by Janet Few
With aching slowness, Violet began to improve. Gradually the child was able to sit up in bed for longer periods, she began to take light meals but the mildest exertion tired her. She might never be able to join the others at the school at Wrinkleberry. Perhaps, thought Polly, she should not have been so complacent. Forever now, if things went well, she would be dreading that the scales would once again tip out of their favour, bringing more anguish and anxiety.
The birth of a fourth son, Nelson, in the summer of 1908, sent Polly’s spirits soaring. Perhaps it was a reaction to the year of worry over Violet but somehow Polly felt closer to Nelson than she had to any of her other babies. He was a contented child, whose toothless smile made all seem right with the world. Although she was not yet able to walk more than a few yards without becoming breathless, Violet was growing stronger; that was another blessing. Then the pendulum of fate swung against them once more, as further tragedy stalked Polly and Albert’s families. After seven years of marriage, Ada had finally had a child but the news came that there was something dreadfully wrong. Something that made Bertie’s slowness seem as nothing. Water on the brain they called it and it was likely he would never walk nor talk. Ada was bravely nursing him at home but they’d been told that he was not long for this world.
As the family was reeling from this news, the postman brought a letter to Chapel Street. It was rare that folk wrote letters, postcards were usually sufficient to say what needed to be said. Albert took his knife from his pocket and sliced through the envelope. He withdrew two flimsy sheets of paper and began to read.
‘Eadie’s to be wed,’ he said. ‘Seems she’s expecting. I’d no notion she was in the family way but she’s five months gone. Ma isn’t best pleased but there ’tis. Walter will move into Rose Cottage once they’re married.’
‘Well they’ve waited long enough,’ replied Polly.
‘There’s those that won’t approve of course,’ went on Albert, ‘and not just because they’ve anticipated the ceremony. With them being cousins, they will be afeared for how the baby will turn out.’
Neither of them voiced their thoughts of Ada’s little son.
‘Won’t be a chapel wedding o’ course, things being the way they are. Off to the register office in Bideford they be, it was all arranged as soon as she started to show. They’ve asked me to stand up for her, give her away like, now da’s gone. Her real ma and da have had naught to do with her, since she was a little maid.’
‘Shall you go?’ asked Polly, knowing that Eadie was like a sister to Albert.
‘’Tis a Saturday,’ said Albert, ‘I can spare time from the herring. I don’t see as how us can both go, what with the littl’uns and all.’
‘No, ’tis not as though it’s in the chapel. I shall bide here but you’ve to go. Happen your ma will be there and ’twill be good to give her the news. You’ve not seen her since you went over to let her know Nelson had been born. You can say as how Violet’s a mite stronger and that Daisy be working now. You’ll be able to tell her Leonard’s doing well. Even Bertie got a medal for attendance this term, she’ll be pleased to hear.’
‘I’m glad Eadie will still be at Rose Cottage to keep an eye on ma.’
‘I know,’ said Polly, ‘The old folks are a worry. I fret over my ma and da, now there’s only Ethel bringing money into the house.’
Polly was glad that her youngest sister, as yet, showed no inclination to marry and move away, leaving their parents needing care.
‘Arthur sends what he can,’ she went on, ‘but with all the rest of us girls wed, ’tis hard for us to help. Lydia could do more, in that big house over to Bideford, with her fancy husband and no children.’
Just as she’d always planned it thought Polly, ruefully but without resentment. She had no wish to exchange her life for Lydia’s.
‘They will be glad of this new pension the government’s going to be paying,’ said Polly. I know father will be pleased to get it, seven and six a week, it’s a tidy sum.’
Age was gripping them all, thought Polly, her own parents, now in their late seventies and Alb’s ma not much younger. Alb himself had turned forty five this year. The fishing kept him fit for his age and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him but they were no longer young. Maybe they deserved some years of quiet now. She was relieved that Violet was so much better and that Bertie seemed to be managing, though he’d never make a scholar. Walter was going to do the right thing by Eadie. Perhaps their worries were behind them.
Two months after Eadie’s wedding another letter arrived, this time from Albert’s Uncle John. Albert read it with mounting trepidation.
‘’Tis Aunt Matilda,’ he said, turning to Polly, ‘Ma was saying when Eadie was wed that she was becoming stranger than ever. She’s not been the same since Aunt Agnes went and of course, Aunt Agnes wasn’t always right in the head either. They was doing so well together, selling teas from King’s Cottage. Aunt Matilda’s lived there all her life but it’s been difficult for her since she’s been there on her own. She says she’s got roaring in her ears and she can hear voices and folk is out to kill her. Daft old girl.’
Albert continued reading. ‘Then she’s complaining of pains in her legs. Good job Eadie’s was a quiet wedding, she’d have expected an invitation else and Uncle John says her language is something shocking. Her excuse is the devil’s got her tongue. Sounds like she’s gone proper mazed. She used to go to chapel regular, now she’s saying she’s going to hell. Uncle John’s been having a right time of it. Aunt Lizzie keeps an eye on her best she can but she’s pushing seventy and can’t get down the hill like she used.’
‘I’m not sure there’s aught we can do,’ said Polly, ‘what with your fishing and I’ve the children to do for.’
‘Uncle’s had her put in the asylum,’ Albert replied as he turned the page. ‘They couldn’t be minding her no more. She keeps trying to hurt herself, her face was all over scratches and last week she tried to climb out the top window. They were afraid she’d do away with herself. There was naught else they could do.’
Polly felt frozen fingers grip her heart. She was well aware that Matilda’s sister, Albert’s Aunt Ellen, had spent nigh on a year in the asylum, when Eadie had been a year old. They’d blamed that on child bearing. Polly glanced involuntarily at Nelson in his cradle. Was she immune to this affliction that struck at mothers unawares?
***
In the shadow of the asylum wall a diminutive figure crept across the moonlit grass, searching for the sea. She looked much older than her years, she was not yet sixty but her face was heavily lined and a slight shadow of a beard graced her chin. She pushed back the sleeve of her nightgown and dug her dirty fingernails into her arm until the blood ran. She was oblivious to the pain but she let out an expletive as the blood dripped on to the shapeless garment that flapped round her skinny legs in the sharp December breeze.
The woman lifted her head and sniffed like an animal. It was all so unfamiliar, everything felt wrong, she needed to find the water. Where was the water? Surely she only had to look out of her window and there would be the waves, breaking over The Gore? It hadn’t been easy, getting out into the grounds. She wasn’t sure why there were so many others sleeping in her room. She hadn’t shared a room since she and Ellen and Lizzie were girls but despite all the people, it had been possible to slip out once snores surrounded her. The woman had wandered the darkened corridors aimlessly, spurning the chapel, which made her uncomfortable now. She had no place in heaven. God had abandoned her. The steamy laundry was more comforting, with its stench of damp linen. She did not know what had made her try the door to the drying yard, nor what had tempted her outside when it opened at her touch. All she knew was, that at all costs, she had to get away from those who were hunting her down; the sea would be her salvation. Her ma and da used to protect her, they were gone now of course, she knew that but where was Agnes? It seemed such a very long time since she’d seen her older sister. Agnes should be here. They needed t
o lay the tables for the visitors. If she could just climb that fence she would get to the sea, she knew she would.
A sheen of frost clung to the icy railings. The wiry little woman dragged a broken laundry hamper across to the perimeter fence. She sucked in her lips over her gums as she looked up at the looming barrier. The voices were telling her that she had to climb. She stood on the hamper and prepared to leap upward. Her voluminous nightgown caught firmly on the spike of the rusting railings. The linen was coarse but it was thick; it did not tear. She hung, suspended in the December darkness, still yearning for the sea that she believed would save her. Madness had claimed another victim.
5
Summer 1909
Adulthood was beckoning the four girls, inexorable, inevitable and eagerly anticipated. For now though, they busied themselves stringing daisy chains, still clinging to the last vestiges of childhood. It was obvious that they were dressed in their Sunday best but their workaday bonnets marked out their station in life. Their friendship had endured throughout their schooldays but it had been nearly a year since they last shared a dusty form at the back of the Clovelly classroom. Nowadays, Daisy found it difficult to get together with her friends to gossip. Their little group had split into two pairs. Alice and Mary were close, as both worked for Mary’s father at the Red Lion. Bella was living-in as an under housemaid for Mrs Hamlyn at the Court and although Daisy still lived at home, she was working for Mrs Tuke at Gardener’s Cottage. The Cottage’s proximity to the Court meant that Daisy and Bella had been thrown together as the other pair, even though Daisy felt more affinity with the less opinionated Mary and Alice.
Daisy was barely listening to the girlish chatter of her friends, instead, she was pondering on her own situation. She thought of kindly Mr Tuke, Mrs Hamlyn’s head gardener, who was responsible for the impressive Court grounds. She glanced in the direction of the Tuke’s cottage and the warm red walls that guarded the secrets of the serene garden; a garden that had gripped Daisy’s soul. She had inherited her mother’s love of flowers, taking pleasure in the hollyhocks and geraniums that grew round the cottage doors in the village. The neat rows of vegetables and the exotic, delicate blooms waiting to be picked for the Court held a different charm. On her way home from work each day, she lingered within the embrace of the walled garden, inhaling the scents and feeling her step lighten with the sheer joy of being young and alive. It wasn’t only the flowers, it was the smell of the newly turned earth, the sight of a robin perched on the handle of an abandoned fork and the sprouting of the unblemished shoots that lifted Daisy’s mood; nature’s new growth mirrored her own budding maturity.
Mr Tuke had noticed the allure that the garden held for Daisy and the thoughtful gentleman had begun to tell her more about the plants and how to tend them. Sometimes he asked Daisy to take the pennies from the visitors who wanted to tour this part of the grounds. Secretly, Daisy longed to work in the gardens instead of running errands and helping Mrs Tuke in the house but gardens were men’s work. The irksome inequalities that separated her from her brothers rankled. Leonard and Bertie would go to sea of course but they could be gardeners if they preferred. She had no choice, no voice; she would be a servant until she married and then an unpaid servant to her husband. How was that fair?
Aside from the garden, there was another attraction of working at Gardener’s Cottage and that was Abraham Tuke. A few months younger than Daisy, he had attended Clovelly school with her when they were small. Abraham’s ability at his lessons was legendary. He had raced through the standard examinations and two years ago, he’d won that scholarship to a fancy boarding school in Taunton; taking him to a world that was unimaginable to those he had left behind. The social orbit in which he now moved did not touch upon Daisy’s. When they were at school together, Daisy had tended to join the crowd who labelled him a swot for his seriousness and left him to his solitude. Now she found that eccentric dedication to studying romantic. Abraham was tall for his age and slender, very different from the other lads of Daisy’s acquaintance who were muscled from hauling lobster pots or from farm work. Daisy dreamed of the long summer days when Abraham would be home from school and she might catch glimpses of him, as she had at Easter, immersed in a book, in the corner of the garden. She imagined him turning the pages, his over-long dark hair falling across his eyes. He would push it back impatiently, lost in his studies, unaware of the young girl who surveyed him from the safety of the back kitchen. He was impossibly unattainable for Daisy of course. No one from Daisy’s walk of life sent their children away to school. Abraham and Daisy were now on different sides of the abyss that was hewn by society’s perceptions of their respective ranks.
On this beautiful, early summer Sunday the conversation of the four girls was superficial and skirted round their deepest feelings. Daisy hadn’t even told Bella about Abraham. She supposed Bella was her closest friend now but working at the Court had given Bella a sense of her own importance that made Daisy feel uncomfortable. Bella would remember Abraham from school and would be disparaging about Daisy’s dreams, ridiculing Abraham for being a little younger than they were, for not being a man who worked for a living and for, horror of horrors, wearing spectacles. Daisy thought the spectacles made Abraham’s dark eyes all the more penetrating but she was aware that her friends would see this as a sign of weakness.
Normally, Daisy was “chapel” but Bella had persuaded her to come to church to see the London fashions worn by the visitors to Clovelly Court. The Prime Minister and his wife were amongst the Whitsun guests. They were elderly of course but they were accompanied by their son. The Honourable Betty Manners, who was heir to the Court and her twin sister were also down for their twentieth birthday celebrations. The besotted Bella peppered her conversation with details of their comings and goings and the elaborate dinner that was planned to mark the occasion. Daisy was intrigued by Bella’s infatuation with the younger members of the house-party and was curious to see these paragons.
‘Don’t know why you’re interested in them rich folk,’ her mother had muttered, when Daisy had said that she would be going to church this Sunday. ‘The likes of us not good enough for you now youm be working?’
But Polly’s objections had been cursory and here Daisy was, in her newly-laundered dress, hoping to catch sight of the arrival of those from the Court.
The diminutive figure of Mrs Hamlyn appeared, her ebony cane scratching on the gravel path as she led her guests towards the ivy-clad church. Bella elbowed Daisy sharply in the ribs.
‘There’s Mr Asquith,’ she said, smugly knowledgeable. ‘He drove up from Exeter on Friday to avoid the annoying crowds at Bideford station. All those people wanting to catch a glimpse of him were disappointed. It was only Mrs Asquith who took the train as far as Bideford. Oooh look, that’s Lord Northcote,’ continued Bella, pointing to an elderly gentleman with the most impressive moustache that Daisy had ever seen.
Alice and Mary dutifully made appreciative noises, as Bella went on pointing out Sir this and Lady that. Daisy’s attention was wandering; she didn’t think that any of the younger gentlemen measured up to Abraham but wisely, she held her tongue. Bella was beginning to irritate her, she seemed to think that her employment at the Court gave her the right to lord it over her friends.
The ladies from the house-party, in their shimmering dresses, looked cool in the flickering sunlight. Swan-like, they floated along the path, their elegant, fitted skirts sweeping out at the back, the feathers and flowers in their hats dipping in the light breeze. Their parasols twirled, ensuring that alabaster complexions were not impaired. Suddenly, Daisy felt conscious of her tanned skin and she pulled the front of her bonnet down over her brow. How could she expect Abraham to look twice at her ruddy face and roughened hands?
The bells rang out, their impatient clamour cutting across the cries of the wheeling gulls and the gossip of the parishioners. All thoughts of daisy chains abandoned, the girls stood and smoothed down their dresses; the service would be
starting soon. As she left the bright sunshine and entered the dim church, it took a moment for Daisy to accustom her eyes to the shadowy interior. Mr Tuke, looking strange in his Sunday attire, inclined his head to acknowledge her. Daisy gave a brief, uncertain smile in response. The villagers, ever aware of their place, allowed the Court’s visitors to occupy the front pews and ranged themselves behind. Daisy’s gaze raked the church, spotting neighbours and friends, their neat but sombre clothing mundane when compared to the finery of the Court ladies. Three young women sitting erect in the first pew, away from the house-party guests, caught Daisy’s attention. They seemed to be taking no interest in the congregation that was assembling behind them.
‘Who are they?’ whispered Daisy to Bella, indicating the unknown ladies. ‘I didn’t see them come in with the others from the Court, they must have got here very early.’
The women that were the subject of her scrutiny were smartly dressed, one in white, one in purple and one in a fetching shade of green. Although their appearance marked them out from the villagers, they did not turn to acknowledge Mrs Hamlyn and her guests. There was a low hum as acquaintances greeted each other whilst they waited for the service to begin but these ladies sat unspeaking, their eyes fixed firmly on the altar. Reluctantly, Bella admitted that she did not recognise them.
‘I’m sure I haven’t seen them at the Court,’ she said. ‘Maybe they are just here for luncheon.’
‘They are staying at Mrs Jones’ in the village,’ volunteered Mary after a pause, disinclined to challenge Bella’s authority but eager to contribute her tit-bit of knowledge. ‘I saw them leave there and go across to Granny Pengilly’s tea-rooms yesterday.’
‘Oh, nobody important then,’ said Bella dismissively, ‘just visitors.’ She was clearly put out that she was no longer the provider of all the gossip.
The service began and one of the Court party stood up to read the lesson.