by Maggie Hope
‘I’ll wear my blue dress,’ Ada said aloud as she carried her precious bundle of postcards over to the window. ‘The dress Eliza gave me.’ Planning made her feel better already, it gave her something to look forward to. Taking a card from the bundle, she strained to make out Johnny’s address. She could read it now, albeit laboriously, for her reading had improved much faster than her writing. ‘Stockton Road’, she spelled out and smiled secretly. Letting the curtain fall back into place, Ada took the bundle of postcards back to bed with her and fell asleep almost at once.
Next day was Tuesday and Ada started her morning’s washing early at Mr Johnson’s cottage. She wanted to be in good time for her lesson with Virginia. Mr Johnson was an old man who lived down by the racecourse. Ada enjoyed working for him; the work wasn’t too hard and besides, he always had a friendly word with her. Sometimes no one spoke to her the whole time she was working for them, but Mr Johnson was different. This morning he sought her out as she was filling the tub with hot water, ready to start the wash.
‘Hello, Ada,’ he said.
Ada paused in her work and smiled at him. She liked Mr Johnson, he was tall and distinguished-looking with a mass of snowy hair and well-kept hands and nails. She understood he was retired from the university. He was usually immersed in a book, his house was full of books, but Ada thought he must be a bit lonely. He didn’t even have a housekeeper. The back door was always open for Ada when she came and she usually got straight on with her work.
‘Morning, Mr Johnson,’ she answered.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Ada?’ Mr Johnson lifted the kettle from the hob and placed it on the fire.
Ada was pleased, it wasn’t very often she was offered any refreshment. She had to get on if she was going to have time for her lesson but she would make time for a cup of tea.
‘Yes please, Mr Johnson,’ she said. ‘I’ll make it if you like.’
‘Oh, I’m quite used to doing for myself.’
He spooned tea into the pot and got out cups and saucers. Ada looked at the book he had carried with him into the kitchen; it was open and showed solid chunks of text. He must be very learned, she thought. Mr Johnson saw her interest.
‘Do you like books on history, Ada?’
Ada blushed. ‘I don’t know much about it,’ she mumbled.
‘Didn’t you learn any history at school?’
‘I didn’t go to school.’ She looked up defensively. ‘I can read, though.’ Well, she was learning, she told herself.
‘You didn’t go to school and yet you can read? You must be quick to pick it up without going to school.’ Mr Johnson brought a tin of biscuits over to the table and sat down. ‘Come on, dear, sit down and have your tea. Milk and sugar?’
‘Yes please.’ Ada accepted the delicate bone-china cup and saucer, holding it carefully. Wouldn’t it be awful if she dropped it? Carefully she took a sip. It had a different taste somehow, not like any tea she had had before. But then, she didn’t very often drink tea with fresh milk, it must be that.
‘Hmm. Earl Grey is nice, isn’t it, Ada? Refreshing.’ Mr Johnson offered her the biscuits and she took a piece of shortbread. That was good, too, she thought, nice and buttery.
Ada looked up to find Mr Johnson gazing thoughtfully at her.
‘I’ve just thought of something,’ he said when he saw she had noticed his look. ‘If you like, my dear, I can lend you books. If you’re interested in history, that is.’
‘Oh! I don’t know, Mr Johnson –’
‘But why not? I’ve got lots of books, you must have noticed.’
‘Yes. Well.’ Ada finished her tea quickly and stood up. ‘Thank you for the tea and the shortbread, Mr Johnson, but I must get on now.’
‘Yes, of course, my dear.’ He nodded absently and Ada turned to her work – the water would be getting cold if she didn’t hurry up. And then she wanted to get over to the Grays’ house in good time.
Soon she was thumping the possing stick up and down, up and down. It was a lovely day, and if she got the clothes out on the line by eleven she could take them in when she left the Grays’. Mr Johnson sometimes forgot so that they were still there when she went back on Wednesday afternoons, and if it had rained they would have sooty marks on them.
By half past eleven Ada was ready to go. The washtub and stick were washed out and upended in the yard to dry and the clothes were fluttering in the wind. As she went to the back door to collect her shawl, Mr Johnson came into the kitchen again, carrying a slim volume.
‘I’ve got just the thing for you,’ he said, handing it to her so that she could hardly refuse to take it. ‘It’s folk tales of the county. You might try it first and if you like it you can borrow some more documented history. I do hope you find time to read it.’
‘Thank you, Mr Johnson,’ she said awkwardly. She felt terrible for telling him she could read. Well, she could read a bit, but she would have a hard time spelling this book out, she knew, slim though it was. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’
I will read it though, she determined as she rushed over Elvet Bridge. I’ll have a try every single night, so I will.
She had thought that Virginia would have forgotten about Johnny but she certainly had not. No, Virginia greeted her eagerly, drawing her into the garden where she had the books, writing paper and pens laid out on the ironwork table.
‘Shall I help you write a letter to your boyfriend, then?’ she said before Ada had time to take off her shawl.
‘He’s not my boy! He’s a friend, that’s all. And I don’t want to write to him any road.’
‘Oh, come on, I’m sure he’d be pleased to get a letter from you.’
‘Oh, Virginia, I’d rather wait until I can write better. Really I would. I want to be able to do it myself. Why, we didn’t even see each other for so long. I’m sure he doesn’t even think of me very often. I don’t want to make myself look a fool.’
Virginia pouted. ‘But I wanted to help you write the letter today,’ she said.
‘Well, maybe you can help me write a letter to Eliza? That’s my friend in West Auckland.’ Ada tried to be conciliatory.
‘Well, all right. But it’s not so good as writing to a boy.’
Ada breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there she had thought Virginia was going into a huff and would refuse to teach her any more.
‘What do you want to say?’
Ada thought about it. There was so much to say to Eliza, so much had happened since she last saw her. Much more than she could say in a letter, even with Virginia’s help.
‘Well?’ Virginia was getting impatient.
‘Er, just that I am all right here, I’ve got plenty of work and I’m managing fine. And ask her how she is, and if Bertie and Miles are well, and does she like living in West Auckland.’
‘Hmm. You’d better put it differently. First you ask after Eliza and the children, then you say how you are and then you tell her any news. That’s the way to write a proper letter.’
Virginia had taken on the air and voice of a school-marm, as she pursed her lips and tilted her head on one side. ‘I think you should write it out on scrap paper first, then you can copy it onto a sheet of my good writing paper.’
Ada thought she could write it on a postcard, for the postage on a postcard was only one penny while a letter cost more. But she didn’t argue with Virginia. Obediently she took her pencil and a piece of scrap paper and tried to follow the other girl’s instructions. They ate dainty chicken and salad sandwiches as they worked, with homemade lemonade which tasted like nectar to Ada.
By the time the letter was finished, Ada was running late. Hurriedly she picked up the envelope and her shawl.
‘Eeh, thank you, Virginia, thank you for the lunch and everything. I have to go now, though, I’m late.’
‘Leave the letter, I’ll put it with Daddy’s post on the hall table. And do stop saying “Eeh”, Ada, it’s so common.’
‘I can post it myself.’ Afte
r all, she had had a free meal, she didn’t want to sponge so much on the Grays.
‘Nonsense. It can perfectly well go with Daddy’s. All my letters do.’ Firmly, Virginia took the letter from Ada, who gave in to her immediately.
Ironing that afternoon in the kitchen of a house in Crossgate, Ada remembered Virginia’s remark about her speech, feeling a bit hurt. Everyone said things like ‘eeh’, ‘bye’ or ‘mind’, it was just a way of making what you said sound natural. Still, she had to admit that people like Virginia or Tom or the doctor didn’t say them. They said things like ‘oh’ or ‘I say’. They must think it sounded better. Ada was confused, she didn’t know whether she wanted to be loyal to the speech of her own people or not. ‘Common’, Virginia had called it.
Well, Ada reflected as she folded a shirt and hung it on the clotheshorse to air, she wanted to get on and if she had to change her way of talking, she would. After all, Johnny talked the way the Grays did. She would like to talk like Johnny; if he ever came to see her he would be impressed. Of course they could only ever be friends now, after what had happened to her, but wouldn’t it be lovely …? Ada was lost in her favourite daydream.
In Middlesbrough, the subject of her loving thoughts was lost in grief. For a while, any thought Johnny had of visiting Durham had to be put out of his mind. He had fully intended to seek Ada out as soon as he got the letter from Eliza giving her address in Gilesgate. But shortly after his return to Middlesbrough the lives of all the Fenwicks were thrown into chaos.
Fred died. Fred, who had been like a father to him, the man he had always looked up to and whose success he strove to emulate, had a seizure and died at his office desk. The office staff went to pieces and it was Johnny who had to pull himself together, send for a doctor and hurry home so that he would get to Dinah before the news reached her.
‘Johnny! What are you doing home so early? What a surprise! We can have tea together. I’ll ring for Norah.’ Dinah crossed to the bell rope before turning back to him. Her face changed, alarm swiftly taking hold of her.
‘Johnny? What is it? Is something wrong? It’s not Fred? No, no, of course it’s not Fred, I saw him this morning, he was fine.’
‘Oh, Dinah …’ Johnny paused. ‘Dinah, sit down. I have something to tell you.’
‘Tell me then, tell me, I can’t stand it! It’s not Fred, is it? Has there been an accident with the men? For God’s sake, Johnny –’
Johnny crossed to her swiftly and put his arm around her. ‘Come on, Dinah, sit down, dear. It is Fred, I’m afraid. A seizure, I think.’
‘He’s not dead, though, I would know if he was dead.’ Dinah shook her head vigorously.
‘I’m sorry, Dinah. But I’m sure it was sudden, he died without any pain.’
Dinah dissolved into hysterics, sobs racking her shoulders, and Johnny tried to comfort her, knowing there was really nothing he could say.
‘Sir?’
He looked up to see Norah in the doorway, staring at Dinah in fear and alarm. He would have to alert the household staff at once, he thought. There were things to do, arrangements to make.
‘Stay with your mistress, please, Norah,’ he said, gently disengaging himself from Dinah, who hardly seemed to be aware of his going.
In the hall he found Pierce, the butler, hovering; Cook had her head round the door to the kitchen, and the footman was at the bottom of the stairs. They had been drawn to the hall by the sound of Dinah’s cries. Quietly he told them of Fred’s death and then, before they could go to pieces as the staff in the office had done, he turned to the butler.
‘Pierce, the doctor will be here shortly. I want him taken in to Mrs Fenwick at once. I’m sure you can organise the staff to prepare the house, there will be things to do. I must go to Great Ayton, I want to tell the boys myself.’
It was not until after the funeral that Johnny even had time to think about his own future. Fred had always given him to understand it was secure. There was the business and Johnny was the only one of the family who had the experience to run it. When the will was read he found that the bulk of Fred’s assets were left to Stephen, his eldest son, with provision for Arthur and Dinah. There were small bequests to the servants and a thousand pounds for Johnny but Stephen had control of the business. Johnny received no shares in it whatsoever.
Well, fair enough, he reflected, Fred had his own sons to consider first. Stephen was old enough to leave school and no doubt he felt responsible for his mother and brother now. Johnny himself was content enough to work as managing director. He was very busy for the next few weeks sorting out the business, introducing Stephen to it and starting the task of showing his nephew how things worked. He thought of Ada sometimes, promising himself he would go to see her as soon as he could.
Ada was working hard at her reading and writing. Two or three times a week she spent her lunch hour with Virginia, spelling out the letters in the children’s books both Tom and his sister had used when they were small, and gradually she began to make sense of them. Tom had taken to dropping in on the lessons. At first Ada was embarrassed, but after a while she didn’t mind. She got so absorbed she would forget he was there until she looked up and found his eyes on her.
‘I think Tom is taken with you, Ada,’ Virginia commented once. ‘He’s always watching you.’
‘Eeh – I mean, oh, Virginia,’ Ada swiftly corrected herself, ‘that’s silly.’
They were sitting on the lawn one warm summer’s day. Tom had come out and sat with them for a while but he had gone back into the house now. Ada glanced behind her at the door. If he heard Virginia’s nonsense she would be shamed to death, she thought. Tom wasn’t the sort for her and she wasn’t going to marry anyone, she was quite determined.
‘Hmm.’ Virginia tried to look wise and succeeded only in looking remarkably like her mother. ‘We’ll see.’
Ada much preferred reading from Mr Johnson’s book of folk tales to the children’s stories. Slowly, she was beginning to get through it, often sitting late into the August evenings at the window of her bedroom, straining to catch the last of the light.
There was the tale she had heard of a wild boar in the Bishop’s Park at Auckland. She could picture it as she read, thinking she knew the very oak tree where Pollard the hunter had hidden to trap the boar by heaping the ground beneath with oak and beech mast he had collected. The boar, which had terrorised the neighbourhood, had eaten until it fell asleep under the tree and Pollard had jumped on it and killed it. She remembered Pollard’s Inn in the town and marvelled that it should still bear the hunter’s name. The story of the Lambton worm was in the book, the one about the Stanhope fairies and other familiar tales. They were much more interesting than reading nursery rhymes.
At last the time came when Ada thought she could write a letter to Johnny without making too many mistakes. Virginia kept mentioning it whenever Ada was with her.
‘Are you going to write to your young man today? Oh, come on Ada, you can do it now. I’ll help you,’ she would say, until eventually Ada agreed.
‘I want to write it on my own, though.’
Virginia pouted. ‘You might make a mistake. I should at least look it over for you.’
Tom, who was sitting by them, had frowned when Virginia brought it up and now he said sharply, ‘Virginia, letters like that are private.’
‘He’s not my young man,’ Ada put in. ‘Just someone I know. All right, Virginia, you can look it over.’
‘I’m off.’ Tom stood up and disappeared into the house. Ada looked after him in surprise at his abrupt departure, but told herself that he must have things to do.
‘I’m only writing a short note. Just to say where I am and what I’m doing. I’ll ask him first how he is, of course.’ Ada remembered her first lesson from Virginia.
The letter duly written and then approved by her friend, Ada spelled out the address on the envelope. Mr J. Fenwick, The Beeches, Stockton Road, Middlesbrough. She knew the address by heart.
Virginia snatched up the envelope. ‘I’ll put it with Daddy’s post, it’ll go today.’
‘No, no, I’ll take it.’ Ada held out her hand and Virginia gave it back after a second’s hesitation.
‘You will post it, though?’
Ada picked up her shawl. The letter had taken a while to write and she had to go. ‘Yes, of course I will,’ she said. But she wasn’t sure what she would do, she would like to take it herself. She would think about it while she did her afternoon’s ironing. Maybe she would go to Middlesbrough on Saturday, she thought, she could hand it in. She would like to see where Johnny lived.
On reaching her lodgings that evening, Mrs Dunne popped her head round the kitchen door.
‘There’s a letter for you, Ada.’ She held out the envelope and looked expectantly at Ada, hoping to hear about it.
‘Thank you, Mrs Dunne.’ Ada took the letter and to Mrs Dunne’s disappointment went upstairs to her room. Slitting the envelope, she took out the single sheet and, with some difficulty, read it out aloud to herself. She still found it easier to read that way.
‘Dear Ada.’ (Then it wasn’t from Johnny, Johnny would have called her Lorinda. And Johnny didn’t have her address anyway. She looked at the signature. Eliza, it was from Eliza, that was grand.)
‘I was so glad to hear you were all right, managing like. We are too, though Bertie does have a bit of a cough. West Auckland is all right, but I haven’t made many friends yet. Do you think you could get away and come to see us? It would be so nice if you could.’
The letter was short and didn’t exactly say Eliza was unhappy but Ada, reading between the lines, thought she was. She sat down on the bed and thought about it. She would go to see Eliza, she would, but not this week. This Saturday she was going to Middlesbrough.
For a moment she wondered if she should go to West Auckland instead. But, after all, she could go to see Eliza the Saturday after. She had saved some money by having so many meals with Virginia. If she didn’t go to Middlesbrough soon, she would lose her courage to do so. And Eliza hadn’t said she was unhappy.