To Dream Again

by To Dream Again (retail) (epub)

  ‘Can you spare a minute—’ he began. ‘Hey, are you all right? You look really poorly.’

  Queenie did not have time to reply. With a little gasp she rushed out into the yard, and he could hear her vomiting in the privy.

  ‘You get yourself up to bed,’ he said, when she returned, limp and wan. ‘I can manage by myself.’

  ‘No, I’ll be all right. It’s nothing,’ she answered.

  ‘It didn’t sound like nothing. You go and rest.’

  ‘I don’t need to,’ she insisted. ‘It’s happened before. I’ll be fine by the end of the morning.’

  ‘Then you should see the doctor—’ he got no further. ‘What do you mean, it’s happened before?’

  ‘Well, it’s— it’s happened before.’ She would not meet his gaze.

  Suddenly he went cold. Recollections of his sister, Lizzie, being ill in the mornings came back to him, and the implications.

  ‘Oh no!’ he groaned. ‘Oh no! Not that!’

  ‘I’m— I’m— afraid it is,’ said Queenie in a small voice. ‘Couldn’t it be something else? Colic, or a bilious attack or something?’ he asked desperately.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, a tear slowly coursing down her cheek.

  Joey rose, swallowing hard. ‘There’s no need to apologize,’ he said, attempting to sound cheery for her sake, though goodness knows, it was the last thing he was feeling! ‘As you said yourself, it takes two. Well… well, here’s a turn up for the books.’

  ‘Joey, I expect you’re angry, and… and…’ Her voice petered out, then rallied again. ‘There’s no need for you to worry, I can manage.’ The words were brave, but there was no mistaking the anxious appeal which shone mutely from her eyes.

  ‘A fine opinion you seem to have of me, I must say!’ He pretended to sound indignant. ‘No, we’ll get married sharpish! It’s a good job we’re nice and handy for the church.’

  ‘Oh Joey!’ Queenie somehow managed to beam with happiness and weep at the same time. For two pins Joey could have wept with her, only, there would have been no joy in his tears.

  ‘You’d best come home with me sometime soon, to meet my family. We’ll have to go anyway because I’ll have to have their consent, me only being a slip of a lad.’ Somehow he had adopted this silly jocular voice and he could not get rid of it. Queenie did not seem to notice anything amiss.

  ‘Will they object?’

  ‘Object? No, they’ll be only too glad to get rid of me!’

  ‘Oh Joey!’ said Queenie again, smiling at him with love and devotion.

  He saw that look and his heart sank. Accusations he could have stood, recriminations he could have borne. What he was going to find the most difficult to tolerate was the adoration. That was going to be almost too difficult to bear.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘The afternoon post, Madam.’

  Rogers proffered Mercy her half-dozen letters on a silver salver. He did so with the exaggerated care he always gave to her mail these days. Ever since the day when Joey’s note telling her of Blanche’s illness had failed to reach her Mercy’s correspondence had been delivered with punctilious efficiency. Surprisingly it was Peter who had brought about the change. In a rare anger, he had delivered a biting reprimand which had brooked no misinterpretation. The butler had turned white as he replied, ‘Yes, sir.’

  Peter’s interview with his mother had been more private but no less effective. For days afterwards Agnes had been tight-lipped and silent, visibly shaken by the fact that her son had dared to rebuke her in such a way.

  Mercy had been touched by Peter’s concern for her, as well as surprised at his unexpected forcefulness in tackling the matter.

  When she had thanked him for taking her part so promptly he had replied, ‘What else did you expect me to do? You’re my wife. It is up to me to look after you.’

  She had not known what to say. It had been quite a while since he had shown any marked concern for her. Before she could think of the right words Peter continued, ‘And even if the message had not been so important it should still have reached you. To hinder someone else’s private correspondence or interfere with it in any way is despicable.’

  His last sentence swept away her growing feeling of tenderness towards him. He was reminding her that once she had interfered with his private papers and lived to rue the day. Obviously, he had no intention of forgiving her, even though she was willing to forgive his far greater transgression. The brief moment of affection between them was lost and, as Mercy took her letters from Rogers, she could not help a pang of regret.

  A quick glance at the envelopes told her of their contents. Mostly they were invitations to dine, the last, though, bore Joey’s scrawl.

  She read the letter twice. Once was not enough to take in the enormity of its news. Married? Joey was married? Barely eighteen and he had taken on the responsibility of a wife and, if she were reading between the lines correctly, a child!

  ‘It’s not possible! It’s just not possible!’

  Mercy strode about her sitting-room, too distressed to settle, the sheet of cheap notepaper clutched in her hand. That Joey could have thrown away all his hopes and prospects so completely seemed incredible. The daughter of his late employer, Joey had written. She wondered about this Queenie who had so unexpectedly become her sister-in-law. Already she was seeing her as some forward, voracious creature who had got her claws into Joey.

  The one hopeful line in the whole letter had come at the end: ‘We are going to keep up the family business and run it together,’ he had written.

  The family business! At least that sounded as though he might have some prospects. For the first time Mercy realized that she had no idea what trade her brother was following. Not a very prosperous one, judging by the look of him when he had called. On an impulse she rang the bell.

  ‘Tell Jenkins to bring the motor round in quarter of an hour,’ she instructed the maid. ‘I want to go to Paignton.’

  Church Street, when she found it, proved to be a busy, bustling area of mainly older properties, many still thatched. One side was dominated by the rich red sandstone of the church, while at the other, down the slope, a brewery belched out pungent steam. So this was the area where Joey lived and worked.

  Her one fear was that she might encounter her brother by chance. She did not want that, it would appear as though she were spying on him. In an effort not to appear conspicuous she strolled along, looking in shop windows, glancing covertly at the numbers to determine where Joey lived. There was a thriving greengrocer’s that she hoped might be the right place, or the neat little dairy. It was almost too much to hope that it might be the extremely busy inn… Then she saw the number she was looking for and she almost groaned aloud in her disappointment. The tall house was shabby and dilapidated, with peeling paint and more than one of its windows broken and boarded up. The faded letters on its wall might say ‘Beds, Breakfasts, Dinners, Teas’ but she recognized it as a common lodging-house, and a none too successful one by the look of it. Mercy’s last scrap of optimism faded, as she wondered at the mess into which her young brother had got himself.

  Peter was at home when she returned – a rare event. He glanced up as she entered the drawing-room.

  ‘You look tired,’ he said. ‘Have you been far?’

  ‘Only to Paignton.’ She slumped on to a sofa.

  ‘Paignton must have become much more exhausting since I was last there. Here, let me pour you a sherry.’ He rose and set the drink on the table beside her. ‘You shouldn’t do so much, you know. You are wearing yourself out,’ he said solicitously.

  He sounded so kind, quite like the old Peter, not the distant stranger with whom she had been sharing her life of late. She could not help saying, ‘I’m not tired, I’m worried about Joey.’

  ‘Your young brother? Has he got into some sort of a scrape?’

  ‘He’s married! Here, read this!’ And she handed him the letter.

  Peter scan
ned it carefully.

  ‘He’s far too young,’ he stated. ‘What on earth will they live on? Have you any idea what this family business is?’

  ‘That’s why I went to Paignton today, to see what I could find out, and it is worse than I’d anticipated. The business is the most awful run-down old lodging-house. It can’t be making any money. It looks almost like a slum.’

  ‘The stupid young fool! The best favour we can do for your brother is to try to get him out of his predicament. I’d have thought there was a good chance of getting the marriage annulled, especially when you take into consideration Joey’s age. I’ll put the matter before the lawyers tomorrow, shall I? Just to sound them out, of course. No names or anything like that.’

  He was really concerned about Joey. But that was typical of Peter. At least, it was typical of the Peter she had married.

  ‘I only wish we could,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately I think there is a complication.’

  ‘A compli— Oh, you mean a child on the way?’

  ‘Yes. Why else the haste? The sudden change of plans? In the last letter he wrote to me, not many weeks since, he was talking of going to sea.’

  ‘I see what you mean. It’s just such a shame. A young fellow throwing everything away like that. Is there anything I can do? Money, perhaps?’

  ‘I— I thought I’d send him some as a wedding-present.’

  ‘Make it a decent sum.’

  ‘A hundred pounds?’ she suggested tentatively.

  ‘Will a hundred be enough to make any difference?’

  She was forced to smile. ‘Unless they go mad it should make a deal of difference,’ she said. ‘That’s more than two years’ wages for most working men.’

  ‘I didn’t know. You forget, I haven’t your wealth of practical experience.’ He smiled at her in return, then took her hand in his. ‘It seems a long time since we’ve sat alone together like this.’

  ‘Too long,’ Mercy said softly.

  ‘It’s very pleasant here, just the two of us.’

  ‘It is indeed.’ She relaxed against him. ‘It is so peaceful, and we can see the entire bay, with all the ships going back and forth. Doesn’t it make you want to be out there, on the Tango or putting the Jasmine through her paces?’ she teased gently.

  ‘Not at the moment. I am extremely content where I am, thank you.’

  That was the reply she had wanted him to give. His hand increased its pressure on hers and she gave it an answering squeeze.

  ‘You know, we never did go away on a trip together, did we? I’ve even forgotten where we decided to go,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think we made up our minds. I seem to remember the Mediterranean being mentioned, and possibly Portugal.’

  ‘Let’s go to the South of France!’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Why not? We seem to have drifted apart during these last few months; we see almost nothing of each other. Let’s spend some time together, and have fun, the way we used to do. What do you say?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘Let’s go away.’

  ‘That’s splendid!’ He smiled his old, boyish smile, then he said softly, ‘I’ve missed you, Mercy, do you know that?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I only know that I’ve missed you,’ she whispered, and she raised her face to him, hoping he would kiss her.

  He did not. Instead he traced the outline of her face with one finger. ‘The mother of two lively boys, and yet still so beautiful. It’s incredible,’ he sighed.

  ‘Now I have to say something on the same lines to you, do I?’ she smiled. ‘Something about you being too absurdly youthful and athletic-looking to be the father of a growing family?’

  ‘That will do until you can think of something better,’ he replied gravely.

  And they both began to laugh.

  ‘Where shall we go, on this trip of ours? Monte Carlo? Nice? Cannes?’ Peter asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ll leave the choice to you.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll see to it. Only, I’m not going to tell you where I have chosen. It will be a surprise.’

  Peter made love to her that night for the first time in months. Afterwards, lying in his arms, everything in her existence seemed to be perfect. They had hurt each other and now they had forgiven those hurts. Deliberately she closed her mind to recollections of Tilly and of the girl in Brittany. They were the past, and she was looking to the future. A future she wanted to spend with Peter.

  In the midst of her present contentment Mercy was still worried by Joey’s marriage. She hoped he would invite her over or make some other arrangements for her to meet his new wife, but although a suitably grateful ‘thank you’ letter came in response to her wedding gift, there was no suggestion that they should meet. Finally, she was driven to make the first move.

  ‘I will be in Paignton next week,’ she wrote. ‘Can I take the opportunity to call on you?’

  The reply, when it arrived, was equally formal.

  ‘We would be delighted to see you. Would three o’clock be a convenient time for you?’

  The visit was a disaster from the word go. Joey was visibly uncomfortable at her presence, although he greeted her with words of welcome.

  ‘And this is the missus,’ he said with forced joviality. ‘This is my Queenie.’

  Mercy was stunned at the sight of the plain, stolid young woman. No one could have been further from her vision of a painted trollop. That Queenie was in an agony of embarrassment was all too evident.

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ Mercy said at last. ‘I have brought you some flowers. I hope you like chrysanthemums.’

  ‘Oh! Oh yes! Thank you! They’re lovely!’ Queenie took the hothouse blooms and looked about her in desperation, not knowing what to do with them. She put them on the table, then had to move them to set down the tea-tray, then had to move them again because she had put them on her own chair.

  ‘Here, give them to me. I’ll put them in the kitchen, in some water.’ Joey snatched them up with more than a hint of impatience.

  ‘Haven’t you poured the tea yet?’ Joey demanded, when he returned to the cramped back-parlour.

  ‘No… I was waiting for you.’ In her eagerness to oblige Queenie’s hand shook.

  ‘Watch out! You’re spilling it everywhere!’ It was there again, that note of irritation in Joey’s voice when he spoke to his wife. Then he said in an easier tone, ‘Oh, never mind. A drop of tea on the floor won’t hurt, will it?’ And Queenie had shot him a look of pure adoration.

  So Joey did not love his wife, but his wife loved him. Mercy wondered how their matrimonial tangle had ever come about.

  ‘The wedding present you sent us was very generous,’ said Joey.

  ‘Yes, very generous.’ Queenie’s voice echoed her husband’s.

  ‘I hope it will come in useful,’ replied Mercy.

  ‘Oh it has!’

  ‘You mean you have spent it already?’

  ‘We’ve bought this place, it was a bargain at the price! A real investment!’ Joey sounded cheerily confident, and Queenie beamed at him with proud approval.

  ‘It’s always good to own the roof over your own head,’ said Mercy weakly. If that roof doesn’t leak, she added silently. She thought they were mad. It seemed to her that her brother had merely compounded the mess he was in.

  She was relieved when she could decently take her leave. The room, the surroundings, the whole situation depressed her. Most of all, though, it was the smell! It evoked a part of her life she wanted to forget – the smell of poverty.

  Joey showed her to the door. There was one more thing she had to know.

  ‘I suppose there is a baby on the way?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  All the way home the hopelessness in his reply haunted her.

  * * *

  Peter was extremely occupied these days. It was the centenary of the Torbay Royal Regatta and the preparations seemed to ne
ed an inordinate number of committee meetings and conferences. Mercy did not mind. If he were happy, so was she. She decided to take the opportunity of a quiet afternoon by herself to catch up on her correspondence. She was just finishing a letter when the sound of voices in the hall reached her. One was unmistakably that of Charlotte.

  ‘The Honourable Miss Dawson-Pring and Captain Nicholson to see you, ma’am,’ announced the maid. But Charlotte was already on her way.

  ‘This is a lovely surprise,’ said Mercy, rising to greet them.

  ‘It is good of us, isn’t it?’ concurred Charlotte. ‘All the more because we have brought you a gift. It’s a gramophone record of that new tango, “Jealousy”. You haven’t got it, have you?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. Thank you.’ Mercy took the flat package, somewhat bemused.

  ‘Beware of Greeks bearing gifts; there is an ulterior motive, I’m afraid,’ said Archie.

  ‘Oh dear, perhaps I had better not accept this.’ Mercy pretended to hand the present back.

  ‘When you hear what the favour is I’m certain you’ll push us both through the door and throw the wretched record after us,’ said Charlotte. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘We want you to save Archie here from total ostracism. To look at this fellow, so handsome and upright in his smart uniform and shiny buttons, you wouldn’t think he was a social misfit, would you?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t, and I don’t believe it, either,’ laughed Mercy.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s true, Mrs Lisburne,’ confessed Archie, a look of exaggerated shame on his face. ‘I can confess it to you, because I know your discretion is absolute, but naturally it’s not something I want to get around. My shameful secret is I can’t do the tango!’

  Mercy collapsed into fits of laughter.

  ‘Oh horror!’ she exclaimed dramatically. ‘And you an officer of His Majesty! How dreadful!’

  ‘What I need, Mrs Lisburne, is a lady of kindness and patience to take me in hand, one who is a superb dancer, and one whose gentleness of spirit will not prompt her to kick me in the shins every time I tread on her foot. Naturally we thought of you.’