by Jess Foley
With her doll in her arms, and helped by Lily, the child climbed into bed. ‘I’m not a bit sleepy, Lily,’ she said. ‘Honestly I’m not.’
‘Still, you have to sleep,’ Lily said. She gently touched the child’s doll on her topknot of curls. ‘And I think Millie’s tired too.’
‘Oh, Millie’s always tired.’ Dora pressed the doll’s scratched china head into the pillow.
‘Well, I think you should both close your eyes and go to sleep.’ Lily looked down at the child. Dora was so like her mother: the same bone-structure, visible in the sharp, pointed chin, the small, high-arched nose. ‘I shall be up to bed later on.’
‘You’re not going yet, are you?’
‘No, of course not. I shall stay here with you for a while.’
‘Till Mama comes up?’
‘Yes, till Mama comes up.’ This was a lie, for Lily knew that her stepmother would not come upstairs as she had promised. She rarely did; it was always Lily’s job to stay with the child until she dropped off to sleep, and only then, when the child was sleeping, could she creep away. If Dora remembered the next day that her mother had not come to visit her while she was awake, Mrs Clair would always say, ‘Oh, I did, my dear, but when I came you were fast asleep.’
Sometimes Lily had to wait a good while till Dora fell into her slumber, and on a few occasions she herself had fallen asleep.
Now, looking up at her, Dora said, ‘You’ve got to lie down too. Not just me.’
Kicking off her slippers, Lily hoisted her legs up on the bed and laid her head on the pillow next to Dora’s. After a while the child’s eyes closed, and then the rhythm of her breathing changed as she drifted into sleep. Lily remained there; it would be a mistake to get up too quickly. Best to be sure. Her own eyes closed and she gave herself up to the comfort of lying there. This evening she was tired; she had had a long day at the Mellers’ house. With the harvest due, there was always extra work to be done. Every summer, for the past few years she had worked as a general maid for the Mellers, a farming family in the village. It brought a little much-needed extra money into the house, and also kept her occupied during those weeks when she was away from school. Her brother worked at the farm also, having started there just this summer. A willing boy, he revelled in doing odd jobs about the place and helping with the stock. He loved to be out in the open air too, added to which, it got him away from his stepmother.
While Tom loved his time on the farm, for Lily it was only a stopgap. All summer long she looked forward to September, and the day when she would be back at school.
At fifteen she was no longer an ordinary pupil. Her elementary schooling had ended soon after her thirteenth birthday. However, she had remained on as a pupil teacher, assisting the schoolmistress. She had completed two years of her apprenticeship so far, and had another three years to go, at which time she would herself qualify to seek work as a teacher. She could not wait for that time to come. Then perhaps, if things worked out, she might even gain a scholarship to go to Chelsea in London and study further at Whitelands, the famous school for female teachers. That was in the future, though, for now not even to be dreamt of.
She opened her eyes. For a moment there she had been in danger of dropping off. At her side Dora was sleeping soundly. Lily waited another minute or two, just to be absolutely sure, then carefully drew herself up. Dora slept on, her little pink mouth slightly open. She would not now waken until the morning.
After putting on her slippers, Lily crept across the room, stepped out and closed the door behind her. On the small landing she moved to the door opposite and scratched at the wood panel with a fingernail. There was no sound from within. After waiting a few seconds she eased the door open and crept inside.
Now she could hear his breathing as he lay on his bed. She could see him too. The curtains had not yet been pulled across the window, and the fading light filled the small room with a soft glow. The space was small, and simply furnished. Against the wall opposite the window stood the single bed. The only other furniture in the room was a chest of drawers, a narrow little wardrobe, and a rather rickety chair. She came to a stop on the worn bedside rug, listened for a moment for some acknowledgement of her presence, then whispered, ‘Tom? Tommo, are you all right.’
He replied then, his voice only just there, in a murmuring whisper, half stifled by his hand: ‘Go away, Lil. Please. I don’t want to talk to anybody.’
‘Tom,’ she murmured, and stepped closer. He was lying on his side, his hand up to his face. His frame looked small on the counterpane. She sat on the edge of the bed and whispered his name again. ‘Tom . . . Tommy?’
‘Please, Lil,’ he whispered, ‘I’ll be better if you leave me alone. Besides, you’ll cop it if they find you in ’ere talkin’ to me.’
‘They won’t find out,’ she said. ‘Dora went off like a dream, so they won’t expect me down yet. Anyway, they can’t hear us if we keep our voices low.’ She was silent a moment, then she asked, ‘Was it bad, Tommo?’
He nodded. ‘Like it usually is. She’s never liked me,’ he said, ‘– not from the start. And it’ll never be no different now.’
Lily knew he was right. Where their stepmother was concerned, there was little that he could ever do to please her.
‘I know I shouldn’t have lost my cap,’ Tom said, ‘but it was an accident.’
‘Of course it was. I heard you lost your ball too.’
‘Yeh. It was only an old pig’s bladder, but it was a good un. I hopped up on the fence to climb over and my cap fell off. And there I was, ’alf way over the fence when old Neville comes out. Course, as soon as he appears, the other boys ’ave gone. You can’t see ’em for dust. I tried to get back but as I did so I slipped. That’s ’ow I tore me jacket.’
‘I’ll mend it for you,’ she said. Then she asked, ‘How was work today at the farm?’
‘Oh, fine. I enjoy it so much. Mr Meller – he’s so nice.’
‘Yes, I know he is. Mrs Meller too.’
He turned to lie on his back. ‘I wish I was as old as you,’ he said. ‘I’d be long finished with school and I could really earn a livin’ for meself. And I don’t mean on Mellers’ farm either. I’d like to get right away from ’ere. Well away from Compton.’
‘Where would you go – Corster?’
‘Corster? No fear – I’d go to one of the big cities. One of them up north maybe. They say you can earn lots of money up north in the factories. Or maybe London. They got everything in London. And anything’d be better than this. It’ll be all right for you. You’ll be a teacher one day.’
‘Not for another three years yet, though.’
‘Still, it’ll come, and you’ll be doing what you’ve always wanted.’ He turned to her. ‘One day when you’re a real schoolmarm you’ll have a nice ’ouse, and I can come and stay with you.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that would be nice.’
He fell silent for a second, then said, ‘I know I’m a disappointment to ’im.’
‘To Father? A disappointment? Oh, Tom – that’s a melancholy thing to say.’
‘Well, look at me. I’m not big and tall like ’im. I never shall be. And I can’t do the things he does. He plays the violin, and he paints so well. And ’e’s clever with words and figures and such. The way you are. No wonder ’e hardly ever gets mad at you.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘I wish our mam was ’ere.’
He was speaking of their own mother, of course. Their own mother who had died a week after Tom’s birth, taken by the Bright’s disease that she had suffered from for months. People had said it was a wonder she had lived for the birth of her son, and indeed a wonder that the boy had survived as well.
‘Was she nice – our mam?’ Tom said. ‘Tell me, Lil.’
Lily smiled. ‘Oh, yes, she was. I may only have been five when she died, but I can remember her very well. Ah, Tom, she was nice, so nice.’
‘These things wouldn’t have happened if she’d still been alive.’
‘No – I doubt they would.’
He winced slightly at a sudden pain that caught at him. Lily said, ‘He hurt you bad this time, didn’t he?’
‘Ah, it ‘urt like billy-o.’ He shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t be like he is if it wasn’t for her. She eggs ’im on and gets ’im riled up. He gets in knackered from work, and all ’e wants is to sit down and catch his breath, but she greets him with complaints about me. No wonder ’e gets mad. No man wants to ’ear that sort of thing the moment ’e sets foot indoors. And tonight he was madder than ever. Not only angry, though. It was like summat was up, summat was different.’
‘He’s had bad news,’ Lily said. ‘He told our mother just before I came up. Though he didn’t say what it was.’ She stirred on the bed. ‘I’d better get downstairs, or they’ll start to wonder what’s keeping me so long.’ She stood up. ‘I wish I could bring you some dinner . . .’
‘It don’t matter.’
‘You’ll be hungry.’
‘It won’t be the first time.’
She smoothed down her skirt, moved quietly to the door, opened it and looked back. The August evening light was fading quickly now. Tom was a dim figure on the bed. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she whispered into the gloom, and then was gone.
As she went back into the kitchen her father and stepmother did not look at her but kept their eyes on one another. She had heard the murmur of their voices as she reached the foot of the stairs, but they stopped talking as she opened the door. If it had not been for the fact that their conversation ceased, she would almost have thought they were not aware of her presence. There was silence in the room but for the ponderous ticking of the clock.
‘Dora went off to sleep all right,’ Lily said. ‘She was tired tonight.’
Her stepmother nodded. ‘Yes – she would be. She’s been so active all day.’ She got up, pressing her hands together. ‘Well, this won’t get dinner, will it?’ And then, turning to Lily: ‘We’d best get busy.’ To her husband she said, ‘There’s water in the kettle, so if you want to wash now . . .’
As Lily moved to follow her stepmother, her father said, ‘When you’ve got a minute you can go upstairs and tell your brother to come down and eat.’
‘Edwin –’ Mrs Clair protested from the scullery door.
‘The boy’s got to eat,’ he said. ‘Working on the farm all day, he’s got to keep his strength up.’
As Lily went upstairs a few minutes later, she wondered why her father had relented so soon where Tom was concerned. It was not like him to be so quickly forgiving.
When the time came, the four sat down to eat the cold lamb and vegetables that Lily and her stepmother had brought to the table. Neither Lily nor Tom spoke as they ate, and there was little conversation between their parents. Their father, in particular, seemed more than usually preoccupied. Soon after the meal was finished Tom said his goodnights and went upstairs.
When he was gone, Lily and her stepmother started to clear the table, while Mr Clair moved to his chair. When all was in order and the dishes had been washed and dried, Lily went back into the kitchen. Her stepmother had taken up her darning, while her father leant back smoking his pipe. Lily took her own sewing basket from the shelf and resumed her work on the bodice she was making for a new dress. For some minutes there was silence, then Mr Clair said:
‘So, Lily, my girl, what kind of a day have you had at the Mellers’? They keep you hopping, no doubt?’
Lily, glad of his interest, said, ‘Oh, it went pretty much as usual, Father. These days the men are out in the fields most of the time. They hardly come to the house. Mostly it’s just me and Mrs Meller and the other maid. It’s a big house and there’s always plenty to do.’
‘I’m sure there is. She’s still lending you her books, is she?’
At this, Mrs Clair gave a breathy little snort, which was enough to make Lily hesitate before replying, but then she said, ‘Yes, she is. She lets me take anything I want. She says I should read everything.’
‘Read,’ Mrs Clair said dismissively without looking up from her mending. ‘Who’s got time for reading? How some women manage to run a house with their heads stuck in a novel half the time, I’ll never know.’
‘Oh, but she doesn’t only read novels,’ Lily said. ‘She reads other things too. Last week she gave me a book about the Chartists.’
At Lily’s words her stepmother gave a contemptuous little sniff and said, ‘Chartists, hmm,’ but Mr Clair said to Lily, ‘And did you find it interesting?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Lily said, eyes wide. ‘They’re trying to make changes. Not only do they want all men to have the vote, but women as well.’
Mrs Clair hooted at this, and shook her head in wonder. ‘Lord almighty,’ she said, ‘if that’s the kind of thing you’re learning at the Mellers’, I should think it’s time you put your mind to something else. I thought you went there to work, not to have your head stuffed with nonsense.’
‘Now, then, Mother,’ Mr Clair said to his wife. ‘It’s nice the woman takes an interest in the girl. She knows she’s got a brain.’
‘Got a brain, is it?’ Mrs Clair said. ‘What does a girl want with politics, I’d like to know.’
‘Oh, but she thinks a girl ought to know about such things,’ Lily said, ‘especially me, seeing as how I’m ‘prenticed to be a teacher. She says there’ll come a time when girls are taught as boys are taught. For girls it won’t be all needlework and drawing and how to bake a pie. The girls should be taught grammar, she says, and physics and chemistry too, and they should –’
Mrs Clair broke in at this. ‘Enough,’ she said, flapping a hand. ‘No more. You’re going to find out, young lady, that a girl needs to learn only as much as’ll fit her for her life. Which, if she’s lucky, will mean marriage to a decent man and having a decent home. And I’d like to know where physics and chemistry and grammar come into that.’ She turned to her husband. ‘I’m tired of sitting here listening to such rubbish. I think you’d better tell her what the situation is. We’ll all be the better for it. You can’t put it off for ever.’
Lily looked across at her father. There was definitely something up.
‘Yes,’ her father said after a moment, ‘I need to have a word with you, Lily.’
Lily waited for him to go on, but he tapped out his pipe, repacked it and lit it with a taper lighted from the range. When he had blown out the taper, he laid it on the edge of the hearth. Then he raised his eyes to Lily again. She sat waiting, her needle and thread held still.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘that I’ve always wanted the best for you . . .’
‘Yes, Father . . .’
‘Yes, and I’ve wanted you to have better than I’ve had. Your brother, too. Though I’m afraid he’ll never amount to anything. Anyway – what I have to say is this –’ He came to a stop, searching for the right words, then went on again almost in a rush: ‘Listen – it’s not going to be possible for you to keep on at the school.’
Lily frowned, her mouth opening in surprise. ‘Oh, but, Father –’
Mrs Clair broke in sharply, ‘There’s nothing to say about it. This isn’t a discussion. It’s a fact – and you’ve got to accept it.’
Lily looked at her father. ‘Does that mean – that I’m not to be a teacher after all?’ She could scarcely believe she was uttering such words.
Mr Clair cleared his throat, then said shortly, ‘Yes, it does.’ Then with a slightly softer tone, ‘I’m sorry, but it does.’
Lily frowned. ‘I’m to leave the school, Father?’ she said.
‘I’m sorry to say you are, yes.’ He paused. ‘The thing is – the situation has changed. It’s an expense – keeping you there for five years. Oh, I know there’s the grant, but that’s a pittance. It doesn’t keep you, and you know it doesn’t.’
Mrs Clair chimed in: ‘I’ll say it doesn’t.’ Then to Lily, ‘Other girls your age are in service, and have been out earning for two years or more. They haven’t got these
la-dida ideas. They’re content to get to work, and start bringing in a bit of money. I was at your age. It was good enough for me.’
‘But – but I’ve finished two years,’ Lily said. ‘In another three I shall be qualified.’
‘Yes, and a fat lot of good that’ll do us,’ Mrs Clair said. ‘We put all the money into it, and we get nothing back. You qualify, as you say, and then you’ll be off. Whatever you earn we shan’t see a penny of it.’
‘The thing is,’ Mr Clair said, ‘the situation at the factory has changed. I was told today that –’
Mrs Clair said, cutting into his words, ‘You don’t need to go into all that. She doesn’t need to know all the ins and outs of the matter. She’s got to accept what’s what, that’s all there is to it. You’re too soft with ’em, that’s your trouble.’
Mr Clair said, a trace of anger in his voice, ‘I’m not soft with them at all,’ then to Lily: ‘But your mother’s right, you’ve just got to accept the fact.’
There was silence in the room, the only sound that from the clock. Lily said into the quiet:
‘Then – what am I to do, Father?’
He lowered his eyes, one hand going to cup his chin. ‘Well – that’s something that’s got to be worked out,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk again in a day or so.’
That night Lily lay in the bed beside the sleeping Dora, while through her mind ran over and over again the words that her father had spoken.
She could still scarcely believe it. She was to leave the school. For two years she had spent every day helping with the children’s tuition, loving every moment spent in the classroom, and only dreaming of the time when she herself would be the schoolmistress. Not here in Compton Wells, but in some place where she could begin to build a life for herself. And now it had ended. With just a few words every thread of the fabric of her future had been discarded. The future she had foreseen had been cancelled, as if it had never been.
Before her now lay nothing but emptiness. Was it possible? She had been so sure in her dreams, her expectations; so sure that she was left now with nothing to fall back on. What was to become of her? What was she to do?