‘Of course not,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘But when I heard that you had had a child –’
‘From the lawyers, no doubt.’ Her voice was scathing. ‘I should have known that any attorney he employed would be less than reliable in his dealings. My correspondence with the man was not intended to be broadcast wholesale, and I have no doubt he was well aware of that. But I was hoping too much to think such a one might behave in a professionally sound manner –’
‘Oh, come, my dear, you do him an injustice. I heard many of his conversations with Papa. He did well by you, indeed he did. Time and again he begged Papa to allow you to have your legacy, saying he had your assurances that you would not remarry ever and that you had a child to care for – but even in your widowhood Papa was adamant –’
‘Widowhood? Did Mr Poynter tell Papa I was a widow?’ She had been putting another cake into the oven and now she straightened up and stood staring down at him, her hands set against the frosty whiteness of her apron, which looked even whiter against the dark stuff of her gown. ‘Perhaps you are right and I did do the man an injustice. And what did he say to that?’
‘He said he had to see your marriage lines before he would agree to sign the necessary documents.’ Basil looked away and mumbled it. ‘And Mr Poynter said no more –’
‘And rightly so,’ she said equably and returned to her table to continue beating at a bowl of cake mixture. ‘For I am indeed no widow. I am as I was when I left Leinster Terrace, plain Miss Mildred Amberly.’
‘Let me get my hands on that blackguard and I’ll teach him to abuse my sister so,’ Basil began wrathfully but she shook her head at him and even smiled a little.
‘You did that once before, as I recall, and it did you little good,’ she said. ‘There is no need. I choose to live as I do.’
‘Are you happy, Mildred?’ He stared at her and after a while she stopped the rhythmic beating of her cake and set the bowl down on the table and lifted her chin and looked at him.
‘Happy? What is happy, Basil? Are you happy? You look happy enough sitting there – you are wearing good clothes on that improved frame of yours and I see that the last of your young skin disorders has left you. You seem a prosperous happy enough man of – what is it now? Twenty-three or thereabouts? Yes, it must be, for I am thirty-three. As I say, you look happy enough. But are you? Do you enjoy your work? Have you a young lady in whom you have an interest? At your age it seems a reasonable supposition, but I cannot tell from looking at you. So tell me – are you happy?’
He reddened. ‘As for that, I can – I asked you first.’
‘Very well, I shall tell you. I do not know if I am happy. I am, however, content enough. I earn my own living, mine and my child’s. And I do more than that. I am, I am pleased to tell you, amassing some savings of my own. They are not large sums, but they are mine and they grow steadily if slowly. I am beholden to no one, no one at all.’ She lifted her chin with a touching air of triumph. ‘I may not be as rich as you and the rest of the family. I may not be permitted to have the money my dead Mama wished me to have and which – he – her husband refuses to permit me to have, but I am content and successful in my own way. So, does that satisfy you?’
‘I wish you did not hate him so, Mildred. Not to be able to give him his name –’ He shook his head. ‘You must hate him a great deal.’
‘My father?’ she said after a moment and with great deliberation. ‘Mr Edward Amberly, my father? My dear Papa? I can name him without any difficulty at all. As for hating him – pooh! I have neither time nor energy for that. I lose no love for him, of that you can be sure, but –’
‘Please, Mildred –’ He swallowed. ‘I wish you would not speak of him like that.’
‘And what has he ever done for you that you should defend him?’ Mildred flared at him, and returned to her cake mixture and began to beat it so ferociously she bade fair to break the bowl to pieces in her hands. ‘I was so miserable in that house I gave little thought to others’ unhappiness, but I now know that you probably had no better a time in your own way, than I did. The man is monstrous in his selfishness and his greed and his –’
‘No, Mildred, I cannot let you speak so.’ Basil was on his feet now, and in the small low ceilinged kitchen which was lit only by the faint light of a single gas jet plopping over the mantelshelf and the firelight and so seemed even smaller because of the many shadows, he seemed gargantuan. ‘Not until you hear my message. If you say too much now you will not be able to give my request a fair hearing.’
‘If you seek to persuade me to come cap in hand to beg his forgiveness or any such nonsense you may forget it,’ she said roundly, and began to put her cake mixture into the prepared tin which stood ready, smoothing it with the back of a wooden spoon with gestures of such controlled ferocity that it was amazing that the mixture did not splash about the room.
‘No, I do not suggest that. But I have to tell you that they are in a state of great distress, and I thought perhaps if you came to visit and made your peace –’ His voice trailed away as she snapped her head up and looked at him with her eyes so dark and sharp that they seemed actually to glitter at him, like a steel knife.
‘I make my peace! I would have thought it was his duty to beg my forgiveness for the way he had behaved towards me that made it necessary for me to leave his house –’ She stopped then. ‘They are in great distress?’
He nodded. ‘Mama,’ he said simply. ‘Poor creature, you must pity her. I never saw such a wreck of a woman at the best of times, for I will not hide from you, Mildred, that since you left she has taken to liking sherry a great deal more than is good for her –’
‘She did that long before I left,’ she said shortly. ‘Is she ill?’
‘She is prostrate with terror. Not because of us, of course, although she is kind enough to say she is, but because of Wilfred, you see. He is only seventeen, I know, but he’s a well-made lad and could pass for older, and swears that no matter what she or Papa do or say, do it he will. And –’ He grinned suddenly and for a moment the small boy who had been her petted brother peered out of the man’s face at Mildred. ‘I tell you, Mildred, do it he will. He’s turned out to be a well-plucked ’un, has young Wilfred. Remembering what a monster he was as a child, it amazes me that he’s grown up to be so good a fellow. So you see, Mama is so set about that she does not know what to do, and Papa does not understand her misery and so that makes her worse –’ He sat and gazed at her mournfully for a long moment and then burst out, ‘Oh, Mildred, it is so hateful there! I know it has never been the happiest of homes, but it is the only home I have, and I would wish to see things better than they are. I will feel better in what I do if I know I have done all I can to make matters better for Mama. She is but a stepmama, I know, but she has been kind enough in her own way. And I thought if you would come and see her – you could perhaps help her see that –’
‘You must explain yourself better than that.’ Mildred put the last cake in the oven and, straightening, began to rub her weary back with both hands. ‘What about Wilfred? Why should my visiting her make any difference to what Wilfred does?’
‘You might be able to persuade him not to. You always could when he was small, as I recall. You were the only person he listened to. He drove Nanny Chewson quite demented then, you’ll remember, and all she can do now is sit and weep, so she’s no help. Mama does need you, Mildred. And if you choose a good time, when Papa is away from home, perhaps –’
She was staring at him with her brows snapped together. ‘You’ve changed less than I thought,’ she said. ‘You still don’t explain fully what’s in your mind. You give half the story and that in so garbled a fashion it’s incomprehensible. So, explain properly what it is you are concerned about, if you want me to take you seriously.’
He shook his head and again managed to smile at her. ‘I’m sorry, Mildred. I dare say I’m not at my best with words, at that. A man of action, you see.’ He lifted his chin proudly. ‘That
’s it, you see. I’m to join the City of London Rifles and go to South Africa to fight, and of course, Claude comes with me. And now Wilfred swears he will go too, so everyone is at such sixes and sevens that I’m demented with it all. Please come and sort it all out, Mildred, just as you used to do when I was a boy? Please?’
23
The second week in September, 1899, was the most exciting week Poppy Amberly had spent in all her life. First of all, on Monday, Mama took her shopping for special clothes. For Mama to leave the kitchen on a Monday was a very unusual thing. Generally it was a day when she was very busy sending out the cakes and pies and pasties she had baked on Saturday and Sunday, but this Monday Nellie Milner, the girl from the house on the corner of Leather Lane and Holborn, who sometimes came to help at busy times, had been fetched early and instructed on all she had to do, and given lists of what was to be given to which of the delivery men, and Mama had told Poppy to put on her red coat and straw hat with the cherries on it and had polished her boots till they shone like liquorice straps, and taken her shopping.
And that was the next wonderful thing. Not only did Mama buy Poppy new chemises and drawers and black stockings and extra sturdy boots and two green serge dresses and three new white pinafores to wear when she went to school; she also bought her a pencil box with a lid that swivelled in which there were not only three pencils and a pen holder and two shiny golden pen nibs, but also a long thin slate pencil and five sticks of chalk, one pink, one blue, one yellow, one green and one white. Poppy clutched the box and looked at Mama and said, ‘Oh,’ and then ‘Oh – h – h,’ again, because she was too excited to say anything else. And although she did not realize just how much the delight she felt made her face shine and her eyes widen, Mama certainly did and perhaps that was why the next exciting thing happened.
They were on their way out of the shop, Gamage’s at Holborn Circus, when they passed a counter on which there were displayed small hats made of fluffy white fur, and Poppy stopped to look at them, while Mama rearranged her parcels to make them easier to carry. The man behind the counter leaned over and smiled at her and said, ‘Aren’t they pretty, Miss? And look at this –’ and showed her a muff made to match, with twisted white cotton ropes with which to hang it round your neck and she took it, and tugged off her straw hat with the cherries so that she could put the muff’s rope over her head, and tucked her hands in it and whirled, crying, ‘Mama!’
And Mama looked and smiled and came and picked up a hat, too, and tried it on Poppy’s head, and let her look in the mirror the shop assistant held out and now Poppy could see what she looked like. And it was wonderful. Her hair seemed to be as curly as the fur on the hat, though a different colour of course, being as dark as the hat was light, and her eyes seemed even to Poppy to look very bright and shiny and her cheeks very round and rosy.
‘How much are they?’ Mama said to the shop assistant and he beamed and said very quickly, ‘Three shillings and elevenpence the pair, madam,’ and for a moment Poppy thought she would burst with hope and misery all mixed up together, for Mama looked serious and anxious and began to shake her head; but then she saw Poppy looking at her and she smiled again and said, ‘Why not? After all, why not? It’s ridiculous nonsense. But why not?’
Poppy stood there, not knowing what to do with the happiness inside her as the man took Mama’s money and wrote out the bill and reached over his head for the little wooden holder to put it in. He twisted it down and put the money and the bill in it and then reached up again and turned it back and Poppy, who stood staring upwards, waited for him to pull the handle that would send the wooden holder full of money swinging its way across the ceiling of the shop to the high glass enclosure in the middle where a woman in thick glasses sat and kept untwisting the holders and refilling them and then sent them swinging back. And the shop assistant saw her watching him and laughed and said, ‘Would you like to do it, little Miss?’ and came round and picked her up and held her high so that she could pull the handle. And that was the next wonderful thing that happened that week.
But there was still more to come. After they had got home and found that Nellie had done everything perfectly and had even been sensible enough to use the extra time she had to scrub and polish all the cake tins, Mama was in so happy a mood that she had time to sit by the fire with Poppy on her lap and tell her stories. Poppy could hardly remember the last time this happened and she sat there with her head on Mama’s shoulder, watching the flames behind the bars of the kitchen range and listened dreamily as Mama told her not only Cinderella but Snow White and Red Riding Hood as well.
And then it was tea time and they made toast at the fire, so that it came to the table covered in alternating black and brown bars the way Poppy liked it best of all, and on the toast they had Mama’s special jam which she had made only a few weeks ago when the stalls in the market had been covered in the great heaps of red and golden plums which had been so cheap that year because there was a glut, and then some raisin and treacle tart which Mama had found time to make just for them and not for the delivery men. Oh, a wonderful tea time, as they sat there opposite each other and ate and ate until Poppy thought she would not be able to swallow another little bit, and then found she could, and Mama sipped her tea and watched her and was quiet, but not at all cross. Just having Mama not cross and tired was treat enough. To have all this as well was – well, wonderful.
They had just finished half of the raisin and treacle tart when there was a knock at the door and Mama let Poppy answer it, and now she was getting used to lovely things happening and didn’t even feel particularly surprised to see Auntie Jessie there. She stood on the doorstep, smiling that great big smile of hers, wearing a lovely shiny black hat with purple feathers on it and a purple cloak over a bright crimson skirt with stripes of darker red on it, and looking bigger than ever. Every time Poppy saw Aunt Jessie she looked even bigger, which was how Poppy knew that grown-ups went on growing just like children did, only they grew sideways, instead of upwards. Now Poppy cried out delightedly, ‘Auntie Jessie, Auntie Jessie, I’ve got a lovely new pencil box and a hat and muff – come and see – oh, do come and see!’ and grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.
And then it all became even nicer, for Mama gave Auntie Jessie tea and seemed happy to see her, which was nice, for sometimes Mama was a bit cross when Auntie Jessie came. But not on this wonderful day. Nothing could go wrong on this wonderful day, Poppy decided as she paraded her new clothes and especially her hat and muff for Auntie Jessie to see and then showed her the pencil box. Even when they stopped talking to her and started to talk to each other, the way grown-ups always did in the end, it went on being nice, for she had her new pencil box to play with. Mama said she was not to use any of the things in it till she started school, because it was a school pencil box, but she could swivel the lid and take everything out, and then put it all in again and that was quite enough to enjoy for the present.
‘Thank you for coming, Jessie,’ Mama said, and Jessie laughed.
‘Don’t thank me, doll. You know my problem’s keeping away from here and you and the little one. I don’t need no inviting. So it was a real pleasure to get your letter. Especially as I don’t get much in the way of letters at the best of times. Postman thought I was coming into money.’ And she laughed, a round comfortable laugh, almost as round and comfortable as she was herself. She was eating a piece of the raisin and treacle tart and she didn’t at all mind opening her mouth when it was full, though Mama made sure Poppy never did that. It didn’t seem to matter with Auntie Jessie, though; whatever she did was always all right.
‘It’s just that – well, I have a decision to make,’ Mama said. ‘And it will help to talk of it with someone.’
‘And what other someone do you have but me?’ Jessie said, but there was no rancour in her voice. ‘So, tell me, what’s the problem?’
‘I had a visitor last night,’ Mama said, and Poppy pretended to go on counting her pencils but n
aturally began to listen.
‘Oh?’ Auntie Jessie sounded very interested too.
‘It – it was my – it was Basil. You remember Basil?’ Poppy felt Mama look at her. She didn’t have to see her do it. She knew she was watching her and wondering whether to send her away, and she began to count the pencils very obviously, being very busy with them so that Mama would know she wasn’t listening at all.
‘Basil? Your brother Basil? Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs!’ Auntie Jessie said loudly and Poppy worked harder than ever at not looking as though she was listening. But it was no use.
‘Poppy, my dear, take your new clothes upstairs and put them on your bed. And then you may lie on your bed and read your books. I shall come and tell you when it is time to get ready for sleep,’ Mama said and Poppy just for a moment considered making a fuss and asking to stay downstairs here by the fire. After all, with Auntie Jessie sitting there – but she looked at her Mama’s face and knew that would be a silly thing to do, and went upstairs, taking her new clothes with her, and sat on the bed and heard the rumble of their voices from below and longed to know what they were talking about. Mama, with a brother? Nellie from the corner had brothers including one who was very old – nearly twelve – who wore short trousers tied with string and a very torn jacket and an old cap over his eyes, and sometimes shouted after Poppy in the street. Did Mama have someone like that? And where was he? Nellie’s brother lived in her house with her, but Mama had no brother here. It was all very odd. So odd that there was no sense in thinking about it so she put her new clothes on the chair by the bed and then took her Grimm’s Fairy Tales book from the shelf and began to look at the pictures from the stories Mama had told her before tea. It was still being a wonderful day, even if she hadn’t been allowed to stay and listen to the talk downstairs.
Jubilee (Book 1 of The Poppy Chronicles) Page 25