A Different Kind of Love

by A Different Kind of Love (retail) (epub)

Bereft, she managed to conjure a smile and waved to both of them from the train, pleased with a job well done, happy that Esme was well again, but sorrowful to be leaving the man about whom she would dream all the way home.

  Bright of eye, Esme flourished her handkerchief until Maddie’s train disappeared into the distance, then, linking her husband’s arm, made her way back to where the car awaited. ‘The house won’t be the same without her, will it?’

  He opened his mouth but his response was drowned by an announcement about the next train and instead he merely smiled.

  Reaching the car she gave an exclamation. ‘Oh, how silly, I left my bag on the bench.’

  Black addressed his chauffeur. ‘Johnson—’

  ‘No, I’ll go. It won’t take a sec!’ A smiling Esme hurried back into the station.

  Ordering the chauffeur to start the car, her husband lit a cigarette and wandered over to a patch of sunshine to wait, holding his thoughtful face to the light.

  The cigarette had acquired half an inch of ash before he noticed Esme was very slow to return. He was about to go to find her when screams of horror alerted him. Rushing back to the platform he discovered that his wife had hurled herself under a passing express.

  * * *

  Maddie had only learnt about it when she had gone back to work the following day.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, Nurse,’ Matron had said kindly after announcing the awful news. ‘There was nothing you could have done. She was obviously determined.’

  ‘But she seemed totally recovered – the doctor thought so too!’ Maddie’s heart was in her throat, her face distorted by shock and anguish.

  Matron remained calm. ‘I know. She fooled everyone, even her husband. He has told me I’m not to confer blame on you, nor would I. You could not have done more for your patient. Now, it is all very sad but you must put it from your mind and go and tend those who still need you.’

  Though totally numbed, Maddie had thanked her superior and done as instructed.

  That had been several weeks ago, since when the shock had lessened, only to be replaced by guilt and shame. Had Esme seen the connection between her husband and this so-called nurse? Interpreted the desire in Madeleine’s eyes? Was that what had pushed her onto that track? These thoughts obsessed her as she curled despondently in a chair one evening after work, staring into the fire. Only when the rapping of her door knocker became too loud to ignore did she manage to break away from them.

  ‘Were you in the lav?’ Beata’s stocky little figure tripped over the threshold of her sister’s dingy lodgings, wiping her feet as she went. ‘I’ve been knocking for ages.’

  ‘No, I was just hoping whoever it was would go away if I ignored them long enough.’

  Familiar with her sister’s sense of humour, Beata made a jocular retort. ‘Eh, I could have gone to watch Lon Chaney instead of coming here, you know.’ Then, perched on a rickety wooden seat, she spoke more understandingly. ‘I suppose the last thing you want is visitors straight after your shift.’

  ‘No, I’ll put up with you, as long as you don’t stay too long.’ Face deadpan, Maddie curled back into her saggy old armchair. ‘Mash a pot of tea if you want one.’

  ‘I’ve not long eaten.’ Prior to coming here Beata had made the most of her afternoon off, first a tour of the shops, then egg and chips at a café.

  ‘As long as you’re all right, then.’

  Interpreting satire, Beata withheld the riposte and went to put the kettle on, noticing that the other kept rubbing her knuckles as if in discomfort. ‘What’s up with your hand?’

  ‘Arthritis,’ came the dull response.

  ‘I thought it was only old people got that.’

  ‘Shows what you know then, doesn’t it?’

  It was not said nastily, just in Maddie’s usual tone, but Beata felt her spirits plummet. Was there any wonder it had taken her weeks to carry out her intended visit? She had come here as a dutiful sister to bestow upon Maddie the honour of being attendant at her wedding and this was how she was treated. Spooning tea into the pot, she asked, ‘Have you been to the doctor’s?’

  ‘Yes. There’s nothing they can do. I’ve got it for life.’ Punishment, came Maddie’s silent thought, not just her hands afflicted but the rest of her joints too, her whole body seared with pain, right down to her little toe.

  ‘Can I get you some aspirin?’

  ‘I’ve had some.’

  Sympathizing, Beata waited for the tea to brew and looked around the disordered room, wondering whether it was pain or sheer idleness that forbade Maddie to clean up after herself. There was a selection of clean laundry that had been ironed but not put away and was draped over every available bit of furniture. ‘Shall I put these in the cupboard for you?’

  Still kneading her painful joints, Maddie nodded. ‘Aye, I might as well make use of you now you’re here.’

  Beata went about collecting the linen. Carrying it to a tallboy she found the interior scattered with mouse droppings. ‘You’ve got mice in your drawers.’

  ‘I wondered what was tickling me.’

  Beata was forced to chuckle. Laying aside the linen she gathered the black specks, disposed of them, then removed the rest of the contents. ‘This sheet’ll need washing, they’ve widdled over it as well – eh, what’s this?’ A flat velvet box lay at the bottom of the drawer.

  Maddie had no need to look. ‘Pearls: they were a gift from a patient.’ Her tone was even but her heart wept for Esme.

  Gaping at the lustrous string of beads, Beata was astonished. ‘My God! I think I will be a nurse.’

  Maddie responded with sarcasm. ‘If you’re intending to rummage through the rest of my belongings, I’ll save you the trouble, she gave me a silk dress too. It’s in the wardrobe.’

  Beata clicked her tongue. ‘I’m only helping you tidy up!’ Any further retort was interrupted by a tap at the door. When Maddie did not move, her sister donned a cynical expression. ‘I suppose I’m answering that, am I?’

  ‘You’re the nearest, Beat.’

  But the disgruntled air vanished upon laying eyes on the box of crimson roses that was delivered by a neighbour, Beata returning all excited. ‘Apparently these came while you were at work!’

  ‘Shove them in the bin,’ ordered her sister darkly.

  Beata was incredulous. ‘You don’t even know who they’re from!’

  ‘I do.’ It was not the first bunch she had received from him. ‘Now do as you’re told and put them in the bloody bin.’

  Puzzled and greatly reluctant, sniffing the red roses as she went,

  Beata moved towards the back door, but at the last minute refused to carry out such profane command. ‘If you want to throw them away then do it yourself, you ungrateful devil! Somebody’s spent good money on them. He must think a great deal about you.’

  Maddie looked at her then, eyes like slivers of steel. ‘I’ll tell you what he thinks. He thinks I’m the skivvy that’s going to run round after him and his three lads, but he’s sadly mistaken!’

  There was a tense interval, during which Beata stared at her sister’s face, trying to intuit the other’s expression. Did it truly depict anger or was that merely to conceal a deeper emotion? She was the one to break the silence, asking tentatively, ‘Are they from the same person who gave you the pearls?’

  ‘No! I told you they were from a female patient.’ Eventually, with a pained grimace, Maddie relented but, unable to confess what so disturbed her, gave only half the tale. ‘All right, if you must know, they are connected in a way. She committed suicide. The roses are from her husband in gratitude for what I did for her when she was alive. Somehow, probably because we were shoved together for so many months, he’s got this daft idea that I can give him the sort of tender care that I gave her. It’s grief playing tricks on him, that’s all it is.’ She paused, wondering whether she had said too much, but finally admitted, ‘It’s not just the roses. He’s been sending me letters too, suggesting marriage. I can’
t give everything up just at the drop of a hat, Beat.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t care for him…’ Beata shrugged.

  Maddie hesitated, wrestling with her feelings, then blurted, ‘I do like him – but can you honestly see me bringing up three boys, one of them only a baby?’

  ‘No, not really.’ Beata’s sister had never seemed to share her own affection for children.

  ‘No.’ Maddie gave a firm nod of confirmation. ‘He’ll soon find somebody else, someone more suitable. There’s other folk who need me more. No, I’ve made my decision. My life belongs to my patients.’ Her demeanour was resolute.

  Feeling frivolous that she had come here to discuss weddings and bridesmaid’s frocks, Beata picked at her fingers. ‘You mean, you’ll never marry?’

  Maddie shook her head.

  Deciding not to broach the subject of her own wedding now, Beata went to pour the tea and shortly after drinking it went home, seeing her sister through new eyes and thinking how admirable was Madeleine’s stance.

  The one left behind curled her agonized body into the faded moquette of the chair, once more to brood upon her thoughts, wondering if Beata had seen through the lie, that behind her determined vocation lay the most appalling sense of guilt.

  * * *

  Having gone out before the afternoon post arrived, Beata asked when she got in somewhat earlier than usual on her evening off, ‘Was there a letter for me?’

  ‘No.’ Eve looked at her expectantly and was about to say more. But sensing that the parlourmaid was about to delegate some chore, Beata forestalled her. ‘Right, well, I think I’ll have an early night then.’

  In the morning, dallying outside the church after Mass, she told Augusta about her conversation with Madeleine and the noble decision that their sister had made. ‘I ended up not saying anything about Tommy. She made me feel quite shallow.’

  Gussie absolved her. ‘Nay, it’s natural for any lass to want marriage. If Madeleine wants to devote herself to other things that shouldn’t stop you doing as you choose.’ She sighed for Mr Black’s cruel bereavement. ‘Poor man – but at least he’s fortunate enough to be wealthy. I know it can’t make up for his loss but he’s got it a lot easier than some. Poor Mr Melody’s just been left with half a dozen children and he’s got no job, you know.’

  Watching the man in question trudge gloomily to his home just a short way along the street from the church, his clan in procession, Beata gave a sad nod, recalling her own mother’s demise and all the other unhappy memories that went with it.

  ‘I feel desperately sorry for him.’ Gussie was still concentrating on the widower’s plight. ‘I’ve been thinking of offering help but their grief’s still fresh. Anyhow, I’ve got enough on my hands at the moment, what with Uncle Matt.’

  ‘Is he no better?’ asked Beata. Their uncle had been bedridden for some weeks.

  Gussie shook her head. ‘Aunt Lizzie’s none too well either.’

  ‘Can I give you a hand with anything?’ Beata should really have been starting on dinner, but family came first.

  ‘No, but they’d love to see you if you’ve a minute to nip in.’ Beata said that of course she had and went along the terraced street with her sister to visit their elderly relatives.

  She was glad that she had, for a few days later Gussie dropped by to tell her Uncle Matt was dead. Whilst hardly shocking, for he had been old and ill, Beata had liked his dry sense of humour and shed a little tear as she poured her sister an early morning cup of tea, the two of them reminiscing about other family members until Eve came in with the newspaper and a pile of letters.

  ‘Oh, am I intruding?’ She stopped upon seeing the grave expressions.

  ‘No, you’re all right, I’ve got to go to work.’ Gussie rose and, telling Beata she would let her know about the funeral arrangements, subsequently left.

  ‘Our uncle’s died,’ Beata explained to the maid.

  ‘Suppose you’ll be wanting extra time off then.’

  ‘Well, it would be nice to pay my respects to Aunt Lizzie.’ Beata spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Don’t worry, I shan’t be long. She only lives in Edwin Street.’

  Eve cocked her head as if thinking, then exclaimed, ‘Oh, you mean those slums.’

  Though insulted, Beata saw that the term was not far from the truth. Prior to working in domestic service she had not truly appreciated the great divide in living conditions. The abodes of her mother’s kin, which she accepted as normal, could rightly be termed slum-dwellings. But, knowing it had been Eve’s intention to offend, she maintained a dignified silence.

  ‘I hear they’re to come down,’ added Eve, sorting through the letters. ‘And not before time. It’s full of disease is Walmgate.’

  Beata’s nostrils were white as she launched into her morning tasks. ‘Well, it won’t bother Aunt Lizzie. She’s on the list to get one of those nice council houses up Tang Hall. Hadn’t you better wake Colonel and Mrs Druce?’

  ‘In a minute.’ Eve yawned and put the letters aside, now perusing the headline. ‘I wonder if they’ll be affected by this Wall Street Crash business. There’s one thing for sure, it won’t bother me. I’ve got no money to waste on stocks and shares.’

  Recalling the many strikes and lock-outs of her childhood and the political opinions of her father, Beata was spurred by mischief. ‘Well, if you think that then you’re dafter than you look. It’ll affect everybody whether they’ve any money or not, so if you’ve any sense at all you won’t risk your job by idling there.’

  Unable to think of a suitable retort, Eve snorted and minced across the kitchen to make a pot of tea, rattling cups and saucers onto a tray then taking it up to her employers’ bedroom, leaving the young cook to reflect on her uncle’s death.

  * * *

  What with all the upset of the funeral, Beata did not notice that there still had been no letter from Tommy. But once back to her usual routine, she thought to ask Eve, who sifted through the morning post, ‘Is there anything for me?’

  The answer was negative, and continued to be so right into December, even though Beata had sent several letters of her own. This was so out of character for Tommy, who normally answered all her correspondence promptly, that she began to suspect that Eve was hiding her mail out of spite. The parlourmaid seemed to take such delight in pre-empting Beata – ‘Before you ask, there’s nowt for you!’ – that the young cook was positive her suspicions were correct. She had just plucked up enough courage to take Eve to task when Christmas brought a card, drawing huge relief that she had not acted upon her hasty conclusions.

  But then there had been no letter accompanying the card, and nothing else was to come. Three whole months of the new decade were to pass and now it was almost spring. Once again the suspicion began to worm itself through Beata’s worried mind. It had to be sabotage. In confirmation of this the parlourmaid had been acting even more strangely of late, rushing to the door the second she heard the letters fall through – and Eve had never been known to rush in her life.

  Deciding to creep after her one morning, following the arrival of second post, Beata suffered a jolt as she saw Eve slip an envelope into her apron pocket, and immediately all doubt was erased. Before the culprit could turn round she had pounced on her with an accusation: ‘I knew it was you hiding my mail!’

  Jumping with shock, Eve whirled round, dealt Beata a furious gasp then rushed along the corridor to the kitchen with Beata after her. ‘It’s not yours, you stupid twerp!’

  ‘Show me then!’ demanded the young cook, hands on hips.

  ‘Keep your voice down!’ snarled an angry Eve, then dragged the envelope from her pocket and thrust it under Beata’s nose. ‘See – it’s got my name on it!’

  ‘Oh…’

  ‘Yes, oh! How dare you accuse me of such an underhand thing?’

  Beata was immediately contrite and embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, you were just so secretive…’

  ‘Because I didn’t want the mistress to know I’ve gone
after another job!’ hissed Eve. After glaring for a while she made great play of sifting through the rest of the letters and shoving one of them at Beata. ‘There! Is that what you’ve been gagging for?’

  ‘At last – thanks!’ Beata grabbed it, confirmed Tommy’s handwriting and with an expression of relief held it to her breast before unusually ripping it open straight away, she was just so eager to read it. ‘I’m very sorry I was—’

  ‘Never mind!’ It was not said forgivingly but with a note of impatience as Eve opened her own letter. Immediately she gave an exclamation of triumph. ‘Oh blimey, I’ve got it!’

  ‘Congratulations.’ Eager to read Tommy’s news, Beata tossed her a brief but genuine smile, feeling dreadful at having voiced such an accusation. ‘Will you be better off?’

  ‘I should say so! I’ll be housekeeper.’

  ‘Housekeeper?’ Beata tried to appear impressed, then quickly lowered her face to her own letter so that Eve might not see the amused twinkle in her eye. There must have been a few lies told for her to be hired in that demanding role.

  ‘I’ll have to give notice straightaway.’ An excited Eve was already making plans. ‘In fact I think I’ll do it this minute.’ Shuffling the rest of the mail into a neat pile she put it on a silver tray and flounced towards the passage that led to the sitting room.

  Left in peace, Beata for once ignored her workpile and made herself comfortable in a fireside chair to savour the letter for which she had had to wait so long.

  Dear Beata,

  I’m sorry it’s taken me such an age to reply to all your many letters but I’ve bad to think very carefully before putting pen to paper. Things can appear very cold when written in black and white and I don’t want it to seem as if I’ve been trifling with your feelings because that’s the last thing I intended. I’ve thought about this very long and carefully. There’s no arguing that you and I get on awfully well and I’m still deeply fond of you but I’m forced to say I don’t think anything is going to come of our relationship, us living so far apart as we do.