Two officers were pulling apart the cellar, bypassing the tubes hidden with bits of junk in separate sacks looking like innocent items of rubbish waiting for the garbage cart.
‘What’s in the casks?’ smiled one of the cops, knowing he’d found gold. ‘Just fruit vinegar,’ Angelo replied, sensing the game was up. ‘We brew it for the insalata
dressing.’
‘Sure don’t smell like vinegar to me,’ said the cop. ‘Open it up.’ Angelo’s heart sank. They were caught red-handed so he passed over a tin mug and
turned the tap. All his work would be poured down the drain. The officer sipped the liquid and spat it out. ‘Hell fire, that’s strong stuff. You weren’t
having me on. How you folks can stomach such stuff on your tomatoes is beyond me. It’s not fit for humans, but each to his own.’ He threw down the tin and climbed the stairs, leav-ing Angelo staring down at his failure. What would Salvi say? All this wine now vinegar and fit only for the drain. Still, he reasoned, even Rome wasn’t built in a day.
May sensed she’d slumped to the bottom of the pit and slowly, after that first sighting of Ella through the window, was beginning to climb out of her deep depression. She found her way to the work room each morning, where she was getting the hang of simple threadwork. The drugs trolley still appeared and she opened her mouth like a child, receiving a dose of brimstone and treacle. If she took the pills, maybe it would speed her out of this place. So-metimes, as she fingered the bobbins and focused on the little line of pins and patterns, she found she enjoyed watching her simple lacework grow. Sometimes when she walked around the gardens her feet were not so heavy and fresh air stung her cheeks. She began to feel again, and with the small pleasures came the pain of her losses, that ache in her heart that would never ease. Joe and Ellen were gone, but concern for the child in the window who gave her pictures, who’d made her own way to see her, fuelled her progress. She realized one night that she must have done something right to earn such love, even if she was a false mother.
Colours were coming into focus again, the fresh greens of new leaves and buds, the red brick shining in the sunlight. That cloud of confusion and weariness no longer pressed on her forehead and she knew there was hope, but she must guard her tongue if she was ever to find her way home.
‘Why do you keep saying Ella is not your child?’ Dr Spence asked, searching her face to see if she could give an explanation. It was hard to hold back the truth but she knew enough to know that what she’d done on the lifeboat was a criminal act, and that would mean prison. What happened to her was of no matter, but Ella must not be abandoned now. Better to eat her words, choke back the truth, swallow them no matter what the cost to herself.
‘I look at her and don’t recognize myself in her,’ she answered carefully. ‘I didn’t know what I was saying.’
‘Can you say more?’ Dr Spence persisted, leaning forward. ‘When I see her, I see her father and how he drowned. I see him. I couldn’t keep close
enough. It was so cold, the water, ice, the debris . . . We were on the ship on our way to a new life, the three of us. The child and I were rescued. Joe was never found . It was so
There was a silence. ‘Is this true?’
She looked at him. ‘It’s the Titanic Relief Fund that’s paying for my treatment here.’ ‘You are a Titanic survivor? Goodness me, why didn’t you tell us before?’ ‘It’s not something to shout about, watching your husband disappear under the water,’
May said, twisting her hanky into a ball in an effort to stay calm. She had the doctor’s full attention now. She wasn’t just poor Mrs Smith, she was a Titanic survivor, one of the spe-cial ones with a story to tell. Only she wasn’t going to tell the real truth of it all, never.
‘Are you saying Ella reminds you of your lost husband?’ She nodded. ‘He was dark. I think of him and I wish it was him who was saved. He was
a good man; he didn’t deserve such a death. That’s a terrible thought, I know. I didn’t want to lose him. I can’t forget what I saw. I didn’t want to go on without him. I wished we were all dead.’
‘But, Mrs Smith, you have survived and made a home and a new life. You should be proud of yourself. But any change under such terrible circumstances is stressful. What you suffered was an extraordinary event. No wonder it’s taken such a toll on your mental strength. Why has it taken months for us to get this out of you?’
‘The child needs me. I’ve been away too long as it is. I need to go home.’ ‘I gather you’ve made adequate arrangements for her, so our welfare visitor tells me?’ ‘She’s staying with a fellow survivor. We’ve become friends over the years. Her family
found me work and now they’ve got Ella until I’m well enough to work again.’ Dr Spence shook his head and smiled. ‘Ah, the formidable Celeste Forester and her fath-
er, the canon: two firebrands. They’ve been loyal and very persistent on your behalf but we mustn’t rush things, Mrs Smith. An attack like yours takes years to build up. It won’t disappear in a day or a week, but the fact you want to leave is a good sign. You’ve been very run down and it’s taken a toll on your general health. Your body is undernourished. So you will have to look after yourself and eat well and find new employment if you must, but don’t rush to be too independent. Take any offer of help you can. A survivor of the Titanic indeed . . . We’ve not heard mention of that terrible disaster for years, what with the war. I’m so glad you told me. Now we have an underlying cause for your earlier derangement, an explanation for your distress. We must see if a home visit will help you along, if we can entrust you to the care of relatives, or friends, even. Perhaps we can look towards a refer-ral back into the community. You will have to attend a meeting of the panel to assess your suitability for discharge but what you’ve told me will go a long way towards gaining their approval.’
May had thrown him crumbs of truth, but not the whole slice. She would have to stomach this awful secret for the rest of her life. It was the price she must pay for her crime. It might eat her away, given time, but that didn’t matter. She wanted to be with Ella and start again. The child must be given every chance to succeed, and a mother in a mental asylum was not a good recommendation. The sooner she got out of here the better.
When Celeste called again, she found a different woman sitting with her lacework, smiling at her arrival.
‘They’re letting me come home for a visit, just for the day. After all these months, I don’t know how I’ll manage. Is Ella all right, her school work? Oh, Celeste, you’ve been such a friend. I’m sorry I’ve been so bad. What must you think of me?’
Celeste grabbed May’s hand, smiling back. ‘Think of all the letters we shared, the secrets and the kindness you did to me. You’re getting better. I can see it in your face. We all want to see you back home with us. You and Ella can go for lots of walks. Don’t worry, she’s fine. She and Roddy are getting used to each other. Selwyn will bring you out. He’s been very concerned for you. It’s so good to see the light back in your eyes. We’ve so much to catch up on, haven’t we?’
Celeste hopped into Selwyn’s car, stopping to pause by a country lane to admire the view. He’d been trying to teach her to drive but she was better on her own when he couldn’t shout at her if she crashed the gear stick. Now she was getting the hang of the winding roads and making hand signals. Suddenly she felt as if all the different strands of her life were coming together at last.
Ella would be so excited that her mother was coming to stay at Red House until she was stronger. Celeste brought her round to their rooms in Lombard Gardens to pack up their be-longings to put into storage. The rooms were to be relet and the owners were anxious to have the place cleared out.
What have I taken on here? she had kept asking herself since her return to Lichfield. A whole new life had evolved, one she could never have planned. Father was still refusing to move. Roddy was in the Choir School. Selwyn needed a woman’s firm hand to keep his hearth and home from disappearing into a f
og of smoke and dust, and Ella was so much part of her life now. Celeste insisted that she had extra art lessons at the local art college in Dam Street. A talent like hers needed nurturing. There was hope of a scholarship to the Girls’ High School, too. She hoped May would not find her plans too ambitious.
Sometimes Celeste felt she was like Captain Smith, steering all these makeshift family members through troubled waters – but not into a submerged iceberg, she prayed. Ella had insisted she go to see his statue in Museum Gardens. It was indeed a true likeness.
‘It was he who saved your life,’ she said, and Ella looked at her askance. ‘Your mother and I were in the lifeboat together. That’s where we met, did she not tell
you?’
Again, Ella looked puzzled. ‘No, my daddy drowned in a ship going to America. I know about that.’ She skipped off, uninterested in this news.
So Ella didn’t know anything. Celeste knew it was not her place to say more. Why did May have to make such a secret of their rescue? What was wrong in telling the girl how she came to survive such a famous disaster? But who was she to judge? She hadn’t exactly opened up to Roddy either. For her it was all tied up with going back to Akron and Grover.
Roddy had started to ask questions about his father. He’d seized their wedding portrait from her father’s cupboard and pored over it with interest.
‘We ought to let him know that we’re here. You make me tell lies that I’ve got no pa and I have . He’s not dead, is he? If you don’t tell, I will, and Uncle Selwyn will give me the address.’ There was a glint of anger and determination she recognized only too well.
She stormed into Selwyn’s garage, all guns blazing. ‘What have you been telling Roddy about Grover?’
‘All this cloak-and-dagger stuff, changing surnames . . . the boy is confused enough. He has a right to know about Grover. I can’t understand why you left a perfectly good billet and dragged him halfway across the world from everything he knows,’ Selwyn snapped.
‘Oh, you don’t, do you? Let me tell you then that that “perfectly good billet” was a mar-riage from hell. If your sister was late she was beaten and knocked about. If your sister wanted to sleep, she was forced to submit to the sort of assaults you read about in the news-papers. On many a hot summer’s day I was forced into long sleeves to hide the bruises up my arms. Do you think I wanted my son to see that and think that was how men treated their wives? You have no idea what I have been through, so don’t say another word.’
She rushed out in tears and he raced after her, white with rage. ‘If I ever get my hands on Grover Parkes . . . I’m so sorry Sis, I’d no idea. Please forgive me.’
‘You can see why I don’t want him in our lives again. But this is all between you, me and the gatepost . . . please.’
Her disclosure sent her brother into his silent shell once more, shutting himself off from them in his garage, banging at his repairs as if his life depended on it. Celeste couldn’t be-lieve the change in Selwyn. The scars on his face from the burns were superficial though the scars of war had gone deeper than she could ever fathom. But this row cleared the air and there was no more talk of giving Roddy the address when Christmas came around.
Now she was busy clearing out Ella’s home. May had so few possessions, Celeste felt ashamed of all the family clutter in Red House: the writing bureaux, cabinets, chairs, clocks, the pictures, the linen. The Foresters were great hoarders; the Smiths had lost everything.
Ella was being helpful, gathering up all her toys into a box and packing her mother’s clothes neatly into a case. At the bottom of their pine chest, stuffed under winter clothes, there was a carpetbag that smelled of mothballs.
Ella opened the bag and out spilled a pile of baby linen that Celeste recognized imme-diately. ‘Look, your lovely baby clothes!’ Inside the bonnet tucked into the bottom was a cloth bootee with a tiny leather sole, edged with a fine lace cuff. ‘You were so tiny. Look at the lace on your nightie, such beautiful edging. Your mother must have kept them as a memento.’
Ella was barely interested. ‘They look like old dollies’ clothes to me.’ ‘You must take them to show your mother. They’re very special.’ It brought back such
memories just to finger them: rushing with them to the laundry, trying to keep May and her baby warm, dry and comforted. How could May have not told her daughter about the Titanic ?
‘Will it make her upset again?’ Ella’s eyes were wary. She’d seen too much for her young age, things that she didn’t understand, things that she shouldn’t have to understand. ‘Better put them away.’
‘She’ll be fine, but if they upset you, I’ll keep them safe. Your mother must explain your story, not me. Ive said too much already.’
‘About what?’
‘Run along and check everything.’ Celeste knew she was in choppy waters again. As they closed the door to the house for the last time she saw Ella looking at the view. ‘I like this house, I like being close to town,’ she said with a sigh, but being wise beyond
her years she saw Celeste’s look and added, ‘But I like Red House too, and having my very own room up in the attic. I like going on the bus and Uncle Selwyn’s car makes such big bangs everyone jumps when it explodes.’
The girl was going to be a beauty with her dark hair and gorgeous eyes, Celeste thought. She knew nothing but this city now, nothing of her background, nothing of the Titanic. It was about time both their children knew just what had happened on that night, but she didn’t want to set May back again. She must have her reasons for not telling Ella the truth, just as she was reluctant to talk about Grover to Roddy.
They were two of a pair for holding things back. Was this the fault of what they had gone through on the Titanic ? No one who was there ever talked about it much. There was so much anger inside over all the belated information about the doomed ship. The public inquiry all those years ago had revealed so many scandalous breaches in safety rules. At least now every ship had to carry enough lifeboats and practise an escape drill. What else had been covered up or glossed over? No one cared now, not since the war. It was just a piece of forgotten history.
Had the horror of such an experience claimed the minds of other survivors like May? No wonder secrets were so hard to bring to the surface when so much hope and innocence had sunk with the ship that night. It was all too deep to fathom and now was not the time. All that mattered now was making a home for the Smiths and putting a smile back on the face of this child.
They drove down the winding Cross in Hand Lane. ‘I like this route down to the city, it’s peaceful. Are you looking forward to your visit?’
Selwyn asked, looking straight ahead as May gathered her thoughts, clutching her handbag for comfort.
‘It’s been months; I’m not sure. I gather we’re going back to your place. I wonder what Ella will make of it all. I feel so ashamed, being so weak-minded.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish, woman, you were ill. The mind’s no different from the body when it’s sick. Look at me when I came home. I’ll tell you one thing, though: you’ll have to find something to get up for each day, something to occupy your mind. Celeste will help you.’
‘I’m not one for company at the moment. I just want to see Ella’s all right. I have to make it up to her for being away for so long.’
‘This is just a day visit to test the water. Don’t expect too much and you won’t be disap-pointed. Take it from one who knows. You don’t want to spend any more time in hospital than you have to, but it is its own little world and not easy to shift its routines. You’ll be fine.’
If only she could be so sure. How could she admit to being terrified of seeing her child again after what she had said? How could she have been so cruel, telling her she wasn’t hers? Would Ella want to see her again? She seemed settled with the Foresters, from what they said. She suddenly felt sick.
Ella was waiting at the door of Red House. ‘You’re back! Oh, you’re back. Come and see, we’ve made scones with jam and I’ve
set the table in the dining room. Come and see . . .’
A boy was standing down the hall, hanging back, looking every inch the schoolboy in his uniform. ‘This is Roddy.’ Ella pushed her forward to meet him. He was staring at her, not sure what to do but eventually he held out his hand.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ May whispered, wishing everyone would go away and leave her alone with Ella. Celeste was reading her mind and whisked the others away. ‘We’ll put the kettle on and let May and Ella have some peace in the drawing room.’
May had never sat in the big room before. It felt formal and chilly, and neither of them fitted in. ‘I’d like some fresh air,’ she said. ‘Let’s go down the tow path of the canal like old times. And I wouldn’t mind a root around in the garden. How’s it doing?’
‘It’s our den now. No one does anything in it much. I can show you where there’s a blackbird’s nest,’ Ella offered, holding out her hand. May took it with relief, trying not to grip too hard to steady her nerves.
‘You weren’t kidding, were you? It’s a right mess. Don’t they have a gardener any more?’ Then she recalled the old man had died and his son had been killed in the war.
It was a summer afternoon and the blue sky lifted her spirits as Ella chatted about school and Hazel, how Roddy and she kept falling out over who would ride Selwyn’s old horses, Bentley and Whiston. How he came out of the barn and shooed them off, saying the horses were retired and no one must ride them now.
She chattered on and May drank in her news with such relief. She is still my Ella and I am still her mother.
But then some of Ella’s news jolted her back. ‘There’s someone in our rooms now. I had to pack everything up. It’s all here upstairs. Where will we live?’
Had Celeste warned her about this flitting? She must have said something to her but her memory was like a sieve. She felt a stab of panic as they headed back for tea.
Fleming, Leah - The Captain's Daughter Page 23