Apart from the wonderful food and vintage wines which seemed to flow without cease at Calpher House, there was a plethora of other things which added their distinctive touches to the sense of opulence that prevailed throughout.
Innumerable bowls and vases of flowers and exotic plants punctuated every room downstairs; the latest magazines and newspapers, current novels and other books spilled over large circular tables in the library, in Mrs Bell’s study and most especially in the family parlour where everyone seemed to congregate at night. Sofas and chairs were plump and inviting with piles of soft cushions, or they had their arms draped with fluffy mohair throws from Scotland, to be used on colder evenings wrapped around legs and shoulders.
Startled at first though she had been, and even a bit overwhelmed by all this luxury in one house, Audra had grown accustomed to it. Whilst it would be true to say that she enjoyed the comfort and the cosseting, she nonetheless did not consider it of any great importance in her life. The real reason she was happy at Calpher House was because her employers and the staff were all so nice, really good people who cared about others and their well-being.
These aspects of her job aside, it had been a fine year for Audra Kenton in other respects.
The letters which came from her brothers were much more positive these days, and were written in the same optimistic vein that had enhanced their earliest epistles to her. Frederick was growing stronger in health every week, and things had improved immeasurably for them. They both had good jobs in Sydney at long last. William was working in the circulation department of the Sydney Morning Herald; Frederick had become private secretary to an industrialist, a Mr Roland Matheson, and Audra was happy for them, and proud of the way they had coped with their initial bad luck and daunting set-backs. And knowing they were no longer in difficult straits made her own continuing sense of loss and yearning for them that much easier to bear.
Then again, she and Gwen had been able to spend a great deal of their free time together. Mrs Bell had kindly given her permission to invite Gwen to stay overnight at Calpher House on numerous occasions; she herself frequently travelled across to Horsforth to spend her day off with Gwen. Sometimes they took the tramcar into Leeds to browse in the stores and window shop, and she was beginning to know the city well. Quite often they went to the picture house, and recently they had seen their first talking picture, The Jazz Singer, starring Al Jolson.
June had been a particularly happy month for Audra, mostly because of the attention everyone paid to her twentieth birthday. How different it had been from the previous year, when she had spent that very special day in her life entirely alone. Her brothers’ cards had arrived from Australia not only in time but two days early; on the third, a small celebration was held in the nursery, with presents from the Bells and the staff at Calpher House.
And later that week, on Saturday, Mrs Thornton and Gwen had given a party for her at The Meadow. There had been a splendid summer tea on the lawn. The table, covered in a white cloth, had groaned under the weight of all manner of lovely things—cucumber-and-tomato sandwiches, a Yorkshire pork pie, trifle, strawberries and cream, big pots of hot tea, plus an iced cake with the message Happy Birthday, Audra written on it in pink icing sugar and twenty pink candles encircling the edge. And each member of her friend’s family had given her a small but significant gift. After tea they had trooped inside for dancing to the latest records, which they had played on Gwen’s new gramophone. They had done the Charleston to the strains of ‘Black Bottom’, ‘Ain’t She Sweet’, and ‘Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby’, fox-trotted slowly to ‘Blue Skies’ and ‘Among My Souvenirs’, and everyone had thoroughly enjoyed themselves that night.
Charlie had been present, along with his brothers, Jem and Harry, Mike Lesley, his best friend, and a couple of his chums from medical school. He was still attentive to her whenever he got the opportunity, even though she did her level best to discourage him.
Once she had moved to Leeds the previous December and settled in with the Bells, Audra had spoken to Gwen about her brother. She had explained to her friend in the sweetest way that, as nice as Charlie was, he was not for her. She had asked Gwen not to encourage Charlie any more. Gwen had said she understood and agreed at once to stop ‘fanning the flames’, as she so aptly called it. But Audra had seen the hurt in her friend’s eyes and she had quickly added that it had nothing to do with Charlie per se, that men in general did not interest her for the time being. She had then announced, and in a very firm voice, that she had no intention of getting married, of settling down, until she was thirty at least.
Gwen had looked at her askance on hearing this, had eyed Audra with a degree of scepticism, but she had refrained from making any sort of comment. At least until last month—November the fifth to be exact—when she had come to Upper Armley to join in their celebrations on Bonfire Night.
Mrs Bell had told Audra she could invite Gwen to spend the night at Calpher House, since they were both off duty the following day. After one of Cook’s extra-special nursery teas, and as soon as it grew dark, they had gone outside for the lighting of the bonfire that Fipps, the gardener, had made in the grounds. They had shared the family’s fun, watching the fireworks, waving the sparklers which Mr Bell had produced, and eating piping hot chestnuts and roasted potatoes pulled from the embers of the fire. And then the two of them had gone off to the Guy Fawkes Day party and dance at Christ Church Parish Hall in Ridge Road.
Audra first saw the young man when everyone was crowding around the huge bonfire outside the hall, gathered to watch the burning of the effigy of Guy Fawkes.
He was alone, standing near the porch, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. As he nonchalantly tossed it to the ground, then stubbed his toe on it, he glanced across at the commotion around the bonfire, noticed her, smiled.
Audra looked back at him and experienced a queer sensation, one that was unfamiliar to her. She felt suddenly faint and a little breathless, as if she had been punched.
His face was clearly illuminated in the glow from the fire and she saw that he was most arresting in appearance.
His dark hair, which came to a widow’s peak above a wide brow, was brushed to one side, parted on the left, and he had dark brows, light-coloured eyes. His face was sensitive, but it was the purity reflected in it that struck her so forcibly, made such a strong and lasting impression.
Their eyes connected. And locked. He gave her a hard, penetrating stare.
She flushed to her roots, looked quickly away.
A moment later, when she and Gwen turned around to go into the parochial hall, Audra noticed immediately that he was no longer propping up the wall, and she filled with disappointment.
Once they were inside her eyes searched for him, but in vain. He seemed to have disappeared. She waited for him to come back, but he did not, and the dance fell flat for her after that. As the evening progressed, Audra found it impossible to tear her eyes away from the door for very long, and she silently prayed that he would return. There was something about him that intrigued her.
Although she was asked to dance several times, and accepted these invitations, for most of the evening Audra sat it out on the long bench with the other wallflowers. She was quite content to be an observer, watching the dancers, in particular Gwen, who twirled around the floor with various young bucks from the neighbourhood, obviously enjoying herself immensely. But Audra thought that none of Gwen’s partners looked half as handsome or as fascinating as the dark young man who had so engaged her interest earlier.
Audra had almost given up hope that he would make an appearance again when he came barrelling through the door, looking slightly flushed and out of breath, and stood at the far side of the hall, glancing about. At the exact moment that the band leader announced the last waltz he spotted her. His eyes lit up, and he walked directly across the floor to her and, with a faint smile, he asked her if she would care to dance.
Gripped by a sudden internal shaking, unable to s
peak, Audra nodded and rose.
He was taller than she had realized, at least five feet nine, perhaps six feet, with long legs; lean and slenderly built though he was, he had broad shoulders. There was an easy, natural way about him that communicated itself to her instantly, and he moved with great confidence and panache. He led her on to the floor, took her in his arms masterfully, and swept her away as the band struck up ‘The Blue Danube’.
During the course of the dance he made several casual remarks, but Audra, tongue-tied, remained mute, knowing she was unable to respond coherently. He said, at one moment, ‘What’s up then, cat got your tongue?’
She managed to whisper, ‘No.’
Glancing down at her with curiosity, he frowned, but he did not bother to say anything further, appeared to be lost in his thoughts, or concentrating on the dance.
When the music stopped he thanked her politely, escorted her back to the bench, inclined his head, strolled off.
Her eyes followed him all the way to the front door. And as he walked out into the dark winter night she wondered who he was and if she would ever see him again. She desperately hoped she would.
Later when she and Gwen were hurrying up Town Street, making their way back to Calpher House, Gwen suddenly blurted out: ‘Well, I must say, for someone who protests they’re not interested in men, you were certainly mesmerized by that chap you had the last dance with. But I can tell you this, Audra, he’s bad news. Oh yes, definitely, lovey.’
Audra, startled, asked, ‘How can you say he’s bad news? You don’t even know him.’
Gwen took hold of Audra’s arm in her usual possessive way, slipped her own through it. She said, ‘I can tell just by looking at him that he’s a real devil. I’m always suspicious of the pretty ones. Very wary. They generally end up breaking some poor woman’s heart, lovey, maybe even two or three hearts, for that matter. You’d be much better off with somebody like our Charlie. And you know how he feels about you, lovey. He hasn’t changed.’
Audra said nothing. Gwen’s remarks about the young man irritated and annoyed her. She considered them to be unwarranted and just a shade preposterous under the circumstances. Presumptuous, in fact, and for the first time in their friendship she was put out with Gwen. The next morning, still rankling somewhat, Audra scrupulously avoided referring to the evening before, and she and Gwen did not discuss the young man again.
But Audra could not help thinking about him.
In the days which immediately followed the encounter, she kept recalling certain things about that night and about him… the way he had looked down at her, narrowly, speculatively, through the greenest eyes she had ever seen… the turbulent emotions he had aroused in her, feelings she had not believed really existed except in the novels on Mrs Bell’s shelves… his ineffable grace as he had moved them around the dance floor… the true classical beauty of his face, so unusual in a man.
Now, nearly two months afterwards, Audra was still asking herself why she never ran across him in Upper Armley. Ever since the dance she had expected to do so, and she looked for him when she went out and about with the child who was in her charge. She was convinced the young man came from these parts for she could recognize the local accent when she heard it.
As Audra focused her thoughts on him, an echo of his voice reverberated clearly in her head, and an image of his face leapt before her eyes. And despite the warmth of the quilt, she shivered unexpectedly and goose flesh speckled her skin. She wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself. She pictured his face close to hers on the pillow, tried to imagine what it would be like to be kissed by him, touched by him, held by him. Since their brief encounter, the mysterious dark young man had haunted her, intruded on her thoughts at the oddest times.
Presently Audra opened her eyes and endeavoured to quench the unfamiliar longings stirring within her. Until she had met him, danced with him, Audra had never known sexual desire, and of late some of the strange, new feelings she was experiencing confused and frightened her, yet excited her at the same time. She pressed her face into the pillow, wanting to block out the memory of him, and discovered, as she had so often in the past few weeks, that she was unable to expunge the image of his face, his unbelievable eyes. She knew she wanted him.
Turning onto her back, she lay very still, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes wide, unblinking, and she wondered what she would do if she did not run into him again. Dismay gripped her, then instantly dissipated. Audra believed that they would meet and that they would come to know each other well. Very well indeed. She felt this in her bones.
A sudden clattering in the corridor outside her bedroom pierced the early morning silence.
Audra started in surprise, then cocked her head, listened. She heard a stifled exclamation, then low unintelligible mutterings, followed by the sound of feet clomping into the adjoining day nursery.
Audra knew that it was Cora going about her morning chores. She suspected that the housemaid had dropped the coal scuttle, which was not an unusual occurrence by any means. Cora, who was perpetually cheerful, had turned out to be a friendly soul, but she was also the clumsiest person Audra had ever met. A day did not go by without a breakage of one kind or another, and the culprit, sadly, was always poor Cora.
There was a loud knock on the door and Cora’s scrubbed and shining face appeared around it. ‘Mornin’, Miss Audra.’
‘Good morning, Cora,’ Audra said, pushing herself up on one elbow, smiling in the half light.
‘Is it all right if I comes in then, Miss Audra? Ter make t’fire for yer?’
‘Yes, of course, Cora.’
Cora’s plump little body, encased in her pink-striped morning uniform, rotated across the room like a fast-spinning top. She dumped the coal scuttle and the ashpan down on the hearth unceremoniously, then spun over to the huge window. Pulling back the curtains with a great flourish, flooding the room with brilliant sunshine, she exclaimed, ‘It’s ever so cold out this mornin’, Miss. Arctic weather, so Fipps says. Aye, he says it’s cold enough ter freeze t’balls off a brass monkey, that he does.’
‘Really, Cora!’
‘That’s what he said ter me, Miss.’
‘But you shouldn’t repeat something vulgar like that, Cora,’ Audra reprimanded softly.
‘No, I don’t expects I should, least ways not in yer presence, Miss Audra.’ This was said somewhat apologetically, but, nevertheless, Cora threw her a cheeky grin as she hurried back to the fireplace. Crouching in front of the grate, she proceeded to take out the ashes. After a short pause, she asked, ‘And what are yer doin’ termorra night then, Miss Audra?’
‘Nothing special, Cora. My friend Miss Thornton is on night duty at the Infirmary for the next two weeks, so I won’t be going to any New Year’s Eve parties. I’ll be staying here at Calpher House.’
‘Oh but Mr Agiter allus has a party for t’staff yer knows.’ Cora glanced over her shoulder, smiled with her usual engaging cheerfulness, added, ‘Yer were ever so shy last December, when yer first started here, and yer wouldn’t come downstairs, but I hopes yer’ll be with us this year, ooh I do, Miss Audra, ever so much.’
‘Yes, I will, Cora. Mr Agiter has already invited me, and I’m looking forward to joining you all for a glass of champagne around midnight… to toast in 1928.’
***
Audra had grown to love Theophilus, Theo for short, in the year she had been taking care of him.
He was an odd-looking little boy, not exactly plain, but then neither was he fancy.
The first time she had set eyes on him she decided that he was highly individualistic. This turned out to be true—and in many more ways than merely his appearance. Theophilus had a plump, perfectly round little face, not unlike a suet pudding, but his skin was pink and white rather than doughy or pasty in colour. His fair hair, soft, silky, straight, had a way of flopping down over two very sharply-observing black eyes that resembled bright little chips of coal, and he was forever pushing it away with an imp
atient gesture.
It often struck Audra that these very dark eyes and the pale blond hair didn’t quite go together, but then that was Theophilus. He seemed to be made up entirely of spare parts, each bit individually attractive if not specifically designed to go with the others.
‘Not matched up, are you, my little love?’ Audra murmured under her breath as she brushed his hair. His appearance usually preoccupied her for a few minutes before they went out, and this morning was no exception. She put the brush down, stepped away, regarded him critically, her head on one side. Reaching out, she straightened his tie, nodded in satisfaction, then bending over, she planted a kiss on his cheek.
‘There you are, all ready!’ she exclaimed, taking his hands in hers, helping him to jump down off the table. ‘And you’re as bright as a new penny today, Theo.’
He looked up at her through solemn eyes which were curiously wise and knowing for a six-year-old. ‘I hope the doctor also thinks that.’
She bit back a smile of amusement, said, ‘I’m sure he will. Now, run along to see your mother, whilst I get my things together, and then we can be off.’
‘Oh yes, I had better do that. Before she leaves for Leeds. My spending money is due today.’ He set his face determinedly, marched towards the door in small but purposeful strides and disappeared into the corridor.
Audra watched him go, turned away, laughing to herself as she crossed the spacious and comfortably furnished day nursery. She had a few minutes to spare before following the boy downstairs and she stood with her back to the fire, warming herself, thinking of her young charge.
Act of Will Page 9