Tilly's Story

by June Francis

  ‘I was wondering where you’d gone, girl,’ she said, addressing Wendy.

  ‘Didn’t Pete tell you? I couldn’t find you outside the church, so I left a message with him,’ said Wendy.

  ‘That’s because I chose not to go inside that place,’ said her mother, dropping her voice. ‘I don’t approve of all this spiritualist nonsense and your Uncle Robbie’s the same. You’ll see he’ll put a stop to your Aunt Eudora’s gallop. There’ll be no séances held in this house.’ She paused and stared at Tilly. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘This is Miss Tilly Moran,’ said Wendy, urging Tilly forward. ‘The other Mr Bennett told me about her. This is me mam, Tilly. You can have a word with her now about renting Uncle Robbie’s old room.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Mrs Wright’s sharp eyes washed over Tilly’s face, before lingering on her hat and then her dress. ‘Very nice. But what are you thinking of, girl, wanting to leave home? Found yourself a fellow in Liverpool, have you? Well, I’ll tell you now I’ll stand for no hanky panky under my roof.’

  ‘I haven’t a boyfriend,’ said Tilly, her cheeks reddening. ‘I just want to live near my dad.’

  Before either could say anymore the best man hushed them and the speeches began. Fortunately, they were soon over. Toasts were drunk and the serious business of eating began. Tilly did not get a chance to grab a plate and pile it high because Wendy’s mother took up their previous conversation as if there had been no interruption.

  ‘Why can’t you live with your dad?’

  ‘Because my dad works here for Mr and Mrs Bennett,’ said Tilly.

  Mrs Wright’s heavy lids rolled back. ‘The gardener! Why would you want to live near him? What help is he going to be to you living in Liverpool?’

  ‘I’m not looking for him to be of a help to me. I just want to see more of him. I only found out he was alive last year,’ said Tilly, bristling slightly.

  Mrs Wright fixed her with a stare. ‘I did hear he’d spent time in an asylum but there’s lots of people sick in the head since the war. Anyway, if you want to rent my spare room I’m not against it. If you want breakfast and an evening meal as well, I suppose we can cater for that. It’ll cost you fifteen bob a week.’

  Tilly mentally reviewed her savings and her heart sank. Was the amount fair? She had no way of knowing because it was as Alice had said: she had been spoilt, never having to hand over much money for her keep. Her savings would be gone in a month if she had to hand over that much every week. Perhaps she should try bargaining.

  ‘Twelve shillings,’ she said, managing to keep a tremor out of her voice. ‘And I want to see the room first.’

  ‘Yer’ve got a nerve,’ said Mrs Wright in a flat voice. ‘I could probably rent it out to someone else for fifteen.’

  Tilly shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want to do, Mrs Wright. But just remember the proverb about a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’

  ‘Mam, don’t be mean,’ said Wendy, linking her arm through her mother’s. ‘I want Tilly to stay. I think I can learn a lot from her. Besides, she’s used to living with kids and won’t be complaining about the racket ours make like some others might. And we need someone who’s honest and can come recommended. We don’t want a lodger rifling the till during the night.’

  ‘Are you honest, girl?’ asked Mrs Wright, opening her handbag and taking out a packet of cigarettes and lighting up.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I’ll accept twelve and sixpence and you can give a hand with the chores. That’s my last offer, girl. I like it that you dress well and are clever. Perhaps you’ll be a good influence on my Wendy and Minnie. Come round after the do and see what you think. You can even spend the night if you want.’

  Tilly was astounded by Mrs Wright’s sudden capitulation and decided that her offer was fair. ‘I’m not sure about staying. I’m here with part of my family.’

  ‘Please yourself but the room will be getting advertised in the shop this week if you don’t want it. I reckon in the light of the housing situation being the way it is, it’ll be snapped up.’

  ‘I’ll take it.’

  ‘Good. Because we kind of know you, I’ll just ask for a fortnight’s money in advance instead of a month’s. Wendy, you take her to see the room after you’ve had something to eat,’ said Mrs Wright.

  ‘Come on, Tilly,’ said Wendy. ‘Let’s go while the going’s good. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family, so you know what you’re letting yourself in for.’

  Wendy hurried her over to where her siblings were filling their plates. First, she introduced Tilly to Minnie, who was thirteen and showing signs of early womanhood. She was stuffing her face with cake. Next came Peter, a lad who had a look of his Uncle Robbie except his hair was jet black instead of pure white. Lastly, there was ten-year-old, fair-haired David.

  Tilly experienced a sudden pang of what felt like pain, thinking that once she left home she would see little of her nieces and nephews in Chester.

  ‘Miss Moran is coming to live with us,’ said Wendy.

  ‘Why do you want to come and live with us?’ asked Minnie, giving her a frank look from deep blue eyes. ‘We’re a noisy lot, you know. Especially, our Peter. He plays the clarinet.’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Tilly, looking at him with fresh interest. ‘I play the piano. I don’t suppose your mother has a piano?’

  ‘No. Uncle Robbie took his piano with him,’ replied Peter. ‘Mam doesn’t much like music. She only tolerates my practising because Uncle Robbie has told her that I have a future.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope he’s right. I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about because he’s a professional musician.’ Tilly smiled. ‘As for noise. I’ve nieces and nephews and they’re not exactly always quiet and well behaved.’

  ‘How old are they?’ asked Peter.

  Tilly told them.

  ‘Only babies,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m a scout. I suppose you’ve heard of Lord Baden-Powell?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tilly. ‘The hero of Mafeking and the founder of the scout movement.’

  ‘I’m ten, the same age as one of Miss Moran’s nephews,’ said David, knuckling his older brother in the side. ‘You’re always making out that you’re all grown up when you’re not.’

  Peter swiped him across the head. ‘Shut up, Shrimp.’

  Wendy frowned. ‘Enough of that. Miss Moran won’t want to come and live with us if you carry on the way you are.’

  ‘What does Miss Moran do?’ asked Minnie.

  ‘She works in an office,’ said Wendy.

  ‘I also write,’ murmured Tilly.

  ‘Write what?’ asked Minnie, staring at her.

  ‘Stories.’

  ‘I bet they’re for kids,’ said Peter, biting into a sandwich. ‘I can read my own books,’ he added through a mouthful of food.

  Minnie laughed. ‘Pull the other leg. You hardly ever pick up a book, you’d rather play that stupid clarinet.’

  ‘It’s not stupid!’ He glared at her.

  ‘Don’t you two start,’ warned Wendy.

  ‘Not everyone is a reader but they can still enjoy listening to stories,’ said Tilly. ‘Although, I want to write a novel, a grown-up novel.’

  ‘I read Mam’s Red Letter magazine,’ said Minnie, with a smirk. ‘I’ve always been a good reader.’

  ‘I heard Mam telling you off for reading those stories. She said they’re too old for you,’ said Peter. ‘They’re all about lu-uv.’

  Tilly was amused by their squabbling. Her brother and sister had been too old for her to have this kind of relationship with them. She was reminded of Alice being shocked and ticking her off for reading Elinor Glyn when she was only a little older than Minnie.

  ‘I like adventures. The bloodthirstier the better,’ said David, with relish.

  ‘Enough,’ said Wendy. ‘I’m getting something to eat. Now scram, you lot.’

  While Tilly helped herself to food, she wondered what Kenny and the others
would think of her decision to lodge with the Wrights. She was soon to find out when her half-brother, Hanny, Freddie and Clara appeared at her shoulder. Hanny asked her what she had found to talk to the Wrights about.

  ‘You seemed to be in deep conversation with Mrs Wright earlier,’ she said.

  Tilly realised that her family had been keeping their eye on her, so she told them about what had been said and received the reaction she had dreaded might happen from Kenny. ‘I don’t think I can let you do this, Tilly,’ he said, frowning.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Hanny, taking a mouthful of champagne. ‘It’s not as if Mrs Wright is a stranger.’

  Kenny disagreed. ‘But she is a stranger. I’ve never met her before until today.’

  ‘But she’s Robbie Bennett’s sister and we all know him. I think we can trust her to look after Tilly,’ said Hanny.

  It was not part of Tilly’s plan to have Mrs Wright looking after her and telling her how she should behave, but she guessed that now was not the time to say so. At the moment she had Hanny on her side and had to appear to agree with her.

  ‘She’s almost a relative,’ said Tilly. ‘I’m going to have a look at the room later.’

  Hanny drained her champagne glass. ‘We’ll come with you.’

  Inexplicably, Tilly was alarmed by the suggestion. ‘No! We’re here as guests and we can’t all just nip out.’

  ‘And there’s the entertainment,’ said Clara. ‘I’m sure we’ve all been looking forward to hearing some of the members of the Palladium Orchestra playing and to having a dance.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Hanny. ‘Besides, we can’t stay too late or we’ll miss the luggage boat.’

  Tilly nodded, wishing she had kept quiet about her plans. She excused herself and, carrying a plate of food, went in search of her father. There was no sign of him downstairs but several musicians were practising in the drawing room. For a moment she listened to them before leaving the house by the french windows, hoping to find Mal outside.

  There was a light down near the outbuilding so she walked towards it, only to stop with a start when she heard herself being called. She recognised her father’s voice but could not immediately work out where it was coming from. The next moment she felt a damp nose sniffing her ankles and, looking down, she saw a dog. Its peculiar little flattened face was framed by a mane of hair, resembling that of a lion and there was something very attractive about him. She bent down and held out a hand. He sniffed it and allowed her to stroke his head before she realised her plate of food was in danger of receiving his attention.

  ‘Yer look bonnie, lass,’ said Mal, coming out from behind a tangle of shrubbery.

  ‘So there you are, Dad. Where’ve you been?’ asked Tilly, straightening up.

  ‘I had to get away,’ he answered, placing a trembling hand on her arm. ‘Nanki Poo dug something up and I didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t tell Eudora, it being her wedding day.’

  ‘What is it? Do you want me to have a look? It’s not treasure, is it?’ she joked.

  ‘Nay, lass.’

  ‘Then perhaps we should eat first. I put extra food on my plate, thinking you mightn’t have had anything to eat.’

  Mal showed some interest in the plate and, reaching out, took a small pork pie and popped it into his mouth. Tilly ate a ham sandwich and wondered what the dog could have dug up that had Mal in a dither. It was peaceful in the garden, although she could hear the strains of music, the hum of conversation and the sound of laughter coming from the house. Soon there would be dancing but who was there with whom she could dance? She thought of Freddie and then Don and sighed.

  Mal took a sandwich from the plate and bit into it. ‘These are good. I watched Joy and the lasses making them. Eudora and Mr Bennett are going away, you know. They’re going on a liner to foreign parts for their honeymoon. They’ll be gone for a few months but she said that Joy would give me my tonic and see I had all I need.’

  Tilly thought he sounded much calmer now. ‘Do you like Joy?’

  ‘Aye. What’s there not to like?’ He seemed surprised.

  ‘Couldn’t you have told her about what Nanki Poo dug up?’

  He shook his head. ‘She was busy. You can come and look. See whether yer think the same as me.’

  He took another sandwich and gave the dog some ham from inside it. The meat was gone in seconds. Then he led her towards the outbuilding.

  ‘I don’t know if I did right bringing it in here,’ he muttered, taking her over to a bench on which stood a storm lantern.

  By its light Tilly could make out a shoebox on a sheet of newspaper. She put down the plate and stared at the box. She had the oddest feeling when her father removed the lid to reveal a small heap of bones. He took out a tiny skull with careful fingers. ‘What d’yer make of this, lass?’

  She scrutinised it carefully. Her heartbeat had quickened. The skull looked the wrong shape for a pet rabbit, cat or dog. ‘It reminds me of a doll but the head of the one I had was made of wax. This doesn’t look like wax. Are you thinking, Dad, that it’s a baby’s skull?’

  She heard him swallow and then nod.

  ‘There was the odd shred of material and a bit of a label with the bones. The box dis-dis—’

  ‘Disintegrated?’

  He nodded. ‘So I put the skeleton in this box. How d’yer think it came to be there, lassie?’

  Tilly was silent for a moment, thinking deeply. ‘Perhaps when she was young, the old spinster who lived here got herself into trouble.’

  ‘Aye. She’d have kept it secret.’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps the poor little thing was born dead, so she buried it in the garden at dead of night,’ whispered Tilly. Her imagination took flight as she thought about who the father might have been. Perhaps a soldier or maybe a married man?

  ‘What should we do with it?’ asked Mal. ‘It doesn’t seem right just to put the bones back where I found them. Besides, Nanki Poo might dig them up again.’

  Tilly agreed with him and was tempted to suggest that they took the bones to the nearest minister of religion so they could have a Christian burial but somehow she doubted that idea would appeal to her father. He’d never had any time for the Church. ‘We could bury them again but in a metal box this time,’ she suggested, thinking she could say a few words.

  ‘Aye. And I could get a nice rosebush and plant it over the box,’ said Mal, sounding more cheerful. ‘Then I’d know exactly where the bairn was buried and not dig there.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tilly.

  ‘It would be our secret.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Carefully, he placed the tiny skull back in the cardboard box and replaced the lid. ‘Yer’d best be getting back to the party now.’

  ‘You’re not coming in, Dad?’

  ‘No, lass. I was asked but I don’t want to be mixing with a load of strangers. My quarters are upstairs and I’m happy there.’

  She would have liked to have seen them but decided that perhaps now was not the right time to suggest it. ‘I’ll leave you the plate of food,’ she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘I’m hoping to settle nearby so you can expect another visit from me in a few days.’

  ‘That’s great, lass,’ he said, beaming at her. ‘I’m sure that news would please your mammy.’

  Tilly wondered if that was true but had no doubt about how her sister would feel. Alice might miss her help in the house and with the children but she would be glad to get rid of her. Tilly hoped there would be no arguments when she arrived home. It would be much better for the pair of them if they parted on relatively good terms.

  Tilly entered the house the way she had left it and stood a moment by the french windows, listening to the music and the hum of conversation. Her eyes scanned the large room, tastefully painted in soft muted colours of pale peach and cream. All the furniture had been pushed against the walls and the carpet rolled up. Due to the confines of the room, the band consisted of just four members of the orchestra: a pianist, a
violinist, a flautist and a trumpeter. Together they made quite an interesting sound. Tilly felt the rhythm go through her and she tapped her foot. She watched the swirling couples who had taken to the floor. She knew the names of some dances and had even practised the foxtrot with Alice last Christmas. Tears suddenly clogged her throat. Despite the anger between her and her sister she was going to miss her.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked a voice.

  Tilly turned to Wendy. ‘I went to see Dad. He’s not coming in but I took him some food.’

  ‘Is Nanki Poo with him?’

  Tilly nodded. ‘I think I’ll go and get some food for myself. I didn’t eat much.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Wendy. ‘And when you’ve finished I’ll take you to the shop.’

  Within a short space of time Tilly and Wendy were walking past St Margaret’s church and across Belmont Road and the pub on the corner. ‘There’s still plenty of people about,’ commented Tilly.

  Wendy smiled. ‘It’s Saturday night. Isn’t it like this in Chester, near where you live?’

  ‘In summer, yes. During the light evenings you can watch the day trippers still out on boats on the Dee or listening to a band. Some just enjoy walking along the riverbank. It’s really nice,’ she murmured.

  ‘You’ll miss it.’

  ‘Yes.’ Tilly found herself remembering an evening last spring when Clara had come to stay. Tilly had been thinking about leaving Chester even then and had known she would miss the familiar sights and sounds of the city where she had been born. She had thought her loss would be balanced by seeing different places and gaining new experiences but she had imagined that to be in some far off foreign land. Never had she thought that her first taste of living away from home would be across the Mersey in Liverpool.