by Lulu Taylor
I’m vaguely tickled by the idea that the internet has failed me in my quest for information but that the old girls next door might be the answer. There’s something comforting in the fallibility of technology, as though we’re not quite ready for human hearts and minds to be made redundant.
I’ll go over there and ask them about the church.
It is more than two hours before Agnes and Sophia come back. I’m clearing up from lunch when I hear the front door slam. I want to go and ask them what they’ve been up to and where this church is, but it’s a bit much like being a nosy neighbour to pop up every time they walk by. I still can’t imagine them staying here long. I have the strongest sense that they will be leaving tomorrow, at least temporarily.
But I can’t stop myself drifting quietly out into the corridor to listen as they go across the hall to the staircase and ascend. They’re walking slowly, as though tired out. There is the creak of hinges as they open the door. Then I hear Sophia speak in her deep voice, its upper-class tone so clear and carrying:
‘It will be all right when the Beloved gets here.’
Then the two of them disappear behind the door, which shuts out all noise so effectively it’s as though a radio has been switched off.
PART TWO
Chapter Eleven
1926
Meet me at Paddington, 2.30, ticket office. Bring my green coat. Arabella
Lettice is there on time, just as Arabella orders. Everyone does what Arabella wants. Or at least, they did until recently. She is clutching the coat too – bottle green with a fox-fur collar, soft and warm. While she waits, she pushes her cheeks into the comfort of the fur and watches the people bustling about. A station is full of so much to observe, she thinks. The great black trains sit docile in their platform niches, occasionally blowing out clouds of grey and white smoke like horses puffing and eager to be off. At the end of the platforms, through the great iron arch, is the white light of beyond, where the rails disappear towards the places the trains will fly to as soon as they are untethered and released. Porters push trolleys of luggage, elderly ladies in Edwardian coats, gloves and broad hats sail majestically to their first-class carriages, children in their best clothes skip as they hold their anxious mothers’ hands, and men are everywhere – suits, greatcoats, hats, cigarettes, pasty-faced, guiding their wives, reading papers, dashing by. Newspaper boys hold up the morning edition; the afternoon one has not yet arrived. A few pathetic war veterans, with bandaged or missing limbs, beg by the station doors. Filthy, ragged children cadge farthings or offer to carry bags. A vagrant wanders about in a crusted coat, with a long beard and a battered face, his feet bound with rancid cloths, carrying a dirty bundle, oblivious of the station official trying to herd him out and back to the streets.
The world is here, thinks Lettice, amazed. She rarely comes to London and this is almost overwhelming. Among the crowd she sees faces she thinks she recognises, and then realises they belong to people like the ones she knows at home: well dressed, healthy and handsome – at least compared to some of the sorry specimens she can see here. The lower classes of the city are ugly, she realises; grey- or sallow-faced, dirty-haired, missing teeth, either miserable or fierce or blank around the eyes. But it can’t be their fault. Poor things. They should come and live in the country. Oh, where is Arabella?
As she thinks this, she’s aware of a flurry nearby and the next moment, she sees Arabella approaching through the swarm of people that seems to part as she nears and then close again behind her, like a fogbank. She looks hectic, her hat pushed back on her head, her black hair uncoiffed and blowing free. She is wearing a plain tweed coat. Her cheeks have round spots of pink and her eyes glitter.
‘Letty! Letty,’ she squeals as she sees her sister. ‘Oh, thank God you’re here. Quick, quick, give me the coat!’
Letty holds out the coat dumbly. Arabella slips off the tweed coat and pulls on the bottle-green one. She bundles up the tweed and hands it to Letty. ‘Here. Carry it for now. They won’t be looking for you.’
She hurries into the ticket office and up to the nearest booth, Letty following. ‘Two singles to Goreham, please. First class.’
‘Goreham?’ Lettice says. She doesn’t know what she was expecting but this is still a surprise. ‘Are we going home?’
‘Of course. What did you think? That I’d let that scoundrel win? Hardly.’ Arabella looks outraged. ‘If he thinks I’ll go down without a fight, he’s quite wrong. Now come along. The train goes in ten minutes. Platform six.’ She reaches up and presses her hat forward so that it sits better, and tucks up her loose hair, stuffing it up under the hat. ‘Let’s go, Letty, we mustn’t miss it.’
Letty follows her, feeling helpless in the face of Arabella’s determination. But then, if it’s not Arabella’s, it’s Cecily’s. She doesn’t know which side she is on, each is so powerful and so convincing. I must be very weak, she tells herself. Or else they are very strong.
It’s a mystery she must get to the bottom of one day, but it doesn’t look as though it will be today. She follows obediently in Arabella’s wake as she marches out into the station where grey light filters down through the curved glass roof strutted with iron.
They hurry through the crowd, Arabella tip-tapping ahead, pulling the fox fur close around her neck, and they are almost at platform six when Letty hears it: the slap of leather shoes on the concourse, the shouts, the murmur of surprise among the crowd.
‘Hi! You there! Stop!’
Heads turn, eyes wide, mouths open, as three men, two in gabardines, one in a wool coat, all with dark hats and moustaches, come running up. They are in a wild rush but once they reach Letty and Arabella, they stop, wary and uncertain of what to do. They don’t want to grab the women in public. Instead, they stand in Arabella’s way, blocking the entrance to platform six, panting.
‘Get out of my way,’ Arabella says in a voice of ice. ‘This instant.’
‘You’re to return with us, miss. You know you’re not permitted to travel. We know Mrs Porter let you out.’ One of the men, a fellow in green gabardine, is speaking. He has a ratty look, Letty thinks. His eyes are close together and rimmed in red.
‘You have no jurisdiction over me,’ Arabella says majestically. ‘Let me pass.’
‘Now, come along, Arabella, don’t be so silly.’ It’s the man in the wool coat. He’s got a persuasive, deep voice, and a well-spoken accent. ‘You know this is a foolish escapade. Come back and we can talk about it.’
‘There is nothing to talk about, Mr Barrett,’ she says. ‘You are an agent of evil, as you well know. I do not answer to you. You have no power over me.’ Arabella takes a step forward. The men close ranks, blocking the way to the platform. As if in protest, the train puffs a cloud of smoke and chunters out a huge mechanical sigh.
Mr Barrett, his moustache rather thin but very black, smiles, one corner of his mouth sloping upwards. ‘An agent of evil, am I? I think that rather proves my point. Now, let’s be a good girl—’
‘A good girl?’ Scorn drips through Arabella’s voice. ‘Who do you think you are, Mr Barrett? You’re nothing. No one. You have no right to speak to me, let alone stand in my way.’
‘I act on behalf of Mr Ford, as you are aware.’ The smile looks less convincing now, Letty thinks.
‘Mr Ford has no right to prevent me doing anything,’ spits Arabella. Her cheeks are even more hectic and her eyes sparkle with fury.
Edward? thinks Lettice. This is all Edward’s doing? She is mortified by the scene they are making. All around, people are turning to stare and murmur. A small circle of observers is forming. The men look like police in plain clothes, and she can feel the shame of guilt even though she’s innocent. What do they think I’ve done? It looks so bad; everyone must assume they’ve stolen something, or worse, though she can’t imagine what that might be.
‘Get out of my way!’ orders Arabella, drawing herself up tall, every inch of her resplendent with dignity. ‘Do you not understan
d? You have no power over me. If you attempt to prevent me catching the train, I will sue you! I will sue for abduction, for false imprisonment! You know what you’re doing is illegal, and I know very well what my rights are. You may no longer prevent me from following the dictates of my own mind. I will appeal to the Commissioners for Lunacy!’
There is a pause as the men absorb this. Lettice sees that they are shaken and that Arabella senses this. She says imperiously, ‘Let me pass!’
The hands of the clock that hangs huge above the platforms move a jot further on. There is one minute before the train leaves. They must hurry or miss it.
Barrett steps back to let them pass. ‘Very well,’ he says reluctantly. ‘We must pursue this matter at a later date.’
‘Consider yourself lucky you have not been arrested!’ Arabella strides past him. ‘Come, Letty!’
The train is being held for them, realises Lettice, trotting in her sister’s wake, still carrying the tweed bundle. The station official is holding up his flag, his whistle in his mouth, waiting for them to reach their first-class carriage. A porter dashes forward to open the door and then they are in, settling into facing seats, with only one elderly lady to share the carriage with them. The whistle blows, the slow turn of the wheels begins, the windows are veiled with steam, and they jerk forward.
‘There,’ says Arabella with satisfaction. ‘That showed them!’
Arabella explains what has happened as the train makes it way west, out of London and away. ‘Didn’t you wonder where I was?’ she asks, disbelieving.
‘They said you were taking a cure,’ Lettice says, aware now how flimsy it sounds. ‘I knew you’d had the influenza at Christmas. I thought you were recovering somewhere nice.’
‘Nice? Hardly!’ Arabella snorts. ‘No, my dear. They shut me up.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. Under the Mental Deficiency Act. My darling sister and her caring husband, wanting only what’s best for me, naturally! Nothing to do with my twenty thousand a year, and my ownership of Hanthorpe.’ She frowns and narrows her eyes at Letty. ‘Did you really not know?’
‘No!’ Lettice gasps. She is truly shocked, but she is well aware of her sister’s tendency to indulge in high drama and flights of fancy. The scene at the station is meat and drink to Arabella. She has to be careful believing everything her sister says. It has led her into trouble in the past.
‘I’ve been in Moorcroft Asylum at Hillingdon. A lovely place, I must declare,’ she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice. ‘I was taken against my will, bundled off the moment I came out of church. Thanks to Cecily and Edward, my capacities were considered too weak for the everyday world and I was shut away with the real lunatics and deficients!’ Her eyes fill with angry tears. ‘I could have spent my life there with no one the wiser. But of course, the Beloved would never permit it. He sent the Reverend Ashley as my rescuer.’
‘Reverend Ashley?’ Lettice says faintly. Another stranger. Another influence. She knew that Cecily and Edward were concerned about Arabella. How could she not? She was not witness to the interview that must have convinced them to have Arabella committed but she knew only too well what precipitated it. Arabella, frank and honest to the point of endangering herself, would have had no idea that she was playing into their hands.
‘That’s right. A good man, a man of faith! A recent convert to our cause. He knows the Beloved, he understands. He intends to join us in good time. Until then, he is able to work undetected to protect those of us that need it. He ensured that I was moved out of the asylum to the home of Mrs Porter in Peckham. She is a kindly lady, a widow who takes in patients not suited to the asylum but who are not permitted to live alone. She supervises them. Well, it took five minutes for her to know that I wasn’t in the least bit mad. She had a poor unfortunate with her – gentle but raving, compulsively washing every two minutes, unable to speak, crooning away to herself. The contrast could hardly be greater, and Reverend Ashley soon persuaded her to release me. So I telegraphed to you to meet me.’ Arabella’s face twists into an ugly scowl. ‘But the wretched Hannah – her daughter – I’m quite sure is in the pay of the authorities. She must have alerted them to my plans. I never trusted her! I explained to Mrs Porter that it is illegal to detain me, when I’m in my right mind. I’m neither a harm to myself, nor to others. It doesn’t matter if others don’t agree with my beliefs. That means I should be at liberty, Letty. The courts have said so, there is a precedent! And Reverend Ashley knows it; he’s the one who told me that I’m free to leave if I wish. And now . . .’ Arabella draws herself up again, inspired by her own noble speech. ‘I am going home to take back what is mine.’
Oh dear, Lettice thinks. This means trouble. She is not sure which side she should be on – neither is particularly appealing. She knows that Cecily and Edward’s outward respectability masks their desire to take control of the family fortune for their own benefit, but the fact that they have gone to these lengths frightens her. If they’re prepared to lock Arabella away, might they do the same to her? After all, Arabella has taken her to one of the church meetings . . .
Admittedly, she has nothing like Arabella’s inheritance. Ten thousand a year is a good sum, but nowhere near her sister’s riches, which include ownership of the house. Still, she knows Edward would have it all, if he could, the house as well.
The house most of all.
She knows her brother-in-law wants it, considers it rightfully his, as he is head of the family with Papa gone and the other sisters unmarried.
Arabella is lost in happy fantasies of the battle ahead, oblivious to the shocked expression on the face of the elderly lady opposite, who has grasped that she is travelling in the same carriage as a lunatic. Lettice smiles consolingly at her and tries to convey in her eyes that Arabella is not dangerous.
At least, not to others, she thinks mournfully. What she is doing to herself is another matter.
Her oldest sister was always eccentric and prone to fancy. From communing with fairies in the sand dunes on their seaside holidays to consulting mediums in order to talk to the spirit world and, more particularly, their mother, Arabella has been seeking something all her life. And now she has found it. A fervent, unshakeable belief in the man who now guides her in every part of her life, to whom she was willing to devote herself without question, the one she calls the Beloved.
I never wanted to be at everyone’s mercy, Lettice thinks. Outside, the fields fly past, edged by the distant inky green forests. Arabella has fallen asleep, one cheek buried in emerald fur, her hat askew. But somehow that is how it’s ended up.
Perhaps it began in her earliest life, with the nurse who pulled her hair viciously and slapped her if she did anything but sit quietly and do as she was told without demur. The one after that was no better, but she was slovenly and lazy, and forgot to feed the children at times. If they complained, they were smacked with the hairbrush and sent to bed. Lettice felt that she and her sisters existed in a strange kingdom far from their parents, where all the rules were reversed. Downstairs, the family was in charge, the servants bustling to fulfil their orders, keep the house clean, ease the life of their masters. But upstairs, behind the nursery door, the children were at the mercy of the servants and whatever they wished. Letty cowered and hid when the footman came up to lounge in the nursery armchair, his feet on the fender, sometimes pulling Nurse onto his knee, wrapping his hand around her waist and kissing her. Once Letty peeped through the crack in the door and saw him pushing his tongue into Nurse’s mouth, and his hand up under her skirts. She’d been so shocked, she’d dropped the tin toy she was holding and it clattered on the bare floor. The couple had jerked apart, pulling their clothes straight, Nurse smoothing her hair before hurrying into the passage. When she saw Letty, she screamed at her that she was wicked, dragging her by the arm into the bedroom and beating her hard until Letty was sobbing and cowering, trying to dodge the blows.
‘You see what happens when you don’t do what you’r
e told?’ cried Nurse, her face flushed with anger and excitement. ‘Now lie here till I get you, and don’t you breathe a word or I swear I’ll flay you.’
Letty, shaking with pain and fear, lay as still as she could and said nothing for hours, until, when she was freezing cold and bursting with her need for the lavatory, Nurse had finally come back to release her. There was no sign of the footman when she returned to the nursery.
That Nurse disappeared one day as well. They often did. People who’d been part of their lives forever were gone one morning and never seen again, a stranger taking the empty place without explanation. Sometimes Letty wondered if such a thing could happen to her, or Arabella or Cecily. They might wake up and discover that one had been replaced with a more pleasing model, less likely to cause disruption. More obedient.
But if that were to happen to any of them, surely it would be Arabella. She could tell that the servants disliked Arabella most of all; she wasn’t pretty like Cecily, with her dark untameable hair that frizzed out in all directions, her sharp brown eyes and her pointed chin. She was dreamy and yet dramatic, a thudding, unmissable presence with a loud voice and a fearless way of retorting at anyone who upbraided her. The nurses were careful in their punishments with Arabella, but Letty could see them reining themselves in, as though she was the one they most wanted to lash. Letty suspected it was Arabella who had told the grown-ups about the crimes of the worst nurses, and it was a relief when at last they ended up with Nanny Hughes, slow and ponderous but loving in her own way. At least there were no more slaps and there was always dinner.
‘You wouldn’t say boo to a goose,’ she’d say to Letty. ‘What a little mousey you are.’
But to Arabella she said, ‘No one will want such a galumphing hoyden, miss! Mind yourself and your manners, if you please.’