by Jess Foley
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Mrs Morris shook her head again. ‘It’s too far for me, Abbie, all that distance – and the way I’m feeling. Besides, what if we don’t come back tonight? Where should we sleep?’
‘I don’t know but – oh, there’d be a hotel or something. We’d be all right.’
A silent moment, then Mrs Morris said, ‘D’you think Iris would be that keen to see me?’
Abbie sighed. ‘Listen, Mother, you’ve got to put all that behind you. Come with me. Let Iris know you care about her.’
Mrs Morris took a little sip of the brandy. ‘She doesn’t care about me. Not a fig. She made that clear enough.’
‘Oh, Mother – for God’s sake . . .’
‘She doesn’t. She chose to spend her summer holiday with Lizzie and that husband of hers.’
‘His name is Adam.’
‘She could have come here, but she chose not to. And for the simple reason that she didn’t want to see me.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, if that’s the way she wants it.’
‘Mother, this isn’t the time for these old – enmities. Come with me. Make it up with her.’
‘No.’ Mrs Morris took another sip from her glass. ‘No, you go. I’m sure she’ll be happier with just you there. And I’m sure you’ll care for her as well as anyone can.’
‘Mother –’
‘I mean it. You go on alone.’
Abbie stood a moment longer, then turned and went into the hall and up the stairs to her bedroom. Since she had made the decision to stay in Flaxdown instead of moving to London, the sleeping arrangements in the cottage had been altered. She had borrowed a spare bed from Eddie and set it up in the front parlour, where her mother now chose to sleep. Abbie had been pleased, for it meant that she had her bedroom back again.
When she had finished packing her valise she went back downstairs and put on her cape.
‘I’m going now,’ she said. ‘I expect to be back later today. Will you be all right while I’m gone?’
‘Don’t worry about me.’ A little pause. ‘Can you leave me a little money? Just a few pence – in case I need anything while you’re gone.’
Abbie took a florin from her purse, put it on the table beside her mother’s glass and moved to the door. There she stood helplessly for a moment, then murmured a goodbye and went into the hall.
The young coachman was waiting beside the horse. As Abbie got to his side he took her valise from her and helped her up into the trap.
‘I must just call and leave a message for my brother,’ Abbie said. ‘His house is not far away.’
The young man nodded. ‘Right, miss, you just tell me where to go.’
With Abbie directing him to Green Lane they set off, a few minutes later coming to a stop outside Eddie’s cottage. Eddie was, of course, out at work, but Abbie left a message for him with Violet to the effect that she was going to Radstock to see Iris. A few moments later, with Violet standing watching at the open door with Sarah in her arms, Abbie was back in the trap and starting away again.
At last they came to Radstock, some ten miles to the north-west of Flaxdown. The house of Iris’s employers, Mr and Mrs Pinnock, was situated on the northern edge of the town centre. Reaching it, the driver drove the trap into the yard, and even as it came to a halt Abbie was snatching at her valise and climbing down.
Mrs Pinnock herself answered the door to Abbie’s ring. She was a small, stout woman with spectacles and a brisk but warm manner. After taking Abbie’s cape and bag she led the way at once to the stairs.
‘It was a very bad fall, I have to tell you,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘The poor girl had just started down from the top landing, carrying a tray’ – she gestured upwards – ‘and missed her footing. The stairs are quite steep.’ They had reached the first landing now. Mrs Pinnock turned to Abbie. ‘Anyway, the doctor came – I called him at once, of course. Iris has wrenched her ankle badly, and she’s also severely bruised but fortunately there are no bones broken.’
In spite of her words, however, there was an anxious tone in her voice. Abbie said, ‘Your driver told me she was unconscious.’
‘Yes – I’m afraid that’s true.’
‘And now?’
Mrs Pinnock shook her head. ‘I’m sorry to say there’s been no change.’
‘You mean she’s still like it?’ Abbie groaned. ‘Oh, God . . .’
‘Poor Iris,’ the older woman said. ‘She’s such a good girl. Such a sweet, obliging little thing.’ She hovered for a moment, then turned again towards the stairs ahead. ‘Anyway – let me take you to her.’
They continued on up a third flight of stairs. Reaching the top floor Mrs Pinnock led the way along a narrow landing to a door at the end. Stopping before it she turned to Abbie and said, ‘Iris shares this room with my other maid, Mary – who’s sitting with her right now. I’ve arranged for Mary to sleep in another room for the time being and I’ve had another bed brought in here.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘Well – I thought that if you wanted to stay overnight with Iris then you could. And sleeping in the other bed you won’t disturb her.’
Abbie thanked her. Mrs Pinnock softly opened the door and tiptoed in, Abbie close behind. The curtains had been closed against the summer light and the dimness of the room was relieved only by a small oil lamp. As they entered, a young girl of fourteen or fifteen got up from a chair beside the bed. Mrs Pinnock nodded to her and whispered, ‘Mary, this is Miss Morris, Iris’s sister. She’s going to sit with Iris for a while now.’
‘Yes, mum,’ said the girl, giving Abbie a curious glance.
‘Has there been any change?’ Mrs Pinnock asked her.
‘No, mum. She’s about the same.’
Mrs Pinnock sighed, then said, ‘Perhaps you’ll go down to the kitchen and get Miss Morris some tea, will you?’
‘Yes, mum.’
As the girl went from the room Abbie moved towards the bed.
With the bedclothes drawn up to her chin, Iris lay on her side in the double bed, her face away from the light of the lamp. She lay quite still, eyes closed, her knees drawn up. The sight of her injured face gave Abbie a clear indication of the violence of her fall. Her chin was bruised and grazed, added to which her right eye was discoloured and swollen.
‘Oh, Iris . . .’ Abbie breathed. Afraid to touch her, she bent lower. ‘Ms . . . Iris, it’s me, Abbie . . .’
There was no response. Abbie tried again to rouse her, repeating her name several times. And then after a little while Ms stirred and opened her eyes. Abbie’s spirits rose, and she bent to her again. ‘Iris . . . Ms, it’s me, Abbie. Wake up, Iris, my dear. Oh, please wake up.’
Iris frowned, looked unfocusing into Abbie’s face and then closed her eyes again.
‘Iris,’ Abbie persisted. ‘Iris, wake up, do.’ Again Iris opened her eyes. She muttered something in an irritable tone and then closed her eyes and drifted off once more. Abbie straightened up, the tears running down her cheeks.
Mrs Pinnock said, ‘I’m afraid she’s been like this most of the time. It’s possible to rouse her now and again, just briefly, but there’s no getting any sense out of her.’
‘What time did it happen – her accident?’
‘Just after seven this morning.’
‘And she’s been like this ever since?’
Mrs Pinnock spread her hands in her helplessness. ‘Dr Hinton says there’s very little anyone can do except wait. He says to keep her in a darkened room – that and lay cold compresses on her head. Otherwise it’s really just a matter of time. He says she’s sustained a severe concussion to the back of her head. Though he doesn’t believe there’s any fracture. He thinks she’ll be all right in time. Give it a little while, he says, and he thinks she’ll come round all right.’
‘He thinks,’ Abbie said. ‘Doesn’t he know?’
Mrs Pinnock frowned and said a little stiffly, ‘Miss Morris, we’re doing all we can for your sister. But we can only rely on what Dr Hinton tells us.’
‘I�
��m sorry,’ Abbie said. ‘It’s just that I’m so – so worried.’
‘I know you are. Of course you are.’ Mrs Pinnock put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Listen – you sit down and rest for a while. Mary will bring you your tea. I’m sure you’ll be glad of a cup after your long drive.’
‘Yes, I would – thank you.’
‘I’ll be about the house if you should need me. And Mary’s always available to sit with Iris if you should want her to.’
‘Thank you.’
Mrs Pinnock moved to the washstand and took up the jug. ‘I’ll get Mary to bring up some fresh cold water for the compress.’
Abbie murmured her thanks again. When Mrs Pinnock had gone she sat down on the chair that Mary had vacated, turned to the bed and gazed down again at Iris’s bruised face.
‘Iris . . .’ she whispered close to Iris’s ear. ‘Iris, my dear . . .’
There was no response. With a deep sigh of sadness Abbie sat back in the chair. She continued to gaze down at Iris’s unmoving face for some minutes and then, raising her head, took in the room.
So this was where Iris lived. This plain, simply furnished little room was now the closest thing to home that Iris knew. The bed on which she lay unconscious was where in better times – sharing the space with her workmate, Mary – she rested after her long day’s work and dreamed her dreams.
The small room held the other, narrow bed that Mrs Pinnock had spoken of. There was also a chest of drawers and a small wardrobe. On top of the wardrobe sat Iris’s box. Seeing it, Abbie remembered the day when Iris had left Flaxdown to go to her first place of employment. That would have been in sixty-six. Iris had been twelve years old. Eddie had walked with her to the station at Frome, her box on his shoulder. Abbie recalled how Iris had wept at their parting – at the pain of leaving home and from anxiety at what might lie ahead. Abbie had stood at the gate watching as they had set out that July morning. Iris, wearing her best clothes, had looked so small and vulnerable.
Twelve years old. It was too young, Abbie thought, too young to have to go out and fend for oneself. She remembered how she and Jane had gone off to Eversleigh looking for a petty place when they had been the same age. In the event, Fate had decided against such a course for Abbie herself and she had had to stay at home to care for the rest of the family. It had been easier for her – not having to go out and face the world. Not like Iris and Lizzie, nor Jane; nor those countless other girls and boys who were sent away into service at such tender ages.
And now more than six years had passed since Iris had left Flaxdown to make her own way. Those six years had gone by so fast. During that time Iris had, as was the custom, changed her place of employment several times, each move having been made with the notion of betterment in mind. Betterment. The word was like a bad joke. How had Iris bettered herself? How, when for those six years of hard work she had nothing to show beyond a few possessions that would fit into her little wooden travelling box? Perhaps, the thought suddenly came to Abbie, it was this that had lain at the base of their mother’s anger . . .
There came a soft little tap at the door. It opened and the young maid, Mary, entered, carrying the pitcher filled with fresh, cold water. As she set it down on the washstand she said, ‘I’ll be bringing up your tea now, miss.’
Abbie thanked her. When Mary had left the room Abbie poured some of the water into the bowl, dipped the compress in it, wrung it out and applied it gently to Iris’s head.
After a little while Mary was back, now carrying a tray bearing tea and a plate with a slice of fruit cake on it. She set the tray on the chest of drawers. ‘Can I get you anything else, miss?’
‘No, thank you. The tea will be fine.’ She added as Mary moved back across the room, ‘Mary, have you been here long?’
‘Since last summer, miss.’
‘Are you and Iris good friends?’
‘Oh, yes, miss. She looked after me when I come ’ere.’
Abbie nodded. Yes, Iris would do that, she thought.
Just after seven o’clock Mary brought up another tray to Abbie. It held a bowl of vegetable soup and a covered plate of roast lamb, potatoes and beans. Holding the tray on her lap, Abbie ate most of the food. As she put down her knife and fork Mary entered again with a little dish of rhubarb and custard. Abbie thanked her but said she had eaten enough. Soon afterwards Dr Hinton called once more. He was a short, bearded, middle-aged man with a bluff manner and a strong smell of tobacco about him. Mrs Pinnock accompanied him into the room and introduced him to Abbie. While Abbie looked on, he bent over Iris, lifting one of her eyelids and speaking her name. At his insistent voice Iris stirred, opened her eyes for a few seconds, muttered some unintelligible words in a fretful tone and then drifted off into unconsciousness again.
‘Is this the way she’s been?’ the doctor asked.
Mrs Pinnock replied, ‘Yes, it is,’ to which Abbie added, ‘She wakes like that from time to time if I try to rouse her. Sometimes she speaks. Though nothing she says makes much sense. Also when she wakes she’s usually rather irritable.’
The doctor nodded. ‘The symptoms are typical.’
‘How long is it likely to last?’ Abbie asked.
He gave a shake of his head. ‘I’m afraid there’s no knowing. Sometimes a few hours; sometimes days. In some cases it can go on for weeks.’ He was picking up his bag again. ‘You can only wait – that’s all.’
Throughout the rest of the evening Abbie sat at Iris’s side, periodically speaking to her and refreshing the cold compress on her head. At one point Mrs Pinnock came in accompanied by her husband who had just returned from his work. Abbie recalled Iris saying he owned a large draper’s shop in the town centre. He was a stout, balding little man with a kind and solicitous manner, and was clearly concerned about Iris. The three of them conversed for a while in hushed voices, and then Abbie was left alone again. Later, after she had eaten a simple supper, she got undressed and put on her nightdress. She lit the nightlight on the chest of drawers, turned out the oil lamp and climbed into the narrow bed that had been placed a yard from where Iris lay.
It was strange lying there in the unfamiliar, dimly-lit room. From Iris’s bed there was no sound, no movement. Head turned sideways on the pillow, Abbie gazed at the shadowy form of her sister. After a time she fell asleep.
Immediately upon waking, awareness of the situation came back to Abbie and she sat up and looked across at the other bed. Iris still lay on her side, her knees drawn up. Abbie got out of bed and moved towards her.
‘Iris . . . ?’
As before, Iris briefly surfaced, opening her eyes and looking vaguely into Abbie’s face. She spoke some words that made no sense, then closed her eyes again.
Abbie bowed her head in despair. The thought came to her once more – what if Iris should never waken? She had read of people injured in accidents, people who had been rendered unconscious and never recovered. Without ever waking they had gradually declined and died. She pushed the thought aside.
After renewing the compress on Iris’s brow, Abbie moved to the window, drew back the curtain a fraction and gazed out over the sunlit front garden. She thought of Eddie and her mother in Flaxdown. Perhaps she should send Eddie a wire. But there was nothing she could say that would bring any encouragement or cheer. Yet she could not leave things as they were for much longer; sooner or later she would have to send Eddie word. And her mother too. And another thing – what was to happen about Iris and herself? They could not stay indefinitely in the Pinnock household. As kind as Mrs Pinnock had shown herself to be, there would be a limit to her kindness. If Iris remained as she was for any length of time, dependent upon her mistress, there was bound to be a strain upon such goodwill. Abbie sighed. She did not know what to do. Closing the curtains she drew back from the window. And as she did so she heard Iris’s voice.
‘Abbie . . . ?’
Swiftly Abbie looked round. Iris had turned in the bed and was squinting at her in the gloom. In another moment
Abbie was at her side, bending to her, laying one hand gently on her shoulder. ‘Oh, Iris – my dear . . . !’
Iris raised a hand from beneath the bedcovers and touched her mouth weakly. ‘I’m thirsty, Abbie,’ she said. ‘Can I have some water, please?’
When Dr Hinton called later that morning he expressed great relief and satisfaction. He was sure, he told Abbie, that Iris would make good progress now. Abbie went with him out on to the landing and there, in answer to her enquiries, was told that it would be possible for Iris to be taken home to Flaxdown within a few days. When the doctor had gone Abbie re-entered the room and went to the bed where Iris lay.
‘Iris . . . ?’
At Abbie’s voice Iris opened her eyes.
‘I’m taking you home,’ Abbie said. ‘The doctor says that in a few days you’ll be well enough to travel.’
That afternoon Abbie sat in the Pinnocks’ library and wrote letters to Eddie and her mother, telling them that Iris was showing sure signs of recovery and would probably be well enough to travel back to Flaxdown later in the week. In her letter to Eddie she also suggested that as their mother was alone he might wish to go and call upon her. She did not, however, hold out much hope for such a move. When the letters were finished she went out to post them. Back in the bedroom she took off her cape and bonnet and sat down at Iris’s side. Iris was awake again.
‘I’ve just written to Eddie,’ Abbie said. ‘I told him I’ll soon be bringing you home.’
Iris’s smile of relief changed to a frown of concern. ‘But – where shall I stay?’
‘With Eddie and Violet. Eddie gave me strict instructions.’ She bent lower and lightly kissed Iris’s bruised face. ‘You’re not to worry about anything, all right? We’ll take good care of you.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Pinnocks’ young groom-cum-coachman was named Alfred – known as Alfie – Timson, and late Friday morning he came up to the attic, lifted Iris up in his arms and carried her down the stairs and out into the air. Abbie and Mrs Pinnock followed close behind. Having watched the young man negotiate the narrow, bending stair, Abbie said to him as they reached the waiting carriage, ‘You did that wonderfully well, Alfie. Thank you.’