Fragile Blossoms

by Dodie Hamilton

  Actually that’s not true; that last month in Cambridge she was in receipt of several proposals one of which was for marriage. ‘You can marry me,’ Freddie had said. ‘Other than pride what’s to stop you?’

  ‘It’s not a question of pride, ‘Julia had retorted. ‘It’s about respect.’

  ‘Respect for whom?’

  ‘For Owen and for me and my son!’

  ‘I do respect you and given the opportunity I would adore your son.’

  ‘Freddie, this is wrong. You ought not to talk this way.’

  ‘I dare not do otherwise. It’s time and opportunity.’

  ‘But why now? Do you think it right and proper to declare your feelings with my husband not cold in his grave?’

  ‘Owen Passmore is where he has always wanted to be alongside his beloved Pharaohs. The sun will shine on his bones forever and a day. Neither he nor his grave shall ever be cold again. The same cannot be said of me, Julianna, or my grave should you not save me.’

  With Owen’s death Freddie began a crusade. Day after day he would offer marriage. There were other proposals. Bearded professors and pale-faced lecturers would arrive at her door after dark. They would doff their hats. ‘I was passing and thought to offer condolences and any help I might give you and your son.’ Dusty-gowned conjurors they waved calling cards under her nose. ‘Take a card, Julianna, any card! Choose and let it be our secret.’ She refused them all but not because she is a respectable widow offended by importunate suggestions, she refused because according to them she has no heart and doesn’t understand their needs. She understood.

  Matty had a nightmare last night. He dreamt of Mister Punch.

  One summer the Punch and Judy man came to Cambridge, a gaudy striped tent set up in a field. ‘Let’s go and see the puppets,’ said Owen.

  Such a mistake! Matty returned screaming. ‘No, Mister Punch!’ Since then if he has a nightmare it is hook-nosed Punch that is the bugaboo. Last night Julia heard him crying. ‘Mumma, Mister Punch is here!’ Newly painted the door to his bedroom stuck and wouldn’t open. Matty was screaming and then all of a sudden stopped. That silence worse than any shriek she’d pushed on the door. It opened. He was sitting up in bed. ‘It’s alright,’ she’d hugged him. ‘Mister Punch can’t hurt you.’ He snuggled down in her arms. ‘Mister Punch gone.’

  This morning she told him Punch was a puppet and couldn’t hurt him. Matty was serene. ‘Punch gone.’ That’s all he would say. To the Wolf he said more.

  They passed on the stairs. ‘Mister Punch came to your lad then last night?’

  ’Yes,’ said Julia, ‘it gave him a nightmare.’

  ‘Well he won’t be having another, leastways not with Mister Punch. The nasty brute was eaten up by a crocodile.’

  ‘A crocodile?’

  ‘Matty said the Seed Lady brought in a basket.’

  ‘And did the Seed Lady leave a name and address so we might thank her?’

  ‘No but Matty says he’s seen her before digging seeds in the ground.’

  The following day seeds were found in one of the chests in the loft, and good linen bed-sheets and a Georgian tea-service. There was a diary, notes on sowing and planting. Julia shook the seeds into the palm of her hand. It was a strange feeling as though touching the hand that placed them in the trunk, the Seed Lady, a hand that brought comfort to a little boy.

  Half-past nine and Matty is still awake. ‘Go to sleep! It’s late.’ Julia closed the door and went downstairs. ‘We don’t want a repeat of last night!’

  Lately he’s inclined to weep at the slightest reprimand. He’s spending too much time at the Nelson. Feted as Nan’s little man ,and entertained by coaches and guests at the Inn, he finds life at the cottage dull and Mrs Cross’s cooking not to his taste. Yesterday he spat his porridge out. ‘Bumpy,’ he said. It was lumpy but that’s no way to be behave. He needs checking. Unfortunately until she’s back from London there’s nothing she can do.

  Knowing he is to stay at the Nelson Matty is happy and sits at his bedroom window singing of the Tabby Cat and Mister Wolf.

  Dear Matty, unable to converse with satisfaction with the outer world he creates an inner world. It would take too long to list the joys and fears inherent to his world. Matty has inherited a terrible fear of being stifled. Stefan has seen it before and says it’s a common reaction to a chloroform mask being applied to nose and mouth. Whatever it is man or woman leans too close and he pants and covers his eyes with his hands. ‘Can’t breathe, Mumma,’ he whispers. Now free and at one with the night he sings of whiskers and paws and his love for Luke Roberts.

  The day Owen died Matty sang to the stars. It was morning in Cairo when it happened. It seems Owen saw a member of the expedition on the other side of the road and running was knocked down. It was evening in England, a lamplighter lighting the quad. Julia was at the window looking out over the College grounds. Silver and sweet the sound of Matty’s humming rose through the evening air. ‘What are you doing, Dear Heart?’ she’d asked.

  ‘Singing to the stars.’

  ‘And do the stars hear you?’

  Matty’s eyes were great pools of knowing. ‘Papa hears me.’

  It’s late, the maids are in bed and Julia plays the piano. It seems the Newman sisters were fond of Stephen Foster songs, sheets of music here in the piano stool. Julia was weaned on Chopin and Schubert. Owen preferred early music, Purcell and Monteverdi. His favourite piece was ‘Che faro,’ from Gluck’s Orpheus and Eurydice. Owen once asked Julia what she thought of the aria. She said she thought it sad. ‘Yes, sad and beautiful,’ he’d said, his eyes soft. ‘Like Orpheus I too would go to the Gates of Hell should you need me.’

  The clattering of hooves brought Julia from her reverie.

  Luke Roberts was leading a pony and trap into the yard.

  ‘Mister Wolf!’ The bedroom door slammed. Night-shirt billowing Matty rushed down the stairs and out through the front door.

  ‘Hang on, lad!’ Luke caught him up. ‘Don’t be throwing yourself at animals like that. They are likely to bolt.’ Luke recognises himself in Matty. Highly strung and frustrated, words trapped in his head, he knows how that feels. ‘You must be careful. Animals don’t like sudden moves. It makes ‘em nervous. You wouldn’t want me running at you like that now would you?’

  Hair untied and face glowing Julianna appeared at the door. Straightway Luke’s guts are in a tangle. Resentment locks up his heart and his head the minute she comes into view. She’s been nothing to him but polite, even so at the sight of her or the mention of her name his tongue grows to twice its size and he splutters like an angry fool.

  ‘Don’t swing on Mr Roberts like that, Matty,’ she says. ‘It’s not polite.’

  ‘He’s alright,’ said Luke. ‘He means no harm.’

  ‘Even so he shouldn’t do it. It’s presumptuous. ’

  Luke swung the boy up in his arms. ‘Do you hear what your mother says, young Matty? You are presumptuous. Now what does that great long drawn-out word mean? Do you know?’

  Matty laughed and shook his head.

  ‘Me neither. We’re both a couple of ignorant clods. You stay here and learn and I’ll go back to the Forge and my lonely room and dredge out a dictionary and try to understand what she might mean by presumptuous.’

  The boy laughed again. Then he took hold of Luke’s ears and pulling him forward delivered a smacking kiss. ‘Huff ‘n puff, Mister Wolf.’

  Yes, Luke smiled. Out of the mouth of babes! He set the boy down. ‘Go to your mother. It’s time you was asleep.’ Then remembering the point of the journey he turned to Julianna. ‘I brought Matty a present. I hope you’re alright with that? I thought it might keep him company and help you less afraid of plant-stealers.’ He opened the box and the dog peered out great brown eyes fearful. ‘This is Kaiser or so the chap in the bar would have him called. As you can see, p
oor half starved brute, his ribs are like a harp. Perhaps when he’s fattened up a bit he’ll be more a Norfolk dog and you can rename him.’

  ‘I’ll keep the name.’ Julia stroked the dog and it licked her hand. ‘It is a fine name. He looks like he could be a king.’

  ‘He’s a good watchdog. The slightest noise and he’s on it.’

  She touched Luke’s hand. ‘This is so very kind.’

  Luke couldn’t stop the fire burning in his cheeks. He opened a bag and two kittens peeped out. ‘Kaiser didn’t come alone. These little dears were with him. I don’t know if you want them. I couldn’t leave them behind. I wasn’t sure what the chap would do if I didn’t take them. Most likely end up in the cut.’

  ‘The cut?’

  ‘The canal. Do you want them?’ he said diffidently. ‘It’s alright. I can take them back if you don’t.’

  ‘I’ll take them all, dog and kittens.’ Hair cascading streams of silken gold over sooty fur she gathered them up. ‘Thank you, Luke,’ she whispered, ‘You could not have given me and my boy a nicer gift.’

  Huff and Puff! In that moment God smote Luke Roberts. Swallowed up in her eyes Mister Wolf fell from a great height and kept on falling.

  Lord, she is so lovely. Of an evening he comes and stands by the wall to hear her play the piano, and if he can’t come, if he’s busy he tries to imagine it. The Forge is the other end of town but in his mind she’s there, back straight and hands poised, the tinkling sound rising in the evening air.

  ‘Heaven help me!’

  It’s as he said to Matthew. You ought not to make a sudden move on a wild creature. They’re apt to bolt and take you with it. This, the peony red of her lips and her hand touching his, is the sudden move. Now a maddened horse Luke is bolting headlong in love with Julianna Dryden and nothing on earth is ever going to haul him back.

  Four

  The Opera

  The day started badly and ended the same.

  Julia was staying at Langora, the house in Russell Square. Seven am Friday morning she woke to find Evie crawling into bed beside her. ‘A hug, please, Ju-ju,’ she groaned her face wrinkled with pain. ‘I have a headache.’

  Julia made room. ‘Why do you get such headaches? The way they knock you out suggests more than the everyday complaint.’

  ‘I am a sinner. One gets according to one’s lights.’

  ‘No really, Evie, why do you?’

  ‘My sycophant doctor says it’s due to extreme sensitivity. My honest Stefan says it’s a neurological disorder the flow of blood to my veins constricted.’

  ‘And what does that mean?’

  ‘I have no idea. He examined me, used a lot of stiff Germanic phrases, did that thing he does when exasperated, you know, stroked his moustache, and then said I was an over-wound spring, one more turn and I’d break.’

  ‘Did he suggest medication?’

  ‘Yes. He said I should join the Suffrage movement.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No, of course not! If the latest bill from Fortnums wine cellar is to be believed I’d do better joining the Temperance Movement. This house is fast becoming a gin-palace. The amount of spirit imbibed during this last quarter points to one thing, either Jamieson or me is on the way to being an alcoholic.’

  ‘So what do you plan to do about it?’

  ‘Sack Jamieson!’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  Evie laughed and winced. ‘You’re right I wouldn’t. I am terrified of the man and always have been.’

  ‘How long has he been with you?’

  ‘He came with my dear Sidney and never left.’

  ‘He’s a big fellow and rather fearsome looking.’

  ‘Squat and square I would say rather than big.’

  ‘What exactly does he do?’

  ‘He’s my butler and my chucker-outer.’

  ‘Do you need to chuck out?’

  ‘Not so far but there’s always a first. Now hush! I didn’t leave the warmth of my bed to talk of Jamieson. I came to be comforted and to say I want you to leave that miserable croft in Norfolk and live here in Russell Square.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Why can’t you?’ Evie pushed closer. ‘Miserable backwater with miserable people, from what I hear they don’t deserve you. Now be quiet and let me cuddle up and get some peace.’

  Julia put her arm about Evie, a headache is a headache, the needs of a forty-year old not so different to that of a three-year old. Arm under Evie’s head she lay looking at the ceiling and the mirrored glass that is the bed canopy. The mirror reflects the luxury of the room, heavy bed hangings and lace pillows, the pale blue silk covered chaise by the bay window and the elegant French dressing table and armoire. The floor is covered with thick blue and cream Aubusson rugs. In Norfolk Julia steps out of bed onto bare floorboards. Even on the warmest day she rushes from bed to bath snatching clothes as she runs. The N and N is not as Spartan as it used to be, the Roberts gentlemen having worked their magic. It has hot and cold running water and other amenities but compared to the opulence of Langora, and the excess, servants ever on hand to light the way through the many rooms with tens of candles that glitter throughout the house, the cottage is as Evelyn says a croft.

  ‘You don’t use oil-lamps here in Russell Square.’

  ‘I can’t bear the smell and the smoke,’ Evie replied. ‘I have them in Gloucestershire my man there expert at trimming. It saves a deal of mess.’

  ‘And electricity? I’ve been reading about that.’

  ‘What, harsh light exposing me and my bones to the world! Thank you I’ll cleave to candlelight. It helps me to look less of a wizened old woman.’

  ‘You could never look like a wizened old woman.’

  ‘If I don’t it’s because of the fancy creams I buy at fancy prices.’

  Evelyn talked of cosmetics. Julia thought of Matty and how she missed him. She must stop coming here. Life here makes her idle. In Norfolk she wakes knowing she must do her best for her house and those dependent upon her. An hour here and she’s yearning for silly things like crushed pearls to lighten her complexion and belladonna to brighten her eyes. This house is not restful. Evie is not restful! She’s either laughing or in a deep depression, ‘the Black Dog barking,’ she calls it. Freddie says the privilege of wealth has made his sister dangerous and one must not to be gifted into ruin. It’s certain Julia is becomingly increasingly wary, Evie one minute giving and the next taking back.

  ‘I say, Julia!’ Evie nudged her. ‘Come back from wherever you are.’

  ‘I was thinking of Matty.’

  ‘You’re always thinking of Matty.’

  ‘That’s because he is my son.’

  ‘You should have brought him with you then you wouldn’t have to think. He makes me laugh. Did you know he calls me Mary-Mary as in quite contrary?’

  ‘Well he shouldn’t! And you mustn’t let him. He does such things at home.’

  Evelyn was up on her elbow twining Julia’s hair about her fingers. ‘You see that place as home do you? I suppose I can see the appeal. Windswept moors and foggy dales chime with the romantic in you, Bronte and unquiet spirits.’

  ‘This is Norfolk we’re talking about not Yorkshire.’

  ‘No but your Nanette is from Yorkshire as is her son, the dark-eyed blacksmith who breaks the ice on the pump of a morning, and defends his lady’s honour by banishing ruffians from the castle walls.’

  ‘You know a great deal about my life.’

  ‘I don’t know enough! Who is he that he should defend you so?’

  ‘Luke Roberts and his father work on the cottage making improvements.’

  ‘What kind of improvements?’

  ‘They knock down walls.’

  ‘Ah bully-boys! How delicious!’ Evie kissed Julia’s shoulder. ‘And a
re they good at what they do, are they strong but sensitive and warm but in control.’

  ‘They are reliable.’

  ‘Lord, how boring!’

  ‘Not boring, honest and able.’

  ‘Not too honest I hope. That would make them hesitant. I don’t like hesitance. We should all rush at life waving a big cudgel. Do you think your Heathcliffe might rush at me waving a big cudgel?’

  ‘Evelyn!’

  ‘Well why not? Why should you have all the fun? I must have my bit even if it is only a bit. Invite them over! Bring your Nan with you.’

  ‘I don’t think she’d leave the Lord Nelson.’

  ‘The Lord Nelson?’ Evelyn shrieked. ‘What-ho, Lady Hamilton, yet another woman tied to a man’s lanyard!’

  ‘Nan’s not like that. She’s her own person. Owen would’ve liked her.’

  ‘And that’s why you like her. Owen is the monitor of all things. You judge your life through your late husband’s eyes.’

  ‘I don’t think I do.’

  ‘Oh, trust me, you do. You refer to him all the time.’

  ‘Is that a bad thing?’

  ‘It does rather impede. Owen was a silent man. He rarely offered opinions on anything yet I suspect he knew more about life than anyone living. He saw through veils.’ Evelyn yawned. ‘He certainly saw through mine.’

  ‘Do you wear a veil?’

  ‘Certainly I do, every minute of every day, and not so much a veil as a suit of armour. It’s the only way to get by.’

  ‘Why do you wear it?’

  ‘Why does any warrior wear armour but to protect himself?’

  ‘And from what do you protect yourself?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Me?’ Julia laughed. ‘Why protect yourself from me? What possible harm can I do you?’