory MP, God help us all. And dear old Lil discovered she had all the makings of an extremely good MP’s wife. So much so that Charles suddenly realised this wife of his was really quite an asset after all.’

  ‘I didn’t know any of this. Tell me more.’ Johnnie asked casually but Hugh saw the soft gleam in his eye. Good Lord, he thought, this man really does love Sis.

  ‘Well, she was in fact very good at canvassing. She was really good with people, really interested in their problems. Unlike Charles who was just a “guts and glory” boy flagging up his war record in a particularly vulgar fashion – and if not that, then flogging that wretched shop of his. But Lily would spend hours, you know, discussing people’s problems – and trying to sort them out. She’d say to me, “Oh, I don’t know anything about politics,” but actually she was extremely political in her belief in fairness and justice. So that, ultimately, as the election drew nearer, Charles became torn between Lily helping him to win his seat and him keeping Lily out of the public eye. Because, of course, by now Charles was unbelievably jealous of her – this prize possession of his – as she became more and more popular with all the folk round Melsham. Then one day—’

  He stopped. A light had gone on across the yard and there was the sound of soft steps. The tack-room door opened.

  ‘My two best boys getting drunk.’ His sister stood swathed in a muffler and woolly hat. ‘Can I join in?’

  ‘No, this is men’s talk.’ Hugh said firmly. Both men grinned at her.

  ‘Well, as long as you don’t plan to be out here all evening. I’ve got rather a splendid Last Night supper on the go – and it will be ready in fifteen minutes.’ She turned to leave, flicking her head round to smile back at them both. Life in that moment was good.

  In the silence that followed, the horse in the stable across the yard whinnied again, there was the dull chatter of hooves as it turned and turned about, and then all was hushed stillness, here in the heart of Lancashire, beneath an icy black sky dense with stars.

  ‘How long are you allowing for the journey back tomorrow?’ Hugh, the first to speak.

  ‘Six hours. Pray God, the snow holds off.’

  ‘Should do. It’s bitter but it’s dry.’

  He opened the stove and prodded the logs; they crackled heartily. ‘Final burst of heat before we go across. Outside and in, eh?’ He topped up Johnnie’s mug.

  ‘Can I talk through a couple of ideas with you, Hugh? Over the past few days, I’ve been shaping and re-shaping plans in my head. I’d be jolly grateful for a “sounding-board”.’

  ‘Go ahead, old man.’

  ‘As you know, Sam and Mary are holding the fort for me this Christmas at the farm. So I’m going to suggest, when we arrive back, Lily and Nickie drop me off first and then Sam takes my place, so to speak, and accompanies
them back to Melsham – after all, it’s only five miles away – just in case Charles is there.’

  Hugh had been in the kitchen when Johnnie had attempted to talk this through with Lily the night before. ‘I wondered,’ he’d asked carefully, ‘if, once you’ve driven Nickie back to school, you shouldn’t return to me at the farm?’ To which Lily had only replied, ‘We’ll see,’ and turned from them both in such a way as to make plain she didn’t want to discuss the matter further.

  Now Johnnie said, ‘I know Nickie is her dearest wish and concern—’ He stopped then blurted out, ‘Hugh, how are we to keep her safe? If Lily remains at Melsham she’s in grave danger. Especially if Charles Sutton were to learn of my feelings for Lily.’ He stopped, stranded in the midst of these circling fears.

  Hugh said nothing.

  ‘Well then.’ Johnnie took a deep breath. ‘My sense of the matter is that if Lily were, eventually, to separate from Charles, he would continue to find ways to punish her. And the easiest way for him to do that would be through the child.’ He looked at his watch and drained his drink. ‘What I’m trying to say, forgive me for rambling, is that she’ll never consent to marry me because it leaves Nicholas in too much danger from his father. Not that, from the little I know of Charles Sutton, he could ever be persuaded to give Lily a divorce. To make her happy.’

  ‘What you mean is, Charles must never find out about the two of you until Nickie is old enough to look after himself.’

  Johnnie nodded bleakly. Hugh could see that the situation spoken was as unrelenting as the situation silently mulled over in the dead hours of the night. The man looked torn between expectancy and anticipated despair.

  ‘Come on.’ Johnnie suddenly scrambled to his feet. ‘We’d better get in to supper. Thank you for the drink. Most welcome.’

  SS Etoile. Saturday, early.

  ‘Darling, it’s two o’clock,’ Johnnie said gently as he came back into the cabin. In the silence of the night, the ship thundered relentlessly. He closed his eyes, determined to survive the closeness of the cabin.

  He reached for the tooth mug and quickly poured himself a drink. ‘Can I tempt you, one for bed?’

  She looked up, her expression dazed and removed. ‘The letter’s nearly finished.’

  Looking at her, he knew at once her mind was no longer on the letter; he recognised immediately this ‘absence’. When he’d first known her, he’d been surprised and puzzled by her ability to remove herself, her mind seemingly elsewhere, her thoughts distracted from the task in hand. She appeared often to cocoon herself in a dreaming abstraction from which it was apparent she took no pleasure, her expression becoming distant, all animation dying. But slowly he had begun to understand that this seeming vagueness and distraction was her armour against the brutalities of much of her existence.

  ‘You can finish your letter in the morning. We must get some sleep.’ He stood, depriving the dreary cabin of its light.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s finished.’ Lily made to hand the letter to him but before he had a chance to take it, the words spun from her. ‘Oh, Johnnie, we should have left Nickie in England! If I hadn’t been so selfish in wanting him with me, he’d still be safe at school.’

  She rose up from the bunk but, as always, fettered by the lack of space, sank down. Now he saw her guilt, so carefully suppressed, spiral to the surface. ‘We’ve been so unbelievably selfish. If I’m caught, I’ll go to gaol and then Nickie—’

  ‘Hush, hush, darling.’ He sat down beside her and gently, turned her round to look at him. ‘It’s the middle of the night and you are understandably exhausted—’

  ‘Don’t try and hush me!’ He saw with her anger releasing, an anger fed by the constant watchful terror, all her euphoria at the adventure had extinguished. ‘You don’t understand.’ Her nerves were urging a fight. ‘You don’t begin to know the fear. If Charles finds us… Christ, what am I doing?’ He went to hold her.

  ‘No, don’t!’ She pulled away from his attempted embrace. ‘You’re a man. You’ve no idea of – of how terrifying it can be, the constant fear that you’ll be hurt. Or worse, that he’ll hurt Nickie. And all because I’m too feeble, because I’m a woman I can’t protect him—’

  He knew that this sense of impotence appalled and frightened her. She stood and, as if to reassure herself of her child’s safety, swiftly checked the upper bunk, distractedly smoothing the blanket. In barely a whisper, she said, ‘For ten years, ever since Nickie was born, the two of us have hidden. We’ve tried never to upset Charles, to keep quiet, stifle cries, stifle laughter, praying that he’d never notice us, knowing that our sheer presence infuriated and sickened him.’

  The procession of memories caught and spoken seemed to still her. She continued at a calmer pace, a sourness in her voice. ‘Charles and I waited five years for me to become pregnant. I thought I was barren, but, thank God, it happened just before my thirtieth birthday and Charles seemed to be as thrilled as I was.’ She stopped, closing her eyes. ‘From the moment Nickie was born, I could see the child created in him a mixture of jealousy and discomfort. He’d chide and goad the boy—’ She stopped again. When she next spoke Johnnie heard the depth of her despair. ‘I thought Nicholas’s birth, the wonder of it, would mend the marriage. It ended it.’

  They sat in silence, apart.

  After a while, he said, ‘You are extraordinary. Do you know, in all our time together, you’ve never once talked detrimentally about Charles.’

  ‘I thought it would be disloyal. So stupid! When you think of the pain…’ She shook her head. ‘You see, I can’t believe there will ever come a day when Nickie or I won’t cower.’

  He put his arm around her and she leant against him. ‘You’re a brave woman. Here you are setting off into the unknown with a strange man. Just as the Dolly Bartons of this world are settling down to gardening and Canasta.’

  ‘Perish the thought.’

  ‘Exactly. And, dearest one, to answer your question, no, I most definitely don’t think you should have left Nickie in England – to all intents and purposes, alone – to stand up to his father.’

  ‘My “strange man”,’ she said. ‘I do so love you.’

  Melsham, England. Summer 1932

  The telephone rang at a quarter to six. ‘Lily, my dear, is that you?’

  Lily had risen early, hope and expectation in her heart knowing she was seeing Johnnie later that day. It was Nickie’s summer holiday and they were all going on a jaunt to the Cobb at Lyme Regis.

  ‘Good lord, Dolly, it’s a bit early in the day for you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to ring but I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding.’ Lily suddenly felt extraordinarily cold. She stood very still, looking through the long windows across the lawn. It promised to be another hot, hot July day.

  Dolly Barton was saying, ‘Charles telephoned last night and asked to speak to you. He seemed to be under the impression you were dining with us—’

  ‘Dolly, how stupid of me, I get all my days in such a muddle when Nickie’s home from school—’

  But Dolly was still speaking. ‘Lily, please listen. Charles got terribly angry, you know how he gets when he can’t have his way. Though, I said to Gerald, often I think Charles’s bark is worse than his bite. Anyway, he was extremely short with me, so much so I put Gerald onto him and… Oh Lily, Charles has got it into his head that you must be having an affair!’ Dolly gasped out this final sentence.

  But Lily wasn’t listening. Up the drive, at enormous speed, she could see Charles’s car in a swirl of dust heading for the house. She slammed down the telephone.

  She was running through the house. ‘Mrs Benton! Mrs Benton! Quick, quick!’ The cook appeared through the swinging staff-door, flour up to her elbows. ‘Telephone Sam Valley. Freston 219. Get him here now!’ Lily was taking the stairs two at a time.

  ‘But, my lady—’

  ‘Now, Mrs Benton! He’ll know why.’ The cook disappeared like a star
tled rabbit.

  ‘Nickie! Nickie, up! Get up!’ Despite his size, Lily started to scoop up the sleeping boy from the bed. ‘Your father is downstairs.’ The boy flung from his bed. Mother and son were off down the nursery corridor, Nickie clutching at his pyjama bottoms.

  They reached the back stairs. Both stopped and listened, breathing in gulps.

  In the distance on the other side of the house, the Daimler had crunched to a halt and they could hear Charles Sutton mounting the front steps and hurling across the hallway. ‘Lily, where are you?’ A roar.

  Lily and Nickie shot down the little wooden stairs, along the passage and reached the garden door. ‘Now, darling, run as quick as you can to the stables and hide in the hayloft. Like Sam showed you.’ She was pushing him through the door.

  ‘But, Mummy, I’m not going without you—’

  ‘Do as you’re told, Nicholas. I need to talk to your father—’

  ‘Mummy, he’ll hurt you!’ Nickie was frantically hanging on to her, sobbing.

  ‘No, he won’t.’

  Suddenly they heard Charles somewhere near, crashing about. Behind them and above. Sweet Lord, he’s in the nursery; he’s gone straight to find Nickie.

  ‘Don’t leave me! I want to stay!’ the little boy cried out, clinging to her. With all her strength she shoved him out of the door. He stumbled and nearly fell. Picking himself up, he ran across the yard, turning once at the corner, tears pouring down his face, and disappeared from view.

  She turned away and, racing down the passage, tore into the kitchen.

  ‘Out this way, my lady.’ Mrs Benton was waiting for her and took hold of her hand, pulling her towards the scullery door. ‘I rang Sam, nobody answered—’

  But their escape was barred. Into the kitchen slammed Charles Sutton, with all the clumsy power of an enraged bull, red in the face.

  ‘Got you, you whore! And you, Benton, scram!’ The cook stood solid, fear in equal mix with bravery freezing her to the spot.

  Sir Charles lumbered towards her, raising his hand. Mrs Benton shot through the scullery door. Alone, he slowly turned to his wife. There was a kitchen table between them. Behind her, Lily became aware that, even on this summer’s morning, the range was beating out heat in preparation for Mrs Benton’s baking.