Daughters of Courage

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Just look at them,’ Emily laughed. ‘I hope they’ll grow up to be friends, Amy, being the same age.’

  ‘Of course they will. When they get older, Lewis must come and stay with us in the school holidays.’

  ‘And yours, too, must come to the city.’

  Amy laughed. ‘I wouldn’t inflict all three on you at once, but maybe Harry could come in a few years.’

  ‘It’s a promise.’

  ‘Mother, whatever are you doing here?’

  On a warm spring day in April, Constance stood uncertainly in the doorway to Trip’s office in the factory.

  ‘I – er – thought I’d just take a drive into the city.’

  ‘Come in – come in and sit down.’ Trip placed a chair in front of his desk and as Constance sat down, he perched on the corner of the desk. ‘Has Kirkland brought you?’

  Constance’s eyes twinkled merrily. ‘No. I’ve sold my little car and bought myself a brand new one, Thomas.’

  ‘What about Father’s Rolls? Didn’t you want to drive that?’

  Constance waved away his suggestion. ‘Far too big and ostentatious for me. I’m not sure what to do with it, really. Do you want it, Thomas?’

  ‘Heavens, no! I feel the same as you about it.’

  ‘I thought I should be more adventurous and be courageous enough to drive anywhere I want to go,’ Constance went on. ‘And I wanted to come here.’

  The corner of Trip’s mouth twitched with amusement. He could understand his mother wanting to visit her family – especially her grandson, on whom she doted – but why, exactly, had she come to the factory?

  It was over six months since his father’s funeral and he was pleased to see that his mother was picking up the pieces of her own life. Arthur had been ill for so long that it was far from being disrespectful to him that she should cast off her mourning clothes and move on.

  ‘I thought perhaps you could come to lunch with me and then later I’ll visit Belle and, perhaps, I could see Lewis too, when Emily gets home.’

  ‘I can hardly believe he’ll be a year old next month. He crawls everywhere like lightning and even tries to pull himself up to stand.’ Trip couldn’t hide the pride at every milestone in his little son’s life. ‘Emily leaves him some days with Mrs Dugdale and he’s started on solids. You could call at her house to see him, if you like, then you won’t be so late setting off back home. You know where she lives, don’t you?’

  Constance nodded. ‘All right. I’ll do that. I’ll visit Belle another time and spend more time with my grandson.’ There was still a note of joy in her tone every time she uttered the word ‘grandson’.

  ‘How are all the Ryan family? Have you seen them lately? We must really come over to Ashford very soon.’

  ‘They’re all well, but now I’ll let you get on,’ Constance said, standing up. ‘Shall I pick you up about twelve-thirty?’

  ‘That’d be perfect.’

  As she stood up, she said casually, ‘Is George in his office? I’d just like to say “hello”.’

  ‘I think so. I’ll show you . . .’

  ‘It’s all right. I know the way.’

  As she left the room, Trip stared after her thoughtfully.

  ‘Constance, my dear.’ George Bayes stood up from behind his desk and came towards her with his hands outstretched as they always were whenever they met.

  ‘I – I’m not sure I should have come,’ she said. Constance was usually a confident, self-possessed woman, but at this moment she was strangely hesitant and unsure of herself.

  ‘Why ever not?’ George said blandly and added, with a conspiratorial wink, ‘I presume you’ve come to see your son – or even Richard.’

  Constance laughed and relaxed a little, but she was still aware of her hands clasped in his. If anyone should come into the room suddenly and see them . . .

  Gently, George led her to a chair. ‘How are you now, my dear? I haven’t seen you since Arthur’s funeral. I’ve been thinking about you though, but I thought it wouldn’t be –’ he paused, as if searching for the appropriate word – ‘seemly to be seen visiting you so soon.’ Still holding her hands, he sat down on a chair facing her and leaned forwards. ‘But I’ve been thinking of you. How I’ve been thinking of you.’

  ‘Have you, George?’ she murmured, her gaze fastened onto his. Then she took a deep breath and said boldly, ‘And I’ve been thinking about you too. We’re both alone now and – I mean . . .’ All at once the uncertainty was back.

  ‘You’re wondering if we could recapture those heady days of our youth, aren’t you? Before our parents stepped in and told both of us we weren’t suitable for each other.’

  Not trusting herself to speak, Constance nodded.

  ‘You know, I could understand your father being against any kind of a match – he being a wealthy landowner with you as his only heir – but what I couldn’t understand was my father’s attitude. He was even more set against our friendship – and it was only a friendship then, wasn’t it? – than your father.’

  ‘My father was a strict disciplinarian and vengeful, too, if things didn’t go his way,’ Constance said. ‘I’ve no doubt that if – if things had gone further between us, he would have stopped it somehow. And I think he would have destroyed your father and his business in the process, just to get his revenge.’

  George’s father had been blacksmith and wheelwright in the village where Constance’s father had owned much of the surrounding farmland. Alfie Bayes had been dependent for his livelihood on the goodwill of such an important man in the district. If Mr Vincent, Constance’s father, had taken against him and forbidden any of his tenant farmers to patronize Alfie Bayes’s smithy, the man would have faced ruin.

  ‘What if we’d eloped?’ George said, with a roguish twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘I was only fifteen. You’d have been in serious trouble and I’m not sure it would have been legal anyway – not even at Gretna Green.’

  ‘But it would be now,’ George murmured and then he squeezed her hands. ‘Let’s do it now, Constance. Let’s elope.’

  ‘What?’ Constance stared at him and laughed nervously. ‘George, I . . .’

  ‘My dear, you must know how I adored you then and I love you still. Always have and always will.’

  ‘But you – you married, you . . .’

  ‘Yes, I did, and I was very fond of Muriel. She was a good wife and would have been a good mother to our children if we had been so blessed, but we weren’t. I did my duty by her. I left work to nurse her in her final illness, but I have to admit to you – and only to you – that I was never able to love her in the same way that I loved you.’

  Slowly, Constance murmured, ‘I never really questioned my feelings. All I know is that I missed you dreadfully when my father banned me from seeing you any more and then, of course, when he introduced Arthur to me and told me – yes, told me – that he was the man I was to marry, well, I just went along with it. You just didn’t disobey your father, did you? And in the early days, Arthur was very attentive, showering me with flowers and chocolates. And champagne on my birthday. I suppose at seventeen, as I was by then, I was swept along in the romance of it all.’

  ‘But now we’re both on our own with no one to tell us what we should – or shouldn’t – do let’s put all that behind us, Constance, and make up for lost time. My dear, will you marry me or am I still so far beneath you that . . . ?’

  Constance hushed him and laid her finger gently against his lips. ‘Don’t you dare say such things, George Bayes. And, yes, of course I want to marry you. But do you think now is still a little soon after . . . ?’

  ‘Perhaps it is, so we’ll keep it our secret for now, though perhaps you should tell Thomas.’

  ‘I’m taking him to lunch today. Should I . . . ?’

  George grinned. ‘The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned. But you are sure, Constance, aren’t you? I mean, I can’t keep you in the manner you’ve been used to. There’s the
problem of where we would live, for a start . . .’

  Constance chuckled. Though she felt a little guilty, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so happy. Perhaps not since the birth of her son and, of course, it went without saying, her adorable grandson. ‘Now, don’t start getting cold feet, George. No problem is insurmountable when two people love each other.’

  As they rose together, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

  ‘I’ll talk to Thomas this very day,’ she promised. As she left the factory, Constance felt she was walking on air. Suddenly, life seemed very good.

  Twenty-Three

  As they sat down to lunch in the restaurant, which Trip had recommended, he said, ‘This is very nice, Mother. Is there any particular reason?’

  Constance glanced at him and smiled. ‘It’s funny you should ask that. There wasn’t when I arrived this morning, but there is now.’

  ‘Oh,’ Trip said, trying to keep the smile from his own face as he spread his napkin on his knee and took the menu from the waiter’s hand. ‘Let’s order first and then you can tell me.’

  They studied the menu and placed their orders for drinks, starters and main courses. As the waiter gave a little bow towards them and then moved away, Trip said, ‘Fire away, Mother.’

  ‘I think I told you not long ago how George and I knew one another when we were youngsters.’

  ‘You did. Go on.’

  ‘We were very good friends. Very – close, and if it hadn’t been for the disapproval of both our fathers, I think things might have developed even then into something more than just friendship. In fact, I know they would have. But I was only fifteen when my father banned me from seeing George. As I grew older and one or two suitors came knocking at the door, my father chose Arthur Trippet as the man I should marry. He saw in him an entrepreneurial streak and thought that the money and lands, which I would one day inherit, would be used wisely. Being so young, I didn’t have the courage to disobey him and by that time, I knew that George’s father was also firmly set against our – friendship. You see my father would have ruined Alfie Bayes, if he’d been so minded. And believe me, he would have been.’

  She was quiet for a moment, as if thinking back down the years, perhaps thinking about ‘what might have been’. Trip too remained silent, waiting until she felt like continuing. He was desperately sorry for his mother, who had been dominated all her life by ruthlessly ambitious men. He certainly knew from experience how callous his own father had been when he did not get his own way. Now, he was learning that poor Constance had been ruled by two of them. He hoped that what she was about to tell him would lead to a much happier life for her.

  She was playing nervously with the cutlery on the table and avoiding looking into his eyes. ‘This morning, George asked me to marry him and I’ve – I’ve agreed.’ She chuckled suddenly and was like a girl again. ‘George suggested that we should elope, but I wanted to tell you. I need to have your approval, Thomas.’ Now she looked up at him to meet his gaze and her eyes were pleading.

  Trip reached across the table. ‘My darling Mother, of course you have it. George is a lovely man and if he’s the one to make you happy, then I’m all for it.’ He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. ‘But would you really like to elope? Run away together and come back married or do you want a big village wedding?’

  ‘It’d be exciting, wouldn’t it?’ Her eyes shone at the thought. ‘But no, in the circumstances, I don’t think either of us would want a lot of fuss and tongues wagging.’

  ‘Then do it, Mother. I’ll tell Emily, of course, but we won’t tell anyone else.’

  ‘Really? Do you think I – we – should?’

  Trip chuckled. ‘I really do, Mother. I think it would be perfect.’ He paused and then asked, ‘Have you thought about where you would live though, because I don’t think George would be happy living in Riversdale House, do you?’

  Constance laughed, throwing her head back and not caring who heard her. ‘He mentioned the same thing and I told him that nothing was insurmountable when two people loved each other. Just like when you and Emily were married. We had problems then, didn’t we?’

  ‘But you were on our side, Mother,’ he said softly, remembering how she had sided with the young couple against her husband and had even held the reception for the double wedding between Trip and Emily and Josh and Amy at Riversdale House. The whole village had attended and the only person missing had been Arthur Trippet. ‘And now I’m on yours. And I know Emily will be too. You and George do whatever you want to do and you have my blessing. I just want – more than anything – to see you happy.’

  Emily was thrilled when Trip told her that evening. ‘How romantic!’

  ‘But we’re not to say a word to anyone. I think for two pins they’d have gone without even telling us.’

  Emily laughed. ‘That’s what they should have done, but I expect she didn’t want to risk upsetting you.’

  Trip wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully. ‘I really can’t think of anything that my mother could possibly do that would upset me.’

  Emily put her arms around him and laid her cheek against his chest, listening for a moment to the rhythmic beat of his heart. ‘You’re a wonderful son, Trip, husband and now a father too. Don’t ever change, will you?’

  His arms tightened about her as he bent to kiss her.

  ‘How do you like my new hairstyle, Trip? It’s all the rage. It’s called a shingle.’

  Emily had had her blond hair cut short at the back and there were waves and curls framing her face.

  ‘I like it. It’s very pretty, but then,’ he said, kissing the tip of her nose, ‘you always look pretty.’

  ‘And I treated myself to a new suit. I have to look smart when I’m visiting customers.’

  Emily held up a gold-coloured skirt and matching jacket trimmed with a black fur collar and cuffs.

  ‘And a cloche hat to go with it.’

  ‘Very nice,’ Trip approved. ‘You’ll have your customers falling over themselves to give you orders. I’ll take you to Ashford on Sunday and show you off, though,’ he added, with a chuckle, ‘I doubt my mother or yours will take much notice of you when Lewis is around.’

  When they pulled up outside the blacksmith’s house on the Sunday afternoon, Harry ran out and hurled himself at them. ‘Uncle Trip! Aunty Emily! Did you see the papers? Have you heard the news? Isn’t it thrilling?’

  Alighting from the car, Trip picked him up and swung him round. ‘What’s all the excitement about?’

  ‘Last weekend Charles Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic from New York to Paris. Imagine that, Uncle Trip, three thousand six hundred miles non-stop. Granddad Walter is going to help me make a model of his aircraft. It’s called Spirit of St Louis.’ The little boy pronounced the name ‘Lewis’. ‘And it’s a Ryan NYP monoplane. Fancy him calling his plane after me and Lewis. He must know I like planes. Does Lewis like planes, Uncle Trip?’

  ‘He’s too young yet, old chap, but I expect he will when he’s older.’

  Emily climbed out of the car carrying Lewis and laughed. ‘He will if he’s around you for long, won’t he, Harry?’

  ‘Yes,’ Harry said solemnly. ‘I suppose he is a bit little yet, isn’t he? He’s like our Phil. Does Lewis cry much? Phil’s always crying. Mummy says he’s a whiny baby. Is Lewis walking yet?’

  On and on the little boy chattered, the questions tumbling out, but Emily answered them patiently. ‘No, we’re lucky, Lewis doesn’t cry much and he’s not quite walking yet, but he pulls himself up.’

  At that point, Amy came out of the front door, drying her hands on a towel. ‘Come in, come in.’ Her smile was as warm as ever, but Emily thought she looked thinner and tired. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. ‘Are you staying for tea, Emily?’

  ‘A cup of tea would be lovely, but we’re due at Riversdale a little later.’ Emily forbore to say ‘for dinner’, not wishing to sound too grand to her sister-in-law
.

  For some reason, which Emily couldn’t quite understand, the visit to both the smithy and to her parents’ home was strained. After a cup of tea with Amy, Josh and their children they went next door to visit Emily’s parents, but Walter, in his chair by the fire, seemed ill-at-ease and her mother was tight-lipped, hardly able to bring herself to offer them refreshment.

  ‘I suppose you’ll want a cup of tea and cake to go with it?’ Martha’s offer was grudging and Emily said swiftly, ‘No, no, Mam. We’ve just had one with Josh and Amy.’

  Martha sniffed and muttered, ‘As if they haven’t got enough mouths to feed.’

  By the time they left, Emily couldn’t help but feel relief. As she kissed her father’s cheek, he grasped her hand and held onto it for a few moments and, although she knew that now he could speak again, he said nothing to her.

  When they arrived home in Sheffield later that evening after dinner with Constance at Riversdale, Emily said, ‘What on earth do you think was wrong with my family? They all seemed – oh, I don’t know – odd, somehow.’

  ‘I wondered if there’d been a big row. You could’ve cut the atmosphere with one of our penknives.’

  ‘I’m used to my mother’s moods, but Dad seemed upset. That’s what worried me the most.’

  ‘Josh didn’t seem himself, I have to say.’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Harry’s excited chatter, I’d have felt distinctly unwelcome.’

  ‘My mother made up for it though, didn’t she? You’d think no one else in the whole world had a grandson.’

  ‘Oh, they haven’t,’ Emily teased. ‘Believe me, they haven’t.’

  In late September, the villagers of Ashford-in-the-Water were agog when the news finally reached them that Constance Trippet had married again.

  ‘And to the foreman of her late husband’s factory. Would you believe it?’

  ‘Has it been going on a while, d’you think?’

  Shoulders were shrugged at the question, but there was one person, a stalwart of the village, who defended Constance. ‘Mrs Trippet’s a lady,’ Grace Partridge told anyone willing to listen. ‘She would never do anything untoward, and besides, her husband was little more than a vegetable for the past four or five years. And before that, well –’ she wriggled her shoulders – ‘we all know now what he was up to, don’t we? Producing an illegitimate son out of the woodwork and making the boy his heir when he fell out with young Thomas for a while. If you ask me,’ Grace didn’t care if they were asking her opinion or not, they were going to hear it anyway, ‘that poor woman has put up with a lot over the years. She’s been very forbearing. She deserves whatever happiness she can find, and if she can find it with George Bayes, then good luck to her, I say.’