A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  Amelia said she had just been going to. She looked at the writing on the envelope. ‘Oh, it’s from our Gwen.’ She began to tear it open.

  Kit forestalled her. ‘I think she’s writing to tell you about me.’

  Amelia paused and dealt her sister an inquisitive glance.

  Kit glanced ruefully at Albert. ‘I’m having another.’

  Whilst her husband merely whistled through his teeth, it was all Amelia could do to prevent herself from crying out. She simply stared at Kit, the letter unopened in her hand.

  ‘That’s why I didn’t bring Probe. I wanted to let you know, and he’s such an earwig, nothing gets by him.’

  Somewhat dazed, Amelia merely nodded, then stared thoughtfully at the letter without making any move to open it, running finger and thumb around the edge of the envelope.

  ‘I’ll be staying at Ralph Royd for the birth. Sarah’s been marvellous about it. I expected her to go mad.’

  ‘Yes, well, I suppose she’s got enough to worry her,’ murmured Amelia, her own news totally forgotten.

  Feeling uncomfortable, Kit drained her glass and began to rise. Albert moved back – she always made him feel like a dwarf. ‘Well, I’d better go see if Probe got home all right. I’ll fetch him to see you before we go back.’ Saying goodbye, she left Amelia seated at the table.

  When Albert returned from seeing Kit to the door, his wife was able to vent her fury. ‘I could throttle her! I really could. It’s not fair, Bertie. There’s us who’d give that child all our devotion and our Kit just has ’em willy-nilly. I mean, what does she want with a baby when all she wants to do is go gallivanting? She doesn’t deserve it.’ And her face crumpled in torment.

  Albert pulled a handkerchief from his butler’s suit and used it to dab at her tears. ‘Aw, don’t, love. Don’t let it upset you.’

  ‘It does upset me!’

  ‘I know.’ He bent over to put his arm round her shoulders and squeezed. ‘It does me an’ all.’

  ‘Aw, I knew you minded more than you let on!’ Amelia bawled.

  ‘No – I only meant it upsets me that she upsets you!’ Looking aggrieved, Albert tried to comfort his wife. ‘You’re the most important person in the world to me. I’m not bothered that we don’t have children, I just feel sorry that you can’t have what you want.’

  ‘I have got what I want, I’ve got you. It’s just – oh, what does she have to come here telling us for? As if we’re interested.’ Amelia gave a huge sniff, then wiped her red eyes and finally blew her nose. ‘I suppose I’ll have to hear about it all over again in this.’ She brandished the letter.

  Albert patted her. ‘You open it and I’ll make a pot of tea.’

  Sniffing, Amelia tore open the letter and immediately let out a humourless laugh. ‘I knew it! The whole of the first page is devoted to Kit.’ Tossing aside the offending page, she read on, and slowly her expression changed to one of interest.

  Aware of her metamorphosis, Albert did not question her but proceeded to set out the cups and saucers, patiently awaiting his own curiosity to be assuaged.

  Amelia’s blue eyes finally looked up. They were wide with excitement. ‘She says they’re all going to try and persuade Kit to let us adopt the baby!’

  Faced with that starry gaze, Albert very quickly told his wife not to pin her hopes on this – after all, Kit had mentioned nothing.

  ‘No, but if it were possible, what would you say?’

  Albert frowned and rubbed his hands together, not a sign of indecision but a gesture of annoyance that Gwen had put this idea into his wife’s head. ‘If it would make you happy, I’d say yes, of course – but even if Kit does agree she could change her mind.’

  ‘Don’t mention the move to America – not to any of them!’

  He guessed what was in her mind. ‘Please, dear, don’t bank on it before you hear it from the horse’s mouth.’

  Amelia nodded and bit her lip, but could not quite manage to chase that gleam of excitement from her eye. And now that the idea had been planted, she began to make rapid plans of her own.

  * * *

  Kit was to remain in total ignorance of these machinations, unaware too that her only ally against the conspirators was the person who had always seemed to resent her most.

  ‘Leave the poor girl alone!’ Sarah railed at them after listening to another Sunday afternoon of plotting before their victim arrived. ‘Hasn’t she suffered enough?’

  ‘We’re only trying to do what’s best,’ challenged Gwen.

  ‘Well, I’m sick of bloody hearing it!’ In agonizing pain, Sarah broke into a fit of coughing, and stabbed a finger at the sideboard, indicating that she needed relief. Monty jumped up and poured out the laudanum, though even after this was administered it did not ease her temper. ‘You’re always trying to run people’s lives,’ she told Gwen, once able to speak. ‘And you’re not doing it in my kitchen, so don’t let me hear another word.’

  Gwen opened her mouth to object, but just then Kit came in and all reference to her pregnancy ceased. Sarah gave warm if breathless greeting, her pain subsiding.

  Bemused by her sister-in-law’s change of attitude, Kit was nevertheless grateful for it and in a rush of compassion said: ‘I’ve been thinking on my way here: you’ve never been back to Wales have you? Would you like to? For a holiday?’

  There followed a snort of derision, showing a glimpse of the old Sarah. ‘If I had the money for a holiday, I wouldn’t waste it on going to see them!’

  ‘No, I meant I’d pay for you to go,’ said Kit.

  The refusal was pleasant. ‘Oh, don’t go throwing your money around on me, you might need it!’

  ‘I’ve more than enough. Let me give you a holiday. It’ll do you a power of good.’ Kit knew as well as anyone in the room that nothing could bring about a cure.

  Reclining against a pile of cushions, Sarah voiced what the rest of them were thinking. ‘I doubt I even have the energy to get on a train.’ Her haggard face turned pensive. ‘I wouldn’t mind a day trip to the seaside, though.’

  Kit seized on the idea. ‘Aye! Whilst this lovely weather lasts – where do you want to go, Scarborough? I’ll go and book the tickets for next Saturday. We’ll all go!’

  Sarah raised a weak laugh. ‘Sometimes, I really admire you, Kit.’

  Gwen rolled her eyes at Charity as Kit warmed to her theme. ‘I’ll get the carrier to take us to the station and then it’ll be straight on a train so you don’t have to walk anywhere – I’ll even hire a donkey to take you along the sands!’

  Probyn shared a grin with his sisters. Monty sighed at Kit’s impetuous gesture, but he too was secretly pleased.

  Kit turned to her sisters. ‘Are you coming with us? My treat.’

  After brief discussion they agreed, and thanked her for the kind offer.

  ‘It’s very generous of you, Kit,’ concluded Sarah, then gave an oblique glance at her other sisters-in-law. ‘Though I can’t help but think some people don’t deserve it.’

  The tone of her voice puzzled Kit, who looked around for evidence of some previous bad feeling but found none. Though looking back on the afternoon that evening she decided there had been a definite air of tension.

  * * *

  There was no such feeling on the trip to Scarborough, everyone seemingly eager to make it a day to remember for poor Sarah. Kit had made her sister-in-law a new dress for her outing and had bought her a matching parasol. Beneath its shade, Sarah reclined on a rug on the sand, eating ice cream with her grown-up children, chatting amicably to Gwen and bestowing smiles on the husband who had become almost a stranger over the past years, the result being that Monty appeared to shed a decade off his age. Kit, too, had not felt so good in a long time, revelling in the sun and the sky and the sea, and the baby who wriggled full of life inside her. Never had the Kilmasters enjoyed such a harmonious day.

  For the rest of the country, tension was to remain high throughout the summer as groups of unemployed converged o
n London, gathering in its parks and squares, holding huge demonstrations, the continuing heatwave adding to the stress. Still crippled from the strike, Ralph Royd was relatively unaffected, though the monotonously high temperature had a similar affect on its inhabitants, provoking more bad tempers, more arguments, more fights than usual.

  The claustrophobic weather played havoc with the invalid, stealing into her tubercular lungs and threatening asphyxiation. Sarah felt as if her windpipe had been crammed with towels, each breath a massive effort. To alleviate her suffocating, sweat-drenched nights, she had taken to imbibing a concoction of brandy, ether and laudanum. But her face belied the effectiveness of this. She had refused the attention of a doctor, asking what was the point. But, unable to stand by any longer and watch her sister-in-law wasting away – not least because it brought back memories of another such death – Kit paid for the physician to come, begging him to show compassion and hasten this long, lingering expiry. Morphine was administered. Merciful sleep came. Prayers were said. The family was prepared for death. Yet, Sarah tarried …

  The days dragged by, the high temperature continuing until finally, mercifully, the explosive atmosphere was dissipated in an overnight thunderstorm.

  Thankful for the purified air, Kit was none the less at a loss as to how to stem the torrent that greeted her as she came down to the kitchen that morning. The spouting had overflowed, sending rain cascading down her walls and under the back door. She was making futile attempts to mop up the puddle when a drenched Probyn arrived, bringing yet more water into her cottage.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness!’ She clutched her swollen abdomen. ‘Grab those towels and help me get this water under control, it’s like Niagara Falls.’

  Oddly subdued, Probyn did as he was told and launched into a vigorous mopping-up operation, telling his aunt to stand aside and taking complete charge until every drop of water was transferred to the towels which were thrown in the sink, and then going outside to rectify the blockage and prevent any more coming in.

  Having achieved this, he stood in his aunt’s kitchen, breathing heavily and red in the face.

  ‘What would I do without you?’ Kit praised him. ‘Get your wet jacket off and sit down.’

  This he did, leaning on his knees and staring at the floor, whilst rubbing his hands in an agitated manner.

  ‘Have you had your breakfast? I’ll get you some.’

  ‘Me mam’s died,’ said Probyn, not lifting his head.

  ‘Aw, love …’ Kit reached out but the boy held up an outstretched hand to stave off any gesture that might make him cry.

  Resting her hands on the bulge under her dress, Kit asked softly, ‘Was it in the night?’

  He nodded, still not looking at her. ‘Me dad doesn’t know what to do. Can you come?’

  Kit said that of course she would. Without so much as a glass of water passing her lips, she grabbed her umbrella and escorted Probyn back to Savile Row.

  Monty wondered as his youngest sister delivered her misty-eyed condolence, what she would think of him if she could read his mind. What sort of a man was he to feel relief at his wife’s death? Oh yes, he felt anguish – and guilt that whilst his wife had drowned on her own blood he had slept on – and all the other more fitting emotions, but these were overridden by an overwhelming surge of freedom. Ashamed, he flayed himself with an index of her qualities – Sarah had been a good woman, her children were devastated by her death, he was devastated too, but underlying his genuine display of sorrow was a glimmer of hope. His miserable marriage was at an end. He was glad to replace the burden of melancholy with that of grief, however painful, for at least the grief would be finite.

  * * *

  One would think that Gwen had been waiting for this moment all her life, thought Kit watching her sister take over Sarah’s kitchen after the funeral, telling everyone what to do and how to do it. Monty didn’t say much, but then he never did. The house was crammed with black figures, spouses and offspring lurking in every corner like spiders. Owen and his family were conspicuous by their absence, having sneaked in at the back of the chapel but slipped out again and were on their way back to Garborough Junction before anyone could invite them to the house.

  Having made sure that everyone had a cup of tea, Gwen sat down herself – in Sarah’s chair. ‘Well, that’s three gone this year. Wonder who’ll be next?’

  Flora gave a heavy sigh, as did her daughters.

  ‘I hope it’ll be a wedding that brings us together next,’ opined Charity. ‘Set a date yet, Wyn?’ The latter had been courting for some months.

  ‘She’s only nineteen,’ intervened Monty.

  ‘Our Alice was only nineteen when she wed,’ objected a puffy-eyed Wyn, who had indeed been contemplating her nuptials. ‘So was Rhoda.’

  ‘Things were different then,’ argued her father. ‘You can’t leave poor Merry to look after us on her own.’

  Noting the look of alarm that passed between Merry and Wyn, Kit fully understood their concern. With Ethel devoted to her career of prison wardress, and Rhoda and Alice married, the others were going to be trapped as their father’s slaves if they didn’t receive help. ‘It’s not really fair to penalize either of them. Young lasses—’

  ‘What?’ Her brother was abnormally pugnacious. ‘Have a right to go running about all over the place having children willy-nilly?’

  Kit blushed – everyone else looked embarrassed too. Though the youngsters were aware of their aunt’s pregnancy now it was never mentioned in front of them. ‘I only meant they’re entitled to get married if they want to be,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Some of us aren’t so lucky to have a choice.’ retorted Monty. ‘Some of us put duty first.’

  Kit had never argued with her brother. She fell silent.

  Seizing this opening, Gwen said, ‘Maybe you should take a leaf out of Monty’s book, Kit. Ever considered how it might feel to be the child of an unwed mother?’

  Thoroughly shocked by this unexpected question, Kit was unable to answer.

  ‘Can’t be very nice, can it, being called all sorts o’ names? Well, you should know all about that, but then it’s different for an adult than for a child. An adult chooses their path, a child doesn’t.’

  Kit found her voice, made a sad little protest. ‘I didn’t choose—’

  ‘I know, you said, it just happened.’ Gwen’s face was cynical. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to make a conscious decision for once in your life, Kit? I mean, given the chance, would you knowingly subject a little child to the sort of thing you suffered at the hands of that mob?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Would any of us here put a child through that?’

  Wearing a mask of incomprehension – how could Gwen be so cruel, and at such a time? – Kit looked around the assemblage, heard the murmurs of agreement as all sided with her elder sister. ‘But that was because they thought—’

  ‘You know what Thought did? Followed a muck cart and thought it were a wedding. It was a dreadful incident! And who’s to say it won’t happen again? You know what folk round here are like. Wouldn’t you prefer to make a fresh start somewhere else and give your child a fresh start too?’

  Kit was even more affected. ‘You want me to go away?’

  ‘Not for the reasons you think! Not because you’re an embarrassment. I think we all genuinely want you to be happy, Kit, and we want that poor child to be happy too. When I say give it a fresh start, I mean with a proper family – somebody who’s married.’

  Kit felt as if someone had stabbed her. ‘Have it adopted? Never! It’s all I ever wan—’ She broke off in tears.

  Though the atmosphere was uncomfortable, especially amongst Probyn and the other young ones, who felt sorry for their favourite aunt, there were some who thought to comfort her, Charity for one. But Kit was to suffer additional shock upon discovering that Charity held the same view. ‘We’re not saying it to be cruel, love, but we want you to consider it very carefully. Think of the baby.�
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  ‘I am! I can’t! Who’s to say it would have any better life with strangers?’

  ‘Kit, we’re not talking about a stranger,’ warbled Flora. ‘It’ll be with your own flesh and blood.’

  At first bewildered, Kit noticed the look of eager expectancy on Amelia’s face, the way she was gripping Albert’s hand, the look of urgency in his own eyes as he willed Kit to say yes. She knew then that they had all been plotting this behind her back.

  ‘You couldn’t hope for a better mother than your sister,’ coaxed Charity. ‘And the beauty of it is you’d still be able to see the baby whenever you want.’

  Amelia dared not blink.

  ‘It was very remiss of us not to persuade you to do the sensible thing with Beata,’ said Gwen. ‘Looking back, we could have saved you a lot of pain.’

  ‘I wanted her!’ wept Kit.

  ‘We all know that.’ Gwen was genuinely sympathetic. ‘But, Kit, you can’t always have what you want, especially if it’s going to make others suffer.’

  ‘It’s the kindest thing to do, lass,’ urged Charity.

  Her own fate hanging by this umbilical thread, Amelia still dared not say a word.

  Kit sobbed for a while, then blew her nose and sat gripping her handkerchief in her hands, looking around at the doleful gathering, only then remembering that they were at a funeral. It was obvious that Gwen was the ringleader but equally obvious from others’ expressions that she had support. Kit locked bloodshot eyes with Monty, trying to assess his view of all this. Her brother’s affection had always been important to her, if he was looking at her like this she must take it seriously. Without a word being said between them she read his opinion: he had always forfeited his own needs in favour of his siblings, had done everything to keep the family together at the price of his own happiness. Sarah too had made tremendous sacrifices of her own and had paid for it with premature death. Kit had only ever considered herself. Now she must behave with maturity and think what was best for the child.